Salon Girl Taes Over

1

I was at the hair salon, getting shampooed, not thinking about my new tattoos, when salon girl lifts my hair.

"What the hell? Slave 37..? Really?"

She held my head, trapped in the shampoo sink, and slid her hand down into my blouse, under my bra, cupping my breast and my suddenly hard nipple. My eyes were wide, I was rigid, but not screaming and not stopping her.

"OMG, you really are, who did this to you, and why?"

"I serve my mistress, Ms. Dominique, look, please, don't tell anyone, really.."

She looked around and pulled me from the chair, to the back room supply closet, roughly pushing me to the wall. "Stand there, hands on the wall slave"

I was still begging but I did it, feet wide, leaning forward, hands spread wide like a criminal as she slapped my ass hard.

"You've been coming here for years, I never thought-you are such a vanilla older woman-hmm, so besides the neck tattoo, what else are you hiding? Tell me before I find it and get angry with you."

My face was red, knowing of the tag I wore at my pussy, and the tattoos on my labia. "Look, please, let me go, don't tell anyone, this is a private thing; Mistress marked me, and tagged me. Look, anything, please don't tell the world of people I know here."

"Marked? What the hell? Show me now and I might let this go."

I slowly lifted my skirt, so that she could see I wore no panties, and a silver tag on a short chain hung between my legs, with tattoo marks on the nether lips. As I held the skirt up, I was surprised by the flash of her phone camera.

"Well, I think I just won a half interest in this slave."

The salon girl grabbed my arm, and pushed me out the back door. "Come on slave, move faster, if you want this to stay quiet. We're going to your house, you drive." She slapped my ass.

In the car, I fumbled with the keys as she made some mumbled phone calls, trying to keep my eyes on the road. I looked over when she upended my purse, dumping the contents in her lap, sorting through all the things I carry. She dumped the cell phone, makeup, and loose items on the floor but kept my wallet and keys, checking the address on my license.

"Nice, a rich bitch but a twisted slave, fancy quiet part of town, sounds perfect. Drive faster, slave."

2

As I tried to drive, she reached over to put her hand on my neck, along the tattoo at my hairline.

When we pulled up to my place, she took a quick look: a small pleasant house, with a garden and garage in the rear, set away from the other and larger houses on a suburban street. She grabbed my arm, walking me to the door, using my keys to open it.

"I can see you live alone, no family pictures, your address here; get in the house slave, faster."

As I stepped into the hall, she slapped my arm hard and pushed me to the wall as she grabbed my hair and pulled it hard.

"You said you'd do anything to keep quiet, so OK, now you are mine, here. And I have some great ideas for you, to be all that you can be, as they say."

"It is very impolite for a slave to be dressed, pretending she is something better, get those clothes off now. " She pushed me hard across the floor and I bumped the wall, then started removing my summer dress quickly, then the bra which was all I wore under it. I was standing naked, in my own home, but feeling like a stranger. She laughed and took more pictures, with my face and belongings clearly shown, no doubt at all about who this slave is. As I bent to pick up my dress, there was a quick knock and the front door swung open.

She laughed as two of her friends walked in, tough girls smirking at my condition already.

"See girls, as I said, a gift of a slave for us to use. Slave, bend over, grab your ankles, show us your best side."

Whimpering, I bent over to expose my pussy and ass, with my hair and breasts hanging down, as they laughed. Someone had their rough fingers quickly in me, probing and stroking my vagina. The camera flashed again. She spoke with the others, then pulled me to walk down the hall, moving naked through my own kitchen and living room to the office in the spare room.

"Ok,log on to the computer, then step away slave; I think I should take charge of this for you now. Sit in the corner."

I was huddled naked in my home office, sitting on the floor, as she worked and explored the computer; I could see my familiar images and screen saver changing. She took the files from my desk, all of my tabbed personal finance things, and dumped them into a shopping bag.

"I'll go through these later, slave, don't worry about them."

3

I heard noise and crashes from the bedroom, and when she led me around the corner I could not stop my tears. The girls had taken everything from my bedroom, except the bed and a chair, and piled it in the guest room, with most of my clothing. My closet held only a few work outfits and shoes. They had emptied my dressers and my expensive French lingerie was dumped in a trash bag, along with my nightgowns and sportswear. One girl tossed everything in the other room, while the second used a power drill to roughly fasten metal loop hooks around my bedroom, screwed to the floor and walls. The spare room got a padlock, and the doors were removed from the bedroom and bathroom. My own rooms had become a cell.

