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| Whore 94 | Back to H | Back to main page |
Collected by Djian
updated jan 5 2008
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| Whore 94 | Back to H | Back to main page |
Collected by Djian
updated jan 5 2008
THIS STORY IS FICTIONAL, IT CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF NON-CONSENSUAL
SEX AND BONDAGE. IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE OR OFFENDED BY SUCH STORIES PLEASE STOP
READING NOW. THIS STORY IS COPYRIGHT BUT MAY BE DISTRIBUTED FREELY FOR
PERSONAL AND NON-COMMERCIAL USE.
Whore 94
Chapter 12 She has her audition-----------------------------
"Hello Elizabeth."
God. Him again. The CEO.
The man who had made me his whore.
The man who had taken me – raped me – and had me dance topless for him in his office to thank him for it.
The man who had delivered me here: 'The Scrava' club, London.
The man who had stroked my bottom with his cane while they tattooed my number onto my left buttock.
Whore ninety-four.
He had done that to me.
Him.
Why had I let him do all that?
How did I end up on my elbows and knees before him – as I was now – head bowed, bottom raised up high at his behest, naked but for a pair of whore-heels, neck cruelly collared and cuffed to a metal ring in the floor, ball-gagged, able only to stare at the tips of his shiny black shoes, standing inches from my chin?
How did I let that happen?
Why the need to restrain me at all?
I had been cooperative, hadn't I?
I had been well behaved – I had been a good whore ninety-four for them, hadn't I?
A pair of delicately strapped white high-heels clicked self-importantly around to my rear, paused briefly (to admire my bottom?), then paraded around the other side, circling me, eventually rejoining the CEO's patent black leather shoes at my chin.
It was her: Nicola - one of the CEO's many bleached-blonde assistants.
Why was she here?
Why did she have to be here?
Why wasn't she the whore?
She was so much younger than me - barely an adult.
Did they have to demean me like this in front of her – in front of someone so... junior?
Why wasn't I the one strutting imperiously around her, looking down smugly at her naked, trembling, body. Why wasn't I the one encircling her - enjoying her predicament, knowing that I was her superior, knowing that she was the worthless whore?
Why was I the whore?
Why couldn't it be her neck-cuffed to the floor, bottom-raised and numbered?
The CTO – my ex-boss - was present too. He sat somewhere behind me – no doubt ogling my naked bottom and exposed pussy as I stuck them up for him.
God. I used to run errands for him. Now I displayed and offered my sex to him!
How had I let it come to that?
What did they want?
Why were they here?
"Spread your knees, girl," Nicola demanded bossily, having minced around to my rear again. She prodded my bottom disdainfully with her foot.
Girl? She was calling me a 'girl'? I was at least six years older than her! What right did she have to call me a girl!?
Why did they let her speak to me like that?
And what right did she have to prod me with her feet?
"NOW," she insisted and gave me another two kicks – one landing on each of my inner thighs.
Did I have to obey her?
Why weren't the orders coming from the CEO?
I was his whore, wasn't I? – I worked for him, didn't I?
Not for her.
No way.
Due to the restraint around my neck, I could hardly move – certainly not gainfully. I could have thrashed my legs against the floor, I suppose. But what good would that have done?
God.
Why?
Why had I allowed myself to be chained down like that, exactly?
I had known precisely what I had been doing, hadn't I?
The CEO had simply pointed at his feet; I had curtsied, fallen to my knees obediently, and bowed my head before him. I had remained impeccably still and silent while they had secured the collar around my neck and attached me to the floor.
I hadn't had a choice, had I?
I had to obey and honour him, didn't I?
That's what I did, wasn't it?
That was what was expected of me.
That was what was expected of a well-behaved whore.
"RIGHT NOW, girl" Nicola snapped, kicking me once again on each of my inner-thighs.
Why didn't the CEO – or even the CTO for that matter – over-rule her and tell her to keep quiet?
Reluctantly, I parted my knees a little for her.
"MORE," she demanded, giving me another prod with her foot.
...Stop kicking me...
...How dare you...
I whimpered a small protest into my gag, but to no avail: She prodded me again.
"COME ON girl," she barked. "We don't have all day."
Grudgingly, I spread my knees apart as far as I could, until they could spread no further.
