1 comments/ 114524 views/ 4 favorites Natural Born By: a real jrkoff She was older than me. Age is a funny thing with Women. You don't get to ask their ages. It's just impolite. However, this one was definitely older than me. She had that older-woman grace and poise... it was almost... regal. I know how silly that sounds. Lots of guys... especially somewhat submissive men overuse words like that when they're talking about women. But it was true with Miriam. Like she was a queen in search of her king. Instead, she found me. I first saw her at the shoe store where I work, and before you go thinking... oh god, here we go with another shoe-fetish story, remember that some of us guys really do sell these things. I started just out of high school as a way to pay some bills. The place was within walking distance from my apartment and I just kept getting promoted. Soon, it was just easy. I'm not a genius, and I knew my way around and, well, I have never been particularly motivated to find financial glory. At the ripe age of twenty-two, my future, it seemed was to be found kneeling on dirty floors and holding up new pumps and flats for the inspection of potential female buyers. Now, I have no complaints about working in a woman's shoe store. I mean, after all, women come in here all the time. Lots of eye-candy for a watchful young pervert. Unfortunately, there are also lots of plain Janes and homely types as well. Not that it mattered. I had been a confirmed masturbator since I was twelve. I rarely popped boners at work due to the simple fact that my balls were well-drained during my off hours. Things probably would have been fine and normal if my rent hadn't been overdue again. I had been late with the rent a bunch of times. My landlady, a real Mexican ballbuster of a woman who insisted I call her Ms. Lopez, even though I had known her since moving in four years earlier, had requested I meet with her to personally go over my payment history. She knew I was good for the rent, but with my meager income, sometimes needed just a bit more time. I remember how she kept me waiting as I knocked repeatedly on her door by the first floor entrance. Typical behavior for her. When she finally opened it I wasn't surprised to see her with a cigarette in her hand and a ledger book in the other. Her long black hair looked disheveled and I could smell her earthy scent throughout the spacious apartment. I doubted that she had showered today. She was casually dressed in a dark brown housedress and brown stockings without shoes. The stocking feet had massive toe reinforcements across the front of each foot. I glanced briefly at the abundant cleavage on display and the sway of her womanly hips before entering fully into the lair of the tigress. The thing that really pissed me off the most about Carmen Lopez was the way she talked to me. Like she was my mom or something. It's very difficult being manly in front of a woman who knows that you are a masturbator, though. She had caught me while rummaging through her clothes hamper. It doesn't get much worse than that... but let me give you the full picture. I mean, I wasn't just rummaging and beating off. I was completely naked. My clothes were in a heap on top of her toilet and I had a pair of her girly pink nylon panties stretched snugly over my head so I could sniff at the dirty hashmarks in the seat. My angry red boner was slapping loudly through my jacking fist as I fingered a black stocking and rubbed it against my balls. Talk about being caught with your hand in the cookie jar. When she saw me, she froze. I remember thinking that she wasn't supposed to be home at all this week. I had so expertly jimmied her door and crept into that sacred bathroom to plunder her dainty underthings. And here we were. I pried up the waistband of her panties to reveal one frightened eye and saw her burst into loud, catty laughter. I quickly tried to rid myself of the black hosiery only to have it catch in a loop on my swollen cockhead. The movement jerked my pelvis forward and I fell onto the tiled floor. I shuddered at the level of my embarrassment. And there was real fear there, too. I mean... what if she called the cops. She could still do that. But she didn't. A few days later, when my rent was late, I learned why. That is how the masturbation shows began. So it was on that particular day that I dutifully removed my pants and underwear to reveal myself to her amused gaze. "Wait. I wanna get a drink before I watch you whack it." I stood there feeling foolish in just my socks and shirt... so I removed the shirt. When she returned, she took a seat on the loveseat and put her stocking feet up on the ottoman. She flexed her toes and saw my penis begin to stiffen. "Well? Let's see you jack it." "Y, yes, Ms. Lopez." I wrapped my right hand around my hard dick and began to beat off in front of my landlady for the fourth time since moving in. Always the same mix of embarrassment and cock-stiffening jubilation. I lived for these moments. I always tried to give her a good show... something for her to remember in the days ahead. We both knew the price being paid had nothing to do with being late on the rent, and everything to do with my violation of her privacy. If I hadn't been so weak as to sneak into her home to jack off over her dirty underwear, I wouldn't have been made to beat it under her critical eye every other month. "Oh, yes. What a good little man you are. That's right. Keep a nice firm rhythm going. Show the landlady how you play with yourself when you don't think anyone's looking." She chuckled at her own words, and took a relaxing sip of her bloody Mary. Then she was back to goading with her dirty words. "Come on... beat that shit up in your balls to a nice lather. Your mom know you jack off all the time? That you do it with strange women's panties over your head?" Humiliation was mandatory for these shows. I remember I was thinking of what it might be like to actually fuck her, but knew that she would never have me. I was a play-toy for her. A masturbating juvenile male... strictly for watching, not sex. I stared at her big lipsticked lips playing at the end of her cigarette filter before sucking in more smoke to exhale in my general direction. I stroked faster. I needed to cum badly. I hadn't jerked off at all that day with my unusually busy schedule. "Do you need some dirty panties over your face?" I was getting close and her words were really egging me on... when she held up her hand. "Ok, ok... that's enough of that nastiness. Put it away." I was flabbergasted. "W...wha?" "You heard me. I've seen enough. God, you're stupid... not to mention, disgusting. Put your clothes back on and go home. And I'll expect the rent by Friday." I was in a daze as I redressed and made my way out of her apartment. This had never happened before! My cock was like a crowbar pushing my briefs out of shape. I was almost back at my own apartment when I glanced down at my watch. Shit! I had an appointment with my boss at 11:00 and had less than twenty minutes to get to work. No time to ease the weight in my balls. Shit! I got to work on time and went back to my boss' office for my work evaluation. Karen Coleman owned this store plus another on the west side of town. She rarely showed her face in this one, except when she gave out the yearly evaluations. She was probably my mother's age. A short-haired, heavyset blonde with worry lines around her mouth and glasses that she didn't so much as look at you with, as peer at you. I immediately noticed she wasn't alone. The woman seated on the leather sofa near the wall was examining her long red nails and paying no attention to me. She had on a simple white blouse and black skirt with black stockings and black pumps. Her brunette hair was styled short and was graying at the temples, and she had a modest strand of white pearls around her elegant neck. She reminded me of a faculty wife or university professor. There was something very sexy but very intimidating about her. She was definitely older than me. Karen gave me the usual once over. Good overall attitude at work. On time. No attendance problems. Should really think about more overtime if I want to get ahead. And then