All parts of the story can be found in the end
“Sold,” announced the emcee.
Cindy Sanders, the fuckable Slave Four was cumming yet again as the bidding came to a close. She fetched a high price too. The first four girls, all so beautiful, so young, and strong, had all “performed” against their will, participated in their own debasement much to the delight of the audience. They had loved every minute of it, of course, cheering and applauding at every opportunity. Still, everyone in the room, even the slave girls sensed that the show had just started, that the best was yet to come.
A hush came over the room as the lights dimmed. Music began to play. It was the entracte for Swan Lake by, bold and beautiful,, and yet terribly, painfully delicate, almost larger than life.
A white hot spot light came up stage center just as the new Slave Five was forced through the curtains by a man easily twice her size. She had costumed appropriately as a ballerina in a tiny crinoline tutu, arm length white gloves, white stockings, and white ballet slippers. There was no elastic, no zippers, or snaps. Everything was traditional eighteenth century, including her white silk panties, also tied at each hip with white satin ribbons, which were in turn, tied in petite little bows.
The top half of Five’s costume, however, painted a contrasting picture. It was a brief white bustier/corset which had been laced up tight around her waist. It stopped just sort of her large and lovely breasts, exposing them, accentuating them, even pushing them wantonly up and out for all the world to see. The lower part of her was a perfect princess, the upper a strip tease act.
Five had also been fitted with a white ball gag that was tied deep into the back of her mouth, also with a satin ribbon. Five would not be dancing in the ballet, of course. Instead, she had been carefully crafted to create something more like a pornographer’s dream, an almost unreal vision of innocence defiled and obscenity revealed.
White satin ribbons also held the poor hapless beauty captive. Her knees and her ankles were bound together. Almost ironically, this little prima ballerina was tightly confined. Elbows and wrists also had been pulled together behind her back and similarly bound. The guard held her steady. One arm wrapped around her wasp like waist and lifted her on tiptoes in a perfect en pointe pose, however rigidly enforced.
His free hand grasped her long blond hair which had been carefully braided into a single severe strand behind her head, pulling on it like a rope. As far as he was concerned, her hair was just another bondage point. He bent her trembling body backward. The two of them together created a terrible tableau of helplessness and pain as the spotlight came on. He pinched her nipple hard. She screamed.
Five almost looked like a Barbie Doll, only she had real soft and totally flawless real girl skin. Underneath her impossibly long legs, she was muscular and so well defined, she almost seemed chiseled. And, just like Barbie, she was well endowed on top. She had a perfect hour glass figure with breasts that were at least one size larger than the average woman. For that first single moment, all eyes found those breasts.
“We are very pleased to present to you today, the amazing Slave Five.” said the emcee. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
The music faded away. Still, the audience remained quiet, almost enthralled. Her beauty was beyond compare. Her costume, and her bondage, exquisitely planned.
“Isn’t she beautiful,” repeated the emcee.
This time there was an overwhelming reply. There were whistles and catcalls. People even cheered. Poor Slave Five felt nothing but terror. She broke out into uncontrolled trembles that were so violent that her breasts rippled in response.
The lights came up full. Standing nearby was the formidable Mistress X, complete with a quick change black ballet costume. Her new persona was the black swan, a sharp contrast to Slave Five.
“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight for your special entertainment, we have prepared for you a special dance, a kind of a bound version of ballet, starring the most capable Five in the role of a lifetime. Call it a ‘command performance’ if you will.”
The music faded back up to full. The topless Vegas showgirl dancer entered doing a satirical ballet pirouette. She brandished a glitter covered cattle prod as she danced, waving it as though it were a magic wand. This was a sophisticated audience. They all knew what it really was. They laughed. The showgirl pulled loose the ribbon around the hapless girl’s ankles and then she popped her with the prod. Right on cue, Slave Five began to dance classic ballet. She was good too, no doubt world class.
“We begin our little story with with her childhood. Slave Five learned ballet…and she learned it well, too…Soon she became the best in her class…And soon after that, she danced as a sugar plum fairy in a real ballet…everyone loved her…her teachers groomed her…even mentored her…knowing that one day she would be a star…”
Five continued to dance through the monologue. Her arms were tied of course, but her legs moved like the wind until she got another pop from the cattle prod. She froze in place after that. She knew her cues!
