A New Toy

Disclaimer: All characters are over the age of 18. All acts and situations depicted consensual, regardless of how they are described. Any resemblance to any individual is unintentional.

A New Toy

Chapter 1: Acquisition

The gorgeous Latina squealed behind her cleave gag. The white cloth pulled tight across her mouth contrasted with her light brown skin and silenced all but her most primal noises. Her hands were held above her head, her slender wrists locked in leather cuffs connected by a chain that ran through a ring in the ceiling of the alcove she stood in.

She was completely naked.

Two men stood before her the captive woman. One cupped a generous caramel-colored breast in his hand, kneading it roughly. He had just tweaked the light brown nipple that he had stiffened by rolling between his fingers, eliciting the young woman's gagged protest. Bulbs recessed in the floor, ceiling and walls of the alcove provided warm but bright light. Despite the room being windowless, every inch of the young Latina woman was revealingly illuminated.

The man examining her moved his hand down from the nipple to lift the breast, evaluating its weight and perkiness. The tit had a nice heft, like a Ziplock bag full of Jello covered in smooth skin. Significantly bigger than a handful but still well proportioned with her slim frame, the breast quickly sprang back to its globe shape when he squeezed it.

There was just one more thing to test. He placed his hands on the young woman's shoulders and, ignoring her high-pitched and unintelligible complaints, began to rock her body back and forth and from side to side.

The chain keeping her hands aloft jingled as she was forced to shake her melons, giving him an intimate and alluring show. The girly assets did not disappoint. They swung in perfect unison, waving gently at him as they bounced. Yes, this young woman had grade A boobs, he thought, and he was going to enjoy them in ways that would make her shudder and scream. He felt his cock grow hard in his jeans as his adrenaline spiked. She was about to be reduced to a toy, a trained bitch forced to obey him at every moment.

Satisfied with how she jiggled (at least in front), he slid his hand from her chest down to her taught stomach. She was neither skinny nor fat and had fairly defined abs, but her belly was still distinctly feminine. He slowly traced a few circles around her bellybutton with his thumb, watching her large brown eyes close in shame, tears beginning to bead her long eyelashes.

Her eyes snapped open and she yelped behind the cleave gag as both his hands shot up to her boobs, grabbing her nipples and twisting. Not too hard, but plenty to get her attention. Her wide eyes locked onto his, her expression pleading. "You will look at a man when he's playing with you, slave."

Through the pain and shame she registered that it was her first time hearing the voice of the man controlling her. It was deep and commanding. Not expressive, almost monotone. He didn't ask if she understood; instead he slowly increased the pressure on her nipples, pinching harder until she nodded rapidly, her sweet eyes never leaving his. Her fearful nods amplified her pain as her tits bounced, her nipples tugging harder against his iron fingers.

He let the squirming continue for a few more seconds before letting go. Her nipples were now bright red, and they bobbed up and down with her panting as she struggled against the cuffs.

As she caught her breath he took a step back and folded his arms, savoring the delicious scene. The girl's hourglass figure, the curves of her bust and hips accentuated by having to keep her arms above her head, was what he'd dreamed of when he began his search for another sex slave.

He already had a nice little harem occupying his large mansion: three girls of similar age and physique to the Latina. A blonde, a brunette and a redhead. They proved their worth sexually to him every day, employing their tight young bodies in fervent and usually doomed attempts to avoid painful punishments and humiliations. Whenever one of the girl's slutty performances fell short of his expectations, she was sure to encounter one of the wicked toys he owned for chastising and taming female bodies.

He wanted something more exotic than these white sluts, supplied with round tits and asses though they were, to add to his collection. He needed a spicier fucktoy to tie spread-eagled to his bed. He imagined the chocolate eyes of this Latina widening helplessly as he penetrated her, and then he knew she was the one.

Plus, he had recently bought a dozen slave outfits and was itching to squeeze a fresh juicy girl into them. In retrospect he probably didn't need all twelve of the costumes, but the petite brown-haired employee working the sales floor was great at her job.

Which probably had something to do with her uniform.

