Chapter One

I heard the elevator ding and stepped out onto the 28th floor of my building. Only a handful of directors’ offices and meeting rooms were located on this floor, so the lobby was nice and spacious. As I walked past, I noticed Slutlips, my personal assistant, standing up in her extreme ballet heels. She was a brilliant secretary I had brought over from my previous job at SlaveFarm Auctioneers. She was technically a free woman, but she was fiercely loyal to me after I uncovered her father’s illegal activities, which I promised to keep hidden if she obediently worked for me.

I nodded at my rubber-clad African-American secretary, “Slut, I have a meeting scheduled with a freelance inventor. Let me know when he arrives.” I commanded, eliciting a nod from her hooded head. With that acknowledgment, I stepped forward and entered my office.

My name is Harold Masters, and I am the recently appointed Chief Executive Officer of SlaveTech Incorporated. The previous CEO lost his job after our closest rival, ControlCorp, overtook us in quarterly market share for the first time in years. The company had lost its way recently, focusing more on improving already released technology and completely botching the launch of the Control Collar. I had won the role by promising the board a refocus on revenue generation and an overhaul of the work culture that existed here.

The way women were respected here horrified me. Perhaps respected is too strong of a word to use, but they were definitely valued, even given responsibilities that a manager should hold, despite it being illegal for a woman to hold leadership positions. I immediately worked on reshaping the culture to remind women of their role in society, including extra checks from their supervisor before submitting work and instigating a new uniform policy, which came into effect today.

I had just finished my tour of the building, and I could already notice the vast improvements in productivity. The men appeared much happier, and the women were far more focused on their work after most of them lost their ability to speak and distract others with their useless ideas.

I particularly enjoyed my trip down to the R&D department and witnessing Sarah Jackson in her new uniform. I had heard rumors that she was single-handedly keeping SlaveTech afloat with her innovative ideas, but she needed to be reminded that she is just a set of tits and ass above all else, and her manager did a great job picking out her new outfit. Sarah’s father was the leader of a rival auction house and always had a knack for undercutting my commission fees and poaching the grade-A sluts. Seeing his prized daughter knocked down off her high horse was all too sweet, and I couldn’t wait to evaluate the fantastic work the boys had done to her in the dungeon.

Not long after I sat down, there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” I bellowed before my rubberized secretary hobbled in with a man trailing behind her. The man was young; he looked barely old enough to have finished college and had a tall, lanky body. Slicked-back sandy blond hair gave off the vibe of a man who never truly left the frat lifestyle.

The man held a black leather leash in his left hand, tugging along a beautiful, humorous sight at his side. Fitted in a tight black rubber bitchsuit, a woman crawled along on her elbows and knees. The black latex was incredibly tight, keeping her ankles propped up against her thighs. Similarly, her arms were folded tightly, forcing her to struggle on her elbows.

The woman wore a full rubber puppy hood with ears perked up, giving her an undeniable canine appearance. At the other end, a latex tail protruded from her covered ass. She wore a thick red collar, which was attached to the leash in the man’s hand.

“Good afternoon, Mr Masters,” the man introduced himself. “I’m Jason Cannings, and I own a small startup enterprise called Petgirl Solutions.” I grinned; since the legalization of female slavery two decades ago, an abundance of one-man businesses have continued to prop up, attempting to capitalize on the lucrative slave economy. Most of these men hinged their success on one single idea and disappeared into obscurity when that idea predictably failed.

“And who is this little thing here?” I wave my secretary away before addressing the latex puppy on the floor. Although the majority of her body was covered, her eyes were still visible, and the fiery look told me that this bitch hadn’t been fully broken in yet.

The blond man smiled and tugged the leash upward, forcing the girl to rock up on her knees, her elbows protruding as though she were performing a trick. “This here is Fifi.” I noticed the white color of her latex-clad tummy before Jason yanked her leash again, and she fell back onto all fours. “Fifi used to be my annoying step-sister until she got a little too close to one of my experiments. Now she assists me with my demonstrations.”

“Okay,” I respond, staring down at the helpless puppy. “You’ve come to show me a bitch suit? You can pick up one of those in every clothing boutique across town.” I made sure to sound unimpressed. You needed to make him nervous and uncomfortable; that’s how you figure out what a man is truly made of.

