my name is juicy. It used to be something else but that doesn’t matter any more. Nothing matters any more. Nothing matters at all. Nothing save that i serve my Master . . . Every day, in every way.

i used to worry about the choices in my life. Worry that i would make bad ones. But that was when i had choices. Choices are something out of my past now, something i remember with little fondness.

At first it was hard to accept His discipline, His domination of my person, my being, my very soul. But now i obey and serve Him willingly, eagerly, with all my heart. i can no longer choose wrong for He has taken my will and replaced it with a hot and juicy desire. i am willing to do as He commands, knowing and needing the rewards He will bestow upon His obedient pet.

The first time i saw Him i knew my lifelong quest was finally over. It was at the Moll Flanders club in North Beach, He was doing a stage act with an old friend from New York, just for old times sake.

The minute i saw him i knew He would be the One. i’d been searching for Him for so long that i’d formed a very complete picture in my head. He fit that picture in every way. He fits my needs. He is large, handsome and oh so virile.

He is also well hung and as horny as a jackrabbit. Over two meters tall and built like an NFL linebacker, He moves with an unconscious grace, a purpose, and a power that speaks directly to my libido. i could no more resist him now than fly.

Today i am His belled and bedecked pony. The other night i was His dog. Tomorrow i might well be His harem slave or His serving wench or even his kidnapped victim. It’s all good. i know that, whatever game He decides to play with me, i will enjoy my sexual subjugation. i will experience the passion of the slave girl, the total and complete satisfaction of my every need, my every desire. i will end this day as i end every day, exhausted and happy, secure in my bondage, safe, loved and as well fucked as any woman has ever been.

i think these thoughts as He tightens the last of the arm sleeve buckles, drawing my elbows tight together in the middle of my back. i shake myself a little, enjoying the sound of the bells, the feel of the heavy silver weights dangling from my nipple and clitoris rings, the pleasant stretching of my egg filled pussy and tail corked anus. i snort and drool around the bit in my mouth, enjoying the feel of his caressing hand on my bare bottom, the smell of his maleness filling my head with hot desire.

My Master slaps my rump and smiles as i jump and jingle in response. He attaches a light leash to my clit ring and then uses it to lead me out of the tack room to join the crowd in the stable yard. Waiting out there are about a hundred horny, paying guests of our friends, Moll Flanders and her jenny. Half are “dressed” only in tack, the other half in various equine and dungeon Master costumes. i look around and see a Dudley Do-Right in RCMP scarlet and a John Wayne in Seventh Cavalry blue. There are several people in urban cowboy chic and a couple guys who look like rodeo clowns but who i recognize as the Naka twins, experts in Japanese rope bondage. my Master wears a slightly too small American Indian loincloth, war paint and nothing else. i think He looks even better in that costume than Burt Lancaster did.

He leads me to a small group of people dressed in tan jodhpurs and white silk. Each is leading a pony girl dressed exactly like me, in nothing but bells and shiny black leather tack.

Knowing better than to look any Master or Mistress in the face, i can only make eye contact with the other ponies, aware of how excited we all are to be here. i dance a little, jingling my bells in greeting, glad to see my friends and anxious for the games to begin.

my Master chuckles and says, “juicy is impatient today, perhaps I should have serviced her better last night.”

Beside him Molly snorts and says, “Who do you think you are kidding, Turk? We all watched you two last night. If you’d ‘serviced’ her any ‘better’ she’d be in no shape to walk today.”

Remembering, i smile to myself, the bit in my mouth hiding my expression but my naked body showing them all exactly how well my Master “services” his pony girls. i have no need to look down to know my nipples are perking, my pussy bell is dripping with my juices, my labia are seeming to bloom out and swell with throbbing hot blood.

Last night was simply wonderful. He drove us up here after He’d finished working. To my delight he dressed me in an all-concealing Arab burka so i could get a better start on the evening’s pleasures.

My Master has been and is a lot of things, a cop, an interrogator for the Turkish secret police, an Electrical Engineer and a Medical Doctor all rolled up into one big playful sex maniac. He is also an inventive genius when it comes to the field of human sexual stimulation.

