Mark

Kneeling at my front door, just clear of the doormat, I wonder yet again whether I have made a horrible mistake. I have carried out the instructions to the last detail. I am naked and facing away from the door, which is unlatched and will open with the slightest push from the hall outside. My blindfold is in position and I can see absolutely nothing. I know the strange collection of accessories he has requested are waiting in the specified places. I have been here 10 minutes now and my knees are starting to ache. I feel incredibly vulnerable, but my body is excited as never before, like being high on some sort of stimulating drug, my nerves ready to overload me with a mass of confused signals at the slightest input to my system. The combination of the cool air here in the hall and the excitement of anticipation has my nipples erect and I can feel that my pussy lips are engorged and swollen between my widely parted thighs, which are also starting to ache a little. I am just contemplating moving to a comfier position until he arrives when I here steps on the stairs outside. They are heavy, confident steps of a man who knows where he is going. He strides purposefully across the landing and I feel panic suddenly rise. Maybe it is not him, it could be anyone. I have few visitors but if one should happen by in this particular half hour it would hardly rate as the greatest coincidence of all time, would it. In a way that reminds me of tales of peoples lives flashing by their eyes in times of dire peril I see a thousand consequences of my foolishness in an instant, but it is done now, too late to escape the predicament into which I have put myself, and I seem to be rooted by fear anyway, my mind suddenly overloaded and unable to issue any concerted commands to my quivering limbs. In another instant I hear the sharp rap on the door which causes it to swing open wide, and feel the cool breath of air fall in from the hall over my exposed rear.

