Training Collar

My name is Sarah. This started off to be the account of my friend, Tish, who is married to another friend of mine, John. It turns out I was going to end up involved in the story too, in a big way. Tish and John had been married for five years and it was going okay. You see, when John met and fell in love with Tish, she was a pretty free spirit. She was pretty open-minded, and John was sure that she would delight in discovering all the joys of bdsm and fetish that he enjoyed so much.

Sure enough, Tish was accepting and interested and they had a lot of fun. John and Tish really hit it off. It wasn’t just the sexual part of their relationship that was great, they seemed to like and agree with everything about each other. All was bliss, and they got married a couple of years after meeting.

I don’t know why Tish started to change; maybe it was her biological clock ticking, or watching all the other women her age sending their children off to kindergarten, but something went ‘clank, twang, crunch’ in her brain, and she decided that she wanted to be June Cleaver and have a white picket fence, and . . children. Oh, and it was time to leave all of that kinky sex stuff behind, responsible parents don’t do that sort of thing.

This was a huge shock to me and even more so to her husband John. Before they were married, they’d agreed, repeatedly and at length, that they couldn’t stand children and certainly wouldn’t be having any. There were a lot of terse discussions, and then arguments, and even complete blow-ups, with Tish throwing things at John, and demanding that he “Man up and get me pregnant”.

I, as a mutual friend to both of them, was becoming emotionally wrung out from fielding all the depressed phone calls from John, and the weepy, hormonal, emotional ones from Tish. I was pleasantly surprised then to receive a really upbeat but brief call from John; I’d winced when I saw his phone number on my caller I.D and had mentally braced myself for another sad telling of whatever insanity Tish had spewed out this time. Instead, it was “Oh, Sarah. I’ve got great news. I won’t go into detail, but I’ve found the solution to all our (his and Tish’s) problems. Soon, all of this will be a bad memory, and everything will be back to normal.” He practically hung up on me after promising me a detailed explanation sometime in the near future.

The Christmas holiday was only a week away and I hate to admit it, but . . I actually avoided taking Tish’s calls. The holiday was seemingly adding fuel to the fire of Tish’s new-found ‘need to breed’. She wanted the whole Norman Rockwell image of rosy-cheeked children, her children, opening gifts under the tree on Christmas morning, while wholesome and vanilla mom and pop looked on, smiling vacuously. I didn’t know if I wanted kids or not, but all this even made me gack.

I didn’t talk to either John or Tish until a couple days after Christmas. I finally felt guilty enough about avoiding the people who’d been my best friends that I dropped by their place, mid-morning on a Saturday. John opened the door, apologized about the bathrobe he was wearing, and welcomed me in. He had a pretty-pleased-with-himself smile that didn’t seem to be going away anytime soon. He looked and seemed happier and more relaxed than he had in a year, and I found myself buoyed along by his good mood as we made our way to the kitchen/living room area.

It was then that Tish appeared. She was in what seemed like a somewhat wide-eyed state of hurry, if that makes sense. And she was wearing her old, too-short French maid outfit, the one that she used to wear for John every weekend for the first few years after they got married. I used to drop in for coffee on weekends, knowing full well that ‘slave’ Tish would be embarrassed to death about serving John and I coffee and Danishes while she was dressed in very high black patent stilettos, back-seamed black fishnet stockings, and the flaring, wispy, see-through maid’s uniform that didn’t even cover her clean-shaven pussy, much less obscure the view of her dark nipples through the transparent material. I don’t know why I’ve always gotten such a kick out of her being dressed like that, and why I reveled in her embarrassment, but I did. John loved watching her blush and squirm as well, and was always delighted when I’d come by.

