ALISON OPENED HER EYES. She had been so tired, so suddenly tired! She didn't even remember falling asleep. Her whole body felt fatigued, as if she had been stretched on a rack.

"That's strange," she thought in her fog. "The room's pitch black."

A yawn tried to force its way out of her mouth, but for some strange reason Alison's jaw felt, well, constricted. She couldn't open her mouth all the way, which puzzled her.

Alison reached to wipe the sleep from her eyes. Her right hand moved an inch, then stopped.

"What the?" was her thought as her mind tried to focus itself. She tried moving her left hand. Same result. Move an inch, no more. Both her hands seemed to be frozen in place above her head - it puzzled her.

"Wakey wakey," cooed Lady Meranda.

Alison fought to leave her dream state behind and get into real time. There was something going on here she didn't like, and that bitch Meranda was behind it! Alison tried to rise from her bed, only to discover not only could she not move, she was standing already. As the fog dissipated, Alison realized with a start that she was tied, spread-eagled, to a frame of some sort. She could feel the smooth polished wood press against her flesh.

"Unh!" she grunted as she tried to free herself.

Meranda's peal of laughter echoed eerily. The sound was muffled?

"Good, you're awake," laughed Meranda.

Alison felt a touch on her face as someone - she was still in blackness - caressed her cheek.

"Meranda?" she asked. Her voice sounded weird. Talking was a strange effort, almost as if something was holding her beneath her chin, keeping her jaw almost closed. And the touch on her cheek - she felt it, but it was as if the touch-er was wearing gloves, or ...

Alison gasped as she inhaled the ripe smell of rubber. She was wearing a mask!

"Meranda!" she barked, her voice strange in her ears. "What's going on?

Laughter was the reply she received. She felt a hand on her breast - were her breasts exposed?

"Ow!" she exclaimed as the unseen hand pinched and pulled her nipple. Little ribbons of fire and pain raced through her small breast. The nipple grew hard.

More laughter. The sudden sting of her other nipple as it too received the rough handling.

Alison opened her mouth to say Meranda's name once more. The pressure of lips against hers was sudden, unexpected. The kiss was rough, crushing her dry lips, her mouth penetrated by a strange tongue. Her teeth tickled as the kisser's tongue rippled across her gums.

She felt pressure in her groin as a hand pressed against the tender flesh between her legs. With another gasp, Alison realized something hard was already inside her, filling her vagina. The hand was merely pushing on the hardness already inside her. She moaned her fright into the mouth that was raping hers.

Meranda broke off the passionate embrace and stepped back to admire her handiwork. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Alison, my dear," she said, her voice rich with pleasure and admiration. "You're a beautiful woman. And you've never looked better."

Heels clicking against the cement floor, Meranda walked over to a table against the wall, opposite Alison. She picked up a glass of white wine and raised it to her dark red lips. A pink outline of lipstick remained on the glass.

Meranda gazed at the sight before her. It excited her to see someone bound so! She could feel the familiar warm wetness in her groin as she admired Alison.

Julia's beloved Maitresse stood on tiptoe, arms and legs stretched apart forming an X. Leather cuffs circling wrists and ankles held her in place; leather straps around biceps and knees ensured mobility was slight, if at all. Tied to a wooden St. Andrew's cross, Alison was incapable of resistance or escape. A rubber hood covered her head, wisps of black hair curling out from beneath the form fitting latex. Alison's lips were vibrant red against the smooth black sleekness which covered the rest of her lovely face.

Alison's breasts were exposed by cut-outs in the tight black rubber garment covering her upper body. Slender hips and smooth flat belly were hidden beneath slick black rubber tights; legs were outlined by more black rubber fitting tight as skin.

Holding her wineglass in her right hand, Meranda reached for a small box on the table.

"Recognize this, my lovely?" she asked, wiggling the black rectangle in front of her. "Oh, sorry, I forgot," she teased. "You're blindfolded and cannot see. Oh dear."

Meranda paused for effect. "Well, I'll demonstrate it for you. Maybe that will bring back a memory or two for you." She pressed a green button on the surface of the box.

Alison moaned as the vibrator inside her came to life.

