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The Making of Monique Pt. 01

By: JericoKnight



Chapter 1

Darian settled onto a bar stool and signaled for a cognac as he let his eyes flicker over the rest of the bar's inhabitants. The crowd was young tonight. Too young, he thought sourly as he swirled the brandy in his glass and eyed the pair of young Asian girls flirting with the bartender.

"I am a dinosaur," he sighed, taking a long sip as he pale green eyes flicked past them to land on a blond boy in a UCLA sweatshirt making a beeline for the girls. His lips curled into a grin as the older man shifted on the stool, making sure he had a good vantage point for the upcoming show. In his experience, hitting on the hot Asian girl was almost never a good idea.

"Nei ho mah," the boy bellowed at he approached the girls.

The taller of the took glanced at him dispassionately and lifted her and in a lazy wave as she answered "Hoh, hoh. Do jeh. Nei na?" 

The boy looked lost, his eyes losing focus for a moment as if it had never occurred to him the girl might answer in Chinese.

"Uh ... do you speak English?" he asked, "English?"

Darian's lips curled into a wolfish grin as the girl replied that she did, in fact, speak English. 

"Ngoh sec gong ying mon," the girl replied. 

Her friend was less polite. Covering her mouth with her fingers, the second Asian girl lowered her eyes and giggled in a very nice impression of a Japanese geisha before cheerfully replying "Pok gai."

Coughing to cover his chuckle, Darian took another pull of cognac, only to have the brandy burn though his nostrils as the girl added, "Lei da yun fei gae mm sai sou."

He missed the rest of the conversation as the bartender came over and handed him a bar towel to clean up with. Wiping his face, Darian waved the bartender's helpfulness away.

"I'm okay," he said. "Serves me right for eavesdropping."

Grinning, the bartender leaned closer and asked, "What were they saying?"

"I told him to go die in the street and suggested he doesn't wash his hands after he masturbates," a female voice answered in perfect, unaccented English. "Do you always go around eavesdropping on Chinese girls?"

Making a face, the bartender beat a strategic withdrawal as Darian turned to face the girl. 

"Not always," he said. "Sometimes I eavesdrop on Vietnamese, Hispanics, Hindustanis and Persians. But they rarely make me laugh like that."

The girl's eyes narrowed slightly and she nodded as she took in Darian's 6'3", 225 pound frame and neatly trimmed mustache and goatee. 

"So you're a language dork and not a rice king," she said with just a hint of a smirk. "The Uncle Ho beard confused me."

Bowing politely, Darian took in the small, Asian girl's long legs and slender frame. Long hair with a slight curl at the fringes framed a lovely face that bordered dangerously on cute.

"Have a drink with me," he suggested.

"Why would I want to drink with an old white guy?" she asked, features serious except for the hint of mischief behind her dark eyes.

"Because I am buying, college students are always broke and we're already talking so I'm clearly not making the offer to hit on you."

Waving to her friend, the girl hopped up onto a stool and nodded agreeably.

"Yeah, I suppose that makes sense," she said. "I'll have an apple martini."

Signaling for two more drinks, Darian smiled and asked, "Have you ever done any modeling?"

The girl laughed and shook her head, "Okay, now you're hitting on me."

"Yes," Darian nodded. "Yes, I am. But the question stands. I've got a commission to fill and I need a young Asian model. No nudity involved and it's for a respectable, if somewhat embarrassingly Chinesey product."

"I'm not holding up chopsticks on an ad for egg rolls," she said.

"All you have to do is lie down on a bed and rest your head on a pillow," Darian said, holding up a hand to stall the next questions. "It's a new import from China ... silk pillows filled with tea leaves. The scent is supposed to aid in relaxing sleep. White people will go ape shit over them."

The girl pursed her lips, seeming to think over the idea. Tilting her head, she studied Darian for a long moment before asking, "I don't have to wear slutty lingerie?"

"Red silk pajamas with long sleeves and a mandarin collar," Darian said wryly as he slid a business card onto the bar. "The most offensive part is the little gold dragons on the PJs. They want you to look like a real China girl. It pays cash. My studio is just around the corner and you can have your friend come watch if want a bodyguard. Tomorrow at 3 p.m.?"

The girl nodded as she tucked the card into jeans. "I'll be there."

"Good," he said. "Don't worry about makeup or clothes. I take care of all that at the shoot. I'm a bit of a control freak. So just show up anyway you're comfortable."

Sliding money onto the bar for the drinks, Darian was turning to leave when the girl asked, "Hey, you speak Cantonese because you have Chinese clients?"

A grin pulled at the older man's lips as he fell into a fairly decent Antonio Banderas impression.

"No. I speak the Cantonese because if a language is spoken by beautiful women I know enough to ... how do you say ... ah yes ... get my face slapped."

The wadded up napkin hit Darian between his shoulder blades as he heard the girl giggling behind him. Raising his hand he waved with his back to her. 

"Joi jin, sui jeh," he called out, realizing he'd never gotten her name.

* * * * *

He was pleasantly surprised when the girl actually showed up at 3 p.m. She had come alone, shrugging when he observed she must have a trusting nature.

"You've got an ad in the yellow pages and a gallery in your waiting room," she said. "I doubt you're selling girls into slavery out the back of the shop."

The man's hand reached out, fingers closing around her jaw as he gently turned her head from side to side. The girl watched him curiously but didn't resist. Other than a moment of surprise when she realized how large his hands were and how easily one could cover her face, she seemed almost relaxed.

"Good," he murmured approvingly. "You're not wearing any makeup at all. I was afraid you would be."

"You said someone would do my makeup here," she said. "So I thought you'd just make me take off anything I was wearing anyway. I hope you still like the way I look without it."

Smiling, Darian brushed the back of his fingers along the girl's cheek, letting them stroke her skin as they trailed their way back into her hair. The slight shiver that went through her body as he touched her throat was barely perceptible.

"Good girl, he said. "You've got a good head on your shoulders for this kind of work. You're quite lovely without makeup. It makes you look younger, more innocent. I don't want to put much on you. We'll take a look after you change into this."

Moments later, the girl was back in the studio, dressed in a pair of full length red silk pajama pants and the long-sleeved red silk top Darian had warned her about. 

"I look like one of those porcelain Chinese girl figurines you find in a Toscano catalog," she said as she slipped into a chair before the vanity table.

"That's the point," Darian said, slipping his hands into her hair and adjusting the angle of her head until he was happy with the way she sat. "You're an adorably exotic little China doll getting a good night's sleep on this giant silk tea bag."

The girl giggled, but continued to hold the position he'd placed her head in.

"You're a very good model," Darian murmured. "Or just a very obedient girl."

"A little of both, maybe," the girl grinned.

Producing a small brush, Darian selected a tray of powders and began mixing them. 

"You've got great skin," he said, gently caressing her cheek with the brush. A soft scent of ginger and bay leaves reached her nostrils. "This is mainly to give you a bit more flattering tone when contrasted with the dark red of the pajamas and pillow. Colors always shift a bit on film so your skin needs to be just a tad darker than its normal shade."

She shivered again as he caressed her long slender throat with the bristles. And it went on like that. Her lips were outlined in a dark red with a brush an then filled in with a slightly paler red. The girl felt her nipples growing hard as Darian rested his forearm on her chest. The intensity of his concentration as he carefully caressed every inch of her soft, full lips was arousing her. Her eye makeup was just as painstakingly done.

By the time he was brushing her hair, the girl was squirming slightly in the chair. Her small chest began to rise and fall more markedly as the brush worked its way slowly through the length of her hair.

"This is a great color," he murmured as he switched to a comb with long, fine teeth. "I like the honey highlights. And I love the way it feels."

The girl had forgotten to breathe as the long, soothing strokes of the comb through her hair relaxed her. Completely zoned out, she had allowed her body to respond on its own to the stranger's touch as he pampered her, carefully reshaping her appearance to fit his own ideal of beauty.

At one point, she had pressed her shoulders back against his chest, lolling her head back and sighing happily. She whimpered as she felt his breath on the nape of her neck and his lips brushed her ear. The girl actually jumped as his voice brought her back to reality.

"Ready to get in bed?" he asked softly.

Chapter Two

Grateful for an opportunity to hide her confusion, the girl hopped out of the chair and padded to the four-poster bed Darian had set up for the shoot. Perfectly manicured nails traced the carvings in the cherry wood posts.

"Isn't this bed too western?" she asked, letting her long, dark hair cover her face as her blush faded. "It seems more colonial than Asian with the mosquito netting and fluted columns."

"You've got a good eye," Darian nodded as he checked his camera settings. "I'm shooting for that East/West colonial mix. Buy this pillow and you, too, could have your own adorable Asian sex slave."

The girl paused and glanced down at her pajamas. Raising an eyebrow, she turned back to the photographer and said, "This is how you dress your sex slaves?"

"Only the shiny new ones," he chuckled, snapping a quick shot of her as she leaned against the bedpost. "You know the fantasy about Asian girls."

"No, I don't," the girl said, tilting her head to look up curiously at the older man. "Guys don't really talk about things like that in front of me. I mean, it's really obvious when a guy has yellow fever but I just think he's weird and creepy. I don't really know what he's thinking. And most guys won't tell me because they think I'll get offended."

Darian nodded and took another shot as he gestured at the pair of red silk pillows against the headboard. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense," he admitted. "Pick up the pillow and hold it against your cheek. Think of a cat rubbing against ... whatever cats rub against."

