Lucinda walked down the street. Though it was well lit she was concerned about being out in the city after dark. She was taking a message from her lady to the Marchioness Jasaren, who seemed to have forgotten again that she was supposed to be attending games at the Countess's that evening.

As Lucinda skirted the market square she heard a voice echoing down the street from up ahead. She stopped and stood against the shelter of the wall of a building. As she looked down the street she could see a lady-in-waiting, dressed very much like herself. Then her line of sight was blocked by a figure stepping from the shadows. It took Lucinda a few moments to recognise what it was. The glossy clothes the bondwoman wore shone in the street light as she strutted slowly in her long boots. Lucinda held her breath entranced by the woman whose shapely muscular body was shown so clearly.

"Look at me." Lucinda heard the bondwoman say.

The lady-in-waiting shifted nervously, but raised her eyes to look into the bondwoman's. Somehow Lucinda knew she would be sensing the power that she herself had felt earlier. She guessed the lady-in-waiting would be feeling as if she was clad in gloss and becoming the bondwoman's sex-slave. Thinking of it, Lucinda shuddered with a thrill.

As Lucinda watched the lady-in-waiting became calmer. She stepped back against the wall as the bondwoman moved cat-like around her, speaking to her so softly that Lucinda could not hear. Then slowly the lady-in-waiting lifted up her voluminous dress. The bondwoman closed on her, her dildo clear in the street light as she slid it slowly into the lady-in-waiting. Lucinda could not look away as the bondwoman thrust smoothly and the lady-in-waiting's appearance became wilder. Soon she was squirming, relishing the sensation, her breathing became panting and then moans which sounded down the alley as the pleasure rose. She then fell silent as orgasm took her. The bondwoman stepped back, her dildo dripping. The lady-in-waiting let her dress fall.

"Follow." The bondwoman said. "We will get you into your rubber and properly enslaved."

"Yes, mistress." The former lady-in-waiting replied like the sex-slave she was becoming.

The pair strutted away from Lucinda and she let go her breath. Now that she had witnessed it, she was certain that before the end of the evening the woman would be a gloss bound sex-slave, answering to her collar name, as erotic and servile as those in the slave markets. Lucinda shook herself. She walked back the way she had come, seeking out a different route to the Marchioness's. She wondered what would have happened to her if she had come down the street just a little earlier. Would she now be walking away to ease into the rubber clothes and into bondage? She wondered if the bondwomen hunted at random or whether they selected their targets. Thinking that she remembered the one she had seen on horseback who looked like Anya, and wondered if she considered Lucinda her sexual prey. Lucinda managed to dismiss the thoughts from her mind, but arrived at the Marchioness's very flustered.

Lucinda stepped into the corridor at the sound of footsteps. She knew the Countess had business visitors and wondered if she would be needed. She glanced up the corridor and saw Werath, one of the doormen, leading four darkly clad figures down the long corridor from the front of the townhouse.

Lucinda gasped as she recognised what she saw. Unthinking, she stepped back into the side room. She pulled the curtain closed but kept peeping out through a narrow gap. In moments the four rubber-covered women walked past, not noticing Lucinda was there. They halted just a few steps from Lucinda waiting as Werath hurried ahead. They muttered among themselves as Lucinda carefully perused them, torn between wanting to see and not wanting to be seen. Three were bondwomen. They wore swords at their belts, but their helmets and cloaks must have been left at the door. Quickly Lucinda looked up the skin-tight gloss which covered them, from their thigh-length boots, up their armoured catsuits, with their dildos shiny and prominent. They wore them unashamedly and now for Lucinda they had a greater, more erotic significance as she had witnessed one in use. Lucinda gasped as she recognised the woman at the back as the bondwoman she had seen in the street at night. An excitement ran through her and she moved around carefully so that her changed angle of view would allow her to see who was with her.