The blond man grinned and pulled a large device from his back pocket. “Well, yes. But this is no ordinary bitchsuit.” He commented before tapping some buttons on his makeshift remote, and thin, brown fibers started sprouting from the back of the suit, and then the legs, and all over the tail. It wasn’t long before the woman’s suit was covered in natural brown hair. He tapped a few more buttons, and the thick hood began to recede, showing off her beautiful face. I could see that her mouth was forced open by a simple ring gag. “This is a fully customizable ‘create your own pet’ bitchsuit.”

“Hmm, very good,” I spoke dryly. “Our Control Collar uses similar technology, though it is not limited to such a niche market.” He appeared to visibly deflate after my critique.

“That’s not all.” He replied urgently. After a few presses on his remote, the hair all over her body began to recede, as did the black latex suit. Slowly, the black rubber withdrew all over her body and concentrated on the small of her back, leaving a paw print tramp stamp tattoo. She now looked like a regular naked slave; her long blond hair was loose and damp.

The man tapped away again before looking at his kneeling step-sister. “Fifi, try to stand up.” She narrowed her eyes at him, a look I found amusing. However, her fiery look soon turned to one of confusion as I watched her rock back and forth, but seemingly, she was unable to rise to her feet. “Tell me what’s on your mind, Fifi.” The blond man asked her.

She repeatedly tried to stand as the ring gag in her mouth vanished, but she failed each time. I noticed her face blushing a deeper red, and she wasted no time trying to use her voice. “Arff arf!” Her eyes widened in horror. “Grrrrr, arf arff!” she exclaimed.

I couldn’t help myself from visibly laughing at her helplessly confused expression. The inventor smirked at my chuckle, pressing a button and surrounding her in the tight latex bitchsuit once more, the dog-shaped hood again covering her face.

I leaned back in my chair, taking a moment to ponder his offer. “I believe if I can pair my technology with your Control Watch devices, my bitchsuits will be the number one selling pet-related wearables in the world.” He laid out his final pitch to me.

I admired the rubber-bound canine on all fours in my office. While human pets were becoming more popular, most men still preferred to keep real cats and dogs as pets; a human was much more expensive to feed and groom. “I like it, I really do,” I started, “but I don’t believe this is what we are looking for right now. The market for pet suits is just not big enough at the moment.”

“But, Sir,” he tried to interject, but I cut him off. “You have talent, kid. Come back to me when you’ve designed something I can sell to every household in the country.” I wave him away. He wanted to continue arguing his pitch, but he got the message. I watched the blond man tug harshly on his step-sister puppy’s leash and guide her out of my office.

Just as I contemplated summoning Slutlips for my lunchtime blowjob, my door opened again. I was preparing to berate the young blond inventor for being so persistent when I noticed the Director of R&D, Hugh Connolly, step inside.

The thirty-year-old director closed the door behind him and slowly approached my desk with a strange grin on his face. “Ohh, Mr Connolly. I wasn’t expecting a visit.” I said. He unhurriedly stepped closer. “You’ve done great work downstairs, especially developing that new Control Collar. I hope that bitch employee of yours is learning her place in the dungeon.” I grinned at him.

Hugh silently continued to step forward until he reached my desk. “Ugh, everything okay, Hugh?” I ask him. In an instant, his strange, jubilant expression disappeared, and he looked down at me with a nod.

“Ohh, yes, Sir.” He finally responded. “I just came to tell you the new security update on the Control Watch is ready for release. I knew I had to deliver it to you personally.” The young brunette director commented before tapping away at his own device.

My watch vibrated, and a message appeared: ‘Update 4.7 beta available. Proceed?’ I pressed proceed, a progress bar appeared, and started counting up. The update was slow, and Hugh’s strange smirk reappeared on his face. As it hit 85%, I felt a shudder and a peculiar dizziness flow over me. No update had given me those symptoms before.

I looked up, and the man started laughing uncontrollably. “Hugh,” I began. I wanted to ask him what the hell had gotten into him, but my tongue felt heavy; something wasn’t right.