The girl giggled as she began playing with the pillow, her eyes dancing as she purred against the silk. 

"Well, come on," she said. "Tell me. What's the deal with yellow fever? What are you pervy white guys thinking when you look at me?"

"I'm not telling," Darian said, moving about the room to try different angles. "Besides, it's disgusting and dirty and racist."

"Tell me," she shouted, bouncing on the bed and beating the pillow on her knees. "You've got me all curious now."

Rolling his eyes, Darian gestured for the girl to lie down, "It's just the standard stuff, that you're naturally submissive, you're born knowing how to suck cock, those tight little bodies are designed to squeeze cocks, you've got sideways vaginas ..."

"What?" The girl sat bolt upright in the bed and demanded, "We have what?"

Capturing her glare on film, Darian chuckled. "Sideways vaginas. Instead of going up and down like normal women, Asian vaginas go side to side so they get tighter when you spread your legs." As the girl's mouth opened and closed in wordless disbelief, he nodded solemnly. "It's true."

"It is not," she snorted, throwing the pillow at him. "That's disgusting."

"Prove it," he grinned, tossing the pillow back. "Take of your pants."

"Sure," the girl said, rolling onto her back and pulling her knees up to her chest as she shimmied out of the red silk pants. As her black panties came into view, she stuck her tongue out, spreading her legs wide to flash the panties before sitting up again with her feet tucked under her bottom.

"Cheater," the photographer grinned. "You know I was expecting you to be bare. Now, lay back down and pretend you are asleep. Put your hand on the pillow next to your face." He frowned as the girl complied. "Stop giggling. You're supposed to look sweet and innocent, not smirky. The fantasy is that you're a sweet, innocent submissive Asian virgin who'll just become a complete cum-addicted whore with your first taste of white cock."

This, of course, only made matters worse. Snorting and rolling her eyes, the girl rolled onto her tummy and gazed at him through the veil of her hair. "Yeah," she said. "Because we're all like Little Red Riding Hood." Her voice took on a childish lisp as she widened here eyes and said, "Asian dicks are too small. And black dicks are too big. But white dicks are just right."

Setting the camera aside, Darian took a seat beside the girl, dropping his hand to caress hers. "Relax," he said, his voice low and soft. "Close your eyes and try to actually sleep. We're going to have to get you calmed back down."

The girl giggled as his nails caressed her open palm, tickling her. Taking her hand in both of his, he began massaging the pressure points in her palm with this thumbs. "You are such a little giggle monster. Straighten up." 

This, of course, only sent more giggles running through the girl as he caressed her hand. Opening one eye, she peered up at him curiously.

His hand moved along the girls arm, kneading the muscles as he murmured for her to be still. She blushed again as his finger tips began to probe her shoulders. A small whimper escaped her lips as his fingers began caressing her throat.

"How would you like to quadruple your money?" he asked.

The girl squinted at him suspiciously and shook her head.

"I'm not getting naked," she said.

Darian shook his head as he reached into his pocket and produced a short length of shiny black leather with small silver rings, a dog collar. Smiling, he brushed the girl's cheek, letting the soft suede caress her.

"This would be the only wardrobe change," he murmured. She did not stop him, just stared without blinking, as he circled her neck, lifting her hair slightly, cinching the soft leather band around her throat. "Just a little collar, a very subtle hint."

Still she did not speak, but reached up to feel it, her eyes not leaving his, her breathing coming in short intakes of breath. Her fingers slid between her neck and the collar, feeling its snugness, but not uncomfortably so. She watched as he reached back into his pocket, pulling out a small padlock. 

"No," she whispered, but did not stop him as he reached up, turned the buckle which had been hidden by her hair, and slipping the lock into place, he snapped it shut. The "click" made her shiver.

"A subtle hint of what?" she asked.

Hooking his fingers in the collar, he tugged gently, bringing the young woman to her knees on the bed. His pale green eyes held a hint of humor as he grinned.

"That if you buy these pillows, you, too, could have your own hot Asian sex slave," he said.

"Yes," the girl laughed nervously. "Clearly. Because that is what Asian girls look for in boyfriends, tons of fake Asian crap in their bedrooms. I know red paper lanterns, dragons and tigers always make me horny."

"Which is why you are not the target market," Darian chuckled. "Honestly, how many Asians do you know who'll buy a pillow stuffed with tea leaves? This is for white college kids who think they're Buddhists because they've watched a yoga DVD. The shots we've already got are for family-oriented magazines and papers. I'm thinking about something for Maxim and men's magazines."

Returning to the makeup table, he made a few selections and returned to remove her lipstick and eye make up. As he carefully began to apply deep scarlet lip color and a subtle peacock eyeshadow, he continued to explain.

"These photos are designed to sell the pillows to rice kings," he said. "You know what these guys want when they look at you. Just give the impression that you can't wait to give it to them when you pose."

The girl nodded, tucking her heels up under her bottom as she kneeled on the bed. Bowing her head, she let her long, dark hair fall forward to screen her face and she spoke in an exaggerated accent.

"Yes, sir. A very good slave, I will be for you."

The camera clicked even as the photographer chuckled. "Perhaps a little less good," he suggested. "I think a bad girl might be more appropriate. Part your thighs and place the pillow between them. Give the hint you're humping it."

The transformation was instant. Giggling the girl parted her thighs and wedged the corner of the pillow against her sex. Lifting her chin, she left her lips slightly parted and gazed at the camera with smoky, hooded eyes.

"Excellent," Darian cooed, shooting more photos. "Keep going."

Nodding, the girl began slipping through pose after pose, leaning forward onto her hands and knees, falling onto her side and taking a strand of hair between her lips, licking her fingers. Darian locked a leash to her collar and she began to use it as a prop as well, stroking it through her fingers and letting it trail between her thighs.

Darian smiled as he watched the girl work harder and harder to look sexy. A flush was growing along her throat and face and her breathing was growing shallower as she began to become turned on.

"You're amazing," he marveled as the shoot came to an end. "You really seemed to be getting into it."

The girl blushed furiously and looked down at her hands.

"Maybe a little."

Darian bit his lip as he looked at her, finally coming to a decision.

"Keep the collar," he said, digging into a chest and drawing out a small bundle. "And take these as well. Try them on at home and see how they feel. If you're comfortable with them and interested, I'd like to schedule another photo shoot."

Chewing her bottom lip, the girl looked at the wrapped bundle curiously. 

"Wear them?" she finally asked.

"Bondage outfits. A bit more daring than what you're wearing now," Darian said, flipping through his wallet and handing her five $100 bills. "But the pay's also better."

"But still no sex or nudity?" she asked, her eyes suspicious.

"And no whipping you bloody," he grinned. "Just fantasy dress up."

"I'll think about it," the girl said, heading back to the changing room. "But no promises."

Chapter Three

Darian groaned in frustration as he looked at the photos on the desktop. Normally the problem was finding half a dozen shots he could actually use. Today, he was finding it impossible to weed any out.

"This girl is amazing," he thought, swearing under his breath as he realized he'd now forgotten to get her name twice in a row.

Whatever her name was, the girl had range. There was no denying the fact she looked extremely cute and innocent in the early photos. But as he clicked through to the end of the shoot, her whole persona changed and it was far more than a matter of makeup.

"You are one fierce little sex kitten," he murmured, stroking his cock through the fabric of his jeans as he worked his way through the shots. Sliding the controls to tone the photograph, he found himself frowning. "What the hell is going on with my black levels?" he muttered, zooming in first, on the girl's hair and finally on her panties.


The Making of Monique Pt. 01



Chuckling, he leaned back in his chair, unzipping his fly and stroking himself to a climax as he thought about what his was seeing. There was no defect in the shot. The girl's panties had become darker toward the end of the shoot. Posing for him had gotten her wet.

* * * * *

At home, the girl fingered her new collar absentmindedly as she stared hard at the bundle the photographer had given her. She had actually forgotten she was wearing the collar until she got home and caught her reflection in a mirror.

"God, what is wrong with you, Monique?" she thought. "Everybody who saw you probably thinks you're some kind of pervert."

Looking back at the package, she squirmed on the edge of the bed and thought, "Maybe they're right."

There was no denying the experience had made the young woman horny. By the time the shoot ended, Monique had been terrified the photographer would see her juices running down her thigh. For some reason, that had just made it worse and she became even hornier.

She was afraid to open the package.

But she had to. The girl pounced on it, squealing with excitement when the paper tore away to reveal a pile of leather straps and silver chains. Running her fingers over the soft, shiny black leather, Monique felt herself growing wet again. Hesitation gone, she stripped herself naked and began separating the parts.

The wrist and ankle restraints were easy enough to figure out. Monique simply wrapped them on and secured the buckles. The leather thong went on quickly as well, although the fit was odd. The knobby interior rubbed maddeningly against her labia and the rawhide strap settled into her slit, teasing her with each movement she made.

Monique was already out of breath as she examined the top. It seemed to be a collection of straps and chains meant to simply lock around her torso, barely concealing her breasts and leaving her tummy bare.

"What kind of slut would let a guy see her in this?" she wondered as her fingers slipped inside the thong to tease her clit. The girl's head lolled back as she moaned with passion as she glimpsed herself in the mirror. The crimson lipstick and blue-green eye shadowed combined with the raw need on her face to make her seem even almost feral.

Shocked at her own appearance, she drew back onto the bed, sinking her fingers inside her pussy as she moaned with pleasure.

