Enslaved On Vice Island Pt 02

The carpet's soft under my knees, but it does nothing to calm the hammering in my chest as footsteps echo from behind the door--8C. My new "owner" is on the other side, whatever the hell that means, and my first thought is a panicked, 'I hope she likes me'. It's a stupid, confusing flicker--why do I even care?--and I'm still wrestling with it when the door swings open. My head's bowed, eyes fixed on the floor, so the first thing I see are her lower legs--bare, shapely, glowing under the hall's light. Her feet are small, dainty, nails painted a crisp white, one folded casually over the other as she leans against the doorframe, chatting with the officer like I'm not even there. Grey sweatpants hang loose on her hips, but I don't dare lift my gaze higher.

"I have your delivery," the officer says, her British clip flat and final.

The mistress spins around, clapping her hands with a giddy squeal--like she's just unwrapped a shiny new toy from Amazon. "Oh my god! Eek! I'm so excited!" Her voice is bright, bubbly, until it snaps sharp as she turns to me. "Hey, slave, look up here. Let your new owner get a good look at you."

I lift my head, slow, almost afraid of what I'll find. She's a vision--curvy, fit, thick legs that could crush me and I'd thank her. Her loose t-shirt's knotted at the side, hinting at big, heavy breasts straining beneath, and thick dark hair tumbles over one shoulder. Her eyes hit me hardest--sharp, smoky blue, piercing through me with a sexy, dangerous glint. She's the hottest woman I've ever seen, no contest. She eyes me up and down, slow and deliberate, like I'm a car she's thinking of buying, then locks onto my stare. A sly, menacing smile curls her juicy, plump lips--fuck, it's the sexiest smile I've ever seen. "Oooo... I'm gonna have fun playing with you, slave," she purrs, her voice dripping with promise.

She turns to the officer, hashing out final details, but my pulse is a runaway train, drowning everything out. She's my mistress? Oh my god--maybe this shit won't be so bad. The thought's wild, reckless, and I'm still reeling when a sharp smack lands on my ass--the officer's hand, stinging through me. "Go now, slave," she snaps. "Don't embarrass me--remember your rules."

The mistress tugs my leash, playful but firm. "Come on, boy, come on," she teases, like I'm a puppy she's coaxing inside. I crawl forward, the carpet dragging under my hands, crossing the threshold into her apartment, heart slamming as the door clicks shut behind me. The room's a blur--soft lighting, plush furniture--but I'm too wound up to take it in. This slave bullshit still chafes, and I'm not ready to just roll over.

She drops the leash, letting it pool on the carpet, and flops onto a low, cushioned chair, legs crossed casually. "Crawl over here, slave," she says, her voice light but edged, pointing to her bare feet--those dainty, white-nailed gems. "Kiss them." I freeze, glaring at her. Kiss her feet? My fists clench, but she flicks that damn remote, and a jolt tears through my collar--sharp, electric, buckling my knees. I grunt, lurching forward, and she giggles, all wicked delight. "Now," she snaps. Fine--grudgingly, I crawl closer, pressing my lips to her foot, quick and stiff, the warmth of her skin mocking me.

She sighs, uncrossing her legs, and lifts one foot, wiggling her toes right in my face. "Suck on them," she commands, eyes sparkling with amusement. I pull back, jaw dropping. "I'm not doing that," I say, voice rough, defiance flaring hot. Her smile vanishes--zap--and this shock's harder, a white-hot spike that locks my muscles and drops me gasping. "Suck. Them," she repeats, firm, relishing every second of my pushback. My chest heaves, but I'm done fighting the pain--I lean in, lips parting, and her toes slide into my mouth. They're warm, smooth, faintly salty, and I suck, slow and reluctant, her smirk burning into me.

