A Slave To Politics Part 1

She stops as I near my peak. The flash blinds me as she snaps off a series of pictures, making sure not to get any with her reflection in the mirror.

She allows me to cool down as she changes into her workout clothes. I can't help but stare at her reflection in the mirror, her proud breasts swaying gently over her thin torso as she pulls on her sports bra; her tight ass flexing as she pulls up her thong, followed by her stretch pants.

Finished dressing, she unlocks my wrists. "Put these on. We are going to the gym, where I will instruct you on your new workout regimen," she said as she points to the workout clothes lying on the bed.

The sports bra and the lycra pants cling like a second skin. I can see the outline of my swollen sex without and it looks obvious that I am not wearing underwear. Once the shoes were laced, I feel some what normal again.

Brittany is sitting at the table eating her cereal. She pours milk into a second bowl and sets it down on the floor. "Eat quickly, my pet," she said as she taps the floor with her sneaker. Scared of being punished, I kneel without hesitation and stick my face in the bowl. I am so hungry that I almost inhale the small portion of cereal she had laid out for me. It is only when I finish eating that I think of this humiliating position. The dread washes over me again.

We hustle out to the car and start our drive to the gym. "Let me explain how we are changing your workouts. I have admired how lean and strong you are, though you overestimate your conditioning. I want you stronger with more endurance and flexibility. And I love the look of strong women. I never told you that did I? Anyway, I want you to build more muscle in you ass, thighs, calves, shoulders, etc. You will need the added strength for the rigorous activities you will be required to perform. I went easy on you last night because I knew that you lacked the strength and endurance. We will remedy this through changes in your diet and workouts."

That was easy? I am fearful of what would be a normal session!

"We will workout for 2 hours everyday - 30 minutes free weights, 1 hour stair master, and 30 minutes stretching. You will give me maximum effort, or I will severely punish you. Repeated offenses will send you straight to jail and I spread your pornographic pictures to every person living in this city," she says matter-of-factly as we pull into the gym parking lot.

For the next two hours, she nearly kills me. I had always worked out at a high level, but nothing like this. She concentrates on my shoulders, chest, triceps, hamstrings and abs today, introducing me to heavy weights and something she calls "super sets." She explains that we will alternate days, working on the back, lats, biceps, thighs, ass, and calves tomorrow. By the time we are done, I believe that my chest and shoulders will explode. I look in the mirror and I can already notice the slightly enhanced curves of my shoulders and arms.

Next comes the stair master. Although I run hard 4-5 days per week, I realize that I am unprepared for the stair machine. Brittany sets the machine for an extremely high level, pushing me to my limits. The muscles in my legs and ass are killing me, and my lungs are screaming for more oxygen. I am a wreck by the end of the workout.

We move to an un-used aerobics room, where she assists me with my new stretching routine. Believe me when I tell you that this is not what I consider routine stretching. She helps me into positions that stretch the muscles that we concentrated on today. We move to stretches help me spread my legs wider, bend my back further, and pull my elbows together. Using yoga techniques, she helps me use my breathing to stretch my muscles much more effectively. She is certainly knowledgeable.

We stop by the juice bar, where she grabs an orange juice for her and a low fat, high protein shake for me. She also grabs a high protein nutrition bar for me. I am feeling so hungry that the shake and protein bar are completely scarfed by the time we reach the car.

"Take off your stretch pants before you get in the car," she requests as she opens her door. I freeze-up. What if someone sees me? What a cruel bitch she is. Humiliated, I take off my pants as quickly as possible.

Naked except for my sports bra, socks and sneakers, I pull on the door handle. It is locked. I pull again and again in a fit of growing panic. "Open the door before I am seen. You must open it." Then I realize I have broken her rules. Shit, not only am I humiliated beyond belief, but I now know I will be punished.

She smiles as she hits the automatic lock button. I jump in the car and shut the door, all the while staring down in defeat. "What number of strokes are we up to, slut?" she asks.

"Nine, Mistress," I respond.

"Correct. We will take care of that a little later. I beg you to break more rules so I can add ten more," she grinned wickedly. "Here is your final workout. You will do this everyday on your drive home after your workout. You will stick your fingers into your pussy. You will then squeeze them as tightly as you can with your vagina muscles. Squeeze for five seconds, relax for ten. We will start today with my fingers. Each time I don't feel you squeezing, I will add a stoke to your punishment. And knowing how much of a slut you are and how excited you will probably get, you should remember not to cum without permission. Go ahead, start your workout."

She dips two fingers into my already lubricated pussy. I struggle with the task, working hard on muscles that I never consciously attempted to use before. She wiggles her fingers every minute or so, torching my sex with excitement. By the time we are nearing the house, I was grunting in an effort to squeeze.

Her hand withdraws as we pull to a stop. She lifts her hand up to my lips and I knew what she wanted done. I licked my fuck juice off of her fingers until she is satisfied. I do not even mind the taste on her fingers, though the act still sends a wave of repulsion through me. As I get out of my seat, you can see the shimmering puddle I had left.