"Me," she whimpered as she rocked her hips against her fingers, feeling the cool metal chains brushing her hard nipples. "I'm that kind of slut."

* * * * *

Monique kneeled with her thighs spread in a pile of dark furs, a fine sheen of sweat making her skin gleam as brightly in the firelight as the oiled leather and silver chains she wore.

Darian was seated at a table by the fire, arguing politics with a pair of dark-skinned Arabs. The girl kept her eyes lowered, focused on her master's left hand as it rested on his thigh. When he turned palm up, Monique leaned forward, gracefully crawling to his side, making a point of swaying her hips suggestively.

"May this girl serve her master?" she asked, kneeling at his side and keeping her eyes lowered until he asked for another round of drinks. As she crawled away from the table, she could feel three sets of eyes boring into her bare ass. Rather than concealing her sex, the leather thong bisected it, making her labia even more prominent as she moved.

Walking back to the table, she kept her eyes lowered but could still see the way the Arabs were looking at her. Kneeling again at her master's feet, she placed the tray on the ground and served him first, kissing the rim of his cup and then raising it toward him with both hands. Each of the Arabs was served in the same manner, minus the kiss. Darian was her master, not these other men.

Blushing deeply, she crawled back ot her furs as the conversation turned from politics to slaves. Although their words were crude, Monique realized the men's comments were meant to be complimentary. There seemed to be much amusement over her small stature and the pleasure such a tight pussy could offer. However, both Arabs offered Darian their condolences on the smallness of his slave's breasts.

Monique burned with shame as she realized her master was being teased due to her deficiencies. Blinking her eyes against tears, she almost missed Darian's summoning gesture. Scrambling to him on her knees, she chewed her lip and rose gracefully to her feet when he commanded her to rise and display her tits to his guests.

Monique's breasts were just coming into view when her alarm clock went off, bringing her back to the real world and the knowledge that she had to be in class soon. Groaning, she fingered her pussy as she calculated how long it would take to get dressed.

Chapter Four

Darian took a deep breath, inhaling the mingled scents of oiled leather and cedar. Closing his eyes, he leaned again the wooden support post, running his palm over the rough, unfinished surface. An image of the girl restrained at the post was forming in his mind when he heard the front door chiming.

The girl's face was a mask of pure fury and she flew toward him. "You ass," he screamed. "You perverted, deceitful ass."

"Whoa," Darian said, throwing up his hands. "What did I do?"

In answer, the girl pulled up the loose-fitting sleeve of her baggy blouse. The black leather wrist restraint gleamed darkly against her skin.

"These don't come off," she growled. "I had to wear them under my clothes all day. Not to mention this." Tilting her head, the girl swept aside her lustrous hair to reveal the padlock firmly attached to the back of her collar. "You didn't give me a key, you bastard."

"Good thing you had that turtle neck," he grinned. "How'd you get your bra on under the top?"

"I didn't!" she shrieked. "I had to sleep in the whole outfit and wear it to class today. Those leather panties drove me nuts all day."

Cocking his head, Darian favored the young woman with a wicked grin before he said simply, "You know you could have just slid them down your legs. There's no way to lock a g-string."

With a wordless howl of rage, Monique threw her purse at the photographer. Bouncing harmlessly off Darian's shoulder, it flopped to the ground behind him.

"You have serious anger issues, little girl," he said. "You need discipline."

"You need to get me out of this stuff," she huffed.

Darian nodded again, his face lighting up as he agreed to help Monique.

"No problem," he grinned. "Just get undressed and I'll have you out of it in no time."

Monique's eyes widened and she actually squealed with rage.

"I'm not letting you see me in this!"

"Then I can't get you out of it," Darian shrugged. "The buckles all have arrowhead clasps. It takes two really strong hands to squeeze the points together and then pull them back through. But I'm sure you can find a friend or relative somewhere who'd be happy to help you off with it. Maybe your dad. I bet he'd love to help."

Monique fumed as she ran through the list of guys she knew who were strong enough to work the clasps and who she wouldn't mind seeing her in the bondage outfit. With a sigh of resignation, she realized it was a very short list and kicked off her shoes. Moments later, after what seemed like an agonizingly long and humiliating strip tease, she stood before Darian wearing nothing but her collar, wrist and ankle restraints and the leather and chain g-string and bodice.

As the photographer slowly ran his eyes over every delicious inch of the girl's body, he let a small smile play over his lips.

"You look amazing," he said. "Are you sure I can't convince you to do a few test shots before I help you out of it?"

"Positive," she snorted, tapping a small, slender foot against the hardwood floor of the studio.

Pouting sorrowfully, Darian nodded and gestured for Monique to turn around. "Put your hands behind you," he instructed. 

"Why?" the girl asked suspiciously.

Chuckling, he said, "You can always do this yourself if you don't like the way I do it. How long did you spend wrestling with it last night?"

Monique blushed with humiliation, not wanting to admit she hadn't wrestled with it at all. The outfit had made her feel so sexy and so hot that she had worn it to bed, fingering herself to fantasies of Gor until she drifted off. She hadn't discovered how hard it was to get out of until she was already late for class the next morning.

Helplessly, she turned around, clasping her hands together behind her back as she leaned forward to present them to Darian. Moments later, she felt his hands envelop hers and heard a shark click. Sighing with relief, she tried to pull her hands back in front of her, only to realize he'd locked the two wrist restraints together.

"What the fuck?" she shrieked as a sharp tug pulled her wrists upwards behind her. Her only answer was the sting of a firm, open-handed slap on her bare ass.

"What the fuck, Sir," Darian corrected, hauling the girl's wrists higher until she was forced to bend at the waist to ease the strain on her shoulders.

"Fuck you," she shouted, only to be answered by a sharper yank on her wrists and a harder slap on her ass.

"Fuck you, Sir," Darian chided her, barely able to restrain his laughter.

Monique continued kicking and cursing as the photographer spread her ankles far apart and connected the restrains to the ends of a wooden spreader bar. With her wrists suspended from an overhead beam by a length of rope and her legs spread, Monique tipped forward on her tip toes as she bent forward at the waist.

The girl howled with outrage as he strolled around in front of her and cupped her breasts through the leather straps and chains.

"Not very large, but they suit your frame," he commented clinically. "And I love these hard little brown nipples. Does being pissed off always make you horny?"

"Thinking about kicking your ass turns me on," the girl snarled.

This time, he smacked her ass with a short slapper made of a length of rectangular black leather.

"Thinking about kicking your ass turns me on, Sir," he said with a great show of weariness.

Darian left her there, angry and struggling for half an hour as he shot photos of her near naked body in bondage. For the first few minutes, she was in a daze, not completely realizing the predicament she was in. In some ways, it was a dream-like state. She had a moment of anger, upset with herself for being in this position and anger at Darian for the way he had taken her. But then fear began to take over. No one knew she was here. The pain began to make its way to her overwhelmed senses, an ache in her shoulders and a burning sensation on her ass cheeks. She had never been spanked, not even by her father. 

Anger had not worked. Maybe she could try her female charms. "Please, Sir, I'm sorry for yelling at you and being angry. Please let me loose, Sir. I won't tell anyone."

"This position is called a strapado," he said, conversationally, totally ignoring her previous plea. "It's a wonderful position for taking a slave from behind or for oral sex." His hand caressed the smooth globe of the girl's bottom before teasing the folds of her labia as they peeked out between her widespread thighs. "You will spend a lot of time in this position until you learn to do these things willingly."

As the girl continued to struggle, he worked a finger into her tight little pussy from behind her.

"You're wet, slut," he said quietly and confidently. "You may continue to struggle, but we both know you enjoy this. Now, would you like to cum before I tell you the rules of your new life?"

xxx



The Making of Monique Pt. 02



Chapter 5

Monique had no intention of giving Darian the satisfaction of making her cum.

"Go to hell," she spit out.

The sharp slap to her ass was automatic, as was Darian's response, "Go to hell, Sir." He let the girl's ensuing growl of frustration go uncommented as he scooped her purse from the floor and began going through it.

The young woman started to complain about the invasion of her privacy when she realized he'd just had his fingers on her pussy and bit back the comment.

"Nice phone," he said, aiming it at her. "You can get pretty decent photo quality with the new ones." The phone clicked as he spoke. "Video's not bad, either. Smile for daddy."

"You're not my daddy," she spit out, eyes flaring.

Chuckling, Darian began thumbing through the phone's contact list. "No, I'm not," he said, "But I bet daddy's in here. Here we go. Oh, this is so cool. You can send video as a multimedia message. Does your daddy have a data plan? Because if he doesn't, he's going to have to pay a fortune to see his little slut in her new outfit."

Monique's eyes grew wide with alarm.

"Wait," she cried out. "Sir."

"That's better," Darian said, transferring her data to his own cell. "Gotta love Bluetooth." Walking back to the bound college student, he ran his hand along the smooth curve of her bare bottom. "Did you want to say something?"

"Please don't send that video to my father ... Sir," she choked out. Monique was gritting her teeth, holding back her rage and trying to sound as respectful and sweet as possible. "I don't want him to see me like this."

His finger tips trailed along the small of the girl's back, the nails tracing a design into her soft, smooth skin. "But you wanted me to see you, didn't you?" he asked.

"N-no," she stammered. "I didn't have a choice. You forced me."

"I forced you to take the outfit home and put it on?" he asked softly, his fingers tracing more of her body as he spoke. "I forced you to finger yourself as you lay there in bed dreaming about being a slave girl?"