“Mr Masters, everything is going to change from now on,” Hugh remarked in a sinister tone. Was this a coup? Had he drugged me? The board would never let him get away with this. The R&D Director leaned over and witnessed my watch tick up to 96%. “Ohh, you don’t have much time left. I hope you enjoy your new life. Maybe you’ll learn something.” I parted my lips, but before I could make a sound, the update progressed to 100%, and I passed out.

❖

My eyes fluttered open, and I immediately knew I wasn’t in my office anymore. I was lying on some damp mattress in a dark, poorly maintained room, and a faint musky scent was in the air. I stared up at the flickering lightbulb. Numerous cobwebs decorated the coving around the edges of the room.

I absently raised my hand to bat away some dark, loose strands covering my face, and I gasped in shock. I was never a slim man, and my hands were large and calloused from 55 years of hard work. These hands in front of my eyes were small and dainty. The fingernails were cut and covered in dirt, but they were unmistakably female hands. Nervously, I tugged on the dark strand I had just swept aside and gasped audibly when I noticed the long hair was attached to my head. I shuddered at the sound of my voice; I was definitely not in my body.

Cautiously, my eyes drifted downwards, and I let out a high-pitched shriek at the sight before me. The breasts on my chest did not look particularly large, but they were undeniable. I couldn’t have breasts; this wasn’t possible. Had I somehow transformed into the inferior sex?

I stumbled up from the dank mattress and steadied myself. My entire center of gravity felt off. I must have lost at least a foot in height and about 20 inches off my waist. With my mind in a daze, unable to keep up with each new revelation, I rushed to the bathroom. The bathroom was just as ill-maintained as the main room, and if I had clearer thoughts, I may have wondered how someone could clean themselves in such torrid conditions. However, only one thing was on my mind as I hurried to the mirror.

I wiped the condensation off the mirror above the bathroom sink, and my jaw dropped at the sight before me. A young, unkempt Latina woman stared back at me with straggly, disheveled, dark brown hair framing her face. Despite her sweaty appearance and lack of makeup, she was a beautiful woman. She had a slim, lithe body, perhaps slightly malnourished, with pert breasts hidden behind the dirty rags she was wearing.

The woman looked familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. Then suddenly, my heart sank as it all came to me. I was staring at the face of Sindy Gonzales, leader of the Los Amotinados rebel group. The treasonous gang sought a return to the old days when women were given a seat at the table. They engaged in terrorist attacks and other illegal activity to get their message across, and they were labeled a terrorist organization by the US Government.

Sindy Gonzales’ face was plastered everywhere across the country. She was number one on the FBI’s most-wanted list. The Latina rebel was suspected of being directly involved in the murder of four FBI agents and indirectly responsible for much more. The CIA started using insurgent tactics to take down key members of Los Amontinados, and the rebel group was only a shell of what it used to be. However, neither the FBI nor the CIA was able to find the infamous leader who had caused them so many problems.

Horrific thoughts started to rattle through my head. If I was inside this treasonous bitch’s body, was she occupying mine? Was Hugh Connolly secretly a female sympathizer who had orchestrated this whole plan? How was I going to get my body back when every member of law enforcement was hunting me?

I stepped back inside the damp, dark room and looked around. Sindy was the underground leader of a notorious terrorist group; how did she communicate with the rest of her gang? With all these thoughts rattling through my mind, I barely registered the whispered commotion outside the main door.

In an instant, I heard a loud bang and stumbled backward. Heavily armored men started filling up the room, surrounding me. “GET ON THE GROUND NOW!” one of the men shouted. I dropped to my knees and placed my hands in the air. “This isn’t what it looks like. I’m not who you think I am.” I tried to reason in response, a thick Mexican accent escaping my lips, totally alien to my ears.

The man who shouted his command took two steps forward, his gun directed at me. “Please…” I pleaded once more, but before I said another word, he pulled the trigger. I felt something pinch my neck and suddenly felt dizzy. My eyesight began to deteriorate, and I started seeing double. Eventually, I succumbed to the tranquilizer dart and fell on my face, my mind drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

❖

When I awoke, the dark, damp surroundings led me to believe I was still in the same room I had been drugged in, but I soon discovered how wrong I was.

