At that casual reference to my shape, I glared across the court in amused exasperation. Had it been anyone else, I’d have been a righteous fury. But Paul was my oldest and closest male friend. He’d been there in my darkest times, offering support and a shoulder to cry on during my battles to be taken seriously. He’d earned the right to be so irreverent. He’d earned my trust.
So there I was, hands indignantly on hips, eyes narrowed and glaring, head slightly cocked to one side. Paul grinned, appraising me insolently. I instantly realised how my baggy and still outthrust sweatshirt sabotaged my attempt to put him down. Top-heavy indeed.
With sudden determination, I readied my racket. “My serve, I believe. Try to keep your mind on the game this time.” I brushed a tangle of coppery hair back from my eyes, and fired a shuttlecock across the court. He was going to pay.
Mind you, I couldn’t really blame him, I thought as the memory sneaked back into my head. It was a potent image. A strange woman kneeling in my office, naked but for an emerald pendant resting in her cleavage, her eyes silently pleading as she looked up at me.
She’d walked into my office wearing nothing but a long raincoat, and had wasted no time discarding it, before babbling out her crazy story.
It was a long, hard-fought game. It almost succeeded in driving her from my mind.
Paul and I frequently exchanged anecdotes about our most interesting patients during these weekly games, always careful to leave out any details that might identify them. Paul enjoyed relating the racier antics of his patients, especially the exhibitionist and the nymphomaniac. I generally kept that sort of story to myself. Until now. It’s not every day you meet someone who thinks she’s a sex slave.
All too soon, our time on the court was up. As we caught our breath and packed away our rackets, bottles, and towels, Paul looked it me with concern. “You okay, Freckles? You seemed off your game, there, at the end.”
I chuckled to myself at the affectionate nickname. Remembering a shared joke, I raised my racket and cried theatrically, “They may take our lives, but they’ll NEVER take our freckles!”
Pleased to see him smiling, I hefted my bag over my shoulder, relieved no-one else was there to see my uncharacteristic hijinks. I was a different person with him. Literally – everyone else called me Beth.
“No, I’m fine,” I told him. “Just tired, it’s been a long day. I’m looking forward to bed.”
Paul raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Me too,” he smiled.
I rolled my eyes. “I can’t say anything with you around,” I pretended to complain. “So what are your plans – and no, that’s not an invitation!”
He sighed, unhappy about something. “Linda’s having a few workmates over for dinner. As the dutiful husband, I have to be there.”
I wondered if everything was okay at home, but he clearly wasn’t ready to say anything more so I left it at that. On the way to the showers, Paul broke the silence to ask, “So she really thought she was a sex-slave?”
“Paul!” People were passing us in both directions, but no-one seemed to be taking notice. Of course, my chest attracted the usual attention, despite the shapeless clothes I always wore. But I didn’t notice that any more. Not really.
I answered him quietly. “It’s hard to say, maybe she was a fantasist who got her kicks exposing herself. But she had quite an elaborate story.”
“Something about jewellery, you said,” Paul asked. To my relief, he’d lowered his voice - the topic was pretty embarrassing out here in public, but it demanded to be discussed.
“Yup. She claimed to be under the power of some secret cult, and that’s why she’d become a prostitute. All she needed to be free, for the curse to be lifted, was to submit, naked, to some authority figure like me, and for that person to take the supposedly enchanted necklace from her neck.”
As we walked, I pretended not to notice as Paul shifted his sports bag, slyly blocking the front of his shorts. He was imagining the scene I’d painted. It couldn’t compare to the reality. That perfect body, those perfect breasts…
Paul, remembering something, cheekily asked, “So was Lezzy Lizzie tempted by her offer?”
I growled at him. He knew how I’d hated that cruel nickname in college. So unfair. Because I was focussed on studying instead of partying the night away, I had to be a lesbian! But Paul didn’t mean anything by it – I knew his teasing was affectionate.
“Of course not,” I said seriously. “The last thing I needed was for her to transfer her submission…” I realised my voice had risen, and nervously glanced around before continuing quietly. “Her submission from some imaginary cult to me. She’d startled me, and I refused her abruptly. Before I could explain the dangers of transference, she grabbed her coat and ran out of the office crying.”
We’d reached the changing rooms, and Paul sighed wistfully. “You get all the best patients…” He was incorrigible. He glanced at his watch and looked startled, tapping its face to be certain. “I’ll have to forego the shower – I’m running later than I realised.”
It was a pretty graceless exit, even for Paul. As I entered the shower cubicle and stripped, I wondered if my story had affected him more than he let on. I was relieved for him – a unisex changing room might have been uncomfortable with that on his mind.
Not just HIS mind, I admitted reluctantly. The incident had me unsettled, so I pushed it from my mind and grabbed the shower gel.
As I soaped the sweat from my body, I found my thoughts drifting to my first lover, Mike. He’d been fascinated by my freckles, how they stood out against pale skin. “The same colour as your hair,” I remembered him saying, that first time, before the betrayal. My soapy hands retraced the path of his kisses from neck to soft, sensitive breasts, and back again. With eyes closed, I could see him again marvelling at the flush spreading across my heated flesh, as my hands worked their magic. He’d looked so handsome and seemed so sensitive, before he made my life hell. I remembered him turning his attention back to my freckles, wondering aloud, “Do they go all the way down?” My hands begin to investigate, following the frothy water snaking down my belly towards the heat churning below…
Whoa there, girl, my inner voice shouted, my hands jerking away from hot skin. I looked around anxiously, and breathed a sigh of relief – I was still alone. What is it with me, tonight? I grabbed the shampoo and vigorously washed my copper hair.
Actually, as a psychologist, I knew it made perfect sense. It was perfectly natural for my feelings to be unsettled by such an experience, for feelings of arousal and sexual recollections to suddenly surface. It was normal, especially given how long I’d been without a partner, a boyfriend. I’d seen a naked woman in a suggestive pose, that was all. It certainly didn’t mean I had any latent lesbian leanings. Of course not.
I wondered where she was now, that strange woman. Could I have helped her? I began to feel guilty at driving her away like that. But I had nothing to go on. She’d called herself April, but the address she’d given didn’t exist, leading me to suspect the name was false, too.
But there was something. If I could only remember. I saw her again in my mind. Green pendant dangling between swaying breasts as she knelt before me – an emerald cocooned in soft, golden flesh …
There was a hierarchy in the cult, she’d said. Amber was above green, and red was above amber –it was all about colours. Had she mentioned any other colours? Aha! Pink! She’d mentioned where she worked – the Pink Palace. I had a lead!
The door opened and closed; I turned off the water and started to dry my hair.
I wondered if she invented that place, too: Just another detail of her fantasy? But I had to check it out. Once I’d done that, I could put it behind me, conscience appeased. I’d have done more than my duty to her.
That settled, I dismissed her from my mind, grabbed my towel and wrapped it around me. I turned and opened the cubicle door. I looked at the naked woman kneeling at my feet. I froze.
April. Kneeling. Here. At my feet.
Impossible.
Naked. Full round breasts. Glint of green. Twin strips of silver rising to exposed neck.
It’s not real.
Face lifted to me. Lips. Full. Red.
It can’t be real.
Wide, blue eyes fixed piercingly on me. Yearning. Desperately Yearning.
It’s a dream.
A halo of golden hair. Cascading down over full breasts. Brushing against angry nipples. Twinkling green between.
A dream?
She shuffled forward on her knees, jamming the cubicle door open with her body. And with that, the frozen moment ended. My heart was pounding, hammering away at my ribcage. I could move again, and clutched the towel to my body, feeling its coarseness against my soft wet skin, its roughness irritating nipples into hardness. My jaw was moving, but no sound came out.
Those big blue eyes pleaded desperately with me. “You’re my only chance. My salvation.” She shifted her arms behind her back, as if offering her breasts to me, and I saw my own wild eyes reflected in green.
I looked around. We were alone. I was trapped. Panic rising within me, I tried to make sense of this. “What – How – But – You followed me!”
As I pleaded with her, the meaning of her words sunk in. “Get up!” Her fantasy. “Get out of my way!” She was making her fantasy real. “Someone could come in at any time!”
I had never felt more exposed – more naked, despite the towel. I squeezed my thighs together, hunched forward, made myself smaller. “It’s not magic, you have to see that!” I knew even as I spoke that it was useless. “There’s no curse, no cult. Just – just get up, for god’s sake!”
She didn’t budge, sitting there serenely with golden hair framing her deceptively angelic features.
Holding my towel protectively, I shuffled forward, trying to pass, pushing her back with my shin.
She moved quickly, her arms suddenly wrapped around the small of my back, her face pressing against my abdomen. I reeled backwards in a panic, slipping on the damp floor and nearly falling, instinctively grasping for the sides of the cubicle, towel forgotten.
How she held on to me, I don’t know, but she didn’t let me fall. I struggled against her grip, there was no moving her. I was wet and slippery, but I couldn’t escape.
When my struggles died down, she lifted her face to me, no longer pleading. No, now she looked confident, certain. “Imagine what they’ll think,” she said, nearly whispering with that infuriatingly soft, sultry voice, and I could feel her breath hot against my damp belly, goose bumps rising there and elsewhere. “What they’ll say when they come in. When they find the eminent Doctor Summers cavorting in the nude in public with a patient?”
I looked disbelieving at her, my mouth dry. She appeared to be considering it. “I expect it’ll make the evening news.”
She was insane.
“Please don’t do this,” I hated the desperation in my voice. “Please,” I whimpered, “just let me go.” Here I was, a once powerful professional woman, vision blurred by tears.
She smiled grimly, determined, and said nothing. And waited.
The changing room door started to open and sounds from the corridor drifted in. I stiffened, my heart ready to explode, but whoever it was changed their minds and the door closed again.
I could breathe again. A lucky escape. This time. It couldn’t last. She had me.
I looked down at her. She knew she had me. I sighed. “What do I do?”
“Take the green, Mistress.” How could she sound so calm, so serene? Then I remembered. She was a nutcase.
It was only a pendant, a stupid necklace. All this trouble… I wanted to strangle her. Stay calm. Get through this. When I’m dressed and far away, I can have her arrested. Throw away the key. First, get through this.
She leaned back, releasing me from that iron grip of hers and resumed her former pose. Chest thrust out, face uplifted.
Standing on shaking legs, released from her grip, I considered running. Just leaping over her and running for the door. But I knew now she’d come after me. I’d be running, naked, through a busy sports centre, with a crazed and equally naked woman at my heels…
I’d never live it down. All those battles to prove I was more than a sexy redhead, more than just ‘a pair of big tits’ – all that would have been for nothing. I’d always be the big-breasted therapist who cavorted in the nude with her patients. It would never go away. Everything I’d worked for – all of it – gone.
There was no choice. None at all. As I looked down at her, her expression shifted from determination to satisfaction. She knew she had won.
“Take the green, Mistress.”
I took a deep breath, and lifted the silver chain over her head. The stone was a beautiful piece of work – at the size of a marble, it was too big to be a real emerald. Too big, and too reflective. It really was beautiful. I could see my face in several of its facets. And repeated inside, all the way to infinity. So deep.
“You have to put it on,” she said urgently, breaking me from my reverie. I tried to ignore her rising excitement, her heaving chest, her flushed cheeks. My heart was racing – the nightmare was almost over.
I slipped the necklace over my head, and felt the cool green stone tumble down my chest, and for a moment I saw myself as others might – that stone settling into a breathtaking, natural cleavage. I was bursting with excitement. It was over!
Then she leaned forward and gently kissed my pubic mound, and took my breath away.
My legs buckled and I fell back, sliding down the cubicle wall. She kissed me again. And again.
I was lying on my back, breathing made ragged by her hot breath against my thighs, her head obscured by the tremulous rise and fall of my breasts. Had my nipples ever been that stiff, that hard? I wondered in a strange moment of clarity.
She pushed my feet up towards my buttocks, raising my knees either side of her, while my hands clawed helplessly at the cubicle walls at my sides, fingers clenching and unclenching nervelessly, my head rolling back, mouth open in a silent scream.
She bent forward, her lips dancing over my mound and thighs as my body bucked and squirmed, spasming with each electric contact. Each wet kiss drove the breath from my lungs with an audible grunt, a wheezing intake of breath signalling those yearning moments between touches.
Her hands slid under my buttocks, lifting my body. I had no purchase against the slippery floor, no way to force my loins onto her face. So whose were those hands stroking my abdomen, sliding clumsily up to my breasts, artlessly grasping, crushing, squeezing, kneading, tugging... Oh, god no… My hands. My own treacherous hands.
I was at her cruel mercy, as she now used that tongue, that expert tongue, slithering around the centre of my world, teasing, tormenting. Around, but not in! Go in! Stab it into my heart! She was in control, denying the thrusting demands of my pelvis, straining to envelop her. I’d never felt such excitement, such lust, such need.
From a great distance, I could hear my own voice moaning, groaning, pleading. And then her tongue paused at the edge of the precipice, and my body stiffened, my breath frozen in my throat, waiting, waiting. Please! Oh god, please!
She lifted her head, my lust glistening on her face. No! Don’t stop!
Her scorching gaze travelled up my wet, shining body, lingering lustily for a moment on the emerald crushed between my breasts. I gasped, breath escaping in juddering gasps. Or was she enjoying the view of my hands gripping, fingers digging into soft flesh, trying to push me over the brink without her help?