Meranda pressed a second button.

Alison gasped to feel a pulsing vibration start up inside her anus.

Meranda twisted a knob.

"Unh!" grunted Alison as the twin vibrators began to pump faster, stimulating sensitive tissue. She could feel the beginnings of an orgasm.

"Your pet Julia was wearing this when the two of you arrived here," said Meranda as she walked closer to her captive. "I thought you might enjoy it while you're here as my guest."

"Meranda!" breathed Alison. "What are you doing?" Her chest heaved, her breathing becoming increasingly shallow as internal pleasures built.

"Ahhh!" she exclaimed as Meranda suddenly, viciously twisted her nipple. The pain melded with the building pleasure, her orgasm jumped closer.

"Mistress is what you will call me," growled Meranda between clenched teeth. "Remember that, slave!"

"But Meranda, the bet!" protested Alison, the pitch of her voice rising in fear. "Oww!"

Meranda slapped Alison's already sore breast. "Mistress!" she demanded. "You will call me Mistress!" She pinched both of the helpless girl's exposed teats.

Alison choked back a sob. "Ow! Mis - Mistress!"

Meranda released the tender flesh. "That's better," she said. "Now where were we?" she teased. "Oh yes, the bet. Well, quite simply, I won the bet and now you're mine."

"But Meranda," began Alison. The slapping sound of a hand striking flesh broke the air, cutting off Alison's words. She cried out her pain. She could picture the welts growing on her breasts.

"Mistress," she blurted. "But Mistress, we tied! David did the scoring! We tied! You said so yourself! Nobody won!"

Meranda stepped closer to Alison's helpless form. She could feel the heat rise up from her prisoner's body. One hand stroked Alison's breast, the other slithered down the rubber-covered belly to the dark moist space between Alison's legs. She brought her face very close to Alison's.

"Surely you recall the terms of the bet," spoke Meranda, her voice husky with sex and menace. "If you win, you get the pick of my slaves. If you don't win, I get you."

"But we tied." Alison's voice was a little girl's whisper.

"That's right, we tied. You didn't win. So... I... Get... You..." Meranda rubbed her hand against Alison's feminine core. She pushed to emphasize each word. The pressure caused stars of pleasure to burst in Alison's blackened world.

Leaning forward, Meranda brought her lips ever so softly against Alison's. Her breasts pressed against Alison's.

"You're mine," she breathed into Alison's mouth. "To do with as I please. For one full year. And you have no concept of what pleases me!"

Alison began to cry as her orgasm began to pulse through her abdomen.

From across the room came a male voice. "Excuse me, Mistress, but the package is ready."

Lady Meranda turned away from Alison's sobbing form. Her footman stood in the doorway. Behind him, strapped to a wheeled dolly, was a black leather cocoon-shape. Behind the dolly stood a muscular, lean female, She wore a collar about her neck, cuffs at her wrists, and not much else.

"Bring it here," commanded Lady Meranda. The footman turned to the female and gestured. She wheeled the black cocoon like thing to a spot next to Alison. Meranda waved her hand. The muscular female slipped the foot of the dolly out from under the cocoon and wheeled back out of the room. She closed the door behind her.

Snapping a hook through a ring at the top of the cocoon, the footman secured the thing into an upright position.

With the unmistakable ripping zip of Velcro, Lady Meranda peeled the blindfold from the hood enveloping Alison's face.

"Tha - thank you, mistress" Alison whispered, blinking to become accustomed to the light.

Meranda stroked Alison's breast. The girl shivered at the touch.

"My, you are a fast learner aren't you?" Meranda cooed. "That's good. Things will go much easier on you as a result."

Something inside the leather bag squirmed. Alison and Meranda both turned to look at it.

"I'm sure you remember your little pet?" sneered Meranda. Alison's teary eyes grew wide as she realized Julia, her lovely, loving slave girl was inside the bag.

"Julia's been prepared for a short trip she will soon be making."

"Prepared? A trip?" queried Alison, her voice soft and hoarse.