"N...no," she whimpered, shivering as his fingers sent an electric jolt through her pussy. "You tricked me."

"I tricked you?" he murmured, stroking the furrow of her sex with one hand as he reached beneath her and toyed with her breasts with the other. "Am I tricking your nipples into getting hard or your pussy into getting wet? Are you really going to pretend you don't want this?"

Monique whimpered, her pussy growing hot and moving to meet the man's hand in spite of herself. Darian kept playing with the girl, teasing her pussy and nipples, letting her body's natural response to stimulation undermine her confidence.

"Here are the rules," he murmured against her ear. "You will always refer to me as sir and show the proper respect or you will be punished. When you earn it, I will give you a name, but until then, you're just my girl, do you understand?"

Monique nodded imperceptibly, still trying to wriggle her pussy against Darian's fingers. Pulling them away from her cunt, he slapped Monique's ass hard as he tweaked her right nipple. 

"What did you say?" he demanded.

"Your girl understands, sir," she gasped out, sighing in relief as his fingers stroked her labia again.

"You will kneel and ask permission before entering or leaving my presence," he said. "You give me your complete and total obedience because I own your ass, understand?"

"Your girl understands, Sir," she gasped out, writhing in her bonds. The sensation of his fingers on her clit was driving the girl mad even as her calves began to burn from the effort to remain on tip toe. The ache in her shoulders was a dull burn even as tiny sparks of pleasure shot through her nipples. "You own this slut's body and she will obey you, Sir."

Monique arched her back, crying out in ecstasy as she came on her master's fingers. The girl's legs turned to rubber and she collapsed, the sudden pressure on her shoulders sending a searing jolt of pain through her shoulders before Darian caught her.

The photographer was actually gentle as he untied the girl and lowered her to the floor. At first, she curled into a ball, hugging her knees to her chest. But then she remembered the rules and rolled onto her knees, tucking her feet up under her bottom.

Darian left her kneeling there, watching him through hooded eyes as he wiped his hand clean on a handkerchief. 

"Is this really what you want, Sir?" she asked, her eyes dark with mixed emotions. "An unthinking slave?"

Chuckling, Darian ruffled the girl's hair.

"You can think," he said softly. "You may even speak. After all, if I own you, I own your thoughts. You should always tell me what you think and what you feel."

"This isn't fair, Sir," she said quietly. "You can't just force me to be your slave like this."

Darian looked up, blinking in surprise. "Of course I can," he said. "I just did."

"You tied me up and fingered me, Sir," she said. "You blackmailed me. I didn't do this willingly."

"You came," Darian said with a wry grin. "You got your slut juices all over my hand and you came like a little slut. I didn't climax. My fingers don't get erect. This was all for your pleasure."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No ...."

Suddenly, the man's hand was fisting the girl's hair, jerking her head back to look up into his eyes, but he met her gaze only briefly before his cool green gaze slipped down her half-naked torso and widely parted thighs. 

"You're leaving a wet spot on my floor," he said. "Is that slutty little cunt of yours still hungry?"

Blushing to the roots of her hair, the girl stared at the floor, refusing to meet her captor's gaze, not wanting to answer him.

"Is it?" he demanded again, tugging her hair.

"No, sir," Monique growled. "I don't want this. That's just my body's natural response to ..." She fell silent, unwilling to finish the statement.

Chapter Six

Darian smiled grimly as the young woman's voice trailed off. With a victorious smirk, he turned his back on the kneeling coed and went back to playing with her cell phone. 

Her eyes followed him curiously as he gathered a shimmering handful of silver chains and set them on the table while thumbing key strokes into the phone.

"Sir," she asked, "Please don't send that video to my parents."

Darian grinned wickedly as he glanced up at her. "Don't worry, little one. I'm not. As long as you don't try to escape me, I'll keep your secret."

"It's not my secret," she growled.

Abandoning his work for the moment, Darian reached out to seize Monique's collar, dragging her across his lap. His hand felt surprisingly soft and smooth as he caressed her bare bottom.

"It's not my secret, Sir," he said wearily as he landed a sharp blow on her bottom. Without waiting for her answer, he rained a dozen more strokes, alternating from one buttock to the other, making sure to never strike the same place twice. "Understand?"

"Yes, Sir," Monique said, tears beginning to streak her face. She wasn't even sure why she was crying. The spanking hadn't actually hurt. The humiliation of being so easily taken and spanked as if she were a mere child bothered her more. The nagging hunger in her pussy was worse. She didn't want this to turn her on.

Her hands were still locked behind her back when Darian allowed Monique to stand again. With disdainful ease, he reached out and swept the leather g-string down her thighs, letting it fall to the ground.

"Yes," he said sarcastically. "I can see how that was impossible for you do to last night."

Monique bit back her response, but her eyes were smoldering as she watched him. She might have to obey, but she was still far from submitting, she thought. She just had to bide her time and find ways to resist. Still, as she watched him toying with the phone and chains she couldn't quash her curiosity.

"Sir," she sniffed. "What are you doing?"

Chuckling, he turned his chair to face her.

"Here, let me show you," he smirked. "You're really going to loathe this."

Sweeping the collection of slender chains into his hand, he leaned forward, wrapping his fingers around her ankle and motioning for her to lift her foot. Moments later, he was sliding the device upwards, the cool metal links caressing her legs as they rose to her waist. As he adjusted them, Monique realized the chains formed a kind of thong. A single, slightly heavier chain cinched firmly around her waist, just above her hips. Chains then ran from each hip to a small silver ball which rested just below her clit. Another chain ran from the ball, between her labia and wrapped under her and between her cheeks before attaching to the belly chain with the all too final sounding click of a lock snapping into place.

"Please tell me I'm not wearing a chastity belt, Sir," she murmured, trying hard to keep her voice soft. She was still hoping to reason with him.

"In a way," he shrugged. "A guy could just slide his cock inside you along side the chain. So it won't keep you completely pure. It would be uncomfortable, though. We'll call it a slut anti-theft device."

The girl growled with frustration but kept silent. Darian leaned back in the chair and held up her cell phone.

"You keep this with you all the time?" he asked.

"Most of the time, Sir," she admitted.

"Excellent," he said. "In the future, I want it with you all the time. When you get a text that simply says, 'home,' you will come here immediately, no matter what you are doing, understand?"

Monique nodded.

"Yes, Sir," she said. "But what if I ... your girl ... is taking a test or is in an important class?"

"Nothing is more important that serving your master," Darian said coldly. "You will obey." A genuinely warm smile softened his features. "And you must trust your master to see to your welfare by not doing anything that will harm your academic career."

"Yes, Sir," she said, breathing easier. At least Darian didn't seem to be planning to deliberately ruin her life. He seemed to be acknowledging she was a human being with responsibilities.

The thought died a moment later as Darian held up his hand and said, "Stay," as if he were speaking to a dog. Monique's eyes flared with anger, but she held her tongue as she watched Darian pace off 30 steps before placing the phone on the floor.

Returning to Monique's side, her took her in his arms and kissed her deeply. Caught off guard, Monique fell into the kiss, even returning it as her body was crushed against his. Already aroused by the humiliation she'd undergone, her desire seemed to explode inside her as Darian simply claimed her. Breathless, she let her body respond to the strength and confidence of his embrace.

As the kiss broke, he slipped behind her, holding her body against his chest as he stroked his fingertips along her torso to toy with her pussy.

"You really do get wet easily, don't you?" he murmured against her ear.

"I ... your girl ... has always juiced easily, Sir," Monique replied, blushing. "It is not something your girl control. Anything can cause it."

Even this small bit of rebellion, implying that he shouldn't take too much pride in her arousal, felt like a victory to Monique and she tried to keep the grin off her lips.

If Darian noticed the jibe, he ignored it, instead bringing out his own cell phone. Making sure she could see the screen, he flicked the voice dial button and said, "Bad slut."

The screen responded by bringing up the text message screen and sending the word's "bad slut" to Monique's number.

A second later, she heard her phone ring. The electric jolt fired through her pussy a second after that.

Crying out, she spasmed, her body falling back against Darian as her legs went weak. It felt as if someone had slipped a taser between her legs and fired it off. And yet, in spite of the pain, she found herself climaxing. The burst of energy seemed to have broken the wall of resistance she had been building against her own arousal. Monique wasn't even sure if the pain of the shock had added to the strength of the orgasm.

"Oh god," she whimpered as the photographer held her in place, her chest was heaving.

"High voltage, low amperage," he explained. "The voltage causes the sting but the amps are what kills you. So it's not too dangerous. Although that was just the medium setting. There's also high and maximum, but you'd have to be a very bad slut to feel that."

"How?" she gasped.

"Your phone has Bluetooth. I paired the receiver in the ball just like you would a headset. We know it has a range of at least 30 paces now."

Monique's eyes widened as she realized the implication of his words.

"I've got the only key to your new slut training belt," he said. "Oh, and if the belt loses its signal, it switches off by firing on maximum until the battery is dead. That could be up to 30 minutes. So make sure you never get more than 30 paces from your cell phone or ... well, you can imagine what it would feel like."

Now, she was staring at him in pure horror.

"I take it you understand the need to be my good little slave," he said, eyes dancing with amusement.

Still tingling from the aftershocks running through her quivering flesh, the girl nodded silently, blurting out, "Yes, Sir" at the last minute as she saw him raise his phone again.