the standard pathetic raise. I was listening with half an ear really, as my attention kept going back to the other woman who sat on the couch. She was completely ignoring me. My eyes leered up and down the silky black expanse of her stockinged legs and at the way her skirt clung to her in a snug embrace. My unmasturbated penis throbbed heatedly in my pants. When the evaluation ended, I made a beeline to the washroom in the break room. I couldn't lower my pants fast enough. I pulled my rigid cock out through the opening of my briefs and began whacking in earnest. God, that woman was so sexy. She was big in all the right places. Large tits that seemed to narrow down to a tight waist and back outward to concentrate in her big ass. I thought of her hourglass shape as I spit onto my dickhead and beat harder. I froze like a thief in a bank vault when the door opened. My stiff dick was throbbing with its need to shoot cream. I watched horrified as the woman with the black stockings stood there looking directly at me then down at my penis. My hands hung tensely at my sides as my untouched cock lurched in an embarrassing up and down motion. She gave an irritated little sniff and her lips curled back in disgust. Her teeth were even and white. "Figures." She said, before closing the door and leaving me to wallow in my shame. Almost as if in a trance, my hand closed the distance to my erection. As my cheeks burned with embarrassment, I flogged myself as her one utterance played in my head over and over 'figures'. 'Figures'. It was like I had confirmed her lowest expectations of me. I grunted as I ejaculated in a messy white smear all over the top of the toilet. When I emerged from the recesses of the break room, I felt like I had been branded a sex pervert. I could practically feel the words tattooed across my forehead. She was there, of course. Sitting just outside the bathroom on the break room sofa. She had one shoe off and was gently rubbing the tension away from her stocking foot. The large dark toe reinforcement caught my eye. It looked moist. I felt I had to say something to atone for my behavior and I didn't want her saying anything to my boss. Enough women in my life new I was a masturbator. "Uh... hi. Um... sorry for the, uh... you know." She replaced her shoe on her foot and stood up. She was taller than me too. Maybe by about two inches. She fixed me with her dark eyes and just stared for a moment. "No. I don't know." I was confused. "I'm sorry?" She glared at me and put her hands on her hips like an angry mother confronting her son for an indiscretion. "I said, I don't know. You tell me. What are you sorry for?" Sweat began to bead on my forehead and the red returned to my cheeks. "For, uh... you kno... um... what happened in the bathroom." "Uh-huh. And what happened in the bathroom?" I lowered my voice to a nervous whisper. "I was masturbating." She was silent and let the word hang there between us, accusing me with its stark pronouncement. Then, she turned to leave and over her shoulder gave her parting remarks. "I'm not surprised. So many young men are perverts. But you really ought to be ashamed of yourself." Then, she left. I stood there feeling dirty and blushing. I didn't see my mystery woman for another week. My solitary masturbation continued to be my heaven and my curse. I was aware though, that I was jacking off more lately. I couldn't get her image out of my head. I remember wishing that I had at least one of her stockings play with. The one with the moist toe reinforcement. So help me... I wanted to sniff it. I wanted to feel its silky texture playing over my naked cockhead and the worst part: I wanted her to know about it. It was on a Tuesday when she returned. I was kneeling before a young blonde woman in business attire, helping her try on a pair of navy blue pumps. I glanced up from my lowered position to see first her impeccable shoes and hosiery and then her dress and then her smirking face. As our eyes met, I realize that I didn't even know her name. She stood there patiently waiting as I attended to the customer. When I was done and the blonde woman left the older one immediately took her seat. Today her hosiery was charcoal gray with a charming little floral pattern. Those precious gray stockings looked fantastic on her large, muscular legs. I glanced up to her face and noted the dark red of her lipstick. It was more dramatic from the last time I had seen her. Then, she began to speak. "I would like to see a pair of black pumps. Something with a buckle would be nice." She didn't call me 'boy'. She didn't order me or smack me on the behind or anything like that. There was just something below the surface in her manner that made me want to do everything she asked. I scurried off to find the right shoes for her. I was back in a flash with some new Italian heels that had just come in. I pulled them out of the box and displayed them to her. She nodded and extended one shod foot to my fevered gaze. With shaking hands I began the mammoth task of removing her shoes from her stocking feet. I felt as if I was performing brain surgery. My mouth was dry and my face was sweaty. I was afraid to look up at her and was acutely aware of the stiff erection between my legs. I got one shoe off and simply stared at the wonder before me that was her stocking foot. Only true foot fetishists can know what I mean when I say that it was magnificent. And not just the simple beautiful image or the way the delicate fabric cradled her toes in a double layer of silk or even the way she flexed her toes allowing them to breath fresh air... it was the smell. I was removing the second shoe when it caught for the briefest of moments on her precious hosiery. "Mind my stockings! They are quite expensive." Was she kidding? With both shoes removed, she tried on the new pair. She stood up and walked around in them a bit. All the while the aromatic shoes in my hands beckoned to me. "These aren't terrible, but they are a little snug for me. Can I see another pair?" "Of course... um... can I take your shoes back with me to use as a reference? I'd like to make sure I get the sizing right." As soon as the words were out of my mouth I realized how stupid they sounded. I was sure she had seen right through my deception. And she did look over her shoulder for a moment with one eyebrow cocked at me... before nodding her assent. I walked swiftly to the stockroom with my smelly treasures as I new I had to be quick. I didn't really have time to enjoy these lovely shoes the way they were intended to be, but I had to risk it as soon as I caught a whiff. In a flash, my pants and underwear were in a heap about my feet and my angry swollen penis was in my favorite jerking hand. I cradled the shoes under my nose and gave delicate little sniffs as if too much of the delicious footstink and I would overdose like a crack-junkie. Once again, I allowed myself the masturbator's luxury of losing myself in the delicious haze of self-abuse and private, womanly smells. I glanced to my left and saw both my boss and my mystery woman standing there in the doorway with curious eyes. I was caught again and like before had little to say in my defense. "Don't stop on our account." It was stupid, but I continued to jack and sniff, as they looked me over with a mixture of curiosity and revulsion. My hand slid up and down the stiff pole of my penis as I inhaled rich odors of heated hosiery and leather. My boss addressed me as I neared my ejaculation. "Make the most of this, Richard. This is your last day on the job." Ah, yes... of course I was fired. It made perfect sense... but the shoes... they smelled so lovely and her charcoal stockings had been inside. I jerked faster and my scrotum made loud slapping sounds against my hand. "Would you like me to call the police, Miriam?" "No. I don't think it would stop boys from being boys. Although this one is quite unruly." At that moment my penis proved her right. Huge sprays of white liquid spattered the dusty tiled floor and I accompanied each one with loud animalistic grunts. My boss came forward and delivered a stinging spank to my bare behind. "Get dressed, and get out!" She pulled the shoes out of my hand