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Chapter 1 The Stories of white slaves bdsm in the window was still there. No appointment necessary". Still I hesitated. My hair needed doing and I couldn't afford a normal appointment at a salon. But Stories of white slaves bdsm I hesitated. I was very proud of my hair, it was my best feature, and I didn't want some new girl messing it up.

I felt the long strands again and made up my mind, pushing open the door and going inside. There was a middle-aged woman sitting Stories of white slaves bdsm the reception desk. She looked up and smiled as I approached and asked me if she could help. Of course the girls were properly supervised she assured me, and she was sure I would be very pleased with the results. Only partly reassured I nevertheless agreed to put my hair in their hands. Soon I was sitting in the barber's chair, my hair being shampooed.

The girl did seem to know what she was doing, and I began to relax. A man came over to stand by my chair and introduced himself. Antoine was the owner, and he complimented me on how beautiful my hair was which naturally made me feel good. He ran his hands through the still wet, auburn locks; almost combing my hair with his fingers.

Don't worry Madame, Ashley will take good care of you. When that's done I think a pageboy cut. I assure Madame, you will look wonderful, and I will supervise Ashley every step of the way. You trust me, no? Antoine flitted from one young woman to the next, chatting easily to each of them as his trainee hairstylists worked away at washing and drying, conditioning and cutting the hair of the volunteers.

There was very little chatter as the girls worked industriously under his critical eye, just a quiet word of encouragement now and then. We were served coffee or tea. I chose coffee but it tasted slightly bitter, and I pushed my cup away. Antoine came over, enquiring solicitously whether anything was wrong. To avoid a fuss I drank the rest of the coffee. Almost immediately I began to feel sleepy, my limbs heavy, my eyelids drooping.

I tried to get up but fell back into my chair. Time passed but it was as if I was detached from my body, an observer, powerless to do anything. I vaguely realised that my hair was now cut short, and that only two of the other women were left, both of them sporting the same pageboy cuts Euro bride tryouts porn my own.

The Stories of white slaves bdsm were now clearing up the salon. I couldn't move even as I watched the two remaining women being helped to their feet by four of the girls who then undressed them and guided the now naked women to chairs on either side of me. I realised I was standing up and Antoine and Ashley were undressing me as well. I tried to speak, but no words would come. I tried to push them away but my limbs refused to co-operate.

He lathered my pussy and swiftly, professionally shaved off all my pubic hair. I vaguely realised my companions were being similarly denuded; that all body hair was being removed from us. I watched as a thick, black, leather posture collar was fastened around each of their necks.

Then it was my turn. The collar forced my head up straight, made looking down impossible, made even looking from side to side to catch a glimpse of my companions a major effort. I felt the buckles being tightened. I should have felt frightened but strangely I only felt curiosity about this strange turn of events, and wondered what would happen next. I didn't have long to wait to find out. Antoine cupped my Alexandra daddorio nude pictures breast in his hands and began to play with the nipple, all the time talking to me as if to a pet dog.

Part of me was horrified but another part another part was fascinated by watching myself in the angled mirror high on the opposite wall responding to this stranger's touch, and even more fascinated as I watched Ashley bring Antoine a tray of medical instruments.

I felt him applying the local aesthetic to the nipple, the coldness as the needle slide into the flesh, felt the point pushing through to the other Stories of white slaves bdsm, pulling the cotton thread through and then drawing the golden ring that was attached to the thread through as well.

He teased the ring so that it hung just so, and then I saw him sealing the ring on itself with a touch of solder, realising that my nipple was now permanently decorated with a golden nipple ring. I found myself thinking how good it looked. I knew instinctively that Stories of white slaves bdsm was about to be the turn of my right nipple, and could only wonder at how calm I felt watching him teasing it to erection and inserting the second ring into Stories of white slaves bdsm nipple Stories of white slaves bdsm an exact reply of the earlier application.

Having finished he gently kissed both breasts just above the new nipple rings, whispering to me "There now how does that feel my lovely girl? Don't you look beautiful? Your new Master will love these. Still I found myself incapable of moving or speaking. I think I slept for a while. When I woke I realised that my two companions were similarly sporting nipple rings that had not been there when they had first been undressed. If this was some sort of game, the rules were quite beyond my understanding.

