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From: Robin Neal <robin-neal@hawaii.rr.com>
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X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Mon, 25 Aug 2003 23:17:43 -1000
Subject: {ASSM} Pet {Robin Neal} [4/?]
Date: Tue, 26 Aug 2003 07:10:03 -0400
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This story may be included in the ASSM archive, but may not be
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or published elsewhere without written permission from the
author.
<1st attachment, "Pet4.txt" begin>
Copyright (c) Robin Neal, all rights reserved, reposting without
permission prohibited
PET
4. NIGHT OUT
She helped me out of the limousine. We were on a dark side
street in what had to be the red light district. No one was
close by, but the lights and noise from the nearby thoroughfare
were like a carnival. I fought my handcuffs and made a little
frustrated, angry whining noise, but she took me by the pony tail
and shook me once firmly, then held me face-first against the car
while she unbuckled my gag and unlocked the cuffs. The first
thing out of my mouth was "I'm not going to..." at which Cissy
shook me again and said "Pet!" in the voice she used when the
very next thing I said would get me punished. Scared into
silence, I stood there trembling and sniffling, rubbing my
wrists, while she gave me instructions. "Pet, you are fond of
using inappropriate terms to describe the role of a House girl,
and it's time you learned the difference firsthand. All I expect
of you tonight is to accomplish your task and get back to the
House by yourself. If you can do that, you will not be punished,
and you will have gained an important new perspective. I know
that you think this will be difficult, but you will find that it
isn't if you can simply discipline yourself and do as I've told
you. A taxi home costs about twenty-five dollars. Once you have
the money, get a cab and give the driver the card in your purse.
There is nowhere else you can go even if you knew the city. And
Pet..." she paused as she was getting back in the car, chillingly
beautiful in her boots and furs. "Do NOT make me come find you."
The huge limo hissed away and I looked around, frightened by how
alone I was and desperately trying to think of a way out of my
situation. I looked in the little purse for the first time, not
knowing what I was hoping for, and found hardly anything.
Lipstick, a compact with powder in one side and mascara and
eyeshadow in the other but no mirror, a hairbrush, the card with
the address of the House and a pack of long menthol cigarettes
and a lighter. Not even a quarter for a phone call! For a
minute I thought of just trying to hide and wait for morning, but
just then a door slammed up the street, away from the lights, and
a man's angry, drunken voice yelled something I couldn't catch.
Terrified, I hurried toward the thoroughfare, trying to keep my
balance on the slick pavement in my five-and-a-half-inch mules.
I had trained in them at the House but this was the first time I
had ever worn high heels on the street.
Halfway to the corner I stopped and looked at myself in a shop
window, putting on lipstick and trying to keep my tears from
messing up my mascara. The maids had given it an extra effort
when they had made me up earlier. I took my hair down and gave
it a few quick strokes. Then I got my first good look at my
dress. My breath caught and I almost started crying again. It
was hopelessly brief. I had popped a nipple out of the scooped
neckline while brushing my hair, and it was already erect from
the cool breeze. I pulled the stretchy little micro back up over
my huge boobs, and the hem rode more than halfway up my ass. On
the third try, by putting my purse under my arm and using both
hands, I got both my nipples and my bottom covered. I hadn't
taken three steps before I could tell by the chill that my cheeks
were partly exposed again. At least the tight spandex kept my
heavy breasts somewhat under control, but I was totally
humiliated to think that people were going to be able to see my
vagina if I wasn't really careful the way I moved. Maybe even if
I WAS careful. I bit my lower lip, blinking back my tears, and
then mentally kicked myself for messing up my lipstick. Back to
the shop window and fixed it again. Dammit, Pet, stop sniffling!
This was so confusing, so unfair. This isn't me, I kept
thinking over and over and over. I don't look like this. I
don't act like this. I'm not like this!
I hovered around the edge of the lights at the corner, wracking
my brain for a way to get the money other than by doing what
Cissy meant for me to do. I didn't think I was capable of it.
Ever since I had been brought to the House and Cissy had
explained to me what a House girl is, I had refused to even
consider it. But what were my options? I had nothing to sell,
nowhere to go, nobody I could talk to except at the House. For
the first time, the House seemed like a refuge to me. Any man I
talked to outside would probably try to jump me. I could be
abducted, raped, God only knew what. Any woman on this street
would see me as foreign competition. I had no ID, so the cops
would assume I was a hooker and arrest me, then probably try to
jump me. I was so frightened. All I wanted was to be back in my
room. There, if I was good I wouldn't be punished and I was
getting used to my training. The only people I had to please
were Cissy and the Instructors. The other girls wouldn't bother
me even if they were jealous. They were busy with their own
training.
