Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Something I wrote an age ago.  Comments welcome to
lucian.grey@hotmail.co.uk.

   TRACEY Pt1

   My little girl has been in the closet for 3 hours and I cannot help but
wonder if, when she's in the dark, aware only of her torments, she ever
regrets committing herself to my service.

   Firstly, Tracy is inspected.  Every morning, without fail, I check her
for hair growth (only head and eyebrows are allowed, including stubble
anywhere).  If she is not completely baby smooth then she is punished
accordingly.  She is also checked for cleanliness and scent.  Tracy knows
to present herself after she has given herself an enema and then bathed and
showered.

   Naked obviously, Tracy is then led by a leash attached to the collar she
wears permanently.  The collar is a thin black leather one, plain except
for the word `Slave' in small silver letters that decorates the front.  I
lead her to the closet and I am always pleased to hear a whimper or two. 
She only ever tried to back away once.  After being punished for it, she
never did it again.  I open the closet door and remove the arm binder. 
This is a single leather sleeve with laces and eyeholes all along its upper
side.  Tracy reaches her arms out behind her and clasps her hands together
without needing to be told.  I slide the binder over her hands and then
pull up her arms until it comes up to her elbows.  The other end of the arm
binder sits on her wrists leaving her hands free.

   Going from eyehole to eyehole, I tighten the binder, lacing it
progressively until Tracy's elbows pull in towards each other.  Eventually
they will touch but she is a way of that yet and, when she begins to sob at
the pain, I stop tightening, leaving her elbows maybe 2 inches apart. 
Tracy then stretches her fingers out and I slide on her special gloves. 
The gloves were moulded to her hand and are made of stiff plastic.  Each of
her fingers fits perfectly into their hole and, once in, cannot move at all
or feel anything.  The palms of the gloves are made from the same plastic
but they split open to allow the hand to be inserted, clicking tightly
together to ensure no movement or feeling occurs.

   Next come the ballet boots.  These are something my angel was
particularly keen on trying out when we first met but now I think she is a
lot more respectful of the pain they inflict.

   These ones are metal and shaped permanently into a flattened V to allow
the foot to slide in fairly easily.  The ankle joints, however, are hinged
and the heels can be adjusted with the aid of a small wheel.  The wheel
turns a plate via a screw thread and the plate pushes up against the heel
of the foot.  The foot itself cannot move due to the tight confines of the
boot and so the ankle join is forced upwards too.  Imagine standing on tip
toe.  See how the ankle joint adjusts to allow the foot to point down?  Now
imagine that you have to stand in that position with the addition of a
force pushing incredibly strongly against the heel of your foot.  When you
stand on tiptoe, the foot cannot support itself for very long and you have
to drop back to your feet again.  The boot ensures you stay in that
position and the plate ensures that every second you have to endure that
pain, there is the additional agony of feeling like your ankle joint may
pop completely out.

   I tighten the plates forwards until Tracy screams with pain, her eyes
welling as I stand to look at her, watching her tremble as her muscles try
to keep her upright.

   I then bind her breasts.  This involves taking two long thin strands of
leather and wrapping one around the base of each of Tracy's breasts over
and over.  After a few, tight turns of the leather, her breasts begin to go
pink as the blood-flow to the tissue decreases.  Due to the arm binder they
are pushed forward quite beautifully and, with the addition of the leather,
are now very firm to the touch, the pressure inside stretching the skin. 
Tracy is crying openly by now, the pain gradually beginning to overwhelm
her but she knows we're not done yet.

   Her nipples receive my attention now.  The clamps are quite vicious but
not as bad as she will eventually experience.  Each one is like a crocodile
clip but with a small wheel that tightens the jaws together.  In addition
they each have a small attachment, also adjustable, that is basically a
small, blunted metal needle but bent in the middle.  Once the jaws are
fastened tightly in place, biting harshly into Tracy's tender bud of flesh,
I put the needles in place.  The tip of these presses into the exact centre
of the top of each nipple and I adjust them so with a small increase in
pressure, the tips would likely break the skin and push into the tissue
beneath.  By the look in her eyes, they are devastating.  My angel has her
eyes squeezed shut, tears flowing freely, lower lip wobbling as she fights
back the need to explode in sobs of pure wretched torture.

   Still we're not finished.

   Each clip has a ring on the back of it and through these rings I push a
slim steel pole which sits snugly in place, acting like a bridge between
the clips, ensuring that moving the pole moves both clips.  Rubber plugs
pushed on the end of the pole ensure it won't fall out.

   I wheel the next item out of the closet.  It's a trolley, with four
small wheels like the ones on the underside of chairs, the kind that turn
in any direction.  The top is flat wood, smooth and black.  In the centre
of the wood there is a steel pole, extendable like a car aerial, on to the
top of which can be mounted just about anything due to a rubber socket and
hose clip.  At the back of the trolley is second, fixed length pole that is
about as high as Tracy's shoulders.  Welded a little under halfway up this
pole is a second extendable, complete with rubber socket and clip.

