Stephanie's Slave Journal

"My slaves generally are just on duty for a few hours a night, and only have to service one client. The down side is that those clients all have their own fantasies about what they'd like to do to women. I let them indulge those fantasies -- a sort of Fantasy Island for an hour and a half. Expect to be tied up in all sorts of ways, suspended, gagged, stuffed with objects, flogged, raped, and generally abused in ways you never thought possible. But, as you've seen, I have no patience with clients who want to do real damage to my slaves. They can't do anything that will leave marks or other injuries that won't go away by the next day." He pointed to my mostly-invisible breasts. "None of that shit. If they step over the line, they lose a five-thousand-dollar deposit and maybe get banned from my establishment."

He let all that sink in. "But in between, you'll have comfortable quarters, good food, medical attention, exercise, even a tanning bed, since you won't be seeing the sun again. And you'll have the other women to show you the ropes and just plain hang out with."

The part about never seeing the sun again gave me a cold chill. But compared to what I had been going through for six months -- Theo told me the date, so I finally had a reference point for the passage of time -- it sounded like heaven. The "good food" part sounded especially appealing. I had been perpetually hungry for months. Even more slaver slop would have been good if I could have gotten enough of it, but real food sounded almost too good to be true.

I'll fast forward the rest of this period. I've already written it up in the second part of "Stephanie and the Slavers," and I don't have a lot to add. Theo beat my price down to $3,000, cuffed me to the floor of his blacked-out van, and drove me to -- where? I had no idea where I was going, and still don't. Mostly I remember being fed, for a change. Theo wouldn't let me kill myself by eating as much as my starving body wanted, but his on-call doctor, Dr. Halliday, worked out a diet and exercise program that gradually added back the 18.5 kilos I had lost (yes, the first thing Halliday did was weigh me). After a few weeks, my bruises and welts were mostly healed, and the gentle curves that had disappeared months ago were starting to come back on my body. I don't think my skin will ever be quite the same again, but I had access to every kind of moisturizing and healing lotion I could have wanted, and in time it regained most of its former suppleness.

I was now Slave Four. I could use my real name when chatting with the other three women, but Theo liked to avoid names to keep us from seeming too personal -- or too much like human beings rather than objects, maybe. If I were really into bondage, I would have had fun with the mind-boggling array of toys and equipment that Theo provides to his clients in his euphemistically named "entertainment suites." But I'm not into bondage, and certainly not into pain, so I don't like what some of the clients get to do to me. But I've learned to be philosophical about it, reminding myself that Theo won't allow them to really damage me, and that I only have to service one client a day for an hour and a half, not pull a train of cocks all night like I used to. Comparing my life now to my life then can only take me a certain way toward being content -- I'd much rather be genuinely free to call my own shots in the world -- but it helps.

From the time Theo bought me from the Asshole Brothers, I've had access to media and know what day it is, so the rest of this journal will consist of dated entries. As promised, I'll edit out the more mundane ones and try to stick to describing clients with different and creative fetishes. I never knew there were as many creative fetishes as I've experienced here -- not my idea of fun, but it certainly gives me something to write about.

Part 2. July 1, 2018: Butt Plug

Canada Day, the anniversary of Canada becoming a country. Somewhere outside, fireworks were going off, parties were happening. No fireworks here, but we watched the morning ceremony from Parliament Hill on television. The cook had whipped up a cake in the shape of a big maple leaf for dessert after dinner, so I guess that will have to do for patriotism this year.

Theo had built his roster of slaves up to twelve, which was still a bit skimpy to handle the growing demand. It seemed as though there are more men than you would think who crave serious no-consent bondage sex, and have $2,000 lying around to pay for it. I don't know how they explain the massive withdrawals of cash to their wives -- maybe they have separate secret accounts they can launder household money through.

Perhaps if their wives were more accommodating to their fetishes, they wouldn't need to siphon off money and could spend it on taking their wives for an exclusive weekend at a resort that doesn't ask many questions about what they do at night. Or maybe that wouldn't be genuinely non-consensual enough to stroke their balls properly. Who cares? I had long given up trying to fathom the psychology of men who like to chain women up, fuck them, and often hurt them in ways that few women would ever consent to. (We hadn't met Angelica yet, and I hadn't yet met any women who liked to be treated exactly that way.)