Our eyes met, and her expression became sad, even apologetic. My heart stopped again, and my eyes widened in panic. I thought she was going to stop, to leave me like this. No! The floodgates opened: “I’m so close, so close, don’t stop please god don’t stop please fuck me fucking FUCK ME!”
I was incoherent with desire, whimpering with passion, dying with need, and she released me from that torment: Her tongue plunged into me like lightning, and my world exploded.
And again she thrust that soft spear, and again, and again, and explosion after explosion seared my body. A moment’s respite, filled only with my whimpering sobs. Her teeth gently scraped around my engorged clitoris, and I stiffened in terrified ecstasy. My world contracted to a single point, throbbing with agonised delight: her teeth holding still, holding, holding… and suddenly, BITE!
....
I slowly woke to the sound of my own gentle moaning, one hand gently squeezing and tugging on a nipple, the other softly stroking between my thighs.
“Are – are you alright?” My eyes shot open at the unfamiliar voice. A woman looking down at me, at once concerned and disgusted, her child hiding behind her skirt. A man hung back, trying not to look and failing.
I was still weak from… from… Oh god. My body tingled, muscles twitching and trembling with remembered pleasure. I leapt to my feet, swaying at the sudden rush to my head. Another woman entered the changing room, stopping at the sight of me, and a third woman walked right into her back. April was gone.
Suppressing nausea and shame, I rushed to my locker. I had to get out of here, away from here, from where – where it happened. Sweeping a tangle of copper hair back from my eyes, I slipped on my suit jacket and fastened a single button. Ignoring the stimulation it caused my sensitive flesh, I pulled on my trousers, trying not to groan. I was not going to touch myself! Not here! No!
I stuffed the rest of my clothes into my sports bag, fleeing the changing room. As I glanced back, I noticed a discarded sign lying on its side.
So that’s why no-one had disturbed us. She was clever. Especially with her tongue. Stop that! Don’t think! Just move!OUT OF ORDERPlease use other changing rooms
In my car, there is only the present. I’m driving, driving, driving. Adrenaline courses through my body, as the engine purrs like a woman’s desire. The throbbing seat cradles my back and thighs like a lover, its warmth reaching even deeper.
Faster! I take a corner at speed, tires screeching cries of pleasure. A car appears in front of me: I hit the brakes, slide forward across the seat, trousers dragging across my naked folds like April’s kisses.
Faster! Pedal to the metal, the car surges forward, rushing towards climax.
Faster! Faster and faster I go, passing car after car, almost caressing their sleek metal bodies with my own.
Faster! Desperately trying to outrace the incessant urgings of my needful flesh.
Faster! Nearly there. Just a little more!
So close! I whip around another corner, scraping my metal flesh against a protective railing. My hands work the steering wheel frantically, as if grasping and clutching a lover’s body in the throes of climax.
Suddenly a wall looms in front of me, and I hit the brakes, their screeches like the wailing of a banshee. I realise in a moment of crystal certainty, “I’m going to die!” But my life doesn’t flash before me – I am looking at changing room ceiling as April’s tongue pierces my hungry cunt.
That’s it! Yessss! I stiffen in climax, hands fixed to the wheel, feet stuck to the floor, the car’s screeches matching my own, and we hurtle into the wall…
I didn’t die.
The wall – actually the back of a truck waiting at a junction – pulled away just in time, and my car slipped into the space it had occupied like a tongue into a needy… Oh no you don’t, I thought, shaking my head to clear it.
I was surprised at how calm I felt. Numb.
I noticed a car park, and pulled in on autopilot. I parked, switched off the ignition. As my head fell against the steering wheel, the false calm shattered. I screamed into the leather. Then I sobbed. And sobbed.
It passed. I sat back in the driving seat, and exhaled, long and hard. What the hell had happened to me?
I’d fucked a patient… A female patient… And it was good… So very good.
My head was swimming, thoughts dashing against each other, failing to make sense of what had happened.
Was I a lesbian? Why had this case, this woman of all women, this clever and devious slut, triggered such a response in me?
I’d never looked at a woman like that before. Or had I? As a therapist, I knew how easily the mind can deceive itself. There’s no way that kind of passion came out of nowhere. I had no choice but to admit it – I liked girls. Well, one girl anyway.
Or maybe that was too simple, too obvious. Was it the danger of discovery? Or maybe something about her desperation, or her fantasy, hit on a part of myself that I’d buried beneath conscious thought. Her submission?
Mmmm, no question, I did feel a tingling in interesting places when I thought about that. Then again, I couldn’t think about April without remembering her tongue…
Damn, I needed to see her again. To get some answers. And maybe something more…
Get a grip, Elizabeth. You just nearly spread yourself and your car across three counties because of that woman. Get a grip!
Maybe it was for the best that she had made her escape. I clearly needed time to process the evening’s events. What an understatement! My giggling sounded loud and fragile to my ears, and I forced myself to stop, dispelling rising hysteria.
I breathed deeply, short sharp breaths the way I’d taught some of my patients. I was beginning to feel sane again, more like my old self. I can worry about all this later, I thought, as I turned the key and revved the engine. I was relieved to hear it start after the punishment I’d put it through.
I realised I had no idea where I was and looked around and beyond the car park. There must be a street sign, a landmark, something…
A flashing neon pink sign floated in front of me.
I couldn't breath. It was impossible. I suppressed a sudden urge to scream.PINK PALACEWhere your Fantasies come true
April’s fantasy was true – she’d been under a spell, and now I, wearing the necklace, was spellbound and summoned to her place of slavery.
The idea felt oddly enticing, and I may have entertained the fantasy a little longer because of that.
I grabbed the chain dangling from my throat, and raised my hand to tear off the necklace, to hurl it away. But I was a scientist, I remembered, as the emerald caught my eyes, glinting with reflected streetlight. It was just a stone. A fake stone, at that! I wasn’t going to give in to superstitious nonsense. I was a rational woman.
It was true, the chance of me ending up here after driving around like a maniac was small, tiny. But the same would be true wherever I’d ended up, and any place at all would be more likely than magic! It was more of a miracle that I was still alive. Strange coincidences like this happen all the time.
Besides, it matched my eyes, and went well with my reddish hair. Looking down, I saw my jacket’s single button straining, magnificent breasts threatening to burst out, unfettered by their usual constraints. I released the chain, letting the gem fall: any observer’s eyes would be drawn to the glittering stone nestling comfortably in the enticing swell of my pale cleavage. April had the body of a glamour model, but she had nothing on these!
At that thought of April, my heart beat faster. What if April had been telling the truth about working here? Someone might know where she lives.
I had to go in…
THE PINK PALACEThat flashing pink neon sign was the only sign the building was anything more than a crumbling, rundown warehouse. Well, that and the line of clubbers stretching down the side of the large building.Where your Fantasies come true
As I approached the line, the first thing I noticed were the clubbers, those young men and women proudly displaying themselves in skimpy, brightly coloured outfits. Looking at them, I felt a strange tightness about the heart.
When I’d been their age, I’d had to bury myself in work and study, and had made myself believe I wasn’t missing out. I found myself imagining their carefree nightlife, so alien to me. I saw them hurling their hot young bodies about the dance floor in sensual abandon, trying to lure in a nameless mate with their primal gyrations, dancing teasingly close and then away again, writhing close enough to taste each other's scent. I could almost feel their bodies grinding against each other with moans of delight, staggering into each other’s arms, tearing off their clothes as they fall into nearest secluded spot…
Woah! Hold on there, Beth! I pulled my hand away from the skin over my pounding heart, and took a few slow, deep breaths. I felt self-conscious, as people in the line glanced over at me, that strange woman with the straining jacket, almost open but for the single button over the cleavage. My skin prickled at the attention, like it was being crawled over by an army of invisible ants.
As I walked down the line, I started to feel like I was in control again. Many of the people I passed weren’t typical clubbers. There were a sizeable number of more mature types – men who might be plumbers or taxi-drivers mixing with architects and accountants, demims mingling easily with suits. Among these groups, there was only a handful of women.
There, for example, was a couple - an obvious upper class businessman and wife - dressed like they were off out to a night out at the restaurant. The wife was uncomfortable, fidgeting with her wedding ring as she asked, “Are you sure this is the right place, dear?”
And there was another couple – another upper class businessman, and the woman with him… There was no polite way to say it: she was a tart. Probably in her early forties, carrying a little excess weight, but she still looked good. Or she would if she dumped the big platinum blonde hairstyle and the hoop earrings, and wore a lot less makeup. She’d also need a dress that actually contained her probably augmented breasts, and a skirt that actually reached her thighs. She made the clubbers look sophisticated - especially the way she giggled vapidly while clinging on the arm of ‘her man.’
And yet, she looks so happy. I absently rolled the pendant between my fingers, feeling oddly wistful. It must be so easy being a bimbo. You never have to worry about anything. Never have to knuckle down and work. Just flutter your eyelashes and a man will come rushing to take care of you.
What was I thinking? Such women were a blight on society. They undermined every step we took towards equality.
* * *
“Hey, Jugs, you in this line or what?”
“Yes, I’m –” My response died in my throat as I realised what the speaker had said. I looked around to find him. He was a real sleaze, blatantly ignoring a friend’s nudges and staring at my chest, willing that button to pop off and the jacket to explode outwards. Such open, unashamed lust made me uneasy, a squirming sensation in my gut, trickling downwards.
If Paul was here, he’d waste no time in humiliating the sleaze in full view of the crowd with that barbed wit of his. He’d protect me.
I shook away that thought. I didn’t need anyone to fight my fights. I certainly wasn’t going to back down from this beefy, masculine, meathead.
From his grizzled appearance and the markings on his leather jacket, this was the kind of guy who’d been a biker and troublemaker in his youth, but now spent his middle age ogling the talent in girlie bars and knocking back the beers while watching porn and living off handouts in his filthy, flea-bitten apartment. As he openly gawked at me, I let the warmth of righteous anger heat my blood.
“What do you think you’re staring at?” I said quietly, trying to sound menacing. Then I realised that to him, it probably sounded husky and inviting. It didn’t help that I had to lick my suddenly dry lips.
“Shit girl, you’re one hot babe! And those tits…” He thought that was a compliment! He was clearly enjoying the sight of my chest heaving with indignation and my cheeks blazing. This meathead thought ‘girls’ enjoyed his kind of attention. He was mistaking my outrage for arousal.
I didn’t think. I just strode forward, and raised my hand to slap him. Me, the thinks-too-much always-talk-things-out head-shrinker. I had so much pent-up emotion, I needed some sort of release. So I slapped him.
Or tried to. He caught my hand easily, and laughed. “If you like it rough, babe, I’m game!” Then he pulled my arm, and – caught by surprise – I clumsily fell against him. His powerful body.
The crowd was hooting and laughing as he tried to kiss me. I couldn’t believe it – were there no decent men left, to save me from this meathead? I recoiled from his hot, beer-soaked breath and tried to push him off, squirming helplessly in his unbreakable grip. He probably thought the way I was grinding myself against him was for his pleasure! I was burning as I beat my fists ineffectually against his chest, burning with rage.
“Just a little kiss, Jugs,” he said, to cheers of encouragement from the crowd. I was humiliated as he grabbed my hair and, holding my head in place, pressed his mouth against my clenched lips.
“Still playing hard to get, lover?” He asked. “Or would you prefer I kissed you lower?” He looked meaningfully at my chest, and the audience cheered again.
Horrified, I declared, “You wouldn’t!” And while my mouth was open, he forced his tongue into my mouth. The rage inside me erupted, surging through my body - a wet heat that turned my legs to jelly. I collapsed against him, so outraged I couldn’t think.
And then, he let me go! He stepped back, saying, “Wow, that was some kiss!”
There was more hollering and cheering, and people were slapping him on his back and slapping each others palms as I stood there, stunned. Speechless. They were acting as if I was some kind of trophy. I felt myself getting even angrier.
And why did he let me go? Why did he stop? Burning hotter than I thought was possible, I wanted to grab him, to shake him, to press myself against him…
Then it hit me, a hot spear thrusting between my thighs. I was in denial. I wasn’t angry. I was horny. Wet. Almost crazed with lust. I actually wanted him to kiss me.
And then someone called out, “I’m next!” And I felt hope. And then horror. And then, the world tilted, and fell away beneath me.
* * *
It was too much. I fainted, blacked out for just a moment. Meathead
was there, my saviour - his beefy, tattooed arm wrapping around me, and
I fell against his powerful bulk instead of the floor. I clung to him,
actually grateful to feel his raw power against my soft feminine flesh.
His masculine scent washed over me with each ragged breath, invading my
senses.
His hand moved down my back and he casually gripped a buttock and squeezed appreciatively. I may have moaned aloud, feeling the wetness of my thighs pressed against his leg. I couldn’t deny it to myself any longer - my lust, my weakness.
I looked up at him, to find him lecherously looking down the vee of my jacket. I arched my back, before I realised that would give him a better view. What am I doing? Must get away from him! He’s a thug!! An uneducated, unsophisticated loser! A Neanderthal!! And yet… so bold, so strong, so comforting…
“Hey babe, you okay now?” he asked, stroking back my hair from my face, and then helping me stand. I couldn’t believe it, he was letting me go again! Didn’t he want me?
He looked at me curiously. “Do you work here? You have the look. And one of those jewels.”
That question shocked me to my senses, reminding me that things other than him existed, that I was here for a reason. “You know about this place?” I asked as I forced myself to pull away from him, watching his lips move as he spoke, hanging on his word.
“Oh yeah, do I ever. It’s a real classy joint. The girls – they’re all natural.” He cupped his hands in front of his chest, that eternal male gesture to describe female anatomy. I remembered I should feel scorn, but I felt only relief that the thudding of my heart had begun to slow.
