The first time I saw Ms. Martens 'hidden' room, I was somewhat shocked but admittedly curious. I had just begun house-sitting for her that morning on what promised to be at least a two week job. A pretty cushy deal considering that all I had to do was keep a clean house while Ms. Martens was at her Florida home, and I'd earn four hundred dollars. Right after she had left, I went downstairs to the basement with the best of intentions. I needed some cleaning supplies upstairs, but as was my habit, I couldn't help but look around a bit.

'Wow. This lady's really into some weird stuff,' I thought to myself, as I opened the door a bit further to take a closer look at the room. The room was quite large and contained several padded benches along the far wall, what appeared to be a toilet and shower stall in the back corner, and right in the middle of the room, there was a medical examination table, complete with stirrups. Over on the right-hand side of the room were mostly shelves and closets. On many of the shelves there were boxes of shoes. Keds mostly, but also some other tennis shoes as well. I immediately thought that it was kind of strange of Ms. Martens to have so many extra sneakers, especially stored in such a setting. In fact the whole situation was quite bizarre!

Right in keeping with the bizarre, when I peered into one of the closets, I saw nothing but shiny clothing. Whole racks of it. Only when I touched one of the items did I confirm my suspicions. All of the clothing was rubber. I felt like the biggest voyeur at that point, and I decided that I should cease my snooping, lest I jeopardize my job. This wasn't part of the house Ms. Martens showed me on my tour, so I decided to leave well enough alone. Just as I was closing the closet door behind me, someone grabbed my hair and jerked my head back sharply.

'What in the hell do you think you're doing?!' demanded Ms. Martens. 'Aren't you supposed to be working?'

Shit. I didn't think she was even home. 'Y-yes, ma'am. I was just looking for some supplies...' I tried to downplay my curiosity.

'Don't lie to me, you naughty girl!! You were snooping, weren't you??' Still grabbing my hair, Ms. Martens pushed me over to the corner. 'Put your hands up on the railing!'

In the haste of the moment I did as she asked or rather demanded, as she seemed quite upset. I began to try to explain my way out of my dilemma. 'Look I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have been snooping. I'm sorry.'

Her hands worked quickly, fetching a leather restraint from the nearby shelf. She quickly secured my right hand to the railing and fetched yet another strap.

When I withdrew my hand and turned to face her, she barked at me, 'Put your hand back!! Now!!' Something in her voice made me obey. As she fastened my left wrist, Ms. Martens added, 'You're not as sorry as you're going to be... I don't take kindly to people who don't value my privacy.'

Ms. Martens then stood behind me and reached around, undoing my jeans. She slowly unbuckled my belt and lowered my zipper, before pulling my pants down to my ankles. She slowly lowered my panties, taking note of my slight dampness from all of this attention! 'I knew you were a naughty little girl! Well, today I think I'll teach you some manners,' she added matter-of-factly.

As I stood there facing the corner with my hands bound slightly above my head, I looked down only to see Ms. Martens removing my belt from my pantloops. 'Eyes forward,' she snapped. She positioned herself a few feet behind me and began to stroke the thin leather belt across my bare ass. Was she really going to spank me?!

'Tell me why I should punish you,' she demanded. I began to feel that this was some kind of kinky game to her, and that the only way I could keep from getting in trouble was to play along.

'Ummm... Because I was snooping??' I replied naively.

Ms. Martens suddenly whacked my ass with the belt. I let out a slight scream at the suddenness of her attack. 'That's not good enough. Tell me why I should punish you!'

I now knew that regardless of what I said, I was going to have my ass beaten by this mature woman. I tried to give her more the answer she seemed to be expecting, 'You should punish me because I'm a naughty girl who snoops and who needs to be taught a lesson?'

'That's more like it,' Ms. Martens replied as she began to whip my ass unmercifully. The belt reined down on either cheek repeatedly, and it really began to sting. I tried to squirm so the belt would not find its mark. Ms. Martens barked, 'you'd better hold still, or else you'll get it far worse!'

I did as she said. It seemed my only choice.

Ms. Martens paused long enough to fetch a small black item from the drawer under the examination table. A few seconds later, she held something up in front of my face. 'Suck it,' she demanded. I immediately recognized the item, as I had seen plenty in adult bookstores and magazines. It was a butt plug. When I hesitated for a moment, Ms. Martens again grabbed hold of my hair and yanked my head back. As my head was jerked backward I gasped a bit, and Ms. Martens rammed the plug into my mouth. 'I said suck it, didn't I?!' she reaffirmed.

As I novicely licked the rubber plug, I felt her hand spreading my ass apart. 'Suck it good... like a little slut,' she mocked as I felt her finger press up against my asshole.

'Arch your back and stick your fanny out. Now!' Just as I obliged her, her finger pushed past into my anus. Ms. Martens moved her finger in and out of my virgin asshole a few times before withdrawing the plug from my mouth and positioning the rubber mass right at the tip of my anus. 'If you were a good girl, I might've lubed this up for you, but you need to be taught a lesson...'

Ms. Martens pushed on the plug a bit harder and it began to enter my ass. Ever so slowly, she worked the plug into my hole, pausing for a while at the widest point of the plug. With that she added one final push and the plug seated itself with a slight 'pop' deeply in my ass. I gasped as Ms. Martens embedded the plug in my ass. I couldn't believe the sensation or what I was feeling. Of course it felt uncomfortable having been violated in such a manner, but it also felt strangely arousing to have someone else in total control, to have my ass played with so... Only when I felt Ms. Martens hand reach and part my wetness did I realize how much all of this was turning me on. And Ms. Martens knew it too!

'Are you ready for some more punishment?' she asked, while gently massaging my pussy.

'Yes,' I replied.

'You will address me properly, as Ms. Martens or simply Mistress. Is that undrestood?!'

'Yes, Mistress,' I replied softly.

'Tell me what you want,' Ms. Martens added. 'Tell me how you need to be punished.'

'I need for you to punish me and humiliate me, Mistress,' I chimed.

`More,' she goaded. `Tell me more.'

`I need you to spank my ass some more, Mistress. I need you to teach me a lesson I'll never forget...' I begged, guessing that was what she wanted to hear.

'Good. Now count with me. Twenty hard strokes per cheek. Ready?'

I did not answer, instead I simply nodded, and Ms. Martens began to administer the discipline. I counted aloud as each stroke stung my ass. 'One, two, three...' gasping and wincing between many of the strokes.

'Louder!!' Ms. Martens demanded, increasing the intensity.

'Four... Owwww!! Five... Owww! Six...' and so on, until each of twenty hard smacks had reddened each of my cheeks.

Mistress still wasn't impressed or finished for that matter. She quickly fetched a black leather paddle from the back wall. She lightly rubbed my welted ass with the new paddle. 'Ready for twenty more? Each cheek??' she mocked.

I had little choice at that point so I nodded yes. By the time she had finished spanking my bare ass, I had tears welling up in my eyes. Ms. Martens wiped the tears from my eyes as she began pulling an old-fashioned white rubber bathing cap over my head. Like everything else that was happening to me, I thought that it was really bizarre... besides, didn't every woman hate those things?? As she fastened the rubber chin strap about my head, she said, 'there, there... little slut. I'm finished spanking you for now. But you still have a few lessons to learn,' she added with a wicked tone to her voice.

Ms. Martens knelt and quickly removed my hiking boots and socks. She soon grabbed ahold of the pants around my ankles and ordered me to step out of them at her command. She then fetched a thick leather belt from the closet and proceeded to fasten it around my waist. She methodically secured it in place with a tiny brass padlock. She then unfastened my left wrist from the railing above my head and pulled my t-shirt off my left side and over my neck. She then undid my bra and pulled it off my left shoulder. Ms. Martens wasted no time in refastening my left wrist to a padded leather cuff on the back of the belt. She then undid my right arm and finished removing my t-shirt and bra before fastening my right wrist behind my back to the leather waist belt. She then turned me around facing her, before leading me to a bench where she pushed me down to sit.

There I was, sitting before her, bound and naked except for the rubber swim cap she had put on my head. She then walked over to the shelves which housed the many boxes of shoes. After looking over her inventory for a few moments, she soon returned with a white box. Ms. Martens opened the box and removed from the tissue paper a brand new pair of white Keds. They were plain white canvas sneakers like cheerleaders used to wear. Champions, Ms. Martens called them. As she was fitting me with my new sneakers, Ms. Martens casually remarked that it was appropriate that they fit a bit tight.

'How do you like your new sneakers, slut?! Aren't they nice and snug? Cute too! So much more feminine than those bulky boots...'

Of course Ms. Martens was wearing the same blue jeans and navy blue sneakers as when I arrived earlier that morning, only now I was I clued in enough to notice that they were also Keds. Ms. Martens turned and walked away from me, over to a bench on the far side of the room. She sat down and crossed her legs before commanding me to follow... on my knees! 'Get on the floor and crawl over here!'

It was very awkward for me as my hands were of course fastened behind my back. I scooted across the room on my knees and stopped right in front of her. Her left leg was crossed over her right leg and she dangled her sneaker right in front of my face. 'Open your mouth and lick my sneaker.'

I couldn't believe what she was asking me to do. All of this just because I was snooping? Leave it to me to find the most whacked neighbor of all, I thought to myself. And yet Ms. Martens seemed to know what she was doing, and just how to peak my curiosity, so I hesitated for a moment before settling back a bit on my knees and leaning forward. I noticed that at least her sneakers appeared quite unworn and clean to begin with... perhaps they had only been worn in the house?

'I said lick them!! Or do you need to have your ass beaten some more?' Ms. Martens barked.

Without wasting any more time, I opened my mouth and began to flick my tongue gingerly across the canvas of her navy blue sneaker. Seeing my trepidation, Ms. Martens quipped, 'Not just your tongue - use your whole mouth. Suck it. I want you to lick and clean all the rubber, especially the sole... And when you're done you'll clean the other one!'