and returned them to her owner with apologies. They left me there like that. Pants down and a red handprint on my sore bottom, cock leaking the last dregs of my humiliation. I pulled up my clothes and wiped my hand on my shirt and shuffled toward the door of the break room. There on the floor was a business card. It was crinkled, but I picked it up and looked at it. The name on it read: Miriam Douglas. I put it in my back pocket and headed out the door. I collected a few odds and ends that had been with me since day one. There were no words and no good-byes. I opened the front door to the shop and then left the only job I had since high school. But I finally knew her name: Miriam Douglas. My drained penis gave an appreciative throb. -To be continued Natural Born Ch. 02 I was out of work. My boss had had the courtesy to phone my landlady and let her know, so I was without a place to stay. One last jerkoff show had bought me exactly two more days before I would be living in a refrigerator box on the street. I fingered the little business card with her name on it. Miriam Douglas. Maybe it was stupid, but in the two times she had seen me masturbating, she had been openly accepting of it. She thought I was a pervert, of that I am sure. But she didn't seem upset about it, like a woman should be. What had she said? Something about it being typical boyish behavior or some such. Perhaps I could get her to help me. My eyes scanned lower on the business card. Beneath her name it read: Owner and proprietor of Miriam's Shoes. If she really did own her own shoe store, maybe she might help me... or offer a reference? I know... it was ludicrous, but when you're faced with living in cardboard home ludicrous can start to sound pretty good. I punched her number out on the phone and waited, counting the rings. One. Two. Three. Four... "Hello?" I didn't know what to say at first so I just let it all out. "Hello, Ms. Douglas?" "Yes, this is she." "I...don't know if you remember me or not. I used to work at Coleman's shoe store." "Uh, huh." It didn't sound like she remembered me... either that or she was enjoying a little mental torture at my expense. One way or another, she was going to make me say it. "I...uh... was the boy who was caught... uh... playing with myself." There was a long pause followed by, so help me...laughter. "Oh, yes. How can a lady forget such a spectacle as the one you made." My cheeks were flaming even though I couldn't see her. It was her words alone and the tone of her voice. "What do you want?" "I, uh... I don't have a place to stay after Friday and no job now... and... I was wondering if you could help me at all." "I see. And why would I do that?" I didn't know what to say. I felt like I was actually going to cry like a little kid. I was hoping to appeal to her maternal instincts, but I wasn't sure she had any. "I don't know who else I can ask." She paused as if considering her options. "Well... I suppose you could stay in the basement. There's no shower down there, but there is a floor drain. And a hose. No bed, but you could sleep on newspapers or something. I would have to buy a space heater though... not much heat down there." "That would be fine, Ma'am." I was elated. All of this sounded much better to me than sleeping outside. I was taken off guard by her next question. "Do you play with yourself a lot?" "Um... I guess so." "Well you can just do that all over the floor drain. I don't want a disgusting mess down there." If this was the price to be paid, I felt I could do it. She knew that she was getting a masturbator, as a tenant... all that was needed was to discuss the price. "How much would the rent be?" "Ah yes. The rent. Well, you won't have any income until you get back on your feet so how about you do things for me. Like my laundry. You DO know how to properly clean a dirty pair of panties don't you?" "Um... not really, I mean just in the washer right?" She chuckled indulgently and spoke to me again like she was speaking to a little boy. "No, no. My underwear is very precious and delicate. My panties need to be hand-washed very carefully and the same goes for my stockings. These items need to be handled with the utmost care. And Richard... I will be inspecting your work." "Alright. I understand." "Now honey. You know that I AM old enough to be your mother. There's nothing wrong with you addressing me as Ma'am. As a term of respect, you understand." "Yes, Ma'am." "Very good. Why don't you pack your things and I will see you tomorrow morning at 7am sharp." She gave me instructions to find her home and then she hung up. I sat on my dirty mattress in the twilight shadows of my soon-to-be vacant apartment. I thought about her panties and soon my penis was in my hand. As I jacked a large load onto the mattress, I wondered what had I gotten myself into? When I arrived at Ms. Douglas' home, I wasn't terribly surprised to see quite an expensive but beautiful red bricked house. It was a two story, complete with white picket fence and seemed fairly secluded from any other house. It seemed to fit her conservative, but mysterious personality. I rang the bell and she answered it herself, although I did catch sight of a pretty, young blonde maid in the background. I was ushered inside, but didn't get to see much of the ground floor before we began descending the old wooden steps to my new home. The floor was concrete and looked a bit uncomfortable. It was a small space that looked as if it doubled for her laundry area. As if anticipating my thoughts, Ms. Douglas explained. "This is were Erin does my laundry. She's my maid, but she understands that you will be the one cleaning my intimates. There's a place over there where you can sleep against the wall... and I got the space heater so it shouldn't be freezing down here. Oh... and there's the floor drain." I dropped my head and couldn't meet her eyes when she made reference to the drain. That was where I would be masturbating with her full knowledge. I felt a stirring in my pants. "Why don't you get settle in down here, and I'll be down later to check on you." "Yes, Ma'am." She ascended the steps and my eyes stared longingly at the rolling of her hips as her big womanly ass swayed invitingly back and forth in her black skirt. I would be cleaning her panties. My cock uncoiled into a solid erection so suddenly that I nearly doubled over. My eyes wandered back over to the dirty little floor drain in the center of the room. My room. As if in a trance, I began to undress. As I knelt down naked over the floor drain I felt a sense of shame wash over me that was ferocious in its intensity. I felt like an animal. Reduced to the fevered jacking in which I now engaged in with free reign. Though there was no one there to see me, I felt my cheeks redden with embarrassment. My balls felt heavy with their contents of thick, molten lust. I only knew I had to expel it all... down the drain. I felt the cool air tickle my bare ass as my hand slid up and down my cock like a mindless engine, mastering my body in a way that was both detached and very intimate. Sweat began to dribble down my face and I became aware that I was making little grunts and whimpers. I had never felt this degree of arousal before and it was almost frightening. Just a little more, I thought... just a little more... then... I'll put it away before the lady of the house catches me... or her maid. The fact that there were two attractive women roaming around upstairs suddenly had me bucking my hips as I spurted hot ribbons of white goo. It landed with surprisingly loud splats onto the drain-grate. Oh god... I was cumming all over the drain... it was marvelous. I spurted quite a lot that first time. I was flushed and breathing heavy as I stared down at the dirty mess I had made on the rusty drain-grate. Her words startled me. "Quite an appropriate place to dispose of that kind of slop, don't you think?" My head jerked around to see Ms. Douglas standing there with her hands on her hips and a casual smile on her face. She didn't seem surprised. "I...I'm sorry... I just couldn't help...". "Ohhh... shush now. I told you I expected such behavior from a boy. That's why you're down here and not on the main