Slut teetered about the store putting back the garments left in the changing room. Her glistening form, exaggeratedly feminine, glossily corsetted, yet anonymous and almost impersonal, seemed improbably incongruous in the setting of a clothing boutique. Until that is, the viewer noticed that the garments she returned matched her attire in fluidity and lustre.

She was careful to ensure each item was placed facing the correct way and in the correct place. Mistress was a stickler for order and neatness and Slut had far too many demerits against her name as it was. The crushing corset and the impossible boots, not to mention the inflated intruders inserted into every orifice, were uncomfortable enough. There was no need to add throbbing, burning welts to the ongoing cacophony of discomfort she endured in her collar.

So far it had been a fairly ordinary weekday. But Slut knew it was anything but. Because today was hopefully the day she got the all-clear. The last blood test had revealed none of the strep infection that had seen her sealed away from the light for eight months now. When that giddy news had come in she had assumed that she would be released straight away. But the professor had cautioned Mistress to wait for another fortnight and another test. Just to be sure it was not a false negative and that Slut was truly free of the disease.

All that being said Slut was not all that sure how much freedom the all-clear would result in. After the death of John in the air disaster, she had committed to be Mistress's slave. The hood may come off but the collar certainly would not... ever.

What would that be like? Slut could not imagine. Would she be embarrassed without the hood to hide her face? When Mistress took her home in the evening she walked her to the car on a leash. People stared but she had been hidden in plain sight. Hidden from view behind a rubber mask. When Mistress used her name in the shop she had, until now, been an anonymous glossy gimp. In the future people would be able to make eye contact when she was called by her name. Mistress had promised her that the collared, submissive property of Mistress Victoria, would become internet famous and a household name among fetish initiates.

Would she be allowed to eat? To date, once a day Mistress had injected a low volume meal supplement directly down her throat and into her stomach. The only fluids she had been permitted to swallow were her owner's juices during sex.

Would she be allowed to speak? For all the time in Mistress Victoria's collar Slut had been gagged unless her mouth was in use. Mistress had taught her to sign like a mute person, which effectively she was. Would she be permitted to utter the words she craved to speak? "I love you, Mistress" In truth Slut had become a recluse. Locked within her latex prison, bar the odd pantomime with a store client, the only soul she communicated with was her owner.

Whatever the future held one thing Slut knew was that it would be Mistress that would decide. Slut had often spent wakeful hours at night pondering why she was so comfortable with the status quo. The woman she had been, the woman called Angela, would never have been content to let others make the decisions, set the rules, plan the future and meter out discipline.

Yet, for Mistress, Slut was happy with the role of a slave. In fact, happy was not deep enough a word. Content? Slut was not sure how to describe it. Everything was as it should be. There was no stress. All was in order. The collar she wore, heavy polished steel that she could not remove, was in the right place. It may be tight and rigid. It was embarrassing to be led by a leash attached to it. But she was glad it was there proclaiming her the property, the slave, of another.

Slut often wondered what would have happened without the loss of John, her previous love before Mistress. She had loved him almost as much as Mistress but he had been reluctant to accept Slut's embracing of her submissive self. He had been sent abroad by his firm. Falling ill he decided to return and boarded the ill-fated flight that went down mid-Pacific. Her heart broke a little when she was told. His body never recovered, a short service had been held, and Slut was named the main beneficiary in his will. Unsure just what a slave needed possessions for Slut had signed everything she owned over to her owner.

The garments hung up correctly the slave went over to her corner. She stared into the mirror on the wall before kneeling to ensure she was presentable for Mistress Victoria. Would she recognise herself once the hood was removed?


Wánjù stared into the mirror and examined the face reflected back. So much had changed. So many procedures. The nose had been reduced massively and the jawline softened. The brow ridge had been shaved down and there had been a tracheal shave too. Hours of laser hair removal had removed the need to actually shave. Before everything, before the breast augmentation, the hormone therapy and the voice surgery. That John would have fancied Wánjù.

