Hells Kitchen

He started walking away, and I helplessly followed him. I enjoyed the feel of his strap between my legs as I strutted on the luxurious heels. It was an erotic control leash; I had no choice but to follow wherever he led.

Master went down a flight of stairs, leading to another level. He opened up a door and entered what seemed to be an odd combination of exercise room and lounge. A high-end treadmill and stationary bicycle faced a floor-to-ceiling window, with an excellent view across the city. The middle of the room had a leather Laz-E-Boy reclining seat, and an extensive personal gym system was at the far end. I had no idea what any of it did, the gleaming structure was a maze of bars, pads, pullies, and weights. Ornately carved wooden doors, perhaps to a closet were set in one wall.

He led me over to the treadmill by simply walking. The leash ensured I would inevitably meekly follow. I marveled at the outstanding view; I was able to see so much across the city! Normally, my room only overlooked the dumpster in the alley. I marveled at how the other half lived.

As I took in the sight, I had the startling realization that every window I could view was able to watch me as well. I became increasingly conscious that I was only wearing heels, cuffs, and a dog collar; I was on display. Master hooked my leash to the treadmill's control panel. He took some air buds out of a pocket and carefully stuffed them into my ears.

Master's voice sprang from the earbuds, filling my mind with his words. "I can do whatever I want with you. You live only to serve me. You should always be wet, eager, and thrust your tits out." Master's words were repeated over and over. Master turned on the treadmill, gradually increasing the speed. I strutted in the heels as I listened to his message echoing in my head like a mantra. With the earbuds, the message didn't truly have a sound source; it was as if I was thinking them.

The strap lightly tugged against my pussy with every step, pressing and teasing. I looked over, and Master was reclining the comfortable leather recliner, talking on the phone. I didn't overhear a word of his conversation, instead, his mantra kept burrowing into my mind. I kept my shoulders back and boobs brazenly thrust out under the recurring reminders. I strutted under his gaze, walking along the endless treadmill. I felt like a used object, helplessly strutting for his amusement. I was ashamed to admit it, but I found this all deeply arousing. I felt myself getting wet as the leather kept teasing my pussy. My juices only make the feeling more intense!

Time lost meaning. There was only my naked strutting in these decadent heels as I listened to Master's instructions. My walk seemed endless, and I started tiring. I wasn't accustomed to going for such long walks in heels! The treadmill kept running, and the leash was still pulsing on my twat. I had no choice but to continue strutting for him!

After 45 minutes, Master was apparently done with his phone. He stood up and thankfully slowed down the treadmill, and it eventually stopped. I stood there, panting as Master took my leash and removed the air buds.

He gazed at my face as if sizing me up before asking "Would you like the privilege of speech?" I nodded eagerly. There was so much I wanted to say! Master said "Good!" A broad, smug grin spread from cheek to cheek as he left the shock collar active.

My mind screamed, "Damn it!" but my body responded in a throb of desire. Master just rubbed in that he maintained absolute control, and we both loved it!

Master pulled on my leash, yanking me along behind him. He conveyed me back upstairs and sat down on a comfortable leather chair. I silently knelt beside him. Once again, he scrutinized me. He tapped a button on my remote and said "You may speak for now."

My submissive sexual desire that had been welling up inside of me burst forth "Oh thank you, Master! Thank you for the privilege of speech! Thank you for controlling and restraining me! That walk kept teasing my clit and getting me so turned on!

Master interrupted me by lifting a finger, and I promptly shut up. He calmly asked, "Do you remember the message from the recording?"

I eagerly blurted out, "Oh yes Master!" I had it playing over and over in my head for the entire journey!

Master replied "Good girl. Recite the rules to yourself out loud."

Normally, such a condescending remark like "good girl" would set me off. In this case, it was a compliment that sent me deeper into my new headspace. I replied, "You can do whatever you want with me. I live only to serve you. I should always be wet, eager, and thrust my tits out."

Master reached down with a hand and started to massage my wet needy clit and calmly said "Keep going, Lusty Bitch." I repeated the mantra as he twiddled my tender nub. My voice got shakier and desperate as my excitement grew. His finger danced so skillfully in my wet slippery clit. The orgasm that I had been craving built up inside of me.