My bottom was high; my knees apart, my pussy available. If I hadn't been on display before, I certainly was now.
"Good girl," she giggled obnoxiously.
Why were they doing this to me?
I didn't need to be neck-cuffed to the floor – I would have gone down on all fours and stuck my bottom in the air for them at the slightest command.
I would have licked the floor at the CEO's feet if he had instructed me to.
God. Would I really have done that?
Was that what I had become?
"Your training is over, Elizabeth," the CEO announced suddenly.
...He called me 'Elizabeth'... No-one ever called me that any more...
Why did he let Nicola call me her 'girl'?
My training was over?
"You are ready to progress," he went on, his voice easy, confident, smooth. "This is your audition."
My audition?
What was he saying?
That I was almost ready to be their whore for real now? That it could be my job - that I would be paid?
Was that why they were here today – to tell me that?
"Allow me to explain the format to you, Elizabeth," he continued calmly. "I want you to listen carefully and I want you to understand each and every word that I say to you. If at any time you do not understand me, or if you feel something is not clear, then I want you to do something for me: I want you to push a finger into your pussy and play with yourself. I will interpret that as a sign that you require further explanation. You will continue playing with yourself until you have understood. If or when you remove your finger, I will assume you have removed it because you have understood me, and I will proceed to the next item."
What?
He wanted me to do what?
What the...?
What kind of audition was that?
Surely they should have me dance for them? - Perform for them, entertain them, pleasure them...?
Wasn't that what an audition should be about?
How could being chained to the floor by my neck be part of an audition?
"Right," he started, "Let the audition begin."
I stared at his shoes and saw a smudge of myself in their reflection.
I disgusted myself.
I clamped my eyes shut.
"You are almost ready to work for us," he started. "You have demonstrated sufficient understanding of your role. In particular you have demonstrated that you understand that you are a whore - our whore - and that as a whore you are expected to obey your superiors at all times. You understand that you are reprimanded only when you fail to comply with our requests in a satisfactory and timely manner."
He paused.
I didn't move a muscle.
They were going to pay me, weren't they?
"You have been registered, numbered, and trained. You accept your number, you accept your role and you accept the authority of your superiors."
Again, I didn't move.
I had accepted all of it, hadn't I? They must have already known that, surely?
"You have come a long way, Elizabeth," the CEO went on, taking the time to mouth the words carefully, deliberately. "Yes - a very long way. Not many girls would have had the courage to come as far as you have."
Was that intended as a complement?
Did that make me special?
"It is my duty to inform you that you will continue to serve as our whore," he said, "but that you will not be paid. Not now, not ever."
Oh God.
That was why they were here.
To tell me that.
That!
Oh God. Please not that.
What was I supposed to do about that?
How could I do anything with my neck bound to the floor at their feet?
...Don't accept it...
...Don't let them think they can get away with that...
I mean, they had to pay me, didn't they?
Weren't there laws against that kind of thing?
Jesus.
I moaned into my gag, to no avail.
"You will work for us because we own you," he went on. "You accept our ownership of you. We own your face and you accept it. We own your tits and you accept that too. We own your pussy, your arse. All of it owned by us."
He paused briefly, before adding: "Since I see no signal coming from you, I assume you understand and accept what I am saying."
No!
Did he really expect me to play with myself if I wanted to express dissent?
This couldn't be happening.
No way.
Not me. Not to me.
...Please don't be happening...
Uncertainly, I snuck an arm under myself and reached up between my open legs.
Did I really have to do this?
I curled my index finger round the underside of my pussy and slipped it falteringly into my sex.
Oh God.
Please don't be moist.
Please don't be wet.
Not now.
Please don't let it be like that.
I rotated the tip of my finger guardedly on my clitoris.
What a disgrace.
What a slut.
"Mmmm... Very nice," the CTO's voice rang out behind me.
Shit. He was watching me masturbate myself for him.
Just watching me.
Expecting me to carry on.
But I had to carry on, didn't I?
Otherwise they would think I accepted what they were saying, wouldn't they?
"She likes the idea," Nicola scoffed. "The slut wants to wank herself off to the idea of being our slave."
No – it wasn't like that.
No way!
Or was it?
I couldn't be owned, could I?