“Hello, Sarah. It’s very good to see you. May I offer you coffee, a Danish, or breakfast?” Tish offered, just a touch louder than necessary. She was standing at attention and holding the hem of her little uniform up to display her pussy, something that I’d never seen her do before. She curtseyed to me, which was also new. She’d reluctantly ‘kipped’ to John in front of me in years past, but never a full curtsey, and never to me. Between that, her wide eyes, slightly open lips, and slightly-too-loudness, it was all a little weird. “Danish and coffee . . Slave” I teased, hoping for a more normal reaction from her, but instead she said “Yes Sarah” then curtseyed again and nearly ran, hem held high, to retrieve what I’d ‘ordered’.

John wasn’t just smiling, he was actually grinning, as he stood by, sipping his coffee. “Marital bliss has returned” he announced happily. “John, what . . How?” I asked, flabbergasted. “Did you notice her new collar?” he asked with the tone of a man who was about to reveal that he’d won the lottery. I had indeed noticed the collar that Tish wore, it was hard to miss. Brushed stainless steel, obviously very thick, at least two inches tall, and it fit very closely around her throat, so snugly in fact that it indented into her neck, top and bottom. It was fitted at its front with a thick, inch-diameter leash ring and I would later learn that it had an identical one at the back. It looked slightly too small and was certainly uncomfortable. I wondered how John had gotten her to wear it?

I nodded, encouraging him to continue. “It’s my Christmas present to us,” John said. “It’s completely stuffed full of technology, actually a full-on computer, all solid-state, shock-proof, water-proof, hacker-proof, and guaranteed for the life of the wearer.”

“Wait, what?” I asked, “Did you say the life of the wearer?”

“Yep. It has hidden permanent closures and a titanium-clad guarantee that the manufacturer will come and get her, cut the collar off and install a new one on her free of charge if this one fails in any way.”

“How on earth did you get her to agree to that, and what does it do, John?” I asked, trying not to sound as horrified as I was.

Before John could answer Trish hurried up, kipped and placed a hot cup of coffee and a fresh warmed Danish in front of me. She was very careful not to spill the coffee and also arranged the Danish’s plate ‘just so’ before me. “Thank you for letting me serve you Sarah” she said, once again holding the hem of her uniform up and curtseying.

“Good girl, Tish” John said. “Now go and do a hundred reps on your suck trainer, with your cuffs and bell clamps on.”

“Oh” exclaimed a too-delighted Tish in an over-the-top enthusiastic tone, “Yes Master. Thank you Master”. She hurried off, hem held high, pausing only to curtsey deeply and smile a too-sexy-to-be-real smile before zipping away. I could hear her high heels on the floor as she went. She wasn’t slowing down.

John said “I told her that I would make her a deal. If she would wear a locked, metal collar for me, all the time, I would try as hard as I could to get her pregnant. She balked at first, especially at the twenty-something pages of waivers that the collar’s manufacturer makes you sign in front of a notary before they’ll sell you one.”

“Did she read it before she signed it?” I asked.

“I kind of doubt it. She was much more interested in talking about baby names and room colors” he responded with an eye roll.

“Well c’mon John, you’ve got to tell me what this new miracle computer collar does?"

“It establishes a neural link with the wearer and then it controls behavior through a surprisingly complicated reward/punishment system.”

“What?” I asked incredulously. “I can guess how a collar could punish, with shocks or something like that, but how can it possibly reward you?”

“It’s way more sophisticated than something like a simple ‘dog-shocker’ collar. Using its neural interface, it actually causes pain or pleasure signals in Tish’s brain. ‘Bad’ Tish might feel what she would swear is a whipping on her ass, tits and pussy.”

“Holy shit” I interrupted.

“..But good Tish will feel the sensations of being stroked, massaged, licked,”

“Wait, licked?” I interrupted again.

“Yes, and very, very good Tish can be rewarded with positively mind-numbing multiple orgasms.”

I sat stunned, mechanically sipping my coffee for a moment while the ramifications of what John had just told me filtered in. “She’s trying to earn an orgasm now Sarah.” John smiled mischievously. “Would you like to see how?”