The salesgirl's D-sized breasts had sat in a cherry red push-up bra, the cups of which were cut absurdly low so they barely concealed her small nipples. He could detect the outline of barbell piercings through the thin material and wondered whether the additions had been voluntary.

A white and grey flannel shirt with only the bottom button done had framed her curated breasts, and the shirt hem had covered only the top of her matching half-cheek panties. That had been the extent of the uniform, except for the three inch heels the same shade of red as the undergarments, which teasingly enhanced her voluptuous butt.

He had made no secret of taking long looks at her ass as he followed her down the aisles, though sadly the store had a strict no-touch policy for any woman who wasn't yours (commonly known as the No Own, No Bone rule). The signs hanging over the aisle entrances identified the kinds of equipment in them by area of use in the home: KitchenKunts, SunroomSlurpers and LivingroomLapwarmers, to name a few. The salesgirls were accustomed to being ogled by their mostly male customers and leveraged this visual groping into commissions by finding opportunities to bend and jump to reach merchandise.

They invariably bent from the waist, keeping their legs straight, and when jumping they brushed their long hair back from their faces and let out little squeaks of exertion. It made for an intoxicating display of feminine helplessness. The ensuing swallowing of panties between cheeks and bouncing of titties out of their pathetic enclosures would, depending on the day's uniform (employees sported different enticing getups each day of the week), allow hangers to be placed on the men's arms or cases of sex toys placed into their carts almost without them noticing. The place was a goldmine.

The outfits he'd purchased spanned a variety of themes, and they all greatly objectified the wearer and clearly designated her as a source of sexual relief for anyone around. None would be out of place in the most hardcore bondage club, or in some nightmarish punishment camp where the prisoners were forced to display their female charms in the most obvious and degrading way possible.

Two outfits were foremost in his mind. The first was a pony harness consisting of black leather straps that crisscrossed the torso, all meeting at a steel ring that encircled the bellybutton. Two special straps ran above and below the breasts, lifting and squeezing them so they bulged enticingly and wobbled at the girl's slightest movement. The harness left the pussy and ass mostly exposed, except that it provided the infrastructure for dildos and plugs to be inserted at the owner's pleasure.

In addition to the network of straps, the outfit came with two items to further dehumanize the wearer: a head harness meant for a gag and thigh high latex pony boots. Blinders could be mounted on the sides of the head, preventing the gagged slave from seeing anything but what was directly in front of her and forcing her to follow her owner's directions given via reins clipped to the harness gag.The boots were ordinary except that they ended in steel horseshoes. The horseshoes covered only the ball of the foot; the heel sloped steeply up and was reinforced with steel, giving the effect of stilettos but with no actual heel touching the ground.

The second outfit was a bikini made of nothing but delicate chains. The scant collection of silver links that formed the top would rest on the breasts in several horizontal lines, leaving the area around the nipples entirely exposed. Similarly, the bottom of the bikini would conceal virtually nothing. The girl's crotch would be framed by a pair of joined chains that formed a tight oval. According to the salesgirl at the slave supply shop, the intent was for the chains to squeeze the perimeter of the vulva so that its lips protruded slightly, thus drawing one's eye immediately to the slave's decorated vagina. In back only a token amount of asscheek surface area would be covered.

What had really drawn his attention to this bikini-style outfit, though, was a deviously-placed component: the thong chain. It was to be drawn between the wearer's rear globes and reappear at the base of the crotch oval. It would then go under the oval chains and between the proffered nether lips and would terminate at the chain encircling the waist just above the crotch. This placed the thong chain directly over the girl's most sensitive spots. The tighter the chain was pulled, the more mercilessly it would dig into her asshole, the sensitive flesh between her pussy lips and her hidden love button. He vividly envisioned his new girl trying to walk in this predicament and could have orgasmed then and there, imaging her moans of mixed pain and pleasure and the way she would stick out her ass in vain attempts to relieve the pressure of the thong chain on her clit.

A quiet sob brought him out of his dress-up fantasy. Getting carried away, he thought. All in good time; gotta get this little lady home first.