"Good girl," he said, leaning forward to kiss her throat. "I think we'll get along just fine as long as you remember who owns you now."

Chapter Seven

Monique seethed with anger and humiliation as she she knelt on the floor of Darian's studio. 

He had clipped the d-ring of her collar to a saw horse, locking it into place with a loud snap. Her arms had then been pulled straight out from her sides and her wrists chained to the ends of the saw horse. The photographer had also slipped a leather belt around each of her thighs just above the knee and chained them to the feet of the horse, spreading them obscenely wide. She was completely naked except for the dog collar and her slut training belt.

The photographer simply stared at her, obviously amused as the girl struggled against the bonds. The horse seemed to be bolted to the floor. No matter how much Monique tried to struggle, she couldn't rock it. The collar held her neck so firmly to the side of the horse, she wasn't even able to turn her head. After a brief struggle, she gave in and simply glared at her captor.

"Okay, I get it ... Sir," she finally spit out. "I'm a weak, helpless little Asian girl and you're a big strong white guy. I have to do what you tell me or you'll hurt me."

Even if Monique had tried, she probably couldn't have kept the contempt from her voice.

"Is that what you think this is about?" Darian asked, cocking his head to one side. "Bullying?"

"Isn't it, sir?" the girl demanded. "How is this anything but bullying?"

"You're aroused by it," he remarked.

"No, sir." Monique kept her tone polite but her eyes were staring daggers.

In answer, Darian simply squatted in front of her. His hand flicked out, the knuckles brushing the girl's hard nipples as if he were doing nothing more mundane than testing a light switch. The knuckles then trailed down Monique's belly to brush her labia. As the knuckle of his index finger parted the silken folds of Monique's labia, it became obvious her sex was glistening with moisture.

Monique simply glared into his eyes.

"How many orgasms have you had as my little bondage slut?" he asked. "Two? Three? More? Don't bother saying none. You've cum at least once from my fingers and a second time from your little silver slut belt."

Monique stared at the floor rather than answer.

"How many times have you made me cum?" he continued. "Oh, that's right, you haven't. Interesting, isn't it? I'm the bad guy but you're the little slut with the wet pussy and hard little brown nipples just aching for her master's touch. You're the only one of us who's actually gotten of on what we're doing here. How do you explain that?"

Monique's gaze stayed riveted to the floor.

"Oh, don't worry, I get it," he mused. "I know it's hard for you to admit just how submissive you are, just how much you yearn to be enslaved. Believe me, I spent half my life in Asia and South America, trying so hard not to be the stereotypical American jerk. I'd imagine the last thing you want is to have to admit that you really are a submissive little Asian fuck bunny."

From the savage growl and the way in which the girl's teeth snapped closed, Darian was glad she was bound.

"That's a good little slut," he grinned. "Show some spirit."

Eyes dark with anger and frustration, the girl stopped struggling, refusing to give him the satisfaction of watching her fail helplessly to escape. Chuckling, he stepped closer and ruffled her long, silky hair.

"Ayah," he sighed. "You have shamed your ancestors."

That time, despite her small size, the girl almost managed to rattle the horse as she tried to lunge at him. Darian smiled broadly and ruffled her hair again.

"You have wonderful eyes," he said, turning serious. "And those teeth are amazing. They're so white they practically glow." His hand trailed over her skin until again, he caressed her breasts. "I love these small, firm breasts. Never let some dumbass talk you into implants. You're perfect like you are."

The girl kept her eyes lowered, refusing to meet his eyes as he toyed with her. She grit her teeth as he brushed her tummy with his finger tips, stopping to toy with the dangle of her navel ring. Her jaw clenched hard as she felt the back of his fingers trail lower, running over her mound. His knuckles parted her labia, opening her as they pressed between her lips.

"Nice," her murmured. "You've got a juicy little pussy. I just touch you and you begin leaking all over me. That's a very good sign. They say you can tell a lot about a slut by the amount and quality of the slave oil she produces when she juices."

The sound escaping Monique's lips was somewhere between a growl and a moan. She couldn't deny that despite herself she was becoming aroused. The humiliation of the realization just turned her on more.

He continued teasing her pussy as he spoke, keeping the stimulation to her dripping pussy non-stop while beginning to toy with her nipples as well.

"This isn't about bullying," he said softly, his fingers continuing to send little tremors of pleasure spreading from her clit and nipples through her whole body. "This is about pleasure. It's okay for you to enjoy this. There's nothing wrong with enjoying being helpless, having no choice but to feel every atom of pleasure your master chooses to allow you."

This time the sound from Monique's lips was nothing more than a series of sweet little whimpers as her arousal overcame the resistance of her conscious mind.

"Isn't this what you dream about at night? Bound, naked, immobile, helpless. You're a work of art, being pleasured by your master, giving pleasure to your master by the simple act of existing as he strokes your hot little shaved pussy? Do I own this hot little pussy?"

"Nnnn ...." she moaned. "No, sir."

"Wrong, slut," he murmured, his lips brushing the helpless girl's ear. "You say you hate this and I'm just bullying you, but who does your pussy obey? You? I don't think so."

His fingers were a blur now, making fast light circles around her clit, teasing and tormenting her as he drove her toward her orgasm. "Try to tell your pussy to dry out. Order it not to cum for me. You may be a free woman, but I own your cunt. What's the phrase I'm looking for? Hmmm ..." Listening to the girl moan and pant as his fingers moved more frantically, he finally said, "Ah, yes. I think the phrase I'm looking for is 'ngoh yungyauh neih geh hai.' I'm afraid I don't know Mandarin. My associates tend to speak Cantonese and Vietnamese almost exclusively. I suppose it doesn't matter. Your slutty little pussy doesn't have to understand the words. It just has to obey me and cum for its master."




The Making of Monique Pt. 02



Gasping, Monique felt her entire body tensing. Even her toes curled as the orgasm finally began to race through her body. Feeling her tremble as she tensed, Darian grinned and pressed home his point. "Cum for me, slut," he growled. "Show me you're as obedient as your pussy. Show me you belong to me."

Crying out, Monique came as if on command, helpless to resist. She felt as if she came forever, unable even to slump afterwards because of the restraints. At least, she thought, wearily, she hadn't called him master. She hadn't admitted he owned her. She had resisted, Monique thought, even if her pussy had not.

Chapter Eight

Monique tried to concentrate on the poli sci lecture but the "rules of her new life" kept chasing each other through her mind. 

The young woman was annoyed to find herself following them. Darian couldn't possibly see her as she sat in her classroom. Or could he? Squirming in her seat, Monique felt the small chains bisecting her pussy and shivered. It was wired as a receiver. What if it transmitted as well, or recorded data to be downloaded later. What if it held a microphone or even a pinhole camera.

The coed bit her lip, feeling her pussy quiver just a bit at the idea that Darian had his own personal pussy-eye view of her life. Immediately, she realized she was already violating a rule and parted her lips, flicking her tongue between them.

That was a rule. She was to never completely close her mouth. Her lips must always remain slightly parted, a reminder that as a slave, her mouth is always available to serve her superiors. The same was true of her thighs. Monique's knees were held an inch or two apart, just enough to satisfy the rule that her thighs could never be closed. Her pussy must always be accessible.

Squirming in her seat, Monique felt the smooth, cool surface of the chair pressing against her bare ass. This was easily the most maddening of the rules so far. She was only allowed to wear skirts and Darian had insisted that when she sit, she lift the hem so that her bare bottom would rest directly on the seat. She had practiced for an hour in front of the mirror the night before until she finally mastered flipping her skirt up as she sat without making it obvious to everyone in the room.

It had annoyed her to no end that she felt a rush of pride when she finally got it right.

Typically, Darian had also forbidden her from wearing underwear. She had tried to explain to him that girls needed panties because of the way their anatomy worked. The photographer had simply smirked and said it was her problem if she was such a horny little slut that she couldn't be trusted not to go around leaking pussy juice all over herself.

Squirming again, the girl realized thinking about her predicament was making her wet. A tiny squeak of dismay escaped her lips as Monique realized that moisture had to go somewhere. Reflexively, she squirmed on the seat again, spreading more of her juices against its surface.

Monique wasn't stupid. She knew he'd given her the rule just so something like this would happen. He wanted her body to betray her, to convince her that she was a horny girl who needed to cum and cum often. And he knew that each time he thought of the rules as she came, it would convince her that much more that he controlled her.

"You'll need more than mind games to break me," she smirked. "I'm getting wet because I'm thinking about getting wet. That's all."

She wished she could overcome the eye contact rules as easily. Slaves, she was told, should never make eye contact with free people. When speaking to one of her "betters," she was commanded to lower her eyes, looking at their lips or chests instead of their eyes. 

Monique had felt distinctly stupid walking around campus lowering her eyes every time she addressed anyone. Darian had suspected it would be even more annoying for her than for most people. While it was simply a matter of politeness among older working class Asians, Darian had noticed young, educated Western Asians hated anything that made them act like peasants. And playing into the submissive Asian slut stereotype would have to chafe a law student at Berkeley. 

"I think the PC freaks at Berkeley actually banish people who exhibit signs of stereotypical behavior," he joked. "You'll have to be careful not to get expelled for acting like a submissive little yellow slut."

She had growled at him when he said it, but it had been hard to argue as she wriggled her chained pussy against this fingers, trying desperately to get over the edge of her oncoming orgasm. That, too, was part of her conditioning. He praised her for being such a lovely, submissive slut as he stroked her pussy, associating the words with pleasure. He used words like stubborn, willful and independent as she spanked her or pinched her nipples, associating them with with pain.