After his bad experience with the slavers that he had bought me from, Theo went back to personally "recruiting" his women, which meant kidnapping them and chaining them to the floor of his blacked-out van. Theo was always careful to surveil prospective recruits for a long time, using hacking techniques that would have put CSIS, the CIA, and the KGB to shame. He wanted to make sure not only that they were healthy and physically attractive but also psychologically resilient. He didn't want to deal with a slave who kept having breakdowns from the stress of captivity. As a result, we were all a pretty tough bunch. We had to be in order to survive our new lives.

After dinner, plus a suitable digestion period, we all stripped and headed off to the showroom. All twelve of us were staked out as usual, naked except for high stilettos, hands cuffed behind our backs, mouths taped, ankles in spreaders, and impaled on dildo posts shoved far into our vaginas. We were all totally immobilized and silenced: a bondage fancier's ideal meat market.

We neatly filled all twelve poles, but Theo had no backups to keep the selection up as women were selected. He had to limit customers to nine so that there wouldn't be anyone stuck with no selection at the end. Selection was part of his evidently-successful business plan, and he was determined to stick to it even if he had to turn away business to do so. I suspected that he would be acquiring new slaves in the near future, since demand clearly warranted expansion -- the limit of nine clients was reached almost every night.

A few women were selected before me. Jess went first, led out the door by a large, muscular-looking man with a tattoo on his arm, partly covered by enough sleeve that I couldn't quite make out what it was supposed to represent. Then Rachel, chosen by a surprisingly short man with spare, thinning hair and a short brown beard that didn't seem to be working very well.

Then the third customer came in the door. He didn't seem to be anyone very special -- the sort of face you'd forget ten seconds after seeing him, as if it were some kind of composite of all the male faces you'd ever seen. Average height, average build, no distinguishing features -- if you wanted to choose someone to carry out some sort of covert operation, he would be an ideal candidate for his ability to blend in anywhere.

As usual, he walked up and down the line of ten remaining women, inspecting breasts and bums, handling body parts as if squeezing fruit at a grocery store. He seemed to have a particular interest in assholes, spreading cheeks to inspect them and occasionally poking a finger a little way up this one or that one. I had no idea what he was looking for. To me, an asshole is pretty much an asshole, whatever sort of body it happens to be mounted on. Maybe he was some sort of asshole connoisseur, like those wine experts who seem to be able to be able to detect delicate overtones of gooseberry and sage in what, to me, tastes pretty much like just a glass of wine.

This did not bode particularly well, as it suggested a keen interest in anal sex, an interest that most of us didn't exactly share. We were all capable of taking a cock, or just about anything else, up the ass without damage, but that didn't mean that we particularly liked it. For myself, if I was going to have to submit to unwanted sex, I'd just as soon it be good old vanilla pussy sex. But obviously, no-one here ever asks what we prefer. That's part of the point of Theo's non-consensual BDSM service.

I gritted my teeth as he forced the first joint of a finger into my asshole, lubed by nothing but a lick of spit (not a very good lube, trust me). I guess Theo was letting him get away with spit-lube as part of a quick inspection. If he wanted to do anything much more with that body part, Theo's rules would require lots of real lube, which Theo supplied in two-litre economy bottles since so much would be used on an average night.

The fingertip test seemed satisfactory. He pulled his finger out, held his hand out for the hex key and unlocked the dildo pole so he could telescope it out of me and march me down to one of the suites.

**

As soon as we got to the suite, he went to work. He didn't seem to think a gag was an indispensable part of bondage apparel, because he peeled off the tape gag and didn't bother to replace it with any of the interesting gags displayed on the shelves. Perhaps he was looking forward to seeing my face and watching my reactions to whatever he had in mind.