“No” I said. Then I giggled. “Okay, yes, of course I want to see.”

John winked and said “C’mon, you can take a turn if you like when she’s done.”

As we walked through the house to where Tish was busy trying to earn a roaring orgasm, I thought about my history with John. We’d always flirted just a little and I knew that if Tish hadn’t gotten to him first, I’d have certainly had a try at him. That said, he and Tish were my friends and, no matter what my little fantasies were, I’d never, ever do anything to come between them.

I could hear jingling ahead, like little bells being shaken. John followed me into the den, where he bumped into me as I stopped short. Tish was kneeling in front of me, facing a wall, upon which was mounted a . . well, it was a great, big rubber cock, and she was sucking on it furiously. It had a rep counter and colored lights mounted just above it and as they changed Tish changed what she was doing, bobbing, licking or a ‘deep-throat-and–hold-position’ for ten seconds exercise. John urged me forward until I was standing right next to her. Her hands were handcuffed up high on her back behind her and I could see a short chain leading from the handcuffs up to the back ring on her collar. She was shaking her tits and humping furiously with her pelvis and I saw the source of the jingling sound; there were heavy little bells dangling from the tight little metal clamps that gripped her nipples and her poor clit.

“The collar is monitoring each of the bells, they have slightly different frequencies of tone,” John explained. “She has to keep them ringing or she will receive a discipline.”

I nodded, watching her perspire as she shook her tits and humped furiously to maintain the correct volume from the bells that whipped back and forth on her chest, yanking furiously on the clamps that were biting deep into her nipples. The bell adorning her clit clamp swung back-to-front between her legs, swinging up and bouncing off her lower belly. I crossed my legs a little, thinking what that clamp must feel like, yanking away on her clit.

A light on the ‘cock display’ changed, and Tish surged forward to take all of what looked like ten inches of rubber dick down her throat. I saw that she had to simultaneously ring all her bells, hold down a button mounted on the wall just above the ‘training device’ with her nose and also compress two pads, one top, one bottom, with a certain amount of lip pressure to keep another little green light on. “The slightest touch of her teeth and she loses five reps and gets an electrical discipline shock from the rather large steel plug that she wears in her bottom now.”

“Wears? In her bottom now?” I asked.

“Mm-hm, round the clock. She can take it out for just long enough to use the toilet, wash it and lube it up then back in it goes. Of course, I can take it out for as long as I like to, well, ‘enjoy her’ there.”

“She’ll let you do anal with her now?” I asked and then clapped my hand over my mouth. That had been a private discussion between Tish and me, where she had told me that John wanted it, but that it was never going to happen.

“She’s become quite addicted to anal. She has taken to begging for it there, actually. Apparently, the collar helps her have the best orgasms of her life when I’m in her ass.”

Watching Tish was mesmerizing. I didn’t want to, but I really wanted to. I wondered how incredibly humiliating it must be for her to have John and I standing there watching her thrash around, whipping her clamped, belled nipples and clit around to keep them jingling while she sucked and deep-throated a ten-inch rubber dildo like it was the most important thing in her whole life? I realized that I was grinding my hips and that John was watching me with a little smile on his face. I blushed from the roots of my hair to probably my ankles and fled the room. I had noticed the rep counter before I noticed John watching me grind my hips; Tish had only completed forty-one reps so far, and would remain there, kneeling chained, clamped, thrashing and sucking furiously for some time.

I was uncomfortable so I made my excuses, thanked John for the ‘coffee and the show’, and congratulated him on the ‘new’ Tish, then departed. I was uncomfortable for a list of reasons; I felt like Tish had been tricked and was now kind of being made to do a lot of things that she didn’t want to do. I was more than a little alarmed at her apparent inability to resist the collar’s control on her. The most uncomfortable thing was how I’d felt watching her. I’d been so turned on that a kiss and some petting would’ve made me cum. I felt conflicted as could be, knowing that Tish was being forced to be John’s ‘good little slave girl’, and guilty that I liked it.

