From: evil@bay.com (Marlissa)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: REPOST The Arts 1/3 (m/f, f/f, nc, mc)
Date: Sun, 24 Nov 1996 15:35:24 GMT
Message-ID: <579q0f$vj6@decius.ultra.net>


The Arts

by Marlissa



"What's your name?"

She ignored the unwanted question.  The questioner was an odd looking
kid in black.  Some kind of arty type she assumed in his turtleneck
and black denims.  And about fifteen years younger than she was.
Tracey drew the newspaper toward her as the train rumbled to the next
stop-her stop.

"Hey, what's your name, I asked."  The voice was insistent and held an
edge she didn't appreciate.  She put the paper down, looking him in
the eye.  "Tracey.  Tracey Hollis."  Why she tell him that?  Anyway
the train stopped and she got up.

"Sit down.  We're just getting acquainted," the kid demanded.  

And her legs gave out from under her.  Was she that tired?  She didn't
think so, but...

"Tracey, I'm Mr. Locke," the boy informed her-which was laughable,
because he was all of twenty or so.  Not a bad looking kid, but the
ego was insufferable.  "How about a coffee, so you can tell me more
about yourself?"  

She could walk back to her apartment from the next stop, but she
wasn't getting up to get off with the rest of the riders.  She
remained sitting across from the kid.  Tracey nodded limply.

They went to a Starbuck's, where he ordered a latte for each of them,
but when it was apparent he wasn't pulling out a wallet to pay, Tracey
reached into her own purse and drew out a couple of bills.  "Keep the
change," insisted Locke, pushing the silver back.

Pretty generous with her money!  But she remained silent, content to
follow, sit and begin drinking.

"I'm an artist.  What do you do?" he asked.  His smile was wide,
friendly, confident-but his gray eyes were impenetrable.

"I'm an attorney with Browne, Taylor & Garrick."  Soon to be a partner
actually.  Which was why she was working so hard and why she had
managed to get herself at a Starbucks having coffee with a kid fifteen
years younger than she was.  She had to get home-

"That will be convenient.  Your career that is."

What the hell did that mean?  She cleared her throat.  "I think you
have the wrong idea about what is going on here, my young friend."
Tracey gave him a forgiving smile and picked up her briefcase.  "I've
got to get-"

"What are your measurements?"

A gasp. Then, amazingly an answer.  In a clear voice too.  "I'm a
32B-26-32."

He chuckled.  "You're a B cup?  You look so small!"  He didn't exactly
keep his voice down and some other patrons overhead him and chuckled.
Locke drank his hot coffee slowly, blowing on it.  "I think you're an
A cup.  I think your titties look like As, just like," but he caught
himself.  "If you want me to believe you, you'll have to prove to me
you wear a 32B size bra.  Go into the bathroom, take off your bra and
bring it back to show me the tag with 32B on it.  Go on-  be a good
girl and do it.  Or I'll leave right now."

Tracey was on her feet, rushing for the bathroom.  Before she knew
what she was doing, she had unbuttoned her blouse, unhooked her bra
and confirmed what she already knew was on the tag: 32B.  Just barely,
but she was a 32B and she'd show him now, PROVE to him she was, before
he left...

As nonchalantly as possible, Tracey slipped back into her seat and
handed the balled up garment to him.  Without hesitation, he held the
slight white soft cotton garment up before him.  Pairs of eyes were
watching, colleges kids giggling at her predicament and Tracey flushed
a deep red.  He demanded loudly that she show him the tag and in
humiliated silence she pointed out the small worn tag.  

"Well, I guess you DO wear a 32B bra, Miss Tracey Hollis.  But this,"
he flicked her Hanes For Her softcup bra on the table, "doesn't do a
thing for your figure-does it?"

Why the Hell should it?  It was for comfort, not lingerie! She
screamed in her mind.  Why had she done that, why had she taken off
her bra-

"Does it?" he repeated, this time with impatience.