Gina

My house, a small but luxurious early brownstone condominium in a major American city, echoes with the silence around me, unbroken as yet by the man standing in my hallway behind me. Again, I question why I have chosen to disregard every safety protocol I have adhered to over the last two years. I never meet a client in my own home. Never. Yet, the man to whom I have been talking, first via email, then the telephone, and now, finally, a year later, in person, has at last arrived, and any further contemplation of the sanity of my actions has been rendered thoroughly moot. Safety is an absolute necessity in my line of work. My name is Estrella, and I am a whore, a prostitute. I am paid, and paid well, to satisfy the sexual requirements of men. Occasionally women as well, but mostly men. What is more, today is my sixteenth birthday, and I have been a whore for the better part of two years. Not that I am in any way unhappy. I chose my profession for the simple fact that I am beautiful, and uninhibited (at least, I thought so until now), and have sexual requirements of my own. Regarding the last, I have an almost helpless capacity to enjoy sex, to respond sexually to almost any form of stimulation. This I do not, cannot, feign, for I suffer from (if it can be called suffering) clinical nymphomania, arising from a certain glandular imbalance that I elect not to have cured. I simply cannot do otherwise but respond strongly and unwillingly to the many clients whose sexual requirements I serve. I elect not to attempt a cure for this condition for the simple fact that I enjoy sex, and the almost violent manner in which exquisite sexual arousal electrifies my body in response to stimulation. I am smart and well- (mostly self-) schooled, and can carry off the act of adulthood with convincing skill, such that I have never been questioned about living by myself. Yet, I remain a young girl, and it is largely for this fact that my clientele is select and extremely discreet. I am also Hispanic, something that my current client has told me he finds intriguing (along with my age), with smooth, medium-caramel skin and long, glossy, dark black hair. I have braided it tightly into a thick, supple rope for the man standing behind me, again to his specifications. Finally, two small coincidences that fit well with my current client's exotic tastes: Despite my youth, I am rather hirsute (that is, hairy), with wiry, gloss-black pubic fur adorning both cunt and underarms, and fine dark, silky hairs almost everywhere else, even around my aureoles (which cannot be seen unless observed closely). Again, the result of my glandular imbalance. As is the second feature, my clitoris, which is significantly enlarged by the strange brew of hormones circulating in my overactive bloodstream. Even now, it hangs down from the dark-furred upper cleft of my cunt, hugely swollen and tautly erect with blood-red excitement, fully the size and thickness of a man's thumbtip. Which brings me back to the present, to my visitor, the calm, quiet man whose masculinity I can nearly smell, its potency is so vivid, a man whose name I do not even know. He has paid me a five-figure sum of money, all in advance, for the use of my body for the next day or so, provided certain conditions are met. That he be allowed access to me in my own home (about this he was very specific). That I obey and perform everything asked of me, no matter what the request, with any hesitation or disobedience subject to immediate punishment of his choosing. And finally, that certain "accessories" are made available for his use. It is contemplation of my utter helplessness, both intrinsic (due to my hormones) and extrinsic (due to the chrome handcuffs encircling my wrists, drawn behind my back), that fuels the growing dark arousal seated, as it so often is, in the heart of my libido, my enlarged clitoris. The thick, bright-red shaft is throbbing insistently in obscene gloat of what is to come, acting as always as if it were endowed with an evil brain of its own, one entirely at odds with commonly accepted norms of human behavior. I find myself sincerely hoping that nothing is amiss; my client's specifications were exceedingly exact. That he should find me in my front hallway, ready to begin my servitude. That my wrists be gathered behind me by chrome, police-style handcuffs. That my blindfold be black and thick and secure, and made of leather. That all my orifices be filled with "placeholders": twin thick, well-lubricated dildos for my vagina and anus equipped with thick, insertable bulbs at their bases to hold them within my body; a supple, thin, black-rubber catheter for my urethra (yes, he demanded that even that most secretive orifice by capped), held in place by a small, fluid-filled balloon at its tip in my bladder and capped by a precision surgical steel valve to retard the urine flow, the whole easily deflatable for immediate withdrawal at his convenience; and finally, a thick, black rubber ball gag in my mouth, the strap of it tight around the back of my head. The key to the handcuffs, per his request, I have tossed in a corner after locking myself up and arranging myself for presentation. I have arranged the other requested accessories as he has specified. The assortment of steel clamps with rubberized jaws for use on my body. The steel rolling table covered by a simple, thick white towel, upon which I have placed the variety of dildos and vibrators in every conceivable size and texture, all in black rubber or plastic (again, my client was very specific regarding the color), the jar of thin acupuncture needles in an alcohol bath, the syringes of liquid Ecstasy, the rave drug, with which I have some experience and which I know will calm me and render me more "accepting" should my client have anything in mind that I find frightening or particularly painful, and a rubber tourniquet and some cotton swabs for the syringe. I have also laid out the various whips and paddles my client has requested, again all in black leather, as well as several large, pump-top jars of water- and oil-based sex lubricants (I have been assured that a great deal of lubricant will be required during my time with him) and massage oils. Several thick wax candles. A wide-mouth jar of ultrathin condoms, "should the need arise," as he told me over the phone (not that these are required for prevention of disease, since we've both been thoroughly tested, nor prevention of pregnancy, since I religiously take contraceptive pills). He has told me he may also be bringing items of his own, little "surprises" for me (again, his words). And so, I kneel, awaiting his first words, my breath struggling to come in gasps rather than the slow, measured breaths I seek to draw. He has told me that his treatment of me may be rather rough, bordering on, and indeed surpassing, actual rape at times. He has told me that his sexual imagination is quite broad and knows little boundary. Most of all, he has told me that in return for my acquiescence to his demands, I will have an extraordinarily fantastic sexual experience. It is as I contemplate these words that at last, after an immense silence, he speaks, in that voice I know so well...