"Good," she purrs, then shifts, lifting her foot higher. "Now lick under it--nice and thorough." I don't balk this time--the shocks have beaten that out of me--and I drag my tongue along her arch, soft and slick, coating it with saliva. "Gooood boooy," she coos, voice low and taunting. "Don't act like you aren't grateful to worship a goddess like me--look at you, getting hard for my perfect feet. You must have a filthy little foot fetish, hm? Lucky you, slurping on these divine toes." She slides the top of her other foot up my shaft, slow and smug, grazing the precum oozing from my tip. I'm throbbing, exposed, and my face burns red--she's clocked me, stripped bare in more ways than one, and I'm drowning in it.

"Aren't I a good mistress?" she says, then leans forward, voice dropping to a cold, serious edge. "What do you say, slave?" Her thumb hovers over the remote, a clear threat, and my throat tightens. "Thank you, Mistress," I choke out, desperate to dodge another shock, every word scraped from a mix of fear and surrender. She leans back, calm and smug, her smile curling as she savors her power, foot still teasing my cock like she owns me--because she does. The precum's slick under her toes now, and she drags them up my shaft again, slow, deliberate, watching my hips twitch despite myself. My breath's shallow, caught between shame and a pulsing need I can't shake, and she knows it--her smoky blue eyes glint like she's peeling me apart layer by layer.

"Such a messy boy," she murmurs, her voice a velvet lash, pulling her foot back to inspect the shine of my arousal on her skin. She wipes it lazily against the carpet, then swings her legs off the chair, standing with a stretch that makes her curves shift under that knotted t-shirt. "Up," she says, snapping her fingers, and I hesitate--crawling's been drilled into me, but she's overriding it now. A flicker of her thumb near the remote jolts me upright, knees wobbling as I rise, cock bobbing stupidly in the open air.

She circles me, a predator in sweatpants, her bare feet whispering on the carpet. "Hands behind your back," she orders, and I obey fast this time, clasping them tight, shoulders straining. She stops in front of me, close enough that I catch a whiff of her scent--something sweet, like vanilla, laced with power. Her fingers graze my chest, tracing a lazy line down to my navel, and I flinch, skin prickling. "You're mine to play with, slave," she says, her tone almost casual, but her nails dig in just enough to sting. "And I like my toys responsive. Bark for me."

"Bark?" I echo, voice cracking, half a question, half a stall. Her eyes narrow, and zap--a quick, sharp shock bites my neck, not as bad as before but enough to make me yelp. "Like a dog," she clarifies, grinning now, plump lips parting to show teeth. "Go on." My face burns, but I force it out--a rough, awkward "Woof," low and humiliated. She claps once, delighted, then grabs my chin, tilting my head side to side like she's appraising a sculpture.

"Better," she says, releasing me with a little shove. "You'll learn to love my games--or you'll learn to hate that collar more. Either way, I win." She steps back, plopping onto the chair again, legs splayed wide, and pats her thigh. "Over here, slave. Kneel between my legs--let's see how well you can please your Mistress." Her smile's back, sly and menacing, and my gut twists--fear, yes, but something hotter too, pulling me forward as I drop to my knees and shuffle closer, her thick thighs framing my fate. My cock's still hard, dripping, and I'm a mess of nerves and want as she hooks her thumbs into her grey sweatpants, shimmying them down in one smooth tug. They hit the carpet, and there she is--white lace panties, sheer and clinging, barely covering her. My breath catches, eyes locked on the outline of her pussy pressing through the fabric.

"Hands stay back," she says, voice a sultry command, and I clasp them tighter, shoulders aching. She leans forward, snagging my collar to pull me close, her dark hair brushing my face. "Start here," she murmurs, tapping her inner thigh--soft, bare, inches from those panties. I swallow, leaning in, lips grazing her skin, warm and smooth. She's all heat and faint vanilla, and I kiss deeper, tongue flicking out when she hums approval. "Good slave," she says, then shifts, guiding my head higher. "Now here--over my panties. Worship your Goddess."

