Undercover Ambition

Blair Mullins stared at the assignment sheet on her computer screen, her short manicured fingers hovering over the keyboard without pressing a single key. The words “Coconut Club Grand Opening” glared back at her in bold font, but she felt too uninspired to continue on. She had been assigned another fluff piece that would barely fill half a page in the lifestyle section, and she knew she was worth much more than that. The young brunette reporter had joined the Miami Tribune to make a difference and tackle the controversial subjects plaguing the city, and yet she was given another assignment designed to satisfy one of the news outlet’s many advertisers.

She leaned back in her bullpen office chair and crossed her arms over the smart white blouse that hugged her athletic curves in all the right places. Six months at the paper, and every suggestion she gave her boss had been shut down or assigned to a more experienced reporter, leaving the 21-year-old to write boring segments about local celebrity gossip and restaurant reviews.

The young mail clerk, Tommy, wheeled his cart to a stop beside the brunette’s cubicle, his ever-friendly grin lightening up the monotony of the morning. He reached into the lower tray and pulled out a handful of envelopes, a thick brown manila envelope among them, before placing them on Blair’s desk.

“Hey, Blair,” the man chirped. “It’s always nice to see a friendly, familiar face as I’m making my rounds. Working on anything exciting?” The enthusiasm in the man’s voice was infectious, although it didn’t do much to brighten the reporter’s mood.

Blair managed a half-hearted smile as she glanced up from her screen. “If you consider another nightclub opening exciting, then I suppose I am knee-deep in thrills today, Tommy.”

The mail clerk laughed, shaking his head. “Come on, we all have to start somewhere. I’m sure your big break is just around the corner.”

Blair nodded as she picked up the thick envelope from her desk, turning it over in her hands as curiosity sparked in her eyes. Tommy moved on to the next cubicle as the reporter examined the strange piece. There was no return address on the front, and it was labeled simply with Blair’s name. The lack of an address meant the sender had handed it directly into reception. The brunette slid her finger under the sealed flap and tore it open with a satisfying rip, letting the contents spill across her keyboard.

The reporter’s eyes widened as the photographs spread across her desk, revealing scenes that made her breath halt in her throat. The implications hit her like a ton of bricks, and she realized that this could be the biggest story of the decade. She turned the envelope over and searched the contents for a note, but found none. Who had sent this to her? And why did they send it to her specifically? Nonetheless, her pulse raced with the kind of excitement she had craved since her first day at the tribune, the kind that could finally prove her worth beyond the puff pieces she had been given thus far.

She gathered the documents and slid them back into the envelope as her mind raced ahead to the possibilities. The young reporter stood from her chair and clutched the envelope firmly against her chest as she navigated through the bullpen toward the editor’s office.

Blair pushed through the glass door without knocking, the low heels of her sensible shoes clicking against the tiled floor as she entered Rodrigo Sanchez’s domain. The editor sat behind his desk, his tie loosened and his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal his tanned forearms. He looked up from the paper he was reading and raised an eyebrow. He never enjoyed being interrupted without invitation, especially by some young, entitled junior reporter.

Before he could speak, the woman placed the envelope on her editor’s desk with aplomb, her fingers lingering on the edges as if the contents might escape if she let go too quickly. She began spreading the photographs across the surface, arranging them in a row that told the story without words.

Rodrigo set his paper aside and leaned forward, his brown eyes narrowing as he took in the images. Several of them displayed portraits of young women in their twenties holding up signs to beg for money. In each of them, a white van was visible in the background, displaying the same registration plate. Another image showed a blurry display of a woman naked, on her knees, hands behind her back, on some kind of stage. She looked vaguely similar to the blonde woman in the homeless photos. “Ugh, what’s this?” he asked impatiently.

Blair pointed to the auction paddle raised high in one of the clearer shots. “I’ve received an anonymous tip about an exclusive fetish club in Coral Gables where wealthy men have been auctioning and buying women to use as property,” she exclaimed. “The tip claims the men target homeless women with no familial ties, and that is how they have managed to keep going without getting caught.” She held her breath for a moment. “Sir, this is huge. The city’s elite trading women as slaves!”

Rodrigo picked up one of the photographs between his thumb and forefinger, holding it closer to his face as he examined the details with a skeptical frown. The image showed a well-known multi-millionaire in the city stroking the hair of a young blonde woman on her knees, her wrists bound behind her back with what appeared to be silk rope. He set the photo down and sighed. “Blair, you cannot be serious about this,” the chubby editor said. “There is nothing to suggest that anything in these photos is non-consensual. That woman looks quite content where she is.”

Blair gasped at her boss’s response. She leaned over the desk, her blouse straining slightly against her C-cup breasts while she jabbed her finger at the photograph. “Content? Look at her eyes, Rodrigo. That is terror, not consent. Someone has gone out of their way to send this in to me, and we have a duty to investigate. I have a duty to investigate!”

The editor waved his hand dismissively, pushing the rest of the photos back toward the woman. “You see what you want to see, Blair. I’m not prepared to put this company in the firing line of the most powerful people in the city without any evidence, all because you want to break the next scandal. It’s not happening!”

Blair straightened up with the frustration plain to see in her determined, cute face. “You want proof?” she exclaimed, picking the photographs back up in a pile. “Let me go undercover. If I can just get in there, I can prove what is happening to those women.” Her eyes pleaded with the man.

Rodrigo laughed heartily. “You, undercover?” he taunted. “What the hell do you know about being undercover? We’re not a spy agency, Missy. There is not enough evidence to support your claim, and I am not prepared to ruffle any feathers. You are forbidden from pursuing this, Blair. Now, go prepare for the Coconut Club opening this weekend.”

The young brunette opened her mouth to retort, but she knew it was useless. Picking up the brown envelope, she narrowed her eyes at her boss and stormed out of the office silently. She slammed the door behind her with enough force to rattle the glass. She knew her attitude could possibly land her in disciplinary action, but this story was too important to ignore. The only thing was, without the paper’s support, she had no idea what she could do with the information. Temporarily putting the story out of her mind, Blair sat at her desk and went back to work.