I was plagued for hours that day and lay awake that night wondering if I should do something to ‘rescue’ Tish from her situation. I played through a lot of different actions and outcomes before I reached my conclusion. I decided that Tish was a big girl, she signed the collar’s waivers, she agreed to wear the thing, and while John might have taken some advantage of her, it was through her own greed to get what she (and nobody else) wanted that she’d ended up in her situation. I would stay out of it except to enjoy the coffee, Danishes and the show. Besides, what John had said was true, marital bliss had indeed apparently returned.

I was quite surprised to see Tish’s number calling me a couple days later. “Hi Sarah” she greeted me, sounding a bit more like her old self. This was a relief as I’d worried that she’d be stuck as ‘zombie mind-controlled Tish’, always a little loud and slightly creepy. “Sarah, would you please come and get me to go shoe shopping? My car is in the shop. I’ll buy you lunch for driving me.” I said that I would. I didn’t have any money to buy myself anything since my company had to reduce my hours to part-time, but I could enjoy the experience vicariously through Tish.

I arrived to pick her up and was at first surprised to see what she was wearing and then, remembering how much control the collar had on her, I wasn’t surprised at all. While I was wearing pants and flats and a basic top, Tish was displayed in a tight stretchy T-shirt with her hard nipples protruding through what was obviously an open-nipple bra. She had on tight stretchy little lycra short-shorts over somewhat shiny tan pantyhose, and was wearing white, five-inch tall stiletto heeled strappy sandals. To finish her look, her hair was now cut in a ‘page-boy’ style that I’d never seen her wear before, and more make-up than I’d ever seen her wear as well. I noticed that her new hairstyle revealed her collar from 360 degrees and also that she looked really cute with bangs.

“Hi Sarah” Tish exclaimed a bit too enthusiastically.

“Um, hello Tish,” I said, eyeing her outfit.

She saw the look on my face and said “I’m sorry Sarah but my outfit is going to embarrass you, isn’t it?”

“Um, well . . No, no I’m sure it’ll be fine” I lied. She looked like a complete slut, but something in me wanted to see her out parading around in front of everybody, looking like a slut.

“It’s totally embarrassing. I’m going to just die being out in public like this but I promised John.”

“Promised him what?” I asked.

“I promised him that I’d wear something that would totally embarrass me today, out in public, all day.” I could see that she hadn’t wanted to blurt all that out, but that for some reason, she had to. She was blushing furiously, and her hips were grinding just a little. She saw that I noticed this and blushed even harder. “Please take me shoe shopping Sarah. I’ll buy you a pair of shoes for having to put up with being seen with me like this. Please.” She was biting her lip and practically begging.

After a pause, I said “Alright Tish, but only if you’ll tell me all about your new collar.” She brightened up and said “Deal.”

There was only one place that would do for ‘real’ shoe shopping, and really being seen looking like a total slut by a lot of people; the absolutely enormous, multi-level gigantic indoor mall in the city. Tish wriggled along in her high heels, her dark nipples daggering through her peek-a-boo bra and tight, thin white T-shirt. Despite being worn over pantyhose, her red lycra short-shorts pulled well up into her bottom and pussy which was very visible through the thin, tight fabric, and when she bent over I could clearly see the end of the large stainless steel butt plug in her ass. She was in a constant state of obvious arousal, her face flushed and her body language almost a little manic. Despite all this she looked oddly pleased, and I found that she kept gravitating toward the areas of the mall most filled with people. In my slacks and flats, I found that I was completely invisible if I was within fifty feet of her. As I watched her walk (strut, actually) it looked as if she could actually feel the eyes on her and that those eyes felt good. The more people that were staring, gawking, leering and even pointing and commenting on her, the more strut, wiggle and bounce there was in her walk, and the more euphoric the look on her face was.