"No, not at all," Tracey Hollis answered immediately.  

"I better take a look at the rest of your undies, Tracey.  Let's go
back to your place."  He rose and she followed suit.  Without thinking
she reached out for the bra lying on the table.

"Leave it.  It's boring."

Tracey Hollis was reeling, eyes avoiding the rest of the patrons as
she followed him out.  Three blocks later she was opening her  door
and allowing him in.  While they walked, she tried to sort out what
was going on, why she was doing this.  To no avail.  She was under his
control.  The doorman to her co-op  brownstone looked oddly at the
couple as Locke squeezed the older woman's ass through her skirt.  The
twenty-something sealed the humiliation by leering at him and winking.


"Why don't you get comfortable by slipping into your sexiest lingerie
and high heels, fixing me a drink and then we'll get on with your
undies inspection.  Hop to it Tracey!"  Locke slapped her playfully on
the ass and she scampered to comply.  Five minutes later, Tracey shyly
presented herself in a pink babydoll and pink three inch heels.

Locke's smile was mocking.  "God you need lots of work, Tracey!  No
boyfriend obviously-am I right?"

She shook her head in agreement.  A doll.  She was a damn doll with
him!

"All right, forget what YOU think is sexy and go put on your sluttiest
pair of panties and bra.  Scoot!"

Swallowing hard, Tracey slipped on the cheap black lace thong she had
received as a gag gift at a birthday party a couple of years ago and a
black lace bra and tried again.

Locke was shaking his head.  "Bra doesn't match Tracey-does it?"

"No, but it is the closest---"

He waved his hand imperiously.  "Take it off then.  Your titties
hardly need a bra anyway, Tracey!  But I do like that thong-more what
I like than that silly babydoll.  Get me a vodka tonic and "  

Obediently, she slipped off the black lace bra, letting it fall to the
floor.  Her smallish breasts swayed slightly as she pranced in the
heels to prepare his cocktail.  Upon return, he ordered her to wear
each and every piece of lingerie she owned.  It was admittedly not a
large collection.  Tracey hadn't been in a relationship in a few
years, concentrating instead on her career.  

Strange what was happening, but maybe not so strange.  Obviously some
unconscious desire had permeated her and she had become infatuated
with this kid though.  Because it was feeling good to display her body
for his pleasure this way.  Ironic to her, because she had always
considered herself to be an active feminist who hated submitting to a
man.  And yet here she was, pirouetting in her panties for his
amusement.  

"Like what you see?" she teased.  She wanted this to happen. She could
afford to be playful.

His gray eyes caught hers briefly.  "Keep quiet.  And put something
else on."  

She didn't like the tone, but did as he said.  Finally she had worn
every panty, bra, pair of stockings, camisole and other intimate
garment she owned.  They all lay at her naked feet on the floor in a
pile of whites, blacks and pastels.

"Good.  Now throw out everything that is made of cotton.  Then every
panty that is not a thong.  Then every bra that is full-cut, padded or
does not have supportive wiring.  Throw out every pair of panty hose.
You may wear what is left."

He wasn't kidding, because there was no smile on his face.  Her lover
wasn't kidding.  She had had enough.  This wasn't some sexual
adventure any more.  Tracey needed to assume control.

"Look, you're a good looking kid-that's probably why we're doing this.
But let's just make love and cut the cute movie comments.  This isn't
9 1/2 weeks and I'm not about to throw all my underwear out.  I doubt
this is going anywhere beyond a one night stand, so why don't YOU be a
good boy, strip down and let's both go into the bedroom.  Ok.?  If
not, hit the highway, Jack."

Locke put his drink down.  Tracey wasn't surprised as she watched him
take off his belt.  But then he wasn't taking anything else off.  She
looked at the buckled over belt in his hands.  It was a thick black
mean-looking item.  That's when she began to grow frightened.  Truly
frightened.