The salon girl laughed, and pushed me to kneel on the floor. "Now, a good slave thanks the workers, use your tongue on each of these ladies and make them glad they could come over to help you into your new life."

She held my hair, and through my tears I licked each girl's pussy and sucked her clit until she came, then did the same for Salon Girl. My face was coated with their juices, my tongue was sore, and my hair was a mess as I knelt there. She fastened a dog collar around my neck, and a thin chain lead long enough for me to move from room to room. She fished through shopping bags they had brought to find my new uniform- a black leather bustier that left my pussy and ass exposed, and my nipples too. My property tag swung between my legs as I stood.

4

Salon Girl, as I thought of her now, reached to touch the silver tag chained to my pierced and tattooed labia.

"Slave,I can see your Mistress has started to train you well, but I think I can add a new dimension to the degradation and humiliation your writings say you are seeking."

"The girls have added web cams to your place here, at least the bedroom/ bathroom/ office where this chain will now allow you to go. After the weekend, someone will come over every morning to release you to go to work, since someone has to keep paying for all this, and that will be you. The rest of the time, you can work here as my internet slave. I have some exercise programs you will have to follow, we need to get you slimmed down, and some homework for you to do, but a lot of your time will be filling requests from the internet. I think you will find that the paying public has new ideas of how to humiliate you. I took over your computer, so I will manage all of your finances now. Your computer, fittingly, is slaved to mine now, so it just stays on, there is nothing for you to control."

"Your first homework assignment, since you love serving women, is to create a library of images from the web, let's say 500 pussy and tit photos for you to study, pay for the porn sites so you can remind yourself what a slut you are for these thoughts. I used your bank card to order food sent over, which was easy since I don't care what food you like, just eat what they send you."

Salon Girl tossed a plastic shopping bag in the corner. "Here are the only new clothes you might need, I had the girls pick up some cheap panties for you at the Dollar Store, and some higher heels than you had. So here is your new life: until your Mistress comes back to claim you, you are my slave here. I control the sound and the lights here from my computer, so you will sleep and wake when I chose, and you will get requests from the 'Degraded Slave Girl' site I set up with your pictures. I set the prices very low, since you are not worth much with your looks. Any complaints about you and I will put your identity all over the Web. I may send over some friends, since I have your keys now, so you should assume anyone with a key has authority to control you, do what they tell you. I'm borrowing your car, but I will send someone to pick you up for work Monday morning. Have a nice first weekend, Slave 37."

5

After she left, I was crying as I walked through my home, as much of it as I could reach dragging the thin chain with me. As I passed the mirror, I saw the new me: naked except for the black leather bustier, which left my breasts and pussy exposed, stumbling in the cheap high heels. When I heard the sound of a chime, I had to look around to realize it was my computer, and I hurried to the office with the chain scrabbling across the floor. She had left a paper taped to the wall behind the monitor: 'Push Enter to answer calls; your new name is 'Miranda' for now. Remember: good customer service!' I sat in the office chair and hit the Enter key.

The screen cleared to show a small image of me, from the web cam, and a large image of the caller, in this case what looked like a party in progress, a few college age guys and a young woman in casual clothes, laughing and drinking." The girl spoke first.

"My God, it is a real site! Umm, hello Slave 37."

"Hello, Miss."

"So, like this is real, you do, like anything? Are you really a slut? Do you have a name, Slave?"

"Umm yes Miss, that is my life now, I am Miranda." I brushed back my hair and sat up taller.

The commands and laughter started to come and I lost track as I did them all. Show us your tits. What is your bra size? I don't believe you, measure them for us. Pinch your nipples. Harder. Spread your legs. OMG what is the tag? Get a close-up of that. Use that vibrator on the shelf next to you but don't come. Put that newspaper down and pee on it. Disgusting slut. They laughed and hung up.