"Basic Skinnerian conditioning," she had thought as his fingers made rapid, teasing circles around her clit. Knowing what Darian was doing, she had tried to fight him, but no matter what she knew intellectually, her pussy seemed to have a mind of its own, responding to her new master's touch on her helpless, bound body. So many of her fantasies had centered on scenes like these.

The image was so clear in her mind, her body helpless, immobilized by chains and leather as her master made her cum on his command. Closing her eyes, Monique squirmed in her seat, feeling her pussy juice as she fought the urge to finger herself right there in the classroom. 

The classroom ...

"Is there a problem, Miss Wang?"

Monique's eyes snapped open as the instructor addressed her. Her heart skipped a beat and she blushed furiously as she realized how close she had been to reaching under her skirt and fingering herself in front of the whole class.

"I ... uh ... no, sir," she squeaked, her eyes automatically lowering to gaze at the lecturer's crotch. Darian had told her to imagine what the person's sex would look like when she did this, to see herself chained and kneeling before them. The image flashed through her mind before she could stop it. She bit her lip in frustration, only to immediately part her lips and run her tongue along her lower lip as she had been instructed.

Her pussy twitched as she realized her instructor had just seen her blush, look at his crotch and lick her lips. For some reason, the humiliation of the thought made her juice even more and she knew she was leaving a puddle in the seat beneath her. This, of course, only increased her humiliation and her arousal and she groaned in frustration.

Fortunately, the class was ending and the students began hustling out of the room. Monique sat paralyzed. The professor had come closer. Standing right in front of her, there was no way he could miss the wet spot she knew she was leaving behind her if she stood up.

"Is there a problem, Miss Wang?" he repeated, practically smirking at her obvious embarrassment.

Muttering under her breath, she rose quickly to her feet, hoping to slip past him without him. The sound of the professor clearing his throat stopped her in her track.

"Oh dear," he said dryly. "That's not very sanitary. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to clean that up before you go."

Completely humiliated beyond anything she could imagine, Monique held out her hand to accept the handkerchief her professor offered. Bending at the waist, she quickly wiped the seat dry, not realizing that she was now flashing her rear end and glistening pussy lips to the instructor until he whistled appreciatively.

Jumping bolt upright, she began to stammer an apology or explanation. She wasn't quite sure what she was trying to say. Fortunately, the man cut her off with a dismissive wave.

"Obviously, I'm flattered by your ... response ... to my lecture, Miss Wang, but I'm afraid my wife and the board of trustees would object to my encouraging your feelings." Taking the handkerchief back, he actually sniffed it before putting it inside his jacket. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to pay more attention to the subject matter and less to your fantasies in the future."

Burning with shame, the girl rushed past the instructor, hurrying to the restroom to clean up. Locking herself inside a stall, she reached for tissue to dry herself, but the first touch to her swollen clit and inflamed pussy sent tremors of pleasure through her whole body. Lifting one foot to the tissue dispenser, Monqiue spread her legs obscenely. It took only the lightest of touches against her sensitive clit to send her over the edge of an intense orgasm. Slumping to the floor of the stall, she rested a moment on her knees, her forehead pressed to the cool surface of the seat as he returned to her senses.

"God," she thought. "What is happening to me?"

Chapter 9

Monique was in the library when the first text message came. The vibration from the training belt was a low buzz against her pussy, nothing more than an alert, reminding the girl to look at her phone.

Her hands trembled slightly as she looked at it. The word 'home' displayed on the screen. Glancing back and forth between the pile of work and the phone, she took a deep breath and thumbed in the reply, "busy."

The resulting shock was immediate. The teasing buzzing switched to a punishing jolt what made the girl spasm. Her thighs slammed together, squeezing the electric prod tightly as her hands gripped the edge of the table hard enough to turn her knuckles white. Her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps as her chest heaved and a small cry of pain escaped her lips. Just when she thought she couldn't take it anymore, the shock stopped.

Panting, she relaxed, eyes frantically scanning the nearby tables to see if anyone had noticed. A few people were looking at her oddly, but as they saw her looking, they quickly went back to their own studies. Still gasping for breath, she gave a surprised squeal with another tingling tease of vibration thrilled through her pussy.

"Home," he phone blinked again.

Monique was still trying to decide what to do when another text arrived and the buzzing in her pussy increased in intensity. Gazing at her phone in horror, she read the text.

"Intensity will increase every five minutes until you arrive here."

As if to punctuate the point, the vibrations increased again. Feeling as if she had a small vibrator pressed against her clit, Monique moaned in frustration. She had already satisfied herself there was no way to remove the device. Now, feeling the aggravating buzzing against her most sensitive areas, she knew she couldn't remain in the library either. Against her will, Darian's remote control teasing was making her pussy wet.

Gathering her books, she fled the library with short, quick hobbling steps as the vibrations in her pussy grew. She had no idea what she was rushing toward, but she refused to let herself think about it. Anything was better than the persistent frustration she was feeling.

Darian was smirking with obvious pleasure as Monique raced into his studio. The intensity of the vibrations had grown to a maddeningly frantic rate and it was all she could do to keep herself from sinking to her knees and climaxing. The only thing that stopped her was the fear that the next increase would bring pain instead of pleasure.

As she skidded into this room on her high-heeled sandals, Monique finally allowed herself to sink to her knees. Thighs wide-spread, she let her head fall back, finally releasing her self-control for a moment.

"Your girl is here, Sir," she gasped out, as the first wave of pleasure began rolling over her. "Please don't punish your girl, Sir."

Pointing his cell at her, the photographer simply said, "Cum, slut," as he pressed a key.

The orgasm was immediate as the device sent amazing jolts of pleasure arcing from her clit to every inch of the girl's body. Monique cried out in ecstasy and fell onto her back, rolling on the floor as she rubbed her legs together in a sensual, writhing display of pure sexuality.

The man waited until Monique came down from her orgasm and then he laughed. 

"Good slut," he said, tossing the phone onto this desk. "But you still attempted to disobey me once tonight. Take off your clothes and we'll discuss the penalty for that."

In her dazed state, Monique didn't even consider resisting this time. She had stripped down to nothing but the sandals before enough presence of mind returned for her to realize what she was doing. Large, startled eyes gazed up at Darian through the veil of her hair as she bent over to remove the shoes. The girl froze, just staring at him, trying to decide whether to continue or stop.

"Whatever," she thought, realizing that with the rest of her clothing already gone, refusing to remove her fuck-me heels would be a hollow victory. Not knowing what else to do when she finished, the girl slipped to her knees, thighs spread wide and hands resting on her thighs.

"Good slut," Darian praised her again.

Monique kept her eyes downcast, trying to hide the glare of pure hatred from him.

"When you have proven yourself to be an truly obedient, well trained slut, you may earn the right to request more time to complete tasks," Darian said quietly. "Until then, you do not tell me you are busy. You come when you are called like the little bitch you are. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," the girl spit out, the word infused with all the hatred and venom she could muster.

"Good slut," he chuckled, obviously amused by your attitude. "I'll tell you what I'll do. You may have a choice. You can have a real punishment or you can crawl to me on your hands and knees, lick my boots and grovel for mercy. If you can convince me you're truly sorry for being such a pathetic, worthless little slut and disobeying your master, I'll show compassion and let the shock you've already had be enough punishment."

Monique continued to look at the floor, her mind racing. It would be so easy, she thought. All she had to do was crawl and beg and there would be no more pain. Was the humiliation worth it? She felt an odd sensation in her tummy as she pictured herself crawling for Darian. Her pussy began to juice again and she made up her mind. 

"I would rather die than lick your boots, you egotistical, sadistic bastard," she said coolly and clearly as she looked up to meet Darian's gaze.

The electric current running through her pussy was unimaginable. Rolling on the floor, Monique screamed until she was hoarse, writhing in agony while having multiple orgasms. The photographer simply took a seat in leather arm chair and watched as the automated tortured took it's course.

Monique lasted almost half an hour and 11 orgasms before crawling to him on her belly, pressing her lips to his boot and gasping, "Please, Sir."

The pain stopped immediately, leaving her to roll into the fetal position, hugging her knees and moaning as her mind tried to sort out what she was feeling.

"Good slut," Darian murmured, reaching down to stroke her hair. "Submit or resist, in the end, you'll always be my good little slut."

Still lost in the haze of pain and pleasure, Monique turned her head, kissing the palm of her master's hand.

xxx



The Making of Monique Pt. 03



Chapter 10

Monique's upper thighs burned as she knelt before Darian. Her back straight, she leaned slightly forward, allowing her hair to cascade forward to veil her eyes as she laced her fingers together behind her back.

"Better," Darian said, "but still not quite right. Try it again."

Monique fought down the urge to sigh and roll her eyes. Earlier in the evening, she had learned the follow of this response.

"That was pretty bad," he had said as the girl knelt before him, wearing only her collar, wrist and ankle restraints and her slut training belt. "Stand up and try it again. This time take a little pride in how you kneel."

She had rolled her eyes then.

Darian had been on her in an instant. The girl had been shocked at how quickly he moved as he brought her small wrists together in one large hand. Jerking them above her head, he had locked them together and threaded a hook through the D-rings before cranking a cable to lift them even higher. The photographer stopped when Monique's eyes were level with his, leaving her toes dangling almost a foot off the floor.