I was a respectable... whore...
Oh God.
That was what I was, wasn't it?
That was what I was.
That was what I had become.
Utterly owned.
Their dog whore slave slut.
Was I wanking myself off to that idea?
I wasn't, was I?
I was just obeying them.
What choice did I have?
Should I stop, then?
God... Sopping wet...
Why was I wet?
Why was I warm?
I shut my eyes tightly and wished myself away.
My pulse beat frantically.
Why was I playing with myself?
Did I want to be their slave?
No – I couldn't want that.
I just couldn't.
How could I?
How could anyone?
"You will be our slave-whore, Elizabeth," the CEO said more loudly. "You have been a slave-whore for weeks, and you know it. You are a fuck-slut. You are my fuck-slut."
Suddenly horrified at what I was hearing, I pulled my fingers hurriedly away from my vagina, but then foolishly found myself not knowing quite where to relocate my hand to, and so ended up leaving it wavering foolishly at my entrance, unsure, uncertain.
"Looks like she's starting to understand," the CTO remarked.
Bastard.
I had been a good PA to him – a good senior PA.
From senior PA to unpaid fuck-slut?
No way.
"There's a good girl," Nicola crowed.
How dare she?
I quickly found my clitoris again and turned it between my index and middle fingers.
...Never accept it...
...Never...
...Not for her... Not for that bitch... A bleached-blonde nineteen year-old trumped up tart...
...Never agree to be her unpaid fuck-slut...
I whimpered pathetically into my gag.
"I don't know how else to explain it," the CEO said. "You are a slave-whore now, Elizabeth. And that is what you will always be."
"Can I spank her?" Nicola asked. "She likes that."
"Of course," the CEO responded. "If it helps her understand, be my guest."
Spank me?
She couldn't do that could she?
SPANK.
Yes she could, apparently - with her bare palm on the backs of my thighs.
Bitch.
And still playing with my clitoris for her.
Should I stop?
SPANK.
A nineteen year-old, arrogant, office tart beating my bottom while I masturbate myself for her?
"You're right, I think she likes it," the CTO commented. "She's dripping."
SPANK.
I shrieked and gurgled into my gag – not because the blows were hurting me particularly – but out of despair, desperation.
I was utterly helpless.
I sobbed feebly.
SPANK.
...Please stop spanking me...
...I don't want to be a slave-whore...
...I don't want to be a fuck-slut...
SPANK
...Ow...
SPANK.
"Your hopes and aspirations are worthless, Elizabeth, and they always were," the CEO's voice went on. "From now on you will give yourself only to the hopes and aspirations of your keepers."
I turned my clitoris in my fingers one more time, before moving my hand away more determinedly.
What was the use?
I just couldn't go on humiliating myself like that, could I?
SPANK.
Not with Nicola spanking my buttocks.
SPANK.
"Keep that bottom UP girl."
SPANK.
Did they really think that by refusing to play with myself I was accepting what they were telling me?
They couldn't believe that, could they?
"I like you, Elizabeth," the CEO went on. "I like you because you are a good, obedient, willing, grateful whore. And I want to go on liking you."
My fingers hovered uncertainly at my sex.
Wet fingers.
Shamed fingers.
SPANK.
"That will do, Nicola," the CEO said. "Elizabeth has stopped touching herself, and I take that to mean she understands what I am saying."
No!
I did not accept a single word of what he was saying! – He must know that. Why was he tormenting me?
"You wouldn't have given yourself to me in the first place if you didn't want to be here today begging to be my slave-whore," he said. "It's what you want – it's what you have always wanted."
Still my fingers lingered at my entrance.
Was he right?
I touched myself lightly.
Had I really wanted that?
No! – How could I?
"You let us mark you – number you," he said. "You accepted our right to number your bottom and have you perform for us."
God. Why had I let them tattoo 'Whore94' on my bottom so effortlessly?
Why hadn't I resisted?
How could I argue with that?
"Look at you, Elizabeth," he went on. "You are a little fuck-whore. I took your worthless bottom and I fucked it and scrawled your number on it. I counted you. I took your cunt and I had it dance for me. I raped it and fucked it. I had you thank me for owning it. You crawl before me today knowing that what I say is true. You know that I own you. You want to be owned. It is what you have always wanted. You are nothing, and you will never amount to anything more than nothing."