Wánjù was pretty, slim with a great figure. C-cup breasts with thick pronounced nipples. A narrow waist, after months of waist training in brutal corsetry. A round pert bottom, that Mistress enjoyed spanking so much. Yes, Wánjù was the very image of femininity and sex appeal.

Mistress kept Wánjù in bondage all the time. The steel collar that had initially choked and chaffed was now an ever-present accoutrement that inspired little comment. The cuffs and shackles were similarly ignored. Right now Wánjù was dressed in a cheongsam of scarlet latex. Wánjù had spent quite some time getting the make-up just so, even ensuring the lip paint matched the rubber dress.

There was just one aspect of Wánjù that would have drawn John up short. Wánjù still had a penis. Admittedly it was locked up in a chastity device of mirror-bright steel. The entire area had been denuded of hair and the testes were mere shadows of their former selves. But the last vestige of manhood. The last trace of John was still there.

Mistress had not stopped the gender transformation due to a lack of commitment. Wánjù was just the way she wanted her to be. A beautiful slave girl with a real cock.

Mistress loved to fuck her slave face to face. Pulling on the rings set in the slave's nipples. Slapping the perfectly made-up face. Kissing the scarlet painted lips. Taunting the man now trapped in a woman's body.

Wánjù knew she (she thought of herself as a woman now) was enslaved for life. She remembered vividly the day Mistress had told her she was dead. Or to be accurate 'John' was dead. Had explained the man using his old passport had perished in an air disaster. Mistress had laughed, exclaiming she could not have planned it better if it had been deliberate rather than serendipitous. All the time seemingly oblivious to all the passenger's deaths.

The other slave girls in Mistress' stable all loved Wánjù. Especially they loved it when she played the guitar and sang for them. Mistress also delighted in Wánjù's musical skill. Wánjù had been tasked with teaching some of the other girls to play instruments too. Wánjù had an inkling of what Mistress wanted to achieve with this. Especially when she was told to teach them to play the old Robert Palmer hit Addicted to love.

Wánjù often wondered what became of Angela. Did she stay with Vicky the fetish shop owner? Did the two dominatrices let Ange in on the prank he had been playing on her? Was she still dressing up in rubber and having kinky lesbian sex? She hoped Ange was happy now. Given how well insured he had been, she was at least wealthy now.


Vicky surveyed the shop. All was as it should be with everything in its place. That even included the slave kneeling obediently in the corner.

Vicky was excited, for today she could finally get the hood off her slave and look into the girl's eyes when she fucked the bitch. Vicky was certain now if Slut was told the truth it would not break her training. Slut was totally invested in being her slave.

Vicky herself had taken a lot of convincing Sally's old school chum had not arranged for a plane to be crashed. It just seemed too convenient. Sally had assured her that as well connected as Wang Su was crashing a commercial flight was beyond her.

The upshot though was it had made Vicky very wealthy. Slut had obediently signed every legal document placed in front of her. Even those that had to be signed in front of witnesses and magistrates. Admittedly the magistrates had been under Sally's influence. But Slut was now her legal charge. If she ran away the police would bring her back to her. Vicky had assumed control of Slut's wealth and possession of Slut's property.

Vicky now drove John's Porsche, slept in the home that John and Angela once shared and had paid off the debts incurred setting up the shop. In truth, the business was now a profitable hobby. John had been well insured and the airline compensation had simply polished things off.

Sally had insisted that the deception of the strep infection be maintained until she had proof that John was really out of the picture. Apparently, Wang Su was being rather coy about just what fate had befallen the man. She was quick to assure Sally that his face would never be seen again and the man had not been murdered. Vicky had to assume he was being held somewhere in either Hong Kong or mainland China against his will. Until his eventual return was ruled out Sally did not want to assume anything.

But today she would come around to the store to deliver the good news as Professor Boult. The hood would be removed and the gag extracted. Slut could finally say, "Yes, Mistress," when ordered and Vicky could watch the girls cheeks burn with shame with each humiliation heaped upon her.

The door buzzer sounded and Slut leapt up to answer it. Clearly, she too wanted to be free of the hood. Sally swept in after Slut opened the door. Ignoring the slave she strode over to Vicky and greeted her warmly.