Some time later, I don't know how much later, two men came into the salon. They didn't seem surprised to see three naked young women sitting comatose in the barber's chairs in leather collars.

They laughed and joked with Antoine, carelessly touching and caressing the girls Stories of white slaves bdsm earlier had been doing our hair.

The girls made no move to prevent the men from touching them, as if this was completely natural and their bodies were simply there for their pleasure. Then I heard one of the men saying something to Antoine about whether the new trainees were ready, and I saw one of them giving him a large wad of cash. He carefully counted out the money on the counter, smiling as he did so. The two men attached leashes to our collars and we were helped to our feet, led out to the back of the salon and bundled into a waiting van.

I could see one of the women trying desperately Stories of white slaves bdsm speak, to protest, but no words would come. The van contained a line of empty metal cages and each Stories of white slaves bdsm us Stories of white slaves bdsm led inside one of these and helped to lie down on a bare mattress on the floor of the cage.

Stories of white slaves bdsm cages were locked and then the door of the van was closed and it sped away into the night carrying us with it to who knew where and to who knew what fate. My breasts were beginning to hurt now. The cold metal of the nipple rings and the tight leather collar was a constant reminder that matters were completely Stories of white slaves bdsm of my control.

I had heard of such things of course, of white slavers kidnapping young women and turning them into sex slaves, but I had never imagined that it might actually happen to Stories of white slaves bdsm. I knew I wouldn't be missed until Saturday. By then I realised it might be far Abby winters puffy nipples nude late. In horror I realised that the thought of what was happening to me had turned me on, my pussy was literally dripping wet.

When I woke up the van was still moving. There were no windows or lights in the van, just darkness and the faint rumble of Stories of white slaves bdsm tyres on the road and a dim roar from the engine. It was impossible to say how long I had been asleep or how far the van might have travelled in that time. Impossible to judge whether it was night or day. My head was Stories of white slaves bdsm, the Stories of white slaves bdsm no doubt of the drugged coffee I realised they had given me back in the hairdressers' salon, and my body was aching from the constant vibrations from the floor of the van.

The hard suspension transferred every bump in the road up into the van, tossing me about like a rag doll. This constant assault on my prone figure was hardly mitigated by the old mattress I was lying on. Eventually I managed to raise myself up to a sitting position, which proved to be a slightly Stories of white slaves bdsm uncomfortable one for the journey than lying on the floor, except when a particularly violent lurch from the suspension would send me crashing back down onto the mattress.

The leather posture collar had been removed and replaced with a thin, studded, leather collar that at least allowed me to move my head freely again. I reached up to try and undo the collar, only to find there was a small padlock in the buckle at my throat that prevented me from undoing it. As I slowly regained my senses I realised that Big hanging tits nude breasts were throbbing with pain as if an inconsiderate lover, no not a Stories of white slaves bdsm a rapist, had cruelly mashed them.

Suddenly I remembered the nipple rings that had been attached to them both in the salon, and I reached up and fingered the strange circles of cool metal that now adorned each nipple.

Touching them brought no relief but only added to the pain as the metal pulled against the still tender flesh. Sadly I realised that it would be several days before I could expect the bruising from the piercings to heal, and that until Stories of white slaves bdsm my breasts would simply be another cause of pain and discomfort.

I couldn't help myself from wondering with a flush of anticipation how my breasts would look now that they had been decorated in this way, and how it would feel once they had fully healed when lips brushed and caressed my nipples. I angrily thrust the thought away. What was I thinking? In any case I thought to myself, my mutilated breasts were surely the least of my problems. This was clearly not a practical joke; it had gone too far for that.

Where were these men taking me and what lay in store Stories of white slaves bdsm me when I got there? One thing was certain; nothing good could come of this. My imagination began to run wild with all the most terrible thoughts running through my head, of rape, of beatings, of death. Surely they would never let me go. But, an inner voice of calm reasoned with my wilder thoughts, neither had they gone to all this trouble simply to kill me.

Clearly they were interested in Stories of white slaves bdsm than that. What was it Antoine had said to me back at the salon when tenderly kissing my newly pierced breasts? I had a vague understanding of a kinkier world of fetish wear and bondage, of domination and submission.


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