"Let's see now, what has been done to your little pet while you were sleeping?" Meranda teased. "She has been washed, all her body hair shaved, given a sound spanking. Her ass shows red stripes so beautifully, wouldn't you agree Alison? "

Alison couldn't help herself. The thought of this woman touching her much loved Julia was infuriating. She tried to reach for Meranda, intending to claw her eyes out. The locks held fast; all Alison succeeded in doing was making a lot of noise and tiring her already fatigued muscles even more.

"You bitch!" she spat out her venom. "She's not yours to touch!"

The pain of Meranda's sudden slap across her face only served to increase Alison's fury. She rocked against her bonds, the metal links and wooden cross clanking.

"Gag her," Meranda ordered. The footman who had been standing quietly in the shadows, smiled.

"With pleasure, My Lady." He bowed low, and then took a tangle of leather and rubber straps from its place on a pegboard. He walked over to Alison, spread-eagled and helpless on the St. Andrew's cross. The footman smiled as he dangled the gagging device in front of Alison's face.

She spit at him, the gob landing square on his cheek.

He looked over at Lady Meranda, who stood watching with great amusement.

"You can punish her for that," she said to the footman.

"Thank you My Lady," he murmured, his pleasure obvious.

He placed a rubber bulb up against Alison's lips. She clenched her jaw tight. He pushed, she resisted. With his free hand he pinched her nipple. The pain made Alison grimace, but her mouth remained closed. Another pinch, the other breast. Alison's molars ground against each other as she clamped her jaw shut.

The hand left her breast. Alison exhaled. Suddenly fingers pressed on both sides of her cheeks. The fingers squeezed. Her mouth was distorted by the pressure.

"Open your mouth" The male voice was flat, the fingers unrelenting.

The pain in her face was building, but Alison refused to obey.

"Mistress?" the footman queried.

"Go ahead" came the reply.

The pressure stopped, the fingers no longer squeezing her cheeks. Seconds ticked by. Alison held her breath, wondering what was to come.

She heard a ripping sound. The footman advanced, holding a piece of t3 inch tape in his hands. He smiled at her as he pressed the sticky stuff against her nose, sealing the breathing holes shut.

The footman's face was inches from hers. Determined to resist, Alison sucked in air through clenched teeth.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

He watched Alison's eyes, waiting. Nothing happened.

The footman stepped away. His back to Alison, he selected something from a nearby table. He was smiling as he returned to confront the captive. He raised his hands above her head.

She was tempted to see what he was doing, but refused to give in to temptation, to show any sign of weakness.

Then it started. Alison's head was manhandled as something slithered over top the hood encasing her. There was the unmistakable sound of tape being unrolled. She felt it being wrapped around and around her neck. Plastic touched her clenched teeth when she inhaled.

The footman stepped back to watch the chained girl, her head covered first in a rubber hood, then with a plastic bag sealed tight, begin to suffocate.

Alison stood still, proud and defiant. She held her breath, confident Meranda would not let any harm come to her.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Pressure began to build in her chest.

Tick .Tick. Tick.

Her pulse thundered in her head. Her chest burned. Her lungs screamed.

Tick. Tick.

Alison thrashed, her chest heaved involuntarily, her body desperate

"Huuhh!" Alison's mouth flew open as she gasped for fresh air.

And inhaled plastic.

The bag clouded with moisture as she exhaled.

The plastic squeezed her head as it sealed shut.

Alison jerked against the chains, panicking. She was going to die!

The footman looked over at Lady Meranda. She held her hand, palm forward. He did not move.

The girl on the frame thrashed, her head tossing frantically. Muffled moans and screams erupted as she so desperately fought for life-giving air.

Lady Meranda lowered her hand. The footman stepped forward. Grabbing Alison's head with one hand, he ripped an opening in the plastic bag with the other.

"Unnnhh!" gasped his prisoner, the fresh air flooding her burning lungs.

She screamed as he covered her mouth with his meaty hand, shutting off the air supply once more.

Her legs kicked, her waist pulled against the straps holding her fast.

Alison slumped, gasping for breath as the footman released his grip. He looked over at Lady Meranda for instruction.

"Again."

The footman placed his right hand at the top of Alison's head.

"No," the girl hissed, "no more." She opened her mouth.

