Jezebel's Key
by Gospodin <gospodin@gmail.com>
Feel free to distribute this story wherever you like.

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Jezebel writhed with the playboy master, grinding to the tunes of his elaborate
stereo.  She followed him home from the party that night, and her predator eyes
scanned his worldly goods.

She reveled in her power, and held him in her gaze.  She thought herself queen
of the world.  But little did she know that her power and her life would escape
her control before dawn.

She tempted him with breast and thigh, showing flesh enough to imply much more.
A catch like him would end her pain, she mused, the alimony plans already
formed.

He took her bait, just so and no farther.  He parried and riposted with smiles
and glances.  Before too long he had her hooked, new evening plans requiring
preparation.

Fancy dress, he said, and her eyelids fluttered.  Costuming and dress-up games
fumbled in the walk-in closet, peeking and groping and kissing.  The uniform of
the well-kept slave rolled over her teasing almond skin, clutching her like a
possession of great value.

Latex rubber, in deep aubergine, rolled over her toes and up to her novice
thighs.  Jezebel giggled naughty, and smoothed her glossy limbs with tender
caresses.  She played loose with the hem of her skirt as her royal limbs of
purple slickness bent and swung for her audience of one.

The One moved again, a deep embrace with a passionate kiss and the blade soon
had her cocktail dress shredded to the floor.  It's okay, he said, I can always
buy you another one.  

Black leather boa constrictor nipped in her every exhalation.  His pull on the
lacing and her dizzy compliance soon made ends meet for the hourglass that
surrounded her.  Stunned by the force of her containment, she made weak ploy to
entice him to her will with her new silhouette.

He saw her weakness, and began to pounce.  Towering mary-jane shoes pointed her
purple schoolgirl feet:  Bulbous toes like rump-cheek or breast, windows of
space like a low neckline allowing glimpses of the woman within, and
cross-straps buckled in adorable bondage made inescapable by heart-shaped
padlocks.

Without breath or balance, Jezebel was easy prey passed from paw to paw.  She
spun as her new master wrapped her in his gooey thread, ready for storage in
his web until he had need of her.  Slick purple latex slid from fingertip to
shoulder, and an inky black frock stretched and squicked down over her head to
snap onto pert bosom and wide crinoline.

Buckles cinched creampuff sleeves over second-skin gloves, and three more down
her front held wide straps circling her corseted waist.  Chrome hearts sealed
each belt to the tune of her mewling protest.

	"Hush my pet you will have the key no do not worry it is in the closet
	and they look so pretty sparkling in the moonlight like dewdrops or..
	or teardrops..."

Jezebel was caught, but she underestimated her master.  She waited patiently as
he snapped the padlock onto the buckle of the wide rubber collar that made each
gulp a chore.  She let him dress her as his black-haired barbie doll, keeping
her powder dry.

Jezebel made eyes at her master over dinner.  It was all she could do while her
elbows squeezed behind her within their leather straps, wrists cuffed to
ankles.  She kneeled at her master's side as he ate his gourmet meal.  He was
not completely unkind, for he smeared sauce around the eggplant-colored ball
that spread her teeth.

He had called it a trainer, and Jezebel realized that the web of straps that
encircled her head were training her to understand that the gag could not come
out.  She shook her head to make its padlocks jingle, and batted her eyelashes
until he rubbed a little soup across her violet wet-look lips.

Dessert was all for her, though, as fearsome buzzing contraptions made her pant
despite the corset.  His expert manual dexterity made her beg for eternal
celibacy with gag-words known only to slaves.  She took her pleasure, or
rather, *He* took her pleasure eight times before pausing to explain the terms
and agreements.

The uniform she wore did not come cheap.  An hourly rental fee had been
assessed, and her debt to him for services rendered was detailed in the forms
she was about to sign.  Well-fucked eyes glared horrified and weak, and she
thrashed in her bonds howling for the key.

The mention of damage fees for torn rubber calmed her down slightly, but she
shook with impotent rage and fear.  Naturally, there were well-paying jobs on
the premises, and of course Jezebel was already wearing the necessary uniform
for those duties.  She did not need to reach for a pen, or flip an abacus
behind her back, or ask through the gag to understand that her salary would
never be enough to cover the cost of her bondage.  She knew implicitly that as
time went on, she would become ever more his slave.

But there was hope.  He had promised her the key.  Release, followed by flight,
would be enough for her to find help.  Paperwork or no, she could bring down
the force of law against this man who swaddled her in rubber and pleasured her
to exhaustion.  Surely there has to be a law...

Gummy purple fingers shook a pen in the form of her name.  She thought her
imprint was the down payment for her release.  Drained and exhausted, she
sought to just get everything over with and never look back at the manor house
that was now her prison.  Any price freedom!

Without so much as a shred of the grace she arrived with, Jezebel waddled on
her knees toward the open door.  Her master kept his hand extended, gesturing
for her to enter.  It took her twelve minutes to shuffle across its threshold,
and she collapsed into an old broom closet.

He helped her to an inflated cusion, and opened the chest beside her.  

The wail of despair began as a timid croon somewhere behind the tight purple
collar.  Jezebel's grief reached its apex as she realized that the chest was
filled to the brim with keys, and only one of the thousands could set her free.