Finally I couldn't wait any longer. Someone was going to notice
me anyway. There were crowds of men and a few women, cruising
between the clubs, topless bars and peep shows, laughing and
carousing. I gave my dress a last hopeless adjustment and
started up the street to the right, staying close to the wall. I
didn't get far before the catcalls and whistles started, and at
that moment it came to me that I was making it worse by trying to
hide. Mademoiselle Marienne, the Posture Instructor, had talked
about it a million times. Her cold, intense tone came back to
me.
"Carriage is a projection of self-image, young ladies. Show the
world that you are weak and insignificant, and you will be
treated disrespectfully. Show the world that you are special and
impressive, and the world will beg to please you." I made myself
try, and as my months of posture training took over I held my
head higher, boobs thrust out and back arched. To my surprise,
my dress fit better this way. I gave the hem a little twitch and
it stayed down as long as I kept my chin up and my shoulders
back. It even covered most of my butt. I started handling my
heels better and took short, balanced steps, knees straight, a
bit pigeon toed like a runway model. Right away the noise
slacked off; the watchers buzzed among themselves instead of
making rude noises. By the time I got to the end of the block, I
was almost strutting. In the street lights I could see that my
dress was a shiny emerald green, setting off my coppery red hair.
For the first time in my life I got a real gut-level taste of
being an attractive girl, a sexy girl that people WANTED. It was
humiliating and shameful and wild and powerful.
But it wasn't getting me any closer to home. I ducked into the
quietest bar I could see close by, a dingy little place with a
curtain instead of a door. It was very dark inside and smelled
like a dirty carpet soaked for years in beer. I tried not to
make a big entrance and still keep my posture, but I got noticed
anyway. The men in the booths buzzed. I headed straight for the
refuge of the ladies' room, and touched up my makeup in the
cracked mirror. I needed to pee, but couldn't make myself use
the filthy toilet. I would just have to wait. Lipstick perfect
again and so nervous I was getting hiccups, I ventured back out
into the barroom.
There weren't many people inside and they were mostly in the
shadowy booths. The bartender was a fat, bald man right out of a
movie. I minced over to the bar, chose the stool second to the
very end, and froze as I realized I had two problems. One, I had
no money for a drink even if I knew what to order, and two, I
could think of no way to get up on that bar stool, even with my
long legs, without showing the entire establishment my pussy. I
had to do something, do it right away, and do it gracefully.
Heart pounding, I put my purse on the bar and made it up as I
went along. It turned out to be a kind of slither, knees tight
together, one hand on the stool and one hand keeping my boobs in
my dress. It worked all right considering how bad it might have
been, but when I was settled I realized I was sitting on the
leather of the stool, not the fabric of my dress, and if I could
have looked past my bosom I would have seen my cute little shaved
pussy exposed to the whole world. I crossed my legs, quick.
With problem number two behind me, problem number one was
looming. The barkeep was on his way. I had to stall him until I
could think. Reflexively I picked up my purse and opened it, not
looking his way, and he hesitated halfway down the bar. Once I
had my purse open there was only one option. Never having smoked
in my life, I started right then. The pack was full but already
opened. A good thing because I would not have known how. I
watched myself in the bar mirror, trying to look nonchalant and
elegant as I lit my first cigarette, put my lighter away and blew
smoke at the ceiling. It tasted awful but had an immediate
calming effect. I marvelled. Had Cissy, somehow, known I would
have to do this?
He was on his way again and I didn't really have any better plan
than before. It crossed my mind wildly that I should tell him
the truth, that I didn't have any money at all and could use a
drink anyway, but before he arrived a voice on the other side of
me said, "Um... Hi." It was a serviceman, a sailor I guess,
young and not terribly good looking, with an embarrassed but
determined look. He had been sitting with a couple of similar
guys when I came in but I had barely noticed in my rush for the
washroom. Now he had obviously decided to say something to me,
but when I turned to him, relieved to be rescued from the
bartender, he seemed to get stuck. His buddies in the booth
snickered.