I was strapped to a large chair, with restraints over my forehead preventing me from moving my head around. My arms were bound to the chair’s armrests, and my legs were equally helpless. My legs were spread wide open with no opportunity to close them. Several more straps wrapped around my body, keeping me firmly planted on the seat. The seat itself was unusual, with a hole in the center.

Despite being unable to move my head, the cool air brushing against my body told me I was naked. “Help!” I screamed out in a soprano squeal. It probably wasn’t my smartest move, but my world had suddenly been turned upside down, and I wasn’t thinking clearly.

Not long after my plea, I heard the heavy door ahead of me unlock. Two men in white lab coats walked in, followed by a man with graying hair and an expensive tailored suit. The suited man stood before me, looking down at my helplessly bound body as the two others got to work.

The lab-coated workers started placing square pads, similar to those used to resuscitate patients, all over my arms, legs, and torso. They wheeled an unknown unit under my seat, and I gasped out in horror as a warm phallic device pushed against the entrance of my asshole, pushing further until my ass relented and allowed it entry.

“Fuck, you gotta sto-“ My appeal was interrupted by a slap across the face from the man standing across from me.

“Let me be clear on the ground rules here.” The man spoke with a commanding baritone. “You will only speak when I ask you a question. You will only use that mouth to answer my question directly.” Throughout my career, I knew when a man was all talk or when he meant precisely what he said, and this man was the latter. “Other than that, I don’t want to hear a peep from your traitorous lips.”

The commanding goateed man introduced himself as the two scientists continued setting up around me. “My name is John Parker, Acting Director of the Central Intelligence Agency,” he started. I knew Sindy Gonzales was the country’s most wanted fugitive, but the government was not playing around if they sent the CIA director to speak to her directly. I was in trouble. “We have been looking for you for a long, long time, Ms Gonzales. You are already going to be spending a long time paying for your crimes, but just how long depends on how useful you are to me today.”

I gasped in desperation as it dawned on me how perilous my predicament truly was. I may have found myself in the body of the Latina rebel leader, but I never received her memories or knowledge. I knew as much about the secret underground organization as the man standing across from me did.

“You have to listen to me,” I tried to speak as urgently as possible. “My real name is Haro—aghhhh!” The CIA Director was handed a mini remote control and wasted no time pushing the button. I felt a buzz emanating from the dildo inside my anus, and my body jerked violently as the shock coursed through me, the intensity increasing with each passing second. The jolt was brief but felt like an eternity in my mind.

“I will repeat,” Director Parker crouched down so I could see his face clearly. “You will only use that mouth to answer my questions directly.” How was I going to explain my predicament if the man wrapped me up in excruciating pain every time I tried to explain myself?

Over the course of the next two hours, I was subjected to intense, agonizing torture as the CIA Director asked me questions about the group’s base of operations, the locations of other rebels, and the future plans of the groups; all questions I was unable to answer. I passed out several times, but the scientists brought me back to reality by placing a foul substance under my nose, instantly waking me.

When it became clear I wouldn’t give him the answers he wanted, Director Parker nodded to the two men, and they started preparing a new device. I felt a new cock-shaped object push against my brand new pussy, and when I opened my mouth to plead for mercy, a large ball was shoved inside, and a strap wrapped around my head, keeping the ball firmly in place.

“This is your last chance, traitor.” John Parker folded his arms and stared down at me. “I will be back in 12 hours. Let’s see if you’re ready to talk then.” He pressed a second button on his remote, and the dildo started slowly pushing inside my pussy. “Mphhh!” I squealed out in protest, but the three men left the room, and the dildo machine proceeded to pump in and out of me. Did he say twelve hours?

The machine steadily increased its rhythm, and I started experiencing a peculiar sensation building up inside of me, as though every cell in my body was beginning to build up in pleasure. As the pleasure continued to intensify, I was desperate for release, only for the machine to suddenly pause in position when I found myself at the very edge. I groaned out in frustration and ashamedly attempted to thrust myself against the phallic device, but I was strapped in too tight.

Once my body climbed back down from the unusually sensitive sensations, the machine whirred back into action, fucking me again until I was brought to the edge of climax once again. However, just like the last time, the machine paused before I could find release. The process repeated itself as the hours slowly drained by.