Mark

************

Entering the hallway it is immediately clear that Estrella has complied explicitly with my instructions. Probably even more thoroughly than I really intended. When I was going through the motions of arranging this meeting I thought that I had finally hit upon the "mother lode", as it were, and that is strongly reinforced by what I see before me. I take a bit of time just looking, taking in all I see before me. The table with its towel is quite a master stoke, taking my immediate attention from the girl and giving the whole tableau the surgical feel of an operating theater, despite being in the living area of her house. As I turn my attention to her my first thought is that she looks somewhat older than I expected. I suppose that is not too surprising as her mental age is obviously well in advance of her peers, and wonder if she has taken any precautions for her own safety. With the amount of money I, and presumably her other clients, have paid her a set of hidden surveillance cameras and someone to watch them should not be beyond her means. However I think it unlikely as she does not usually use her home for business purposes, one of the reasons I have paid so much money to persuade her to do things my way. Glancing around my trained eye sees no obvious signs but I know I still would not if she had a really good installation. Of course I know far more about her than she does of me. Her pimp, Glenn, left town earlier. It did not take long for my people to find out that he is the only person she has in the world apart from her Johns. From the way our conversations ran I believed that she was doing this without his knowledge, either to stiff him for the money or just to exert her will a bit, and now I know that pretty much for certain. Still, we have a back-up plan if he does show up unexpectedly. Moving into the room I put down my bag and step to the side of her, telling her what a wonderful job she has made of the preparations. I keep talking continuously in a fairly loud voice as I straddle her body with my legs, and slip the heavy cloth hood I have ready over her blind folded head. Once it is in position I remove the blind fold, but not the ball-gag, and close off the elasticated velcro fastenings. It is not particularly aesthetic and the girl could remove it quite easily if her hands were free, but she will not have that luxury for quite some time. Even by the standards of the world of BDSM it is rather unusual in that it seals quite tightly over the top lip and around the head, above which there are no holes. The mouth is left clear and two small personal stereo speakers are sewn into it close to the ears. The stereo, one of the smallest on the market, is mounted on the very top with sufficient padding to prevent damage to the unit or her cranium. I switch it on and duck down to make sure it is playing the dance mix we chose for its lack of track intermissions, then step back to admire my handiwork. It looks better than I expected and I wave Jim, my cameraman, into the house. As he moves round in front of the girl filming her from all angles I quietly go to close the door. I wait until he signals that he has enough, then tell the girl to stand. She makes quite a meal of it, obviously suffering from having knelt for so long and having some disorientation. I push her legs apart and make quite a play of inspecting her most intimate places for the benefit of the camera, removing the two larger plugs. She is already quite wet and her clit is quite unbelievable. I resist the urge to touch it but slip a finger up into her cunt and have a good feel around, then do the same to her ass hole. Once I am satisfied that she has no serious abnormalities or obvious signs of disease I reinsert the plugs and check the rest of her body. Her tits are just the right size for our purposes, about a D cup and standing out from her chest with very little sag. The rest of her body is also firm, taut even, with noticeably better defined muscles than your average couch potato kid. I notice that the girl is moving her head around, somehow managing to look apprehensive just by her movements. Presumably she was expecting me to get straight into some serious sex action, but that does not concern me. She is in for quite a lot of surprises if she expected the usual rich pervert, here to purchase what he cannot get at home, and probably would not even dream of asking for, come to that. We are here for altogether more professional reasons as she may, or may not, find out. Jim has finished filming for the moment so I pick up the bag and go to find the bathroom where I have some preparation to do for later.