The tears rolled from the corners of my eyes.
A little fuck-whore?
Was that what I was?
Was that all I was?
How could I deny the veracity of his words?
I had given myself to him, hadn't I?
I had never been forced, coerced, had I?
Or had I?
Sometimes they coerced me, didn't they?
Like now... weren't they coercing me now?
I pushed my forefinger into my pussy – vacillating – I let it quiver there a while – then withdrew it.
I was trembling, sobbing, shaking.
"I numbered you, Elizabeth," he said. "I number all my girls. I count my sluts. You are one of my sluts."
I thought I was Mr. Khani's whore?
Wasn't that what they had said?
"She seems to be understanding things a little better now," the CTO chimed up.
I half-opened my eyes in time to see a tear-drop fall onto the CEO's patent leather shoes.
God.
What a pathetic creature I had become.
"No-one will come looking for you, Elizabeth," he said. "Your life out there - beyond the walls of this place – is over. You have been disappeared. It has all been taken care of."
I sobbed miserably into my gag.
Why me?
Why me?
"And there is no escape," he went on. "As you have seen, the club benefits from extraordinary security. Our clients are selected meticulously, as you know, and they are always discreet. Don't ever think that one of them will hear your story and want to help you. On the contrary, they will simply enjoy using you all the more – because that is what they want from a club like this – that is what they are paying for."
I clamped my eyes shut in despair and wished them all away.
...Just leave me alone...
...All of you...
...Not me...
...Please not me...
"If you behave yourself and continue to serve your owners and our clients as diligently as you have throughout your training, then you will be cared for and treated well. Only if you are disobedient will you be punished."
Punished?
God.
I didn't even want to start to entertain the idea of what that might involve.
Wasn't this punishment enough?
Wasn't being told you were to be an unpaid fuck-slut slave-whore punishment enough?
Bastards.
All of them.
"You understand everything you have been told, Elizabeth?" he asked.
Understood it?
Was that it?
I was to be a well-behaved, willing, obedient, unpaid whore for the rest of my life?
Was I supposed to agree to that?
Did I have a choice?
"Prepare her for me, Nicola," the CEO said resolutely. "Let's go to the next stage."
Nicola's heels clicked militantly across the room, paused momentarily, then returned to my rear.
I felt her palms on my bottom.
"Raise that bottom up, girl," she instructed me bossily. "I want your butt."
Instinctively, obediently – just as I had been trained to do - I raised my bottom up and offered her my exposed arsehole.
I was obeying her.
I was obeying the bitch.
I felt her cold wet fingers on the nub of my arsehole.
She rubbed her fingers - gingerly at first - into my hole, spreading and pushing some kind of greasy lubricant into my back passage.
SPANK.
"UP," she reminded me when I shrunk away from her at the coldness of her touch.
She probed my arse with her fingers and I surrendered it to her.
It could only mean one thing.
My arse was to be taken.
Probably by the CEO.
My owner.
"When Nicola has finished creaming you up," the CEO explained, "you will be given an object. To signal to me that you have fully understood all that you have been told here today, you will insert the object deep into your bottom and then you will fuck yourself on it until you are ready to come for me."
I moaned a protest into my gag.
Would there be no end to this?
Why did he have to make me do that?
"When you are ready to come, you will push the object into your arse as far as it will go, and you will keep it there. You will then respectfully part your pussy-lips with your fingers as wide as you can. I will take that to mean you are ready to accept me inside you. You will then come on my penis while I fuck you like a dog."
I sniffed.
I wanted it all to stop. ...be over... ...end...
"If you fail to carry out any part of this simple request, it will be assumed that you have not fully grasped your new role. You will be punished and we will start again tomorrow."
Nicola's fingers explored my arsehole, massaging the lubricant into me.
Bitch.
Tormenting me.
Enjoying having me squirm on her fingers.
She would be my owner too, would she?
I would be her 'girl'.
Her slave.
My mistress' fingers in my butt.
"Begin," the CEO said, as Nicola withdrew her fingers.
Begin... what...?
Nicola's immaculately manicured fingers pressed the object into my right hand.
It was a dildo.
A plastic arse-dildo.
I was to perform for them.