When the heavy door finally reopened, I had lost all sense of time. My body felt incredibly sensitive that the faintest touch was enough to make me shudder. My naked, bound body was soaking wet from the constant drooling of my gagged mouth, and there was a puddle of my juices on the floor after hours of the machine’s relentless work.

Director Parker approached me and unstrapped the gag around my head, slipping the wide ball from my mouth. “Are you ready to talk now, Ms Gonzales.” I stared at him, defeated. I would have told him everything if I had the answers he was looking for, but I could do nothing but look at him, my eyes begging for mercy.

“You live up to your reputation, Ms Gonzales,” He folded his arms, and two uniformed officers entered the interrogation room. “You are charged with attempted sedition against the United States and four counts of first-degree murder. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You also have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Take her away.”

As he finished his statement, the officers began unstrapping me from the interrogation chair and transported me to a stretcher. I had no will or energy, and fighting against my transportation was useless. The director stared down at me as I was wheeled away to a prison cell.

❖

The subsequent trial was prepared in record time. The right to remain silent turned out to be a command rather than an explanation of my rights, as I was kept gagged the entire time in the build-up to my trial. I was placed in an isolation unit, with my arms bound behind my back and my feet kept in chains. The only time I was ungagged was during meal times, when an officer fed me and never hesitated to inflict pain on me whenever I tried to speak.

I was paraded in front of the Supreme Court, bound, gagged, and naked as the lead prosecutor declared to the world that Sindy Gonzales had finally been captured. Tens of thousands of men cheered in rapturous applause, and the government used my capture as a message to any remaining rebels that the war was over.

My trial began less than two weeks after my initial charge, but it was clear I would not receive a fair hearing. Family members and colleagues of fallen officers took to the stand to explain how their lives had fallen apart after their loved ones’ murders. During the proceeding, I was contained in a tall, clear glass display box, my legs shackled and spread, my arms trapped behind my back, and a large red ball wedged in my mouth. The soundproofed display case meant no one could hear my muffled pleas. However, a speaker inside the box ensured I listened to every word in the courtroom.

After pulling on the jury’s heartstrings, they called several former members of Los Amotinados to the stand, collared and naked themselves, as they turned on their former leader, denouncing her as a traitor to the country and providing great details of the many disruptive schemes the rebel was involved in. Each woman had a look of shame etched on their face while they testified and never acknowledged me bound in the display case the entire time.

I was never called upon to testify on my own behalf, nor was anyone else summoned to defend me. The sham show trial ended in the quickest jury deliberation of all time. I already knew the outcome before the word ‘Guilty’ escaped the presiding juror’s lips.

“Thank you, gentlemen, of the jury,” Justice Tyson Miles addressed the twelve men, “based on your verdict, I hereby find the defendant guilty of all the charges against them.” He then turned his attention to my exposed body. “Sindy Gonzales, you are sentenced to a lifetime of enslavement with no opportunity for appeal. The manner of your enslavement will be determined by the US Govern-”

His sentencing was rudely interrupted when the large entrance doors of the courtroom opened, and a flurry of uniformed soldiers marched in, lining the walkway towards the dock. “The President of the United States,” one soldier declared before everyone in the gallery stood from their seats.

The familiar dark suit and contrasting white hair of President Richard Krump entered the courtroom, waving to the gallery as they cheered their Commander-in-Chief. He approached the Judiciary Box and shook the judge’s hand. “Mr President, to what do we owe this honor?” Judge Miles asked in reverence.

“Thank you for your fine work, Justice Miles,” the President spoke before addressing the crowd. “By executive order, I have decided to take the convicted felon here into my custody. She will be owned by my administration and used as an example of anyone who still wishes for the days of old.”

The President approached me and opened my display case. He wrapped a thin leather collar around my neck as a member of the Secret Service uncuffed my ankles. President Krump attached a leash to my new collar before leaning in and whispering in my ear, “We have a special role for you at the White House,” he said sinisterly before leading me out of the courtroom to raucous applause from the gallery, the jurors, the judge, and even my own defending councilor. How could this be my life now?