"Lick up that mess before you come inside, fuck toy"

Being almost completely naked, I had no desire to show my wears any longer than I had to. I lick up my mess as quickly as possible. How low have I sunk?

Brittany was waiting for me in the kitchen when I returned. "Bend over and grab your ankles," she commanded. With a wooden spoon, she proceeds to stripe my ass nine times. Being a bit tender from my previous punishments, I had to work to hold back my tears and count the strokes. But how it hurt.

"You may go and relieve yourself. Then report to the bedroom for further instructions."

I dared not sit, both from her previous instructions as well as pain from my still stinging ass. I walked as quickly as I could to my bedroom. "Put on these clothes and do all of the chores which I have on this list. Be done by 6:00 p.m. Anything left undone, or done half-assed, will bring on more punishment. I will be watching from the computer, so be a good girl." With that, she marched out of the room.

Lying on the bed is a skimpy maid's outfit. I struggle with my stiff muscles to strip out of my sports bra and sneakers. I change into the tiny black dress, which is made of stretchy material. It also has built-in support for my breasts, much like a wonder bra. It takes some effort to get into. My breasts are squeezed together and up, causing them to nearly pop out of the plunging neckline. I will have to be careful. I tie on the tiny little white apron, wrap the white choker around my neck, then roll up the fishnet stockings and attach them to the garters hanging from the inside waistband of the dress. I lock on the patent leather stiletto heels

My reflection tells volumes about who I have become. I see a sex slut staring me dead in the face. The skirt is so short that you can see the tops of my stockings. If I bend over, my red ass and bald pussy are on full view. And the dress did nothing to hide my semi-erect nipples.

The list is long. I must clean dishes, scrub the kitchen and bathroom floors, clean toilets, wash the windows, wash the clothes (both hers and mine), change the sheets on my bed and several other things. I have no time to waste.

The hours stretch on as I work. My arms and legs are dead tired and ache with every move. Yet I speed through my tasks, and I expect to finish everything on the list, with time to spare.

Every click of these outrageous heels, every time I bend and expose my sore ass, every time a boob pops out the top of my dress, and each and every time I catch my reflection in a mirror, I am reminded of the sex toy that I have become. The competing forces inside me leave me paralyzed with confusion. The way I look, the way I am treated, the utter helplessness of my situation is keeping me buzzing with unwelcome arousal. This is wrong. It is not moral. I am ashamed. I have never acted this way, or felt this way before, so my arousal is not my fault, it is Brittany's. Or is it?

So even if she is taking control of my body, I can still keep control of my mind. I will become strong again and not allow her to penetrate my psyche anymore.

I knock on the open door of my home office. Brittany waves me in and commands me to kneel by my desk. She continues to work on the computer as I kneel quietly.

"Do you want to see this terrific new web site? Come here and see this thing," she said with girlish excitement. I look up as she navigates the computer screen to a site called "mylesbianfucktoy.com". She clicks through the password section and starts clicking on the thumbnail pictures.

"Look at this one," she said. It looked familiar for some reason. It was a rear view of a bent over woman. You could not see her face, but you could make out her gaping sex and her plugged ass.

"Look at how hot this one is," Brittany says as she opens another photo. This one features a woman, her face digitally scrambled, with her wrists secured above her head, her proud breasts and long erect nipples being paddled. Something familiar struck me about the picture.

"And look at this one," she said as a third photo loads on screen. This is in a shower. I see the back of a thin, sexy woman with her hands locked over the shower head, and an enema tube sticking out of her ass.

Then, like a freight train, it hit me. These are pictures of me. I let out a loud gasp and starting crying.

"I see you recognize the star," she asked while clicking open more photos. "This site has already received over 125,000 hits in just one day. Don't worry; this is not open to the public. You have to buy a membership to log on. What a real moneymaker you are, by the way. All the money is being credited directly into your money market account." She clicks open an endless stream of humiliating photos, each one showing in detail my humiliating slide into depravity. Despite my best efforts, she is stealing my soul.

With her free hand, Brittany reaches down the front of my dress and starts to massage my right nipple. All the while, she keeps showing me photos of my dripping pussy, my smacked red ass, my clamped nipples, etc.. Even while I cry, the photos and the manipulation of my nipple has me excited in no time flat.

“Do you remember this one? This was the last time you came. That must have seemed a year ago, fuck toy,” she said with obvious joy as the picture of my fucking the dildo on her window popped up on screen. The picture was devastating. What an evil girl.