Smiling lewdly, the footman thrust the rubber bulb inside her now open mouth. The rubber tasted bitter. Alison tried to force it out again with her tongue, but the footman had all the advantages. He slapped her face. Her resistance faded. He squeezed a breast. Resistance stopped.

He ripped the plastic covering from her head. The torn material dangled around the tape still encircling her slender throat. He left the tape across her nostrils.

Working quickly, obviously well versed in what he was doing, he fastened a leather strap behind Alison's head. The strap bit into her cheeks. He raised a network of straps - an inverted Y traversed either side of her nose to meet in a single strap between her eyes; another strap went under her chin, yet more straps crisscrossed her forehead and skull. The footman buckled them all in place, ensuring the gag could not be dislodged. Satisfied, he went back to the first strap, pulling it tighter, then re-fastened each of the other straps, making the web even tighter about Alison's head.

Alison hissed. Her eyes narrowed in hatred and fury.

The footman looked her in the eyes. He smiled, raising a rubber bulb and piece of attached tubing up to where Alison could see it. He squeezed the bulb.

The rubber ball inside her mouth grew bigger with each successive squeeze. She could not move her jaw as the ball inflated, filling her mouth, pressing against her palate, driving her tongue to the bottom of her mouth, puffing her cheeks against the web of straps.

Alison moaned as the pressure began to interfere with her breathing.

Another squeeze. The inflated gag filled her mouth, the rubber pressing against her soft palate. Still another squeeze. The bulb grew inside her, the pressure now cutting off her breathing passage. Alison bucked in her bonds, suddenly suffocating. Spots began to flash before her eyes. Her heart raced. She started to black out.

"Let her breathe," came Lady Meranda's voice from afar.

"Yes Mistress," the footman said humbly. He released some of the pressure, deflating the ball slightly. He removed the tape sealing her nostrils.

Alison gulped air through her nose, her breathing ragged and shallow. She slumped in her bonds, exhausted, terrified.

The footman stood still, watching Alison's chest rising as she slowly regained her composure. She raised her head. He glanced over at Lady Meranda, who nodded in return.

The first nipple clamp was a shock. The bite of the second clamp on her other nipple hurt even more.

The footman pulled toward him the chain linking the two metal clamps. Alison's nipples were yanked and stretched. With his free hand, he slapped her breasts. The outline of his hand appeared as the blood rose to the surface of the tender white flesh.

Alison's scream was distorted by the gag. It was a harsh, throaty sound, like an animal in pain.

The footman slapped her breasts several more times.

There was a rapping on the door. The footman let go of the chain. It dropped down to hang in a half circle across Alison's rubber covered chest. She sobbed in pain and relief.

"Enter," said Lady Meranda.

Through her tears, Alison saw the Bedouin master on whom dinner had been spilled walk confidently into the room. Two males accompanied him, one carrying a jumble of straps, the other carrying something that looked much like the cocoon in which Julia lay hidden.

"Welcome Hassan! You're right on time, as usual!" Lady Meranda greeted him with a warm smile.

Hassan returned the smile. "Good afternoon, gracious Lady. Are the packages ready for me?"

"As you can see, dear Hassan, they are yours when and how you want them." She swept her hand indicating Alison and Julia. Alison raised her head in surprise. She wanted to ask what was going on but only unintelligible sounds escaped her throat. She felt weak, overwrought, and knew she was not going to like whatever it was that was coming her way.

Hassan walked over to Alison. He ran his hand down her outstretched arms, inspecting her. He lightly touched the underside of her breasts, lifting them for inspection. His inspection continued, the hand flying over the flat of her belly, probing between her legs. A finger snaked up and down the valley between her buttocks. His hand traveled down one thigh, then the other.

He said something in Arabic to one of the men standing behind him, then walked over to the cocoon holding Julia.

"This is the other one?" he asked Meranda.

"She is, " smiled the Dominatrix, "just as you requested."

Snapping his fingers, Hassan spoke in rapid fire Arabic. The two males dashed over to Julia, unsnapped the hook holding her upright. One held the bag, the other unzipped it. Together they peeled the leather from the captive girl.