Amuse them.
Show them I understood that this was what I did.
That this was what I would do.
Be a whore for them.
Begin... sticking this dildo thing into my own arsehole... to fuck myself on it?
"Fuck your butt hard on that dildo girl," Nicola asserted. "Do it NOW."
Could I really do that for them?
Accept their ownership of me and prepare myself to accept my master?
...Don't do it...
...There must be an alternative...
...They must be bluffing... mustn't they?...
What did they mean they had 'disappeared' me?
Could they really have done that?
Was I a slave now?
A slave-whore?
Was that what I would always be?
"GET ON with it girl," Nicola chided me and clipped her palm across my bottom.
SPANK.
...Ouch...
I had to do it, didn't I?
They would go on tormenting me all day if I didn't just obey them and give them what they wanted.
They wanted me.
That was what they wanted.
I had to give myself to them.
I pressed the tip of the dildo to my rose-bud.
There's a good girl," Nicola said.
Bitch.
I applied a little pressure to hilt of the dildo and eased it into my arsehole.
...Give them their show...
...That is what I do now...
I twisted and turned the dildo a little further inside myself and gasped into my gag.
I pulled it out a little and then probed again.
"Nice," the CTO remarked.
This was what they wanted, wasn't it?
To fuck myself on it.
To show them I understood and acknowledged their ownership of my arsehole.
This was what it would be like from now on.
This was what I would be.
I slid the dildo in... then pulled it out... each time a little deeper, a little easier... a little faster... grateful for the lubricant...Grateful for having wriggled on Nicola's fingers as she had creamed my arsehole...
Was I aroused?
Did I start to enjoy having that dildo inside me?
Did I start to fuck myself gratefully like a willing slave-whore?
I imagined their eyes staring, scrutinizing, leering at me while I played for them...
Didn't that disgust me?
Wasn't I disgusting?
How could I climax like this?
Would I be able to obey them?
Would I pass the audition?
I had to, didn't I?
They owned me now.
I had to comply.
Whatever it took.
Must obey.
I panted heavily into my gag and my pulse quickened.
God... Feeling electric... Doing it for them.
SPANK.
...Yes... Spank my pussy, mistress Nicola...
SPANK.
...Spank my pussy and watch me come for you, mistress...
SPANK.
...My young mistress...
...My superior in this world...
"Wriggle that butt, girl," she commanded. "Wriggle on that plastic cock. Show us how much you love it up you."
I squirmed for her and fucked myself increasingly frenetically on the dildo.
How had it come to this?
Me – a slave-whore?
Being spanked and scolded by my nineteen year old mistress. Neck chained to the floor. Ball-gagged. Fucking myself up the arse.
What was I then, if not a slave-whore?
...Don't come...
...Not yet...
SPANK.
I pushed the dildo deep into my arse and with trembling fingers, released it.
With the same quivering fingers I reached between my legs and parted my pussy lips – stretched them wide apart – displayed my pink to the CTO in all its dripping wet glory.
"Mmmm..." the CTO affirmed. "Very nice..."
It seemed to take the CEO an eternity to pace majestically around to my rear.
I prised my pussy lips as wide as I could for him, determined to be seen to be faithfully honouring his instructions.
I knew how severe he could be if I were to fail him.
Once he had raped me.
Now I was his slave and he would rape me whenever he felt like it.
I would present myself to him in the manner of his choosing, at the hour of his choosing.
And he would take his time with me, or rush, as the mood took him.
He clambered onto me – God – how old was he? – old enough to be my father.
I felt his cigar-laden breath on the back of my neck.
Then I felt his hands – mature, strong hands – on my hips, holding me masterfully, expertly.
The end of his erect penis brushed against my sex.
...Fuck me sir...
...Fuck this little slut...
...Be my daddy...
He was inside me in an instant.
And then he was pounding me.
Taking me.
Owning me.
Stamping his ownership all over my sex.
His dildo buried to the hilt in my arse.
And I was going to come for him.
I was going to come on my owner's cock, exactly as he had demanded.
I howled into my gag as his crotch slapped ferociously into the backs of my thighs, his testicles pounding me.
"I own you, Elizabeth," he growled in between breaths. "I own you..."
Nicola's heels clicked round me busily.