floor. You just keep that stuff confined to your balls and the drain... and we'll get along fine. Now, I have to run errands. You stay out of mischief and don't bother Erin. In fact, I want you to stay down here while I'm gone. I'll see you later on... Dickey." I grimaced inside a little at the version of my name she had chosen. No one had called me Dickey since high school a few years earlier. I had been calling myself Richard since I had gotten out of the house as a way of celebrating my new adulthood. In one fell swoop, she had taken that away from me. To make matters worse, there was an almost mocking quality to the way she said it. Again, as I sat there naked on my haunches I wondered... what had I gotten myself into? I busied myself the rest of the day unpacking my meager belongings and making the place my own. However... it was a feeble attempt. When I was done, my things were strewn about, but it was really still just her laundry room... with a grate in the floor. That iron hole mocked me with its presence... waiting for another messy load that I knew I would have to offer it. The place had one bare bulb in the ceiling that cast little light. The concrete floor was always cold and the rough, bare walls were not inviting. This was the home of a slave or a prisoner, I thought... but still better than being on the street. I didn't see Ms. Douglas for the rest of that day, so I eventually drifted off to sleep, wearing only my briefs and curled up on my little bundle of sheets. I awoke the next day to an exquisitely painful sensation throughout my penis. My angry, morning erection had bullied its way out of the opening of my underpants and stood stiffly up at the ceiling. It was so hard it felt as if it was made of ivory. Ms. Douglas was standing over me with a thin wooden dowel rod in her hand and was rapping my bone-hard boner with it to awaken me. "Rise and shine, Panty-cleaner. Time to get to work." I made a mental note that she wore sheer black stockings today before glancing over at the doorway to see Erin, the shorthaired blonde maid with one hand covering her mouth and her eyes wide at the sight of me. I stuffed my sore penis back into my underpants with some effort and looked for my pants. The two women made no move to leave and afford me with any privacy it seemed, so I dressed in front of them as quickly as I could. Ms. Douglas directed my attention to the laundry line that hung above a small table used for folding clothes. It was completely covered with ladies panties and stockings. I felt my cheeks blush a bit as I eyed each item... extra aware that I was viewing these intimate garments in the presence of women. The panties were mostly full-cut nylon briefs designed to cover her large bottom. There were powder blues and sexy red... innocent yellows and mint colored panties... even several pairs in simple white. For some reason I found those especially sexy. Ms. Douglas selected a pair of panties that were pink like cotton candy and lifted them inside out to display the crotch. "See here? Where there's a stain? I want that spotless when they are returned to me. Erin will be inspecting your work, and I will be inspecting what she brings me. She will show you how to properly wash panties and then you can get to work on the stockings. I expect a good job, so pay proper attention." I nodded dumbly and looked to Erin as Ms. Douglas made her way back up the wooden steps that led to the better part of the house. Erin was very cute in her maid's uniform, and I found myself stealing peeks at her legs and the short hem every time I thought she wasn't looking. She explained all the special details that I might need to know about cleaning dirty panties and hosiery. Her own legs were covered in cute, white tights that had a pattern woven into them. The loafers she wore were dressy, but reminded me of the college girl that she was. The black skirt of her uniform was scandalously short to the point of showing the bottom part of her ass when she bent for anything. She had a small chest, but a cute face and short blonde hair that was styled close to her face and adorned with pink barrettes. She was a cock-stiffener if I ever saw one. I was staring at the pert cheeks of her behind while she bent over to retrieve a whicker basked when she glanced back over her shoulder and caught me in my voyeuristic pleasure. "Please don't do that." "Hmm? What?" "My bottom. Please don't stare at it like that. It makes me feel uncomfortable." "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to..." "I have to dress like this because Ms. Douglas requires it. It's not my choice to show off my behind in a short uniform. If you have to, just go over to the drain and make your mess. You still have to clean all of these dirty panties and then the stockings, too." Now my face returned to the familiar scarlet that my circumstances seemed to warrant all too often. I didn't really want to masturbate in front of such a cute, innocent-seeming college student. I decided I could be a man about this and shrug it off. "Not a problem. I can keep things in check." She cocked her head and looked at me skeptically. "Are you sure?" "Yeah. I'm sure." Erin seemed satisfied with my answer and went back to helping me with my chores. I took a while to catch on, but finally seemed to do okay with the panties. Just the stockings to do, and I would have the day to myself. Maybe I could look for a real job somewhere. Erin excused herself to travel upstairs for more supplies and I was left alone in my room again... with the dirty stockings. They were a variety of colors and textures. They all looked expensive. My eyes lingered over a pair of navy blue hose that hung directly in front of my face. They were extremely aromatic and upon closer inspection, I saw the toe reinforcement was actually stiff from the hot perspiration that had cooled in the uninviting temperatures of the basement. I slowly brought my face in line with those reinforced toes and my unmasturbated cock tented my pants with another huge erection. I breathed in deep breaths of savory unwashed stocking and was almost unaware of my hands working on my zipper. My lungs filled repeatedly with the odor of shoe leather and worn hosiery. I had to free the beast in my pants... the quicker the better. As I completely removed my pants and tossed them atop my bed sheets, a corner of my brain faintly registered footsteps from the upper floor. Erin would be back soon. I had to work fast to preserve my dignity. I took the soiled stocking with me over to the drain and naked from the waist down I hunched down like the dog I had become. I slowly stroked the long tube of meat that angrily throbbed in my fingers. With my other hand, I ran the stained silky fabric across my upturned face and dangled the toes teasingly above my nostrils. Oh god oh god oh god... I panted and moved my hips back and forth, fucking my fist like the lowest sort of pervert. That was the sight that greeted pretty Erin as she came to the bottom of the steps to the laundry room. Natural Born Ch. 03 The gasp is what caught my attention. In slow motion I turned my head to look directly up into the face of the cute maid. Erin was holding a yardstick in one hand and the other was clasped over her mouth to stifle her utter shock. She advanced on me with quick steps that were accompanied by loud clacks from the high heels on her leather loafers. My hips still pumped my boner through my hand and the stocking remained glued to my face as I looked up at her like a frightened child. She immediately brought the yardstick down on my naked rear end with a crack. I gave a yelp but continued to jack. "Oh! Stop it!" She spanked me again with the yardstick. "Stop doing that... you pervert!" My balls, stung by her words began to unleash torrents of thick jism onto the floor. Her sharp spanks were raining down on my bare ass and I was completely missing the drain. "Let go of Ms. Douglas' stocking! You're messing all over! You'll get it on the stocking!" I inhaled the stiff toe reinforcement and was rewarded with a vinegary odor that made my skin tingle and form gooseflesh. Sperm poured out of me onto the drain at last with a few spurts and I finally