Now Lucinda could see that the bondwoman held a leash and she knew that the fourth was a sex-slave. As she shifted a few inches she was able to see the fourth woman. The leash her mistress held led to her glossy collar, the proof of what she was. She was dressed like the others but the gloss seemed to cling to her more, and her heels were sharp and high. As she moved, her motions were feline and languid rather than purposeful and arrogant. Lucinda looked on marvelling at how content the sex-slave appeared, dressed so erotically, so explicitly sexual, a toy for her owner. Then she turned her head and Lucinda recognised the lady-in-waiting she had seen in the street, now the bondwoman's sex-slave. Her hair was cropped and had been made blonde, she wore a stud in her nose and more jewellery in her ears. She was the same woman, but eased into the rubber bondage and clearly a mind of sex. Lucinda let out a gasp at how quick and how complete the change had been. Not for the first time she thought how easily it could have been that it was her that would be standing there so erotic, so oblivious, so servile.

"Lucinda."

Lucinda heard the matron-of-ladies, Arabella, calling her. She could not disobey, but she was self-conscious of passing the bondwomen.

"Lucinda." The call was repeated more loudly.

Lucinda pulled back the curtain slowly and walked out, keeping her attention away from the women. They shot glances at her, surprised at her sudden appearance so close to them. Arabella bustled up in a sweeping blue gown, a couple of shades darker than the one Lucinda wore.

"There you are. Her lady is busy, would you show her guests into the small octagon and see to their needs."

"Yes, my lady." Lucinda said sheepishly, but the matron-of-ladies had already hurried away.

Lucinda turned to look at the bondwomen properly. As she did, she recognised the closest, apparently the one in charge, as the one who had looked down at her from horseback. This bondwomen’s gaze again caught Lucinda's. In an instant Lucinda felt changed. Her clothes seemed tight and slippery. She felt as if the woman before her held a leash running to a collar at her neck. Lucinda wanted to break the moment, to look away but her body loved it too much and as a result it she felt the woman before her was not a guest she was attending to, but her mistress; Lucinda was not her servant, but in fact her slave.

The woman looked away and without the powerful direction, Lucinda felt confused. For a moment she was jealous of the sex-slave with them. Unthinking she moved behind the woman, to the place where her sex-slave would stand. "Mistress." Lucinda addressed the woman, gesturing the way towards the small octagonal room. The bondwomen said nothing and walked on. Lucinda followed nervously, trying to keep her mind focused on the appropriate etiquette. In minutes they had reached the octagon. The bondwomen seated themselves and the sex-slave sprawled on the silk cushions on the floor. Her mistress stroked her like a pet cat. Lucinda felt the urge to do the same, to lounge and be petted by her mistress. The lead bondwoman looked at her and smiled and Lucinda began walking towards her as if she was owned and her movements made lithe and sexy by the skin-tight clothes she wore.

"Thank you, Lucinda."

Lucinda’s attention was jolted back to reality by the sound of the matron’s voice. She turned to see Arabella and the countess entering with a couple of other ladies. Dismissed, Lucinda bowed, blushing furiously and scampered away into a small side room. In her mind Lucinda saw herself having yielded to the bondwoman and now sprawling in the room oblivious of the talk of business. Lucinda roamed the corridors trying to find something to do, but she could not concentrate. Then Fiore found her.

"Arabella wants to see you, in the fifth chamber."

Lucinda hurried hoping she would be asked to escort the bondwomen from the townhouse, to see them one last time. She found Arabella alone in the fifth chamber, a comfortable room furnished much like the octagon.

"Ah, good." Arabella said as Lucinda entered, but she looked concerned. "Sit down."

Lucinda obeyed.

Arabella spoke very slowly. "You know that her lady has been in negotiations with a troop of bondwomen. It has been over protection for her caravans along the new route to the North. The negotiations have been completed successfully. As part of the deal, the bondwomen requested one of our ladies-in-waiting go with them. You were asked for."

Lucinda shook with the sensation, her whole body flushed and her breathing became short pants.

"As you know their customs are not the same as ours. You will be expected to dress and behave differently than you do here. Preparations are being made."