The CEO's cock thumped against the base of my womb.
Nicola stooped and slapped my face viciously - then I felt her fingers on the back of my neck as she fidgeted with the strap of my gag.
BANG BANG BANG.
...Being fucked like a worthless slut...
...Wanting it and not wanting it at the same time...
...Loving it...
...Loathing it...
I was out of control.
Way out of control.
BANG. BANG.
Just pounding me. Pounding his whore-meat.
I spluttered into the gag one last time before Nicola finally popped from between my teeth.
And suddenly I was coming...
...God...
...And how I came for them...
My body stiffened.
I was howling like... like a dog...
Nicola's feet appeared under my chin and I dribbled pathetically over her toes.
I arched my back, offering the CEO as much of myself as I could, drawing his penis into to me and hugging it there, all the while gasping and panting and moaning into Nicola's feet.
I pressed my mouth to her toes, knowing I was thanking her for letting me be her girl, that it was I all I was worth – all I would ever be worth - that it was my duty to please her, that she owned me and that I understood and accepted her as my superior...
...Coming for her...
...Honouring her...
I flicked my tongue greedily at the gaps between her toes, ran my lips across the straps of her sandals, tasting her, lapping her up, worshipping her.
...And still my orgasm held me in its grip...
I peered up at her young, perfect, tanned legs and her tiny mini-skirt... and I rode my climax like that... imagining my tongue pressed to her light-blue panties peeping down at me from between her legs...
...She was so young...
...And yet I belonged to her now...
I was still in the clutches of my orgasm when the CEO's hold on my hips tightened, and he jerked, pumped and spurted his load deep inside me.
My pay.
My feed.
...Thank you master for taking me...
...Thank you for owning me...
I lapped frenziedly at Nicola's feet as the CEO finished up and withdrew from me, dribbling his semen across my pussy-lips and spilling a final spurt over my Whore94 tattoo.
I moaned and panted and gagged on Nicola's toes.
...I came for you, mistress...
...I came for your feet...
With hardly a second passing between them, the CTO took the CEO's place – mounting me like a dog.
He tugged the dildo from my arsehole in one swift action – causing me to shudder violently... still in the dying throes of my orgasm...
He stuffed his throbbing cock straight into the space the departing dildo had left behind.
My arse was being taken.
By my ex-boss.
He had been so kind to me once... hadn't he?
Now he owned me.
Could do what the fuck he wanted with me.
How many other girls were there?
How many of us did they own?
His hands gathered my long brown hair and bundled it together tightly.
He yanked hard on it, pulling my neck as far back as the restraint would allow, and forcing my lips away from Nicola's feet momentarily.
She giggled excitedly and raised a foot up, dangling her toes at my mouth, inviting me to take as much of her foot as I could inside my face.
The CTO steered me.
He drove me.
The bastard was really fucking me hard... taking my arse like a piece of fuck-meat... oblivious to my pathetic protests – my squeals and yelps of pain...
...Of pleasure?...
BAM, he fucked me: BAM.
...God...
...I would split in two if he kept going like that...
Was I really their slave-whore?
Would I really have to spend the rest of my life like this?
The CEO paced around me until he was standing alongside Nicola.
"Look at me, whore," he demanded of me.
The CTO yanked my hair back even more brutally, forcing my chin up so that I was obliged to see my owner.
BAM, BAM.
The CTO was taking my arse for his own.
BAM. SPANK.
...Slapping my buttocks as he rode me...
...Entirely at his mercy...
Through bleary eyes I saw my owner – the CEO - beaming down at me.
Should I keep looking up at him?
Why was he allowing me to look up at him?
Why was Nicola looking so pleased with herself – so up herself?
BAM. BAM.
SPANK.
The CTO ejected his load up my arse, congratulating himself with a few grunts.
I took his load while I peered humbly up at my superiors.
I was doing this for them, wasn't I?
...Thank you for taking my arse, sir...
...Thank you for letting me be your dog...
God. I had enjoyed him taking me like that, hadn't I?
I loved to be taken hard, didn't I?
Was there something wrong with me?
"Nicola will be your mistress from now on," the CEO said calmly. "You will obey her absolutely."
Oh no.
No.
No way.
Not that.