I started arching my back, relishing the impending orgasmic wave. His fingers abruptly withdrew. I desperately thrust in search of them, as I felt my pussy pulsing. I looked up at him, my voice trembling and pleading as I repeated "You can do whatever you want with me. I live only to serve you. I should always be wet, eager, and thrust my tits out."

Master wiped off his finger on the side of my neck. After a moment, he ran his finger along my wet, sloppy slot. I gasped in excitement. Master calmly wiped his finger off on the other side of my neck, smearing my juices over my skin. The smell of my desperate cunt was getting pervasive. He repeatedly ran his finger, wiping it off on my upper chest. I craved his touch, keeping me at the brink of an orgasm while imposing the aroma of a whore house.

Master got up, started to walk away, and simply said "Come."

Yes! Yes! I desperately wanted to cum! However, he wanted me to follow. And I would follow him anywhere he went. Master walked back downstairs, not even looking over his shoulder. He knew I would be meekly toddling along behind him.

Master ushered me back to the exercise room and opened the closet. My eyes went wide as the expansive wardrobe was revealed. I gawked at the latex and leather collection; they were all high-quality fetish items!

Master picked out a long black latex skirt and simply said "Put it on." I duly stepped into it. The skirt looked snug; I hoped the thick latex would stretch. It clung to my stockinged legs as I shimmied into the snug garment. The skirt would compress my legs together for sure! I had to fight to pull the skirt up to my waist. I yanked and tugged to haul the zipper shut, fixing it in place. The skirt was exceedingly narrow. I tentatively took a step, and my ankle was firmly stopped after only a third of a stride. I looked around the skirt base; there was no slit to be found. However, I was appreciative; this was the first real item of clothing that Master allowed!

Master laid out a black latex corset with red highlighting. I was convinced this outfit was worth more than the entire wardrobe I left behind. I treasured the feeling of wrapping the garment around my torso. I got a decadent thrill each time I clasped a hook on the busk. My pussy was still wet, and I reeked of my own carnal desire, this outfit only heightened my lust!

I reached into the cups, lifting my boobs and setting them in place. I saw the corset was a demi-cup. It ended about two-thirds of the way up my breasts, displaying an enormous amount of cleavage. The entire corset was firmly boned, providing excellent support. I looked down and saw the girls were proudly on display!

I grabbed the laces behind my back. I worked the slack out from the bottom to the middle, then the top down. I loved the lasting latex hug as I cinched the corset tighter and tighter. Master watched my erotic struggles, between working on his phone. I tied it off comfortably snugly as I got used to its embrace. The corset produced the bust that makes men mad with desire. I loved this corset; I felt downright gorgeous wearing it!

Master picked out a latex hood, with lacing going up the back of the head. As it had a ponytail hole, I pulled my hair up. As I opened the hood to wrap it around my head, I noticed the floppy latex bag protruding inward from the mouth. Clearly, I was to be gagged! I stuffed my mouth and settled the modest gag into place. I then finished pulling my hair through the hole and commenced lacing the hood in place. As the laces tightened, my jaw was forced up onto the floppy gag. As I bit down, the latex bladder stuffed itself into every nook and cranny in my mouth. When I was done lacing and tying it off, my jaw was forced to firmly clench on the gag; I couldn't open my mouth one bit!

I slowly twirled so Master could appreciate the outfit that he thoughtfully provided. I felt the constriction of the corset, keeping my posture upright and constrained. My breathing was deliberate through my nose, my chest rose and fell with each breath. Master smiled and nodded. "Damn, you are one lusty bitch!" In a perverse way, I was enjoying my nickname.

Master fished a large metal structural piece out of the closet. I examined it, noticing three circular holes. Master lifted the metallic appliance up and centered it around my neck. He clasped the structure shut, and I heard the distinct "click" of the lock latching under my chin. The structure was surprisingly light on my shoulders.

As I swiveled my head to peer at the remaining holes, their purpose became apparent. The wrist-sized cuffs were rigidly held past my shoulders. I put my wrists in the open cuffs without any direction. I was eager to feel the wonderful helplessness. I smiled as Master engulfed my wrists with their firm metallic embrace. They too were locked shut.

I tried moving, testing out my bonds. My hands were clasped in a relaxed hands-up pose. Escape was utterly impossible. We both would have been disappointed if I could get out.