   I lock the trolley so it doesn't move and, very slowly, Tracy steps onto
the top and turns so her back is to the tall pole before spreading her legs
with slow care...  I kneel down and slip a thick vibrator made of black
rubber into the rubber socket of the centre pole and fasten it in place
with the hose clip.  Once fixed, I pull the pole up, extending it until the
vibrator begins to slide into my baby's cunt.  I spread her pussy lips with
one hand guide the tip into her and then the whole shaft, embedding it
inside her.  She sobs as she feels the size of it fill her.

   I then do the same with the second extendable, this time securing a
shorter, thicker dildo in the socket and pushing it deep into Tracy's.  I
thrill when she wails in pain as it breaks into her.

   There is now nothing other than vibrators to take Tracy's weight if she
should fall.  Not only is she perched on her steel booties but she has to
balance constantly, never relaxing, in case she slips.  Her legs are no
doubt already screaming in pain.  I adore knowing these details.

   Gently, carefully, I wheel the trolley back into the deep, narrow
cupboard.  There is just enough room for me to get down either side of her.
Directly above her head is a pulley and from it dangles a rope.  One end of
the rope I attach to the solid plastic thumbs of her gloved hands, tying it
firmly in place and joining her hands so they cannot even move at the
wrist. Then, at the front, I pull the other end of the rope down, lifting
her arms painfully high and forcing her to lean forward as a reflex.  She
begins to sob with fresh vigour and I ache to defile her but I know her
training is essential and that I mustn't lose focus.

   I push her back until she is almost upright and then I tie the other end
of the rope around the middle of the bar running between her nipple clamps.
Then I watch.

   If she tries to lower her hands she pulls the rope down which in turn
pulls the other end up, pulling her breasts upwards by the nipple clamps.
This increases the pain there dramatically and also pushes the blunted
needles deeper into the flesh.  If, however, she tries to lean forward to
reduce the pain on her breasts then she will pull her arms higher behind
her and judging by how red her shoulders are already, I know that will be
agonising.  Next thing is to turn the vibrators on, both of which have pump
mechanisms.  I set them to their variable setting and they begin to pump in
and out of my little girl's cunt and ass at random speeds.  The pain of
this, I would imagine, is almost non-existent compared to the other
torments but I like knowing she is being constantly fucked without even
realising it.  She adores being fucked and the pleasure of it will be
completely buried beneath the pain.  I don't want her enjoying being
fucked. She isn't entitled to enjoy anything except pleasing me.  And
torturing her is certainly very pleasing to me.

   We're almost finished though.  Her hair is braided into a single, long
ponytail and I fasten another length of thin leather to the end of it,
pulling her head sharply backwards until she stares directly upwards.  The
other end of the strap I pass down between her upper arms, pulling the
braid with it, thread it between her legs and around the pumping vibrators
then up under the bar between her nipples.

   I take a metal hook, two pronged, from the closet wall.  The prongs are
blunt and smooth, covered in thick, stiff rubber and curved over at the
tips.  I feed the rope through the eye at the base of the hook, place the
curved end inside her mouth, behind her lower teeth and finally against the
very base of her jaw.  I then pull the rope through, forcing her mouth open
wide.  Tying the rope off leaves her with her head harshly yanked backwards
and unable to move and her mouth wide open to boot.  The final touch is a
nose hook, like a smaller version of the mouth hook.  I slip it under the
rim of her nostrils and then pull it back over the top of her head,
securing it at the point where her hair is tied to the leather strap.  I
love humiliating her like this, leaving no orifice unabused.  I will break
her so completely, so utterly, she will have no will of her own, as a
fucktoy should be.

   Ear plugs, longer than normal and, again, custom moulded, are slipped
into her ear canals ensuring she hears nothing.  The she closes her eyes
and I place two thick rubber pads, custom again, that perfectly fit,
ensuring she sees not even a glimmer of light.  The pads have a gooey
adhesive, like a sticky jelly.  Harmless but strong, it not only secures
the pads but, and I do like this, glues her eyes shut to boot.

   Above her, mounted next to the pulley, is a pipe.  The pipe starts at a
tap on the wall and, with a moulded piece of rubber tubing shaped like an
`S' pushed onto the end, finishes two inches above Tracy's mouth.

   I turn the tap and liquid flows, dripping rapidly from the hose directly
into her mouth.  The dripping is one step from a trickle and I know
precisely what the liquid is and the effect it will, eventually, have.  It
is pumped from a barrel that is in its own cupboard in the wall of the
closet.  The liquid is a mix of nutrients, my own urine, drugs to increase
suppleness of the bone and muscle, and drugs to prepare Tracy for her
imminent surgery.

   You see, she has already had the liposuction which she craved and she
looks good for it and she has had a boob, tummy and bum job to firm her up
but that's just the start.  Every time I look at her, I see more and more
things I wish to do with her.  She has such potential, such willingness and
she's mine, for now and eternity.

   And, no matter the cost, she will be exactly how I want her, mentally
and physically.  Exactly.