My heart slams as I press my mouth to the lace, tasting her through it--musky, sweet, the fabric dampening under my tongue. I lick slow, tracing her lips through the thin barrier, and she moans softly, a sound that fries my brain. Then she laughs, wicked, and grabs both her feet, lifting them high, knees bending back toward her chest. The panties stretch tight, and she tilts her hips, shoving my face lower. "Lick my asshole, slave," she orders, eyes blazing. "Through the lace--every inch of me's yours to worship. I'm your Goddess now."

I balk for a split second, but her grip on my collar tightens, and I dive in--tongue pressing against the fabric, finding the tight pucker beneath. It's filthy, intoxicating, and I lick harder, her taste seeping through, earthy and raw. "That's it," she purrs, voice dripping with control. "You're here to worship every hole, every curve--say it, slave, tell me I'm your Goddess." My cock's leaking like crazy, pulsing against my thigh, and I mumble into her, "You're my Goddess," muffled and desperate, meaning it more than I want to. She giggles, rocking her hips, smearing me with her scent. "Damn right," she says, "and you'll never forget it." She pulls her legs back, dropping her feet to the carpet with a soft thud, and stands, towering over me in those white lace panties. I'm still kneeling, panting, cock twitching, as she grabs my leash and gives it a sharp tug. "Up--on your knees, slave. Time to learn your place."

She straightens, hands on her hips, thick thighs flexing. "You'll call me Mistress Ivy, Mistress, or Goddess--nothing else, ever. Got it?" Her smoky blue eyes pin me, daring a slip-up, and I nod fast, throat tight. "Good boy," she purrs, then turns, yanking me along as I crawl behind her, the carpet dragging under my hands. She stops at a small door off the main room, kicking it open to reveal a cramped, tiled nook--a toilet, low and stark, bolted to the floor. "Your private slave throne," she says, smirking. "No luxuries for you--use it quick and clean, or I'll hose you down myself."

She tugs me again, leading me to a sleek bathroom--marble floors, a glass shower big enough for two. "You'll shower with me," she says, voice dipping low, "scrub me head to toe, bathe your Goddess like I deserve. Every curve, every crevice--your hands'll know me better than your own skin." She points to a coiled hose mounted on the wall, its nozzle glinting. "Misbehave, and that's your bath--cold and hard. Don't test me." My stomach flips, picturing that icy blast, but her words coil something tighter in me too.

Then she strides to a tall cupboard, flinging it open with a flourish. Inside--chains dangle, whips coil, canes gleam in a neat row. Ball gags, butt plugs, nipple clamps, paddles, a spiked collar I've never even dreamed of--it's a kinky armory, half familiar from late-night scrolls, half alien and terrifying. "For when I wanna have fun with you," she says, running a finger along a leather crop, her smile wicked. I gulp, my soft bondage dabbling--always topping, never taking--feeling like a kid's game next to this. She catches my wide eyes and laughs. "Oh, don't look so pale, slave. You'll learn to love it--or beg for it."

She steps closer, crouching to my level, her thick hair brushing my cheek as she whispers, "You'll sleep at my feet, chained if I feel like it--close enough to smell me all night. Every morning, you'll kneel and kiss my ass to greet me--properly, with tongue if I say. And when I'm bored?" She grabs a butt plug from the shelf--black, thick, gleaming--and twirls it in her fingers. "This'll keep you squirming till I'm ready to play again." My cock betrays me, hardening more, and she notices, tapping it with the plug's tip. "See? You're already drooling for your Goddess's games." Mistress Ivy's eyes narrow, a wicked glint sparking as my shaft jumps under the plug's touch. "Oh, you like that, don't you?" she taunts, voice thick with glee. She holds the black plug up, twirling it like a threat. "Maybe we start you off right now--shove this pretty thing up that virgin ass of yours." My stomach drops, panic clawing at me--a butt plug? Inside me?--and I freeze, wide-eyed, breath stuttering. I've never... not even close. She sees the fear and grins wider, feeding off it. "Scared, slave? Good--you should be."