"You're a naughty girl, Tracey.  You deserve a spanking for such sassy
backtalk."  He patted his knee gently.  "Come on, Tracey-time to learn
how to speak properly to your new boyfriend.  I don't tolerate that
kind of lip from a mere woman."

She didn't know if she pulled down her thong panty for her spanking or
he did it himself.  But it was his belt that crashed down on her bare
backside and they were her tears that fell to the carpeted floor as
the punishment accelerated.  

Later she had been ordered into the corner, with thong around her
ankles, and left staring into the wallpaper to contemplate her uncivil
tongue toward her new boyfriend.  Tracey rolled the word over in her
mind.  HER NEW BOYFRIEND.  The one that had so casually taken her over
his knee and spanked her like a little girl-despite the fifteen years
that separated them.  Despite the hate she felt for him.  

"You can pull your panties up now Tracey.  Learned your lesson?"  

Tracey yanked the black lace thong up, happy for even the small
modesty it permitted.  "Yes, I did," her voice replied, curiously
laced with deference.  Why?  She despised him.  Yet she was smiling in
a simpering way now, eager to please.

"Throw out those unsexy undies now."

She gathered them up and did so, tossing the perfectly good underwear
into her trash. As she pushed them into the bottom of the kitchen
trash bin, Tracey thought about what was happening in her apartment
and wondered.

Returning to her living room, she stood before him quietly.  Somehow
it was natural that she should keep her head bowed, eyes averting his
as she spoke to him.  "What is going on here?"  It wasn't asked
accusingly, but honestly.

"Oh, that.  Well," Locke ran his palms against her bare thighs, "I
guess I own you now."

She shook her head.  "I-I don't understand what you mean.  You mean
that we're...involved?"  It sounded stupid to put it that way, but
Tracey didn't know how else to describe it.  

Locke's pale angled face tightened with hilarity.  "Involved?  You're
hysterical.  No-I mean you're my property."  His gray eyes and lipless
mouth widened at Tracey's incredulity.  "Can't believe it?  Then why
have you acted the way you've acted all afternoon?  You-Tracey Hollis,
the great lawyer extraordinaire and defender of women's rights?"  He
hopped up and gently pushed her into her bedroom.  As he stood behind
her, they both looked at the near nude woman looking sheepishly back
at them from the full-length mirror.

"Look at her-recognize her?  She's Tracey Hollis.  Thirty-five,
successful lawyer, Dartmouth undergraduate, Duke law school.  Almost a
partner in Browne, Taylor & Garrick.  Makes about one hundred
twenty-five thousand a year.  Drives a Range Rover-very chic!  Owns
this condo.  Virulent feminist-local NOW chapter leader and liberal
Democrat fundraiser.  That's the public Tracey Hollis.  But NONE of
that is important in the least to me.  What is important to me is how
my new possession can amuse me.  Let's talk about Tracey, Mr. Locke's
sextoy. "

She shivered as he ran his fingers along her cheeks.

"Look at her face.  She is not pretty.  Tracey is too intense to be
pretty.  Look at her deep set hazel eyes.  With those naturally thin
eyebrows and high cheek bones, she looks almost angry.  Intelligent
eyes, always searching and sizing up the world.  Look at that
nose-thin and upturned, from down which her eyes are constantly
judging and evaluating.  So superior.  And her lips don't help-too
thin, never painted enough to give one the unspoken promise of kisses-
the mouth too tight, too determined.  Her complexion is perfect, if
far too pale.  And of course her trademark auburn hair-a short
slightly flipped pageboy that is all-business and easy to maintain."