collapsed in a heap. Erin grabbed up the navy blue stocking from my hand and then forced my faced down into the puddle I had made. She gave me a few more smacks with the yardstick and then abruptly left me there in a puddle of my cooling shame. I was lightheaded and sweaty from my exertions but I raised a timed eye from the floor just in time to see her lovely white-tighted bottom jiggle from view as she marched back to the clothes rack. She was muttering under her breath and seemed very upset with me. I thought it best to simply lay there for a bit before approaching her with my apologies. Plus, she was still holding that yardstick. Erin was smoothing the stocking out on the rack with long, almost reverent strokes and I imagined her small girl-fingers doing the same to my naked penis. Okay, I know she was fairly innocent but a handjob from a college coed who had just literally spanked the jizz out of me was were my mind was at. She suddenly turned to look at me on the floor. Her hands were on her hips as she spoke. "You could have gotten your gross sperm all over her hosiery. She wouldn't have liked that." "Erin... I'm sorry. I got carried away is all." "If I had any say in it, you'd be in a cockring and ball stretcher when you touched the Mistress' things." It wasn't the first time I had heard the word Mistress before... but it was the first time I had heard it in reference to my new, uh... well, Mistress. As my dick gave an inappropriate throb from her use of cockring and ballstretcher to describe her agenda, I realized I was owned now by Ms. Douglas. And Erin had her ear. Would she really put me in a cockring and ballstretcher? As it was, the day wound to a close with Erin and I not doing much talking. We finished the extensive cleaning of all of Ms. Douglas' panties and stockings and I was left alone in my basement room while Erin left for the upper floor with the clean laundry. I pondered my fate and lazily jacked my half-hard cock in the darkness until I heard the front door open and Erin greeting her. My Mistress was home. I didn't have a mirror down there, but for some reason I wanted to make sure I looked nice and presentable. I pulled the comb from my back pocked and raked it through my hair a few times and straightened my T-shirt and blue jeans as much as such things can be straightened. I crept up to the top steps and as I slowly turned the handle to get a sneak peek at them, realized to my shock that the door was locked. I was a prisoner! The sound of approaching footsteps sent me scurrying back down to my "room" and I stared up at the doorknob as it turned. I think my mouth was agape as I saw her lovely black hosiery come into view, wrapped around her strong calves, pulled taught by her feet pressed into shiny black designer pumps. She moved with the grace of a dangerous tiger but those beautiful stockings pulling with her every step had me riveted to my spot. Ms. Douglas came down the stairs and then stood in front of me. She took up a protective stance, with hands folded across bosom. She was dressed very nicely today in a gray business suit with tailored skirt that revealed her hose covered calves and those wickedly black pumps of hers. "Erin told me of your mischief today, Dick." I felt my cheeks get hot with embarrassment. She could do that so easily! I watched her cock an eyebrow and her eyes regarded my crotch for a second before she looked back up and continued. "You are not in the least bit well-behaved. Erin was upset and that doesn't make me happy. You could have soiled my precious stockings with your semen. Do you really think any woman wants to wear semen-covered stockings out of the house? Do you?" "No, Ma'am." "Oh, come on now. I'm sure you've had all sorts of dirty fantasies just like that. Don't tell me the little boy I have in my basement is afraid to admit it in front of his big, scary landlady?" Again, though I was a fully grown adult, she had expertly made me feel small and childish with her smug and leering questions. "I... I'm not, but..." "Are you afraid I'll put you into a cockring and ballstretcher?" She was smiling as the realization showed in my face that Erin had indeed made recommendations to her. I began to shift nervously from each foot and I looked down at the floor in more embarrassment. "I don't need that, Ms. Douglas. I just got carried away. And I did it into the drain like you said to." "You got carried away because of my stockings? My panties? Touching them? Did you smell them too, you pervert?" She was laughing now and I was almost relieved. Apparently she had been teasing me. Something I would learn she enjoyed a great deal. Still my cock and balls were happy to learn that their forthcoming bondage and discipline was not to be forthcoming at all. "Strip naked, I have a surprise for you." My dick jumped in my jeans at the command. It's sort of funny in retrospect... at least my cock knew who was in charge. Still, I hurriedly obeyed in the hopes of some kinky reward from her. Once my clothes were in a heap beside me she told me to pick them up and hand them to her. With the bundle in her arms, she turned and left for the upstairs with me staring up at her quizzically. She, however, didn't offer any further explanation. Once the door closed, I felt my naked vulnerability begin to sink in. It was a big turn on but also kind of creepy. Those two feelings gave me a big hardon and I was thinking of jerking off when the door opened and Ms. Douglas returned, followed by a smug looking Erin. Feeling my dignity a bit threatened; I somehow found the courage to make a joke. "Well, if it isn't the Ladies from the upper floor, come to see their nude basement boy." My grin was met with steely determination in the faces of the two women. My smile quickly faded, but the hardon stayed. "Sorry, just not used to being, uh, seen like this." Ms. Douglas brought a pair of, what looked like leather mittens out from behind her back. "Hold your hands out Dickie. Time for your surprise." I did as told, and she forced the snug leather mitts over my fingers and palms before pulling them behind my bare back and securing them with some kind of lock. She strode back around in front of me and the two women looked me up and down. My cock throbbed from the perverse thrill of indecent exposure. "Erin had the sweetest idea today, Dickie. She caught you mistreating my hosiery and came to me about it right away. I must say I was shocked and disappointed. But then she suggested a punishment." With that, Erin brought a collection of leather straps and metal rings from behind her back. Her smile broadened. Ms. Douglas continued. "I think that having your penis tended to this way will keep your mind on your work. Probably something your last employer should have thought about, hmm?" I fought against the leather mittens behind my back as I realized that my cock was about to be ringed and my balls stretched, but my struggles only made Erin giggle and Ms. Douglas gave me a hard spank to my naked asscheek. "Stop it! Stay still, and it will only take a second. Fight me, and it will take longer but your rear end will be very very sore." Erin beamed at her (my) Mistress. "Should I get the yardstick, Ma'am?" "Not just yet, Erin. We'll see if the boy behaves himself now." They worked together on me. Their hands were busily allied between my legs as their manicured nails and soft fingers pricked and tugged at my dick and scrotum. Lady-fingers that cinched leather tight and squeezed at my sensitive balls. Metal that closed around my aching cock and made it more apparent to their appraising female eyes. It was the first time either of them had actually touched my penis. They had done it to me quite quickly and now surveyed their handiwork with that smug satisfaction that only a dominant woman can truly showcase. Even then, they both looked beautiful to me. I felt my knees grow weak as gravity... and the large marble ashtray that formed the weight on the chain... tugged downward at my testicles. Awash in my new submissive feelings, I simply let it all pull me downward until I knelt on the floor naked at their feet. Where my next words came from, I don't know. I'm a guy though, and so I'm sort of embarrassed