Lucky me, i’m His test dummy.

The long drive up from the city goes a lot faster when i am bound and helpless. Most of the time my Master satisfies my need to be restrained by being careful to make it invisible. The seat belts for starters. It is not apparent that i am helpless to escape the seat to which i am strapped. The seat belt buckle looks real enough. It isn’t until you try to open it that you discover its secret. my Master’s pinky ring has to be within two inches of it for it to release. There are bracelets on my wrists that look decorative but in fact are attached down to the frame of the seat with cables of steel. There is a silk scarf carelessly tied around my throat that is attached with a third cable so that my head is held back against the headrest. my hair has been tied in a ponytail then drawn through a hole in the headrest and knotted behind. my ankles are hobbled close together and attached up under my seat. The contented expression on my face is painted onto the Newskin tape that seals my lips closed. Instead of a blindfold, my eyes host opaque contact lenses that dazzle but do not inform.

To the other drivers on the freeway i appear to be sitting in my seat smiling at the passing scenery. What i really am is a ticking time bomb.

But yesterday it was the burka and in the burka there is the privacy for my Master to get really creative.

My Master is nothing if not creative.

Last night i arrived here on the verge of orgasm. i’d been on that verge for well over three hours. Beneath the burka i was wearing one of my Master’s pleasure suits. Made of one inch fishnet, wired for sound, sight and touch in all the right places, gagged and hooded in an inflatable hoodwink, stretched around a huge vibrating double dildo that forced itself deeper into my vulva and anus with every bump we hit, with every passing minute, i could do nothing save sit there and feel. my forearms were lashed together across the middle of my back. i was strapped into the seat like it was Old Sparky the electric chair at the State Prison. Inside the inflated hoodwink, my eyes were covered with video goggles showing me scenes of other sessions we have had together. The sounds and sights of my own previous passion were powering my present libido.

Beneath my burka the pleasure suit tormented me in so many wonderful ways, tiny electric pulses to locations all over my body, inside and out, my tongue nipples, clitoris, anus and vulva getting most of the attention. The worst (best?) thing about the pleasure suit is that it monitors my passion responses and warns my Master when i am nearing orgasm.

A good man can make it last for as long as his subject has any sexual energy left in her.

my Master is a very good man. And this test dummy has more sexual energy than is good for me.

Last night, i arrived, thinking i couldn’t get any hornier. But He wasn’t done. He released the seven point restraints, (Ankles, five point torso belts and head strap) then lifted me from the seat of his Mercedes and stood me up on my closely hobbled feet. Removing the burka, He hugged me in His strong arms, His roaming hands judging my state of passion in person, not completely trusting the automatic sensors in my fishnet bodysuit. Switching my video goggles to the mini-camera mounted on top of my hoodwink He let me see our surroundings. We were parked a good half mile from the stables, not because there weren’t any spaces closer but because my Master wished to watch me try to walk that far without coming.

We set off, my steps short and mincing, the huge dildos sending throbbing waves of vibrations into my piss distended g spot, my stretched and pleasure-plugged anus, the pleasure suit making my body jerk and dance as the voltage pulses hit me in random places all over my nervous system. These are not really hurting (yet) but causing my muscles to flex and jerk in helpless response. It was like taps from a cane, not painful but portentous. Walking behind me, my Master fingered the buttons on His remote and watched the display for my body’s reactions.

When i finally staggered into the stables we had a crowd of cheering fans. Suddenly instead of mini-cam my goggles switched to the live video they were feeding to the internet. Three talented cameramen circled me as i stood, helpless and on the verge of a long delayed monster orgasm, being greeted by too many hands, too many tongues, too many hard cocks. Watching the video feed, it was like an out of body experience, seeing myself getting all that attention from the vantage of the circling cameras.