Master nodded in approval and seized hold of the yoke. He strode out of the room, towing me after him. I was forced to take tiny mincing steps to keep up. The locks jingled merrily, reminding me of my wonderful helplessness.

Master conducted me next door to a meeting room. An extensive wooden table dominated the room, with seating for ten. Master walked to a small kitchenette set up in a corner. I helplessly minced behind him. A coffee maker and a small fridge with a glass door sat on a counter. The fridge was stocked with various beers and a small container of milk for the coffee. Master pointed out some prongs under the counter that could be used to open cans and bottles.

Master waved his hand to an undersized padded seat sticking out from the wall next to the counter. He commanded, "Sit there when you're not needed." It seemed deliberately tilted and smaller than my booty. The seat was unusually tall, just under the standing height of my butt. While I could shift some weight off of my feet, they would remain firmly on the ground. I sat and heard my own voice from a hidden speaker just behind my head. My voice was lusty and desperate, on the verge of an orgasm that was still burning inside of me. "You can do whatever you want with me. I live only to serve you. I should always be wet, eager, and thrust my tits out." Oh damn! He recorded my pleas! My burning desire re-ignited. I felt I was still wet, and ready to go! I looked hopefully at Master, panting eagerly through my nose. He calmly turned and left the room.

I squirmed in my bonds. My wrists were firmly clasped in place to either side of my shoulders. My legs were hobbled by the delightfully restrictive skirt. I tried moving my mouth, but it still stayed stuffed with the rubber bladder. The corset kept my waist cinched in and enforced an absolutely perfect posture. I dared not leave the seat; I didn't want to know what would happen if I was discovered anywhere else.

After perhaps fifteen minutes of silently surveying the room, the door opened again. Master led two strangers into the room. One was a short young guy, about my age, and the other was a hulking beast of a man. Both were wearing black leather jackets and had gun holsters on their belts. My eyes went wide. People packing heat often leads to shooting, and I'm the only one here! I already have my hands up!

Master turned and exited the room, leaving me with the two strangers. The shorter man looked at me and commented something to his bodyguard. Of course, all I heard was my own desperate mantra, pleading over and over. The punk strutted around the room as if trying to intimidate the helplessly bound woman and the empty chairs. The larger man casually followed behind. I could see they kept talking, but I had no idea what was discussed. I sat silent and still.

After he had completed a tour of the room, the punk sat with his bodyguard taking the adjacent seat. The punk kept looking at me, clearly enjoying what he saw.

Just then, the door opened again. Two more men walked in. They were older, maybe 60 or so. Their worn clothing looked more in place to a construction site than a board room like this one. One of them also had a gun on his belt. The men calmly plopped down in the expensive chairs as if they were a worn sofa.

After a minute, the lead construction guy waved me over. Holy crap! I was utterly terrified, but I stood. I approached him with the tiny mincing steps that the hobble skirt allowed. When I was close enough, he calmly said, "Gimme a Bud." He jerked his head in the direction of the fridge. The other construction worker chimed in "Make it two." My chair was right by the fridge, they could have called over and saved me a trip! I humbly bowed my head as I realized the men deliberately wanted me to make the trip. The two men didn't feel they should have to raise their voices, and they enjoyed watching my bound struggles. In a twisted way, I was also secretly thrilled to be forced to test my bonds.

I made exaggerated nodding motions to communicate that I understood and slowly shuffled back to the fridge. The skirt limited my stride to not much more than the length of my foot, it was easily triple the number of steps. I awkwardly bent over, the corset forcing me to really thrust my ass out to grab the fridge handle. I realized the yoke prevented me from simply pulling. It took a few forcibly tiny steps and swinging my entire body to open the door. Typically, I would reach in with both hands to grab the beer. My hands were gripped so far apart! I took out the first tall cold bottle and set it on the counter. I had to bend over again to carefully retrieve the second one. Only then could I shut the door with the mincing full-body swing.

I lined up the bottle to the prong. Normally it would be a simple arm motion to pop the beer open. I squirmed, but just didn't have enough mobility! The yoke prevented my arm from moving, and I simply couldn't twist my hand enough. I took as deep of a breath as I could manage in the corset and heaved my body to pry the cap off. It slipped off the prong. I realized how moving like this really displayed my ass in this tight, form-fitting skirt! I lined up again. I gripped the bottle tightly on the prong and heaved. It opened! A dab of beer splashed on the counter, but the bottle was open! I smiled triumphantly!