Locke caressed Tracey's wan cheeks as they examined her in the mirror
like doctors.  "No-not a pretty face.  There is too much independence,
too much defiance in it.  Like the body.  Her small breasts, her
nicely toned body-running suits her as an exercise, though she'd never
think twice about aerobics, would she?  Running is serious, aerobics
would smack too much of body shaping to suit her feminists tastes.
Though her hard little body has fine shape for what it offers."  He
patted her backside appreciatively.  "About 5" 7' and 125 pounds are
we?  Excellent for a woman your age.  There are twenty year olds I
know that would love to have your body, even with your tiny boobs.
No-you're not pretty, Tracey.  But certainly striking. There is
something  in you that dares a man to break your spirit.  To make you
submit.  Because once you are properly broken in and tamed, all that
independent will and energy would be refocused on pleasing your
master.  You'd be eager to learn new tricks to perform.  You'd make
quite a playful little bedmate once that happened, wouldn't you?"

Tracey didn't answer.  If not for self-preservation instincts, she
felt she was in danger of her mind tipping into madness.  Maybe it was
a dream, because certainly she couldn't be willingly submitting to
this treatment, these comments, his chastisements.  She would be
acting: the police needed to be called, charges filed.  Breaking and
entering, attempted rape, kidnapping.  A dream, certainly.

"I'm going to leave now.  But first, I have some instructions for
you."  Locke held her head in both hands and Tracey thought he might
be trying to strangle her. Instead he whispered in her ear.  Nasty
things, despicable things.

He patted her ass one more time.  "Be sure to remember what I just
told you.  You wouldn't want to earn another spanking, now would you?"

The memory of the bright sparkly pain exploded in her head and Tracey
shook her head vigorously.  No, she definitely would not like to earn
another spanking!  And with that he left her apartment.

That had been a week ago and she had written off the whole episode
since then.  Why not-she only remembered it as a daydream, one she
must have had on the bus.  Weird but people have weird dreams, don't
they.  It wasn't like there was any proof that her mystery man was
anything other than a figment of her imagination.  Too much work-she
needed to take a vacation, maybe go see her sister.  And as the week
had progressed, she made an absolute commitment to herself that she
would take some time off.  Because while the whole spanking dream was
explainable (if real-seeming enough!), her new impulses were less so.

BUY NEW UNDERWEAR

Well, she had needed some things.  That was easy to rationalize-Tracey
was no clothes horse and she tended to hold onto things for years.
Many of her panties and bras were showing their age.  But the choices
she was making seemed odd.  She had never gone in for elaborate
undergarments.  It was a shame strategy that the male-dominated
fashion industry used to goad women into buying whatever they were
manufacturing-one she had never succumbed to.  But now she found
herself buying the skimpiest kinds of thong panties and little
French-cut bikini nothings.  All silk, lace or polyester too.  No
comfortable cottons that most of her old things had been.  And the
bras-matching push-up things she felt embarrassed about looking at,
let alone buying.  She was small-chested, but had never bothered to
artificially boost her size up, except with some subtle padding.  Now
she was buying underwired half-bra things that made a small neat shelf
of her once unremarkable chest.  And that wasn't all.  Because in
addition to the new impulse towards more interesting bras and panties,
she had also gone and bought a number of different colored garter
belts and stockings.  She had felt an uncontrollable revulsion towards
her pantyhose and thrown them all out.

BUY TIGHT CLOTHES

That was strange too-she had always favored the loose casual Gap look.
But now she was buying skirts and blouses that left less and less to
the imagination.  Not that she was going crazy-her new clothes were
quite acceptable.  Well maybe that blue skirt was a bit too short for
the courtroom and the sweater too form-fitting, but most of the new
purchases were o.k.  It was on Thursday when she found herself asking
one of the secretaries where she had bought her black leather mini
that Tracey realized she was dressing more like one of the firm's
younger secretaries than the other lawyers or partners.

SHOW MORE SKIN

Well, so she left a top button undone.  Or two or three.  It wasn't
such a big deal.  And she didn't deserve the stares she had received
when she had come in wearing a cute new yellow belly shirt.  She
wasn't due in court and she wasn't seeing any of the firm's clients.
One of the older partners had spoken to her about it and she had
brushed it off.  And rightly so-she could dress any way she damn well
pleased!  None of the new impulses were that out in left field.
Though the last one nagged her because of the frustration it was
causing her.