After passing through that gauntlet i was led, panting, to a tether chain and attached so that i could no longer fall down. Hooked to the upper body bondage above my arms, the tether took my weight and lifted me from my feet. i felt hands loosening my hobbled ankles and very shortly after found myself in a mid air splits, my ankles stretched out to each side, my dildo stretched pussy completely exposed.

i don’t think i lasted ten seconds after my Master removed the dildo and replaced it with His own sweet hot meat. With about his third thrust i was coming like an epileptic, clutching on Him like He was my only connection to life. It went on for most of an hour until i finally passed out.

Now, a few hours later, standing here in my harness, i jingle my bells, impatient for today’s games to begin.

my Master casually slips a hand into His loincloth and suddenly the egg i hold in my pussy begins to vibrate like a jackhammer. my eyes open in surprise, showing everyone how my Master spoils me.

There is no way for me to hide my rising passion. And no reason either. Here at the Moll Flanders Stables we celebrate the pleasures of the flesh, not deny their existence. We share our sexuality with our fellow perverts. We compete, each couple endeavoring to out-do the other couples. The prize for winning comes in the form of sensual pleasure. The prize for losing is the same, but without the applause. The prize for my Master comes from designing and perfecting sex toys for the Moll Flanders mail order catalog and it is a very big prize indeed.

As the vibrating egg takes charge of my helpless body, my bells begin to jingle all on their own. i simply cannot stand still. Soon, i know, i will be hard pressed just to stand. The passion is rising within me like a flood of swirling waters. i clutch at the big vibrating egg, pressing it hard against my piss swollen g spot, needing to pee, needing more to come. i don’t dare to look my Master in the face but i feel i must warn Him of my approaching orgasm. i squeal like a pony being serviced by her stallion, dancing in place, tugging back against the clit leash, not to escape but just for the pain-filled pleasure it brings me.

Moll Flanders walks over, attracted by my passion. “How’s it going Turk, got juicy where you want her yet?” She says, slipping a finger between my swollen pussy lips and bringing it to her nose.

“She’s going to win it all today Moll, no shit.” my Master says, His remote control in His hand.

i feel the egg within me suddenly stop its dance, putting my orgasm back on hold. i squeal again, this time in frustration.

i see two of the other ponies reacting to their eggs and know compassion for them. The remote control vibrating egg is our best selling item, bringing in two million bucks last month alone.

By this time Moll has climbed up onto the hay wagon and is speaking into a mike. “Good morning ponies and drivers, welcome to the Moll Flanders Farm.” There is a scattering of applause from the Masters and a lot of harness jingling from the ponies.

“Today we are holding our annual Spring Stampede. (more applause and jingles.) We will have the inspection first so that each will have a chance to take stock before you place your bets. So if all the ponies could be brought forward we will get started.”

i follow my clit ring over to the small corral in front of the hay wagon and watch as my Master straps me to a rail facing inward. He spreads my ankles wide, attaching them to dog chains fixed to the posts on either side.

Suddenly the egg becomes a problem. It is slippery, vibrating and egg shaped. It is heavy, huge and, right at this moment, a necessary part of me. It is slipping and only clenching my love muscle keeps it within me. Around the corral fence i see the other ponies reacting to the same problem. It is a pretty thing to see.

Then the punters come in, each heading for his favorite. This means i get a lot of attention. More attention than is good for a growing girl. i watch in complete helplessness as strange men, some wearing masks, inspect, tickle, sample and caress me. i clutch the egg within me, needing release, needing . . .

A man wearing a nylon net stocking mask comes and slides a finger through my swollen, dripping, bell bedecked sex. Lifting it to his protruding nose he sniffs and declares, “I have two thousand bucks that says juicy wins the passion prize!” i watch in fascination as he licks his lips in obvious intent. Sticking out through a hole in the netting, his lips and tongue remind me of the Rolling Stones logo.

Money changes hands and another man declares, through his antique Kabuki mask, “cathy is my girl! Who’s dumb enough to bet against her?” Again large sums of money change hands.

Directly opposite me is my biggest worry. Molly’s jenny stands strapped to the rail same as me, her crowd of fans and lechers fully as big as mine. jenny has held the title for five years running. But she’s not as young as she was and not nearly as humble now that she is rich beyond belief.