Gina

************

How odd, to taste real fear for a change. I often feel apprehension when I am being fucked by clients, but only because of the mechanics of the sex they tend to prefer. Given the youthful tightness of my cunt and the sheer size of the some of the men I am called upon to entertain, as well as their fascination with some of the more extreme forms of sexual behavior, it is not at all uncommon for me to experience pain along with my pleasure. But such I expect, for I am quite used to it, and even crave it after a fashion. But this is different. Primarily because Glenn is not nearby. There will be no rescue should this man, this stranger, whose face I have not even seen, who now walks my private home as if it were his own, decide to indulge a fetish that includes my death, or worse. But also because the man I have invited into my life seems to have greater purpose than simple sexual fulfillment. There is purpose in his every move, I can almost smell it. I again ask myself why I have chosen, after two years of utter devotion, to betray Glenn in this manner. He is my pimp, lover, and father all rolled into one, and yet here I stand, hooded, blind, handcuffed, effectively deafened by the techno music beating relentlessly in my ears from the cunning headphones apparently built into the hood itself. My body displayed for his viewing pleasure, my holes reserved for his use by the dildos and cath. If Glenn were to find out what I have done, I cannot even imagine my punishment; it is the most intimate betrayal a whore can perpetrate on her pimp, to "freelance". Perhaps it is the thrill, sexual and psychological, that I crave, that even the men that Glenn supplies can no longer quench within me. Or, perhaps I secretly wish to be caught, just to see what Glenn might do. And so, the long secret conversation with my mysterious client, a client I can call wholly my own, using anonymous, free email accounts, then carefully placed, untraceable calling-card calls. I have never mentioned Glenn to my client. The sheer illicitness of it all fills me with a deep, kinky, visceral arousal, adding moisture to my already soaked cunt. Almost as if I am getting off on the betrayal itself. Cant my head as I might, I cannot overcome the deep bass throbbing in my ears. Even the very music is arousing me; my "captor" has chosen, perhaps inadvertently, a flavor of techno music that I like a great deal. I would laugh, were I not so filled with apprehension, for all my poise and education, I am still a young girl with a teenager's tastes. I can neither feel nor see any trace of my master, for all I know he has a gun pointed at my head for his own twisted arousal. The touch of his fingers deep within my cunt and asshole linger still, both for their masculine, almost egotistically possessive control of my body and for their unnatural skill. Yes, he knows unnaturally well where to touch a woman inside, and in his rather clinical exploration of my holes, he found with breathtaking ease, and briefly tested, my swollen g-spot, an area of profound, even unnatural sexual sensitivity for me thanks to my glandular abnormalities. Interestingly, his digital exploration was extremely professional in addition to being sexually skillful. Glenn has sold me to several medical doctors over the last two years, men interested in studying my unnatural sexual response and intriguing physical characteristics (mostly for their own twisted pleasure, rather than any attempt at medical inquiry). Yet, the clinical skill of this man's touch easily surpasses those medical men, and in addition to briefly stimulating me, I have not missed the fact that he thoroughly checked my internal structure and function as well, as fully as a gynecologist, including a digital exploration of my cervix and palpitation of my ovaries. Why, I cannot imagine. Also, much attention was paid to my tits, particularly to the thick, stiff nipples. Each breast was held in turn, massaged, squeezed, almost measured, as if to some specific purpose. Finally, my body was felt and massaged lingeringly, my muscles and sinews tested, the dark fur beneath my arms stroked and prodded, fingers even run under my lips and over my gums, the lips pulled back to expose the teeth clenching their cargo of black rubber. It is as if a breeder were examining a horse -- the dehumanization of it I find myself savoring like a fresh, juicy piece of meat. He is apparently satisfied, as I find my lean, fit, muscular body thumped softly for effect, my flat, muscular abdomen gently, but firmly slapped with approval, and also my taut, muscular asscheeks. I am at a loss to understand his motives, and this lack of knowledge, to my slight surprise, arouses me still further. I shouldn't really be surprised at all, I tell myself. After all, I'm getting exactly what I wanted (needed?). Total, extreme sexual adventure, the very fact of my utter helplessness is like a drug, one I find I like. A lot. I review my abject reliance on my private client, and abject it is. There will be no record of this scene, at least not one of my own making. Nor have I told anyone of this adventure, no record of my dealings with him will be mailed to a local newspaper in the event that I simply disappear from the face of the earth. It seems to please me to be at this man's total, utter disposal, his to use, exploit as he wishes. Indeed, I know now, I can feel with certainty, that the man's interest in me is deeper than simply sexual. The hood over my head, the headphones, the calm manner in which he spoke to me (that delicious, masculine voice still reverberates through me head), all indicate the actions of a man who knows exactly what he wants, and is proceeding according to a definite, perhaps slightly predatory plan. Almost as if there have been other women similarly arrayed before him, for his use and pleasure. His skill and professionalism arouse within me a perverse desire to obey him, to please him, to fulfill his wishes and desires to the best of my ability. And yet, as always, I taste the deep, thrilling fear along with my arousal. I have no idea what will happen to me shortly, and the fact drives me slowly insane!