"Hello Vicky, how have you been keeping? Well, I hope?"

"Professor, thank you for coming personally. You know a letter would have sufficed."

"Of course, but I like to take a personal interest and just sending off a letter is so cold."

"Can I get you a drink? Tea or Coffee?"

"Oh, a nice cup of tea would be lovely."

"Slave!" Barked Vicky, smirking as the petite latex gimp propelled herself over to the two women. "Two cups of tea. Quickly, Slut."

Slut curtseyed and rushed to the backroom to do as ordered. It seemed infuriating that a simple message, waited on for so long, could be delayed even further by polite niceties. Slut was convinced Professor Boult could make an excellent dominatrix herself, should she care to turn her hand to the craft. The woman clearly had an evil streak for making Mistress (and Slut) wait for the news.

As quickly as the kettle boiled Slut was carrying a tray bearing a filled teapot, cups and saucers, milk jug and sugar bowl. Mistress never accepted mugs with individual teabags. Having delivered the tray to the women Slut knelt and tried to calm herself.

Her owner seemed to be feigning disinterest in the professor's news and kept making small talk about every inane thing under the sun. After a pointless conversation about the weather and the hardships of wearing latex in the sun the professor finally came to the point.

"So I expect you are keen to hear the results of your slave's last blood test?"

"You know I ought to be. But I've become so accustomed to Slut as a gimp I've been giving serious thought to keeping her that way permanently."

"Really? Do you think she would like that?"

"Who gives a fuck? She's my slave, and I'll do what I want with her. She's my property. A thing. Hell, if I wanted her limbs removed and her body turned into a stool that licked the genitals of all who sat on it she would be grateful to be useful. Wouldn't you, Slut?"

Slut nodded to her Mistress, horrified at both the idea of such a fate and the fact it actually aroused her.

"Such an obedient slave," murmured the professor. "Either way I can report her blood tests came back negative. Obviously, the choice is yours, Vicky. But you no longer need to keep your slave gimped up for medical reasons."

"Okay... You know what? I've forgotten what she looks like. I mean, sure I've been inspecting her skin. But I've not looked at her face in the light for months. Wanna take a gander? We can seal her back up after..."

"Oh, I'm game, Vicky. You may want to close up shop and dim the lights first."

"Why dim the lights?"

"You could actually damage her eyesight permanently if you don't. Her irises are not used to closing and may be sluggish, which in turn could cause damage to the retina."

"Slave, lock the door and then come to the centre of the room."

After obeying her owner Slut stood still as the lights were dimmed. The action blinded her as there was too little light left for her to see through the heavily tinted lenses of the hood.

She felt her Mistress handling her collar. There was a click followed by the weird sensation of it being removed.

Pain! Her eyes exploded in her head as the light flooded in. Reflexively Slut screwed up her eyes shut. No matter what that the dominants thought the light level did not seem low. It was far too bright for Slut. Slowly though she managed to open her eyes.

Mistress let out a slow whistle, "Wow! Have you ever seen someone so pale?"

"Hmm, yes that is one side effect of such a long time away from light."

"Will this cause any long term issues?"

"No dear. Her food was fortified with vitamin D. Just let her wear dark glasses outside for the first week or so and apply sunscreen if you are going to be outside for any length of time. Are you going to keep her bald?"

"No, but I do prefer short hair on a slave. Makes strapping gags and bridles on so much easier."

"I know what you mean... So, are you going to tell her?

"Yes, unless you have any further objections?"

"None at all, my dear. Off you go. This ought to be good. I'm sure John would have wanted to be here for this bit."

Slut, who had been only half paying attention to the dominants, as she marvelled at the sensations of not being coated in latex, pricked her hears at the mention of John. Her owner gave the doctor a strange look before turning to Slut.