Great wealth changes people. jenny started out so poor she tried to steal a few thousand bucks from Molly’s safe. (A dumb move that turned out great for them both. she’s been Molly’s sex slave ever since.) Now she has so much money she spends more than that on an afternoon’s light shopping.

Molly has a genius for finding ways to scratch the world’s bondage itch while amassing a fortune for Herself and her sexy little partner. The Moll Flanders partnership paid them each fifty million dollars last year and the number of dues paying members is doubling every two months. Between the string of franchise clubs around the world and the on-line business, the toy store, the videos, photo sets and sound recordings, things are booming.

i believe i can beat jenny this year. i hope i can. i’ve been training so hard. Winning is important, especially here. Losing is not fun. (Yes it is, but please don’t tell my Master i said so.) Losing means time in the corral, standing fixed in place, having the people who lost money on me come and “entertain” me.

“That will do, ladies and gentlemen. If everyone would now clear the corral, we will be ready to commence.”

Turk walks over from where He has been watching. “Remember what you have learned.” He whispers, “jenny always tries to save it for a grand finale. she has no idea of the stamina you have achieved. By the time she realizes that rather than peaking too early, you are stealing a march on her, it will be too late. Those sensors in your pussies will show who deserves the championship this year. I’ve seen jenny’s readouts, she’s is going to lose this time.”

i nod my head, jingling my bells. i am ready.

my Master steps away and fingers the control. i jerk a little when He gives me a goose by remote control, then hurry over to be put with the others.

“The passion contest this year consists of three events, the treadmill, an old fashioned flogging and the Dime-A-Dance. The winner will be the pony with the highest overall score.”

Molly continues, “This year we have a new scoring system designed by our own Professor Turk! This year points will be awarded by you people in the audience, through sexual response sensors in the jockey shorts we told you to wear. So the hotter you get over one of these ponies the higher she will score.”

jenny, being champ, goes last. That new girl called cathy goes first, stepping up on the treadmill and beginning her walk toward orgasm. To avoid injury she is not tethered to the machine by her clit ring or in any other manner. In less than a minute the jingling of her bells becomes almost hypnotic as she trots to keep up with the moving belt. her Master, a real estate broker from LA, helps her by turning up her pussy egg several notches. We watch in fascination as cathy responds to this extra stimulus, blushes prettily and begins to wiggle her bottom in an entirely new way.

We watch, screaming encouragement as she begins to hump her hips, her knees getting rubbery now, her nipples hardening into puckered points, looking like little red Hershey’s kisses stuck to her big, bouncing, bell bedecked boobies. Between her legs, under assault by the bell ringed to her clit, her pussy lips swell and drip, the love juice flowing down the insides of her thighs. her Master snaps His whip, popping it close behind her bare behind, encouraging her to try harder. she begins to come, setting off jackpot alarms that tell everyone in the place what has just happened. At the sound of a second popping crack she doubles her speed, afraid of her Master’s whip, knowing she will never outrun it. The cracker comes, biting her bottom this time, forcing a scream that becomes part of her song of orgasm.

i become aware that i am not alone when a finger slips into my vulva from behind. It is Molly. “Well, well juicy my little friend, are you really ready to beat my jenny? Should I hedge my bets?”

i turn my head and risk looking her in the eye and nod my head fractionally, wanting to warn her just in case she is betting too much. (i shudder to think what too much would be for this woman.) She stares me down and slaps my rump as if in punishment for looking at her. “I thought so!” she whispers, “Good for you!”

When orgasm finally fails, cathy slows down, staggering, her knees buckling in exhaustion. her Master comes and leads her away, whispering to her that she did great.

As they lead another new pony onto the treadmill i hear Molly introduce her as dottie from Dallas.

i remember watching the live feed of that Stampede. Turk and i were in our hotel in Ho Chi Min City, testing production prototypes of some of my Master’s newest sex toys. We needed something sexy to play on the video goggles so my Master switched in the internet feed from this year’s dude ranch Stampede.

Boy did those two girls battle it out, cathy winning the first two events while dottie won the last two when cathy did not finish the third event and then was kidnapped before the fourth. It was scored a dead heat, so they had to have a fifth event.