I finally intervened, and dragged her off into a shoe store. Tish had a sheen on her face as she collected herself a little bit, saying lamely “I’d forgotten how nice it is to walk around in the mall.” The first store didn’t have heels as high as Tish wanted, nor did the second or third but we finally found a place that seemed to sell nothing but sky-scraper stilettos in every configuration for rave or fetish or whatever-else wearing. Tish spent an hour picking out a half-dozen pairs of stiletto-heeled fuck-me-pumps, none with a heel lower than six inches, and most being some sort of open-toed sandal with lots of straps. I was surprised that she asked for all the shoes in a seven, as I know she wore an eight. “I don’t know, I just like how they feel when they’re really high and kind of tight,” she blushed.

When I thought we were done the sales girl presented me with a shoebox. “Your friend wants you to try these on please,” she said. I sat and the sales girl, who was very pleased with the growing pile of ‘keeper’ shoes on the counter, knelt down to give me the full-service shoe store treatment. I was very surprised when I saw the price tag on the box, over $200, and an Italian name brand. I was a little less surprised when I saw what new, kinky, slave-collared Tish had picked out; black leather classic stiletto pumps with heels six inch high, and fitted with locking ankle straps. I let the girl put them on me, knowing there was no way I was going to allow Tish to buy me $200 fetish shoes. They fit sooo well though, and I could actually walk in them; It was like they were made especially for me.

“We’ll take those, too” said Tish. “We will not. They are way, way too expensive!” I retorted.

“It’s not up to you, and besides, I have the keys to the locks on your ankle straps, so you’re just going to have to wear them. I said I was going to buy you a pair of shoes for taking me shopping, and those are the ones.” She double-blinked, dangled the keys at me and then dropped them into her little sequined purse. The sales girl stifled a giggle, and rang up Tish’s purchases. I was peeved about being stuck in locked-on six inch stiletto heels, and worse, we were more than a mile from the car. On the other hand, I really, really loved these shoes and if I had to suffer a little ‘long-walk-in-heels’ karma for them, it was worth it. Besides, I was tired of being invisible next to slutty, high-heeled, high-beam Tish.

I was so dead by the end of the day. I’d walked for miles in my new shoes. Tish had wanted to get lunch, and then look at little skirts and dresses. By the time we made it back to the car I was wearing a very short little dress that she’d bought me, and helping her carry a ton of bags. The dress was a lot sexier (especially when worn with six inch stilettos) than I’d normally wear, but with Tish getting all the attention in her slut costume, I succumbed to the urge to compete a little.

“So, Tish, dish. You promised that you’d tell me all about your new collar” I said as we started the hour-long drive back to her place.

She thought for a moment then said “I hated it at first. I thought I’d made a huge mistake, but now . . I don’t know, I guess . .” For a second, she looked slightly puzzled, like she’d been distracted and lost her train of thought.

“Tell me how it works. John tells me it has a computer in it and it establishes some kind of a brain-link with the wearer?” I prompted, trying to find out more.

“Yes, and this will sound weird Sarah, but it actually talks to me, inside my head.”

“What!?” I exclaimed.

“It’s not as ominous as it sounds. Well, maybe it is. I don’t know, but it gives me instructions.”

“Like what?” I asked incredulously.

“It always starts with ‘The slave will . .’ and then it tells me what to do. It can be something very specific, like ‘The slave will stand in position one’ which is the one where I’m at attention and holding up the hem of my skirt so that you can see my pussy.”

“I remember, I like that one,” I teased.

Tish blushed, and continued “Or it can be a more general thing like ‘The slave will speak clearly and pay attention to her diction’”.

I took all this in for a moment, then pressed for more information. “What happens if it tells you to do something that you really don’t want to do? What happens if you fight it?” I asked.

“It will make me feel bad about not obeying, like I’ll actually feel guilty and sad, maybe a little queasy, and if I’m really disobedient, I’ll get a whipping or even a caning.”