"Am I boring you, slut?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm. Picking up a flogger consisting of a short, thick handle and two dozen tails of soft, supple leather, he caressed her breasts with the tails, as he spoke. "I can make the evening more exciting for you if you like."

"No, Sir," the girl gasped, her nipples tingling from the gentle caress of the whip. "Your girl is not bored."

"Then you rolled your eyes because you're a disrespectful little slut," he said, brushing the thick, heavy strands of the whip along her torso until he caressed her bare pussy.

"No, Sir," she gasped out, trying to ignore the sparks of pleasure the whip was sending through her pussy as Darian nudged her labia open and stroked her clit. "Your girl ..."

"My girl what?" he asked, continuing to use the whip to toy with her pussy. "Tell me why you rolled your eyes. Be honest."

"Your girl thought it was ... stupid ... to expect her to take pride in the way she kneels, Sir," she said meekly. "Your girl didn't mean any disrespect, Sir."

Darian snorted and pulled the whip away from her pussy, slowly walking around behind the girl. Slapping her across her firm, round bottom with the whip, he chuckled.

"I'm sure you didn't," he said. "And I don't mean for this to hurt you."

With that, he lashed out with a long, flat stroke across her bottom.. The girl cried out, arching her back and wriggling her bottom to escape the lash. The second and third strokes crossed her bottom at differing angles, making sure she felt each strand of the whip as he slapped her. The flogger's thick, heavy suede tails didn't cut her flesh or even sting. It was more like a big, slow slap that caused her to sway in her bonds.

However, as Darian methodically flogged her, criss-crossing her entire body from her heels to her shoulders with hard, punishing blows from the whip, Monique felt her skin begin to heat up and burn as if she were receiving a full body spanking. As the girl begged for mercy, Darian explained the futility of her pleas.

"It won't do any good to beg or apologize," he said, punctuating each word with a long, slow lash from the cat. "I don't care if you're sorry or if you've learned your lesson. This ends when the back half of your lovely little body is completely reddened from the whipping. This way you can't con your way out of this with fake tears."

"They're not fake, Sir," she sobbed, humiliated more by the growing heat in her pussy than the actual flogging. "Your girl is really sorry, Sir. She won't roll her eyes again She promises."

He continued anyway, lashing every inch of her firm, young body until her skin glowed red from the punishment. Between strokes, he would step forward, giving her a break from the flogging as he toyed with her nipples and pussy, murmuring against her ear and praising her for being so wet.

"You are such a good little slut," he murmured, his teeth toying with her earlobe. "I love the way you juice for my whip."

Rubbing the butt of the whip against her pussy, he parted the labia, working it gently between them.

"Beg me to fuck your tight little pussy, slut," he growled.

"Siiiiiirrrrr," she hissed. "Please fuck your slut's tight little pussy."

The girl's eyes flew open as she realized what she had just said. Squeezing her thighs together, she tried to take it back, willing herself not to be turned on as Darian chuckled and pulled the whip away. Lowering her to the ground, he flicked the cat forward, lashing her breasts lightly with the tails.

"You're not some big titted cow who giggles every time she moves. Don't kneel like one," he said. "These small, firm breasts shouldn't wobble all over the place when you kneel. I want to see a lithe, graceful slave presenting herself to her master. Now stand up and do it again."

Sniffling, Monique had risen to her feet and knelt again. Darian still hadn't been satisfied, blaming the rising and falling of her chest on clumsiness rather than her aroused state.

"Again," he had commanded. "When you kneel for me, you not only offer yourself to me, you represent me to other people. If you look like a clumsy, resistant bitch, it makes me look bad."

Gritting her teeth, the girl rose and knelt again. It went on for an hour until the muscles in Monique's upper thighs burned from the exercise. She was actually kneeling properly after 15 minutes, but Darian continued, letting her work the muscles as she learned her lesson. The whip in his hand was an ever-present reminder of the need to obey.

So right up until the end of the session, Monique was careful never to sigh or roll her eyes.

Standing, the girl took a deep breath and sank slowly and gracefully to her knees. Darian smiled as he realized she was now moving so smoothly that her breasts truly didn't jiggle even the slightest as he sank to her knees. He was also pleased by the hardness of her nipples and the glistening dew between her labia as she spread her thighs wide and clasped her hands behind her back. When she leaned forward, her hair sweeping forward to cloak her face, he reached down and stroked his fingers though the soft, lush locks and smiled.

"Excellent work," he praised the girl. "You have the potential to make your master very proud."

Chapter 11

Monique's training gradually became more difficult. Each time she came to his studio, he would teach her a new position to kneel and make her practice holding it until he was satisfied with her efforts. The girl had begun to think of the sessions as slut yoga. Each position was designed to reinforce her position as a slave.

And each session left her frustrated and angry that she was in a situation from which she could not escape. There was no way for her to remove the chain training belt and ball that lay just below her clit. One phone call was all it took to bring her to her knees. And one phone call was all it took to send those awful pictures to her parents. She kept thinking that he would remove the chains and she could somehow escape this trap, but at the moment she knew he had her.

She learned to kneel with her hands clasped behind the small of her back, leaning forward and allowing her hair to drape over her face to show humility and submission. With her hands clasped at the back of her neck and her back arched, she knelt to present her breasts to her master. Kneeling with her back arched and her hands palm up on her wide-spread thighs to display the girl's clean-shaven pussy, marked her as a slave, offering all she was to her owner.

She learned to spread her legs and lean forward, grasping her ankles as she offered Darian a clear view of her firm little bottom. She also learned to crawl on her hands and knees when her master desired it. Darian had spent a great deal of time on this lesson, teaching her to sway her hips and breasts with each movement.

"Every movement, every gesture, every expression," he told her, "every breath should be taken with the intent to entice anyone watching into wanting to fuck you silly. Even the sounds you make should drive me wild with desire and compel me to touch you."

She could not roll her eyes; she could not sneer. She knew he would increase the jolt to her pussy if she did. She just had to listen to these words and accept them for the moment. She hated the thought of being treated like an animal, and being taught like a pet to obey her master's every whim.

Monique was kneeling before him, thighs wide-spread and fingers laced behind her neck as she proudly thrust her breasts forward. If she had to obey, at least she could flaunt her assets. From time to time as he spoke, Darian would brush his fingers over her nipples, her sex or even her lips. Each touch was met with a sweet little moan or whimper as the girl tried to move her body into the touch before pulling away, trying to avoid admitting that her need was great. 

From time to time, she favored her master with a secretive smile as she caught him leaning forward to move with her. Monique had realized she might not be able to free herself of Darian, but she had also realized that by learning his lessons, she could become irresistible to him and that might give her the power to improve her position.

"Sir," she whimpered as he stroked her pussy. "Will you please remove these training chains? Girl cannot escape as long as you have those pictures and her parents' cell number. She promises to obey and come immediately when you call."

Blinking, Darian had gazed at the girl with genuine surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"Sir, you have taught girl how to serve and obey and she does not need these slave chains."

Monique kept her eyes lowered, feeling the burn on her face as she waited for his answer. For a moment, she felt she had made a mistake in speaking so boldly.

"Stand up," he said, instead of answering.

The girl rose graceful to her feet, hands clasped behind her back as she waited for her next order. Leaving her alone, Darian rooted around in his shop for a moment before returning with a series of items.

"Lift your foot," he said sharply as he knelt before her. As she carefully obeyed, balancing on one foot while raising the other and pointing her toes daintily, he slipped the opening of a silk stocking over her foot. His palms caressed her soft, smooth skin as he unrolled the cool black silk upwards, massaging every inch of her leg until he reached her mid thigh. Despite herself, Monique felt her pussy becoming wetter as his palms caressed her thighs. By the time he had repeated the process on her other leg, Monique was openly whimpering. A pair of black sandals with five-inch heels where added next.

Stepping back, Darian admired his handiwork. The slender Asian's naked body glistened with a fine sheen of sweat from her slut yoga. Gleaming black leather straps and silver chains criss-crossed her torso, accentuating her small, perfect breasts rather than hiding them. The gentle brush of the slender chains against her aureoles each time she moved kept the nipples permanently hard and the slight friction of the training belt between her labia assured that her clean-shaven pussy was also slick with her arousal. The soft, silk thigh-high stockings and fuck me pumps seemed to lengthen her shapely legs and force her firm young bottom higher. She was a vision of pure sex, waiting to be taken.

"But something is missing," Darian mused aloud. "Wait. I know what it is."

Thigh restraints followed. The thin leather straps were cinched against her soft, round thighs just above the stockings. A padlock then locked the restraints together so that Monique could no longer part her legs.

"Sir, what are you doing?" Monique ask with a sense of panic in her voice.

"Silence, slut!" Darian stepped back a few feet and ordered her to come towards him.

Walking was difficult as she was forced to take small, hobbled steps or shuffle along. Naturally, she was ordered to walk and kneel for her master as he put her through the paces of learning to move gracefully in the restraints.

"Your posture could be improved," he said after five minutes. "You keep looking at your feet."

"This girl must!" she argued indignantly. "She will fall and break her neck if she does not." She was not exaggerating. Every step was precarious and now she wished she had said nothing about her pussy harness. 

Chuckling, he disappeared again, returning with what appeared to be a huge, gleaming silver hook.

"Does Sir plan to become a pirate?" she giggled nervously, trying to bring something light into the moment. 

In answer, Darian held the hook to the girl's lips.

"Warm it and get it wet," he ordered.