It was held as a Friday night Passion Bout, exactly four weeks later. i watched from our suite in a hotel in Olongopo as the two naked women were led onto the stage of the Moll Flanders Club in Dallas. That night we were testing the vacuum bed we are going to introduce at Christmas time.

They began the contest with a drawing to see who would go first. cathy won, getting the right to bottom first.

dottie, aware that cathy belonged to and was protected by Master Bob (Bubba) Henry, a large and demanding Real Estate millionaire from LA who might become dottie’s Master-for-a-day if she didn’t follow the contest rules, was forced to play nice. she could only hope that cathy would take pity on her in her turn.

But to win you have to force your opponent into more orgasms than she can force on you. Each woman has 90 minutes to work, the girl with the fewest orgasms at the finish line wins.

i was proud to know my Master’s inventions made all this possible. His toys can be found everywhere such things can be sent by UPS. His passion sensors are trusted to judge contests all over the world, anywhere human sexual response is the matter in question.

To my way of thinking, Turk’s passion sensors rob a bottom of her final defense. Always before, a girl could fake a few orgasms and maybe get off easy. Now there is no faking, there is only the real thing, passion, presented in digital readouts that quantify how many and how hard.

Like i said, my Turk is a genius.

So there they were, cathy and dottie, alone on the stage, the auto-zoom mini-cams watching from every angle, jenny acting as feed director at the video control console, Molly standing by with a riding crop to further enforce the rules.

Unused to topping, dottie made the mistake of trying to use rope on cathy. Big mistake. Rope takes practice to get right. Get it wrong and nothing else will go right from then on. Twice in the next 90 minutes cathy was able to get free enough to defend herself. Then, while the clock ticked away dottie’s precious time, she would have to try and retie her captive instead of what she needed to be doing. In the end cathy never came once. Then, when it was dottie’s turn, cathy used some of the leather restraints to bind dottie, then strapped thigh mounted dildos onto both their upper legs and went to town, taking dottie on a wonderland ride that set a new world record on the readouts. Because not only dottie was doing the coming, so was cathy, nearly as often and sometimes harder.

It was a masterful performance for a submissive. i wondered at the time what it would be like to be cathy’s slave.

Watching dottie vs. cathy on the video goggles as my Master vacuum-sealed me to the Olongopo hotel bed, i wondered how anyone can live with just vanilla sex. Then He put the high-powered Swedish massager on His hand and began touching my plastic covered body, here, there, everywhere. Unable to move a finger, i watched one woman sexually destroying another while my Master coaxed my own body’s passion higher and higher. i felt the sweat pouring from me as the vibrating fingers found my plastic coated genitals and settled down for the long haul. Surrounded by the Filipino camera crew, i was going nowhere and i rejoiced.

Now, a couple months later, we are home from our adventures and here for the Pony Girl World Championships. my Master thinks we will win going away. me, i’m not so sure.

dottie, anxious to regain the status she briefly had as co-winner of the Stampede, attacks the treadmill as if it was her personal path to glory. Soon she is setting off her first orgasm alarms, the pounding rhythm of her feet underscoring the continuous jingle-jangle of her harness, nipple and clit bells. she lasts a good ten minutes longer than cathy did as well as scoring higher on the passion sensor readouts.

i add my jingles to the applause around me, knowing i am next.

As i follow my clit leash up to the treadmill, i wish i’d peed when everyone’s attention was on the show. Part of my Master’s magic is His awareness of my inner feelings. For instance, He knows i come harder when i need to pee.

Now that i’m on the treadmill it is too late, i simply don’t dare, the damned thing might short out or something.

i begin to walk, the bells jingling with my every step. i feel the pussy egg within me just lying there, inert for the moment, perhaps saving its battery power for later.