But speaking of lips - he was already on cloud nine with excitement and he hadn't even checked out her pussy or ass yet. It wasn't every girl that could turn him on with just her face and boobs. He considered a woman's ass to be the pinnacle of attractiveness. The female waist, hips, butt and upper thighs, especially the backs of the thighs where they swelled to meet her checks, were the most beautiful and desirable aspect of humanity.

Despite his intense arousal, he was trying to keep his eyes above her waist to draw out the experience of taking her in. A girl this sexy required time to appreciate and explore. But of course he couldn't resist a few darting glances at the crotch of this chained young woman he was here to buy, and he grew more excited with each look he allowed himself.

She had a lovely, cute pussy, the lips the same color as her light brown thighs and belly. His imagination danced with anticipation of what it looked like when she was wet and turned on, how much her lips puffed up and whether they turned bright pink like those of his other slaves did when in use.

She looked freshly waxed, except for a neat, narrow landing strip of black hair leading up from where her clit was hidden. This pleased him. Although he strongly preferred the look and feel of hairless pussies, the thought of slowly pulling out her pubic hairs one by one as she squirmed and cried was just too enticing to pass up.

He reached out and caressed her cheek, feeling the tears that were trickling toward her gag. She let out a short squeal and tried to turn away as his hand approached her face, but the chain prevented much movement. He could feel her trembling. "How nice of you to curate your hair down there," he said in a matter of fact voice. "You must know men usually enjoy their women hairless, and that we also enjoy making them that way." Her eyes, which had been looking left and right to avoid eye contact, now flicked to his. He detected curiosity through the overall fear in her face, as though she didn't grasp his meaning. He laughed. "You'll catch up soon enough, dumb little slut." He slapped her cheek, almost playfully but hard enough to turn her head. The sound of the impact echoed in the alcove, followed by a sob muffled by her cloth gag.

"She's a real hottie, isn't she?" The second man, the slaver who had organized the girl's capture and posted an advertisement for her, hadn't spoken since the men had entered the room. The purchaser, distracted from his manhandling of the woman, turned to the slaver and gave a terse nod. He wasn't at all embarrassed about openly groping and slapping the young woman in front of someone else, or even about his obvious erection. They were both men and had seen their share of masters enjoying the intimate pleasures of their purchases. In fact, this guy had sold him one of his current girls. Unable to resist her large blue eyes and childbearing hips, he had stepped into the alcove and broken her in on the spot.

The slaver recalled as well. "How's the blonde I helped you out with last year? Still fuckable? I remember she had a real bubble butt, a great find for you. And a baby face from a Viking's wet dream. Cheeks just begging to be pinched. From Michigan or one of those Midwestern states with tons of Scandinavian blood. Can't beat that for farm-raised cuties."

"Most definitely still fuckable" the purchaser grinned. In fact he had enjoyed a rather noisy session with his blonde slave just that morning. Her ass had only gotten rounder since he bought her, thanks to the regimen of squats and lunges he forced all his girls to keep up. "Nothing like a bunny of that quality, especially with the way she moans. I like it so much, sometimes I leave her mouth free when I do her. She's very vocal."

The slaver nodded. Of course he never himself used the merchandise he acquired - that wouldn't fly with his high-end clientele. Anyone who wanted a thoroughly used girl could pick one up at any of twenty slave stores across the city, in the clearance aisle. He supplied a premium product. And he had a rather extensive pussy cellar of his own anyway.

"Is everything what you expected?" the slaver asked, gesturing to the now quietly crying young woman. "My goal is to provide you with exactly what you require, and for everything to match the promotional materials."

"I'm quite impressed" admitted the purchaser. "She's even hotter than I was hoping." Both men looked back at the Latina, one with a critical but appreciative buyer's eye and the other with the honed expertise of someone who had spent years in the field of enslaving women. The woman in front of them was something special.

The purchaser broke the short silence. "Well done on finding one with long hair, too. A lot of women are chopping it short these days, trying to look less attractive to avoid getting picked up. I'm glad our girl here decided to take a risk and leave it long."