She snaps my leash hard, nearly toppling me. "Face down--now. Nose in the carpet, ass up like a bitch." I hesitate, trembling, but her thumb hovers over the remote, and I crash down, cheek mashed into the fibers, hips jacked high. My lasered asshole's bare, defenseless, and she looms behind me, a low chuckle rumbling out. "Fuck, look at this tight little hole--never been touched, has it?" I whimper, "No, Mistress," muffled and pathetic, and she snorts. "Perfect. Let's ruin it."

A bottle clicks, and a frigid squirt of lube splashes my hole--icy, slick, shocking my skin. I yelp, bucking, and she smacks my ass, sharp and stinging. "Hold still, slut--take it like a good boy or I'll ram it in dry." Her fingers smear the lube, rougher now, circling my rim with a taunting press. "Breathe," she snaps, "in and out, or you'll rip yourself." I choke on air, forcing shaky gasps, and she jams the plug's tip against me--blunt, cold, unrelenting. "Push out--now," she growls, and I do, terrified, as it forces in--stretching, burning, a raw ache that makes me groan, loud and broken. She shoves harder, no mercy, until it sinks deep, locking in with a cruel pop. "There," she hisses, slapping my cheek. "Stuffed like a proper slave."

Her hand snakes under me, grabbing my cock--throbbing, dripping--and she strokes, fast and tight, nails grazing the tip. "Look at you, hard as a rock with your ass full," she teases, her voice a razor. "Filthy little toy--bet you're dying to cum for your Goddess." I'm whimpering, hips jerking, the plug shifting inside as she pumps me to the edge--precum floods her fingers, my balls tighten, I'm there--and then a loud knock bangs the door. "Eek! My friends!" she squeals, dropping my cock mid-stroke, leaving me gasping, plugged, and teetering on the brink, sprawled helpless on the carpet. The butt plug's a relentless weight, my ass clenching around it, and I'm a shuddering mess--precum slick on my thighs, breath ragged--as Mistress Ivy hops up, brushing her hands like I'm a finished chore. "Stay down," she barks, pinning me with a glare, and I don't dare budge, trapped between the ache of denial and the plug's cruel stretch. The door swings open, and two women stride in, a third figure--a slave--trailing behind.

The first is skinny, Latin-looking, with a sharp pixie face and long dark hair spilling down to her ass--Gina. She's in short shorts that barely cover her, sandals slapping the floor, and a tight white crop top, her yellow bikini peeking through--bright, bold, screaming trouble. Her grin's all teeth, bratty and mean. The second's tall, fit, blonde--A.J.--wearing a beige fishnet dress, her skimpy matching bikini glaring underneath, every curve on display. She's cool, poised, a smirk tugging her lips. Their slave--Lila--shuffles in, short at maybe 5'0, glasses perched on her nose, naked but for a thick collar. Lean, tanned, with a silver plug nestled between her cheeks--bigger than mine--she's calm, seasoned, unbothered by my sweaty panic.

"Ivy, fresh meat!" Gina chirps, her voice a taunting lilt as she kicks my leash aside, eyeing me like a toy. "Plugged already? Poor thing." A.J. chuckles, low and smooth. "Day one and he's a mess--look at that drip." Ivy smirks, still in her lace panties, twirling the remote. "Newbie's learning--took that plug like I owned him from the jump." I flush hotter, mortified, my posture a humiliating sprawl--ass barely up, shoulders slumped, precum staining the carpet under me. Lila kneels beside A.J., glasses glinting, hands clasped behind her--a pro while I'm a trembling heap, shame burning my face.