As i increase speed the treadmill goes into high gear, forcing me into a fast jog. Inside me the egg begins to throb, its electric conducting strips causing vaginal spasms that nearly knock me to my knees.

i hear the orgasm alarm and realize i have achieved a new world record for first orgasm. Now to show them some stamina, i think, speeding up a little and settling into my slave state.

i guess people will always think my Master has rigged the competition, or that as His test dummy i have an advantage over the other girls. But the entry rules are clear, and i qualify. And to make sure my Master isn’t buggering the sensors they are using some that have been independently tested.

Anyway i win the treadmill phase, setting three new World Records and having a wonderful time in the process.

The second i am off the machine i drag my Master to a stop using only my clit ring as a brake. Pulling hard against the pain of the ring, i squat and let my golden stream go, the dirt beneath my butt quickly turning to mud. There is a thunderous silence all around me as a wave of lust sweeps the watching crowd of perverts . . . my Master’s eyes show me His smoldering anger and i stand up, shuddering with anticipation.

To punish me for losing my most important advantage, my Master reaches down, dips a finger into my mud puddle, gathers a up small amount and smears it down my cheeks, under my nose and around each of my ringed nipples, making my nostrils fill with my own high horny pheromones. He then leads me by the clit back to the stables to rest up for the next event.

When we ponies re-appear we are wearing nothing but restraints and spike-heeled boots. We parade, proudly high stepping behind our Masters and Mistresses. Following our clit leashes with our hands attached to short chains stretched up to the back of our slave collars, we can do little else.

i know how the flogger is going to feel and i can’t wait. Instead of sympathy for the others i feel jealousy. i desperately want to feel the smack of leather against my hot flesh. i need it. i desire it. i crave it.

But as winner of the first round i have to go last this time. This time i must stand and watch all the other ponies getting flogged before i get my turn.

i must wait, clit-tethered to a hitching rail, my libido growing more demanding all the time.

Being tethered by our clit rings is effective for keeping us all right where our Masters want us, both physically and mentally. Forced to dance on our tiptoes because of these damned spike heels, we watch with growing need as the lower ranked ponies are strung up one by one and flogged.

But when it comes to be jenny’s turn i really feel the sexual component. Hung up to four chains so that her naked body is completely exposed, jenny is, as usual, putting on quite a show. Moll, her Mistress, is allowing volunteers to come and help Her flog Her love slave. The drummer from the club band takes the flogger and a man dressed in black leather, from executioner’s mask to boots, begins twisting jenny’s nipples as he wordlessly watches her panting cries of passion.

Between her widely spread thighs the leather slaps down, forcing another whole body convulsion. jenny is in heaven, so deep into her slave state that the pain in her nipples is perceived as peaks of pure pleasure, the blows of the flogger between her legs as waves of pure passion.

Molly stands at a nearby keyboard. Caressing the keys, she plays the opening bars of Pink Floyd’s Great Gig In The Sky. jenny, under the lash, begins to sing the wordless passion song. The music fits so well with jenny’s situation that i suddenly see my favorite band in a whole new light. (Try it sports fans. Look at the above picture while listening to Great Gig In The Sky from Pink Floyd’s Dark Side Of The Moon album. Now, imagine it as a video.)

When the song is over there isn’t a limp dick on the place. Waiting for my turn i know i will never be able to follow that act.

my clit ring leads me out into the ring. i watch as they stretch my arms up and attach them to the chains, moan as they lift my feet and attach them in their turn. i look down at my suspended body and see that my nipples are standing up in points of crinkled sensation, begging for someone to come and play with them. Between my legs my swollen, egg stuffed pussy awaits the flogger.

And then the waiting is over. The flogger falls, my Master’s strong arm whistling it down onto my helpless pussy, splattering my wetness in a way that spreads my pheromones in all directions.

Clenching on my pussy egg, i rejoice that my Master has force-fed me three beers during the break. Refilled, my bladder again adds its needs to my orgasmic cocktail, making my convulsions more intense, my passion more powerful, my body more responsive.

Soon i am deep into my slave state, coming continuously, almost unaware of the orgasm alarms going off all around me.

It isn’t until after it is over that i realize that the alarms were not just for my orgasms but also for the ones that were happening in the crowd around us. The sensor briefs have spoken and once again i take the prize.