to write about it here. But so others might learn- It was something like... "Oh Ms. Douglas and Ms. Erin... thank you for helping me with my problem and for showing me who is in charge. I am yours to command! I am dirt and a lowly pervert! Do with me as you wish!" This was, of course, met with snickers. I felt the toe of her black leather shoe prod my nose as she told me to get up of the floor. "You look ridiculous. Be a man and stop acting so foolish." The two women left the basement talking about me as if I wasn't there and I stared down at the elaborate bindings of my cock and balls.... god my balls ached! Shambling over to the drain, I learned that they had been merciful enough to allow me the room to masturbate. I mean they could have easily covered my entire penis in leather or something and I would be weeping myself to sleep. As it was, I jerked off and replayed the whole scene back in my head. And then I came. Well... almost. It was mostly dribbles of milky white cream as the major clots had been forced to hold back due to the tight cockring. It prolonged my ejaculation and made me involuntarily hump the air, making it especially humiliating. As I fell asleep on the floor, my head was full of questions. I wondered when I would get my clothes back and when would I be allowed out of this thing? And, what kind of stockings would Ms. Douglas be wearing tomorrow? But I was sure of one thing: I would be a good boy for Ms. Erin when I did my chores in the morning. I woke up groggy and intensely aroused. My penis was like bone. The cockring had choked it into a tower of lust-engorged meat that wobbled above me as I laid there. I crawled over to my drain when the door at the top of the stairs opened. Erin came down with a cheery smile and a fresh basket of laundry. "No time for that, Dickie. Panties and stockings for you to clean." "Uh... okay, but I just thought I would... you know... real quck." "Uh-huh... you thought you would beat it so you wouldn't be a pervert with Ms. Douglas' underwear? Is that it?" "Well, yes." "Yes, what?" I looked at her. She seemed to be in a very playful mood, but I wasn't quite sure what she meant. And then it dawned on me. "Yes, Ma'am." "Good boy." Erin sat herself comfortably on the edge of the dryer as she watched me work. She held the yardstick on her stockinged lap as a reminder of what lay in store for me if I got up to any mischief. I was very aware of the heavy ashtray pulling on my balls and reminding me of yesterday's naughtiness. The morning went well, though and despite a very stiff boner that kept bumping into things and making her giggle, I was a gentleman. Erin, too was pleased with my work and told me I did a good job. I was thinking about when she might leave so I could jerk off. Handling all of the Mistress' panties and stockings had been very erotic to me. "Bend over now." "What?" "Over here. By me. I want you to bend over with your ass sticking out." "But... you said I did a good job." "Spare the rod and spoil the pervert. I'm asking you to do something and I won't ask again." I assumed the position and she took up a stance behind me, with her yardstick. "Don't worry, Dickie. I'm not going to spank you... yet. I just want to ask you a few things." I felt the vulnerability again from my awkward position. She had me in a classical spanking pose and was behind me with that yardstick. I wasn't sure my bottom would make it through her questioning unscathed. Her voice softened a bit though, as if she was really curious about something. "Did you really mean what you said last night? I mean... about doing anything we command?" "Uh... I guess I was sort of caught up in the moment." "I see. I guess that happens to you a lot... getting caught up in the moment." I felt her drag the edge of the yardstick across my bare asscheeks before drawing it away. I was expecting it's return visit to be more painful, but instead, she began rubbing the end of it against my bulging, naked balls. "Does it bother you... what I'm doing?" "Ugh... no... it doesn't." My grunting was unintentional but I think she was enjoying my response, because she continued her teasing. "So I guess you like it when a pretty girl plays with your balls, huh?" Lost in the moment, I failed to answer immediately. That was the mistake that brought the stick down on my ass with a loud smack. "OW!" "I asked you a direct question. Answer me. Do you like it when a pretty girl plays with your big bare balls, Dickie?" "Yes, Ma'am." The yardstick returned to poke at my balls. She also tapped at my swollen dickhead with one finger, as if she was deliberating about whether or not to spank me again. At last she spoke. "That's a good boy. Now, tell me something else. Have you ever thought about being naked in front of more than just me and Ms. Douglas? Have you thought about being made to do embarrassing things?" -to be continued- Natural Born Fucker Candy Struthers was the hottest reporter on television at the moment. Her career had skyrocketed over the past two years with her uncanny ability to sniff out momentous leads, as well as landing extraordinary interviews with infamous celebrities, disgraced politicians, and celebrated lawbreakers. That she was only twenty-four years of age was only part of her aura – she had a law degree, an incredible razor-sharp intellect, and an amazing talent to rise to the top. She was also a complete and arrogant bitch. The public didn't know how she bent and twisted the rules to get where she was now. They didn't know how many balls she had busted. They didn't know of the people she had screwed over, or lied to, or blackmailed. Candy had fucked over so many people that if she ever made a mistake, she knew there was no one out there to save her. Candy didn't care, though. She knew she was the best. That's why she was at the top, and that's why she would stay at the top. Take right now, for instance. Here she was, inside the Nantucket Penitentiary – one of the most violent prisons in the U.S. – interviewing Carl Allen, the notorious serial rapist. The reporter smiled inwardly – she was on live television, coast to coast, within a prison filled with real convicts, interviewing the infamous Carl Allen, aka The Big Bopper. The censors were terrified and had put a five-second delay on the feed. The networks were scared Carl would whip out his dick and start masturbating. The warden had hated the whole thing from the get-go, insisting that his prison was too dangerous for a hot little number like reporter Candy Struthers, and that the prisoners might riot at her presence. Of course they might riot, Candy thought to herself amusingly. She knew she was smoking hot. Other words, such as lovely and beautiful, would also work. Candy was short at five feet, three inches tall, but that didn't matter in television. What mattered was that she was photogenic, and she had that in spades. Long, wavy, platinum blonde locks that ran to the past her shoulders framed the girl's adorably cute face, pert nose, big blue eyes, lush red lips, and young, pale skin. These features had made her famous on television, and – although she didn't have that classic "model" look – she was still sexy and sultry, in that "girl next door you'd spy on all day" kind of way. For such a tiny girl, Candy had an unbelievable rack; massive D-cup breasts that mesmerized all half of America when she was the substitute anchor for her network. On those nights she would make sure wardrobe had some form fitting and sexy for her to wear – preferably something made of silk and was as thin as possible. But the rest of her body had also been noticed – from her thin waist, to her teenage ass, all the way down to her slender legs. This sexy reporter - bright, inquisitive, bold and courageous – had also become a favorite target for the paparazzi these past few months. She didn't mind at all. In fact, she tried to dress her sexiest whenever she went out now, delighting whenever she saw pictures of herself in the tabloids. Whether they caught her in a yoga outfit (figure-hugging tights that showed off her voluptuous body), in a cocktail dress (short mini-skirts to paint the town red), or throwing out the garbage (tiny shorts and a tank top), it