❖

“I can’t believe that bastard shot me down like that,” Blair complained animatedly as she sat in the blush booth across from her friend, Mason. She had her hand on the brown envelope on the table as she watched the man take a sip of his lager. The exclusive rooftop bar buzzed around them with poised elegance. It was an establishment the brunette woman wouldn’t ordinarily frequent, especially on her measly salary, but her old college friend had a wealthy background, and these were the bars he liked to treat her to when they caught up.

Mason Waldorf set his glass down with deliberate care as he met the woman’s gaze. “The Miami Tribune is a large outlet. You know Rodrigo has always been more interested in keeping the advertisers happy and not treading on any toes. I don’t know why you’re so surprised he said no.”

Blair groaned. “Don’t take his side!” she complained. “This isn’t any ordinary story. Real women are being trafficked under our very noses, and he won’t even entertain the idea!”

Mason’s face contorted into a little grin. “I’m not,” he replied. “But I understand the politics of all this bullshit, and your hands are tied.” He stared at his friend’s reaction. He and Blair met whilst both attending Florida State University and hit it off immediately. He liked how Blair didn’t care for money or materialistic items, and she had always enjoyed how bluntly sincere the man was. Mason had pursued the women all through Senior year, but she had shown no interest in reciprocating his romantic advances. Eventually, he reluctantly settled for being placed in the friend zone. The pair met up once a week to keep each other informed on their lives.

Blair reached for her cocktail and took a long sip through the straw, the cool liquid doing little to calm the fire in her veins. She set the glass down and slid out the same image she had shown her boss hours prior. “Look at this and tell me you don’t have any concerns.”

Mason picked up the image, examining the old man patting the bound woman on the head. The black-haired young man’s expression remained neutral as he studied the image. He slid the photo back.

“That is Victor Langford,” he said quietly. “He golfs with my father every Sunday. He owns like half the golf courses on the East Coast. You don’t want to pick a fight with him, Blair.”

“I’m not picking a fight with anyone!” the reporter blurted out, eliciting a couple of glances in her direction. “I’m exposing a trafficking ring that’s operating under our noses, and nobody cares.” Her eyes flashed momentarily to her friends. “I have to do something about it.”

Mason held his drink with both hands, leaning closer as he lowered his voice. “I care, Blair. That’s why I’m telling you that this could cost you your entire career if you ignore Rodrigo’s wishes. You’re going to be a great journalist, but maybe it’s best to leave this one alone.”

The brunette pushed her drink to one side in anger. “I can’t do that, Mason,” she groaned. “Someone trusted me enough to send me those photographs; they’re depending on me. I have to figure out how to get into that club; Rodrigo doesn’t even need to know.” She glanced up at the ceiling as she thought deeply. “I’m just not sure how just yet.”

Mason watched the way her chest rose and fell with each frustrated breath, the thin strap of her tank top slipping slightly down one shoulder. He had memorized every detail of Blair Mullins over the past two years, from the way she twisted her head when deep in thought to the exact shade of brown in her eyes when anger sparked within them. Tonight, those eyes burned with a fire that made his pulse quicken in ways he had long ago accepted would never be reciprocated.

“I think my uncle used to attend the club a few years ago,” he said finally, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “You can’t just purchase a membership to the Gold Bunny Club; you need someone to vouch for you.” He stared into her brown eyes. “I can’t make any promises, but I may be able to get an invitation.”

Blair’s fingers tightened around the stem of her glass as she processed her friend’s words. “You can get me in?”

The slightly overweight man nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving hers. “I might be able to. Uncle Mitch owes me a favor, and I think his membership might still be valid.”

The brunette leaned forward, her top dipping to reveal the gentle swell of her modest breasts, eliciting a brief glance from the man opposite her. “How soon?”

Mason softly bit his lower lip. “They have a meeting tomorrow night.” He traced the rim of his glass with one finger. “But there are conditions, Blair. You won’t be able to get in there without me, and from the stories my uncle told, some weird stuff happens in there even without all the trafficking shit.”

Blair’s pulse raced at the possibility of accessing the club, her body shifting forward until her knees brushed up against his beneath the table. “Like, what conditions?”

Mason bit his lower lip, trying to adjust himself as the contact sent a flare of excitement through his spine. “Well, I wouldn’t be able to invite you as a friend or acquaintance. We would need to pretend to be a couple,” he started, his eyes not leaving hers. “It also had a male-dominant theme, which means you would need to pose as my submissive.”

Blair pulled back slightly, although her knee remained pressed up tight beneath the table. “Your submissive?” she repeated. “What does that entail?”

The chubby man nodded before taking another sip of his beer. “Yes. You would need to act like my lifestyle slave. It’s a BDSM club, and it would need to be convincing.”

The journalist studied her friend’s face for any sign that he was joking. “Are you comfortable with that? Pretending that you… own me?”

Masn’s gaze dropped to Blair’s mouth, then back to her pretty eyes. “It would be out of my comfort zone,” he said. “But if you need to get in there this much, I’m willing to take the risk for my friend.”

Blair thought for a moment, softly biting her lower lip as she thought about his offer. “Saturday night. That gives us less than forty-eight hours.”

“Less than twenty-four to prepare you,” Mason replied with an ominous glance.

The journalist raised an eyebrow. “Twenty-four? What do you mean?” she asked quizzically.

Mason set his beer down and leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “Since you started at the Tribune, your face is well-known on the circuit. There will be at least a dozen people there who would recognize you and instantly clock you as being undercover.”

The brunette swallowed hard. “So what do you suggest?”

“I know someone,” he replied. “I have a friend who works as a makeup artist in the film industry. They are a master at changing someone’s appearance. If they get their hands on you, no one would recognize you by the time they’re done.”

Blair raised a skeptical eyebrow. “A makeover? Is that really necessary?”

Mason chuckled lightly. “What else do you suggest?” he said. “You’re face is on the paper. People will notice you. Of course, if you don’t want to go through with it, we don’t have to do it.”