I began to suck the sneaker more methodically and confidently. I could taste the pungent gum rubber... the texture of the sidewall, the beige rubber hobbled sole. I could even feel the texture of the blue Keds label with my tongue, as Ms. Martens continued to move her sneakered foot about, affording me every angle to lick and suck her Champions. Strangely enough, I did not feel all that embarrassed, even bound the way I was in my white swim cap and sneakers. Instead I found myself eager to please this classic woman in her classic sneakers... and part of me just wanted to see what was next!!

After some twenty exhausting minutes of licking her sneakers, of lapping and polishing the rubber with my mouth, Ms. Martens then stood up and helped me to my feet as well. She led me over to the examination table. She did not however make me lie on the table, instead she positioned me at the foot of the table and ordered me to spread my legs apart.

'A little more...' she prompted. When my legs were spread about shoulder-length, Ms. Martens set about fastening my ankles to each leg of the table with leather cuffs. Once my feet were secured, she pushed my torso forward and fastened yet another strap around my waist, thereby leaving me bent over with my arms still restrained behind my back. 'There... I think that'll do nicely,' she said, 'Wait for me, slut, I won't be long.'

Ms. Martens then exited the room, leaving me of course quite helpless and extremely vulnerable. Many minutes passed and I began to worry. Was she just going to leave me like this?! And if she did return was she going to spank my ass some more? After all, she did seem to leave me in the perfect position to administer some more punishment. Well, little did I suspect that while more punishment was indeed imminent, Ms. Martens left my bottom exposed for more diabolical purposes!

When she returned she made it explicitly clear to keep my eyes forward, that I was NOT allowed to look at her. She began rubbing my butt, softly at first, then a bit more clinically. Soon her hand reached between my legs and again began massaging my pussy. Her touch felt different, almost like she was wearing.... Rubber!! That's it! Had she changed into her kinky garb?!

Well, my speculations soon came to a halt as Ms. Martens began to play with the butt plug that was still embedded in my ass. In the midst of everything else that was happening to me, I had completely forgotten about the rubber intruder in my ass! Kinda scary, when you consider it... Of course I did not know at that point that Ms. Martens was just getting started!

She slowly and very deliberately withdrew the plug from my ass, pausing again when the widest part of the plug passed my anus. I was relieved when the plug was finally removed from my ass, but my reprieve was short-lived. I soon felt the plug reentering my ass, only this time it at least felt like it had been covered in some lubricant. Ms. Martens moved the plug in and out of my ass a few times, very slowly at first, then quite a bit more regularly. Only when I felt both of her hands very clearly, grabbing me around the waist, could I truly fathom what was happening: Ms. Martens was fucking me in the ass!! And I also reasoned that was no plug inside me, as it felt longer and thicker, filling me much further and deeper than the plug. Ms. Martens must have been wearing some kind of rubber dildo!

Of course my virgin ass was screaming after only a few minutes of fucking. 'Great,' I thought to myself, ignoring the enormous discomfort and humiliation, 'here I am, my first day on the job and the homeowner is fucking my ass!!'

As I lied over the examination table, I tried to picture how ridiculous I must've looked: strapped to a table wearing nothing but sneakers and a rubber swim cap, taking it like some common slut from what I used to believe was a very normal and cultured, mature woman. Cultured, alright. Skilled too... in the Art of Humiliation, that is. If she was trying to punish me just for snooping, she seemed to be going quite a bit overboard. If she was trying to break my will, she was also doing that. And if Ms. Martens was somehow trying to turn me on, I hate to admit it, but she was succeeding in that regard also! I couldn't help it. There was something so wrong, so dirty, so exciting about being humiliated like this... And Ms. Martens surely knew it!

'Tell me how you like getting your ass fucked, slut!! Tell me how you like it when your Mistress shows you a little attention...' Ms. Martens demanded, as she continued to ram her rubber dildo deep inside me.

I gasped for breath, 'Yes, Mistress. I love that you are showing what a true slut I am! I'm so lucky that you'd pay any attention at all to my worthless ass...' my repartee betraying my newfound enthusiasm. `Fuck me like a little slut... Please, Mistress, I beg of you!'

Ms. Martens reached around with her left hand and hooked her finger in my mouth. 'Suck it,' she ordered very plainly. I was not surprised to find that her finger and her whole hand for that matter was covered in tight black rubber, as I had guessed as much when she handled my naked body.

The taste of her rubber finger in my mouth was delicious. As I continued to suck her finger, she began rubbing my clit with her other hand, never once interrupting the steady rhythm with which she was fucking my ass. Occasionally she'd withdraw her finger from my mouth and pinch my nipples, as her other gloved hand continued to expertly work my pussy, teasing it, stroking it...

After only a few minutes of teasing, I began to climax. Sensing my impending orgasm, Ms. Martens slowed her pace and buried the dildo all the way inside me before bringing me off. I moaned loudly as I came, offering one final suckle on her rubber-coated finger.

'Why, slut, I do believe you liked having rubber all three ways, didn't you?' Ms. Martens taunted. By 'three ways' she must've meant that I received rubber attention to my mouth, pussy, and ass simultaneously.

She sat there for a while with the rubber dildo still buried in my ass as she massaged my spent body. Ms. Martens rubbed my back and shoulders for quite awhile, apparently savoring the view, before slowly removing the rubber dildo from my ass. She walked around past the front of the examination table to the rear sink where she began cleaning her rubber cock with a washcloth. That's when I first saw her rubber outfit. Ms. Martens was dressed head to toe in shiny black rubber!

Ms. Martens was in excellent shape for a woman of her years, and the tight rubber suit showed off every delicious curve. The rubber suit appeared almost seamless, and even her head was partially covered with a rubber hood, except you could see most of her face. But the most bizarre feature of her suit was of course the large rubber dildo that was molded to the front of her suit, sticking straight out, every ready for more action.

And it was no surprise that she was again wearing sneakers over her suit, except these were slightly different than the Champions she wore earlier. I recognized the familiar blue label so they must have also been Keds, but this pair of sneakers was white, with a thicker sole and a simple thin stripe where the canvas was bonded to the rubber sole, more of a nautical look, I thought. 'Do you like my Keds Anchors?' she remarked when she noticed me staring.

'Of course, Mistress. You look very sexy and refined in them,' I replied more confidently. I thought I was beginning to catch on.

Ms. Martens finished cleaning her rubber cock before wiping the lubricant from my ass. She then undid my restraints. First she unfastened my ankles from the table, then the strap that held me down, and finally even the waist belt and wrist restraints. Now free, I wondered for a moment if I could have overpowered her, but Ms. Martens seemed to know that I would still be compliant, even when I was unfettered.

Ms. Martens walked over to the shower and turned on the water. 'Remove your Keds and get over here,' she commanded. I leaned against the table and unlaced the white sneakers I was forced to wear. 'Don't just leave them on the floor,' she barked. 'Put them back in the box. I shouldn't have to tell you how to clean up after yourself.'

I fetched the shoebox and wrapped the white Keds in the tissue paper before putting them back on the shelf. I walked over to the shower stall and began to remove my rubber swim cap. Ms. Martens quickly grabbed ahold of my hand, 'No. You are to leave that on while you shower.' Who was I to argue?

I stepped into the shower which was barely lukewarm, and Ms. Martens closed the curtain behind me. 'Clean yourself thoroughly,' she quipped, 'especially your bottom!'

After I had showered thoroughly, I turned off the water and Ms. Martens handed me a towel. As I dried off, I noticed that Ms. Martens had gathered up my clothing. 'You can get dressed now,' she said.

I looked through the pile of clothes but I could not find my panties. 'Oh,' Ms. Martens informed me, 'you won't find what you're looking for. Now that you are my full-fledged slut, you'll dress like one.' She handed me a wrinkled mass of black rubber. When I unfolded it, I soon figured out what she meant. She had handed me a very thick pair of rubber briefs, except that there were two additional features: a molded dildo inside and a built-in plug for my rear.

At this point I didn't even question her, and I immediately began to put on the rubber briefs. As I drew the clinging rubber up to my waist, I eased the rubber dildo inside me, before positioning the plug near my anus. Thankfully she had lubed the plug, and given the attention my ass had received earlier, I wasn't at all surprised just how easily I was able to accommodate its rubbery length, with only the merest gasp. Once the plug was embedded in my ass, I smoothed out the wrinkles in the rubber shorts.

Ms. Martens saw me admiring how the rubber felt and remarked, 'So I take it you like your new panties?'

'Yes, Mistress. Very much so,' I replied. `Thank you.'

Ms. Martens then turned towards the door before adding, 'When you are finished dressing, meet me upstairs. We have a few things to discuss. Is that understood?'

'Of course, Mistress.'

I removed my swim cap, placing it ceremoniously upon the examination table, and finished dressing. Bidding farewell to the 'hidden' room, I wondered to myself whether or not it was really a blessing in disguise that I had discovered it. Once upstairs, I called for Ms. Martens who answered from the living room. When I entered, I found her sitting in an elegant high-backed chair, still dressed of course in her shiny black rubber outfit and white Keds. She motioned for me to come over by her and reached down my jeans, just to make sure that I was still wearing my rubber panties. She smirked a bit when she indeed confirmed that I was still clad in the tight latex.

'Sit down,' she said, pointing to a footstool. As I sat, she placed her foot right in my crotch, massaging me through my jeans with her white deck sneakers. This caused the dildo within me to move about slowly. She teased me with her sneakered feet for a while before speaking. 'You know of course the terms of our arrangement have changed, don't you?'

'I think so, Mistress...' I answered softly.

'As you may have guessed by now, I am a devoted latex rubber fetishist. I delight in its appearance, its feel, its smell, even its taste... and of course its power. Power enough to bring out the true submissive within girls like you. I am likewise sexually Dominant and like to be in control. I love having young rubber-clad slaves serve me and attend to my sexual needs, whatever those might be... And finally,' she continued, `I am a sneaker fetishist. Mostly as you have seen I prefer Keds. I always have, ever since I was a little girl,' Ms. Martens added with a smile.