When the computer chimed again, I pushed Enter to see Salon Girl on the screen. " Very good Slave 37, I was watching your first call and you did pretty well- but you forgot to ask them to call again sometime. I think you are a natural at this. Now get on that treadmill you have and do 3 miles, you can take off the heels but keep the bustier uniform of course." She hung up, and a few moments later I was running, my breasts bouncing in the cups and sweat running down my body. When I looked up the camera on the wall was blinking, and I realized she was making a record of everything.

6

I was a week into my new life, getting off the bus after work since Salon Girl had still borrowed my car and said I needed more exercise. It was a long walk in high heels, but she said I needed to wear them all the time now, and she would check on me. When I let myself into the small house, I went first to the computer to sign in and reset the alarm. I glanced at the clock, then quickly removed my work clothes and hung them in the now-empty closet. The new, cheap underwear they had bought me went into the laundry and I slipped on the leather bustier, supporting my exposed breasts and leaving my bottom half exposed. I clipped the long light chain to my collar.

Before the computer chimed, I went to the bathroom, where the toilet seat had been removed and the web cam blinked in the corner, recording everything, sitting on the cold porcelain. The hand towel had been replaced with pieces of my former designer clothing, now torn into pieces; I washed and dried my hands and blinked back tears.

When the computer chimed, I saw Salon Girl onscreen, laughing. "Slave 37, you are a minute late today. That is another $100 you need to work off, slut. Your dinner is on the desk, one of the girls dropped it off when I sent her over earlier. Remember, good customer service online tonight."

The screen went back to the welcome page, "Slut to Degrade", with my photo and the very low rates shown. I opened the greasy paper bag to find a plate of mixed food, a half-eaten sandwich, cold steamed vegetables, hard boiled eggs, with cherry soda-all on the list of dislikes she had asked me for. I silently ate using my hands, then wiped them on the torn Ralph Lauren sweater.

When the screen chimed, I turned to the computer, to see the video link, a group of older and heavy men it looked like. As the meter clicked with their payment, I sighed and played my new role. Show us your tits, play with them, pull the nipples, spread your legs, use the toys, cum for us, beg to cum, put objects in that wet cunt, thank us for it. Please visit again sir. Each call was similar, as I saw my earnings listed on the screen at the lower left.

My first two hours had ended when the key turned in the door and a young woman stepped in, holding the key from Salon Girl. "I heard you were tagged, is that true?"

"Yes. I am tagged here." I knew better than to question her, and turned in my chair, and lifted both legs high. Between my thighs, a silver chain was linked to a piercing in one labia. The chain carried a metal tag, like a pet tag, which hung a few inches below her pussy, with my Mistress's phone number and my slave number. "37". I held my pose as the woman reached between my legs and touched the tag and pulled lightly on it, realizing now how far I had fallen, giving up my life and my body.

The young woman came closer, reaching out to touch the tag and pull on it lightly. "So, you are really, like, a slave? Who does anything, like a slut?"

"Yes, Miss." There was really nothing else to say. The woman, a lot younger than I was, was dressed like she had come from a party, with a slim dress and high heels. She looked at her small watch.

She tilted her head, then reached for my chain and tugged on my collar. I had to crawl quickly after her, as she led me to the bathroom with the open door. "I've been in the car, so I really need to pee, but this is disgusting." She pushed me to the tile floor, then stood and lifted the hem of her dress and pushed her panties down and stuffed them into my mouth. She was tugging the chain as she began to pee, with me looking up between her legs. It splattered in my face, and my lips, soaking her panties there, and rolled down my body to puddle on the floor. It tasted of vinegar, and faintly of oranges. When she was finished, she pulled me closer to use my hair to wipe herself.

"The panties are yours now, put them on. A slut in wet panties seems appropriate. And you know the smell of pee will never leave that sweaty leather corset you are wearing."

I was standing in the puddle, pulling on her urine-soaked panties, feeling them wet against my skin. I used one of the designer rags, part of my favorite designer silk dress, to wipe my face and hands.

She let go of my chain leash,, and walked into the bedroom, to flick through the few clothes left in my closet, then used her key to open the spare room, with most of my things. When she came back, she carried my long cashmere winter coat. "Salon Girl said you would want me to have something, this might do. You are such a good hostess."

The computer chimed again, and I looked from her to the office, not knowing what to do first. "Back to work, Slut, I can let myself out." I had another hour to do, and 3 miles on the treadmill.