Blair stared at Mason for a long moment, her full lower lip caught between her teeth as she weighed the risk against the reward. She thought of the women in those photographs, and her resolve hardened. “I’ll do it,” she said finally. “This could not only be my big break, but we could save those poor women at the same time.”

The man smiled and reached into his wallet, pulling out a white business card that he then slid across the table. The address printed in elegant black script belonged to a private studio in Coral Gables. “Meet me there tomorrow night after work,” he told her as he sat up. “ChiChi will know what to do.”

The young, ambitious journalist turned the card over in her fingers, feeling the weight of what she had just agreed to settle in her stomach. She had no idea what this makeover entailed or what awaited her in that perverted club. Still, she knew she was a damn good reporter, and she’d do whatever it took to change her boss’s mind and smash this story wide open.

❖

The following evening, Blair apprehensively rang the doorbell at the address on Mason’s card, her finger lingering on the button longer than necessary. After a tense moment, the door swung inward on its own with a soft click, revealing a dimly lit, narrow corridor leading to a staircase. She stepped inside, her sneakers silent on the carpet as she ascended into a loft studio.

“Hello?” she called out to no one in particular as she glanced around at the strange latex-styled masks decorating the area. She slowly made her way deeper into the studio.

“Finally,” Mason called out from behind the young brunette, causing her to jump in surprise. “I thought you had bailed out. ChiChi is waiting for you. This way.”

He directed her into a small, brightly lit room where a person with blue mohawked hair, a septum and nose ring piercing, and smirking plump lips was waiting for her. ChiChi was an eccentric non-binary person who specialized in horror-themed makeup and makeovers. Still, they also enjoyed exploring other genres too.

ChiChi circled Blair with the predatory grace of an artist sizing up her newest project. “Is this my project?” they asked Mason. “She’s a bit of a plain canvas.”

“Hey!” Blair bit back instinctively. “I’m not here to be insulted.”

The stylist chuckled, standing before Blair and taking hold of her shoulders before pushing her into the swivel stylist chair behind her. “Ohh, it’s not an insult, babe,” she clarified. “We love plain canvases here. It means I can mold you into exactly what we need,” they turned their head to Mason. “Isn’t that right, darling?”

Mason chuckled jovially. “Yes, ChiChi,” he told his stylist friend before turning to face Blair. “Don’t worry. ChiChi is the best at what they do. You’ll be unrecognizable in no time, and it’s all reversible.”

Blair crossed her arms for a moment. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something about this person that she just couldn’t trust. However, she could trust Mason, and she was taking his lead right now. “Okay,” the journalist replied. “Work your magic.”

ChiChi snapped on a pair of black latex gloves with a theatrical flourish. “Perfect,” they said. “Give me a few moments to prepare. Mason, the headphones.”

The brunette’s eyebrow rose as she tried to process what the mohawked stylist had said. “Headphones?” she asked curiously.

Mason approached the seated woman with a pair of white wireless headphones. “Yes,” he said. “The event is tomorrow night, and you don’t know the first thing about being a submissive. I downloaded some MP3s that will teach you how to behave and act during the event. It might still be too short notice, but it’s probably the best chance we have.”

As the man approached, Blair shook her head in concern. “I don’t think any of that is necessary,” she retorted. “Give me a book or something to read. I’ll read through it tonight.”

Her friend shook his head. “We have no time,” he told her. “I am putting my neck on the line for this, too, and we need you to play the part. Studies show the best way to retain information is through audio tapes.”

Mason didn’t even wait for his friend to agree to his terms before he placed the headphones over her ears. The journalist parted her lips in protest, but decided against it. He was right. If she really wanted to go undercover and protect these women, she would need to know how to act the part as soon as possible.

“Submission Training, Lesson One,” a female voice started. However, it was the crackling background noise that diverted the brunette’s attention, so that she could barely comprehend what the narrator was saying. She looked up at Mason, intending to tell him the audio was messed up, but her eyelids suddenly felt incredibly heavy. She would tell him about it, but it would have to wait. She needed to nap first.

“Now the real fun begins,” Blair heard ChiChi’s voice in the distance before she fell into total unconsciousness, her world fading to darkness.

Blair’s eyelids fluttered open slowly, her vision adjusting to the bright ring lights positioned around the stylist’s chair. She felt strangely exposed, the cool air brushing against skin that hadn’t been bare before. Her hands moved instinctively to cover herself, but the weight on her chest stopped her short in an instant. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Blair stared at her reflection in the mirror that hadn’t existed in front of her before she had drifted off, her breath gasping at the stranger staring back. Platinum blonde waves cascaded down to the curve of her ass, replacing her sensible, natural shoulder-length brunette hair. Her lashes curled dramatically, framing eyes that looked wider, more innocent somehow, while her lips formed a foreign pout, swollen to almost three times their previous size, and colored an enticing shade of glossy, crystal pink.

However, it wasn’t her face that caused the biggest alarm. She was completely naked, and what she witnessed on her chest almost made her vomit. Her breasts were impossibly large and round, at least an E-cup, with nipples that peaked instantly under her touch. They were obviously enhanced, a bust fit for a pornstar. Even worse, as she touched her nipples, she gasped as she could feel every nerve ending, every brush of her own fingers making her mewl. They were real. They had to be real.

ChiChi appeared at the transformed woman’s side as they absently removed the gloves from their hands. “Breathe, darling,” they chuckled. “They are just prosthetics. Top of the range. They are linked to the nerve endings in your own breasts, allowing you to feel every touch and react just as a real busty woman would. They are becoming all the rage in Hollywood.” She paused, looking her project up and down. “No permanent damage has been done to that pretty little body of yours.”

Blair’s hands trembled as she cupped the heavy weight of her new breasts, the sensitive peaks sending jolts of pleasure straight between her thighs. The former brunette shifted in the chair, her smooth, hairless skin sliding against the leather, and the woman realized the changes extended far beyond her chest. There was no longer a single piece of hair on her body, and even her prized mound of pubic hair, an area she kept untamed for feminist reasons, was now bare and exposed. When Blair glanced down, she noticed a small black padlock sat just above her slit, the skin around it perfectly smooth and soft.