'Now, you have a choice. You may leave here, choosing not to return tomorrow, or you may return and 'work' here as planned for the next two weeks. At the end of two weeks you will be paid eight hundred dollars, double the original amount, only you would no longer be tending solely to my home. Instead you will serve me as a devoted slave, and if you're lucky enough, you will also learn to appreciate the power of rubber. Either way, I expect you to wear your panties the rest of the night, removing them only to use the toilet, before replacing them. Understand? And whether you choose to return or not, you may keep both your rubber panties and this as a gift. We owe each other that much at least,' she added with a dignified smile, as she handed me a box.

Once outside I opened the box. Inside was another swim cap and a pair of Keds Champions like I wore earlier. Attached to the inside lid of the box was a card: 'Dearest slut, I hope you make the RIGHT decision. Sincerely, your Mistress.'

Later that night, I couldn't stop thinking about what had happened to me earlier. As I went to bed, I couldn't resist fondling the Keds she had given me, daring even to lick the rubber soles a bit. I couldn't help myself, they were such pointed reminders of my earlier predicament. Of course I was still delighting in the restrictive comfort of my rubber panties, and I soon put on both the swim cap and sneakers. I ran my hands over the soft rubber covering my head and crotch, playing with the rubber dildo inside me. Was I really a rubber-slut now?! I lied there deciding what I would do tomorrow.

Would I show up for 'work' at Ms. Martens or not?



I really didn't have a clue what was in store for me, but not surprisingly, that didn't stop me. I had made up my mind: I was going to accept Ms. Martens' offer to be her 'servant' for two weeks. It was actually an easy decision for me. Classes didn't start again until late August, and all of my roommates left campus last week. It's a good thing, too. They might have thought it a bit odd seeing me this morning walking around in my sneakers and swim cap, not to mention the shiny black rubber panties Ms. Martens instructed me to wear.

The built-in rubber dildo and plug grew a bit uncomfortable through the night, but I lubed them with some of my own KY after I woke up. I had grown very accustomed to my second skin and the feeling of fullness the panties provided, not to mention the many orgasms they afforded me during the night. Of course I had wondered if Ms. Martens would make me wear even more bizarre clothing. Just these speculations were making me horny. Judging by my panties, I was already resigned to and excited by the idea that my privates would remain accessible to her, but what other rubber torments might she have in store for me?

Needless to say, I had all sorts of vivid dreams last night. I'm no prude, but until yesterday, I had never experienced anything remotely like my submission to Ms. Martens. I hadn't even been with another woman. Sure I had fantasized about other women, even a professor or two, but that's nothing out of the ordinary for a college girl. I had even fantasized about my roommate Kristi tying me up and having her way with me, but my fantasies had hitherto included scarves and hosiery, perhaps even a feather for tickling, but certainly not rubber clothing and leather restraints.

I guess I knew about latex clothing too, but barely to the extent that Michelle Pfieffer's Catwoman suit was made of rubber. I had never actually seen rubber clothing before I peeked into Ms. Martens' closet. Since my rubber panties provided me with so much sensation, so much delightful constriction, I could only fantasize what it might feel like to wear a full suit like the one Ms. Martens wore. I remembered how sexy Ms. Martens looked covered in her rubber skin, and I wondered if I'd look as sexy. I also recalled what Ms. Martens said about rubber having power over certain people, and while I was certainly skeptical whether it was predetermined or not, I knew that my brief stint as her slave awakened something deep within me. If I accepted Ms. Martens' offer, I could indulge my sexual curiosities and earn some money to boot.

After I was done dressing, I packed a small bag, mostly toiletries, figuring I wouldn't need much clothing anyhow. I had also called home to explain my coming absence, since I figured I'd be spending my nights at Ms. Martens as well. Nobody was home, so I left a message explaining that I was going to go with one of my roommates to her family's beach house. My parents traveled a lot, so they probably wouldn't even get the message for two weeks anyhow. Like I said, nobody would even know I was gone.

I showed up at Ms. Martens' house a few minutes past eight, wearing a white polo shirt, a navy mini, and my white Keds with no socks. I thought Ms. Martens would appreciate it if I looked like I was wearing a uniform. I was excited yet nervous as I rang the doorbell. Only moments later, Ms. Martens opened the door.

'You're late, child. Come in,' she stated plainly, as if she never doubted that I would show up for 'work.' She was dressed quite plainly, much like she was yesterday when I arrived to house-sit for her. Part of me was disappointed. I kind of expected that she would greet me in full rubber, but I was sure I'd get my fill; after all, I was going to be hers for two weeks.

'You may set your bag over there, child,' she gestured, 'I assume you packed your swim cap?'

'Of course, Ms. Martens,' I replied politely.

'And what about your rubber panties, slut?' she demanded.

'I thought it would please you if I wore them under my uniform, ma'am.'

With that, Ms. Martens grinned smugly, before reaching her hand under my skirt and grabbing hold of my rubber-encased ass. She rubbed my bottom a bit, toying with me, before squeezing it firmly. I got quite excited when she performed even this simple act of dominance.

Taking note of my heightened state, Ms. Martens drew even closer and whispered in my ear, 'Oh, you are quite the excitable slut, aren't you? You will respond nicely to rubber training!'

With that, Ms. Martens moved behind me and started triumphantly rubbing her body against mine. Her caresses were magical. I was in an excited state as she rubbed my stomach, gracing my breasts only slightly. I could feel her warm breath on the nape of my neck. Telling me to lift my arms, she soon removed my shirt. Ms. Martens then set about undoing my bra, unfastening it and moving it delicately off my shoulders, before allowing it to drop to the floor. Her touches grew more focused on my breasts and my excited nipples. She began to pinch my nipples and gently kiss the back of my neck. She pinched even harder and I let out a gasp. I thought I was going to have an orgasm simply from her manual manipulations. Ms. Martens let out an approving groan, before undoing my skirt, allowing it to drop to my ankles. She knelt down and gestured for me to step out of my skirt, before placing all my clothes on the chair with my travel bag.

I was now standing in her entry hall, much as she desired, wearing only my white Keds and my rubber panties, which were by now nicely lubricated with my own juices. 'Turn and face me, child,' Ms. Martens ordered.

'You are here to take me up on my magnanimous offer to serve as my rubberslave. Isn't that right?'

'Yes, Mistress,' I replied, bowing my head.

'Do you know what that means?' she probed further.

'I think so, Mistress, ' I replied, not sure if knew exactly what she was asking.

'Just to be fair, I will tell you what to expect from me, and what I will expect of you as my slave. Once you accept my invitation to be my slave, there's no turning back. You are mine for two weeks. Whatever you think you know about your life, whoever you are outside my home, it no longer matters.'

'You would belong to Me. I have graciously offered to train you. That means I would be your Mistress and you will address me as such when you are not gagged. You will serve Me as I command. Your body is Mine. Your mouth, your tits, your cunt, your ass... everything. I will dress you as I choose. You'll be forced to wear rubber and sneakers at all times. That's just the way it is. I will use you as I choose. You will learn to please me sexually. And of course I will punish you as I see fit. During your training, you will obey my every command or pay dearly. I am fair but strict. I will not harm you permanently, but that does not mean you cannot suffer.'

Ms. Martens asked in a plain tone, 'Do you fully understand what I am saying, child? Because once you begin your journey, there is no turning back.'

'I do, Mistress,' I uttered, still floored by the completeness of her demands.

'You do what, slut?' she demanded.

'I understand, Mistress.'

'Then are you ready to serve Me? As my slave?'

'Yes, Mistress,' I responded, knowing full well that the next two weeks would be unforgettable to say the least. 'Wonderful,' Ms. Martens added with a wry smile. 'Let's begin your training, shall we?'

'Place your hands behind your back,' she ordered. As soon as I obeyed, Ms. Martens removed a pair of handcuffs from her pocket and secured my wrists together. As the cold metal closed around my wrists, I realized that there was no turning back.

Ms. Martens then rummaged through my duffel bag to retrieve the white rubber swim cap she had provided me with the day before. Not yet finished, she then fetched an item from a nearby closet. I glanced at the strange contraption, but did not really comprehend it. It was some sort of black harness with many straps and a large red ball. And seeing as I had both of my holes already stuffed with rubber, I was able to hazard a guess where the rubber ball might wind up. After all, I was now starting to recall a particularly bizarre scene from Pulp Fiction...

The mature domme then gathered my hair before placing it under the old-fashioned swim cap. She then fastened the chin strap snugly under my chin and attentively smoothed the wrinkles from the rubber cap. As she began to fasten the rubber harness around my head, Ms. Martens elaborated, 'This is a ball gag I'm fitting you with, slave. It's only one of the many gags and headwear you'll be required to wear. There are ball gags, bit gags, ring gags, inflatable gags, penis gags - not to mention hoods. Each serves their purpose. You'll see. Now open wide for your Mistress.'

As she pushed the large red rubber gag deep inside my mouth, my Mistress continued, 'Don't worry, you'll get used to the deliciously-pungent taste before long. Sooner than you think, you'll be begging for a mouthful of rubber.' Ms. Martens then finished adjusting the straps about my forehead and under my chin. My breathing was a bit labored at first, but I soon adjusted, learning to breathe more methodically through my nose.

Satisfied that I was properly fitted with my headgear, my Mistress again assured me. 'There, there... it's alright, slave. I'll going to show you just how wonderful it feels to be a slave. I'm going to teach you to fully please me. I know you're going to be a perfect little rubberslut when I'm done with you. You'll beg to worship me. Just like you'll beg for me to fuck your slutty little ass again,' Ms. Martens whisperd confidently, still playing with my bare breasts. 'Would you like that? Hmmmm, slave?'