He unfastened my handcuffs from each other and reattached them to rings on the wall, far apart and about waist height. Then he attached my ankle cuffs to rings on the floor. This left me standing facing the wall about a metre away, bent horizontal from the waist and legs spread. My sphincter involuntarily contracted: I was pretty sure what was coming next. I concentrated on relaxing my muscles so whatever that was would hurt as little as possible.

What was coming next wasn't a cock; it was a steel butt-plug. He showed it to me so I would have plenty of opportunity to be afraid. It was large, but I'd seen, and felt, larger. It had a particularly narrow snap-back, which would make it less liable to come out again. Several thin vertical lines ran all the way from the tip to the base. The oddest thing was what looked like a plunger sticking out from the bottom. I'd never seen anything quite like it, and had no idea what the plunger was for, but I was pretty sure that I'd find out soon enough.

He took a generous palmful of lube from the industrial-sized bottle and lubed up the plug, in accordance with Theo's rules. For good measure he lubed my asshole as well, working some inside with a finger. Given the size of the plug, I was relieved that he made good use of Theo's lube. Then he put the narrow tip against my sphincter and started to push.

Despite all the anal stretching exercises every morning, I've never been able to get my sphincter as limber as some of the women have done. The plug was a tight fit, and quite a bit of painful work to get in. He twisted it gently back and forth to pry my ring slowly wider and wider, and I redoubled my efforts to relax my muscles and let it in. Finally he got it past the widest part, and it slid all the rest of the way in without much resistance until it came to the wide safety flange and my sphincter clamped firmly around the snapback. I could tell that it wasn't going to come out on its own no matter how much I tried to shit it out. It was there until one of us decided to use their hands to pull it out. Since my hands were occupied, I resigned myself to being firmly plugged until either he pulled it out -- probably to put something else in such as his cock -- or his time was up and Theo, Jake or someone else came and unchained me so I could pull it out myself.

He reached behind me, and I suddenly realized what the plunger was for. I was shocked to feel the whole plug expanding inside me. I could feel three panels like the unfolding petals of a flower bud pressing on the inside of my rectum as the plug expanded to what felt like at least twice its former size. Then some more fiddling behind me, followed by the unmistakable click of a tiny padlock.

Without my hands, I couldn't have removed it anyway, but now I knew that he intended it to stay put for as long as he wanted it to. I saw him move behind me and pick up a light chain that was fastened to the floor. He reached behind me again, and I heard another lock click as he fastened the chain to the plug.

The client stood back to admire his work. I always ended up feeling pretty helpless in the entertainment suites, since the whole point was to give clients the opportunity to restrain slaves in more or less intricate ways. But somehow, being chained to the floor by a plug locked into my ass seemed to make me feel far more helpless than usual. I was usually pretty good at supressing feelings of claustrophobic panic as clients tied me, cuffed me, strapped me, taped me and chained me into whatever position they fancied, but I had to work a lot harder at it this time.

He began slowly running his hands over my body, starting with the breasts that were now dangling from my bent-over chest. He squeezed them, but not hard enough to hurt, and played with my nipples until they became involuntarily erect. Then he moved them slowly, almost tenderly down my body, over my belly and down to my pussy. He massaged my labia for a few minutes, then rubbed around inside my entire vulva. It moistened a little, but I wasn't erotically aroused -- it was just indulging in some involuntary self-protection in case anything got put into it.

Then he did something odd. He unfastened wrists and ankles and allowed me to stand straight up and stretch my aching back muscles. He didn't restrain me in any new way, as clients generally do when they unbuckle you in the middle of a session. Instead, he let me turn around and stand facing him, a puzzled expression on my face.

"Here's the deal," he said. "If you can get that plug out yourself in the next five minutes, you can walk out of here. No more work for you tonight; just go back to your quarters and catch up on your Netflix or whatever. If you want, you can even dominate me. Tie me up, hit me with a flogger, peg my ass with a dildo, whatever you'd like to do to get square with the men who've been abusing you for all this time."

I thought this over. I couldn't see a downside to it -- even if there was a real choice to turn down his offer, which it likely wasn't. "What have I got to lose?" I replied. "Sure, I'll give it a shot."

"Okay, feel free to use your hands or anything else that might help." He looked at the clock. "Go."