I couldn't bear to continue looking up at him – nor her - not after hearing that.
The CTO released his grip on my hair and withdrew his dribbling penis from my bottom.
Oh God.
Please don't let it be like that.
...I don't want Nicola to be my mistress...
...Please no...
I bowed my head and shut my eyes tightly.
Footsteps shuffled around me.
The door to the room opened.
The footsteps filtered out through the doorway.
The door clicked shut.
They had gone.
The CEO and CTO had gone.
But Nicola remained.
She was to be my mistress?
Why her?
Why me?
Silence, but for the beating of my heart and the noise in my head.
This was it.
This was how it would be from now on.
No-one would thank me for the use of my body.
It would be expected.
Required.
They would arrive. They would take me. And then they would leave.
"You're going to dance for me girl," Nicola said suddenly.
She stooped over me and twisted the lock of my neck-cuff until something clicked open.
Then she snapped her fingers together sharply.
"GET UP, WHORE," she barked. "Dance for me NOW."
I was... free...?
No.
Not free.
Released from the neck-restraint, yes.
But not free.
Not anymore.
Not this whore.
Should I obey her?
Should I accept her as my mistress?
Submit to her?
Serve her?
Please her?
Pleasure her?
Allow her to demean and humiliate me?
Was there a way out?
Could I escape?
What would they do if I tried?
Would I ever find out?
Not today.
Today I was defeated.
Broken.
Today I was a slave-whore.
My owners had raped me and now they had gone and left me with her.
With her.
With my mistress.
I wormed out of the open neck restraint and lifted myself awkwardly to my feet - my legs aching from having knelt for so long.
I looked at her feet – the feet I had just worshipped – God – had I done that?
I curtsied politely before her.
God.
What was I doing?
Then, hesitantly at first, I started to sway my hips for her, still gazing at her feet.
I was a fully grown woman!
Yet there I was – submitting to her - to an arrogant, pushy, conceited bitch.
I found myself cupping my breasts in my hands and massaging my nipples in my fingers.
They had neglected my breasts.
Didn't they know how much I loved to have my nipples squeezed?
Did my mistress know?
Was she my mistress?
I turned, wriggling my hips for her, bent over a little, displayed to her my owner's semen still seeping from my orifices.
That was what she wanted to see, wasn't it?
I was accepting her, wasn't I?
"Remember the rules, girl?" she said haughtily. "I'm going to clap my hands..."
Oh God.
Yes. I remembered the rules.
God.
So this was my life now then?
This was the way it would be?
CLAP.
I bent right over, clasped my palms to my buttocks, spreading them disgracefully, and wriggled my sperm-glistening arsehole frenetically for her.
...Hanging on the clap of my young mistress' hands...
...Obediently wriggling my come-drenched bottom for her, alert to the inevitable second clap, mentally preparing myself to kneel before her, place my hands on my hips, stick out my chest and jiggle my breasts for her.
...And she would have me smile too, wouldn't she?...Like last time...
But how could I smile?
How could I be happy?
I was a slave!
A miserable fucking slave– Oh God – where had it all gone so wrong?
This was meant to have been an opportunity!
Instead they were going to make me live out my life as Nicola's little fuck-slave...
Bastards.
Why me?
Why did it have to be me?
CLAP.
There it was.
My mistress had clapped her hands, and so I must obey.
I straightened, turned, looked humbly at her feet.
I curtsied neatly, defeated.
I fell to my knees, placed my hands on my hips, pushed my bosom out.
"You're not smiling, girl" she barked.
I forced a smile through gritted teeth.
I was her girl, wasn't I?
Her happy whore.
Her smiling slave.
"You're mine, whore," she giggled horribly, "I own you."
She turned, pushing her bottom into my face, and pointed a forefinger at her neat, short, teeny, skirt, wrapped deliciously over her perfect trim bottom.
"Kiss my butt, whore."
I didn't hesitate.
I leaned forwards and pecked at her bottom through the material of her skirt.
She had me worship her skirt like that for several minutes.
She swayed and rocked and purred on my lips.
When she lifted her skirt up and gathered it at her waist, I kissed her perfect, tanned, supple, smooth, bare bum-cheeks.
I nuzzled my lips against her flesh and suckled on her. I sniffed her. I feasted on her aroma.