Her black hair was indeed long, reaching to the bottom of her shoulder blades. The slaver had prepared her by pulling it behind her head and over her left shoulder so that it covered part of that breast, separating at the ends to showcase the perfectly placed nipple, which was swollen from the abuse. A silver hair tie ensured the thick black hair stayed put despite the movements of her head.

In many of the photos he'd been shown of her, taken in the weeks leading up to her capture, she was wearing it in a ponytail that stuck up before curving down to meet her back, like a horse's tail. The comparison had aroused him immediately, as he thought of the pony gear in his equipment room. She would ultimately need a tail to match her hair.

The slaver had sent him videos as well. In the clips her ponytail swung back and forth as she walked down the street of a big city, purse slung over her shoulder, gripping a coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. It blew his mind how abruptly her entire existence had changed, how one man could select and nab her from hundreds of miles away. There would be no more coffee or phones for her. That life had ended, like it had for so many women since sexual slavery became the worldwide norm two years earlier.

But there was one thing she would still maintain from her previous life - her piercings. She was certainly going to be getting more of them though, and in brand new places.

In the videos she was a vision; long legs made up almost half her 5 foot 9 inch height, meeting with a tiny triangular gap between her toned, well-proportioned thighs. The thigh gap, visible from both front and back, was due to her wide hips, which swayed gently when she walked. Viewing her from behind, you were greeted by a narrow waist flaring out to her wide hips - not such a differential that it looked fabricated, but enough to flaunt femininity. Per his request to the slaver, her ass especially needed to be perfection. And it certainly was. Muscular but with just enough fat to wobble a little. Her luscious buns bouncing along must have drawn the eye of every woman-lover who saw her.

Most newcomers to the world of owning women thought a sex slave's looks were what usually sealed the deal for the buyer (or for the girl, sealed her fate). And they weren't totally wrong. The everyday, passive glow of arousal a top-notch slave brought to one's home was invaluable. There was nothing like being in the middle of cooking a meal or lifting weights and catching sight of your hot purchased slut, perched wherever you had set her and wearing whatever you put her in. She was there simply to brighten your day.

For instance, this girl's prospective owner had an oversized bird cage suspended from the ceiling in his living room to show off his young ladies. It was designed to let the occupants legs dangle and force her boobs through two wide spots in the bars. Manacles attached to two of the curving bars held her hands behind her back. A dildo could be mounted on any of the bottom bars and slid in either direction, in order to force the occupant into different uncomfortable positions when seated on it. A second dildo could be added to give the caged girl's asshole (as well as her pussy) something to squeeze. Typically the cage swung gently as she struggled.

What a yummy sight she would be once she was crammed into the cage, her tits squashed between the bars.

But for experienced masters, even more important than looks was how she felt in your hands. Each part of a girl brought its own texture, and not every girl provided an excellent tactile experience. After all, it was no use owning a woman whose tits drooped through your fingers when you played with them, or whose ass didn't bounce back to its round shape after a smack.

Additionally, at the level he was looking to spend at, it was expected that all the sensations you got from touching her or having her rub her naked body against you meshed well. The whole of an outstanding sex slave was greater than the sum of her parts. Although the slave's holes were the most important parts, to be sure. The sounds and sensations when you bent her over the arm of a couch and fucked her from behind, or when you pushed her head down onto your cock until her throat bulged, was what girl owners looked forward to most.

And an often overlooked aspect of feel was hair. He liked long hair and as long as it was silky and soft, he didn't really care what color it was. In a dark bedroom with a chained slave lying next to you, you just want soft hair brushing against you, with that feminine smell that only hair has.

And hair color could be easily changed. What couldn't you change on a girl with all the new technology these days?

As though the slaver had read his mind, he said with the skill of a salesman "I'm sure you recall, but I also offer refurbishment services for all slaves within three years of purchase. The whole deal, from hole tuneups to total body fitness regimens. They're quite grueling if I say so myself. And for any woman who's been lucky to belong to you longer than three years, I'd be happy to de-age her. The tech is amazing, light years ahead of Botox and moisturizer. One session can take four to five years off a woman's face. It's very popular among discerning owners who demand the most out of their cunts, and their cunts' cunts. Even though," he chuckled, "the chicks don't like it much. At least judging by the screaming."