“You’re awake,” Mason stepped into view, his eyes darkening as they traveled over her transformed body. “ChiChi has outdone themself. How are you holding up?”

The newly blonde journalist stared at her friend as her eyes narrowed in anger. “What the hell did you two do to me?” she snapped. “I didn’t ask for any of this, Master.” The word escaped her lips before she could stop it. Blair’s eyes widened in horror as her hands flew to cover her mouth. Why did she call him that?

ChiChi laughed, enjoying Blair’s reaction. “I guess those conditioning tapes worked, then.”

Mason cautiously moved closer until his thighs brushed the edge of the chair, his presence filling the space between Blair and her reflection. He reached out slowly, his fingers tracing the curve of one enhanced breast with deliberate care. The touch made Blair’s back arch involuntarily, a soft whimper escaping her swollen lips as pleasure directed straight to her crotch.

“This is all temporary, Blair,” he said, his voice low and reassuring even as his thumb possessively circled her taut nipple. “Everything can be reversed in an instant. The hair, the lips, the breasts, the conditioning. All of it.”

Blair tried to pull away, but her body remained seated, thighs parting slightly as if it were inviting more touch, entirely out of her control. “Take them off now,” she demanded. “This is too much, Master.” Her eyes widened as that damn word escaped her lips again.

“You look perfect for the role,” Mason countered, his hand sliding down to cup the weight of her breast fully. The prosthetics responded as if they were flesh, her nipple hardening further against his palm. “No one at the club will suspect you to be Blair Mullins tomorrow night. You just have to stay like this until then. We go in there, you take the evidence you need, and we’ll be laughing about it come Monday morning.”

ChiChi sauntered over to an armchair and wheeled it into Blair’s view. A shimmering pink latex microdress and the most obscene stripper heels Blair had ever seen lay resting on the chair. “Time to dress your new doll.”

The journalist flashed a glare in ChiChi’s direction. “I’m sure as hell not going to wear that!” She shouted out.

“Get dressed, Blair,” Mason said in a commanding tone that the woman had never heard from him before. “Now. We have some practicing to do before the event tomorrow.”

Suddenly, Blair’s body rose from the chair without her mental consent, her enhanced breasts sitting high on her chest as she stepped toward the waiting outfit. She reached for the pink microdress as she began to step into it. The entire time, she mentally screamed to free herself, but an invisible force directed her like a puppet. She couldn’t pause until the assignment was complete.

Mason smiled as he watched Blair obey his orders, her busty transformed body moving with grace as she dressed herself. He adjusted his groin discreetly, the sight of his crush’s new swollen lips and heaving breasts making his cock strain against his pants. “I’ll wait for you outside,” he told her as he turned toward the door. The transformation and conditioning turned out better than he ever could have imagined, and now it was time to have some fun with his new slave.

❖

Mason opened the warehouse door with a heavy creak, flipping on the overhead lights to reveal a full BDSM dungeon bathed in a mild red glow. Chains dangled from ceiling beams, a polished St. Andrew’s cross dominated one wall, and a shallow steel cage sat in the corner with its door ajar.

Blair stepped in behind him, her impossible stripper heels clicking against the concrete floor. Her new pink latex microdress barely covered her ass as she moved, the material stretching taut across her enhanced breasts. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to expose the exposed skin. Still, the gesture only resulted in pushing her cleavage higher.

“I rented this space from a professional Dominatrix for the night,” Mason explained as he locked the door behind them. “She uses it for private sessions, but tonight it’s ours. We need to practice before tomorrow, and this place will help get you in the right frame of mind.”

Blair’s mouth opened to protest. “Is all of this really necessary?” she complained. “I am really good at pretending, Master.” Her eyes narrowed as that damn word slipped out of her mouth again.

The black-haired man’s lips curved into a slow, satisfied smirk as he watched the words fall from her glossy pink pout. He stepped closer, the heat of his body pressing against the thin latex that barely contained her curves. “Ohh, it’s more than necessary,” he replied. “You wanted to gain access to the most exclusive club in Miami, and this is how we’re going to do it.” He softly traced his finger along her jaw, prompting an impromptu shudder from the new blonde. “Dress. Off. Now,” He commanded as he stepped back.”

The journalist’s fingers found the hidden zipper at her spine before her mind could form another objection. The latex peeled away from her skin with a slow hiss, sliding down her busty body to pool at her feet. She stood naked except for the heels and collar, her bare fake breasts rising and falling with each hyperventilating breath. Blair couldn’t understand how her body kept moving of its own accord, obeying Mason’s orders without any input from her own brain.

Mason stood before the woman with a hungry grin before taking hold of her wrists, slowly pushing her backward until her back made contact with the red leather surface of the St. Andrew’s Cross. He allowed no objections before he secured his transformed friend’s left wrist in the leather cuff, followed by her right wrist, keeping her arms up and out wide. He repeated the act with her ankles, securing the stripper-heeled feet against the X of the cross, holding her bare legs out wide, leaving the blonde completely vulnerable.

The man stepped back to admire his handiwork, his gaze lingering on the way Blair’s breasts thrust forward invitingly, nipples already stiff from the cool air and unwanted excitement. He stepped up to the opposite wall and selected a soft suede flogger from the rack, letting the tails trail across his palm as he approached her again. The first strike landed across her thighs without warning, with a sharp snap, prompting a wailing cry from the blonde journalist.

Blair’s head fell back against the cross, a strangled moan escaping her huge lips as he slapped her thighs again, and again. Each strike began to paint a subtle red mark against the inside of both thighs as her body arched into the pain instead of away from it. Despite her hatred of the agony, her body found a strange excitement from the masochistic pain.

“Please, Master, stop!” she begged. Her hips rolled of their own accord, seeking more contact even as tears gathered in her lengthened lashes.

Mason paused only long enough to attach a pair of clover clamps to his project’s sensitive nipples, the sudden bite making her cry out as fresh arousal flooded between her legs. He watched the woman tremble, the chain between the clamps swaying with each of her breaths. “No matter how you feel about this,” he said. “You are going to need to pretend like you crave it. You are my submissive, and you will act like you crave my punishment.” He emphasized his point by smashing the whip against her bare pussy folds, eliciting another squeal.