"Pet, I want a few more for today. I want you to lie on your back and play with your pussy and clit. I want you to get real excited, but you are not to cum without permission. Make it last" Wiping away my tears, I lie on my back and lift up my dress. Brittany's video camera is set up on the tripod, poised to catch my every action. My pussy lips are already soaked as I use two fingers to slowly finger fuck myself. Brittany watches me for a while as I work my sex. I heat up to a boil in just a few minutes. In short order, I am grinding my hips into my hand and panting like a bitch in heat. I need to cum so bad I am about to have a total melt down. Yet she keeps me going. I fight the urge to cum. The punishments hurt so badly, I can't take another round today. My need is tearing away at my will. I fight with every ounce of energy. I feel dizzy with need. I feel light headed. Before I know it, Brittany is leaning over me, splashing cold water on my face.

"Wow. You are full of surprises. You passed out on me. You are certainly an entertaining fuck toy, aren't you?" she asked mockingly. "Go take another shower. Remember, no cumming. I am just looking for an excuse to show your face in these pictures and send a note to the media. Wouldn't they enjoy seeing your hot, nasty body? I did not even get a chance to show you these video clips."

"After your shower, I want you to apply a conservative amount of make-up and I want your hair done up nicely. We are going out to dinner to a very fancy place, and even though you are a slut, inside and out, I don't want you to embarrass me by looking like one tonight. Hurry up, we are leaving at 7:00 pm."

I finish my shower quickly, avoiding my sex and nipples to keep from distraction. I do my hair and apply my make-up, then enter the bedroom. Brittany is waiting for me.

"Before you put on your dress, I have a few items for you to wear." She grabs my left nipple and toys with it. My tit is so sensitive that even the briefest touch sends it to full erection. Once she is satisfied with how large it is, she takes out a tiny rubber band and places it over my nipple, wrapping it around the base. It is not painfully tight, but it will keep the nipple fully engorged and hypersensitive. She repeats this with my other nipple. She hands me a beautiful lacy 1/4-cup bra. Once fastened, my breasts are lifted high on my chest with my nipples pointing the way. I glance at the mirror, and with my tits presented as they are, I look like a sex doll.

She then asks me to step into a tiny little g-sting. As she pulls it into place, I notice a small, flat device, which she carefully places over my clit.

"Now put on the dress and the heels and meet me down stairs. We are running late."

I slip the black dress on. It is beautiful, conservative number made of silk. It fits me perfectly, not too tight, but enough to show off my curves. When I bend down to fasten my heels, I feel my sensitive nipples rub the fabric, and I almost scream out from the intense sensation. Geez, this is going to be another long evening. The heels are about four inches; very manageable in comparison to the stilettos I have been wearing lately.

She hands me my purse as we rush out to the car. Each step causes my boobs to move, rubbing my nipples in a soft, tortuous dance. My slit is wet and I will have to fight hard to keep from getting my dress wet. Before we start out of the long driveway, she takes a small box out of her pocket. She thumbs a switch and slides a lever. My panties jump to life, silently vibrating my clit. I squeal out at the intensity and my hands grip the seat as if I might fall off. She thumbs down the control to a low, constant buzz. I look over to her, begging for mercy with my eyes. She flicks the device off and starts the car. I find my breath and start to comprehend what I am in store for today.

Without any conversation, we pull into Reflections, a restaurant with beautiful fountains and waterfalls. It is the place to be if you want to network with the rich and powerful. She could not have picked a more compromising place.

"You are to introduce me to all of your friends in the most flattering terms possible. You will address me as Brittany until we leave. You will do everything I ask. Do you understand?"

Yes, Mistress," I meekly respond. The valet takes the car and the maitre' de greets me at the door as an old friend. I introduce him to Brittany, a very talented young lady whom he should get to know. On our way to our table, I stop here and there, saying hello and introducing Brittany with all the charm I can muster. All the while, my nipples keep brushing the silky material. I wonder if everyone in the room can see my fat nipples poking my dress or smell the arousal leaking from my pussy.

We sit along a far wall, with me sitting with my back to the wall. It is a semi-secluded spot, private enough to hold discrete power conversations but public enough to still be seen my the other elite diners.

The menu and wine list are delivered, and as soon as the waiter leaves the table, I feel my clit start to vibrate. It is a low hum, enough to rev my engine but not enough to blow my gaskets. My body temperature rises along with my arousal. I struggle to order when the waiter returns. Brittany orders me to clasp my hands behind me as she watches me. She engages me in conversation about work as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening. She is cooking me in my own sexual stew and she acts as if this is just a normal business dinner.

She flips off the vibrator as we eat. Once we finish, she quietly orders told me to take the small pair of thumb cuffs from my purse. I am to pull my hands behind me and cuff my thumbs together. It takes a bit of struggle, but I do as I am told.

So here I sit, my mistress using a remote vibrator to speed me towards the brink of orgasm, then stopping just in time to keep me from achieving the painfully needed cum. A light sweat beads my forehead and my chest as I struggle to keep my composure. She slowly works on the bottle of wine that we had ordered, talking to me conversationally about this and that. And she plays with that damn switch. On again. Off again. On again. Off again. I am struggling not to moan. My breathing has quickened and I wonder if anyone notices. Every breath rubs my excited nipples. Panic rises up as I realize that I am about to lose my mind.

(to be continued)