Julia had been blindfolded and collared. Her arms were secured behind her in a single glove; straps clamped legs tightly together. Even her big toes were tied together. She wore a chastity belt made of steel. Alison suspected there were hidden plugs for both orifices. Julia was gagged with a rubber ball harness; a metal ring protruded from the centre of the ball.

The males placed Julia on the floor next to the pile of leather they had brought with them. Then, turning to Alison, walked over to the St. Andrew's cross holding her like a butterfly on a board. Kneeling one on either side, the males unfastened her ankles, then locked the ankle cuffs together. In a flash leather straps had been buckled around Alison's knees and thighs, securing her legs tightly closed. They reached for her wrists.

Alison was worn out, but she tried to resist nevertheless. Fatigue and the males were stronger than she, however, and soon she found her arms locked behind her back in a single glove. The bondage thrust her breasts forward in a most enticing way. A strap attached to the end of the leather sleeve was pulled between her legs and drawn up to her collar. Her arms were now immobile, the strap pressing the vibrator between her legs further inside her.

The males picked her up and carried her over to where her slave Julia lay helpless. Lady Meranda stepped across Alison's form. She looked down on the once proud mistress.

"You see my dear," she explained. "When you enter into a bet, you should always be very clear about the terms. You had to win the match, not tie, so you lost the bet. And your slave."

Meranda bent close to Alison's face.

"And your freedom."

Rising, Meranda turned to Hassan.

"Well Hassan," she said, "I must admit, you won our bet fair and square."

Hassan nodded in Meranda's direction.

Meranda turned back to Alison.

"You see my dear," she cooed, caressing Alison's face. As she spoke, Meranda traced a tear as it trickled down Alison's cheek. "The wager we had was not the only one I made. There was David, who like you, lost." She leaned close to Alison. "He gives wonderful tongue, but you'll never know that, will you?" she whispered.

Meranda continued. "And, after I beat Hassan last year, he wanted to wager again this year. So we did." She smiled. "Unfortunately, Hassan was on the winning side this year, which puts me on the losing side. He won the use of two of my slaves for six months. Fortunately I had a fall back position: our little wager. Fortunately for me, that is," she laughed.

Meranda smiled at the Arab. "They're all yours, Hassan. Enjoy yourself, and them. But remember, you must give them back, in good condition and without any permanent marks, in six months."

She kissed first Alison and then Julia, on the forehead.

"See you in six months, girls. I hope you find the harem to your liking!" Rising to her feet, Meranda turned on her heel and left the room.

With a gesture accompanied by a few words in Arabic, Hassan instructed his servants to prepare the two bound women for traveling. The males rolled Alison over to face Julia. A long leather strap was passed around the waists of the two women, pressing them together.

Alison stared into Julia's blindfolded face. "I'm sorry precious one," she whispered. Her words were rendered total nonsense by the gag filling her mouth.

More straps were wound around legs, ankles and upper bodies. The males attached a short metal bar between the two collars, holding their heads in place. A small padlock joined the ring in Julia's gag to a matching ring in Alison's. The two women were now inseparable.

The males began to slide a large rubber sack over the feet and legs of the two women. They stopped when they reached their captives' necks.

Hassan squatted by Alison's head. She could not turn her head to look at him directly. He stroked her face. He wiped a tear from the rubber covering her cheek.

"Poor Alison," he mocked. "Once such a proud and beautiful mistress, now a slave. Poor, poor dear."

He stood, then squatted again.

"You know, in your new role as a slave, you should have a new identity. And I know just what is fitting for you and your little friend here."

Alison mewled pitifully.

"Your little friend I shall call "shortcake", he said stroking Julia's face. His hand left Julia and caressed Alison once again.

"And you, you my haughty one," he said as he ran his hand along Alison's side, stopping at her ass. Hassan emitted a derisive chuckle. "You will be 'strawberry'."

He stood, laughing. The two males closed the bag over the women's heads. Hassan barked a command in Arabic, and the bagful of new slaves was carried out of the room.

"Strawberry shortcake. So delicious!"

Hassan's laughter reverberated in the room as he closed the door behind him.

The End