Blair’s entire body jerked against the restraints as the flogger connected with her most sensitive flesh, the sting blooming into liquid heat that made her sore thighs quiver. She felt slickness gathering between her legs, her smooth folds glistening in pleasure despite the furious pain she suffered.

Mason set the flogger aside and picked up a smooth silicone wand, the kind that promised relentless pleasure. He picked up a length of red rope and fashioned a crotch-roped harness, positioning the wand directly against the blonde’s clit to ensure it couldn’t fall away. Before turning the device on, he picked up a leather bit gag and placed it between the woman’s swollen lips, wrapping the strap around her head to keep it secure.

“These walls are soundproof, but I can’t have you scream down the neighborhood.” Mason grinned before flicking on the Hitachi wand, kicking it up to the highest setting. “I’ll be back once I’ve read my book.” He chuckled to himself as he took out a thick paperback from the nearby bookcase and sat on a metal fold-up chair facing the tortured woman. His eyes lowered to the book as the blonde was forced to confront the overwhelming pleasure building inside of her.

The transformed journalist’s body convulsed against the cross as the wand pressed mercilessly against her clit, the vibrations rippling through her entire being with brutal intensity. She tried to scream, to beg the man to stop, but the thick leather bit turned every plea into garbled, unintelligible noise that only made her drool around the gag. For ten whole minutes, Mason kept her like this, occasionally glancing up from his book to watch her writhe, her swollen pussy lips glistening under the harsh vibrations as orgasm after orgasm tore through the blonde’s bound body without mercy.

Finally, the wealthy man set the paperback aside and stood, switching off the wand with a casual flick of his wrist. “Did you enjoy that?” he teased jovially. “All that mess you’re making tells me you had fun.” He chuckled as he ungagged the woman, Blair too exhausted to retort any protest. Mason unfastened the clover clamps, allowing the blood to rush back to her nipples as she shuddered. The man cupped her face gently, thumb brushing away a tear, then reached behind her neck to wrap a soft pink leather collar around his fake submissive’s throat. The buckle clicked shut before he attached a matching leash and left it dangling between her huge breasts.

Mason unclipped the cuffs from Blair’s wrists and ankles and let her body sag against him as her circulation returned. His arms wrapped around her waist, fingers splaying possessively across the small of her back as he lowered her to the concrete floor.

“Crawl,” he ordered, giving the leash a gentle tug that sent her sprawling forward onto her hands and knees. Blair’s big breasts swayed heavily beneath her as she followed the pull of the leash toward the waiting cage.

Just as he commanded, she crawled inside the shallow steel enclosure, short enough to prevent her from rising from her knees, but just wide enough to allow her to turn to face her friend. Mason closed the cage door before kneeling to thread a heavy padlock through the latch, the metallic click echoing through the dungeon as it snapped shut.

“A night in the cage will get you in the right frame of mind for tomorrow,” he grinned, standing to tower over the woman’s imprisoned form. The man’s fingers trailed along the bars teasingly.

The blonde gripped the bars with both hands, pressing her face against them. “Very funny, Master,” she said, using the term ‘Master’ again when she meant to say her friend’s name. “Let me out.”

Mason said nothing, simply turning away and walking toward the light switch near the exit. The red glow around the room vanished with a click, plunging the warehouse into complete darkness. Blair gasped in horror as she realized how serious the man was being.

“Master, get back here!” she shouted, rattling the cage door hard enough to make the padlock dance. “You can’t leave me like this! Let me out right now!”

The warehouse door shut with a final thud, leaving the naked Blair alone in the darkness with only the sound of her own breath and the rattling of the metal bars to keep her company. This has better fucking be worth it, she thought to herself as she was forced to spend the night caged and alone.

❖

The following evening, Mason pulled his black Maserati up to the wrought-iron gates of the famed Coral Gables mansion. A security camera swiveled toward them as Mason showed his invitation card to the spying eye, the red light blinking once before the gates swung inward without a sound. Blair sat beside him in the passenger seat. She wore an almost identical pink latex minidress to the one she had worn the night before, except this one had a window cut out to reveal the entire curve of her bare ass, a feature that she was all too self-conscious of. She also wore a pink leather collar around her neck and pink thigh-high fishnet stockings to complement her stripper heels.

Mason eased the car forward into the circular drive where a valet waited patiently for him. He stepped out first, handing over the keys before circling to Blair’s side. He opened the door and grabbed the leash hanging from her collar, tugging on it to assist her out of the vehicle.

The blonde’s heels clicked against the gravel as she emerged, the cut-out in her dress leaving her ass cheeks completely exposed to the cool night air. She had to fight to prevent the latex from riding higher with each sway of her hips, the material clinging to her curves like a second skin. Mason gave the leash another tug, forcing his date to arch her back and thrust her breasts forward as they approached the entrance.

The lead doorman, Julio Gonzalez, stood at the massive double doors of the club, his muscular frame filling out a tailored black suit. He held a tablet with the names of all the invited guests listed, his eyes raking over Blair with professional amusement.

“Name,” he said, turning his attention to the wealthy man holding the transformed blonde’s leash.

“Mason Waldorf,” the black-haired man replied smoothly, handing over the gold-embossed invitation card. “Plus one.”

Julio scanned the card with his tablet, the device beeping once in confirmation. His gaze dropped back to Blair, lingering on the way the latex stretched across her bosom. “And the property?”

“Bunny,” Mason answered without a beat, giving the leash a subtle tug that made Blair step forward.

The undercover journalist parted her plump lips in disgust. How dare he give her such a degrading name? “Actually, my name is Bunny,” she corrected him, her eyes widening as she comprehended what she had just said. “I mean, my name is Bunny!” Her voice rose before she turned her head to her friend. “What have you done to my head, Master?”

Julio threw his head back and laughed mockingly. He tapped away at his tablet until he heard a confirmation beep. “All good to go. I think you may want to keep a gag in her pretty little mouth,” he suggested to Mason. “Sounds like she could be trouble inside.”