Lucinda guessed at Arabella's hints, remembering the effect of the bondwoman's stare on her. "They are going to make me into a sex-slave." She said breathlessly.

Arabella rose. "Yes."

As the matron-of-ladies stepped aside, Lucinda noticed the lead bondwoman stepping in through a side door.

"This is Anya, your mistress." Arabella said and hurried from the room.

Lucinda was unable to say anything, Anya had instantly caught her gaze. Lucinda already felt she was being changed into the personal property of this bondwoman. Anya draped the glossy catsuit that she carried over a side table and put the thigh-length boots next to it. Lucinda knew these were hers.

"When I first saw you, I recognised you. You don't seem to recognise me." Anya said.

"I haven't changed much. You must have, Anya de Sepranalis."

"Just Anya now. You will be Sharee."

"What?"

"You know sex-slaves have only their collar name, that is yours. I know you want it, I can see it in your eyes, the way you behave around me. When I put that image of you being a sex-slave into your mind, you welcomed it, you enjoyed it. You are eager to become my pet. Once I have ridden you, you will be certain."

Lucinda felt apprehensive, but then, with Anya's gaze on her, her concerns seemed to fade. Anya stepped closer and reached out her hand to touch Lucinda's face. Her gloved hand moved smoothly across Lucinda's skin, making it tingle wherever it touched. Anya took Lucinda's hand, she could not resist as she was guided to the cushions on the floor.

"I am your mistress." Anya said softly. Increasingly Lucinda felt it was true. She felt as if she had no will of her own, Anya was entrancing her, enslaving her.

Anya briskly pushed Lucinda back on the cushions and pushed up her flowing dress. Lucinda gasped as her petticoat was pulled aside. She sensed the dildo approaching and then enter her. The lauxe juice which coated it was soon stimulating her. She panted and groaned shamelessly as the thrill ran through her. All she could feel was Anya on her, her glossed body sliding across her plain clothes. Then her lips found Lucinda's and her tongue thrust in. Lucinda was shot through with pleasure. Lucinda knew she could be nothing but Anya's pet. She abandoned herself to the image of herself clad in rubber, being ridden by her mistress. Lucinda was filled with orgasm and shuddered, grunting loudly knowing she would soon be nothing but a sex-slave, obedient and erotic.

Anya stepped back, wiping her dildo clean. She watched Lucinda panting and exhausted on the floor and knew she had enslaved her, she knew now she would ease into the gloss eagerly. Anya brought the catsuit and boots over.

Lucinda looked up, seeing Anya with the rubber clothes. She gasped realising there was no turning back, that would soon be what she would be wearing.

"Strip." Anya ordered.

"Yes, mistress." Lucinda replied, delighting in showing her obedience. She removed her floppy hat, and pulled her long dress over her head. In moments she had taken off her shoes and slipped off her underclothes.

Anya held out the catsuit. "Sharee, put on your clothes."

Lucinda could not refuse. Slowly she reached out and touched the slippery interior of the rubber catsuit. She shuddered with the delight which flowed all over her body and she stroked the glossy clothing, rewarded for doing so by increasing pleasure increasing. She could not pull away and without thinking took the catsuit. Slowly she eased her legs into the skin-tight gloss, it clung to her legs coating them in a glistening, slippery skin and in moments her bum was the same. Then she slipped in first one arm, then the other, coating her back. Her fingers fumbled with the zip and then slid it up, sealing her rising, hardening breasts. She stepped over to the thigh boots. Her glossed legs went easily into them and she pulled them higher and higher up her legs. In place she stood on the high sharp heels that meant the shiny hemisphere of her bum was thrust out provocatively. Lucinda turned to look in the long mirror that hung on the wall hardly believing it was herself. As she realised the truth of the image a new sensation swept over her. She tried to speak but she could only groan incoherently, sounds giving voice to the pleasures she was feeling. She tried to reverse the process, to take off the rubber, to refuse to obey but her body would not let her, it welcomed her enslavement and all that that meant. Lucinda was stripped of any shame, she was a living sex toy how could she feel otherwise? She began rubbing her hard breasts, thrust out her pussy and gyrate her body, eager to demonstrate how welcoming she would be to her mistress. She could not stop herself, her mind was confused, her body loved it, she began fingering herself, purring.