"Hi," I said helpfully in my best contralto. What on earth was
wrong with him? Then it hit me that he was frozen by my looks,
confronted by an exceptionally beautiful girl. No, I corrected,
confronted by an exceptionally sexy girl. I watched him try
twice, and he could not take his eyes away from my cleavage. An
incredibly devilish feeling swept me. He tried to tear his eyes
away again. I arched my back just a little bit. He failed. I
blew more smoke at the ceiling.
The bartender was waiting and I finally let my new friend off
the hook. "I can't think of what to order," I purred. Purred,
also for the first time in my life. "What do you think?" From
that point on, it was pretty easy for a while. I had a glass and
a whole bottle of pretty inexpensive champagne in front of me, a
benefactor on the next stool who seemed so overawed that he
didn't even try to put his hand on my leg, and for the first time
that night I had some options. Paul wasn't much of a
conversationalist and whenever I didn't want to answer a
question, I could turn to give him a little deeper view between
my boobs and he would forget what he'd asked. I was learning
fast. I found out a couple of typical things about his life
story, and I had my third glass of champagne, my second
cigarette, and I even made a quick foray to the ladies' room and
back ( to do my lipstick again, I was getting kind of obsessive
about it ), complete with a repeat performance of getting up on
my barstool. Paul might have seen the barest flash of my pussy
before I got my legs crossed.
I thought of asking him to loan me twenty-five dollars, but I
just couldn't bring the conversation around to it. Visions of
Cissy and what she expected me to do tonight, where that
twenty-five dollars was supposed to come from, kept going through
my mind. She was going to ask me about it and I had learned that
I positively couldn't lie to her. She would punish me herself,
this time, if I didn't do what I was supposed to, and I had good
reason to fear her punishments although they never physically
harmed me. So I talked to Paul, whom I had decided was kind of
nice, and had another glass of champagne, and then I began to
notice something disturbing. I was getting wet. By now my
barstool had wiggled over a few inches somehow and my thigh was
up against Paul's, and I was getting wet. Since I had come to
the House that had never happened unless Cissy made it happen,
which she could do any time in any of a hundred ways. But it had
never just happened. Now my naked sex was right against the
leather of my barstool and without meaning to I was rubbing it
when I moved, and I was feeling it, getting slippery without any
really direct stimulation. In the back of my mind, crazy
confusion began to form. Again and again I thought, "But this
can't be happening. I'm being forced to do this. I don't want
to do it!" And further back in my mind, hidden in a kind of
secret place, a little voice whispered, "Or do you?"
Finally, the situation resolved itself the only way it really
could. I was going to lose my chance. I had unintentionally
pushed a breast up against Paul's arm a couple of times and I'd
had a couple more glasses of champagne and my nipples were
getting very obviously hard. In fact, my boobs themselves felt
swollen and kind of hot, almost itchy. I just took a deep breath
and leaned over and told him in a whisper what I wanted to do
with him and how much it was going to cost. He seemed just a
little taken aback, but he had the money and what could he really
say? I had another cigarette and another glass of champagne, and
he went and had a word with his awestruck friends and then we
left together. I was noticeably tipsy and he helped me down off
my sex-partner barstool and escorted me out the back door to the
parking lot. The decision made and my new hormones raging, I was
feeling fey and wild. As we walked I took his arm. He put his
hand in the small of my back, I moved it down to my ass and
settled it there firmly. It kind of helped keep my dress down.
I almost as tall as he was, in my mules, and he had to take very
slow steps so I could keep up. I was walking pigeon-toed again,
and switching my ass back and forth a bit without even meaning
to.
When we got to his car (it was a big pickup truck) I didn't even
let him unlock it. I gently pushed him back against the door and
put my boobs up against his chest and bit him on the ear. He
gasped. His jacket was over his shoulder, and I took it from him
and dropped it to the ground at his feet and started kissing him.
He seemed totally entranced, his eyes might even have been
closed. I shoved my bosom hard up against him again and slid
down the length of him to my knees. My mouth was at the level of
his belt buckle and I clicked my teeth against it gently, teasing
him. He had taken his wallet out of his pocket, and I took it
out of his hand. Barely remembering what I was supposed to be
doing, I took out twenty-five dollars and put it in my purse,
then put my purse on the ground beside me. I reached around
behind him and put his wallet in his back pocket, then opened his
belt buckle and his pants, dimly remembering to be careful not to
break a nail. The physical reality of his penis stopped me for a
moment. I kept thinking that I didn't want this, I didn't know
how to do it, and if I did it I would be somehow changed forever.