always meant that someone – somewhere – was thinking about Candy Struthers! Today Candy was wearing one of her favorite outfits: a figure-hugging pink blazer cut to show off her ample bosom, paired with a tight matching-pink skirt which was super-short to show off her bare, silky legs. Underneath the blazer the blonde wore a silky see-through, armless white blouse, with a cream-colored lacy bra to top it off (matching sexy thong underwear, of course). Lastly, the reporter had on a pair of sexy white stilettos, with five-inch heels to give her some extra height. Her hair was pulled back in a pony-tail, and she decided to put on some white glasses for that sexy-librarian look. All in all, she looked breathtaking and caused quite a ruckus walking through the jail earlier, heels clicking on the cement floor as the convicts whistled and hollered at her with lewd comments. Twenty prison officers guided her through her journey to the interview room. The room was actually a virtually impregnable room that had large bulletproof windows, and Candy wanted the television audience to see outside these windows where the prison fence and guard towers were, a distance away. The room itself was built for facility lockdowns for guards and had an ample power supply, another reason that led Candy and her producer, Lance, to choose this place; it had enough room and power to set up their cameras and lights. The warden hated this idea because the room was a "safe house" within the prison – a place where guards could hold up if needed, but the room itself was situated far from other guard facilities, meaning it was rather isolated in an emergency. Candy half-listened to the warden try to explain all of this to her – the look on her face clearing showing that this was all minor shit that she didn't want to deal with. Eventually the reporter had pulled some strings, and the warden had no choice but to allow the television crew to use this room, but the man wasn't too happy about it. Candy didn't care, and - halfway through the interview with Carl Allen - Candy was pleased that she was right, thinking that no one but she could have pulled this off. All of the red tape, the bending of rules, made for an even more satisfying interview. It had been hard, and she had had made many enemies just setting this one interview up alone, but it had definitely been worth it. And what an interview this was shaping up to be! Carl was pouring his heart out to Candy. He was angry – he was sad! He said some delightfully crazy things, which made him seem that much more dangerous next to her. It was a nice contrast – the hulking, threatening black rapist - known for his large dick - dressed in his orange prison uniform and sitting across from the diminutive young reporter who looked so defenseless and helpless next to him in her hot pink business suit. It also made for great television. Lance was giving her an enthusiastic thumbs-up sign, which at this stage usually meant that ratings were through the roof; the producer was in constant contact with the network and could tell when the bigwigs were happy. Even the cameraman, Logan, was uncharacteristically pumped and enthusiastic at the moment. Usually the man was pretty low-key, but the location and subject matter were exceptional, and he was pretty excited to be there as well, it seemed. Of course things were going well, she thought to herself. She pulled back when Carl responded back too loudly, as if she were afraid of the man, her innocent blue eyes wavering in fear. Candy Struthers was quite the actress, and she knew how to get the audience eating out of her hand. Leaning forward, squeezing her tits together with her arms, she then asked her next question. "Carl – you had stated for the record that your last trial – against the victim Amy Hutchens – was all bluster and show. That it was a circus – a show-trial. You said it was meant to make an example of you, and that a lot of the evidence was circumstantial. What do you have to say about that?" Carl Allen smiled charismatically for the camera. "I stand by what I said. If you actually go through the evidence – a lot of it was circumstantial, and really it was my word against that cunt Amy Hutchens!" "Carl – please!" said Candy, in a scolding tone. "This is live television – you can't use words like that!" "My apologies, Miss Candy!" grinned Carl. "It was the coozes word against mine! Can I say cooze on TV?" Just then there was a loud noise outside of the room, followed by some heavy shouting. Candy glanced briefly over at Lance with a questioning expression, but then turned her attention back to Carl. The room had only four guards in it; a few others were outside and the rest were taking a break, waiting for the interview to end. "I – I'm not sure, Carl!" the gorgeous blonde responded, truthfully. For a split second doubt entered Candy's mind, and she felt rather exposed – one woman in the prison full of dangerous inmates. Then she continued onward, ever the professional. "But go ahead and use that colorful phrase, and we'll let the network censors deal with it!" Lance, in the meantime, had given her another thumbs-up for her clever response. He was watching the interview on a small monitor and listening to this with a set of large earphones, to ensure that the censors were doing a good job. What was showing on this monitor wasn't the raw feed of the camera, but actually what the audience at home would be seeing, complete with commercials. "Cool! Well – this cooze – she's pretty much begging for it, ya know? She don't outright say it, but she wanted me to fuck her!" Carl said with a lascivious grin on his face. "Carl – please!" said Candy, looking downwards innocently. It was hard to control, but the hot reporter found that pretending to be a little bit shy and demure paid off in spades. "Oops! Sorry again, Miss Candy!" said Carl, enjoying the limelight and the company of the sexy young blonde. He kept staring at her tight young body and big, bouncy tits like there was no tomorrow, having not seen a female in the flesh for nearly a year. "Well – like I said, she was practically begging for it! I can read body language – that sort of stuff – ya know?" Candy leaned forward, adjusted her glasses, and then brought her hand to her chin, as if in deep thought. "So you're saying that what happened between you and Amy Hutchens was consensual?" "Yes," replied Carl, "of course it was consensual! That little cooze was dripping wet and by the time we were done! And believe me - she had a good time!" The big black man's boastful tone was dripping with pride and arrogance. The blonde succeeded in holding back a smile. This asshole was making her interview so good! The man had the ego the size of the Titanic, and a sense of self-delusion that bordered on psychotic. He was huge and looked like a pro footballer, and he looked sensational next to the tiny blonde reporter. "When does 'no' mean 'no,' Carl?" asked Candy. It was a loaded question and she knew this would make the audience perk up. "After all, Amy Hutchens said in her testimony that she repeatedly yelled out 'No!' when you raped her!" "When I had sex with her, Miss Candy," Carl said lightly, "but to answer your question, she was really yelling out, 'No – don't stop, Carl – No – don't stop fucking me!' That's what she was screaming out!" "Language, Carl, language!" Candy reprimanded the prisoner. She took off her glasses and chewed on the end of it sexily. Then the young woman, in her best sultry school teacher expression, asked, "So are women just your playthings, Carl? And you are wrongfully accused because they are secretly asking for sex? That they secretly want to have sex with you?" "Yes, Miss!" replied Carl. "So," continued the reporter, "what makes you different, Carl Allen? How do you know when a woman wants or needs sex? How are you different than other men?" "Simple - because women feel the difference when they have sex with me! They may not want it at first, but soon they are lovin' it, this I guarantee! All women are just bitches in heat – they just hide it inside! When I fuck 'em – that just brings it all out of 'em bitches!" "That seems rather condescending towards women, don't you