DO NOT MASTURBATE

Tracey was a thirty-five year old single woman.  She was too busy to
indulge in any affairs, so masturbation was something she did on a
regular basis.  Hell, she could make herself come.  It wasn't
something she was ashamed about.  But now every time she felt the
urge-before bed or in the morning-the impulse denied her.  Like her
trusty fingers had turned to cold iron.  And though the impulse denied
her release, it hadn't taken away the urge or need.  She was horny as
hell and all she could think about was scratching the itch.

"How have we been this past week?"  The voice was sly, knowing.  She
spun around.  It was Locke.  She had just come home-- her door had
been locked.  Had she fallen asleep in front of the teevee?  Was she
dreaming again?  Must be.  Though it was still light outside, she
couldn't get herself up.  She looked up.

"Stand up, Tracey.  Let's see if you were paying attention to me last
week."  He gestured her to stand up and present herself for his
perusal.

It was a dream, so naturally she obeyed him, easily rising up off the
couch.  HE nodded as he approached her.  Without hesitation, Locke
reached out to cup one of her breasts.

"Cute halter top-- bet this got the attention of your fellow
attorneys!"  He squeezed her small breast and she moaned softly.  "A
perkier look for your little bumps too."  He yanked down the pink
halter to reveal an electric pink strapless push-up.  He plucked at a
tag in the back.  "Wonder Bra-- good girl!  At least there's a little
something to hold onto now."  He callouslessly unzipped her teeny
black spandex mini.  It slipped down her legs, revealing a matching
electric pink lace thong panty.  The tiny thing barely concealed her
sex.  Locke brushed his fingers against the brownish-auburn curls that
peeked out from the lace panel.  "Unslightly, young missy, very
unsightly!  But your taste in skimpies has vastly improved so I'll let
it pass-- this time.  I'm sure," he chuckled, "you won't let it happen
again." 

She remained silent-as she always had in these strange dreams.  Tracey
wanted to, but ever since the spanking she had received from her dream
visitor last time, she dreaded another such taste of his displeasure.

He snapped her thong panty.  "This should be on the outside of your
garterbelt, in case I might wish to use you.  Always keep yourself
accessible to your owner."

The words rang hugely in her head.  She noticed now that when ever
Locke uttered a command, it filled her mind to the extent of
overwhelming every single other thought.  He acted with such much
natural propriety about her, it seemed reasonable that she should hang
on his every word or touch.

"Your body is trim of course, but you must pay more attention to
bringing out those feminine curves of yours.  Dressing appropriate
will help-but you'll receive other instructions about that.  Hmmm.  So
far so good for the first week.  Are your superiors taking note of
your changes?"

She nodded, a bitter smile on her red painted lips.  "Yes.  I've been
given a warning about wearing acceptable clothing."

"And you've ignored it of course-because dressing like a little tramp
IS appropriate for you NOW."

She nodded.  "Oh, yes."

He snickered.  "So the partnership is out by now."

Tracey's intelligent gray eyes blinked.  "Oh, yes.  In fact, I doubt I
have any future with the firm at all at this point.  I have been a big
disappointment to them-I can see it in their eyes."  She was not
bitter about this-it was the price of the dream that she remain
nonplussed.

"Good.  You've probably got another week before ruining your legal
career completely with your slutty attire.  Just enough time to get a
few more things done before we move on to the next phase.  But before
we do that, I must congratulate my little slavegirl on her complete,
unquestioning obedience.  Such behavior deserves a reward-even from a
cruel master like myself!"

Tracey found a wide silly grin blossoming on her lips.  He was pleased
with her-that was a good thing, she was sure of it!

Locke seated himself on the couch and pointed at the carpet before
him.  "Assume the position little bitch."