"Slut, I have some news. However, before I give it to you I wish to reiterate some facts of life for you going forward. So, you are my slave. You are always going to be my slave. That I have removed your hood and exposed your face has no bearing on this state of affairs. As you are aware you signed a number of documents over the past months. These documents give me legal powers over you. I have the right to incarcerate you. To keep you in bondage permanently. I fully intend to do so. I now own all your assets. You own nothing. Your old bank account has been closed. You are penniless, destitute and completely disenfranchised. If you were to attempt to leave me the police would arrest you and return you to me. The old you; Angela has been expunged from official records and deleted from the electoral roll. You have no rights. You are as close to a real slave as I could make you legally in a country that forbids slavery.

"The reality for you is I will keep you collared for the rest of your life. You are mine. I own you. You are my slave. Is that clear, Slut?"

"Yes, Mistress, and may I add that I am happy to hear you say it."

"Hmmph, yes you may, Slut. However, you are not aware of all the facts. It may surprise you to hear you were never infected with a photosensitive streptococcus bug. Professor Boult is not a doctor of medicine and I have never been a nurse."

Slut stared at her owner non-plussed. She played the words over in her head. Her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Mistress, then why...?"

"Initially it was a prank by your old boyfriend. I, though, highjacked the ruse to enslave you."

"It was a prank, Mistress?"

"Initially, yes."

"I see... I'm still your slave though?"

"Oh yes, for life."

"Mistress, is John really dead?"

Sally spoke up, "We are not sure, slave. I asked an old school friend, from Roedine, to set a honey trap for him in Hong Kong. But she seemed to have ideas of her own. John was not keen on keeping you gimped up. The joke didn't work as well with you enjoying being dressed in rubber."

Slut's owner interjected, "I decided as soon as you called me Mistress to enslave you. We only wanted your man out of the way while we worked, but Wang Su abducted John on arrival. We are not convinced it was actually him using John's passport on the ill-fated flight. Though we cannot be sure. It's immaterial now though. You're mine."

"I see, Mistress. You are correct of course. May I ask what happens now?"

"The rest of your life as a slave, Slut," answered Mistress Victoria as she stepped forward and locked the steel collar back around Slut's throat.

Epilogue

Slut knelt at her owner's feet in the nightclub. The chain leash from her collar snaked around her left tit, before heading up to the leather strap handle slipped over Mistress Victoria's wrist.

The past few days had been amongst the most eventful of the four years she had been a slave. The nightclub was in Hong Kong and getting there had seemed like being in some spy novel. Clearly, BDSM was not out of the closet in China yet.

Whenever Mistress had taken her out in public she had attracted many stares. More than the jaded looks she got back home anyway. The black PVC mac, the visible collar and the 00 gauge septum ring, not to mention the ballet boots were clearly unusual sights.

The flight out in a private jet, the rides in stretched limo's, the suit at the hotel. It had all been an amazing treat for a slave used to waiting on her Mistress and working at the fetish shop.

The mac was gone now to reveal just a corset, heavily pierced nipples and an equal amount of metalwork in her crotch. Mistress was sat in the VIP lounge with their host Wang Su. Slut was very aware this was the woman who had stolen John and was warily afraid of both her and her reason for inviting Mistress out to Hong Kong.

As her owner talked to her host the slave looked out over the club from the balcony setting the lounge held. On a cross, a man was being lashed by a particularly savage dominatrix. His cries of pain though were drowned out by the house band. Slut examined the band.  

The lead singer was dressed in a white latex shirt and black latex tie with black latex slacks. The rest of the band, all of them female, wore heavy steel collars and classic little black dresses in latex. The instruments were white and the girls were heavily made up with scarlet lipstick and their hair slicked back. Predictably they were doing covers of hits from the eighties.

As she watched they broke into the song their outfits seemed to be made for. The lead guitarist was playing in drop D tuning, unusual for that song but something John had... Suddenly Slut knew John was alive yet just as dead as Angela. She watched the guitarist sway and two-step in rhythm with the beat. Slut looked up at Wang Su to see her smirking down at her, she knew Slut had worked it out. Wang Su leant into Mistress Victoria's ear who in turn bent down to her kneeling slave.

"She says, 'Later you can suck her off one more time before it goes in the bin. She's bored with fucking her and she's earnt her pussy.' Do you know what she means, slave?"