“Not like you, though,” he continued, looking admiringly at my heaving chest. “Well, except for Pandy, and she’s a freak. And these girls, they know how to treat a guy. They make us feel like Gods. It’s like they’re slaves, there for our pleasure.” I gasped, my heart starting to pound again. Slaves! That’s what April said!
Meathead pointed down the line to the entrance, where bouncers were shepherding people through the door. As in countless clubs across the nation, people were paying their money to get their hands stamped with the symbol of the club. But at this club there was a difference. “The cover charge gets you Blue, what they call Aquamarine.” That long word didn’t feel comfortable on his tongue. His tongue…
Oh, Beth, focus! I knew I should get away from him, from the strange effect he had on me, but I needed to know what was really happening here. And anyway, it was healthy to acknowledge your feelings. That gives you power over them. So I was feeling aroused. He caught me at a weak moment. I certainly wasn’t attracted to this neanderthal. I could handle him, now.
“Yeah, Aquamarine,” he said. “That’s your basic cover charge. You can sit, watch, buy drinks, throw money at the girls, the usual. Pay more and you get Yellow, or Amber they call it. For that you can pick a girl for a private dance.” His eyes drifted away, fondly remembering one of those experiences.
“So it’s a lapdancing club?” I was disappointed. April’s fantasy was so much more exciting.
Meathead nodded, “More than that! If you’re really loaded…” His eyes dropped back to my cleavage, and I felt the aching tightness of my nipples rubbing against the silk lining of my jacket.
“If you have lots of money, or if you win the raffle, you go Ruby. Then you get a girl that’ll do a lot more than dance, if you know what I mean. I know a guy who won the raffle. He said it was like heaven …” His voice trailed away wistfully.
He looked back at me. “Me, I wouldn’t pay that much for a piece of ass. Unless you worked there, maybe…”
I shook my head at what passed for compliments here. I should have been angry that he was comparing me, a respected and successful psychotherapist, to a common prostitute. Still, I suppose it was flattering in a way. H wouldn’t pay for just anyone…
“So you’re interested in the girls here?” he asked, with a leer. It’s not like that! I thought. “Why don’t you get back here, and I’ll tell you all about them.” And with that statement, he invited me to slip back into his arm. My breath tightened in my throat. I’m in control! He’s just a thug! So not-my-type. Why was it so hard to refuse?
“Hey you!” The voice came from a suited bouncer walking up the line, keeping order. He was looking straight at me. Seeing my look of puzzlement, he said, “Staff use the service entrance,” and pointed to a little door beyond the main entrance.
His comment drew surprised and excited reactions from the people nearby. Not least from me. Staff?
He pointed to the door again. “Get going! You’re late.”
I was moving before I thought about it, glad to have a reason to get away from Meathead. I heard him turn to the nearest person. “Fuck, did you hear that? She does work here! I’m going Ruby tonight!”
And then it occurred to me. What an opportunity! If he thought I worked here, others probably would. I could sneak inside, have a free run of the place. Look around and find out how much of April’s fantasy was real, and how much imagined.
* * *
My thoughts raced as I stood in front of the service entrance door.
I was nervous, wondering if I could go through with this deception.
What made that bouncer think I was staff? I wondered as I absently rolled the pendant in the fingers of my hand. Was it the way I looked? The jacket, straining to contain its load, and so obviously, nothing underneath?
Or was it something else? Something in my expression, my eyes? What had that meathead said? Did I have the look of the kind of girl who’d work here? Why did that thought make me squirm, forcing me to think of something other than the heat still gently simmering between my thighs?
And what was the matter with me tonight? My emotions were all over the place, it was so hard to think clearly. I knew I should go home, take some time to relax and get my bearings, but I knew somehow this was April’s doing. Her kiss, her tongue… She had awakened something in me, a side of me that I wasn’t sure I could control. I needed to find her, and this was my only lead.
And besides, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so alive. This was an adventure! On that thought, before I could change my mind, I knocked at the door.
Immediately, a hatch opened at eye level, and a pair of eyes glanced quickly at my face and then down to the pendant. The hatch closed and bolt was drawn. The door started to open.
Of course you silly girl, the pendant! I reflected on April’s wild tale of a secret cult where sex slaves used green stones to identify themselves. I lifted the stone, and examined it in the light from the now open doorway, admiring how it caught the flickered and twinkled. It wasn’t a real emerald, but it was very high quality. I could see my face reflected in its depths, again and again…
The man at the door coughed to catch my attention, and I tore myself away from the fascinating gem. Such fine craftsmanship wouldn’t be easy to replicate. Maybe it’s not a bad security system, after all.
Except that anyone could steal one. I was walking in here with someone else’s ID. If this really was some kind of secret cult, it was the least secure one in history!
The doorman stepped aside to let me in, and was looking me over in a way that made me uneasy. It wasn’t simply lust. Would that make me feel better? It was like he was appraising me, evaluating me in some way. But he seemed to approve, and pointed down the corridor. “Third door on the right.”
I sighed in relief. I wanted to ask him some questions, but he clearly wasn’t a talker. Whatever. I was in, and planning to have a quiet look around. I stopped at the indicated door, and noticed the guard was still watching me. Damn.
If I was the kind of girl who worked in a place like this, I thought to myself, I’d be able to use my feminine charms to persuade him to let me go where I wanted. First time I’d actually seen the advantage of being that kind of girl! Oh well, here goes. I took a deep breath and entered.
* * *
Oh. My. God. A sea of female flesh, moving, giggling, touching,
stroking…
I took a deep breath and looked again. At least a dozen scantily clad and sexy women crammed together in a crowded dressing room, the sort you’d find backstage at a theatre. They were primping themselves at tiny cosmetics-strewn dressing tables, or playfully helping each other out of – no, into - the kind of outfits that fuelled many a man’s secret fetish. Here was the busty French maid, and there a bespectacled, stocking-clad secretary. Over there, two burlesque dancers helping each other into their corsets. And that was certainly no real policewoman!
And everywhere, flashes of green, from the pendants dancing around their necks.
I felt dizzy, my temperature soaring. I saw another door behind them, and tried to hurry through before I was noticed. Don’t look around, I told myself. Just put one foot in front of the other…
My arm was caught and I was spun around by a cute Asian girl, dressed as some kind of sailor. “What’s your name, you’re pretty! I’m Kimmi!” She cried out in childish and cheerful voice, playing with her pigtails. I half-expected her to jump up and down in joy.
“Holy shit!” exclaimed a fantasy version of a blonde cheerleader. “Would you look at those!” She bounced over to me, her skirt fluttering, and dragged me startled into the centre of room.
And then they were swarming around me, laughing and giggling, spinning me back and forth. I tried to tell them to stop, but I was woozy. I tried to fight, but I kept seeing things that threw me off-balance – a silver chain dangling from a bouncing breast, a flash of thigh leading to a completely naked mound. Perfumes fogged the air and my head, including one all-pervasive scent that was strangely enticing and disturbing.
“She’s gonna be popular!” I gasped at the sight of the buxom nun. Was nothing sacred? It was a figure hugging outfit, cut to reveal garters and stockings, and topped by a spiked collar!
“Are they real?” a trampy schoolgirl in pigtails was asking. “They must be or you wouldn’t be here! Can I touch them, Miss?” She was pawing eagerly at my jacket, her eyes excited, and the button popped free. “No!” I caught my jacket before I gave them more than a quick flash and shoved her back with my shoulder.
They were startled into silence for a moment. By what they’d glimpsed or my near-hysteria, I couldn’t tell.
Then a hot nurse giggled. “The patient is agitated! Nursie needs to take your temperature!” She advanced towards me, slowly, reaching with her rubber-glove-clad hands. I backed away, mouth dry, trying not to think of how they’d grab me, strip me naked, and…. I bumped up against a dresser. I was trapped!
It was University all over again!
“You’re frightening her, Bambi!” Someone shouted, breaking the spell.
“Looks like Pandy’s got competition!” The girl who spoke wasn’t involved in the scrum; she was at her dresser, completely naked except for sticky, shiny black stocking she was sliding up over her leg. I averted my eyes from her smooth sex, but there was nowhere to look that wasn’t filled with temptation!
The room was bigger than I’d thought. Around a corner, more women appeared, several of which were completely naked. And smooth. “Pandy! Pandy!” One of them shouted. “Come look at the new girl!”
As the summoned woman waddled into view, I felt my eyes widen in shock and for a moment forgot my panic. I remembered the meathead’s words, She’s a freak. She made me look flat-chested! Barely 5’ tall, her breasts were fleshy mountains flowing practically from neck to groin. And yet, they had shape, bulging far out from her chest. They seemed to defy gravity. They were enormous. How could anyone find those monsters sexy? I tried to imagine what it would feel like burying my head in those. Being enveloped, swallowed by feminine flesh, transported back to the womb, maybe suckling on a big juicy nipple… Whoa!
A sudden loud crack rent the air. A gunshot? “Get back girls, give her some room!” A tall – no, statuesque – black girl held a whip, and strode through the crowd.
“You should be ashamed of yourselves. You all know what it’s like the first time.” She was dressed in a leather corset which seemed to offer her impressive breasts to the observer. The metal heels on her leather boots clicked against the floor as she closed on me.
I felt relief, gratitude, but that drained rapidly away when I saw the way she was appraising me. I was now backed up against the wall, pinned, and she leaned into me sensuously, sniffing my face and hair.
“So we have a new slave in the stable,” she said, oozing confidence, strength, power. “I’m Tigra. I’m going to like you. I’m going to take my time liking you.” I trembled weakly as she stroked my hair, the gesture both tender and sinister. I had the sudden desire to kiss her.
“Stop teasing her,” the childlike sailor – Kimmi – said, pouting. “You’re aww so beastwy.”
And then someone shouted “Angela’s coming!” and the atmosphere in the room instantly changed. Was that fear? I wondered as the girls rushed back to their dressers.
Only Tigra remained. She looked deep into my eyes and I was a gazelle caught by the lion. “We’ll continue this later,” she promised, and leaned to gently bite my lower lip. I heard myself whimper. Then she coolly walked to her table, and Angela arrived.
* * *
She was a slender yet shapely brown-haired beauty, with a cute little
nose. She certainly couldn’t be much older than twenty. She looked wholesome,
the sort of woman you’d see entering a local beauty pageant. Her expression
was open, friendly, almost tender.
And she was terrifying.
She wore a delicate silver choker about the neck, containing an amber stone.
She surveyed the room. “The burlesque show is on in five minutes,” She said, and clapped her hands. “So get backstage. Chop chop!” The half a dozen girls dressed like burlesque dancers immediately leapt to their feet and hurried out of sight, putting finishing touches to their outfits and makeup as they went.
Then her eyes fell on me, and my heart froze. “You. Come here, please.” She spoke so softly, but with such assurance. She ruled here. Disobedience was not an option.
Gulping, I rushed over to her, still clutching the lapels of my jacket with one hand. She looked disapproving, and that little scowl might have looked cute on anyone else.
“Hands by your side.” My palms were sweaty, clammy, as I did as I told, feeling the jacket beginning to fall open, willing it to stay shut.
She looked me up and down, casually, and tilted her head as she peered at the shapes half-revealed under my top. Meeting my eyes, she asked, “What’s your name?”
“Elizabeth Summers.” I was caught off-guard and answered without thinking. Silently, I cursed myself. Some spy I was, giving away my identity to the first person who asked!
With relief, I noticed the name meant nothing to Angela. She was thinking aloud. “Beth? No that’s no good., Betty? Lizzy, Lisa – aha, Leeza.”
She looked at me again. “Your slave name is Leeza. What’s your name?”
“Leeza,” I answered, swallowing. At her little smile, I felt a sigh of relief that went straight to my groin.
I gulped again as she unfastened something I hadn’t noticed from her belt – it looked like a riding crop.
“This is your first night, so things may seem a little strange for you. But the rules are simple enough. If you pay attention, you’ll be okay.” She was stroking her hand along the crop, it wasn’t a violent gesture at all. She spark calmly, casually, without a hint of menace. “You will pay attention, won’t you?”
I nodded quickly, my mouth too dry to speak.
“Now first, some terminology.” She tapped the stone at her throat. “I’m an Amber. You address me as Miss, or Miss Angela. Do you understand?”
“Yes… Yes, Miss.” At her smile, my whole body sighed.
As an afterthought, she added, “If we’re alone and getting intimate, you may call me Mistress if you like.” Her tone of voice indicated that she’d like that very much. I could feel my breathing getting ragged again.
“Now.” She reached up with the crop, and opened my jacket, and I was exposed me for everyone to see. Several of the girls were stealing sneaky glances, lustily enjoying the panicky rising and fall of my chest.
“Nice,” she said, taking a long look and I could feel her eyes leisurely gliding across my chest.
She then looked into my eyes, and asked, “What are these? What do you call them?” Then, with the crop, she gently tapped each breast, directly on each stiffened nipple, each tap causing me to jump, driving a hot pulse between my legs.
“My – my breasts, miss?” At the open laughter that burst out in the room, my heart sank. I’d given the wrong answer. Why was I so hot?
“They’re your tits, girl!” someone shouted, laughing. “Hooters!” shouted another. “No, bazookas!”
Angela looked around the room, furrowed her brow, and instantly everyone went silent. She turned back to me. “Let’s try again. What are these?”