“But Slave Five grew up and with her came some changes. She grew breasts! And they kept growing too. Soon she was no longer a prima ballerina, soon they didn’t even cast her anymore. But, she loved to dance so she took up Irish dancing.”
The Vegas girl untied Five’s tutu, leaving her to wear just the panties and the bustier which still pushed her breasts up and out. The music changed. Celtic drums, Irish pipes, violins began to play. Another pop with the prod and Slave Five sprang to live once again, hop hopping out a perfect version of River Dance.
“Five would have been perfect for Celtic dance. But oh those breasts!”
The poor girl’s breasts bounced obscenely up and down to the frenetic pace of the music. The audience laughed. A couple of men jeered. It was so embarrassing that Five actually stopped. But she did not stop for long. Two more jolts, this time with the prod set on high, put her right back into the music, hopping up and down even higher than before. Applause broke out. A few clapped in time to the rhythm encouraging her to continue.
The music cross faded as Mistress X continued, “Modern didn’t work either.” another crossfade, “Not even jazz. Poor Slave Five was doomed to fail…doomed to fail until we found her. And tonight for your viewing pleasure we are going to make Slave Five a star, a veritable rock star in her own right. Yes, my friends, we are going to make her a porn star!”
The lights dimmed to black. A new sound track played played. It was Benny and the Jets. And up came the strip club lighting. A single spot aimed at the new starlet as she assumed a new stripper’s persona the words came in. A mirror ball came on. The moment seemed to be almost magical.
Hey kids, shake it loose together
The spotlight’s hitting something
That’s been known to change the weather
We’ll kill the fatted calf tonight
So stick around
You’re gonna hear electric music
Solid walls of sound
Cheers filled the room at poor reluctant Five danced, slowly but deliciously bumping and grinding her hips to the drumbeat. The applause was deafening.
“Stop the music!” ordered Mistress X as she stepped downstage center. The guard grabbed Five by the shoulders and marched her along with X.
“It seems as though we have a wardrobe malfunction. You see, the next verse of the song reads, “She’s got electric BOOTS. Some one on staff did not actually pay attention to the words. They got us these instead. My people thought the words were electric BOOBS.”
She held up two small nipple clamps which suddenly lit up. Everyone laughed except Five. She closed her eyes as tears began to roll down her cheeks. She stared at the floor in total shame and desperation.
“I am so sorry,” X said, “It seems as though my people have failed you. I suppose we could continue with with electric boobs, but that would be wrong wouldn’t it?”
“No, No,” people shouted. “Boobs! Boobs!”
“I can’t hear you,” X said, holding a hand to her ear.
“Boobs! Boobs!” Everyone shouted.
X continued to tease her audience, pretending not to hear the difference in the sound.
“Boobs! Boobs!” The room continued, this time it was a chant. Five turned beet red, utterly humiliated, overwhelmed by the cruelty.
Mistress X let them chant for a while, the voices rising to a crescendo, “Very well, boobs.”
And that she put the clamps on Five’s delicate nipples, each producing a short yelp. The stage lights restored as the nipples were turned on. Everyone knew the song of course they all joined in on the second verse.
But they’re so spaced out, Bennie and the Jets
Oh but they’re weird and they’re wonderful
Oh Bennie she’s really keen
She’s got electric booBs a mohair suit
You know I read it in a magazine
Bennie and the Jets
Slave Five was totally broken she barely danced a step…barely until the cattle prod hit her again and again. And then, nearly out of her mind with pain and humiliation, she danced again. Her steps were tentative at first, but her concentration returned and she continued to finish the song in high style. Her beautiful big breasts picked up the rhythm as well pitching and heaving carelessly in all directions.
The last minute of the song segued into a rhythmic chant: Benny…Benny…Benny…and as it did, Five began to dance a kick that would have made the Rockettes proud. She had to, of course. Her only other choice was the cattle prod.
The lights slowly faded to black as the music died down, but everyone could still see the two nipple clamps still bouncing up and down in the darkness.
“Let’s hear it for the lovely and talented Slave Five, everyone. Slave Five. Bidding begins at $30K…$30K!”
The entire story :
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