It really isn’t fair. i’ve been testing these toys for three years. The other ponies never even heard of sensor sex before last year’s Stampede. On the other hand, why should i be punished for helping to develop this wonderful technology? Just because i’ve had three times as long to learn how to cope with some of these toys shouldn’t disqualify me, should it?

i stand in our stall in the stable and watch my Master prepare me for the Dime-A-Dance, today’s final test.

The costume is simple, an egg, a yoke and a leg spreader. The last two are made of heavy leather and super-strong plastic. The yoke holds my hands up on each side of my head and as useless to me as if they were on the far side of the moon. The spreader bar holds my ankles at the same width, once again forcing me to clutch the implanted vibrating sensor egg within my vulva. i know that this egg is different than the ones i have been wearing. Made without a receiver it will not stimulate me on my Masters command. Instead it is set to the same powerful but constant vibration as all the other slaves are feeling.

i am led out, my clit ring forcing me to waddle after my Master while not losing my hold on the vibrating egg.

The crowd applauds us, hoping now to see a sweep, horny for the upcoming show to begin. i am led to the ramp and up onto my stage. There are twelve stages in a circle, each well lit and the focus of several high resolution mini cams, both fixed and hand held.

i am tethered in place by dangling chains being padlocked to my yoke.

i am left to the mercy of the crowd.

Having just had another three beers, i am going to need to pee soon. my Master is not about to take chances at this point.

Each person in the crowd has three tickets. To spend ten minutes with me costs a ticket. The tickets are called dimes because to get them you have a full membership in the Moll Flanders Resort Clubs Inc., about $30,000 bucks, paid in advance. The cost of getting the live feed is much lower per person but there are so many signed up around the world that Molly and jenny cannot stop grinning.

jenny stands on her stage directly opposite me. she knows her reign as slave queen is at an end, yet she nods to me in silent respect.

i wink and mouth the words, “Thank you” back to her before my Master of the moment gets his flogger out of its bucket of iced brine.

Then, suddenly exchanging niceties with the woman i am replacing is the furthest thing from my mind. The flogger whaps against my bottom, the brine soaked thongs biting my naked flesh like a dozen rattlesnakes striking simultaneously.

Ten minutes later i get a mustache ride from a very talented tongue slinger from Tucson who makes me almost forget the fire in my crimson ass. After that it is a woman with a vibrating magic wand who knows far too much about female sexual response for me to resist.

It’s tough to keep track but it seems to me my orgasm alarm is ringing more often than any of the other slaves. Across the way, jenny is singing again, a sure sign of her orgasmic state.

dottie is on my right, riding the same mustache i rode a few minutes ago. Sitting on His shoulders, her widely spread legs kicking against her restraints she is doing just fine.

i watch with dilated eyes as the guy they call Bubba drops His ticket into my jar then steps up onto my stage. Because He is the owner of a rival entrant He is carefully watched to insure He stays within the rules. Tethered, i cannot escape as He reaches out and cups my breast, His thumb and forefinger testing my nipple for its state of erection. Already orgasmic, it is tight and long enough to ring doorbells with. He bends his head and suckles me, drawing a gasp and a small moan of pleasure from my vocal cords. The yoke’s throat mikes pick this up and broadcast it over the PA system, turning even more heads my way. Bubba, aware of His audience, stands up and opens His zipper, exposing a cock like a stallion’s. He struts as He circles me, his hard cock dripping and pointing the way. He steps up behind me and grips my hips, lifting me up so he can stick his cock up my well lubricated ass. i relax, knowing he has the right. i scream a little as it slides in, then grunt as i hit bottom. He has stepped through my spreader bar and is now supporting my weight with a hand under my sex, two fingers up inside me pushing the egg up against my cervix. His other hand is up on my chest, pinching my nipples, squeezing my breasts, driving me deeper into slave state than any man, save my Master, has ever done.

i simply cannot resist Mastery. It is too much to ask of a girl with my needs. By the time the tickets are all spent so am I, completely. The read-outs say i have just recorded more orgasms in two hours than any woman before me.

queen jenny is dead, long live queen juicy.