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| Making Chelsea Pay 10 | Back to N | Back to main page |
Collected by Djian
Making Chelsea Pay
By Frantic
Making Chelsea Pay -- Chapter Ten (c) 2001, Frantic
This is an original work of fiction, which contains scenes of explicit
sex and themes of domination, humiliation and control. If you are
under the legal age to view such material according to the laws in
force in your country, or are offended by the themes or coarse
language, you should stop reading now.
You should obtain the permission of the author before reproducing this
work, and NO permission will be given to anyone who wishes to
reproduce it on a for-profit website.
I am always seeking feedback, so please email me with any comments.
Chelsea's life settled mostly into a nightmarish kind of routine over
the next couple of weeks.
Every morning, she would awake, blinding pain in her head, and stumble
through to Davis' bedroom to wrap her mouth around his cock and suck
him to wakefulness, the same way her last action every night was to
suck him to sleep. He never seemed to tire of this particular
degradation, and had started describing her as "my little alarm clock"
to his friends on the phone, describing with delight and detail her
progress in becoming "the best little cocksucker in the state".
Then, on weekday mornings, he would hand her over to Tenney, and take
photograph after photograph for the next two hours while Chelsea
writhed under the maid's expert handling, and then used her tongue and
fingers to pleasure the older woman, licking, sucking and stroking.
The website had a whole section devoted to these pictures, all
artfully obscuring Tenney's face while showing Chelsea's clearly -
pictures of Chelsea gasping in delight as a dark head bent to her
breast and scarlet nails stroked along her slit, pictures of her
lapping avidly at the juices flowing from the woman's cunt, her face
smeared and glistening with them, pictures of her suckling at an erect
nipple, and many others.
On days when she wasn't working the poolroom, Davis would make her log
on to the site, pointing out to her the hit counter - THOUSANDS of
people had seen these pictures, it seemed -- and making her read the
comments that visitors made. While most were normal, if obscene, every
day there were new perversions, from the man who wanted to fuck her
with baseball bat, to the one who wanted to watch her masturbate on a
bed of snakes.
It was almost a relief on the other days, the days when she went down
to the dark sweaty room and catered to the desires of the town's
grease monkeys and delivery men - some had even become regulars.
The big bearded man was called Tom, and he always made sure that he
was her first customer of the day, calling her 'his girlfriend'. He
liked Chelsea to kiss him while she rode his huge cock, and, now, like
any well trained whore, Chelsea did so automatically, fucking her
tongue in and out of his mouth and calling him "My Tommy" -- after
all, the man paid $150 a week for her to be nice to him. Davis had
even made an arrangement with the boys too poor to buy her. At the end
of each session, for $15 apiece, she laid on the pool table, a cock in
each hand and stroked two of them to orgasm, bathing in their spurting
cum.
In the afternoons, after she had cleaned herself, she cleaned house,
while Davis worked at the computer. In some ways, these were the most
humiliating times of all. Davis' proximity aroused her, setting up a
burning need in her groin that just kept growing, but most of the time
he seemed unaware that she was there, his eyes fixed on the monitor,
until the agonised desire became too much to bear and she would
entreat him, desperately, to do something to ease her aching
frustration. She tried, every day, to resist the lustful urges of her
body, but, no matter what she did, at some point they would overcome
her and she would go to him. With everything else she did, she was
commanded, but, in the afternoons, her abasement, she knew, was of her
own making.
If Davis held out a negligent hand, she would rub herself against it
urgently, wriggling and squirming to manoeuvre the fingers inside her
and then fuck herself on them. She would lift her breasts to his
mouth, and rub the nipples along his lips, imploring him to suck and
bite them. She would kneel at his feet and hold the cheeks of her ass
open and beg him to buttfuck her, or she would take his cock out of
his jeans and straddle him, sliding the heat and wetness of her cunt
back and forth along its length stroking his balls with her hands,
until he would finally allow her to sink onto his shaft with a wanton
moan of delight.
He did nothing to her that she didn't ask him to, explicitly. It
didn't matter that her desire was artificially incited, she was aware
to the bottom of her soul that she was too weak to withstand it, and
that she would do anything and say anything to get him to fuck her,
when her body cried out for him. She was his slut, his whore, far more
at home than she ever was when men were paying to use her. To
emphasise it, he would ostentatiously turn the webcam on as she walked
towards him, ready to broadcast her frenzied lust to the world, and
even that couldn't give her the strength to deny the aching in her
tits and the fire in her cunt. She knew that she would have seduced
him in front of the crowd at the Superbowl, if that was what it took
to get his cock inside her when she felt like that.
It almost made what she did at The Cat seem clean, by comparison.
There, she would walk the floor, six nights a week, her breasts, ass
and cunt on display, going to anyone who held up a fifty. Mostly, of
course, it was men, and to them she would open any part of her body
that they wished to use, but sometimes she would find that the hand
holding the note was a woman, and herself kneeling, her face buried in
a bush, her tongue flickering along a moist slit and driving into a
pussy. She found herself hating the women. Not for any moral
reason, or because she found servicing them any more degrading than
servicing the men, but simply because they always took longer to
satisfy, which meant that she earned less, and THAT meant that the
nightmare would last just that little bit longer. On average, she
would fuck twenty or so in a shift, but a woman could cut her tally by
two.