I looked Ms. Martens in the eyes and nodded my head. Given my helplessness, the idea of becoming a slave still terrified me somewhat, but what other choice did I have? I was confident that obedience was now my best alternative, especially as I become increasingly more resigned to the hopelessness of my submission. Besides, it had been less than a day since I had my bottom reddened with a paddle, and who knew what other diabolical tortures awaited me?

After fondling my young body for several more minutes, Ms. Martens then led me downstairs to her playroom, where it all began. She guided me over to the medical examination table where I was 'initiated' and ordered me to lie atop the cold, rubber-padded surface. Ms. Martens positioned me lying on my back, and then gently removed my rubber panties, taking care when she withdrew the rubber dildo and plug which had been my constant companions for the better part of the past 24 hours. It felt surprisingly empty having not been impaled, but I reckoned that feeling would be short-lived.

Ms. Martens then placed my legs in a pair of stirrups, before strapping each of my legs quite securely, both at the knee and at the ankle. Next she fetched a key, soon reaching beneath my back and removing the handcuffs. My arms were then stretched over my head and quickly reattached to restraints at the head of the examination table. Two more rubber straps near my shoulders completed my bondage. Now completely helpless with my privates fully exposed, I could only listen as Ms. Martens began to elaborate on her plans for my training.

'Before you can be fitted for your rubberwear, you'll need to be cleaned and examined, and that includes your insides as well. Have you ever had an enema, slave?' asked Ms. Martens in a very clinical manner. I barely knew what an enema was. I shook my head no.

'Well then, you're in for an interesting experience. Every one of my slaves goes under the bag, usually each morning, partly for hygiene, but more so because they're terrific reminders of your submissive status.' Ms. Martens paused for a moment before adding, 'I also use enemas for punishment. Consider this a preview.'

Ms. Martens busily paced around the playroom, gathering the requisite assortment of equipment. After a few minutes Ms. Martens returned with a bulging red rubber bag and several feet of white rubber tubing. She hung the enema bag on a nearby stand and positioned it near my exposed bottom. Ms. Martens released the hose clamp momentarily, allowing the water to force all of the air out of the tubing before again clamping off the flow. Next she prepared to fit me with a nozzle. I could only stare in disbelief at all of these preparations. This was all very bizarre and obviously very humiliating to me, but I'm sure Ms. Martens was counting on just that.

'Since you claim to be an enema virgin, I've decided to use an inflatable nozzle on you. I figure, why wait.' Ms. Martens held the nozzle up for me to observe. I noticed that the strange looking nozzle had two round bulbs attached to it, just like the device they use to take your blood pressure. As Ms. Martens began squeezing the attached bulbs, my eyes widened in disbelief as each of two balloons on the nozzle inflated to an enormous size.

'She can't really intend on putting that in side me, can she??' I thought to myself, panicking.

'I think you've got the right picture. Once the balloons have been properly inflated, they'll seal your ass nicely so you can hold your enema while you tend to other tasks,' Ms. Martens hinted, as she began to apply a generous handful of lubricant to my crack.

Soon my anus was rudely pierced by her invading finger. Ms. Martens finger-fucked me for a while before inserting a second, and then a third finger. Finally she removed her fingers and quickly replaced them with the dreaded nozzle. I accommodated the greasy invader inside me rather easily, given all the attention my ass had received of late, but when Ms. Martens began to inflate the inner balloon, I began to weep. Ignoring my tears, Ms. Martens continued to prepare me for my enema. When she felt that the inner balloon was sufficiently inflated, she pulled on the nozzle so that the inner balloon was seated directly inside my rectum. Once Ms. Martens inflated the outer balloon, my ass was effectively sealed.

'Now I control your ass - what goes in, what comes out, and when - so you'd better listen when I tell you that you're going to learn how to service me or else!' I had a pretty good idea by then just what Ms. Martens was hinting at by 'service.'

'And one last detail before we begin...' added Ms. Martens, before producing an inflatable black latex dildo. 'I told you your body belongs to me!' The merciless domme grinned smugly and buttered my vagina with an ample blob of lubricant, before slowly inserting the rubber dildo and pumping it up to an uncomfortable size. My most private regions were again doubly-violated: an overly-inflated enema nozzle seated snugly in my rectum, and an inflatable latex dildo stuffing my pussy.

'I think you're ready for your water now, slave,' declared Ms. Martens, as she released the hose clamp, allowing the hot soapy water to flow freely into my tender rectum. My Mistress smiled approvingly as the rubber bag emptied and my belly began to swell. She passed the time by stroking my bound legs and admiring my white Keds.

Noting that I had taken almost all my water, Ms. Martens decided to insist on some personal attention while I held my enema. As Ms. Martens began to undress, I caught a glimpse of gloss black under her top. She must have been wearing rubber! She removed first her sweater and then her jeans, revealing the sexy rubber leotard she had been wearing all along. I should have smelled it. It fit snugly, accenting her athletic body, covering her shoulders, her breasts, her midsection - all the way down to just above her knees, much like a surfsuit.

Ms. Martens then hopped atop the examination table and straddled me so that her rubberized rear was directly above my face, her feet positioned on top of my shoulders, her blue Keds visible in my periphery. She then began unfastening the rubber straps which held my ball gag in place. 'Now it's time for you to please me. Are you ready to use your tongue on me, slave?' asked a taunting Ms. Martens.

'Y-yes...' I replied, my discomfort turning to pain as the soapy enema caused more swelling and cramping deep within my bowels. I had of course resigned myself to the fact that I would no doubt be called upon to perform oral sex on Ms. Martens. I just thought it would be a bit more gradual. Given the extremity of my situation, it appeared my rubber training would be anything but gradual.

'Yes what?!' demanded Ms. Martens, looking down at me sternly.

'Yes, Mistress,' I replied very clearly.

'Excellent,' added Ms. Martens, as she began unzipping her rubber outfit. I didn't even notice the full zipper at first, but it receded to reveal her musky contents. She settled back so that her crack pressed down on my waiting mouth. I hesitantly flicked my tongue over Ms. Martens' swollen lips, causing her to withdraw suddenly.

'I didn't give you permission to enjoy my pussy yet, slave. That's a privilege you'll have to earn,' scolded Ms. Martens. As a reminder, she grabbed hold of the inflator bulb and squeezed it several times, causing the rubber dildo within me to expand to even more painful proportions. 'From now on, you are always to start your oral service with the anus. Is that understood, slave?'

I had never even heard of such a thing, much less given it any serious consideration, but given my dilemma, what was I to do but oblige my tormentor?? I again novicely extended my tongue, this time instead seeking out Ms. Martens' pursed rosebud. I licked the area in a circular motion as she again settled most of her weight back on my face.

'Mmmmm, that's more like it, slave. Maybe there's hope for you yet. Now stick your tongue all the way up my ass and use it to fuck me!'

Her scent was heavy, almost overpowering when combined with the strong odor of the rubber, and still I could not help but to delight in my misery and submission. Two days ago, I had never dreamt that anyone would delight in dominating someone under such bizarre circumstances, let alone that someone else might actually derive any pleasure from being dominated! And yet, here I was, clad in items I never viewed as sexual, performing intimate acts that first seemed outlandish.

I mean, while I was receiving my enema, I was concentrating on what it felt like to be gagged, and more importantly, why I liked it! I had never been gagged before, but in some strange way, having my mouth so thoroughly silenced by someone else felt right and proper. On top of that, Ms. Martens told me there were other gags she'd use on me. My mind was racing. I had to know all about her bizarre world - not just about gags or rubber, but about a world where sexual misdeeds reign, where adults are punished with spankings, or perhaps by taking stewardship over their bodily functions, and then too by demanding such intimate oral service. How could rubber and sneakers come to replace champagne and roses?

As my mind pondered my awakening, my tongue continued to probe Ms. Martens' ass. I barely noticed that Ms. Martens had begun to play with herself, several of her fingers racing in unison. She raised her bottom to afford me a better view of her delicious pussy. 'Do you think you've earned the right to make me cum, slave?'

The cramping in my bowels from the soapy enema notwithstanding, I could not help but to beg to taste my Mistress. 'Please, Mistress,' I said gasping, `this lowly slave begs to pleasure you. Please, may I taste you? I want to be a good slave. I want to make you proud.'

'Very well, slave. You may now lick me,' relented my Mistress. `If you succeed in making me cum, maybe I'll allow you to use the toilet and relieve yourself. Otherwise, you'll just have to lie here and hold your enema a while longer. It's all up to you now.'

I then dedicated myself wholly to my oral administrations. Every nuance, every instruction I ever offered my boyfriends on how, when, and where to lick me - would it be enough? Did I really know how to stimulate a woman? As Ms. Martens settled most of her weight back down, I offered her the flat of my wet tongue, making sure to stimulate her fully. As she rocked to and fro, I allowed my tongue to part her lips. Her clit became fully engorged, and I began to target it more specifically, tracing my tongue gently around it, licking softly, like an ice cream cone. She really seemed to respond when I licked the top of her clit, so I concentrated my efforts there, flicking my tongue back and forth, side to side.

By this time, even my nose was buried deep in her vagina, and Ms. Martens was essentially face-fucking me. I tried to continue my oral duties, but it became increasingly difficult as she began grinding my face even more vigorously. Her thrusting began to be accompanied by deeper and louder moaning, as she began to orgasm. Ms. Martens gasped, her short breaths gradually turning to sighs as I ceased my licking, mindful instead to offer the flat of my tongue to her throbbing pussy.

After a while, Ms. Martens crawled off the table and zipped up her rubber suit. As she fastened the ball gag back into my mouth, she remarked that I had performed admirably, and that I was indeed a worthy slave. She disconnected the end of the nozzle from the enema hose, but left it fully inflated and clamped to prevent any backflow. I really had to relieve myself by now. After all, it must had been about a half hour since my enema ordeal had begun.