Mark

Eventually I am forced to shuffle around a little as my joints start to get a little stiff. He does not seem to mind so try a little experimentation with the cuffs and rolling my thighs but neither has much effect on my bonds or arousal. I am just contemplating whether it might be OK to move around the room, or perhaps sit down even, when a strong hand grips my wrists and pulls me around and then backwards quite quickly, making me stumble and struggle to stay upright. Even in my slight panic I have enough wits about me to tell from the direction and floor covering that we are moving towards the bathroom. He pulls me forcefully until I feel the edge of the bath against my leg and pushes me sideways threatening to topple me in. I feel so confused and worried but a second push tells me what he wants and I climb in, feeling mildly surprised that there is no water in the tub, although a rubber mat has been put in for me to stand on. I feel him take hold of my left big toe and instinctively curl it up earning a slap on the calf. As I nervously straighten the toe he slips something over it which is tightened. He repeats the procedure with the same toe on the other foot, then pulls it a little to the side. Now he tugs on the first foot and I dutifully lift and allow him to pull it out quite wide until I am in much the same position as I was when he inspected me in the hall. Next he reaches behind me and I feel him release one handcuff. I know I should not do this, but I just have to relieve the ache in my arm, so I swing it round to my front. Effortlessly he catches my hand and moves it straight up and clips my wrist into another waiting cuff before I have time to even think of resisting. I cannot understand how this can be for there is nothing in that area one could fix anything to, and raise my other hand to explore but he takes that and clips the cuff to something on the other side so that I am left standing in the shape of a huge X, barely able to move at all. I cannot understand how I can be so securely fastened to things which did not exist just one hour ago and try to move about in a slight panic. I find that my toes are also fixed and that my bonds are in fact to bars as I can move forward and backwards across the bath. I can just hear the cuffs jangling against the bars over the music. Then I realise that he is no longer touching me and must be deliberately allowing me to find out this information and feel self-conscious, knowing he must be watching me, so I stop and stand still, waiting. Knowing he is looking at my spread and defenseless body has the usual effect and I start to feel my arousal again. I long to be touched and he does not disappoint, although not where I was hoping for. Instead his hands are all over my body, arms and legs. It is so wonderful to finally be treated to his touch in an erotic manner and I feel myself getting wet within seconds as he gently caresses me, smoothing something warm and slippery into my skin all over every inch of me except my hands, feet, head and pussy. I feel him remove the two larger dildoes, the one in my cunt needing very little effort as it is so wet, then rubbing the creamy stuff up between my legs. I long for him to continue up my front to where my clitoris is just throbbing for his touch, but of course he does not. Instead the music suddenly goes off and I can hear the unmistakable sound of electric hair clippers for a second before the music comes back on. He slaps my hair braid against my back and I instantly realise just what he intends to do and panic totally, thrashing madly against my bonds in a vain attempt to escape, screaming into the gag. My hair is not only my greatest possession, it is my entire personality. I just cannot imagine being without it. Even Glenn has never messed with it after seeing my reaction to his suggestion that I should get a bob cut. Of course I have now lost all hope of concealing my infidelity from him. Suddenly the man yanks my head back by the braid. I fight, for I can never give in to this, but instead of the feeling of cold metal on my forehead that I expect, a jet of liquid shoots down my throat through the hole in the ball-gag. I splutter a bit but cannot stop myself swallowing before he releases me. I hang by my wrists hoping that he might be just playing games, but suspecting that this is just a temporary reprieve. All thoughts even approaching an erotic nature have gone; I just feel a complete fool for having got into this and I know there is no chance of escape from whatever fate he has in store for me.