"Five minutes--pool calls, gotta change," Ivy says, tossing my leash to the carpet and sashaying off, hips swinging. "Keep him in line, girls--don't let him slack." She disappears into a side room, leaving me sprawled in the lounge, heart hammering. Gina flops onto the couch, legs dangling, and smirks at me. "What's your name, loser? Speak fast--or I'll make you squeal." I stammer, "N-Nick," and she cackles, hopping up to circle me. "Nick? Lame." She smacks my ass--hard, a stinging crack--and I jolt, the plug shifting inside. Her fingers nudge it, twisting just enough to make me squirm, a whimper slipping out. "Aw, look at him wiggle," she teases, smacking me again. A.J. nudges my side with her foot. "Ass up higher, Nick--Ivy'd hate that sloppy posture. Let's see that plug stretch you."

I hoist my hips higher, trembling, the plug's bulk a humiliating spotlight, my face burning as precum drips onto the carpet--a sloppy, shameful puddle next to Lila's cool kneel. Her silver plug shines, bigger than mine, and she's steady, glasses glinting, hands behind her back like it's nothing. Gina smirks, giggling as she leans in. "Lila's a pro--Nick, pull that plug out. See what a real slave handles." My stomach flips--pull it out?--but she snaps, "Now, slave," her tone flipping to steel. I sit up, slow, wincing as my own plug shifts, settling onto my knees. Lila moves without a word, sliding in front of me--graceful, deliberate--dropping to all fours. Her short frame arches, ass up high, silver plug glinting between her tanned cheeks, her glasses slipping slightly as she steadies herself.

I reach out, hands shaky, and grip the base--warm, slick with lube--and tug gently. She exhales, a soft "Mmm," low and controlled, as it starts to move. I pull harder, and the widest part stretches her--a faint, wet schlick sound as her hole fights it, then a sharp "Ah!" slips from her lips as it pops free. Her ass clenches shut, a tight pucker, and she lets out a quiet, shuddering "Hnn," adjusting, still poised while I'm left holding the heavy, gleaming thing, my cock twitching at the sight.

"Big, huh?" A.J. says, giggling, then her voice hardens. "Plugs make anal easier--stretches you nice. Give it a ride, slave--stick that cock in her ass." My jaw drops, cock throbbing despite the shock, and Gina cackles, clapping. "Go on, fuck her hole--hard. Poor Lila hasn't been fucked in weeks--she's dying for it." I shuffle behind Lila, her ass still up, smooth and open, and guide my tip to her hole--tight, warm, yielding just enough. I push in, groaning as she takes me, and she moans--loud, needy, "Mmmph, nngh"--the heat swallowing me deep. They laugh--Gina's high and playful, A.J.'s low and commanding.

"Pound it, slave--fuck that ass like you mean it!" Gina jeers, giggling as she smacks my plug again, jolting me forward. I thrust, hard and sloppy, Lila moaning with every slam--"Ahh, mmn"--her pent-up hunger spilling out in raw, wordless sounds, while the plug in my own ass grinds, a double-edged burn that's got me panting. "Look at him go--desperate little slave," A.J. teases, giggling, and Gina adds, "She's loving it--horny bitch." I'm right there, balls tightening, when A.J. snaps, "Keep fucking her, slave--you better not fucking think of blowing your load or you're gonna be in so much trouble." Gina chimes in, voice sharp, "New slaves cum early, they're fucked--whipped raw, locked tight. Don't you dare."

I grit my teeth, thrusting harder, Lila's moans--"Nngh, hnn"--pushing me to the edge, their laughter and warnings ringing as I fight the urge, cock pulsing, a wreck--plugged, leaking, teetering. My ass clenches around the plug with every slam, a brutal rhythm syncing with Lila's tight heat, and I'm sweating buckets, every nerve screaming to let go. Gina hops off the couch, circling me like a shark, giggling as she smacks my ass again--sharp, stinging. "Look at this slave--fucking like his life depends on it!" she taunts, grabbing my plug and giving it a quick twist. I yelp, hips bucking, and Lila groans louder--"Mmmph"--her glasses fogging up as she trembles under me.