Ms. Martens first unfastened my hands from the restraints nearer the top of the examination table, then loosened the shoulder straps, and finally unstrapped my legs from the stirrups. She helped me up, seemingly mindful of my depleted condition and my swollen belly. She led me over to the toilet where I was allowed to sit. Once she released the valve on the inflation bulb, the nozzle was forced from my ass and I expelled the excruciating contents of the enema from my bowels. I sat for minutes, fully expelling my water, breathing heavy breaths of relief through my ball gag.

My relief was short-lived, however, for I soon noticed Ms. Martens refilling the ominous bag. She again hung the bulging rubber bag on the pole near the examination table and beckoned to me.

'Wipe yourself thoroughly, slave, then get back over here on the table. It's time for your rinse,' declared my Mistress. `Oh, and please retrieve your nozzle and rinse it off. We'll need it.'

It probably wasn't even ten o' clock, and I knew my day was just beginning. It was going to be a very long two weeks.



Satisfied that my ass was now clean, not to mention thoroughly humiliated, Ms. Martens admonished that we still had a lot of work to do and beckoned me to follow her over to the spacious shower stall. Awaiting in the shower was a chair. I didn't understand. Ms. Martens removed my ball gag and then pointed at the chair.

`Sit down and remove your Keds,' she ordered. I did so, unlacing each of my sneakers in turn.

`Go ahead, kiss them,' she added. Not quite sure what she wanted me to do, I offered a generous kiss to each white rubber sidewall. `Now lick the soles,' she commanded. I did as she ordered, wetting the beige rubber soles with my tongue. `And a kiss for the blue label, too,' added Ms. Martens. `You have to demonstrate reverence for your sneakers, slave. We don't worship heels here. These sneakers aren't just reminders of your feminine sensibilities, but also a symbol of your submission to Me. Understand, slave?'

`Yes, Mistress. I'll remember,' I responded softly.

`Good. Now hand them to me,' she continued. I did so, and she carefully placed them atop the examination table, before fetching a few items from one of the drawers. When she returned, my wrists were soon bound behind my back and my ankles were tethered to cuffs already secured to the back legs of the chair. Ms. Martens then fastened a very high black rubber posture collar around my neck. It was at least four inches high and contoured at the top to mimic the line of chin. Once it was tightened, it was nearly impossible to turn my head.

Ms. Martens then removed my white rubber swim cap and began to brush my hair, which was quite matted and tangled, having been so long confined under the cap. I then spied Ms. Martens in a nearby mirror, standing behind me, holding a pair of scissors and shears. Was she going cut off my hair?! How could I explain that? It wouldn't grow back in two weeks.

I pleaded with her. `Please, Mistress. Please don't cut my hair. Everyone's always been envious of me. Please...'

`Shut up, slave, or I'll cut it all off!' barked Ms. Martens, obviously annoyed at my protests. Grabbing a handful of my hair and pulling sharply, she continued her admonishments. `What did I tell you when you arrived here this morning? I told you that your body was now Mine. Your mouth, your tits, your cunt, your ass... everything. And that includes your hair. I think you should reconsider your position. I don't want to shave you bald, so don't make me, but you do need to be trimmed for the next phase of your training. Long hair is impractical. It gets all tangled in the hoods... It simply won't do.'

`As my slave you'll be neatly cropped. Is that understood?' continued Ms. Martens, returning from the examination table once again with yet another implement.

`Yes, Mistress. I'm sorry,' I replied apologetically, not wanting to incur her further wrath.

`Good, that's better,' added Ms. Martens smugly. `But you still need to be punished for your insolence. I was going to wait until later to put you under the clamp, but you've left me little choice now.'

Almost out of character, Ms. Martens then knelt and began licking my breasts, first the underside, before tracing upwards to each of my nipples, sucking them. I quivered. My nipples hardened, preempting her surprising suckles, erect at even the thought. As Ms. Martens began to fit each of my nipples with the metal clamps, she warned me. `And I'd better not hear one peep out of you. Not one, or else I'll fit you with a gag for the balance of the day. I don't think your jaw would like that very much, so I bid you silent.'

It sounded like sensible advice to me. I winced mightily, clenching my teeth, as each clamp was in turn fitted to my nipples and tightened very slowly and painfully.

`Now then, where were we?' chided Ms. Martens, as she stood back to admire my new adornments, soon returning to the matter of my grooming. Her hands worked quickly and skillfully. My long locks falling wayside, draping across my shoulders, covering my lap. I shed a hidden tear for vanity's sake at the loss of my cherished tresses. A sentiment I'm sure was not at all lost on my Mistress.

When she was finished, I looked boyish, like Winona Ryder at her closest coiffing. Only the wispiest of bangs remained, and although the posture collar prevented me from confirming it, I surmised as Ms. Martens teased what little hair remained that not a strand could find the full length of my neck. Nay, certainly not as Ms. Martens removed my posture collar and tidied up the back.

`Well, what do you think, slave?' taunted Ms. Martens, holding aloft a hand mirror so that I could see her handiwork.

`It's j-just hard, Mistress. I've worn my hair long for years and years. It's going to take some getting used to. I mean, don't get me wrong, you did a great job, Mistress. I just look boyish.'

`I prefer to think of it as spritely and neat,' retorted Ms. Martens, `almost pixielike. You look more like a proper rubberslave now.'

With that, Ms. Martens gathered the larger clumps of hair from the shower base and disposed of them. She then undid my ankle restraints and helped me to my feet. She took the chair out of the shower and placed it against the back wall. It had served its purpose. Still clad in her tight black rubber leotard, Ms. Martens then removed her own Keds, setting them next to mine, before joining me in the shower, drawing the curtain closed beside us.

Ms. Martens turned on the water, placing herself between me and the showerhead. As I watched almost hypnotically the water beading and cascading off her rubber suit, she adjusted the temperature to a nice warm stream, before exposing me to the fullness of the jet. I knew she might be reticent to admit it, but she was protecting me, and I appreciated it. Believe it or not, it definitely made me feel cared for.

As I watched the last traces of my hair go down the drain, Ms. Martens undid my wrist cuffs from behind my back and refastened them to an eyebolt hanging from the ceiling. Ms. Martens then tended to me. First she brushed my teeth. This she did carefully and attentively, a more thorough brushing than I usually strive for, to be sure. When she was done, she ordered me to rinse with a few mouthfuls of water, and then offered me a drink of mouthwash.

Telling me to close my eyes, she added shampoo to what was left of my hair, rubbing it in, ensuring my docility. Ms. Martens massaged my scalp for the better part of a few wonderful minutes, before rinsing my head under the soothing stream. One of her probing fingers simultaneously reached downward, parting me, cleaning between my lips with the mild shampoo, the merest prequel of what was to come.

I opened my eyes and watched as she collected some moisturizing soap and a razor. With perhaps five or six swift but skillful strokes per pit, Ms. Martens shaved my underarms. She then spread my legs apart and placed my left foot up on one of the hand bars of the shower, forcing me to shift my weight more to my arms above me. After lathering my pubic area, Ms. Martens carefully finished what I had started that morning. Before I arrived, I made sure that I was neat. Now I was totally bare.

Given everything that was happening, part of me felt I should find all of this utterly offensive and appalling. But I didn't. Having my teeth brushed for me and being shaved by another woman, it should all seem more humiliating, more embarrassing than it did. Shouldn't I be more revolted by this surrender, even if it was just a reflex response to my loss of autonomy? Strangely, it didn't feel all that embarrassing. Vulnerable, yes. Submissive, entirely. I felt like putty in her hands. I was discovering more about myself than I was ready to admit and this was just the start of my servitude. What else was I to learn?

I then watched as Ms. Martens slipped on a pair of nubby white gloves. `I'm sure you won't find this at all unpleasant, slave, at least not the loofah,' insisted Ms. Martens, `now turn around.'

I turned and felt her place a glob of grainy textured goop on my back, which she quickly began to rub on with the gloves in gentle circular motions. The feeling was scintillating ^? gentle, yet rough. I was being shined in a most personal way. She polished my arms, my entire back, the backs of both legs, and then, with another large drop of what I had learned was sugar, burnished the fullness of my backside. When I was made gently rosey to her contentment, Ms. Martens turned me around and went to work on my anterior. She exfoliated the underside of my arms, my chest, my torso, and the front of each leg. She did this all the while careful to avoid the clamps still painfully affixed to each of my tortured nipples, a reminder of my earlier transgression. A transgression I thought wise not to reprise.

With even more sugar and strength my Mistress paid particular attention to my elbows and knees. I moaned from the sheer enjoyment, my entire body glowing, my head hanging heavy. In my mind, I could no longer formulate words, thoughts. I merely felt. And I continued to feel cared for. I felt special. I must have some other meaning for her to spend so much time on me, certainly more than an orifice for her pleasure? Mindful of my withdrawal, she broke my reverie by telling me there was pleasure still to come, but that I must wait.

After she rinsed me off, Ms. Martens retrieved a stainless steel hose attachment, which was neatly draped over a spool near the faucet, and turned on the adjoining valve, causing a steady stream of warm water to spray from its head. She held it up for me to see. When Ms. Martens saw that I contemplated it, that I fully comprehended it, she turned me around and told me to get up on my toes and stick out my ass. She teased my crack with the silver bullet, running it up and down between my cheeks, before applying a dab of KY and ramming it up my ass.

`You've already had your enema, slave,' Ms. Martens assured me, `you don't have to hold this. It's just to make sure that you're clean. Relax.'

I did as she suggested or rather ordered. As she moved the bullet around in my ass, I felt the water running right back out of me, as I made no attempt to clench or retain it. The gentle pulsing of the water felt kind of good back there, and when Ms. Martens noticed that I was enjoying it too much, she withdrew the nozzle and again ordered me to turn around, this time facing her.

She applied a glob of liquid soap to the spewing bullet and cleaned it off, looking quite deliberate and devious in her movements, with each stroke simulating intercourse. After tracing the metallic head downward from my sternum to my navel, she forcefully backed me against the shower wall. There was power and purpose in her actions, and I doubt that I could have stopped her even if my arms weren't still bound. She looked me straight in the eyes, her eyes never leaving mine, and shoved the silver bullet deep inside my hungry pussy.