I squatted a bit and explored behind me. Sure enough, there was a tiny brass padlock threaded through the plug, and another threaded through that one attaching the chain. They didn't seem very robust, but without tools, there as no way I was going to break them, so I didn't waste time trying. I just started pulling, gently at first and then with increasing force.

I could feel my sphincter expand a bit as the rounded base of the plug pressed on it from the inside, but then it fetched up short against the three petals of the locking mechanism. They were folded out far enough that they formed a solid obstruction with no taper to pry my sphincter wider. I pulled harder and harder, until I could feel the thing really starting to hurt. No go.

I tried turning it, but the petals were pressed into the membranes around my sphincter and really didn't want to turn, so I didn't try to force them. There was enough slack in the chain to allow me to walk over to the night-table and get another dollop of lube, which I rubbed around my sphincter and tried to force in a little way past the plug. No help. I walked across the room until the chain was taut, bent over, and let my weight roll slowly forward so the chain pulled straight out in ways that my hands couldn't quite manage. I slowly pulled harder and harder, until the increasing pain told me that I was going to risk damage if I pulled any harder. The plug didn't budge a millimetre.

I briefly thought about backing all the way up and then running full tilt until the chain snapped tight, hoping the plug would pop out. Then I unthought it. There was an outside chance that it would work, but there was a much bigger chance that I would pull important parts of my personal sewer system right out onto the floor. I didn't want to risk it for the rather slight reward I was offered.

I nearly cried in frustration. I was so close to being able to go "home" for the night, prevented only by a flimsy chain and my own butthole. I would have just turned to face him and said, "OK, you win," but I hadn't run out my five minutes yet. One of the rules of slave survival that I learned early was, if possible, do things to run out more of the clock so the client might be out of time before he gets a chance to do something really nasty. So I kept pulling at the plug while his smile got wider and wider. The bastard was really enjoying watching me struggle.

Eventually he said, "OK, time's up," and I stopped futilely struggling with the damned thing in my ass. "So now you have to let me do anything I want to you."

I can usually manage not to talk back to clients: it seldom goes well. But I snapped in frustration, "That's not much of a forfeit, is it? I mean, that's what happens every night around here anyway." Rather than getting mad at me, he just grinned even wider. He was obviously enjoying this cat-and-mouse game.

Since he had me in his control for another hour or so, he started in again on the restraints. He added cuffs at my elbows and fastened my wrist cuffs to them, wrist to elbow, so my arms were crossed behind my back, out of the way of anything he might want to do. I guess he was done talking to me, because he selected a ball gag from the collection, forced it behind my teeth, and buckled it tightly behind my head. Finally he ordered me onto the floor on my back and cuffed my ankles to my thighs in a frog-tie.

Once he had me thoroughly trussed up, he rolled me onto my belly. I could see him pick up a small brass key from the shelf he'd found the butt-plug on. He reached behind me, and I heard him insert the key, followed by the click of a padlock opening. I hoped he was going to unlock the plug and take it out, since it was getting beyond uncomfortable by this time. But no. He unlocked the chain and let it fall to the floor, then pulled down another, stouter chain from one of the overhead pulleys and locked it to the plug.

He began pulling the chain to take up slack through the compound pulley system that made it easy to lift the weight of a human being -- I had been suspended this way enough times to know exactly now it worked.

This was most definitely not good. I wasn't sure what would happen if the butt-plug tried to support the full weight of my body, but judging by how much it hurt to try to pull it out, the results were bound to be excruciatingly painful and quite possibly badly damaging. I imagined my sphincter tearing and my entire rectum prolapsing.

I was relieved when, by the time he had my ass lifted up but my body still on the ground, I heard Theo's voice over the speaker. "OK, buddy, that's far enough. Leave her asshole intact for the next guy."

I didn't expect Theo to let the client do any long-term damage, but I felt a lot better when I heard that. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the guy grinning again. I'm sure he knew Theo's rules, and also knew that if he didn't stop, the next thing he saw would be Jake with his baseball bat. He was just messing with my head, continuing the cat-and-mouse game.