The wealthy black-haired man chuckled in return, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wide pink ball gag, dangling it from its strap. “Already have that covered,” he told the security guard before tugging his transformed submissive’s leash. “Come on, Bunny. Let’s get you settled.”

The man led the journalist into the brightly lit cloakroom entrance. With no coat or bag to check in, they continued on until they reached the main hall of the club. Dark, paneled walls surrounded the opulent room, with red leather booths lining the edges. A fully stocked bar dominated the center of the room, flagged by two stripper poles. Each side led to a corridor, which led to various playrooms.

Mason stopped before the bar and turned to his blonde crush. “You do look beautiful like this, Bunny,” he admitted. “But I have to make sure your mouth doesn’t get you in any trouble. This is for your own protection.” Before Blair had the opportunity to complain, Mason pushed the large pink ball between the woman’s teeth, her plump lips wrapping around it helplessly. He pushed her head forward to allow himself to buckle it in place before locking it securely with a tiny padlock. “Now, keep your eyes peeled for anything of interest.” He told her as he led her over to a red leather booth.

The man settled into the booth and tugged the leash sharply, forcing Blair to drop to her knees beside his legs. The position left a good view of her massive cleavage from above as she adjusted to the humiliating posture.

A server approached, a petite redhead in nothing but gold pasties and a matching thong, her own collar connected to a serving tray strapped around her waist. She placed two crystal tumblers on the table. She filled one with amber liquid, but when she moved to fill the second glass, Mason raised his hand. “Only one will be necessary.” The server silently nodded and picked up the empty tumbler, then stepped away. Mason grinned as he picked up the glass, swirled it around, and took a deep sip.

Blair angrily bit against the gag, stretching her jaw wide. She knew she needed to act the part of a submissive, but most of the half-naked women in the building weren’t gagged. She wondered how much of this was truly necessary. Once thing she couldn’t deny, however, was that not a single soul appeared to recognize her as the young, ambitious journalist she was.

Mason rested one hand on Blair’s platinum head, his fingers threading through the silky waves as he surveyed the room with casual ownership. Several men nodded in greeting, their eyes focusing on the kneeling blonde whose dress barely contained her overflowing curves. The ball gag forced her mouth around the pink silicone as her teeth pressed against the spherical object.

A man in his mid-forties approached their booth with the confidence of a regular, the gold chain around his neck catching the light as he approached the couple. “Mason Waldorf,” he greeted the seated man. “How long has it been? Glad to see you back here.” Mason stood, and the pair embraced as though they were old friends. After the pair separated, the man’s eyes dropped to the kneeling blonde and her exposed cleavage. “And who is this delicious creature? A new project?”

Mason settled back into his booth with a satisfied grin, his fingers tightening on the blonde’s leash as the collar pressed deliciously against her throat. The man sat across from the pair. “This is Bunny,” Mason introduced, giving the chain a tug that forced her to arch her back further and present her breasts more fully. “She’s freshly trained. Bunny, meet Howard, or Master H to you.”

Howard’s gaze traveled over Blair’s body with open appreciation, lingering on the swell of her generous fake cleavage. “She’s exquisite. Perfect, I may say,” he said. “Those lips were made for wrapping around something thick.”

Blair shuddered as her mind reeled from the incoming information. That man had said that Mason hadn’t visited for over a year. Did that mean he was already a member before talking to his uncle? He asked if Blair was a new project. Did that mean her friend had done something like this before? Nothing added up in her mind.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” Mason grinned before tugging Blair’s leash once more. “Bunny, greeting slut protocol.”

Suddenly, a switch flicked in the undercover journalist’s mind, and her body sprang into action, dropping to her hands and knees and automatically crawling under the table toward the stranger. As she stopped directly beside the man, she lowered her head. She pressed her plump, inviting lips against his dirty black boot, worshiping his footwear like a perverse submissive slut.

Howard chuckled at the display, glancing down at the worshiping blonde. “You’re always full of tricks, Mason,” he complimented the man. “I love to see it.”

Mason watched with dark satisfaction as the woman he had crushed over the last couple of years traced her lips across the leather of Howard’s boot. He took another sip of his drink, savoring the power he held over the woman.

Howard reached down and patted Blair’s head like a favored pet. “Such dedication. You’ve outdone yourself this time.”

The blonde’s mind screamed in protest, but her body continued its worship, lips pressing reverently against the leather harness as her thighs trembled. The ball gag remained pressed against her teeth, making the worship all the more humiliating.

“Enough, Bunny,” Mason eventually called out. “Assume presentation.”

Once again, the transformed journalist’s body moved of its own accord, dropping back down to her hands and knees and backing away until she returned to her spot beside her fake Master. Once she had reached the correct spot, she knelt up, arching her back in an exaggerated manner and placing her hands obediently behind her head. Once she was in position, her body locked in place, her eyes staring ahead at a grinning Howard.

Mason heightened the woman’s humiliation by lowering the top of the latex dress, tucking it below her huge, fake tits, revealing them for all to see. “You will keep your tits on display until I say so,” he commanded the blonde, and suddenly, Blair knew that she would comply. He then tugged the journalist’s leash, dropping her back to her hands and knees. “Bunny and I have some exploring to do, Howard,” he addressed the man as he shook his hand. “We’ll catch up again later.”

The black-haired, wealthy man led Blair through the corridors on her hands and knees, the leash pulling taut whenever she lagged behind. They passed a number of private playrooms where the moans and yelps spilled out into the hallway. Through a half-open door, Blair caught sight of a woman hung suspended in rope bondage, her body twisted as a masked man whipped her naked body. In another room, a woman was tied tightly in a pretzel tie as her Master fucked her exposed pussy mercilessly, her gag unable to hide the lustful moans escaping her lips.

As they approached the end of a hallway, a gray-haired man wearing a gold half-face mask stopped the pair. This was Master J, the host of the event. “Mr Waldorf,” he said professionally. “The demonstration will begin shortly. I hope you have brought your checkbook. We have some prime stock this time around.”