Gina

For long moments, I simply hang there in my own tub, from the hardpoints that my captor has seemingly installed, breathing hard, a rich mixture of shame and despair coursing through my veins like icewater, cut off from all sensation except for the slickness of the oil he's rubbed all over my body and the deep, thrumming beat of the music in my ears. I can't even smell properly, given the hood's firm seal over my nostrils. I truly realize, perhaps for the first time, the power that I've allowed this man to have over me, a power as total and complete as any Glenn has ever exercised. How he could ever have guessed about how deeply possessive I am of my long, thick braid of hair, I will never know, but the possibility of its removal is now an obvious threat hanging over me, unspoken yet mutually understood. I vividly remember the punishments I endured at Glenn's hands when I refused to allow him to cut it; the small, thin scar on my naked ass cheek is no doubt visible to my captor, from when the mindless, repeated application of Glenn's horsewhip to my entire body had bitten too deeply, such was his rage over my refusal. Still, I had refused, and held fast, and for whatever reason, Glenn had not simply cut it off by force, as if my very refusal held some erotic content for him, given how abjectly I had capitulated the rest of my life to him. And so, by chance or design, my captor how holds the same power over me, real power to command my obedience. Not that I have much choice anyway, I remind myself, testing my shackles blindly as I hang, like a particularly tender side of meat. It is as if my captor wishes more than the simple, forcible use of my body. He is in fact insinuating himself into my mind, the core of my being. And that fills me with fear, for it is the same thing Glenn did to me, only my captor seems even more adept at it, as impossible as this seems. Am I this easy to interpret, to infiltrate? Or do I subconsciously welcome the mental and emotional violation along with the physical rape? I realize now that the liquid forced down my throat is a drug, Ecstasy from the feel of it. I feel an unwilling sense of decadent, emotional vulnerability coming slowly over me, the drug is slowly opening my mind, body, and soul to my captor. I remember intellectually my fear and shame, but the subconscious, emotionally fueled urge to submit, to *enjoy*, is growing steadily, almost in tune to the throbbing beat of the music in my ears. The dichotomy is interesting, a fiery war between lust and shame. I have felt it before, many times, but now the sensation is new all over again, and it cuts like a knife within me. Usually the shame fades as my lust grows, but this time I am not so sure, the lust seems to be *feeding* the shame, and the duality shows no signs of abating. I feel my captor's eyes on me, drinking in my nudity, my vulnerability. It is a calm before the upcoming sexual storm soon to be unleashed by him. Then, suddenly, in the midst of my mental debate, I feel his fingers under my chin, my head is lifted, forced to blindly confront his powerful presence. The fingers slide free, and I let my head again fall slack, only to be slapped, once, across the side of my face. It is a light slap, not a punishment but rather a correction, and almost autonomically, my head rights itself, holds itself level. Fingers rub over my lips, and suddenly, the ball-gag is pulled away, dripping with my own saliva, then moved down to hang around my neck. Something hard is held to my lips. Sweet Jesus, it is the dildo that had until recently held the place within my cunt. It is still wet and fragrant with my own juices, and I feel his fingers lightly slide around the back of my head, tugging gently on my braid as he brings my head forward to remind me subtly of the consequences of disobedience. Dutifully, I lick my own juices from the dildo. At length, he moves the dildo between my lips, and I suck it, fellate it deeply, tasting my juices all the way down the shaft to its base. He holds my head as I work the faux-flesh, not precisely forcing me, but neither giving me alternative. After a time, the dildo is removed, and then another firm presence at my lips, this time the anal plug recently removed from my anus. My flavor is different here of course, earthier but no less appealing as I keep my rectum rigorously clean. Again my lips caress the thick tool, my unnaturally long, serpentine tongue communing with the plastic, cleaning it of the subtle taste of my own ass. Finally... Dios! He is tugging at the deeply implanted catheter, gently torturing me with his knowledge of its workings, working it slowly within my urethra, slowly twisting it, other indignities. I cry out, an inarticulate groan of effort, and am slapped sharply, directly across my taut, flat abdomen. It is another correction, firmer than the last, no less intense. Even through the music, I hear the sharp report of his hand to my oiled flesh, and I bite off further sound, lest I draw further such corrections. He seems satisfied with this, for I am not corrected again, and soon, the manipulation of the catheter continues, until I am being driven nearly insane. There is pain, but much pleasure as well, and even as I twist under his sexual torment, I am all too aware of the suddenly accelerating moisture of my cunt. The throbbing of my now fully erected clit is becoming very insistent; I can feel it swelling, lengthening, as a man feels an erection. Finally, when I think that I can stand no more and prepare a deep, ragged groan of relief for myself and consequences be damned, I feel the drip of fluid on my thigh. He has deflated the small balloon in my bladder, and soon thereafter pulls the catheter slowly from my body. With great difficulty, I hold my tongue and make no sound other than the deep, reflexive breaths of air my lungs seem to crave. I am left shaking in the wake of its departure from my swollen urethra. Then, as a final indignity, I am forced to clean this instrument also with my mouth, the thin catheter held between my lips so that I can thoroughly lick its full length, wrap my tongue around the thin tube with my nearly prehensile tongue. As I have done everything else asked of me, I do this too, and all too willingly, aware that I have responded perfectly, and predictably, to his none-to-gentle ministrations. He is probably pleased with my responses, though I wonder again to what end he is using me. The Ecstasy is really taking hold now, messing with my emotions, forcing me to not just accept, but welcome, what is happening to me at the same time that it sharpens my shame, even as my brain reasonably reminds me of my danger and helplessness. The sensation is intolerable, but tolerate it I must. Shivering and vulnerable, horny and ashamed, I quietly await my captor's next purposeful move.