I could feel my burning cheeks. “B- boobs, Miss?” There was some suppressed chuckling. Angela looked a little disappointed. I remembered what Meathead called me. “Jugs? Tits?” I was throbbing with shame.
She smiled, and then tapped the crop up, between my trouser legs. It felt like a hand suddenly clasped about my sex, and squeezed. “And this? What’s this?”
Vagina, I wanted to say, but I knew that’s not what she wanted. “Pussy, Miss?” Why was my body reacting to her casual humiliation? Why couldn’t I control myself?
“Can you think of any other words that might apply?” I couldn’t believe it. She spoke slowly, using the tone of a schoolteacher talking to a particularly dim child, and that’s exactly how she was making me feel.
I knew what she wanted to hear. It was there in my mind. I’d never say something like that, it was unimaginable.
And the tension, the terror, grew like the heat between my legs.
Oh god. “Cunt, miss. It’s my CUNT!” I shouted. And at her broad, happy smile, I nearly came.
She was talking again. I needed to listen, to pay attention! “You’re doing very well. Some of your clients will expect you to use language like that, so it’s best you get used to it. You may find it helpful to use such terms when you think about them, substitute them in your mind for the clinical terms you’re obviously used to.”
“Now, let’s have a good look at you. Take off your clothes.”
My mind went blank. I stood there paralysed. Angela waited. The tension in the room grew. The girls – the slaves – gave up pretending not to watch. They knew this was a special moment.
I should just – just refuse, and leave.
But what if she is part of a cult or criminal gang? They are all terrified of her. What might she be capable of? I knew in my hot, throbbing heart that she was capable of anything.
They think I’m one of them. If I act any different, they’ll know I’m not. Could I really do it, in front of all these woman openly lusting for me? Did I have the strength?
And besides, my bre… my boobs are already on display. It’s not that big of a step . I was rationalising, trying to find a way to make my compliance seem a little thing.
But it wasn’t a little thing. If I do this, there’s no going back…. I’d never be able to forget how just thinking about obeying set my blood on fire, I’d never be able to tell myself that these feelings didn’t exist.
And that’s what made the difference. I realised I had to do it. I had to know if the act was as exciting as the thought. Regardless of what it would mean for me soul, my sanity - I had to know. Who am I, really?
And so, with every muscle trembling, I slowly took the jacket off and dropped it to the floor. It felt like I was shedding some essential part of me; the feeling of liberation, of air on my tingling flesh, was dizzying.
Briefly, I wondered what they’d think of me now, at University? Those people who’d made my life a misery. Was I confirming their accusations?
That thought flitted away when I looked at my audience. They were spellbound. Several women were touching themselves openly. Others had raised their pendants to their mouths, kissing them as if they were some perverse rosary. I felt glorious, divine.
I couldn’t get my trousers off fast enough. I peeled them from my thighs, shuddering at the sensation, fascinated by the oily slickness coating the crotch. Then, frantically, I tore them off my legs and threw them away, and stood up straight, crying out a cheer of exultation, of ecstasy! Several of the women cheered with me.
And then, as quickly as it came, the feeling vanished. I was naked, vulnerable, defenceless. And still, my body boiled with lust and shame.
I lowered my arms and started to cover myself, before realising that if I touched myself, I wouldn’t be able to stop - I’d have to quench the fire with my fingers. Not knowing what else to do, I clasped my hands behind my back. It felt somehow appropriate. Feeling utterly humbled, I looked down, at her feet.
* * *
Angela seemed oblivious to my mental rollercoaster ride. Once happy
with my position, she handed her crop to Bambi, and stepped close enough
to kiss me. She unceremoniously hefted one of my boobs in each hand, as
if they were hers to with as she wanted. Her casual touch sent shivers
of anguished delight through me.
“Very nice. I like the way your blush spreads all the way down to your tits. They look like they’ve been spanked already.” My mind recoiled from that statement, dismissing it so I didn’t have to think what it might foreshadow.
She gave each tit a gentle squeeze, making an exciting little murmur of approval, and rubbed her thumbs across the dark, hardened flesh around the nipples. I didn’t realise they could get that hard, so painfully hard.
Then she took each nipple between finger and thumb, and gently squeezed, pinching them. It was a flash of lightning to the pleasure centres of my brain, and I almost fell.
I was hyperventilating. When she released me and stepped back, I almost followed her to maintain the contact. I couldn’t think anymore, I could only feel.
She took the crop back from Bambi, and gently tapped my thighs, forcing me to wide my stance. Then she was bending forward, and as I felt her warm breath on my sex, I remembered April’s tongue. Only terror stopped me from grabbing her head and forcing her face against my hungry pussy.
“You don’t shave.” I couldn’t tell if she was displeased. I needed to know! “Still, I like the colour, and it’s quite light.” She had taken a tuft of hair between her fingers, and the gentle pressure was sweet torture. “Perhaps it needs a little trim.” Her mouth was soooo close!
Then she was standing up, and I groaned in frustrated desire, swaying unsteadily for a moment.
“What have we here?” She asked as she walked behind me and ran a hand across my buttocks, gently squeezing. I felt the reverberations in my pussy.
“My ass, Miss.” I sounded so hoarse, so breathless. And that breath suddenly caught in my throat. She was sliding the tip of the crop down one cheek, to the thigh, and then back up, up to my pussy. Oh god, she’s not going to push it inside…
Then she pulled the crop away, and I almost cried out in disappointment. I wondered for a moment if I should have been feeling relief.
“I think you’re just about ready. But you need something to wear.” She turned, and walked around the nearby dressers, selecting a few garments from the clothes hooks behind them.
She handed me a garter belt and a pair of fishnet stockings. Breathing heavily, I stood paralysed. I was getting dressed? But… But…. I don’t want to!
I wanted her to throw me to the ground and ravish me, while all these girls watched.
I wanted to be fucked!
But then I realised I was waiting too long. Her scowl returned, and terror clamped about my cunt like a vice.
I took the belt and stockings and leant forward. As I did, the loose chain of the pendant fell forward and became tangled in my hair. I just caught it in time, before it fell to the ground. Then, with my boobs pressing against my arms, I pulled on the stockings.
“Carefully,” Angela said. “Slowly. Savour it.” She was right. As I slowly pulled them on, sliding the stocking slowly up one leg, it reminded me of April’s tongue sliding into me. I moaned.
Angela was talking. Pay attention!! “Most of the clients are Aquamarine. They are just normal guests. You are expected to be polite, charming, submissive. But that’s all. Nothing more. You call them Sir. Or Miss.”
I started to slide the other stocking on. Sooo good.
“And then we have the Amber guests. You aren’t expected to dance yet, so you treat them the same as Aquamarine. Dancers wear their collars like this.”
She drew my attention to Bambi, the naughty nurse, and how the chain of the pendant was looped around her neck twice. “That’s how the guests recognise a dancer.” I wondered what Bambi’s tongue would feel like.
Reluctantly I finished putting the stockings on, fastening them to the belt, and wondered for a moment if Angela would notice if I slid my fingers further up… I glanced furtively around, and noticed the girls watching me, spellbound by my little show. They’d notice. They’d like it. Maybe one of those gorgeous girls would lose control and ravish me…
Focus, Beth, focus. I stood up slowly, my hands and legs shaking. Angela was looking directly at my face, with a little smile playing at the corner of her lips. She knew what I’d been thinking. I hung my head, shame and lust feeding into each other.
She handed me some shorts – actually, shocking pink hotpants, that barely reached the bottom of my ass-cheeks. I savoured the feeling of pulling them on. They were tight against my pussy – I’d feel them caressing my lips with every movement.
“That brings us to our Ruby guests. If you’re chosen by one of them, you’re to take them into the back room and do what they ask.”
I don’t want them, I screamed in my mind, not really registering her words. I want you! Take me now!
Angela handed me some matching heels – Pink shoes!! I’d never worn pink. I’d also never worn four inch heels before, but it was surprisingly easy to balance. And the sensations they created at my thighs and above were… interesting.
“We expect that you make our guests happy. If our guests leave unsatisfied, it reflects badly on us. We don’t want that. Do you understand?” When she spoke like that, she was so terrifying. So fuckable. I’ll beg, I heard myself thinking. But I didn’t dare speak out loud.
She handed me the final garment, a simple, white T-shirt. She continued speaking as I struggled to pull it down over my chest. It was tight; it felt like having two enormous hands, lovingly squeezing my heavy tits. It didn’t even come down to my abdomen – I could feel air on the bottom of my boobs.
“Now, let’s have a good look… Oh yes, deliciously slutty.” She turned me towards the mirror, and I gasped. The woman in the mirror looked like an unusually gifted entrant to a wet T-shirt competition; the shirt was stretched so tight, it was practically transparent, and my tits had never looked so large. The nipples were trying to poke through the material, the darker flesh around them plainly visible.
Below my naked abdomen, the pants looked sprayed on, the lips of my pussy plainly visible from the right angle. With the stockings and silly pink heels, I looked hot. Ready for sex. Fuckable. So why doesn’t SHE want me?
Only as an afterthought, I looked at my face, and was shocked by the lusty stranger, her wild copper hair, her cheeks blazing with lust, her trembling and pouting lips, her smouldering eyes. She was so hot. I’d fuck her in a heartbeat.
I jumped as Angela clapped her hands, addressing everyone. “Well, Ruby girls, you’ve enjoyed the show, but it’s time for you to go out and mingle.”
The spell broken, around half of the girls leapt up and headed out, either eager to get to work or eager to escape Angela’s presence. She turned me away from the vision in the mirror and back towards her. My heart filled with hope and lust. “I almost forgot,” she said. She took hold of my pendant’s chain, and looped it once around my neck. “That’s the sign of a Ruby girl,” she explained, “a girl who’s here for only one thing. Also, you’ve seen how easily it could fall off when you bend over. You might be doing a lot of that.”
I groaned with disappointment as she pointed me to the door. Then she smiled, leaning in to my ear, “If you’re very good, I may request your service myself.” It felt like she’d just slid her tongue into my hot, wet cunt. As I revelled dizzily in the sensation, she patted me on the ass and propelled me towards the door. “Off to work!”
Then I glanced around nervously, wondering if anyone had noticed. Hoping.
Much of the wall behind the bar was a giant mirror, and through it I could see the crowded floor, dominated by three stages for the girls to dance on. The stages were long and thin, reaching out into the club like widespread fingers, allowing the maximum number of people access to a stage at once.
The cheerleader - Suzi, the dimpled bartender told me - was raising a few cheers at one of those stages. She was popular. And deservedly so. My eyes kept drifting back to her. She was so athletic. The way she wrapped herself around that pole, kicking her legs in the air…
In the mirror I could also see people looking at me, lusting at me. It helped keep me nicely hot and wet.
I shifted again, enjoying the feel of the stool beneath me. I could feel my clitoris against the tightness of my shorts, and, feeling light-headed, I suddenly realised Angela hadn’t mentioned that. I wondered what she would have me call it. Clitoris… Clit… Clitty… Nubbin… Nub… I altered position in time with my words, gently thrusting against my shorts, relishing the growing sparks. Could I bring myself off this way? I heard myself giggle deliriously.
I was losing my mind.
I kept thinking lusty thoughts of Angela, and predatory Tigra with the whip, and Bambi the nurse, and Suzi the hot cheerleader, and… what of April, the woman whose delightful tongue got me into this mess? She was the reason I was here, wasn’t she? Something about finding her, finding her and that tongue of hers…
As my eyes wandered, I saw another hot woman, a guest. A dark-eyed, dusky woman, maybe Arabian, with three male companions, two whites and a latino. From body language and captured snippets of conversation, I learned they were work colleagues. They were all in suits. The woman and one of the men seemed surprised by the kind of place they’d been brought to. The woman in particular seemed uncomfortable, and I heard someone say, “Okay, we’ll finish our drinks and then go.”
I didn’t want her to go. I wanted to comfort her. I wanted her to meet my eyes, and call me over. I wanted her lips to suck my pulsing clitty…
All these thoughts about women! Was it homophobia, I wondered, to be worried I was a lesbian?
But then, when I caught someone looking at me, anyone, man or woman, I felt so warm and tingly inside. I remembered what it felt like when Angela propelled me out into the club. To walk across the floor, with my body still soaring from her touch. To have to squeeze past all those lecherous men, hearing their comments – ‘look at that rack!’ ‘Look at the collar! She’s a Ruby girl. I thought they were supposed to be goddesses, not tarty sluts’
It had taken all I had to reach the bar without touching myself, without turning and leaping on the stage and tearing off my clothes, touching myself as they watched. But I’d made it, breathless, collapsing on to the stool and clutching the bar, a lifejacket in the stormy sea of my lust.
So was it exhibitionism? Was I an exhibitionist? With my past, what happened to me at University, that didn’t make any sense at all. But I couldn’t deny the thrill I felt when they looked at me. I couldn’t deny how much I wanted them to look. Had I been in denial all those years?
Or was I just a slut?
I felt like crying, suddenly, and clutched the pendant in one hand for comfort. What had April done to me?
“Excuse me, miss?” A young man addressed me timidly. He was college age, probably. My stomach lurched as I saw the stamp of a red gem on his hand. He was a Ruby guest.
Breathe, I told myself. “Yes, sir, what can I do for you?” I felt proud at getting that sentence out without stammering.
He was wringing his hands nervously, and looked over at an older man sitting not far away – his father, smiling and silently urging him on with his eyes.
“I – I don’t know what to say… I – I want… I want you.” He was blushing. So nervous. So shy. I could feel my heart melting.