But my little voice, the whispering one, argued that I did want
it, I had to learn sometime, and I was already changed forever.
That last part, anyway, was certainly true.
I kissed Paul's cock, stroking it gently. I was just a little
afraid of it. It got bigger. I stroked harder. I tasted. Then
I licked. His moans encouraged me. I tasted again. Then, heart
thumping and breathing hard, I took it in my mouth. It was
pretty big for me, for a first time. I slid it in as deep as I
comfortably could, then slid it out and licked some more. A
warmth was growing deep in my belly, down near my crotch, and my
nipples were so hard. This time when I slid it in, I slid it in
a little DEEPER than I comfortably could, and I started to move
my head in regular strokes. Somewhere during the next few
minutes, I started moaning with him and truly sucking. I forgot
everything except what I was learning at that moment. I had one
hand around the base of Paul's dick and somehow got my other hand
down between my legs. My massive boobs had come out of my
ridiculous little dress and were pressing against his thighs,
stimulating me even more. My incredible new body took over and
didn't need my brain at all. Everything I tried seemed to work
perfectly. Part way through, I learned how I could get the full
length of his cock down my throat for a second if I didn't
breathe. When Paul finally exploded, I had my hand on his ass,
my nose in his pubic hair and my lower lip against his balls and
I felt his climax like it was happening inside my own body, which
it sort of was. We convulsed together, he groaning and I unable
to make a sound. In a way, despite everything Cissy had done
with me, I had never been so penetrated, so soundly fucked.
Paul recovered slowly, gasping, and so did I. I had actually
come, fingering myself, right after he had. He asked for my
number, still tongue-tied as he watched me try to get my tits
back in my dress. I didn't have a number to give him. I said I
might see him again in this part of town, but I wasn't sure. It
occurred to me that I could tell him I needed a place to stay.
But I would have had to tell him some reason why, and I couldn't
tell him about the House or who I was, and I wasn't thinking
straight enough to make up good lies. Anyway, being a sailor he
probably didn't HAVE a place for me to stay. In the end, letting
him go felt right. He drove away and I breathed a deep sigh,
trying to sort out all these new feelings. Paul seemed so
different from men I had known in my previous life, but my little
voice said that what was different was me.
I WAS different, I had changed, whether just now or gradually,
over time, I couldn't really tell. I turned to the car parked
next to me and looked at my reflection in the window. Who was
that strange, beautiful girl? I wondered incongruously if they
had any more of these little dresses at the House, maybe black?
Cissy had had the maids tie me to my dressing rack to get me into
this one, it was the only way to make me hold still enough. Now
I realized that I wanted to try on some others. Why did I want
that? I wondered how I'd look with my hair piled up like Shelly,
a girl in class everyone thought was really lovely, or with my
makeup different. Cissy had given me a little shiny purple thong
bikini a few weeks ago when I'd sort of accidentally been good,
and I'd petulantly thrown it in a drawer and refused to wear it.
She said since it was a gift, I didn't have to wear it if I
didn't want to. Tomorrow, if I could, I was going to see if it
fit. New feelings were washing through me faster than I could
keep up. I thought of Cissy again and now, when I wanted so
badly to be back at the House, it came to me how she always took
care of me, and I realized for the first time how it hurt her too
when I fucked up and she had to punish me.
It being past midnight, and being alone in a parking lot in the
worst part of town, I stopped philosophizing. I got my heels on
and straightened my dress and my hair. I had lost all my
lipstick and I redid it in the side mirror of a car. My
foundation and eye shadow still looked pretty good. I kept to
the shadows until I got around to the thoroughfare. But when I
stepped onto the sidewalk I lifted my chin and my boobs high, and
walked like I'd been trained to. Instead of going to the curb
and waiting for a cab, I walked up the sidewalk hunting for one.
I lit a cigarette without stopping, casual as if I'd been doing
it for years, and blew smoke at the sky. People stared, I stared
back. When a taxi came down the boulevard, I stepped to the curb
and stopped it with my boobs. I just put my hands on my hips,
pulled my elbows back and held them out where the driver could
see them and brakes squealed. As I swivelled my long, long legs
into the back seat, I wondered whether I could go to a police
station or something, tell the story of my kidnap and try to go
back to my former life. I wondered, but only for a second.
Fingering the first twenty-five dollars I ever made doing
something I really wanted to do, I handed the goggle-eyed driver
Cissy's address card and blew smoke out the open window.
<1st attachment end>
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