Mason glanced through the viewing window positioned high on the wall, his height allowing him perfect sight of the four beautiful women trapped in individual tall cages. Each one stood naked except for their collars, their bodies pressed against the bars as they awaited their fate. He turned back to Master J with an appreciative nod.

“They look great this evening,” he said. “But I’m not here to purchase this evening. In fact, I’m here to donate a prize for the auction.”

He glanced down at Blair on her hands and knees, her exposed breasts swaying heavily as she stared up at him in horror. The viewing window sat too high for her to see the caged women, although their predicament was suddenly the least of her troubles.

Master J’s eyes lit with interest as he took in the blonde’s transformed form. “Wow. She will fetch a fantastic price,” he said nonchalantly, as if he were discussing the price of livestock. “Leave her with me. I’ll get her set up properly.”

Blair’s eyes widened behind the gag as she realized what was happening. She bit down on the silicone, muffled protests vibrating in her throat as she tried to shake her head. The sound came out as desperate, garbled noises that only made the host chuckle.

Mason handed over the leash without hesitation, his fingers brushing Master J’s as the transfer completed. “Make yourself comfortable in the bidding room,” the host told the wealthy member. “I’ll get this one prepared.”

The undercover woman’s muffled cries grew more frantic as Mason walked away without a backward glance, her body forced to crawl after Master J. The leash pulled taut, dragging her toward the display room while her mind screamed that this had to be some kind of elaborate practical joke. Mason wouldn’t actually sell her. He couldn’t. This must have been all part of the plan, the plan to get her closer to the story, she thought.

The masked host led her toward the processing area, the sound of her front of her heels clicking with each crawl the only noise besides her desperate, gagged protests. The cage doors waited ahead, precisely like the ones she had come to document. Only now, she was being led straight into one.

❖

Blair stood naked inside a tall cage, her wrists bound tightly behind her back with thick leather cuffs that forced her fake E-cup breasts forward. The pink ball gag stretched her swollen lips wide as she shifted uncomfortably on her stripper heels. Her blonde hair cascaded over one shoulder, the ends brushing against her sensitive nipples that hardened from the unwanted arousal that refused to fade despite her horror.

Master J’s voice rang through the small auction theater as he began the evening’s proceedings. “It’s great to see you all here this evening, gentlemen. We have a fantastic assortment of goodies this evening, starting with a twenty-year-old brunette with an untouched back entrance and a mouth that begs to be used. Bidding opens at two hundred thousand dollars.”

A large masked man opened one of the cages beside the journalist and pulled the leash to force a young, trembling girl onto the stage. Her arms were fastened in a tight armbinder, her ankles shackled with soft leather restraints. A ring gag pried her plump lips open, and both her nipples were pierced with silver barbells, decorating her C-cup breasts. Blair watched helplessly as the brunette was positioned on the display block, her body shaking while men raised numbered paddles.

The bids climbed rapidly, each paddle lifting high as Master J’s voice rose with theatrical excitement. “Two-fifty. Three hundred. Do I hear three-fifty?” The brunette’s eyes darted wildly as she tried to plead for help, her desperate expression only increasing her price higher. The final gavel fell at four hundred and twenty thousand dollars. A middle-aged, redheaded man approached the stage and shook the host’s hand before handing him a ‘donation’ check and taking the poor woman’s leash in his hand, leading the reluctant woman away.

Blair shuddered as she watched it all take place. This couldn’t be real? Surely Mason was trying to scare her. Another cage opened, and a beautiful redheaded woman with freckles on her bare chest tottered forward in extreme ballet heels. She wore a black leather harness that snaked over her body, pushing up her bare D-cup breasts, and sliding over her crotch to give her a cameltoe. A panel harness gag across the poor woman’s face hid the 7-inch dildo shoved down her throat, and metal cuffs ensured her hands were helpless behind her back.

Master J circled the redhead slowly, his fingers trailing over the harness straps that framed her freckled breasts. “Lot two, twenty-two years old, natural redhead, completely shaved, and trained to take punishment in every hole. Bidding starts at three hundred thousand.”

The paddles rose again, the poor woman’s price climbing faster than the first sale. The watching journalist pressed against the bars keeping her in place, testing them out, but she knew there was no escape from her prison.

“Five hundred thousand,” a voice called from the back.

“Five-fifty,” another countered.

The gavel finally fell at seven hundred and eighty thousand dollars. A tall black man with gold teeth and a heavy gold chain around his neck approached the stage to claim his prize. He handed the check to Master J before callously squeezing his new slave’s breasts, prompting a moan from the captive. He attached a gold leash to her collar and forced her to kneel before having her crawl behind him off the stage.

The host turned toward Blair’s cage with a sadistic grin. “And now, gentlemen, a late addition to this evening’s auction block. Lot three, fresh to the market and exquisitely trained. Let’s bring her out.”

Master J unlocked the cage door and swung it open. A large attendant reached inside and pulled the leash attached to her pink leather collar, pulling her out of her slim confines. After finding her transformed body in full view of the perverted wealthy, Blair knew her time was running out and made the decision to make a run for it. She caught her handler off guard, and he dropped the leash as she ran toward the edge of the stage. Unfortunately, the newly blonde journalist’s inexperience in navigating stripper platform heels led her to trip over, falling on her huge, bare breasts.

The crowd chuckled as the handler retook her leash. She tried to stand back up, but Master J placed a foot on her back. “As you seem to enjoy it down there, pet, you may as well stay there.” He reached down and uncuffed her wrists, as the man holding her leash tugged firmer, forcing the blonde journalist to parade around the stage on her hands and knees.

“Lot three,” Master J announced with glee, stopping her in the center of the stage. “Twenty-six years old, five-foot-four in bare feet, thirty-four E-cup prosthetic breasts, although she is happy to make them permanent for the right Master. Completely smooth below the neck, conditioned for obedience, trained in oral service, and pain tolerance. Starting bid five hundred thousand dollars.”

The first paddle shot up immediately, prompting Blair’s eyes to widen in abject fear. They were actually bidding on her? This couldn’t be happening!

“Six hundred thousand,” Master J announced as another paddle went up. “Seven hundred,” he continued.