Could I do it? Take a stranger – even an adorable boy like this - into a back room and… and have sex with him?
But it would tell me something I needed to know. If I was a lesbian. Could I even like guys any more?
And by God, I needed to be fucked.
I grabbed his hand and stood – then realised I didn’t know where to go. Fortunately, Dimples was there. She pointed up to a balcony, and so I led the adorably nervous boy up the stairs. There were more tables up here, spaced wider apart for people to sit and watch the dancers away from the crowds. A few couples seemed to be enjoying romantic meals.
There was also a second balcony, overlooking a different section of the club – the dance floor, where all those clubbers had ended up. Suspended above it were the usual rotating glitterballs. These were encrusted with red and amber and green crystals, sending out multi-coloured shafts of light over the dancers.
The seats overlooking that dance floor were more like couches, sofas - a bunch of dirty old businessmen were crammed together watching the gyrating young bodies on display. That was puzzling, when they could turn around and watch the strippers…
But I had other things to think about. There, at the back, a discreet little door. Behind it, a cramped corridor. Lots of little doors with “Engaged” signs on them.
Aha! Vacant!
The room behind the door wasn’t seedy at all. There wasn’t much more to it than a bed - a drinks cabinet with glasses – but it was a big bed, with welcoming green silken sheets.
* * *
I closed the door behind me and turned hungrily to my nervous guest.
And then, boiling with lust, I awkwardly realised I didn’t know what to
do. How this was supposed to go?
Could I just throw him on the bed and leap on him? What if that’s not what he wanted? What if he complained? To Angela? That thought sent a stab of anxiety straight to my already throbbing cunt.
As I stood there, uncertain how to proceed, a more familiar worry surfaced. Would this be like the other times? Would I freeze? Would I push him away? Just being in this room, being here with him, I had already gone a lot further than with any man since Mike. And I was so horny. Surely I could get through this.
But the door in my mind had opened, the memory loomed large in my thoughts now. How I’d opened up to Mike, loved him passionately and often, and how he’d repaid me. Such pain and humiliation. Such cruelty. How I’d recoiled from men ever since, driven them away, never understanding why. I knew suddenly that I’d let him control my life for ten years, robbing me of so many chances for love, for pleasure. And now, he was doing it again. He was going to rob me of this perfect moment as well!
With a flood of shame to my pussy, I realised the cute boy was talking and I wasn’t paying attention!
“I’m Bobby. Bobby MacPherson. I’ve never done anything like this,” he said, speaking in a rush. “This was my father’s idea. This place saved my parents’ marriage, and Dad wants it – you – to make a man of me.”
That surprised me enough to break through my internal battle. “It saved a marriage?” And then I thought: A virgin. For a moment, I forgot my worries: Mmmm, a virgin.
He nodded, shyly averting his eyes while held his hands hid his erection. His hard cock, I corrected myself, trying to think dirty, to hang on to the arousal.
“Yes. They were going to split up. They fought all the time. But he brought her here for a meal to make up, and they fell in love all over again. I can’t believe how much they’ve changed.” Something about what he was saying troubled him. I had a feeling I should be paying more attention, but I was having an epiphany.
I, Elizabeth Summers, could never, would never sleep with a stranger. But Leeza… Leeza the sex slave, she could do it. I had to become Leeza. I was a psychologist, I knew of the power of roleplay. I just had to believe it, and it would be true.
“Bobby, that’s a cute name,” I said, emulating the way a pleasure girl like Leeza might talk. It was easy. “You can call me Leeza, Bobby. Now… Do you want to talk or to fuck?” Oh wow, I thought, as the heat erupted once more, blowing away my fears. It’s working!
His eyes widened, and he looked like he was going to have a coronary – and with the night I’d had, I knew exactly how he felt.
I’d spent so much of my time counselling people about their insecurities, I’d never realised just how attractive someone’s vulnerability could be. He was so shy. So adorable.
“Just relax,” I told him, as I gently pushed him back onto the bed, pressing my body against his, kissing him softly, savouring the sensation. It’s so long since I’ve kissed anyone, I realised sadly. I didn’t even get to kiss April.
And so we kissed, our tongues wrestling delightfully. He had no shortage of experience in this area, I was happy to find. So it was nice. It was pleasurable. But it wasn’t fucking.
So I broke off the kiss and lifted myself up by my elbows. I looked him in the eyes and said, “You know, this isn’t going to work.”
He looked so crestfallen, so kissable. I smiled. “Our clothes are in the way!” Seeing his face light up mad me feel so warm inside.
I stood up and gestured to my top. “I’d better take this off, hadn’t I?” I was enjoying teasing him! That was a revelation.
He was nodding frantically, so I pulled my top off. I tried to do it gracefully, but it was too tight, too small. But he didn’t care – it came off and that’s what mattered.
He was awestruck by my tits, still wobbling with the pendant dangling between them.
How could I have ever hated these – these marvels? I grabbed my tits and squeezed, groaning aloud. “Do you like?” His strained expression was answer enough – he was struggling to stop his orgasm.
I turned away so he could look at my ass as I kicked away my heels and pulled the shorts down. Was that sucking sound my imagination as they pulled away from my pussy? I moaned aloud, pleasantly, as I realised that, bent over like this, I was giving him a perfect view of my sopping cunt.
That was another revelation. I was displaying myself, my most intimate parts, and I was getting off on it!
I slowly wiggled my behind for him, enjoying the sensation, and then turned back to him. I leaned slightly forward, letting my body slowly sway from side to side, letting myself feel his gaze following my boobs.
“Aren’t you gonna join me, stud?”
He looked nervous. Terrified. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You let Leeza worry about that. I want you, boy, do I want you!”
At that, he gave a moan and frantically tore his clothes off. Such a thrill to have this effect on him!
And then, I saw it. His cock. His hard, beautiful cock, leaking with pre-cum. I had to have it inside me.
My voice was hoarse with excitement as I told him to lie back. I climbed on top of him, kissing him again, feeling IT brushing against my thigh. So close…
He groaned. “I don’t think I can hold on!” At that, I almost panicked!
I grabbed his chin, turned him to look in his eyes. “Listen to me, you’re not going to cum. It’s just a matter of willpower. You have the will, the strength! Do you understand?”
He nodded. I kissed him, while reaching down between our bodies. As I took hold of him, I felt him twitch. Trembling, I straddled him, and slowly, soooo slowly, sank down on top of him.
We moaned together, a long heartfelt groan as my cunt swallowed his cock - it felt so big, huge. And then he was all the way in, and I felt so full, so complete. Had the bastard Mike ever felt this good?
I rested my cheek against his, hearing my ragged breathing. “Oh yes, so big, so good,” I heard myself say, and felt his cock pulse in response.
Slowly, so slowly, I lifted myself off him, my cunt sucking, not wanting to let go, and then, so slowly, I sank down on him. Again. And over and over again.
I tried to give him encouragement on the upstrokes, telling him what a great lover he was, how strong, and big, and powerful. I sat astride him, looking down at him. I lifted his hands to my tits, inviting him to squeeze them, play with them, maul them, as the pendant dangled above his face. “That’s right - enjoy my body. Explore with your hands. Get to know your way around a woman’s body. When you leave here, you’ll know just how to make a woman happy!”
But it was almost too much for him. He was straining. “Shit! I’m going to cum!” he said.
“No!” I hissed. Please, not yet! “You’re strong, you’re a man, not a boy! You’re not going to let a woman beat you! You’re stronger than that!”
God, I hoped I was right.
I rode him slowly, trying to maintain a measured pace. Going slow, so he wasn’t overstimulated. But it was excruciating – I just wanted to abandon control and fuck him senseless. But I held on, telling him how good he was doing, what a great lover he was.
And then we both felt it – the building pressure, the rising pleasure. It was inevitable now. We were in synch, one being, thrusting faster and faster, getting closer and closer… And then he stiffened in ecstasy, his seed erupting inside me, setting off my own orgasm. I collapsed on top of him, trembling with ecstasy, kissing him.
We lay together, breathing heavily, recovering. I felt closer to him then than I had to anyone in a long time. I loved him. I may even said it aloud. Whatever I said was having an effect. I felt him start to stiffen again, still inside me. “Oh fuck!” he cried, and rolled me over, never slipping out, and said, “Now I’m going to fuck you!” It was exhilarating, and I let myself be carried away by his passion.
He WAS fucking me. Riding me fast and hard. And it was even better. Soon, I was spouting nonsense, telling him I was a bitch in heat for him, he was a god among men, that women would beg for his mighty cock! I was begging him to cum, pleading with him, telling him I couldn’t take any more. And then I was just shrieking, screaming in ecstasy.
And then, finally, FINALLY!, our bodies went rigid, straining their muscles, and then his burning load erupted inside me, igniting fireworks, obliterating all thought. I collapsed on top of him.
I started to giggle, and snuggled in against Bobby, the new man Bobby, revelling in the sensation of his hard masculine body against my soft feminine curves.
He looked at me with wonder. “That was… that was…” I put my finger to his lips, and then followed up with lips and tongue. There was nothing we needed to say that couldn’t be said this way.
…
My body was heating up for action again, so I groaned in disappointment when he broke away, saying, “My dad will be waiting.”
I watched him dress, noticing a difference. A new confidence. Almost a swagger. At the door, he turned back, and I stretched out luxuriantly, enjoying his appreciation, feeling tired but purring nicely.
The way he looked at me, fixing my body in his memory… There was something… possessive in his gaze. Like he’d had me, and I’d served my purpose. I was just the first notch on his bedpost.
The door closed behind him and I put the thought from my mind.
* * *
As I gathered my clothes, I’d discovered an adjoining restroom – a
toilet, a shower, and cosmetics. Everything a pleasure slave needed to
restore herself for duty. After leisurely, sensuously, cleaning myself
up, I made my way back into the club. I had a spring in my step. I felt
like my body was glowing – a just-been-fucked glow.
As I swayed my hips towards the bar, I noticed Kimmi, the sexy caricature of a sailor who had tried to defend me earlier. The little oriental sexpot was standing atop a table, writhing sexily for the four people sitting beneath her – teasing, but not taking off her clothing. If that little sailor uniform qualified as clothing.
The table she was dancing at was one I’d noticed earlier. That dusky girl with the three workmates. The girl was flushed, pretending not to watch Kimmi’s suggestive movements, hiding her desire to peek up the dancer’s skirt. Her companions were more open in their enjoyment, cheering and banging their fists against the table. The girl said something about leaving. One of the men broke off his cheering to whirl on her, saying loudly enough for me to hear, “We’ll go when we’re good and ready! Now finish your drink and enjoy the show!”
Seeing her meekly lower her head to her drink moved me. Such dark, soulful eyes. I wanted to go over to her, to comfort her in my arms, to cradle her head against my naked chest…
I forced myself to turn away and hurry to the bar. Dimples poured me another drink, flirting with me while I watched the dancers. My mind wasn’t completely on either. I kept drifting dreamily back to my encounter with Bobby. I couldn’t help but compare it with that blast of sexual lightning that had been April.
Which was better? The experience was Bobby was more than satisfying. I was still giddy, riding the sensual afterglow. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so fulfilled. All those lost years…
Even so, I had to concede the raw power of the experience with April. Sexual lightning, indeed. What did that mean for my sexuality? And would Angela be even better? And what, I wonder, would Dimples be like?
Those comparisons were driven from my mind as big, black, Tigra leapt onto the nearest stage, dragging the stocking-clad secretary by a leash. They acted out a little play which wouldn’t make it far on Broadway, but which my pussy and I found utterly engrossing. Apparently the secretary had committed some infraction. Exactly what it was hard to say, since they had no lines. But the important thing, the delightful thing, was that she needed to be punished.
The naughty girl was begging, pleading for mercy with her eyes and pose. Tigra was captivating, merciless - dominating with her strength and her will. Tigra undress her supplicant with the whip – each crack! exposing more of the girl’s nubile, trembling body.
Tigra’s earlier promise flashed into me head: “I’m going to like you. I’m going to take my time liking you.” My moist, throbbing heart remembered her words too. Was this what she had in mind for me? I wondered, as Tigra pinned the submissive beauty’s head to the ground with her boot. In my mind, I swapped places with the abject slave, imagining Tigra’s hand reaching under my upraised ass, her fingers lifting me by the cleft on to my toes, as the audience roared.
“What’s it like?” asked Dimples, interrupting my fantasy. “Being a slave?”
That question stopped me dead, reminded me of my deceit - my real purpose for being here. I couldn’t very well say, “I’m not a slave, I only went with that adorable boy because I wanted to. Actually I’m really undercover, looking for someone, and I’ll probably never come back.”
Thankfully, Dimples didn’t wait for me to answer. “I can’t stop thinking about it.” She looked over at the dancers. “They look so free, so uninhibited, so sexy. And when they come back from…” her eyes flicked to the stairwell, and I shuddered with pleasure, remembering Bobby’s hot seed spurting inside me, my pleasure at his look of ecstasy, “…you all look so satisfied. I keep fantasising what it would be like, to Take The Green…”
I still didn’t know what to say. I guessed that Angela would expect me to say it was great, and she should go for it. But something was making me feel uneasy. Distracting me from my pleasure.
“I can’t describe it,” I told her, playing it safe. “Everyone’s different. You have to do what’s right for you.”
I needed to change the subject. And since she was on my mind… “Did you ever meet a slave called April?”