“WHAT?” I stammered.

“Well not a real one, just the sensation of one, but it feels very realistic.”

I remembered what John had said about that. “What other physical sensations can it make you feel?” I asked.

Tish blushed even more deeply. “Oh, Sarah!”

“Go on” I demanded.

“Okay. Like today? I could swear that there have been spring clamps on my nipples, all day, right now even. Not cruel, but tight enough to hurt.”

“Wow!” I exclaimed, imagining wearing invisible nipple clamps that I couldn’t take off. Wait, what?

“And then there was the tongue” Tish continued.

“The tongue? What tongue?”

“The one that keeps licking my clit, not enough to let me cum, but more licking when I’m around more people, rewarding me for being so embarrassed about how I’m dressed, and how I was behaving. The sluttier I am Sarah, the more tongue I get.”

“Do you get to cum, Tish?” I asked. I was squirming in my seat, concentrating on not hitting anything as I drove the car.

“Yes, but only when Master, I mean John . .”

“You mean ‘Master’” I teased.

“Fine” she capitulated, embarrassed. “I only get to cum when Master lets me. Mmm!”

“What was that ‘mmm’?” I asked. “My collar just let me know that I’m a good girl,” Tish said with her eyes half closed and a look of bliss on her face.

At this point we were pulling into the driveway of John and Tish’s house, and John was home from work. Tish dragged me inside, swamped with the bags and boxes from the days shopping. “Master? Master come and see” Tish called. I was suddenly very self-conscious about the very short, tarty pink dress I was wearing, and that I couldn’t get the six-inch high stilettos off my aching feet until I wrangled the key to their ankle straps away from Tish. John appeared, carrying a bottle of wine and three glasses. “Wow!” he said, taking us in with wide eyes and a smile.

“I know, isn’t she gorgeous in that?” Tish asked.

“You’re both gorgeous. I really like what you chose today, Tish. Why don’t you show me what you’ve been wanting to do with Sarah? You have my permission.”

I only got part of “Wait, what?” out before Tish had her mouth on mine, her tongue between my lips and her hands all over me. I was still sexually simmering from what we’d been talking about in the car, and didn’t offer as much resistance as I might have normally. I was also about as warmed up as I could be to make out with Tish; I’d been staring at her all day, wriggling and strutting in her slutty outfit, and more than once had wondered what it felt like to have that big stainless plug in one’s ass.

I ended up staying the night at John and Tish’s place, and didn’t get released from my new locked-on six-inch stiletto heels until morning. I’d been tied out in an inverted ‘Y’ on the bed while Tish used her tongue on me, and John took her from behind, and then in her behind. She was only allowed to cum after she’d made me do so, and her orgasms were huge and multiple. We switched and John had me from behind while I licked Tish’s pussy; I’m not normally what you’d call ‘bi-sexual’ but this was so hot (and to be honest, something that I’d daydreamed about) that I came a number of times.

The morning featured Tish, back in her French maid uniform, making John and I breakfast and coffee before each of us had to go off to work. She was bright and happy and sexy as hell, the hem of her little outfit held up at all times, curtseying, grinding her hips, and being almost as submissive to me as she was to John. She sent each of us off with a long kiss and a longing look.

Over the next few weeks, I found myself spending more time with John and Tish than I did at home. They were fun and happy and the sex was amazing. I found that I loved wearing lingerie, my six-inch heels and various levels of bondage with Tish around their home. I got exhibitionist thrills out of the outfits that Tish would insist we wear out to restaurants and clubs and enjoyed the shocked and envious looks that the other patrons would give us when Tish would lean over and kiss me deeply. At one point I asked her about children. “What about them?” she said, looking puzzled.

“A month ago, having children was all you could talk about?” I reminded her.

“Oh. Yeah. I got over that, must have been some kind of crazy hormonal thing. What was I thinking?” she shrugged, tossed her hair and winked at me naughtily.