Anya smiled, apparently pleased at how easy it had been not only to enslave Lucinda but to make her into a good sex-pet.

"Sharee, come to me." Anya commanded

"Yes, mistress." Sharee's body was thrilled as she began behaving like a sex-slave. She strutted on her high heels to her mistress.

Anya ran her hand up Sharee's glossed thigh and teased at her shiny breasts. Sharee panted with the pleasure of the sensation. Anya kissed her, pushing her tongue deep into Sharee's mouth. Their tongues teased each others' as their slippery bodies slid together.

Anya stepped back. She took a pair of scissors and sheared away Sharee's long hair into the shaggy cut of a sex-slave. Finally she pierced Sharee's nose and then her ears putting the characteristic three silver rings in each. Sharee stood and looked at herself in the mirror again, no-one who saw her would know she had ever been anything but a sex-slave.

Anya stepped up behind Sharee and clipped a glossy collar closed around her neck. The collar stripped her of her citizenship, it made her the property of her mistress, to be bought and sold how she wished. Not only had her appearance changed but her whole identity. There was no longer any Lucinda Amanda de Hertphin, she was Sharee. She had only one name, her collar name. Sharee admired her rubber clad body, slippery, shiny, on show to everyone, property of her mistress, free to do with it whatever she wanted.

Anya was delighted with her pet. "There is just one test before we leave."

"Yes, mistress." Sharee replied eagerly, keen to fulfil it.

“Orgasm.” Anya commanded.

Sharee did not know whether it was the gloss she wore, her collar or something else, but on her mistress’s command her whole body was run through with pleasure. She fell to a cushion on the floor, writhing with the pleasure. Her breasts strained against her the rubber which held them, her pussy was loose and flowed with juice, her clit was rigid. She shuddered and moaned, grateful her mistress had made her so erotic. As the pleasure subsided Sharee lay back panting. She knew she was a sex-slave, even if she or anyone tried to deny it. She had been transformed more than she realised. Her thoughts were filled with ideas of pleasure and obedience, little else.

“Excellent. I was keen to make you into someone who would be unable not to offer yourself to me sexually, and I have succeeded.” Anya explained. Sharee knew it was true, her whole personality was now totally obedient, totally erotic, and there was nothing she could do about it. Anya lent forward and clipped a leash to Sharee's collar. Sharee stood and followed her mistress. She knew she would never walk around on her own volition again. She would travel in her cage or be led by her leash: her servitude, her eroticism obvious to all.

In the corridor, ladies-in-waiting hid behind a pillar, coyly watching the bondwoman and her sex-slave. They barely recognised Sharee as the woman they had known. She did not recognise them at all, to her they were now another race, another sort of being. She was no longer like them, she was a human plaything, a sexual toy. She strutted on her high heels, her rubber rippling and squealing as she moved, her bum swaying sexily with every step, her attention focused on her mistress.

At the end of the corridor, Anya's comrades waited. She re-joined them. Sharee looked on disinterested in their business, then stroked her shapely body up and down her mistress and was rewarded with fondling to her breasts.

As Arabella completed her business with the bondwomen she looked surreptitiously across at the woman she knew as Lucinda, but she did not seem to notice or even recognise her. She knew Lucinda was no more, instead she was looking at the creature Sharee.

Sharee looked across at the other sex-slave, a woman she would previously not have paid any attention to. However, now seeing her run her tongue provocatively across her lips suggesting the two of them could have fun without their mistresses or performing together for them. Responding in kind, Sharee knew she was no different from her, she was a sex-slave, nothing else.

The business complete, the party of bondwomen left the townhouse, their two sex-slaves strutting obediently, led on their leashes, behind them.