❖

One Week Later

I was awakened by a man wearing black aviator glasses and a black suit and tie clipping a pink leash to my new collar. With a tug on the lead, I rocked myself off my back and onto my elbows and knees, the tight, restrictive latex bitchsuit making it impossible for me to stretch my limbs out. “Come on bitch, time for your walkies,” the man commanded me. I was neither hooded nor gagged but knew attempting to speak was useless.

As the man led me out of my new home, the bells attached to my bare nipples began to jingle softly. My suit covered me from neck to toe in latex, except for cutouts around the base of my C-cup breasts. The nipples had been pierced with silver barbells, and small bells had been attached, announcing to everyone my arrival.

The tail plug inside my ass pulsated every time I took one step forward, which prompted my derrière to wiggle and the tail to wag. Despite these ‘walks’ now becoming a daily routine, I still felt a wave of humiliation overwhelm me whenever someone grinned, looking down at me.

The humiliation was only exaggerated further when I was led outside to relieve myself on the south lawn. When I was first taken outside, I refused their commands, but when I peed on the expensive carpet of the Roosevelt Room, I was summoned to the pet training room, where my ass had never felt so much pain. Since then, I always took the opportunity to empty my bladder when outside.

My handler led me back inside and through the corridors of the West Wing. Although I had visited the White House on several occasions and participated in several business-led meetings with the President and his staff, the view from my new eye level was altogether different.

I was taken into the Oval Office, and the President swiveled his chair, grinning as he looked down at me. “There is my traitorous little pet.” He stood up and took my leash from the handler, crouching down to view the name tag on my pink collar. Usually, a man would change the name of his slave pet after he transformed her, but the inscription on my nametag read ‘Sindy Gonzales - Traitor’. President Krump wanted everyone to know what happens when you declare war on his administration. I was being used as a warning to anyone considering joining a seditious rebel faction.

He walked me over to his desk when the President’s secretary stepped into the room. Before the laws changed two decades ago, she was a famous supermodel. She was President Krump’s first wife when he was simply a billionaire businessman. Nowadays, she looked more like a sex doll pornstar than a walkway model; her breasts had been inflated to impossible M-cup proportions. Her ass had been equally expanded, and her tiny waisted exaggerated her sex doll look. She wore a slutty latex secretary dress, with the rubber top showing off her waist and mountainous cleavage and the tight skirt hobbling her steps on the 6” heels she was forced to stand in. Her lips were ridiculously plumped up, and she was forced to constantly pout, her mouth unable to close entirely. A series of piercings along her tongue ensured the former supermodel always talked with a silly lisp.

“Mithter Prethident, your three o’clock appointment hath arrithed,” she lisped, before two men entered the room behind her. My eyes widened in shock and anger when I stared up at the two familiar faces staring down at me before they shook hands with the President.

“Mr. Masters and Mr. Connolly, thank you for meeting with me,” the President said as my former body and the man who trapped me here acknowledged his greeting. “Thank you for providing a beta version of the SlaveTech Bitchsuit. I haven’t tested all the features yet, but I am impressed.”

I heard the familiar sound of my own laugh, filling me even further with fury. “Ohh, there’s no need to thank me, Mr President.” The person occupying my rightful body replied. “This is all the work of Jason Cannings, SlaveTech’s newest R&D Director. He filled the role after Mr Connolly here accepted the position of Chief Technology Officer.”

I had had enough. This imposter had stolen my body and my life while I was trapped as some pet girl. “This asshole stole my body! I’m the real Harold Masters,” I attempted to say. However, to my own frustration, the sounds that came out of my mouth were much different. “Grrrrrrrr, Wuff wuff! Arff arff!” I squealed out, unable to form human words.

The President raised an eyebrow as he stared down at me. My former body patted my pigtailed brunette hair. “You sure have a feisty puppy, Mr. President,” he said, grinning directly at me.

“Indeed,” President Krump responded. “Special Agent Willows. Take Sindy here back to the training room. I don’t want to see her again until she has been trained properly.” He addressed the secret service handler who had taken me on a walk earlier. The man took my leash from the President and dragged me away from the office.

“It was nice to meet you, Sindy,” I heard my own voice mock me again. “Shall we start the meeting?” He asked the President as I was led towards more torture and training.