I have to admit that I was becoming envious of Tish; As much as I might be enjoying myself, she always seemed to be having a better time than me. She was so happy and perky and joyful, and during sex, her toe-curling, yowling-like-a-cat orgasms made her look like she was having seizures. I knew it was due to her collar which was adding sensory, hormonal and emotional stimuli to Tish’s sexual experiences. I mentioned this over wine one evening and Tish confirmed my thoughts. “It’s so amazing, Sarah, it’s like everything is better and brighter and happier, and when I cum it’s ten times bigger than ever before I got my collar. .”

John had been looking thoughtful, then said, “Why don’t we pool a few bucks and get one for you Sarah? If you moved in with us, you’d save a ton on rent and could help with the cost of buying it. .”

“And think of all the gas you’d save, not having to drive back and forth over here” giggled Tish. “Please Sarah? Please wear one of these collars (she had a finger through her front leash ring, and licked her lips at me) and come and live with us?” Tish continued before shivering with a sexy, all-over body wiggle.

I declined and Tish pouted a bit, but the idea was planted in my head. I would like to live with my best friends/lovers in their big, beautiful house. It was closer to work for me so it would save me money. I’d be with them every night, laughing, watching movies, having sex and cuddling in that big, warm bed. After a few days it was sinking in how much I wanted to do it, but the offer had seemed contingent on me wearing a collar like Tish’s and that part really freaked me out. I have to admit though, it really excited me, too. I wasn’t shocked by how Tish looked in her collar anymore and she seemed not just normal, but way better than normal, she practically glowed. That said, she didn’t work, and I did. I couldn’t wear a wide metal collar with leash rings to run errands, much less to work! On a whim, I teasingly asked my boss if I’d get fired for wearing such a thing. He laughed and said “No” and then joked that he’d probably give me a raise.

I had a crazy dream that night; I had a collar locked around my neck, just like Tish’s. I was wearing a short, sexy little dress, my very high heels, and everywhere I went people were smiling at me and complimenting me, telling me how much they loved my new choker and I felt really happy and deliciously content. Maybe I give more importance than I should to the symbolism of dreams, but I really think that the often-convoluted messages in them are the subconscious, working through the stress, dilemmas and decisions that confront us. That Friday night, I announced to John and Tish that I would like to come and live with them, and that I would like to wear a collar like Tish’s.

They were delighted, and we celebrated late into the night. John printed out the collar company’s waiver and the detailed collar-fitment diagram. He carefully measured and then re-measured my throat and filled out the order form. The next morning I signed the waiver forms in front of a notary at a local bank branch. She didn’t really understand what it was that I was signing, only caring that it was done correctly and that I had identification. She was bored and I was trembling like a leaf.

That was four weeks ago. Three weeks ago I moved in with John and Tish, and turned in the keys to my rental apartment. Two weeks ago my new collar arrived. Smiling, John helped me lock it around my throat. Identical to Tish’s, it was brushed-finish stainless steel, two inches tall, a quarter inch thick, fitted with front and rear leash rings and it fit snugly enough to indent slightly into my flesh. An hour later, I was on my knees, trying out the blow-job trainer for the first time, my wrists chained up high on my back and heavy little bells hanging from clamps on my nipples and clit. Tears ran down my face as I swung them frantically to keep them moving and tried desperately to avoid (another) punishment from the collar, and trying not to gag (again) on the huge rubber cock. Tish stood alongside me, offering cheerful suggestions. My nipples and clit hurt a lot, and I was terribly uncomfortable and the weirdest sensations were running through my body as the collar ‘mapped’ me. Ultimately, I was allowed to cum as I shook all my clamp-bells like crazy, and almost blacked out from lack of air while choking on the huge rubber cock.