Monique stared at the device in horror. Trying to imagine the uses Darian might put it to, she recoiled from him, backing away and shaking her head wordlessly.

Growling in frustration, Darian narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Monique could see an internal struggle playing out across his face for a moment ... but only a moment. Then he was on her. His large hand shot out, tangling through her hair and spinning her easily as he forced her chest against the wall. The large man pinned her there easily as he bent down to hiss into her ear.

"You may ask questions about a command, but you will not disobey me. Has anyone ever fucked you in the ass?" he asked, teasing the cold, blunt tip of the hook against her rectum.

Squeaking, Monique shook her head violently.

"No, sir! Your girl is a virgin! Please no!"

"Truly?" he murmured, ignoring her plea and gently working the blunted point of the hook into Monique's rear end. "Then it should be very special when I finally decide to fully enjoy your body, shouldn't it?"

Gasping at the initial intrusion, Monique tried rising onto her toes to escape the slender metal rod. She could feel it stretching the firm little ring of muscle at the opening of her bottom, working it's way deeper inside her. Making an attempt to stifle her moans, she wriggled her bottom.

"Please, stop Sir, please, you will hurt your girl," she begged.

"If you had obeyed me, the hook would be warm and lubricated," he said, jerking the hook, making the metal cruelly probe her ass, stretching it. "It would have slid in more easily and it wouldn't feel like your skin is sticking to it, being torn by it as it forces its way deeper. I want you to understand the pain you're feeling comes from disobedience. Next time, you will obey me and you'll feel the difference."

Without waiting for an answer, Darian gathered her long, lustrous hair into his hand and wrapped a cord around it to form a long pony tail. Each tug on the cords pulled against the girl's hair and the hook fitted into her bottom. Tugging and tightening the ropes, he continued until Monique's back was straight with her shoulders back and her head held high.

"Excellent," he said, patting her bare bottom. "Now walk for me."

Monique gasped as the first step tugged her hair. Jerking her head in reaction, she felt hook sink more deeply into her ass and cried out sharply. Darian chuckled. She saw no reason to beg any more. He would do what he would do to her and she could not stop it.

"Keep your posture correct and you'll feel no discomfort," he grinned.

For another 15 minutes, he made her walk around the studio. As she moved about the room, he reclined in his chair, stroking his cock as he watched her. For some reason, Monique felt herself becoming more and more aroused with each hobbled step. The combination of the restraints and the sensations of the probe moving in her bottom while tugging at her hair and the sight of Darian clearly becoming aroused by her movement was making her wet.

By the time he commanded her to kneel before him, Monique's pussy was glistening and streaks of her liquid desire were trailing along her inner thighs. She held her breath as she gazed at the thick, hard cock just inches in front of her face.

"Touch it," he said, moving his hand way.

"Sir, please. Don't make your girl do this," Monique whimpered.

"Wrap your hand around my cock and jerk me off or I'll shove your slut ass out in the street and you can walk home looking like a little Asian slut who's just dying to be fucked by anyone who wants to her use her tight little pussy. I'll even gag you so you can't argue with them."

Trembling, the girl took a deep breath, tears welling up in her eyes as she realized she had no choice. Monique closed her small hand around the shaft, able to cover less than half of it's length. Her other hand closed around the top, making him shiver as it stroked his sensitive head.

"Are you ready to be my obedient little slut?" he asked, his voice tight with the effort to control himself.

"I ... your girl ..."

Monique stumbled for words, not sure what to say. She didn't want to be a slave, forced to serve this man. But she had wanted this. So much time had been spent practicing and posturing to make herself irresistible. She wanted to know that work was for something. She needed him to show his desire, to justify the time she spent training. But to admit that, even to herself ...

She lowered her eyes and continued stroking his cock.

"Your girl wants to please you, Sir," she said finally, her voice barely audible. "Isn't this what she is being trained for?"

Darian laughed, the sound cold and menacing as he watched her stroke his cock.

"No, slut. You were trained against your will, you were trained to be humiliated to be used like a slut in heat, to be enslaved and collared and chained and used like the little bitch you are until perhaps you are willing to beg to be fucked, but just to please me by jerking me off? I don't think so. Suck it, slut."

Recoiling in horror, she returned to pleading.

"Please, Sir. Your girl has never done that. She cannot. It's is too much."

With a frustrated growl, Darian shoved Monique's hands away from his cock, jerking himself off until his cock began to pulse cum into her face. Monique whimpered as the hot cum splattered over her face. Drawing her close, he rubbed his cock over her, rubbing his cum into young woman's skin as she struggled weakly.

Standing, he grabbed a coat from his wardrobe closet and threw it at Monique. 

"Put this on," he spat, his face dark with anger.

Meekly, the girl shrugged into it. The coat was just long enough to cover her to her knees, hiding the thigh chains. She looked like any other Berkley student as he took her arm and half-dragged her to his car. Driving in silence, he took her to a bookstore. Holding up the cell phone, he said, "You know what happens if you disobey again. Wait five minutes and come inside. Tell whoever is at the counter that you're a pathetic little slut who needs lessons in cocksucking and ask if they have any good how-to books or DVDs. If they think you're joking. Remove the coat and show them how serious you are. Do not disappoint me, slut."

With that, he left the car, slamming the door behind him and going inside to wait.

Chapter 12

The next five minutes for agonizing for Monique. She wanted to disobey the order with every fiber of her being. But she also knew how badly the shock would hurt if Darian chose to punish her.

Tears streaked her face as she made her decision. Gingerly wiggling out of the car, she was intimately aware of the hook moving inside her ass, tugging at her hair with each motion. She felt the hunger in her pussy, the constant stimulation arousing her despite all her conscious efforts to stop it.

With a deep breath, she opened opened the door and entered the bookstore. Fortunately, it was late at night and the building was almost deserted. The only people she saw were Darian browsing the magazine racks and a fairly hot college kid behind the front desk.

Steeling her courage, Monique approached him, chewing her lower lip as she waited for him to ask.




The Making of Monique Pt. 03



"Can I help you?" he said, his eyes roaming over her. Although the coat covered her body, he actually leaned over the counter to eye her legs.

"I'm a pathetic little slut who doesn't know how to suck cock properly," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Do you have any how-to books on proper cocksucking, Sir?"

The boy's reaction was comical. His eyes grew wide and his mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping on land. Finally, he grinned and said, "Okay, who put you up to this? Did Bobby send you here to screw with me? How much is he paying you?"

Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Monique let the coat slip to the floor, revealing the full glory of her naked body adorned with the straps and chains of her slavery.

"This slut is serious, Sir," she squeaked out. "Please show me any books you have on oral sex."

It took the boy several moments to recover. Perhaps he still thought it was a joke. But he had obviously decided to take the matter seriously enough for now.

"Yeah, they'll be back here in the beginning bondage section," he said. "Come with me, slut."

Monique hobbled along behind the boy, feeling completely humiliated as she obeyed him. A quick glance over her shoulder at Darian's glowering face convinced her to fight down her natural urge to rebel. She had a feeling he had been pushed far enough by her disobedience tonight and would become truly cruel if she disobeyed again. Shivering, she quickened her steps into the stacks. 

"Here we go," the boy said. 

Monique's eyes roamed over the titles. They seemed to be nothing but little used tomes about math.

"There are no sex books here," she said, confused.

In answer the boy's hand shot out, grabbing her pussy and mauling it as he pawed her tits with his other hand.

"You don't need books," he said. "I'll teach you all you need to know about sucking cock."

Panicking, the girl tried to struggle. With her thighs chained, she was unable to kick the boy. Instead she squealed and slapped at him as his hands roamed over her bare skin.

"Stop fighting me, bitch," he barked. "God, I hate the way you Asian cockteasers walk around looking like sluts and then try to act all shy and modest when somebody tries to actually fuck you. I thought all you slanty-eyed whores were supposed to be submissive and respect men."

Monique answered by biting him. Hard. Her perfect white teeth sank deep into his arm as she continued struggling. Her anger and frustration was boiling over as she took the pent up rage out on the boy. She had grown accustomed to obeying Darian, but he had said nothing about letting random boys rape her. Unfortunately, he was stronger and the backhand slap across her face made her see stars. Sinking to her knees, Monique began to sob as the boy struggled to pull his pants down. His cock slapped against her face and she gasped.

Monique didn't know what would have happened next. She planned to fight, but the guy was stronger than her and the chains made it hard to struggle. Fortunately, she didn't have to find out. The boy suddenly just disappeared.

Looking up in shock, Monique saw Darian holding the youth by the back of his neck and slamming him face first into a wall. Three quick punches to the small of the boy's back sent him sliding to his knees before Darian brought his knee up to slam into the back of his head, knocking him unconscious.

When the photographer turned to face Monique, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around his legs and hugging him in her relief. 

"Thank you, Sir," she babbled. "This girl is so sorry she disobeyed you. Please. I'll be good. I'll be good. Don't punish me."

Sniffling, she looked at the unconscious clerk in shock.

"What will happen with he wakes up?" she asked.

Darian dropped a pair of $20 bills onto the floor by the boy's face.

"If he's smart, he'll pocket the money and forget this happened," Darian snorted. "Or he'll call the police and tell them the little China girl he was trying to rape kicked his ass. But I think the first one is far more likely."

Wrapping the coat around Monique's shoulders, the photographer slipped his arm around her waist and walked her back to the car. She had a lot to think about on her ride back to the dorm.

xxx