At my description of the golden-haired, blue-eyed, perfect-breasted goddess, Dimples looked thoughtful. “That sounds like Jaki. I think she was a friend of Kimmi’s. I haven’t seen her for a few days. Come to think of it, she was pretty excited last time I saw her. Something about big changes. Maybe she’s been promoted to Amber!”
Her face darkened as a more troubling possibility occurred to her. “Or maybe she’s gone Diamond…”
Before I could ask her to explain, a big beefy tattooed arm wrapped around me, effortlessly lifting me from my stool. “Hello, babe! Did ya miss me?”
That voice… Oh no. Meathead! The neanderthal!
He was grinning as he set me on my feet. He flashed his left hand at me, and my breath left me in a gasp – a Ruby stamp! He openly looked at my prize assets, then spun me around and shouted to the crowd, “I’m gonna fuck these titties!”
Heads turned towards us – faces broke into approving and envious grins, fists raised in a cheer. He was moving, dragging me up the stairs. I tried to protest, but I was so weak. He didn’t even notice.
I couldn’t let him take me. Not him! He was the antithesis of my dream man, the very worst example I could think of. If I could fuck him, I could fuck anyone. Where would it end?
But if I broke free – if I even can! – people would see my rebellion. My cover would be blown. Angela would find out. I groaned with terror and lust at the thought. Oh god, Leeza. Don’t think about that.
Then I saw my escape clause: He wants to fuck my tits.
Could there be a less invasive, less violating form of sex? Was it even sex, really?
Is it even possible to get a man off that way? My scientific curiosity was kicking in. It had to be a clumsy and messy experience – it couldn’t be fun, surely? Certainly, no fun for the girls. But why would guys even like it, when they could have pussy?
So I definitely wasn’t going to fuck him. But a tit-fuck - it might be interesting. I’ll get to see just how pathetic and desperate men can be.
* * *
He undressed quickly, revealing his big, fat, tattooed body. He flopped
on to the bed. I was surprised at the effect seeing him naked had. His
big fat cock… He wasn’t as long as Bobby, but he was definitely thicker.
What was that feel like inside me? No, Leeza!
I lifted my eyes to his. He hadn’t noticed me gazing at his nice, fat cock - he was too busy looking at my chest. Knowing what was expected, tingling with lust, I threw off my shirt, and stood proudly. “Like what you see?”
He couldn’t take his eyes of them. I felt powerful, sexy.
“Lose the shorts, bitch.” What? He only wanted a tit-fuck. Why should I-. But he was the boss. And besides, the more excited he was, the sooner he’d shoot his load and I could get this over with. I repeated my earlier show, bending over to give him a good look at my juicy, slippery cunt.
He surprised my by scooting in for a closer look, his hands on my ass to hold me in position. I gasped, feeling his breath on my lips. “What a snatch!” he said. “It’s so puffy, so red. I’d love to eat that pussy!”
Oh god.
“I bet you’d like that.” He slipped a fat finger into my pussy, and my legs buckled. Then he slapped my ass and leapt away, falling back on to the bed. “Well, come on bitch. I’ve paid good money for those tits!”
Focus, Leeza. It took me a few moments to recover enough to stand, to turn back to him. Unsure of what to do, I started to straddle him. He stopped me, commanding me to kneel on the bed. I tried to pose sexily, thinking that’s what he wanted, but he had something else on his mind.
With his hands on my knees, he parted my thighs. Then, without asking for permission, he reached in, and again pushed a fat finger inside me. I groaned in shock and clutched the bed-sheets looking at my face. Then another finger. He looked up at me, “So tight.” I groaned again, and when he pulled the fingers out, I hated the feeling of disappointment.
“And more than wet enough,” he said, displaying his glistening fingers before my ashamed eyes. Then he wiped the lubricating fluid over my breasts, rubbing it into the cleavage of my tits.
I should have been horrified at this casual abuse, but I’d just learned how sensitive my breasts had become. That caress was almost as pleasurable as his finger pushing inside me. So when he repeated the action, again and again, thrusting his fingers into my hot sex and massaging the oil of my lust into my soft flesh, I couldn’t object.
I didn’t want to object. I ground my pussy against his fingers, and pushed my tits into his hands. He was oblivious to my lust, intent only making sure I was well-lubricated. God, how I moaned and writhed.
My body was reduced to an object - a sopping cunt providing lubrication for swollen tits. Cunt. Tits. A toy. And I didn’t care. I was going to come!
Then his fingers pinched my nipples hard, nipples almost as sensitive as my clit, and said, “That should do it.”
I gasped, struggling for air, as he withdrew, groaning in frustration. I’d been so close!
He lay back, half-sitting, and patted his thighs, indicating I should straddle him. I didn’t hesitate. With unbridled lust, I leapt between his legs. He lifted his cock, and I saw it dribbling with precum, I felt joy - I had been turning him on!
I grabbed my so-sensitive breasts, squeezing his hot, hard shaft between them, and slid my body back and forth, up and down. My guess had been right. It wasn’t easy, it wasn’t comfortable. His cock kept slipping out of my fleshy embrace, and my hair kept falling over my face to block his view. It was clumsy. But by god, it was worth it!
Every nerve in my breasts seemed alive with sensation as his fat cock slid through the slippery channel, his heat spreading through my body, the pleasure building and building. Each time he slipped out filled us both with frustration, taking some of the edge off, and deliciously prolonging the experience.
It was hypnotic. Looking down, watching the engorged head of his cock vanishing into the crevice between my mounds, swallowed up as I slid upwards, and then reappearing as I slid down. The eye leaking its juice. I can smell it, the aroma tantalising, but it’s too faint. I had to lean closer, sliding further down with each thrust to get closer.
Sensing what I was doing, his hips strained, thrusting upwards. And then I was there, close enough to touch, to reach out with my tongue. I didn’t think, I was lost in the moment. Looking wonderingly at this thing of power, I darted out my tongue and licked. At the contact, I felt such a pulse in my pussy. Then I was sliding up and away from it. Then back down, this time far enough to touch with my lips.
With each thrust, I took him further into my mouth, the taste of him taking me higher. And then I’d reached a plateau of pleasure, simmering, not able to go higher, revelling in the sensation. He was so big. Filling me as I sucked, not knowing what else to do. With my tongue, I explored the length and shape of it, the shaft and the head.
Then he tensed up, grunted and threw me onto my back for the second time tonight. He straddled me, and crushed my breasts in his mighty hands – I couldn’t tell if I was feeling pleasure or pain. Then he was thrusting, each rapid, jerking motion sending a wave of raw sensation from my breast to my brain.
My own hands were in constant incoherent motion. Reaching up to feel his massive body, clawing, scratching. Then clutching weakly at my own face and hair, as I writhed, lost in passion and degradation. I couldn’t help myself – I craned my head, trying to catch the head of the cock on each up-thrust, trying to licking it, to wrap my lips around it again.
He was thrusting faster and faster, faster and faster. And then his body went utterly rigid, his constant grunts transformed into a long strained moan, somewhere between anguish and exultation. And then his body was jerking and pulsing, spraying hot seed over my face, my hair, my tits. Each globule hits me like fire, and I’m coming with him.
Oh WOW.
I was only barely aware of him rolling off me to lie beside me, his breath coming in wheezing and gasps. I was barely aware of anything other than pleasure, dazed satisfaction. I’d never imagined that being reduced to a sexual object could feel so good.
I was floating, delirious, my whole body deliciously trembling with satisfaction. I heard myself giggle. My hands moved of their own accord, drawn to my tingling breasts, caressing them, massaging the sticky substance into my skin.
Moaning at the sensation, I licked my lips and tasted his seed. I groaned, and lifted a hand, and licked the juice from my fingers. Such nectar. I’d never imagined it would taste this good.
I felt decadent, degraded, delicious.
An idea occurred to me… I lifted a tit to my lips, and licked. Oh god.
“Holy crap,” he says, “You’re getting me hard again.” I suddenly remembered I wasn’t alone, and looked at him. I must have looked so wanton – my hair wild, my eyes hooded with passion, my face spattered with cum, my tits slippery with pussyjuice and cum, and one nipple being sucked into my mouth. His eyes widened, his cock stiffened.
It occurred to me that if I kept this up, he’d try to fuck me…
So I looked him straight in the eyes. lifted the other tit, and licked my lips suggestively. Then I sucked the nipple into my mouth, and moaned with as much passion as I could muster.
He lost it. With a roar, he grabbed me, hurling me onto all fours like a ragdoll, a toy for his pleasure, and rammed his cock into me from behind. My head and tits were pressed against the sheets, as he fucked me without ceremony - short, rapid, jerks, grunting as he slammed me. Fortunately, that’s exactly what I needed! He didn’t last long, and neither did I, feeling my climax overtake me as his semen spurted into me.
We collapsed, his heavy body crushing me against the bed, his shrinking manhood a comforting presence inside me. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to move. I was delirious.
I don’t know how long we lay there, but eventually pulled away, slipping out of me with a slurping, sucking sound. I rolled onto my back to face him, one hand automatically dropping to my stirring pussy as my legs fell apart, displaying my wanton decadence.
He groaned as he dressed. “Fuck. You’re one hot piece of ass. Worth every penny. In fact…” From his jacket he drew out a wad of bills and threw them onto the bedside table. “I know I’m not supposed to do this, but here’s a bonus, you earned it.”
In the shower, I cleaned the sweat and what was left of his delicious cum from my body. Under the invigorating spray, the fog of lust started to clear, and it began to sink in.
I am a whore.
In the shower, I cleaned the sweat and what was left of his delicious cum from my body. Under the invigorating spray, the fog of lust started to clear, and it began to sink in.
I am a whore. And I was so good at it, I’d earned a bonus.
My stomach churned with disgust. But, worse, I was getting aroused again. With water cascading over my body, the wanderings of my soapy hands were becoming softer, slower, sensuous.
I am a whore. A dirty slut. I cradled my breasts and squeezed, the breath rushing from lungs. My pussy was feeling left out, demanding attention…
I’d just acted out a scene from a porn movie, and with my past, I had good reason for that thought to chill me to the bone. But it only made me hotter. I’m a dirty cocksucking whore!
NO!! I’m not like this!! I leapt out of the shower, and grabbed a towel to scrub myself dry and to scour away the lust.
Once I was dry, I found myself looking down at the flimsy excuses for clothes. I hated the thought of putting them on – that would lead to walking out of here, back into the club. Where I’d face the lusty gazes of all those patrons. And those gazes would inflame my apparently insatiable lust.
Oh April. What have you done to me? Was this always part of me, just waiting to be unleashed by your kiss, your tongue?
The silence was shattered - the bedroom door opened. Acting on instinct I killed the restroom’s light and swung the door shut. But my T-shirt was blocked the doorway – it remained ajar.
I heard a man and woman entering. She was speaking softly, submissively. “I’ve been such a bad girl, a naughty girl.” There was something familiar about the voice.
I heard them moving around – someone settling onto the bed, lowered voices, rustle of clothing. Curiosity got the better of me and I peered through the crack in the door. What I saw sent a cold shiver through my body.
He was young, maybe still a teen judging by the acne, in crumpled jeans and a shirt covered in food stains. She’d been awe-inspiring, frightening, domineering, and yet, impossibly, here she was - Tigra, lying across the lap of some young, spotty geek, begging him to punish her!
She was looking straight at me, and time stopped as our eyes met. She looked away, ashamed, and my heart – and my pussy - ached for her.
Then she jumped. He swatted her behind with his hand. Again. He couldn’t be hurting her much, but she was on the verge of tears. The sheer humiliation of being brought so low. And then I noticed something else – the way her hips ground into him, the way she lifted her ass to meet each slap.
It was such an arousing sight. I didn’t consciously notice my fingers enter my pussy or the hand squeezing my tit - I just felt the pleasure.
He stopped swatting for a moment, and said, “Now, my little kitty, it’s time for the belt.”
She rolled off his lap and knelt at his feet. He seemed surprised, but not alarmed. “Master, may I speak?”
He was enjoying the view, and nodded. I imagined she looked very good from that angle, still in her leather corset.
Her eyes darted briefly in my direction, and my fingers froze. I felt rising panic.
“Master, we are being watched.” And she turned and pointed triumphantly at me. The bitch! She got up and strode confidently towards me – THIS was the Tigra who’d entered my fantasies. I was paralysed.
She kicked open the door and exposed me standing there, still with a finger in my pussy. I couldn’t remove it, it was all I could do to stop it from moving, thrusting. I managed a weak moan.
He was startled. “Wh – what…”
Tigra continued, a predatory expression on her face, a look that turned my insides to jelly. “She’s a very naughty girl, master. Even naughtier than I’ve been. Shouldn’t she be punished?”
His confusion was quickly replaced by excitement. “I – I guess.” Then more certainly. “Yes, slave, she should.”
She pulled my hand away from my pussy and hurled me to my knees in the bedroom, before him. I couldn’t look at either of them. I looked at the floor. I thought you liked me! I demanded of her in my thoughts, even as pleasure made me weak. Will it never end?
Tigra was now speaking to him, softly, submissively. “Master, I’m so sorry, but house rules are very specific. You’ve paid for one girl, me. You can’t do anything to this naughty slut.” I felt a hot pulse of frustration.
“But I can punish her for you. It’s your choice, Master. We can send her away, and you can have your way with me as you planned. Or you can watch me disciplining her, and then do what you want with me. Shall I send her away?”
I looked up. My fate was being discussed as if I wasn’t present. I had no voice. That would have once made me angry, but now… I saw the bulge of his erection, and knew what he’d decided. I groaned, overcome by an unfamiliar mix of fear and anticipation.