I picked up the second bottle, carefully lined it up on the prong, and thrust my body again. Another splash on the counter, but I got this one on my first try! I carefully sashayed brought the bottles back to them. I bent over, making sure to keep both bottles level to prevent any spilling. As they hit the table, I felt victorious! I successfully delivered the beer!

I felt a hand groping my exposed butt! The surprise made me let out a muffled "mmpphh". The main construction guy commented, "This bondage bitch has a better ass than the last one."

The young punk seemed amused by this. He called out much louder than needed "Hey Bondage Bitch! Give me a Heiny!" The punk and his thug laughed at their joke as I meekly minced off to fetch a Heineken.

It took many mincing steps for my return back to the kitchenette. I squatted and bent over to reach the fridge handle and made a heroic effort to fling it open. I retrieved the bottle he wanted and struggled to close the door. The exertion of performing this while bound was making me pant through my nose. I could feel my boobs heaving up and down as they were displayed by the snug corset.

I lined up the bottle on the opener, gripping it tightly. I thrust my body, displaying my ass to the room. The bottle opened and didn't spill much! I was getting better at this!

I toddled back to the punk, enjoying the way my stockings felt, sliding so smoothly along the hobble skirt. The men were blatantly ogling me, staring at the way my tits stood out from my corseted form. I captured their rapt attention so felt as pretty as a glamorous fashion model!

I bent over to set the bottle down, utterly concentrating on making sure it didn't spill. The surprise of having my ass roughly groped toppled me over! The high heels and hobble skirt thwarted my attempts to correct my precarious balance. I plopped over with a muffled "mmppphh!!" I realized I was in a most un-ladylike pose; my tits were buried right in his crotch as my ass was stuck up in the air. His cock was straining to burst through his pants and thrust between my breasts. I struggled to get upright, but with the yoke and corset, I lacked the leverage. I was stuck like this!

The punk boasted, "I think she really likes me!" He sniffed the musky smell of my juices and continued "Oh yeah! I can smell she's all soaked. Bondage Bitch just can't get enough of me."

I felt utterly humiliated, used, and helpless. However, I was also turned on to be thrust into this position. The punk was crude, but he was attractive in his own rough way.

The punk continued groping my ass, roughly squeezing my cheeks as his whim dictated. He seemed to be amused by my hapless squirmed and muffled moans. The punk playfully squeezed my tits, commenting "Bondage Bitch got bouncy boobs!" The punk laughed at his own joke. He set me upright, calling out, "I know you want me. I'll have to catch you later; I got work to do."

I don't know if it was nerves, but I was getting turned on! Why did it feel so right to be utterly at these guys' mercy? I toddled back to the kitchenette. I snagged a paper towel and looked haplessly at the spilled beer. I looked at it, accepting the challenge to figure out how to maneuver my hand closer to the spill. I bent over, sprawling across the counter and mashing my boobs. Even then I had to shift my entire body side to side as I wiped, for my hand had so little mobility.

I was finally able to return to my seat, panting like a good bondage bitch. Just then, Master entered the room, accompanied by someone who looked like an accountant. He closed the door behind him.

Holy shit! The accountant is Vince Domingo, the loan shark who threatened to kill me if I didn't pay by last night! The due date is past! My eyes went wide with fear. He had a gun! I couldn't run, and there was nowhere to hide!

Vince beckoned me to approach. I trembled in terror as I took the tiny steps closer to my doom. All I could hope is that the gag hood obscured enough of my face that I wasn't recognized. Vince watched me traipse over to him like a tart, before calmly ordering "Coffee. Milk and sugar."

I accentuated the nod, feeling the yoke ring around my neck. I turned as quickly as I could, making the journey back to the coffee machine. From behind me, I heard "We see you got a new bondage bitch." Did Vince recognize me? What would he do? Was this the end of my line?

I managed to perceive Master's response through the muffling hood "Right. You have a sharp eye to notice. The other one didn't work out. Just after I took care of her, this one fell into my lap."