And, at the end of the night, every night, there was Angel. Angel to
hold her. Angel to kiss her. Angel to touch with tenderness and to
brush the inevitable tears away. Only Angel, of all the people she
met, asked nothing of her, made no judgements, and treated her like a
whole human being, rather than a construct of tits, ass, mouth and
cunt. They talked, and Chelsea learned that Angel's mother had been a
whore, her father unknown, and that seeing what her mother had gone
through had made Angel determined that she wouldn't do the same,
whatever else she did, although she squeezed Chelsea's hand, and said
"I understand why you do it baby, I just worry for you."
And, demanding nothing, it was Angel that received what good Chelsea
had to offer. The girl, desperate not to lose Angel's support, did
anything and everything to make the stripper happy. Feeling a nipple
harden as she laid her head weeping on Angel's breast, she would kiss
it into her mouth, sucking hard and grazing it with her teeth, hearing
the gasp of pleasure she elicited like a blessing. She even willingly
drove her tongue into the other girl's ass, knowing how much Angel
enjoyed that particular sensation.
Chelsea would tell Angel she was beautiful, as her hands stroked the
long lean body, and, after the frantic movements of her tongue had
driven the blonde to ecstasy, she would lift her face, liberally
smeared with juices and whisper "You taste so sweet, love". Or maybe
she would lie, whimpering, as the other girls teeth and tongue and
fingers teased her, thanking her, and tell her how good she made
Chelsea feel.
Angel was her rock. Chelsea couldn't risk losing her support. She
might even love her, she thought to herself, and wasn't that a
ridiculous situation? And having Angel would have made it possible for
her to adjust even to this nightmare, if it hadn't been for one thing.
Davis called them "The Special Projects."
On Mondays, when The Cat was closed, Davis and Anton hired her out for
'events'.
The first wasn't so bad. She was taken to a photographic studio, in a
town about an hours drive away. She just nodded dully when the
photographer explained that they were making a calendar for a sex toys
company, and proceeded to fuck herself every which way from Sunday
with a procession of different dildos, sliding them into her cunt,
mouth and ass with every appearance of pleasure, and teasing her tits
with buzzing things of all descriptions.
The next was odder and much more humliating. A embarrassed
middle-aged lady who reminded Chelsea of her mother, had come to the
house, and, stuttering, had explained that her husband's family had a
tradition that when boys reached "a certain age" the family hired a
whore to "introduce the boy to .. um ... carnal pleasure."
A few days later, Chelsea had found herself, dressed in black
lingerie, facing a room full of teenage boys, and taking one
particularly unprepossessing specimen by the hand, and leading him
away from his cheering buddies to the bedroom. Where his father
waited, with a grin on his face. "So, son," he said to the blushing
boy, "This is Melons, and she's our present to you. She'll teach you
what a man can do for a woman, and - what's more important -- what a
woman can do for a man. Have fun, and we'll see you in the morning."
He winked at the boy, patted Chelsea's backside, and left, shutting
the door behind him
He was fourteen today (FOURTEEN, she thought), gawky, acne-ridden,
with lank hair and glasses. And Chelsea had been instructed to spend
the night with him and "Show him EVERYTHING, sweetcakes, and leave him
with a smile that will stay on his face for the next month. And just
so you can do your job properly, I've fixed it so Junior's spunk will
serve your needs as well as mine."
Chelsea sat on the bed, thanking heavens that the mother had thought
to arrange that they were in a spare bedroom, not a teenage boy's pit.
She patted the bed beside her. Sitting, he reached a tentative hand
toward her breasts before dropping it, blushing. Oh God, Chelsea
thought, this was going to be difficult. He was going to have to be
led, every step of the way. For a moment, she thought of just curling
up with him, giving him a kiss or two, and telling him that he needn't
do anything he didn't want to. Without encouragement, he would
probably be happy with snuggles, and tell his friends that it was
more. But, if Davis or his parents questioned him closelyÉ she
shuddered at the thought of what Davis might do if she didn't follow
his instructions.
She forced a smile to her face.
"Do you like girls, honey?" she asked. 'Baby' seemed to accurate in
this context.
His nod was emphatic.
"Have you ever seen a girl's tits?"
A headshake.
"Why don't you reach behind me and undo this bra then honey, and give
me a kiss?"
His lips were closed as they touched hers and he fumbled with the
catch of the bra, but they opened under her guidance. He slobbered as
she slipped her tongue into his mouth and she had to force herself not
to recoil, instead gently holding his head and deepening the kiss
further, while she slipped the bra off.
When she released him, he looked in awe at her breasts. "They're so
BIG," he squeaked.
"Would you like to touch them?" she asked, "Touch them and suck on
them?"
"Would I!!!?"