Mark

************

Now I have confirmed that our information concerning Estrella was absolutely correct. We were fairly certain that was the case, but my instructions were specific that I should be sure. I quietly leave the bathroom and make a call on my mobile phone. As I carry the little steel table through to the bathroom I wonder what Estrella imagined it was that I had smeared all over her. I set the table down beside the bath and it strikes me just how beautiful the girl is. So many of the women I have dealt with have been overweight, scarred or just generally not too good looking, using their willingness to engage in extreme sex as a compensation for their ugliness or low self esteem. Estrella, it would seem, is one of the less common ones who do have a feeling of self worth, but just enjoy giving up their sexual freedom. It is not particularly relevant to our purposes what her motivation is, but I personally feel a little bit happier with this type. I retrieve three more of our own pieces of equipment from my bag and add them to what is on the table. As I do so a couple of little clamps catch my eye and, just for the hell of it, I take them and clamp them onto the girls nipples, just tight enough to make her groan a bit. Even with their weight her tits still stand out reasonably proud on her chest and I can tell that they are having the designers intended effect on her by the writhing of her hips and deepening of her breathing. I take up a razor and begin shaving her, starting on one arm. She jumps as the cold steel first touches her wrist, but soon settles down as I begin long slow strokes down her forearms. Once I am confident that she knows what is happening I skip straight down to her pubic zone and shave until she is close to coming again, before going back to one of her body extremities again to let her cool down. As I shave around her clit and the folds of her labia a certain amount of skin pulling is required and I only get about two stokes of the razor before I have to go back to shaving a leg, or whatever. She has a few long hairs growing out around her nipples so I have to remove the clamps to get to them, which makes her groan again. I consider putting them back on but decide against it as time is getting a little short. When I do her back I continue down through the fine hair at the top of the crack of her ass and into the forest that surrounds her anus, extending forward across her perineum to join the other forest at the front. We know that she is often shaven in this area and I curse my luck that she has let it all grow recently. I am fairly used to this ritual but Estrella is so much hairier than normal women that it takes almost half an hour to complete the job, and she has been on the brink of orgasm at least eight times. Using the shower attachment and a face flannel I wash her down, checking as I go, re-shaving any missed bits until the only hair to be found on Estrella is on her head, or hanging down her back from it. Taking a towel I briskly dry her off before giving her one last check for hair, running my hands over her entire body to check for stubble. Satisfied, I drape the towel over the bathroom mirror, checking that it is firmly in place. Next I retrieve the other two items that I had added to her table, step into the bath behind her and place them on the rack which hangs beneath the shower to hold her toiletries. I wave Jim the cameraman out of the room and wait until the door is pushed to before turning off Estrella's music and starting to undo her hood. I tell her that she must look forward at all time. Once the hood is off I discard it and take up one of the items I put on the rack and briefly show it to Estrella. It consists of a fairly substantial 'U' shaped piece of metal with various other bits added to it including a switch, a closure for the 'U', a clamp, and an LED. It all looks very high tech. I push the top of Estrella's braid into the 'U', close the device onto it and clamp it into position. Estrella is clearly not too happy with this turn of events but I ignore her and tell her to listen. When I flick the switch it makes an audible click, which I know she has heard. I know that she will also be very conscious of the weight of the thing constantly pulling on her braid. Taking the second I show her that it is the same as the first. I tell her that these are remotely operated explosive cable cutters and that she is about to receive a demonstration of their effectiveness. I notice that her knees actually begin trembling as she worries that I am about to amputate her braid, but instead I pull her arm chains together and slip them into the second device and close it off on them, clamping it on to the upper side of the chains. The extra tension on the chains pulls Estrella out of her formerly relaxed position