Master J’s grin widened as he watched the numbers climb. “Seven-fifty, eight, eight-fifty. Do we hear nine?”

The blonde’s eyes darted frantically through the crowd, searching for Mason amongst the faces. Still, the lighting was designed to keep the men in darkness and obscure their features. Why wasn’t that bastard stopping this? Her eyes widened as the realization hit her like a physical blow: he wasn’t here to help her. He was here to sell her.

“One million!” Master J continued. “This is our largest price of the year. Any further bids?”

Blair helplessly bit against her large gag, the size of which caused her jaw to ache. Preventing the auction was hopeless, and her heart sank when the gavel struck. “One million one hundred thousand to the man in the corner!” Master J announced. “We have a winner.”

Master J gestured to the balding, overweight man in a flashy red suit as he rose to his feet and approached the stage to collect his prize. Blair’s desperate eyes flicked around the room for her friend, still holding on to hope that this was a sick joke.

The man, a wealthy financial investor named Jack Windsor, dropped to one knee and cupped his new property’s chin before grinning. “You’re a pretty one. Mason’s girls are always so well-behaved. I can’t wait to test you out.” Mason’s girls? Blair thought. How many women had he done this with?

Jack removed Blair’s pink collar and attached a thin diamond-encrusted choker around her neck before attaching a matching flashy leash. He gave it a sharp tug, forcing the woman to crawl after him off the stage. Blair’s eyes darted frantically through the sea of men, searching for any sign of Mason, but the man who had brought her here remained nowhere in sight. She shuddered as the truth dawned on her. Mason was gone, and she had suddenly become one of the auctioned women she was supposed to be investigating. Her undercover project had failed.

❖

Three Weeks Later

Deep masculine moans filled Jack’s penthouse as he reclined on the white leather sofa, his thick fingers threaded through platinum blonde waves of hair. Bunny knelt between his spread thighs, her permanently enhanced lips wrapped around his hard cock, taking him to the root with a practiced ease. The diamond choker at her throat with her ‘Bunny’ nametag emblazoned across the front was a permanent force on her throat as her head rose and fell in perfect rhythm, her swollen breasts swaying heavily beneath her with each bob.

Jack’s hips lifted off the cushion, pushing deeper into the wet heat of her inviting mouth. “That’s it, pet,” he growled with pleasure. “Show me why I paid so much for this throat.”

Bunny’s tongue swirled around the underside of his shaft, tracing every vein as she hollowed her cheeks and sucked harder. Her newly permanently enhanced F-cup breasts, the silicone prosthetics recently replaced with permanent implants, bounced high on her chest as the slave serviced her owner.

The man’s fingers tightened in her hair as he held her down, his cock buried to the hilt while her throat fluttered around him. He savored the way her body trembled, the way her submissive hands pressed against his thighs. When the wealthy man finally released his property, Bunny pulled back with a wet gasp, strings of saliva stretching from her swollen lips to his glistening length before she dove forward again, apparently eager to please.

The doorbell chimed through the penthouse. Jack cursed under his breath as he felt his orgasm approach, but the sound of the bell dulled his pleasure. He pulled his cock from Bunny’s mouth. “Stay there, slut,” he commanded. “Exactly where you are. Oh, and keep that tongue out.”

Bunny obeyed instantly, her body used to following the man’s every command without question. She knelt with her back arched and breasts thrust forward, tongue extended like an offering as Jack straightened his trousers and strode to the intercom.

A few moments later, the man reentered the living room, although it was the man following close behind him that caught Bunny’s eye. It was Mason. Three weeks since she last saw the traitorous asshole, he had reappeared.

“She’s been fantastic,” Jack told the black-haired man. “Well trained, just as you promised.”

Mason chuckled lightly, watching his former friend on her knees, obediently presenting her breasts like a content slave. He could see the fire in her eyes, but the strong submissive tendencies she had been subjected to over the past three weeks had seeped into her soul. “Is she ready?” he asked nonchalantly.

Jack softly nodded, sitting back on the couch, stroking his slave’s blonde hair condescendingly. He turned his attention to Bunny. “Your friend here made quite the tidy penny out of you,” he mocked. “However, he drove a hard bargain, and one condition of the sale was that he received your services for one night every month. This is the first evening of the arrangement, unfortunately.” He said. “We’ll finish the fun tomorrow night, okay?”

Bunny remained frozen in place, her tongue still extended as Mason stepped closer. The sight of him sent a fresh wave of humiliation through the owned woman’s mind, but her body refused to move until she received a new command. Mason crouched in front of her, his fingers softly tugging her new ‘Bunny’ choker that marked her as property.

“Look at you,” he murmured with satisfaction. “Perfect little Bunny. You could have had it all, but you thought you were better than me. Well, not anymore!” Better than him? Bunny shuddered. She never thought she was better than him; she was just never attracted to him.

None of that seemed to matter anymore as Mason uttered a single word. “Come,” he ordered, and as he did, Bunny’s body began to crawl after him on trembled knees, her permanent implants swaying heavily beneath her.

Jack watched from the sofa, his hand already sliding back into his trousers as he intended to finish what the blonde had started. “You two have fun,” he called out as Mason and the slave entered the private elevator.

The elevator doors sealed shut, and Mason wasted no time. He yanked the leash hard, pulling the blonde to her feet as he slammed Bunny against the mirrored wall. His mouth crashed onto her in a sensual kiss while his free hand squeezed her naked, heavy breast hard enough to make her whimper. “For tonight, doll,” he growled against her swollen lips. “You belong to me.” The man pushed his clothed erection against the busty blonde’s bare thigh to drive his statement home.

Bunny’s body melted under her former friend’s touch, her thighs parting instinctively as his fingers plunged between her slick folds. The journalist who once dreamed of taking down the corrupt elite now existed only as a collared toy passed between owners. Her transformation was so extensive that no one recognized her former identity beneath the blonde hair and fake tits, and her conditioning was so ingrained that she forever acted like a perfect submissive slave. Blair Mullins no longer existed. Bunny was an owned toy, and that was how she’d remain.

The End.