It was all the invitation he needed, and immediately, clumsy fumbling
hands and a noisily sucking mouth were all over her. She crooned
encouraging instructions to him, and soon he was suckling rhythmically
enough to prompt a moistening between her thighs.
He yelped as she dropped her hand to stroke his cock through his
trousers, but as she continued, unzipping him and freeing him from his
pants, he relaxed and gave a moan. "Oh that feels nice!"
Steeling herself to get down to work, she slid to the floor between
his legs. "This will feel nicer honey," she told him, as she slipped
her mouth over his virgin cock.
As her tongue laved him, and her hand caressed his balls, she wished
that at least the boy's voice had broken, so that his squeals didn't
remind her constantly that the tool in her mouth belonged to a spotty
child. The vocabulary was bad enough ("Oh wow, this is just so COOL!
.."), without the high squeakiness..
She had to admit that the kid was well endowed though, and the gush of
spunk he sent into her mouth was prodigious. "Oh FUCK" he cried as he
pumped his jism into her mouth and then, "oh holy fuck!" as he felt
her swallowing every last drop and draining him dry.
He was less tentative when she rose from her knees, and joined him on
the bed again. Much less.
"I wanna touch your pussy. That's okay, yeah?"
"Sure, of course." She stood and slid the panties off her hips then
laid on the bed, her legs spread wide so he could get a proper view of
her cunt.
"How come you've got no hair, there? In the girlie mags the models
have hair"
"A lot of men like a bald pussy - it's my job to give men what they
like."
He nodded, and started to touch her. His fingers were no less clumsy
than his mouth had been, but inevitably the touch of probing flesh at
her slit started another flush of heat at her groin.
"Hey, you're all wet, doesn't that mean that you're horny for me?"
She looked at the kid, all spots and greasy hair and angles. He was
every inch the nerd, and a month or two ago, she'd have laughed at him
and spat in his face - even if he was older. He was everything she had
despised. But, besides the fact that she was being paid to be nice to
him, thanks to Davis, she was doubly cursed - he was right, and she
couldn't even deny it.
"Yes honey, it means that you turn me on."
"Woohoo!" His fingers started to probe further into her and, vastly
daring, he dropped his head back to her tit to suck again.
Oh GOD, she thought. A glance down at his groin showed that he was
already becoming aroused again, as the cock started to rise out of the
bush of hair. Inevitable, she guessed. From all she'd ever heard,
fourteen year old boys could beat their meat all night and never even
slow.
She reached down and touched it. "Would you like me to slide my cunt
onto this honey, find out what a real fuck is like?"
"Yeah, you bet."
She undressed him, and then pressed him back onto the pillows, before
swiftly impaling herself on him. Because he was a virgin, she'd been
told not to use condoms and he gave a gasp as her heat slid onto his
sensitive skin. _Shit, he's ugly_, she thought to herself, as she rode
the cock hard, _I wonder if tonight is all the fucking he'll ever
get_.
"Oh yeah, oh shit," he babbled, "Oh wow, you know that your tits are
bouncing? They look great. This is just so cool"
He had the endurance of the very young, and Chelsea started coming
long before he was ready to. She ground herself against him, knowing
that she was soaking him, knowing that it was part of what she was
required to do to tell him what was happening to her.
"Oh honey," she moaned, "can you feel the way my cunt goes tight and
grips your cock? That means I'm coming for you, that you are making me
orgasm. It feels so good to have your cock inside me."
He had a shit eating grin on his face as he watched her and felt the
liquid flowing out of her cunt. He probably thinks he's the finest
fuck in the world, she thought as he bucked his hips up in climax at
last and then collapsed.
She slid herself off of him, and kissed him, saying "Did you like that
honey?" even as she thought "what a fucking stupid question, of course
he did."
"Yeah, it was great. What are we gonna do next?"
For the next ten hours, she massaged, fondled, sucked and fucked the
kid without stopping. Maybe he realised that this was going to have to
last him a long time, she thought, because he didn't show any signs of
going to sleep, ever.
She showed him missionary and doggy-style positions, showered and
guided his mouth to her cunt, so that he could taste her juices as she
came. Finally she offered her ass to him, as the sun came up. He took
that as eagerly as everything else, and literally crowed as he heard
her orgasm with him buried to the balls in her ass, then filled her
bowels with his spunk. His eyes widened, as, when he withdrew, she
dropped her mouth to clean him and suck him dry again - not that she
had any choice with the headache starting to hit.
At last, he seemed all fucked out, and when his father came into the
room, he found the kid curled up around Chelsea, sucking languidly on
a tit.
"Shit Dad," he murmured, "that was incredible. You and Mom are just
the coolest, y'know?"
The boy's father drove her home, dressed only in the lingerie taking
the opportunity to play with her tits on the way. "Thanks," he said,
as he dropped her outside the house, almost bowlegged from the night's
activities, and stinking of his kid's cum. "You know, I was listening
most of last night - I'll have to take advantage of your services
myself real soon."
He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a twenty. "A tip," he
said, "for givng me the chance to feel up those lovely titties"
And she stumbled into the house to find a shower running and Tenney
waiting inside it for her daily delights.
more to come...index