Tracey dropped to her black silk stockinged knees, the toes of her
black high heels perfectly perpendicular to the floor.  With a small
effort she spread her legs as far as she might, clasped her hands
behind her back and kept her head bowed (THE POSITION).  

"My obedient little bitch is accepting her training well.  Soon you
shall be a tamed little ornament for my strange whims.  I am pleased.
You may finger fuck yourself bitch."

Trembling with lust, Tracey dropped her right hand between her legs,
underneath her pretty pink thong.  Her index finger found her pussy
warm wet and  waiting.  She gently began pumping herself, hips rocking
with increasing pleasure as she did.

"Keep your eyes open and look up at me little bitch.  I want to see
love and gratitude for me for permitting you such slutty play."

She focused on his eyes.  They mocked her, degrading her with their
superior inspection.  It would have been better had he allowed her to
do this in private.  It was so humiliating having to do this before a
boy fifteen years younger than herself.  And yet those were the
rules...HIS RULES.  She smiled gratefully up at him.

"Pretend I'm fucking you.  Show me how excited you'd be.  Go on-my
cock is invading you."

Tracey moaned and gyrated wildly.  Her finger was pistoning now and
she whipped her hair from side to side.  Being penetrated by this man
gave her life meaning; it meant she was important!  Dirty leers
crossed her wild flushing face-the cock was inside her now...

"Go on-finish off little bitch.  I grow bored with your performance.
You have fifteen seconds to bring yourself to orgasm."  Locke's eyes
pointed to his wristwatch.

It wasn't long and she had no idea when she might be permitted such an
opportunity again.  She began plunging her finger faster and harder,
and found her puss wetter and hotter...

"Seven, six, five..."

God no!  She had to try harder!  Tracey moaned harder and louder, her
hips on fire as she bucked them against her slender finger...

"...four, three, two, one...STOP."  Locke savored her disappointment as
his kneeling slavewoman yanked out her finger with a liquid plop!
"Can't cum?  That is because only I determine when you are permitted
to cum.  Only I can allow pleasure into your life.  And when you
deserve to cum-which is the greatest accomplishment a slut like you
can achieve-I will be the one who gives it to you."

Perspiration made her pale face glow and her gray eyes were soft and
round with unspoken pleading.  All Tracey Hollis wanted to do was cum.
She would do it on her knees before a college kid at his command like
some ten dollar whore.  She would do it however he liked her too-but
she would do it if he let her.  She prayed silently.  She wanted so
much to cum.

Locke's smile was narrow and evil.  Looking down at the kneeling
woman, he snapped his fingers.  "Cum, little bitch."

Tracey felt her pussy explode.  The snap echoed through her body,
which immediately responded with a rocketing orgasm the like which she
had never enjoyed.  Vaguely she wondered if this was a wet dream and
if her panties would be soaked when she woke up.  Probably-who cared?
This was heavenly!  The pleasure might have lasted forever, when he
snapped his fingers again and the warmth dissipated.

"Good.  Now clean yourself."

Tracey looked uncertainly at Locke then started to rise.  He pushed
her back down.  "No-not in the bathroom.  With your mouth."

What did he mean?  Then she looked at her sticky right hand.  It
glistened with her pussy juices, which coated the fingers and the palm
which she had used to push deeper.  A frown of disgust creased her
pale face.

"Oh yes little bitch!  The price of your naughty slutplay is cleaning
up after yourself!  Have you never tasted yourself?"

Tracey shook her head slowly.  "No- never.  It's...gross."

Locke ignored the comment.  "I won't repeat myself because I'd love
the opportunity to take your over my knee again."

Her tongue darted out, hesitantly, to her right hand.  It was tangy,
sticky, awful.  She continued to lick.

"You'll do this on your knees before me everytime you are allowed to
touch yourself.  When you cum this way, I want your pretty mouth to be
filled with your little bitch taste.  Soon you'll know your taste very
well."  

While she dutifully lapped at her fingers and hand, he spoke to her.
"Now listen carefully..."