and up on her toes. I pull her head back a little so she can see the device on the chains above her, being careful to keep my own head low and directly behind hers where it cannot be seen. Reaching up I flick the switch and the LED comes on. I retrieve what looks like a car key of the type where you press a button to activate the central locking from the breast pocket of my shirt. Reaching up again I show Estrella the key before inserting it into the device. There is another click and the LED begins flashing. Removing the key from the device I bring it down in front of Estrella's face and tilt her head down to look at it. Slowly and deliberately I flick over the concealed switch on the side of it and it gives out three piercing beeps. I flick it back off and it gives one beep. I make the switch once again and tell her that when the button is pressed now this is what will happen. Her knees are trembling once again as I slowly inch my finger towards the button. I wonder if she has remembered that the device on her hair has not yet had the key inserted and so is not armed. As I press the button there is a sharp report from the device on her arm chains and her hands fall away and her body slumps down onto the soles of her feet. As this happens I pull her head by the braid fiercely enough to get her attention, but not enough to damage her neck, pull the key away from the front of her face in one quick but deliberately obvious movement and insert it into the second device, which clicks loudly. Before she has had time to even think of doing anything she hears the three beeps of the key being armed. In the most authoritative voice I can muster I tell her she must not move a muscle or I will trigger the device and ask her if she understands, which she confirms in a very shaky voice. As I refit her hood I tell her she may move again when it is on and that she is to shake her hands every time she hears the beeps of the key being armed or disarmed. Once the hood is on I restore her music and disarm the key. Estrella shakes her hands, flailing the remains of the chains against her thighs, and I get out of the bath, removing the two collapsible bars and the remainder of the chains and cable cutter from above her as I go. I push a finger up into her cunt and confirm the reality of her fear of losing her hair during her encounter with the cable cutters. Working her clit hard, I take a medium sized dildo from the table and push it fairly forcefully into her cunt as far as it will go. Her distress at the invasion is obvious but temporary, her clit hardening again almost immediately and the movement of the dildo becoming easier also. I stroke it in and out, adding some finger length so that the object is totally inside her. I can feel it hitting against something inside, it is so far in, and Estrella is already humping her sex up against the hand that is forcing the invading plastic deep into her body. In under a minute she is close to coming once more and I pull the dildo from her gaping cunt and get her to clean it up with her mouth before putting it back in its position on the table. I hear a faint knock on the door to her home. I had not expected this so soon, but luckily I have just got Estrella back into her hood with the music on so she cannot hear either that or the ensuing sounds of Jim opening and closing the entrance to her home. To be on the safe side I pull her head back and put the smallest of her vibrators into her mouth and turn it on to maximum. It rests at the back of her throat and rattles against her teeth noisily while I remove the cuffs from her wrists. I stand back to admire her lithe form stood with legs apart, still secured by the toe clips, her head back, the braid hanging down clear of her back, weighted by the cable cutter. She is obviously stimulated by the vibrator and has discovered that she can either use her teeth on it and breath freely of keep them clear and struggle for breath. Neither seems to be better as she switches between the two, her hands sliding erotically up and down her thighs. Emboldened by my lack of action they begin to slide further and further towards her pubic area. Her breathing is getting harsher as she gets into it and it crosses my mind that it is a shame that Jim and his camera are missing this. I wait until a finger slides within an inch of her slit, then trigger the key. The effect is as if she has received a huge electric shock, her hands flying away shaking wildly and the vibrator almost popping right out of her mouth. Every muscle in her body is tensed until I deactivate the key and her body relaxes on hearing the single beep, as far as anyone can relax with a vibrator obstructing their airway, anyway. She gives a little shake of her hands and I chuckle to myself before refitting her ball-gag and leaving the room.