A week ago, we picked up Tish from the plastic surgeon. As she would be entering a very strict regimen of 23/7 corset training she’d had the two lower ribs removed from each side of her ribcage. She has also had truly enormous breast implants put in. She’s now a double ‘F’ cup and, with the additional saline injections that will fully fill her implants, she will grow to a double ‘G’ within the next six months. Her nipples were pumped full of a synthetic collagen while under vacuum, and they are enormously, permanently erect, standing out an inch and a half from her round, melon-like breasts.

Today, we’ve dropped her off at a piercing and tattooing emporium where she will have the first of a series of day-long appointments. She will be fitted with a nose shackle through her septum, a thick ring and a pair of barbells vertically through her tongue, large thick rings through her nipples and fully thirteen piercings will be done on her pussy; six per side through her inner and outer labia, and one horizontally right through her clit. These will be filled with inch-diameter, four-gauge rings. After her piercings are complete Tish will begin her tattoo appointments, where she will be permanently inked with heavy, slutty make-up and a large tattoo just above her pussy, three inches tall by six inches wide that will read SLAVE.

Right now, we have just pulled up to the plastic surgeons office again and in an hour I will undergo the same surgeries that Tish had; my lower ribs will be removed, my breasts will be hugely augmented, and my nipples will be put under vacuum and pumped full to bursting with synthetic collagen. When this had been planned, at John’s suggestion, I approached my boss to find out what his reaction might be and whether or not I would get fired if I showed up to work with such a huge breast augmentation. I was told that as I did not interact very much with the customers, it was entirely up to me how I looked and dressed. He even confided that he was enjoying coming to work each morning, looking forward to seeing what ‘trashy’ (his word not mine) outfit I was wearing that day, a remark that excited me no end. He loved seeing my stocking tops peeking out under my short little skirts, and I loved showing them off to him. I did wonder what he might say when he actually saw the size of my new breasts.

Some distant little part of my brain is screaming in horror and revulsion at what has been done to Tish and is about to be done to me. These negative feelings are almost completely suppressed by the collar; every time I see Tish’s huge new breasts I experience sensations of lust, envy and pronounced sexual need. I lay awake, rolling and pulling on my nipples, desperate to have my own obscenely huge pair of tits, to feel the eyes of the people staring at them as they project like zeppelins through one of the sheer, stretchy tops I now exclusively wear.

I can’t wait to be healed up enough from the surgery I’m having today to go get my own piercings, tattooed-on make-up and SLAVE tattoo above my pussy, just like Tish’s. I can’t wait to hold my little skirt up in the ‘number one’ position (we have dozens of numbered positions) and show it off. I can’t wait to compete with Tish for who can get wear their corset laced the tightest.

On the way into the clinic, I pause at my reflection; for just an instant I am mortified at what I see, then a wave of contentment and pure horniness washes the feeling away as I stare at myself; I’m wearing one of my favorite outfits today, and my nipples are very erect through the thin, sheer fabric of my top. My breasts are pushed well up by the half-cup bra, and the tiny little lycra short-shorts I’m wearing are pulled way up into me, creating a really dramatic ‘camel toe’. I can’t see it, but I know that the end of the large, metal butt plug that I now wear day and night is quite visible between my lycra-wrapped ass cheeks. I’m wearing a pair of thigh-high, pink fishnet ‘stay-up’ stockings, and a pair of hot pink, six-inch heel, strappy sandals. My shorts and top and lipstick and eye shadow are all pink, too, as is the polish on my long acrylic nails, and the tint in my blond hair. I love all the attention I’m getting these days, and the more people who stare at me, the more sensation of tongue on my pussy I get, as well as the never-ending sensation of invisible spring clamps on my nipples and clitty getting tighter and tighter.

I’m intermittently puzzled by feelings that something is somehow wrong, that somehow I’m missing some message that my brain is trying to get through, but then the sensation passes. None of that really matters though, what’s important is that I’m going in to get my huge, fabulous new tits now!

~Kisses~
Sarah

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27.01.16