`Hold that there,' ordered Ms. Martens. I crossed my legs as best I could.

Ms. Martens then took both of her hands and stroked my cheeks with her thumbs, her fingers on my temples. She traced the lines of my brow and elsewhere, likewise tracing her finger along my chin, gently rubbing my earlobes.

As her fingers found my compliant lips, she muttered under her breath, `You are so fucking beautiful,' and then leaned forward and kissed me.

I went weak. Breathlessly, I followed her every lead, not interrupting our soul kiss. Our lips mashed, our tongues mingled wildly. It was primal. It was passionate. For just one second, I was outside of my body, looking down at us. Luminous beings. I tried to keep this image in my mind as my Mistress raped me with her mouth.

I felt her hands on the nipple clamps, her fingers fumbling with the thumbscrews, increasing and decreasing the pressure, playing my nipples like an instrument. The pain was electric. Bolts of pain mixed with pleasure coursing throughout my body now, not just my bosom.

Her kiss heavy upon me, with turrets of warm water pulsing guttural within me, I could resist no longer. I was swept away - nay, pulverized, by an orgasm so essential, so beyond any previous reckoning. Base. Primal. Raw.

And then another soon after, and at least one more. I don't know. I was trembling in her arms when Ms. Martens joined me, screaming in a chorus of pleasure, her right hand leaving my nipples for but a few seconds, enabling her own conclusion. A few seconds. Long enough, it seemed.

I was spent. I collapsed, my weight literally hanging dead upon my numb arms. I went tone deaf, listening to the seemingly distant, cavernous echo of the shower as the water continued to rain down upon my limp body. Pooling, retreating, spiraling down the drain, seeking its inevitable exit at the Niagara of my perception. Every drop of water giving rise to rumbling, echoing seamlessly like distant thunder.

Ms. Martens had disappeared from the shower, returning minutes later herself quite a bit dryer. She turned off the water and I returned to a state of semi-reality. Ms. Martens had a large white towel with her and she began drying me off. Soft and luxurious, the towel had been warmed, much like it had been hanging over a radiator. Her touch seemed especially comforting, and more familiar than ever. As she drew closer and reached around to dry my backside, I rested my head upon her shoulder. She held me like a little girl, as she stretched to unfasten my wrist restraints. As my body slumped into her strong embrace, she held me there, hugging me, neither of us saying anything.

`Come, dear. Let's tend to your punishment,' Ms. Martens finally quipped, softly, with a kiss for my forehead, ending a delicious moment in perfunctory manner.

`Punishment, Mistress? I don't understand.,' I pleaded meekly. `What did I do?'

`You weren't given permission to cum, slave,' replied Ms. Martens, still holding me. `I was certainly going to let you, that much I'll admit, but we can't do this properly if there is to be no discipline, no control.'

This was all too much for me, given my weakened state. I broke down into tears.

`Shhhhhh. Come now, slave,' said my Mistress almost pleadingly, wiping the tears from my cheeks. `Don't worry. I'm confident you'll catch on. You have too much potential not to,' assured the cruel domme, as she broke our embrace and held the cherry red rubber ball gag in front of me.

I gulped resignedly and opened my mouth. Ms. Martens looked almost conciliatory as she pushed the rubber ball past my teeth and set about securing the straps. With my gag again strapped tightly in place, she sat me down on the nearby bench and began fitting me with my white Keds once more. On her knees before me, a mixed signal, tending to me like a little girl, my every need, she confuses me.

Once my sneakers, my canvas rubber prisons, were tightly laced, Ms. Martens pulled me to my feet and led me over to what looked like the vaulting horse used in gymnastics. She positioned my feet more than shoulder length apart and began fastening my ankles to the legs of the horse. Once my legs were secured, Ms. Martens placed matching restraints around each of my wrists before bending me over the horse and securing them to attachment points along the legs of the horse. As I lied there bent over, my posterior displayed like it was, the blood rushing to my head, I caught a glimpse of Ms. Martens thoughtfully selecting a paddle from among many hanging on a nearby wall.

`Day One,' I pondered, marking my time, `was it even noon yet?'



My Mistress circled my prone form like a bird of prey, her gaze verifying her preparations. I was Kedded and gagged once again, this time my helpless young body offered up to her like a piece of slavemeat, racked and ready, the vestiges of my will caving madly before a steady diet of compassion and indifference.

My torso dangling from the apex of the horse, my eyes barely glimpsing anything but the floor below, I focused on her navy blue Keds, the rubber soles squeaking as she navigated the white ceramic tile, taunting me. Those same simple Keds I had licked and worshipped a day earlier, forcefully, at her behest, early testament to my descent into Her mad world.

I soon closed my eyes, feeling sorry for myself, after I caught a glimpse of a large leather ping pong paddle which dangled ominously from my Mistress' hand. Corporal punishment time.

`Do you realize this will be the first time I've put under the paddle since you've been my fully avowed slave?' asked Ms. Martens delightedly.

I could not answer her with the gag filling my mouth, but I nodded my head affirmatively. It might have been the first time I was going to be under the paddle officially, as her `avowed' slave, but yesterday's dress rehearsal, if you want to call it that, was by no means forgettable. My tortured ass had stung far into the night as I feared it would again this evening.

Ms. Martens ended her ceremonial pacing and positioned herself beside, rubbing the thick leather paddle softly across my backside, teasingly, a mild prelude of the punishment to follow.

`I want you to keep count, slave. Understand?' taunted Ms. Martens.

I again nodded my head and without further ado, the paddle bit into my tender flesh. Again and again, the first two dozen blows reigned down chiefly on alternating cheeks, with an occasional smack finding the middle both cheeks. Revisited by my tears, it became hard to count. The heartiest of my muffled cries seemed only to elicit even harder blows on the subsequent volley, as my cruel captor appeared to delight in my silent screams and pitiful squirming.

After a lengthy barrage of very distinct and agonizing smacks, Ms. Martens paused to taunt me, touching the paddle to my shoulders, neck, and face. `Can you feel the heat, slave?' asked my taunting Mistress. I could indeed. She wasn't joking. Not only that but the leather paddle almost seemed to smell differently once it was warmed up.

`Do you think you've been adequately punished, slave?' questioned Ms. Martens next.

I really didn't know what to do. If I nodded yes, I'm sure she'd punish me further for my insolence. I already wore her clamps, so I was mindful of the weight her inquisitive taunts carried. Had I shook my head no, I was sure that further punishment likewise awaited me. What was I to do?

Retreating objectively, I tried to assume the mindset of a true submissive. It was a bit drastic for me, but my almost instantaneous conclusion was that I now existed solely to please Her, and that my wishes, my desires, and certainly my whim were now subservient to her will. It no longer mattered who I thought I was and what I wanted. She told me something akin to that only a few hours ago, even if it did seem like the better part of an eon removed. All that mattered now was what she wanted, and if she wanted to spank me some more, I would welcome the attention, if not yet for my sake, then for hers.

In response to her question, I shook my head no, that I hadn't been adequately punished.

This must have pleased her, for she soon circled to the front of the horse and unfastened my gag. `Give me a number, slave,' demanded Ms. Martens.

I swallowed the spit that had collected in the wake of my gag, and cleared my throat. `Eighty-six, Mistress,' I declared.

`Eighty-six. Are you sure, slave?' wondered Ms. Martens. `I had it the better part of seven dozen... that would make it eighty-four,' she calculated aloud. `Are you sure?'

`Yes, Mistress,' I reiterated. `Eighty-six.'

`Well, perhaps you're right, slave. I'm going to trust you this time...' assured Ms. Martens, surprising me with her mercy.

With that she retreated to one of the closets. I could only hold my head aloft so long, as I was understandably exhausted from my ordeal, but I did see her sorting through one of the closets of rubber I snooped upon during my inaugural indiscretion. THE indiscretion. A simpleminded trespass just yesterday morn, somehow leading to my current predicament.

Yesterday, so long ago, I was like any other student, one out of many, enjoying the final weeks of a lingering summer, eagerly anticipating the start of the fall semester. I was looking forward to the return of my roommates and friends, when next we could earn adulation and celebrate these, the best days of our lives. And now, I am privy to mixed majesty, a cruelty so previously alien to me and a nurturing so intimate, so refreshing, and so strangely comforting that I cannot resist its allure.

This was personal. I was enrolled. I was learning what could neither be gleamed within the cold marble auspices of a university library nor the confines of a common classroom. Unfamiliar theories no longer permeated the air, and legacy left me. No longer was I a student of the past, a past so long ago etched in the annuls with little regard that I might someday beer witness to its ambiguities, an objective observer, inconsequential and unnoticed. Instead I was learning about me, and I had chanced upon a most gifted teacher.

And regarding my indiscretion, that singular chain of pivotal events, what might have been different had I not been caught? Would I have been able to resist temptation and ignore the playroom and its contents altogether, closing the door immediately when I realized and conferred the privacy it warranted? Would I be able to tend to Ms. Martens' house while pretending to ignore the potential perversion that festered below? And once discovered, would I have been able to resist the call of the racks of rubber, knowing full well that two weeks of stifled curiosity would prove the tallest order? Moreover, what if Ms. Martens hadn't returned to find me snooping? Or if she had even planned on leaving in the first place?! Had she cast me as a mouse in a maze of forbidden fruit, knowing full well that I'd take the bait? Maybe someday I'd have the chance to ask her.

When Ms. Martens returned from the closet, she placed several bags on the bench beside the dreaded horse and then set about unfastening my arms. Once free of the wrist restraints, I was aided to a standing position. My legs were still strapped apart, and both the ball gag and nipple clamps bore further testimony to my submissive status, not to mention the stinging pain which still dominated my backside. When Ms. Martens caught me staring sideways at the bags on the bench, she snapped for me to keep my eyes forward. I thought it wise to obey.