She pulled a strip of her flimsy light-blue panty material aside and indicated her arsehole.
"Lick my arse, girl," She commanded.
Why didn't I resist?
Why couldn't I?
I poked my tongue into the rim of her arse pressed it to her. I lapped at her obediently. I probed her with my tongue. I kissed, sucked, tasted her.
She gasped and sighed with pleasure.
"Eat me," she commanded. "Eat your mistress."
I had done this so many times for my Brazilian mistress during training.
Was Nicola the reason I had been trained to perform this duty?
Had they trained me with her in mind?
Was I some kind of personalised whore – specialised in the services of my appointed mistress?
Why was Nicola so privileged?
What made her so special?
I probed deeper and wriggled my tongue around inside her.
...Eating my mistress' arsehole...
...Pleasuring her...
...Giving myself to her...
"Mmmm..." She moaned softly. "They trained you well..."
Was I aroused?
I ought to have been disgusted with myself.
I couldn't have been aroused, could I?
Why was I licking and lapping and sucking on a young office-girl's arsehole?
Why was I so submissive?
...She owns me...
...My mistress...
...Must please her...
...Or else...
...Or else what?...
...I deserve this...
...I am worthless...
...I must be...
She sunk both her hands down the front of her panties and held them pressed tightly to her crotch.
I was exciting her... arousing her...
Was she playing with herself?
"Good girl," she said, breathing increasingly unevenly. "Make me come, there's a good girl."
I flicked my tongue obediently at the depths of her arsehole, tasting her innards, knowing that was all I was worth.
...I'm a sex-slave now...
...This is what I do...
...This is what I will always do...
...This is what I am...
...This is what I will always be...
She started twisting and gyrating her bottom on my face, making me gag on her, smothering me in a mixture of her arse-juice and my own saliva.
I explored her arsehole dutifully – wanting her to own my face...
How could I want that?
Soon I no longer needed to move my tongue – it was enough simply to stick it out firmly for her as she fucked herself on it.
...I'm her dildo...
...I'm her toy...
She plunged herself down forcibly on me one more time and then screamed wildly with pleasure.
She swivelled on my face, fingers still groping her own sex, and she twitched backwards and forwards on my tongue as she rode her climax through.
She twitched and thrust her arsehole on my face for a while, then her breathing calmed, and her body relaxed.
She straightened, pulling herself off me.
"Mmmmm," she giggled happily, turning to blink down at me on my knees before her. "There's a good girl."
Her face was flush, beaming.
"I can't believe they've given me my own little slave," She giggled ecstatically. Then her tone hardened: "What are you looking at girl?"
I directed my eyes quickly to her feet, where they belonged.
...Such young beautiful feet...
"Lick your lips," she commanded.
I obeyed, smearing her taste across them.
"Straighten my skirt."
I reached forwards obediently and smoothed her panties over her pussy with my fingers. She turned and I adjusted them until they were smooth across her bottom. Then I pulled her skirt into shape and patted it meticulously into position, exactly as I had been trained.
I would be her maid too, then.
"Good girl," she said, "Now thank me."
I swallowed hard.
...Too late now anyway...
...I have truly shamed myself before her...
...She owns me...
"Thank you miss," I squeaked.
"You will address me as 'my mistress'," she insisted. "And anytime I allow you to speak you will kiss my feet."
"Thank you, my mistress," I responded feebly, watching the floor.
Trembling before her, I bowed and kissed each of her feet reverently.
I stared at the delicate white straps of her sandals, defeated, subdued, tamed.
"Thank me again," she demanded.
...I'm hers...
...I belong to her...
"Thank you, my mistress," I said, kissing her feet again.
"Get yourself cleaned up girl," she spat contemptuously. "I want you out there earning."
With that, she strutted snootily from the room, giving the door a considerable slam behind her.
Alone in the room, I ran my palm tenderly over my bottom where my young mistress had spanked me, and felt my owner's semen on my fingers.
I felt deeply ashamed.
Had I really accepted her as my owner?
Did I belong to a nineteen year-old office-girl?
Had I thanked her and kissed her feet?
They had made me their whore ninety-four, and now their slave.
And that was what I would remain.
That was what I would be.
Slave 94 >>>Slave 94 index