Tigra recognised his desire too, and smiled menacingly. She walked over to one of the walls, and slid back a large concealed panel. From the compartment within, she swung out some kind of frame, bristling with hooks and straps. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Leeza, what have you gotten yourself into?
Then she returned to me, and grabbed my hair, dragging me to my feet. That broke my mental paralysis. “You can’t do this!” I whimpered.
She grabbed the pendant, used and used its chain to drag me like a leash over to the contraption. She whispered in my ear, “Don’t play so coy. We both know: you want what I can do to you.”
She was wrong. I was frightened. I wanted her to escape, for her to let me go. I told her so, pleading miserably.
But she was also right. I wanted her to take me, to crush my resistance, to ignore my pathetic cries for mercy.
She faced me to say, “You could break free of my grip if you really wanted. You could get to the door and call for help. But I’m telling you not to do that. I’m ordering you to stay. And you’re going to do as I tell you. Aren’t you?”
Oh god. How could I even think of refusing her? When she could make me feel like this.
She took my silence as assent, and strapped me into the frame. She made short work of the task, clearly having done this many times before. Soon, I was spread-eagled, with some kind of strap around my abdomen helping to support my weight, and another around my neck to support my head. My body was tilted slightly forward, my tits dangling beneath me. I was helpless, completely at her mercy, no part of me beyond her reach.
On the bed, the geek had lain back, his jeans around his knees. I couldn’t see his member behind his hand, and that bothered me. Cocks were beautiful things.
The bed-sheets were different, I realised with a start. Someone had changed them while I was in the bathroom. My mind was fraying under the tension, and I almost giggled in semi-hysteria, at the absurdity of noticing that detail at a time like this.
What was she waiting for? And why was I so desperate for her to begin? Just get it over with!
Tigra opened another panel in the wall, revealing a variety of straps, cords, whips – I didn’t recognise most of the things hanging there. But I knew in my hot, throbbing heart that they weren’t good for me.
She lifted each implement and showed it to the geek, inviting him to choose what she was going to use on me. He finally selected a rod not much larger than barbell, from which trailed a lot of thin leather strips. I felt relieved – those tassels didn’t look very substantial at all. But the way she smiled gave my pussy a spasm.
“You’ve been a naughty girl.” She said, as walked around me, trailing the tassels over my flesh, my back, my breasts, my abdomen, my ass. I jumped and twitched at the delicate sensation. She was speaking.
She grabbed my chin and turned me to face her. Looking into my eyes, she declared a simple truth: “Naughty girls need discipline.”
Then she looked down at my tits. Oh god, not there, please not there. I knew now how sensitive they were!
She smiled evilly, stepping away, raising her hand. I squeezed my eyes shut and tensed for the blow.
Nothing. And then she was changing position. “You’re going to be a good girl for me.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of fact. And it was from behind me.
Whoosh! Leather whipping through the air. My body went rigid – but no impact. She was teasing me, tormenting me.
Suddenly, her hand was on my butt, gently but firmly stroking. Preparing the ground, I thought in rising fear.
And then, that whoosh! And still nothing. She did it again, and again. The geek commented on how lovely I looked. “I love the way her tits bounce when she jumps… I’m going to pick her next time!”
Distracted by his words, I was completely unprepared for the impact, the fire erupting in my buttock. It was like being struck by a dozen straps, each landing in a different place.
Then her hand was back, stroking, soothing, as I squirmed in my bonds. She whispered, “Very good. That’s my girl.” I wasn’t able to squeeze my thighs together, but my body tried anyway, to ease a different heat blazing in my pussy.
Such pain. Such pleasure. Is there any perversion I’m not guilty of?
And that’s how it went. She’d tease and torment me, always managing to catch me by surprise, causing me to shriek and shake and writhe in my leather chains. Then she’d soothe me, stroking the blazing heat of my buttocks, her fingers moving closer and closer to the wet heat of my pussy.
How could she be so harsh, and yet, so gentle? As she soothed me, she spoke quietly, telling me I could take it, telling me she knew I wouldn’t let her down. I wanted her to be right. I didn’t want to let her down.
But she wasn’t going to let me tell her. She gagged my mouth with some kind of rod, like something a pony would wear. It forced my jars apart, and the rod bulged in the centre, pinning my tongue against the floor of my mouth. “It’s for your own good,” she told me in that soothing way she used just before inflicting pain.
And I noticed, in helpless horror, that a different sensation was building inside of me. The pain and pleasure had merged together, and now something like an orgasm was building – but something darker, more soul-shattering. And I couldn’t stop it. It was coming, and there was nothing I could do. And so I felt myself letting go, abandoning myself to the feeling. I was completely at her mercy. I belonged to her.
And then he groaned, and shouted, “Tigra, get over here bitch! I need you now!” I’d forgotten he was there.
Her demeanour changed instantly – her shoulders slumped, her expression softened. No! I thought. Don’t stop! You can’t stop now!
She looked into my eyes, sadly, and I had the sudden desire to comfort her, my torturer. Then she pulled a hood over my face, plunging me into darkness, and abandoned me.
I heard her whispers and whimpers as she went to him and abased herself before him. The sounds of leather against feminine flesh. Then the sounds of something being hurled aside, and the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh. His crude gruntings: “Take it, bitch-slut!” Tigra’s pathetic cries of “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Then came their mutual moans and cries of release, and then silence.
But above all, I was aware of the screaming need of my own writhing, twitching body as I moaned and slavered into the gag – the roaring fire of my buttocks, and the gaping hungry void of my aching cunt, crying out to be filled, weeping at its emptiness.
* * *
And so there I hung, forced to listen to him dressing and departing.
Unable to move as she lay there, recovering. Then, finally, feeling anticipation,
hope of release, as she walked towards me. And then plunging despair as
she passed, going into the restroom. No!
I was so overcome, sobbing in frustration, that I didn’t hear her return. “How’s my naughty girl?” I moaned into the gag, incoherent with excitement. She lay her hand against the fire of my buttocks. I flinched, trying to get my raw nerve endings away from her. I couldn’t go far.
She waited, her palm against me, until I settled, and then she gently, firmly squeezed. I couldn’t tell if the pleasure was so great it became pain, or the pain was so great it became pleasure. And she didn’t let up. She was using both hands now, alternately stroking and squeezing – only the buttocks, the raw tortured buttocks.
How my weeping cunt cried out for attention, so close to her fingers. And each twitch or flinch of my body, every vibration, sent my oh-so-sensitive tits a-jiggling, another tormenting source of pleasure.
She whispered, “You’ve been a very good girl. I’m going to show you something amazing. You’re going to cum for me. Are you ready?” Oh god, yes! Please!
“Be a good girl, and cum NOW.” And, amazingly, her hands on my blazing buttocks, and her dominating voice, sent me crashing over the edge; the fire, the pleasure erupting into my brain, wiping out conscious thought.
My body thrashed about in its bonds like a ragdoll, my incoherent screams absorbed by the gag. But Tigra was there, holding me, her hands gently stroking away the fire, her voice bringing me back to earth with soothing, comforting words.
She released me from my bonds, and my weak, twitching body fell into her arms. She removed the hood and the gag, cradling my head against her naked breasts. She stroked my hair as I wept tears of release, of gratitude and love.
“Thank you,” she said. I didn’t understand why she was thanking me - I was still recovering and couldn’t think, let alone speak. She leaned back a touch, and I fell forward, my head slipping down her body to rest comfortably in her lap.
She sounded so sad and wistful. “It’s been so long. I don’t get the opportunity to do that much anymore. I have to savour those moments of being in charge.” Her aroma was all around me, enticing, arousing.
She stroked my hair, and her voice choked up. “I came here with Kristina, my sub. She’d fallen under the spell and it was the only way to keep her. But she’s gone diamond now… I can barely remember what she looked like. We used to sit like this. I’d run my hands through her hair like this. I – I think it was black. But I can’t remember what she felt like any more…”
I opened my eyes, and gasped. I could see her pussy. I knew how to I could make her feel better…
As my head moved up her thighs, she gave a little sigh and planted her hand on my back. “Stop. I want to warn you…”
I felt strange. I’d been threw the wringer, and now I felt calm, satisfied, and aroused all at once. It was like being in a trance. And so I just stopped. I didn’t pull away, I just lay there, enjoying the closeness, and the scent that was growing stronger.
Then she lifted her hand. “Fuck. There’s no point fighting it. Go ahead.” And she lay back, opening her legs, and I felt thrilled at the opportunity to give her pleasure.
I’d never been this close to another woman’s pussy. Is it racist to wonder if black pussy tastes different from white? I wondered dreamily. I leaned over her, my face close enough for her to feel my breath, and savoured the intoxicating scent. My fingers reverently opened the folds of her inner beauty to my gaze. So pink! And so juicy and wet.
My breath caught in my throat as I noticed the ring through the clitoris. It was small, but large enough to ensure the clit could never sink back into its protective hood. I couldn’t resist – I took hold of it and gently rocked it. Tigra immediately stiffened. I looked up, worried I might be hurting her. Her head was thrown back, an expression of lust, while her hands manipulating larger rings through her nipples.
I leaned in close to kissed her lips, and to work my tongue between them. Remembering April, I took a deep breath, and then thrust my tongue into her like a dagger. She stiffened, “Oh fuuuccckkk!”
With my hands on her hips holding her still, I tried to suck as much of her soft wet lips into my mouth as I could. At the same time, I was darting my tongue in and out, as deep as I could, thrilling at her murmured whispers of pleasure.
Then I pulled back, and she sighed in disappointment. I traced a finger of each hand around her pussy, towards her exposed clit and then away. Was it stretched by the ring, I wondered, or just naturally so large?
The sound of her cries and the taste of her filled me with joy and lust. I leaned in, drawing the engorged nub into my mouth, gently sucking, licking, squeezing, rolling the ring with my tongue. I was also jabbing two of my fingers into her cut, repeated rapid thrusts. The combined assault took her over the edge, and I was startled to feel something gushing against my face.
I felt energised, aroused, and at the same time, fulfilled. I’d made her come. I’d given her pleasure.
I now felt her hands on my head, as she pulled my up alongside her, and we kissed. A deep, long, soulful kiss. She broke the kiss, tears in her eyes, and said, “We can’t stay her forever. We’ve taken too long. Angela’s on duty and she’ll notice.”
At the mention of Angela, my heart tightened, and my cunt twitched. Tigra looked flustered by the thought, too. So we headed into the shower, and quickly washed each other. “If only we had more time…” she said.
She saw my eyes glancing to her nipple rings. “Fascinating, aren’t they? You’ll get yours pierced, too. We all do, sooner or later.”
* * *
Such pretty lights. I was leaning at the balcony overlooking
the clubbers dance floor, captivated by the glitterballs and their pretty
lights. As I stood there, rocking my hips to the beat of the music, my
eyes often wandered to the dance floor below. So many pretty young things…
Men and women. A world of possibilities.
But which of them could afford me? I thought sadly.
At that thought, I cast my eye at the other spectators on the balcony. They were older men, and by their outfits, clearly wealthy. I felt my pulse quicken, and turned by back to the dancers. I leaned back against the rail, and stretched to draw attention to my body. Yes! They were looking.
There was a stairwell leading down to the dance floor. A bearded older man in a suit emerged from the stairwell, leading a girl, a clubber. They were an odd couple. He was twice his age, his Harris tweed jacket probably cost more than she owned. She was young and very pretty, and clung adoringly to his arm. There was something in her eyes, a dreamy dazed look. Like she was in love. It was sexy.
But it also stirred something at the back of my mind. I tried to dismiss it, to turn back to my audience. But before I could, someone grabbed the older man from behind, shouting, “That’s my girl!”
The older man whirled to face two young clubbers - both males, spoiling for a fight. And by the look of them, they knew how to fight, and didn’t take nonsense from anyone.
The talkative youngster said, “Jessie, come with me, we’re going.” The girl seemed torn. She looked at the speaker, and back to the older man.
The older man stared them down. He was certainly brave. “She was your girl. Now she’s mine.” And he put his arm around her, possessively drawing her into his arm. I think I heard her whimper.
“Let her go.” The younger man seemed suddenly less certain of himself, surprised at the ‘old’ man’s confidence .
“She doesn’t want to go with you. You’re mine now, aren’t you, Jessie?” He looked down at her and she up at him, and after a pause, she nodded and cuddled against him.
The older man then turned back to the boys. “Now stop being a nuisance, and run along.” He wasn’t merely confident. He was arrogant and patronising.
And they took it! The two boys looked deflated. They actually apologised. “Sorry, Mister.” Then, heads low, they headed back down the stairwell.
And the older man led the girl, his prize, away.
For some reason, the exchange aroused me tremendously.
But it had also broken through my giddy euphoria. It didn’t make sense.
Those boys looked like bruisers. But they’d backed down, rather than fight for their girl. Maybe they didn’t deserve to keep her. They had accepted defeat so gracefully. Without posturing, they just walked away with their tails between their legs.
And the girl… What was it about that look?
I looked around for them. They were on the other floor, heading past one of the dance stages. Kimmi was on the stage, slowly removing her sailor’s outfit.
Following my instincts, I headed after them, hurrying down the stairs and across the floor. But something else was percolating through my mind. Kimmi – what was it about Kimmi? Was it something Tigra had said?
I found myself remembering my encounter with Tigra, my own submission to her. At the rush that brought, I had to stop and lean against a pillar. My insides had turned to jelly.