When she took a position directly behind me, I thought I was in for more punishment. Instead, she reached around and carefully removed the nipple clamps that had been my companions for the better part of a few hours. As numb as my nipples had become, I was quite relieved at their removal. She then rubbed my butt, appraising the damage she had wrought with the paddle.

`You're on fire still, slave,' uttered Ms. Martens, a trace of sympathy in her voice. She knelt down and placed an enduring kiss on my cheek, and then another, kissing all over. Her kisses and gentle caresses felt tender and soothing. `Does that feel better?' she wondered.

I nodded affirmatively, appreciative of her kindness. Of course, it was her that dispensed the pain in the first place, but I guess I kind of deserved it. Wait a Minute!! What was I saying?! Was I really that malleable?

She continued to kiss and soothe my ass, her hands rubbing my inner thighs more and more, venturing closer to my womanhood. I moaned quietly but excitedly.

`I'm proud of you, slave,' added Ms. Martens, `you took your punishment well.'

I smiled, slightly, abuzz with a strange sense of pride, a foolish selfless kind of pride. A slave's pride. An instant of kindness, a singular moment of tenderness and compassion in a sea of cruelty, proving the makeweight, far outweighing a hundred more instances of indifference. A slave's folly, I conceded, but perhaps I could no better change my nature than could Ms. Martens or any of us for that matter.

Soothingly and teasingly, my mistress continued to gently stroke me, savoring the way I responded to her, like earthen clay before a potter. She continued this for at least another divine minute before interjecting, `Slave, do you think it's time we got you into some rubber?' I emphatically nodded my head.

With that Ms. Martens stood up and began undoing my gag. She positioned her feet between mine and pressed herself upon me, grinding our hips together, her hands reaching around finding my nipples with a sensitivity not at all tendered by the clamps... those torturous clamps.

Ms. Martens reached around my head and my world went dark, as she finished securing a padded rubber blindfold over my eyes. She obviously wanted to disable one of my senses, but for what purpose, to heighten the others?

Still pressing upon me, Ms. Martens guided my unshackled hands rearward, placing them on her rubber-covered hips, a gesture I wouldn't even consider without permission, a gesture far too presumptuous of a novice slave like myself. It felt wonderful to TOUCH her, to feel her rubber. It felt wonderful to again hold my Mistress. A reward so great, I hated myself for admitting it, that I'd endure a dozen more paddlings just to reap.

`You like the feel of my rubber then, slave?' prompted Ms. Martens.

`Oh, god yes, Mistress. Thank you,' I purred gratefully.

`Can you imagine you and me, someday, together in bed, both of us in full rubber, head to toe, rubber everywhere...' she teased.

Moaning lustfully and hopelessly, I did indeed imagine such a paradise, our own little rubber utopia. I could see it most clearly in my increasingly perverted mind. I conceded breathlessly, `Yes, Mistress, I can... I can see it. My only desire now is to be everything you want me to be.'

`Can you imagine the electricity, slave, of being sundered by orgasm after orgasm? The total and complete surrender to pleasure we might someday experience together..?' anticipated Ms. Martens, in a gentle whisper. `I can, slave, that's why I so glad you decided to join me,' she further confessed in an uncharacteristic manner, adding a kiss to my earlobe. Uncharacteristic, perhaps, but utterly appreciated. Another little reward reaped.

She held something rubber up to my face. `SMELL this,' she urged. I did so, drinking in its delicious aroma. Heady. Pungent. Powerful. Her hands, her whisperings, her presence, all conspiring, conditioning me even further, ensuring my response, her own little Pavlovian slave.

`I want you to TASTE it,' furthered Ms. Martens, grinding me harder, our hips inseparable, her rubbery bosom warm upon my back. As I opened my mouth to receive my rubbery gift, Ms. Martens pushed it further into my mouth, gathers and wrinkles of rubber providing avenues for my tongue to explore as rubber squeaked audibly along my teeth. I wanted more.

When she finally removed the delicious presence from my mouth, she bade me to raise my arms, as she began pulling the clinging rubber over my outstretched form. I listened more intently to the unique SOUND of the rubber snapping and squeaking into place, ebbing and flowing, lifelike, mimicking my form, adaptable and malleable like me. As straps settled upon my shoulders and Ms. Martens smoothed the rubber over my breasts, I concluded that she had fitted me my first rubber top. When I felt the cool air again upon my nipples, I feared that they were being left purposely exposed for ease of access.

Ms. Martens then fitted me with a pair of rubber gloves. She ordered me to raise each arm in turn as sleek latex slithered over my hands, encasing each finger with finality as the rubber snapped into place and Ms. Martens meticulously smoothed any remaining air pockets form the gloves. They felt fairly thick and fit snugly, offering noticeable resistance as I made a fist.

I then felt Ms. Martens pulling my arms behind my back, ordering me to intertwine my fingers and keep my arms close together. I soon felt something encircling my arms, like a rubber single glove. Ms. Martens yanked and tugged on the glove, pulling it upward well above my elbows. I was pulled to my toes like a little ragdoll at the forcefulness of her efforts. She then began to tighten the strange implement, drawing my arms tightly together behind my back so that my elbows were almost touching, simultaneously testing my flexibility while constricting me uncomfortably.

My upper body now helplessly immobilized, Ms. Martens then unfastened the thick restraints that held my legs spread apart. I was left standing there for a few minutes while I heard Ms. Martens rummaging around the room, opening and closing drawers, running water and sliding closet doors. When she returned, she grabbed hold of my left ankle and told me to raise my leg while she slid something over my sneakered foot, before bidding me to likewise raise my right leg. I felt something clingy being drawn up my legs to about my knees. That's when I felt Ms. Martens fingers expertly part my lips and something slender being inserted in my pussy. I heard a slight swishing sound like Ms. Martens was squeezing something and I felt a cool substance filling my canal. After she withdrew whatever it was inside me, leaving behind the viscous residue, she did the same thing to my ass, pushing the slender device past my anus and similarly filling my ass with the weighty substance.

I again felt her drawing something clingy and cool further up my hips. It wasn't long before her skilled hands guided two rubbery phalluses inside of my freshly lubed orifices. My ass and pussy were now reclaimed in accordance with her forbearances. As Ms. Martens smoothed her hands over what I reasoned were another pair of rubber panties, I was relieved that the rubbery dildo and plug that now filled me seemed smaller than the ones I had to wear the night before. Finally, I felt Ms. Martens fastening something around each of ankles, and with that, she turned her attentions to my head.

She first removed my ball gag and placed it aside. Ordering me to keep my eyes closed until I was told otherwise, Ms. Martens then removed the blindfold. She then started pulling something over my head. At first I thought it was a swim cap, but as she stretched a portion of it over my face, I could tell that it was some sort of rubber hood. I got a little scared at first, sealed into the tight, suffocating rubber, but as soon as Ms. Martens smoothed out the wrinkles and properly positioned the thick rubber hood, I discovered that I could breathe freely though an opening for both my nostrils and another for my mouth.

I then felt Ms. Martens leading me by the shoulders around the room. I could barely walk, as whatever she fastened to my ankles did not have much slack. I was so effectively hobbled that I almost fell my first few steps, and surely I would have if not for my Mistress holding me. I soon adjusted to my predicament by hobbling along, taking very short steps.

`You may now open your eyes, slave,' declared Ms. Martens.

When I did so, I saw my own reflection in a full-length mirror. After my eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the playroom, I saw myself as a true rubberslave for the first time. I was clad in a tight black rubber ensemble, which I took in piece by piece, savoring its presence for the first time. First, I stared at my sleek rubber hood. It covered my whole head except for two openings for my eyes, two smaller openings for my nostrils, and an oval-shaped opening just big enough for my mouth.

Next I focused on my black rubber bra. It was quite thick and sculpting, and it did wonders for my cleavage, showing me off as never before. As I surmised during my fitting, the bra featured a pair of cut-outs for my nipples, which I had already feared guaranteed easy access for more diabolical purposes. Strangely enough, however, I really enjoyed the sight of my own tits so prominently displayed. I never looked so sleazy and yet so stunning.

The same could be said about the high-waisted black rubber panties which hugged my hips and accentuated my curves as never before. The stark contrast of the black rubber against my fair skin was likewise remarkable. One note of concern however was the pair of inflation bulbs that dangled ominously from my rubbery crotch, swinging to and fro as I moved about, assessing my rubbery form.

Turning sideways, I could glimpse the thick rubber bondage sleeve that held my arms behind my back, causing my breasts to jut ever forward. It featured more straps and buckles than I had spied on any previous bondage implement. And neither did I forget to appraise the short locking gate that connected my rather thick black rubber ankle restraints together, thereby ensuring my hobble.

In one of her more thoughtful gestures, Ms. Martens held up a sport bottle filled with water and placed the integrated straw upon my lips. `Here, you must be thirsty, slave,' suggested Ms. Martens, `drink this.' I thirstily sipped the cool water, as the festivities thus far had left me quite parched. It was a welcome, if brief, respite. I gratefully thanked my Mistress for the drink, as she wiped the excess from my chin with her finger.

Ms. Martens then took to polishing my rubberized form, first with a damp cloth to remove any traces of the talc which dusted the inside of most of the rubber, and then with a second cloth filled with some kind of polish. As she buffed the sleek rubber, it took on a high gloss and I looked even more the part of a sleazy and submissive rubberslave. Not only that, but she took extra care to buff me with a sensuality obviously designed to tease me and elicit a reaction. A reaction I easily yielded. I moaned softly and approvingly, but not so ungraciously as to merit additional punishment. I thought I was beginning to catch on. Purposely and seductively, she continued to shine me until I was gleaming, both on the outside and then, too, also on the inside.

