Zoey has been hinting and begging for this for months. A whole weekend away with her dom, just the two of them in a big old house in the country. A chance to bring her deepest, darkest BDSM fantasies to life. This time she wants to be treated like a slave from the first moment, broken down and treated like an object. She sets out all the bondage gear on the table before he arrives. Ropes, yokes, chains, handcuffs, gags, vibrators, sex toys, whips, canes, e-stim, a fucking machine. She wants them all used on her, at his whim, no direct or volition. She wants him to treat her mean this weekend, as though he had no feelings for her at all. He arrives and takes a deep breath. Inspects the array of implements whilst mostly paying attention to her body language out of the corner of his eye. Is she really ready to be objectified for the weekend? He verifies her consent once more before they begin. Then she is really going to be put through her paces. She is ordered into the huge playroom and stands before him. He destroys her clothes, leaving her naked and vulnerable. She gasps and bites her lip when he grabs her, roughly man-handling her breasts and twisting her ringed nipples. She wanted him to treat her like this, but it's still as shocking as a bucket of cold water. She realises how much he has been holding back in their normal play sessions. Today she is an object, and objects don't have orgasms. She is locked in a cold steel metal chastity belt to ensure that she has no possible outlet for her arousal. He decorates her ringed nipples further with weights, then orders her to kneel on the sofa while he ties wickedly spikes rollers to the arches of her soft, wrinkled bare feet. As she stands she realises the diabolical trap - if she lowers her heels, puts weights on the spikes- they're REALLY sharp! Handcuffed, collared and belted in chastity it amuses him to have her suffer while she serves, so suffer she shall. Making a cup of tea and bringing it to him sounds so simple, but with the spiked rollers tied to her soles it is a veritable odyssey. He obliges her to stand to attention while he looks at her, her legs getting wobblier and wobblier by the minute as she struggles to keep her balance. When the muscle tremors get too much she is permitted to sit for a moment - but not long enough to properly rest. Back up she goes. But this is paying her too much attention, too soon. It's only Friday, and today she is an object. He has things to do, book to read and he does not require her for a while. So he ties her to the bannisters and abandons her. Roped, belted and collared, her mouth is filled with a huge inflatable cock gag - which he absent-mindedly pumps up as he passes. At least he released her from the spiked rollers first, but the weights on her nipples have been increased and she can do nothing other than endure and take it. Hours later he returns. No sexual gratification for her tonight, nor any surcease or succour. No comfortable snuggles or lying at the foot of his bed. She is put away as an object. She is wrapped in a satin sack, still belted in cold steel. He ties her into a mummification tie with tight ropes binding her to the bed unable to roll over, get comfortable or even move a muscle. What need does an object have for comfort? In the final dehumanising touch he hoods her, leaving her with eyes wide open. Surely it cannot get worse than this? Then he zips up the front of the hood and her whole world turns black. It's going to be a very long night.