"Jesus, Clive, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

I heard incredulous laughter. I tried to guess how many people were there; not many, I figured, possibly three, one of whom, I suspected from the pitch of the laughter, might be a girl.

"Let me introduce you," Clive went on, stroking my hair as though I were a lap dog. "This is Harriet. Harriet is a veryspecial friend of mine. Aren't you Harriet?" Gagged as I was by his now stiff cock, I could not reply, and could only nod obediently, causing my tongue and the inside of my cheeks to rub suggestively against him. Clive wriggled beneath me. "Ohh, that was nice," he said, "very good, Harriet. Just keep sucking, pet."

"Clive, I can't believe this. How did you do it? She's gorgeous."

"Isn't she? She's my little pet, my little plaything." A welter of conflicting emotions whizzed through my mind, as I knelt on the floor between his thighs, sucking his cock. I was naked, other than my stockings and suspenders, and knew that as I sat there, servicing this hideous, arrogant boy, I was totally exposed to unknown people behind me, schoolchildren like Clive, by the sound of the single voice and various laughs I had heard so far. It was so utterly humiliating, so degrading, being used like this, paraded in front of, to me, invisible people, forced to comport myself in this base fashion, spoken of as though I were a house-trained puppy, compelled throughout the conversation ranging above my head to suck on Clive's juvenile dick. A tear sprung from my eye, a tear of humilation and frustration, of desparation and despondency; but also, I knew, a tear borne of the realisation that however degrading my position, there was no denying that my pussy was tingling and damp, and that familiar, overwhelming rush of excitement was pinging through my brain.

"How did you do it?" the voice behind me repeated.

"How did I do it?," swaggered Clive, revelling in his position at the centre of awed attention. "Oh it's easy. Little Harriet just adores me. Don't you, pet?" Again, I nodded, and Clive theatrically responded to the stimulus of my mouth on his cock with loud groans. "She'll do anything for me. Anything I ask. Won't you, poppet?" This time he took my head in his hands again and eased me back from him, drawing my mouth from his cock. He tilted my head up so that I was looking directly into his eyes. "Won't you?"

"Yes," I sighed. Behind me, the audience cursed in amazement.

"Manners, my little pet. Yes what?"

There was no way I was going to call him Master. I have only one Master, I serve only one Master, and my actions here this evening had nothing to do with obedience to the hideous Clive, but to my beloved Master. I had been instructed by him to obey Clive's commands, and it was that instruction, rather than Clive's, which I was following when I performed for him.

"Yes, Sir," I replied.

"Christ!" exploded the voice behind me. "That's just incredible. How did you do it?"

"Charisma, Richard, it's all about charisma. Some of us have it, some of us don't. Little Harriet has fallen for my charisma. Haven't you, pet?"

"Yes, Sir," I mumbled morosely.

"Lick my balls, pet." Clive shuffled forward in his seat, raising his thighs and presenting himself lewdly to me. This was Clive's way of demonstrating to his friends his complete control over me. I did as instructed, and licked tentatively at his relatively bald testicles, sucking one gently into my mouth, and rolling my tongue over and across his wrinkled sac. Clive pressed forward in his seat again; I knew what he wanted, and pushed my head down, reaching with my tongue for his perineum, and licking up and down between his balls and arse.

"Play with yourself, pet."

I froze. Somehow, ridiculously, given the position I was in, that seemed even more humiliating. Until now, I was an unwilling participant, outside the moment, merely servicing the boy and giving pleasure to him; to force me to play with myself was to bring me into the active arena, it turned me into a player; in a perverse way, it made me feel more exposed than I already was. As I prevaricated, I felt a slap on the side of my head. "Did you hear, pet?"

Mechanically, I moved my hand to my pussy, and as I knelt in front of him, tonguing his balls and arse, I began to diddle with myself. With a flood of shame, I realised I was sodden and my lips were swollen and receptive.

"Make yourself come."

I wasn't sure whether I could do that, no matter how turned on I was. It was such an unnatural position, wanking in front of people I could not see, while licking Clive, and I did not think I could relax enough to make myself come.

"Otherwise I'll spank your little arse."

That settled it. That was a humiliation too far, and I couldn't contemplate the horror of being spanked by the monstrous brat. I forced myself to concentrate on the forces building up within me, circling my clit and scratching my nail gently over it, sliding my fingers against my labia and stroking up and down their length. I tweaked my nipple and nipped at it forcefully, the shrill bursts of pain darting through me and adding to the build up of emotion within me. I pictured myself from the vantage point of my observers, objectively watching Harriet the Slave Girl perform as instructed, watching her on her hands and knees, naked, sucking on a schoolboy's cock and playing with her pussy, and tried to feel their sense of awe that this person would submit to such indignity. And I thought of the indignity, and I thought of my Master, and how pleased he would be when I reported to him on my evening's activity. And I thought of how he might reward me, how he might show his appreciation of my efforts. And with a picture of my Master in my mind, and love for him filling every inch of my body, I came.