Furthermore, Ms. Martens gave me a vocabulary lesson as she polished my nubile form like a trophy. She explained the difference between my full-faced rubber hood and an open-faced one like the one she wore yesterday when she fucked my ass unmercifully. She also told me that there were even more devious hoods, such as hoods without eye openings and extra `plumbing.' I didn't really like the sound of that, but I was also sure I would find out all about them in time whether I was interested or not. She also mentioned that the bra I was wearing was usually termed a `peephole bra' for obvious reasons, and further that I was fitted with what were referred to as `pump panties' because they featured inflatable plugs which could be pumped up to any desired size.

It wasn't two seconds later when she grabbed ahold of the inflation bulb which hung from my pussy and gave it a series of five slow and deliberate squeezes, causing the inflatable dildo within me to swell to sensational proportions. `Can you take another five, slave?' asked an interested Ms. Martens.

As much as the first five proved pleasurable, I knew that the next five might prove painful. Furthermore, I knew that she probably planned on inflating me some more whether I conceded or not. I however wanted to please my Mistress so I told her that I could handle it. Once again, a slave's pride.

Five delicious pumps later, I was nearly giddy, having never been so tremendously and overwhelmingly filled. Taking note of my excitement, Ms. Martens quipped, `I'm glad to see you so enthusiastic, dear. Are you just as enthusiastic about getting your ass pumped?'

`Of course, Mistress,' I responded softy, trying to hide my reservations at the prospect of having my ass similarly filled. `I want to please you.'

`Good, then let's begin with the same ten pumps,' declared Ms. Martens. As the bulb hissed into action in her eager palm, she added, `we can always add more as you deserve.'

Did that mean I would get more pumps if I misbehaved, or was I really supposed to think of it somehow as a reward, me getting my ass inflated?! I figured it was something a true slave would see clearly. My training was still incomplete. I had made strides, but I was neither where I needed to be nor where I wanted to be. This clouded some of my earlier euphoria, leaving me a bit uncertain. One step forward, two steps back. A slave's folly.

As I pondered, she slowly worked the attached bulb ten times, fully constricting it before releasing her grip and allowing air to refill the bulb. Henceforth, I bet I'd never be able to keep a straight face at the doctor's office when they checked my blood pressure. Nor would I soon be able to ignore the feeling of fullness the inflatables brought. As far as discipline goes, it felt understandably different to be filled at my Mistress' hand as compared to other, more external forms of punishment like the paddling. These periodic impalings I was enduring at her hands were decidedly more intimate and somehow simultaneously serene, as they required a great deal of trust.

Ms. Martens termed all of this as putting me `under the pump.' I had already been `under the bag,' as she called it, in addition to being under the clamp and the paddle. What else was I to be put under, I wondered resignedly.

One last detail awaited. Ms. Martens held up one more rubbery phallus for me to contemplate. `Open your mouth and lick it,' commanded Ms. Martens, `lick it lovingly, like you want it.'

As I instinctively obeyed, dedicating my oral energies to licking and kissing the pungent phallus, Ms. Martens did likewise, much to my surprise. She and I mingled at the fringe of the rubber plug, our suckles mingling intermittently, like some bizarre triple kiss. I grew increasingly aroused, as she occasionally withdrew the rubber plug altogether, choosing instead to kiss only me, before reintroducing the pungency to our wet mingle. And she was again grinding me, this time form the front, causing the rubbery intruders within me to shift ever so slightly, ever so teasingly. Her other hand massaged my rubber-encased ass, triumphantly grabbing an occasional handful and squeezing me tightly. Once again, she brought me to the brink of orgasm, only to be denied.

`Control yourself, slave,' whispered Ms. Martens, softly under our kiss. `Remember, you are not allowed to cum unless I give you permission,' she further declared. `Is that understood?'

`Yes, Mistress,' I uttered, with only the slightest frustration betraying my acquiescence.

`Yes what, slave?' Ms. Martens further prompted.

`I am only to cum when given permission, Mistress,' I clarified. `Good. That's what I wanted to hear,' she told me, as she withdrew her kiss and traced the rubber plug around my lips one last time before inserting it into my mouth. A thick strap was then fastened around my head, thereby holding the rubbery mass in place. Ms. Martens proceeded to squeeze the inflation bulb I had not hitherto seen for lack of sufficient perspective, and the last of my orifices swelled with delicious rubber. Horny like the hungry little rubberslut Ms. Martens swore I'd become, I was now thrice pumped; my mouth, my vagina, and my ass, all deliciously violated and controlled by Her.

`Now then, let me show you to your room, slave,' Ms. Martens said gleefully, as she gestured for me to hobble after her.

Ms. Martens led me to a door near the rear of the playroom. I had noticed it yesterday in my snooping, but it was locked, and the small tinted window would not reveal its contents to my gaze. From a hook just above the door, she removed a large silver loop with a single key attached to it. She unlocked and opened the heavy steel-clad door and bade me to precede her.

Once inside, I drank in the stark depravity of the room and was likewise reminded of the bizarre helplessness of my situation. The room was mostly white, with a ceramic-tiled floor and an ample array of fluorescent lights punctuating the suspended ceiling, making the room quite bright. To my left was a full-size bed covered in thick shiny rubber sheets, including pillowcases. At either end of the bed were what looked like stocks, with several pairs of padded holes embedded in black lacquered foot and headboards, not to mention several additional eyebolts which could likewise serve as attachment points.

To my right was what also looked like a bed, but certainly unlike any I had ever seen. Sensing my puzzlement, Ms. Martens stood closely behind me and explained. `I can tell you've never seen a vacuum bed, have you, dear?' I shook my head no. `Well, you lie between the two sheets of rubber, and then all of the air is sucked out between the layers, thereby sandwiching you inside. Breathing is accomplished though a series of tubes. It's totally safe - you'll have to trust me,' she added with a pause. I wanted to trust her.

She nuzzled even closer and continued, `When you're ready, I'll build you up in layers and layers of restrictive rubber, like a rubber cocoon. It's entirely immobilizing, the strictest bondage you can imagine. It will be an awakening for you. You'll see,' she assured me, still whispering and rubbing my shoulders tenderly. This made me feel more comfortable, or at least as much as could be expected, given the weight of the situation.

`And this here is your lounging chair,' declared Ms. Martens, as she turned me by my shoulders to behold what looked like a rubber-coated dentist chair. There were thick rubber straps and buckles all up and down the chair, from the headrest to the base. It scared me more than the vacbed even, since it reminded me of something you'd see in a torture chamber or something.

Resting upon the headrest was a set of headphones connected to a stereo panel recessed into the wall. Ms. Martens picked up a small stack of CDs from a nearby shelf and shuffled through them. `Let's see what we've got here. Billie Holiday, Nina Simone, Sarah Vaughan, Carole King, Everything But The Girl, Massive Attack, Stereolab, and look, Smetana's `The Bartered Bride.' How appropriate,' she mocked, somehow hinting at the similarities between my own servitude and the transience of such bridedom. That's at least what I figured from the comment. Who knows what moves my Mistress... it's certainly beyond my reckoning, at least for now.

The fact that Ms. Martens placed so much emphasis on whatever musical selections she had available helped assuage my fears somewhat. But like many of her reassurances, the feeling was to be short-lived, as she told me to look closer at a display case which hung on the wall near the foot of my rubber covered bed. Upon closer inspection, I saw that the case contained an almost artistic array of black rubber dildos on the upper shelf and a corresponding row of butt plugs on the bottom shelf. The case itself appeared to be made out of teak and was backlit against an opaque panel of white Lucite, much like a display of fine cognac you'd find in an upscale lounge. As I stared further, I noticed the dildos and plugs were arranged by size in an ascending order from left to right, each of six pairs labeled according to the day of the week. Six pairs, I thought to myself. What happens on the seventh day? And today was already Tuesday.

As I gaped, Ms. Martens interjected. `As you've probably guessed by now, I'm a big believer in inflatables, but sometimes a more rigid insertable is required. You are to train with these.'

I just stared resignedly at the artful yet insidious arrangement. The Tuesday set appeared modest, given the attention I had already received, but there was no way I could handle the monsters awaiting me come Friday and especially Saturday. I had already figured out, especially with regards to the anal toys, that the inflatable variety was more merciful, since in their deflated state they fit quite readily up my ass. Now that's not to say they couldn't prove torturous upon inflation, but in the case of a rigid plug, the widest portion would have to pass through my anus before any relief could be found in the smaller, tapered diameter of its base. And then, too, there was the question of removal. My speculations were confirming what I knew from my earlier enema ordeal: I was in for a rough two weeks.

`One final note, slave,' insisted Ms. Martens, gesturing, `You'll notice that there are cameras in each corner of the room as well as microphones, so I'll always be able to monitor you even if I'm not present. Not only that but the entire basement is quite fireproof, I assure you. No expense has been spared to make sure that you are safe at all times. Understand?'

I nodded affirmatively, ironically flattered by my Mistress's compassion and tenderness - a tenderness hinted at in the shower, and a compassion scarcely revealed, whether prone upon the horse or under the bag, as Ms. Martens referred to the enema treatments.

My Mistress sat down on the bed and commanded me, `Kneel.' She turned the thumbscrew on the inflation bulb for my pump gag, thus releasing the air. As the gag hissed and deflated, she removed it from my mouth while simultaneously unzipping her rubber suit. After she loosened the straps, the rubber bladder hung limply around my neck, my hooded face covered in my own saliva. Ms. Martens grabbed my rubber-encased head and guided me to her waiting crotch. Leaning back, Ms. Martens placed her thighs upon my shoulders and scooted into position, her hand still grasping my head firmly.

`Now, slave. What did I tell you?'

I nestled my head as best I could deeply in her crack, my tongue already seeking my prize, muttering softly, `I am always to start my oral servitude with your anus, Mistress.'

`Very good, slave,' chimed Ms. Martens delightedly.

I paused for the briefest of seconds, looking up from my oral ministrations. `Thank you,' I said politely. I meant for everything.

I met Ms. Martens' knowing gaze. I knew she understood as she smiled softly back at me, before finding a rubbery pillow and settling back again. I shivered, delighting in the moment, and then I went back to work.