Focus, Leeza. Tigra had mentioned something – a warning? A diamond? That thought led me back to Dimples. She’d mentioned a diamond – and April! Kimmi had been a friend of April. I looked up at her on the stage – I needed to talk to Kimmi.
Around the stage, patrons were urging her to come over so they could slide money into her garter. One group of patrons in particular caught my attention. The group I’d seen Kimmi dancing for, earlier. The dusky woman who’d been hiding her interest now had a bunch of bills in her hand and was waving it at the dancer. Her jacket was gone, and her blouse was open revealing the bra beneath. She’d certainly got over her shyness!
Her three friends were around her, one either side and the third embracing her from behind, openly fondling her tits. One of the man at her side grabbed her head, and they kissed, while she was grinding her ass into the man behind her!
They were getting carried away. The dancer was forgotten, as the man behind the dusky girl pulled off her bra and threw it into the crowd. She laughed and whirled to kiss him, and they tumbled to the ground.
Before they could get any further, the bouncers were there. They grabbed the entire party and dragged them away, to some catcalls from the disappointed audience.
* * *
I looked around for that guy in the tweed jacket and his girl, but
they were long gone. But Kimmi was still here, so I headed to the bar to
wait for her. I didn’t mind waiting – I could watch the remaining strippers,
and I was in a good position for men to look at me.
I sat carefully, my buttocks were still sensitive. Moving around in these tight shorts was a constant source of stimulation.
Dimples wasn’t around. She must have finished her shift. I missed her.
The mirror behind the bar was very useful. I could study the effect of different postures and poses on my body and face, imagining the effect they might have on any viewers.
The boobalicious Pandy saw me practicing, and came over to offer some tips. We made small talk – she had lots of advice about cosmetics that might be good for me, a subject I didn’t know much about. A fact I intended to remedy.
She took out some lipstick, and painted it on to my lips. “It needs a little extra,” she said, and leant forward to lick my lips. That turned into a kiss. Our boobs pressed against each other, sending surges of pleasure through my nipples.
As we drew apart, I noticed the people sitting nearby were staring. Naturally, we smiled at them and hugged, licking our lips.
Pandy turned back to me. “This rouge is very useful for nipples.” And with that, she lifted one gargantuan breast out from her top, and demonstrated by applying the powder.
I stared, open-mouthed. “They’re so big.”
She nodded, as she put it away. “It’s a result of a glandular problem, apparently. I forget the details. Can you believe I once thought of getting them reduced?”
I didn’t know what to say. I loved my tits, so large, but Pandy’s monsters… They might be too big even for me.
She continued. “Yes, I had an appointment arranged and everything. Then one of my doctors told me of an experimental treatment. Something that would strengthen muscles and tighten connective tissues. My monsters weren’t quite as big back then, so I thought, it was worth a try.
“It was an oil I had to have someone rub into my breasts and back.” She giggled. “It tasted like cum.
“It worked, though. But then he told me the price. I had to become his sex slave. Can you imagine that? There I was – someone who could barely walk, crippled by back pain. Now I was healthy and full of life. And someone wanted me! I was so happy, I fucked him there in the office.”
I was having trouble breathing again. Aroused, but also troubled. I felt like I needed to get away, to think. Something she’d told me was very important. What was it?
“You’re a sex slave? This doctor – he owns you?”
She looked a little sad for a moment. “Not any more. But then, how many relationships really last? He got me this gig. Now I’m surrounded by people who want to have sex with me. It’s heaven!”
“So that’s when you got the necklace - when you came here?”
She looked down and twirled the pendant in her fingers. “This? No, my doctor gave it to me during the treatment. Said it was some kind of ID thing, all the people in the medial trial had to keep them. The sexy liar. But I like it, so I’ve kept it.”
I was so close to something. The facts were all in my head. But how to put them together. I needed to think…
But Pandy suddenly dropping to her knees was a big distraction! I looked around, and saw the nearest bartender lower her eyes respectfully, as someone stepped up beside me.
He reached out a powerful hand, resting it on the bar – and there, on his ring finger, a large red gem. It felt like the breath was punched out of my lungs. An actual ruby, not a pathetic little stamp.
“Slave Leeza.” His voice – so powerful – reverberated through my body. My stomach was churning. My nipples ached, they were trying to pierce the shirt. My hot, dirty snatch was seeping.
I turned in his direction, but I could see only his feet. I wanted to say something, but I could barely breathe, never mind talk.
He told me: “The proper response is ‘Yes, Master.’ Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master!” I breathed, able to talk at last.
He held his hand out to the bartender. She gave him something. My wallet! The one that had been in my jacket pocket, the one I’d left with Angela. Then he said, “Follow me,” and walked away.
I rushed after him, my thoughts racing, as we entered the car park. My wallet – it had my credit cards, business cards, driving license. If Angela had gone through it, she’d know who I was. There was a reason that should bother me, wasn’t there?
Then we’d reached my car. “I’ll drive,” he said. “You won’t be able to find your way home.”
“Yes, Master!” It was such a rush, just saying those words.
I dropped into the passenger seat and winced. He noticed. I was sure he noticed everything.
“Get out.”
I was an a fever, a panic. What did I done wrong? I felt so low, I was almost in tears. I wanted to throw myself at his feet, beg for his forgiveness. Would he let me touch myself?
He walked around the car to where I stood, trembling. “Take them off.”
My mouth opened in shock. But I didn’t dare hesitate. I whimpered a “Yes, master!” and tore off my T-shirt, then wriggled out of shorts.
As I undressed, I glanced around. No-one was about. I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.
I started to roll down my stockings. “You can leave them on.”
“Yes, Master!” I shuddered in pleasure. “Thank you, Master.” Then I gasped in fear. That wasn’t the proper response! I almost looked at his face to see if he was angry, but I thought better of it.
So I stood there, in the car park, clad only in heels and stockings, my hands clasped behind my back.
He walked around behind me. “I see you’ve been punished.” Then he touched me, his hand gripping my sensitive buttocks. My legs buckled as I almost came.
“Yes, Master,” I gasped, barely able to speak.
“That wasn’t on your itinerary for tonight.” He said quietly, as if talking to himself. I didn’t know how to respond, so I stayed quiet.
“Someone will have to be punished. Who did this?”
Oh god, please not that!. Tigra hated it so much when she was punished. She’d been so nice to me.
But they must have security cameras on the doors to those rooms. They’d be able to figure it out. I’d only be making it worse, if I lied. More people would be punished. And could I even lie to him?
Those thoughts took barely a second to process, then I spoke. “Tigra, Master.”
I had betrayed her, that woman I felt so close to. So why did it feel so good?
“Good, Leeza. Back in the car.”
I was floating, on cloud nine. He was pleased with me. “Yes Master,” I almost squealed.
I started to reach for my clothes then froze. I started to hyperventilate. He hadn’t told me to dress. What to do? WHAT TO DO?
But dressing would keep him waiting, and naked, he could look at me…
I prayed it was the right guess, and entered the car, sitting carefully.
Shaking in abject terror, I waited for his rage.
“Fasten your seatbelt, there’s a good girl.”
Again, I almost came in relief, my breath whooshing out of me.
* * *
I wasn’t paying attention to the road. I wasn’t paying attention to
anything, I was watching my knees. Were they far enough apart? I
wondered. Was I sitting right? Did I look submissive enough?
But it was as if I didn’t exist. His hands on the wheel, his feet on the pedals. What if the car is stopped? What will the policemen think of me, sitting here naked? So horny, I’m dripping onto the seat…
The journey was taking an eternity. It was agony, It was ecstasy.
“Leeza,” he said, casually breaking the silence. “Did you enjoy your first night?”
There was only one possible answer. “Yes, Master!” And it was true. I’d never experienced so much pleasure. And I had a sudden insight. All that pleasure, all that degradation – it had been leading up to this moment. Preparing me for him.
“If you enjoyed that,” he said, “you’re in for a treat. I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. You’ll never be the same again.”
I felt like I was fainting, the world slipping away from beneath me. But I was fully conscious. Keep going! I silently urged him. Please keep talking! Tell me what you’re going to do to me. Just a few more words and I’ll cum. I’m so close!
But he didn’t say anything more, and I was left stewing in the furnace of my lust.
Then the car was coming to a stop, in a parking garage. The parking garage of my building, I realised suddenly.
* * *
He unlocked the door to my apartment and ushered me in. On the way
up, I’d been fantasising that everyone on my floor would be waiting for
us when the lift doors opened. But we’d made it to my apartment without
bumping into anyone – not surprising, given the time of night.
And now I was letting this stranger into my apartment, so he could fuck me like I’d never been fucked before. Not for the first time tonight, I was filled with dread, burning with lust. But this time it was different. This time, there’d be no going back.
He didn’t head straight for the bedroom. First, he looked around. Examining the bookshelves, the CD collection, the decor.
He looked at the mantel, and the piece of oriental art above it – a temple I’d visited in China, a place I felt peaceful. “This has to go.”
What? But…
“This is the perfect place for a portrait.” He turned to look at me. “We like our girls to remind themselves of what they are. So, you’ll go to this address,” he held up a card and placed it on the mantel. “You’ll go there tomorrow and get your photo taken. You’ll be given a print, and you’ll hang it here. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master!” I answered without hesitation. Give me another order! , I screamed in my mind. Give me another reason to say those beautiful words.
Then he wandered through the rest of the apartment, looking around, and I followed meekly, hoping he’d speak. I could smell my lust, the scent following me around, filling the air.
I wondered if I should offer him a drink or something. I wondered if he’d be cross. Would he punish me? At the panic that struck me then, I knew that I did not want him to punish me. He wasn’t weak like Tigra.
And then I stopped, my eyes widening in horror. There, slung sloppily over the radiator. A discarded sweater. Not mine. My little sister’s. Jody!
He’d just looked inside the bathroom, and was now turning, heading for Jody’s room. I was paralysed.
Jody! What will she do if she sees me like this? What will he do if he finds her? Will he want her more than me?
I had to stop him. But I was paralysed. And so I watched, as he swung the door open.
He looked around, and then moved on, towards my bedroom. I hurried forward to Jody’s room, and sighed in heartfelt relief. Empty. She was probably still out clubbing, or the little slut had hooked up with someone. Either way, she wasn’t here. Whew!!
And then it hit me: My bedroom.
I hurried after him, what was left of my nerves fraying with excitement. I’m going to get fucked!
He had my wardrobe open, and was shaking his head, sighing in disappointment. Tears filled my eyes. Tell me what to do to make it right!
“That card I gave you,” he said. “There’s a list of approved stores. You’ll be able to find more suitable replacements for these –“ and he gestured absently at my wardrobe and dresser. He wasn’t being specific. Did I need to replace all my clothes?
I didn’t dare ask. I decided I would replace them all. That would be safest.
Then he looked at the bed, and again, I nearly fainted. “Lie down. On your back.”
I scrambled on to the bed, almost falling in my excitement. As I lay there, waiting, he slowly, casually removed his clothes. He folded each item, placing them on a chair.
I stared at the ceiling, the tension eating at me as I waited impatiently. My hands twitched. Dare I lift them to my rock hard nipples? Or slip a finger or two into my molten snatch. Perhaps flick the throbbing clit. Maybe just grind my burning buttocks against the sheets.
But what if he disapproves. Fuck! FUCK! Just fuck me already!!!
Finally - FINALLY!! - he moved to the foot of the bed. He must have finished undressing. I couldn’t be sure, because I didn’t dare look at him. I felt so small, so pathetic, so worthless. I didn’t deserve to gaze upon him.
“Leeza.”
“Yes, Master,” I breathed, so glad to be able to say those magic words again.
“This is your first time with a Master.” As he spoke, he climbed on to the bed, between my legs. The nearness of him was driving me crazy.
“I do not expect you to give service as a slave should.” He lifted my legs on to his shoulders, and even that touch was exhilarating, excruciating.
“Just lie back. Let it happen.” Then his body was above mine. I turned my head and closed my eyes, terrified I might see his face without permission.
Then he felt IT brush against my thigh, his COCK - my whole body went rigid. I couldn’t breathe. His hand slipped down between our bodies, taking hold of himself. I lifted my own hands, clasping them behind my head, straining with frustration. Please, ram it inside me! Fuck me! Make me your slave!
And then - and then I felt the head against my engorged lips. I almost screamed. This was what I’d been waiting for!
Then he pushed into me, and I did scream. My climax ripped through me as he filled me – pleasure obliterating all thought. And it was only going to get better!
And then he was withdrawing, leaving a gaping, empty whole. “NO!” I shrieked, losing the most important part of me.
And then he was thrusting again, and I was complete once more, screaming from another mindblowing climax.
And so it went, each thrust driving me to another climax, each one greater than I’d ever felt before – each one greater than the last. I screamed myself hoarse, my body writhing helpless beneath him, speared on my Master’s cock!
And then suddenly his pace accelerated. He was pumping rapidly, and I was dying! My heart was bursting, my mind exploding with passion! But it wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t pass out! There was no escape! I was going to die! And I welcomed it. If that was what my Master wanted, then it was Right.
Then his body went rigid, and he groaned, and his sacred burning seed erupted inside of me. And with that heat flooding my body, every single nerve screaming pain and pleasure, erupted with in my body erupted the pleasure passed beyond mere pain, beyond sensation, into pure fact – as consciousness left my body, four glorious words were permanently inscribed in my brain: I AM A SLAVE!
* * *
That should have been the end of my story. In my craziest dreams
– or nightmares – I could not have imagined what was to come. That this
was had been merely the first step of a wild, wild journey. Let me
tell you what happened next…