Slave for life

You remember your first owner, who wants a sexual slave. A blonde and nordic slave.

You remember the first branding. The rings piercing your nose and your tongue.

You remember your training, The suction pads to stretch your nipples and your clitoris.

The weight hanged on your tongue to stretch it.

The exercises with your mouth and your womb on monstrous rigid latex penis.

You remember your dance training. Eastern dance and erotic western dance.

You are always shaking remembering your first misconduct and the punishment : twenty lashes of whip.

Then, for the first time, you were led to your owner, in leash, your ankles hobbled, your slave bracelets locked in your back.

As usual when a slave was led to the Master.

You wore the slave collar and bracelets, light but very robust. With the medal sign of your servitude: slave, written in arabic characters. Your only name now: slave !

You danced for your owner. Dressed in a western way, grey suit, with a hat, your face gracefully veiled but prostitute's lingerie.

You lasciviously undressed in front of your Master turning around the stainless steel pole.

The little bell pinching one of your intimate labbias accompagnying, as a mocking laugh, your obscene poses.

When, nearly naked, your legs wide opened around the pole, your back arched, you have finished your slave dance, your owner took you, standing against the pole, your wrists chained to the hooks.

You have been well trained. You mastered perfectly the art of strip-tease, the belly dance or the whip dance. Where a slave mimics the flogging of another one, unties the clasps that hold the veils of the whipped slave, when she wiggles her hips to escape the leather strap. It's better for her that the slave holding the whip has not a grievance against the dancing slave