think, Carl? That we women are all just "bitches in heat!?" asked Candy incredulously. "I can assure you that -" "Have you ever had really great sex?" Carl interrupted the reporter, his eyes maniacally ogling Candy's huge tits. The pretty reporter appeared a bit flustered at this question, but it was still just an act; she was actually ecstatic about where this conversation was heading. "Ummm – errr – what does that have to do with this?" "Because if you've never had great sex, then you won't know what I'm talking about! You see - your lust is caged up deep inside of you, and - while you may not know it, while you may deny it - you're just begging for the right person to free that lust! Miss Candy, that person is me!" Candy struggled to put this into words and wrap this up. Commercials were coming up in five seconds. "Because you're what? You're a – a -" "Because I'm a natural born fucker!" said Carl in a lazy Southern drawl, an evil gleam in his eyes. The camera focused on his face for a moment, zooming in closer, to enhance the moment. Then Lance gave the signal to cut, and they were off the air. Both he and Logan gave each other a high-five, and Lance said, "Lovely, Candy! Network is eating this up! This is going to be your highest rated interview yet!" "Fucking A!" chimed in Logan. Then he laughed, shaking his head. "Natural born fucker! Jesus!" "Three minutes!" warned Lance, looking at his watch and timing themselves for after the commercial break. That loud noise was there again, outside the room, bringing a low thudding boom to their already confined environment. And then the radios on the four guards were suddenly crackling, and they answered back in hushed tones. It was altogether very distracting for Candy to concentrate, as she struggled to go through some of her notes. "Yes – I agree these two!" said Carl, eying the reporter intently. "You are lovely, and definitely a fucking A!" "Now now, Carl," Candy said absentmindedly, toying with her glasses in her hand, "behave yourself! We have ten more minutes left for our interview, so when we're done, I'll make sure you get a nice treat for all your cooperation today!" More sounds from outside, and the guards had raised their voices now. Candy could absolutely not work in this type of setting! "Can you officers please keep it down? And Lance – go see what is going on outside!" The producer had stepped over, unlocked, and then opened the steel door before the four officers could notice or stop him. One of the guards looked over and shouted at him loudly, fear in his voice. "NO!! CLOSE THAT -" Suddenly the door was shoved open and a bunch of prison inmates surged into the room. Lance hit the wall and crumpled to the floor, while the four guards were quickly overpowered. A bunch of convicts came in and then closed the entrance. After which there was a moment of stunned silence in the room, as if no one really could believe this had happened. Candy and Logan were absolutely dumbfounded. They were surrounded by ten to two now, with the guards and Lance down, being held down by some burly inmates. Logan had his camera on his shoulder, and didn't know what to do. Candy was sitting tensely in her chair, speechless. Carl was the first to break the silence. "Jesus – Crothers! What the hell is going on out there!?" A huge white man who looked like a biker – complete with tattoos and handlebar mustache – answered back. "Big riot, Carl! The minute this reporter bitch showed up, the place has been a zoo. Dunno what happened – a whole bunch of us got out before they could lock the place down. All the guards who weren't caught out in the open are in their guardhouses, trapped! All for this one gorgeous cooze!" The platinum-blonde beauty didn't like the way the man looked at her, and exchanged a nervous glance with Logan. Suddenly the phone rang, and everyone stared at it. Carl went over and picked it up. A voice on the other end was speaking urgently. "Lance – what the hell is going on!? You were supposed to be broadcasting a minute ago!!" "Ah – sorry! Hold on!" replied Carl, a malicious smile on his face. It was as if a light bulb had appeared over his head. He said to Logan, "Turn on the camera, boy!" It was if a bucket of cold water had splashed over her face. Dropping her glasses, Candy came out of her trance. "Stop! Don't do it, Logan!" Logan looked at her and then at Carl, who flexed his large muscles and gave him a leering grin. He opted to go for the less painful option available to him and turned on his camera. "We're live!" he whispered. They could see on the monitor near the back that they were on the air, showing the live feed coming from Logan's camera. "Point the camera at me, boy!" ordered Carl, who then flashed a smile with his white teeth. "Good afternoon, America! Sorry for the delay, but we are now back at the Alabama State Penitentiary, where a full-scale riot has taken place and we are in lock-down!" The big man picked up the lovely blonde and placed her on his lap. Candy didn't try to stop him, since she was too shocked to do anything at the moment. She couldn't believe they were on live TV! They were broadcasting, and she was not in control! In the back of her mind, she registered Carl's immense strength and size, and knew she was too powerless against him to mount any kind of attack, or even defense. She tried to take back control of the situation. Looking in the camera, Candy said, "Ladies and gentlemen, what Carl just said was true. But I'm sure the police have the situation in hand and have a plan in place – if they are not already in motion! I'm – I'm still fine, and will -" "Hold on, honey! I'm not done yet!" said Carl in a teasing tone, as he ran his hands along her shoulders and sides, giving the girl a few squeezes along the way. Candy knew how bad this looked, because she could see herself on the monitor. She was sitting on Carl's lap with her knees and long, bare legs showing, her pink mini-skirt riding up high on her thighs. One of the man's arms pulled Candy against him, wrapped around her right arm and slim waist. His other hand was roaming around, all over, before it ended up on her bare knee, clearly visible for the audience at home! "C – Carl! What are you -" asked the reporter nervously. But the man was only getting started. "If the network bigwigs want to keep this luscious young thing alive and in one piece, than I suggest you listen to my words carefully!" said the big black inmate. "What you have to understand is that no one – and I mean no one – can get through that there door unless the inmates in this room decide to open it, got that? Until then, these four guards, this producer, this cameraman, and this reporter, are our hostages. Okay!?" Then Carl squeezed one of Candy's breasts, causing her to squeal out. "But if you network guys leave this live camera on, with NO censoring, and NO commercials, then we'll let these people alive. Got that!? We've got a monitor here that will show us if we get cut off or not, so we will know!" Carl opened top button on Candy's pink blazer, her magnificent cleavage suddenly even more tantalizing. "I'm going to show you, the viewers at home, the Carl Allen philosophy that all women are 'bitches in heat' inside! All it takes is for the right man to set loose her passion – starting on this hot, snooty little reporter here!" As the other convicts in the room guffawed and enjoyed Carl's little tirade, Candy was horrified and stunned. Was this really happening? "No - Carl – you don't have to do this! You can't – not in front of – oh God – the viewers!" pleaded the young blonde, knowing that the audience was coast to coast across America, and hit most of Canada as well. Nearly all of North America could just turn on their televisions right now and watch as she was felt up this serial rapist. "OH NO!" Carl ignored the panicked girl, and had undid her second and third buttons, opening up her blazer to show off Candy's silky white blouse underneath, which was practically see-through; it wasn't something that she would wear without something to cover it, so to show this off to television viewers was mortifying. Her rack was spectacular, but with this blouse she looked really lewd. To make matters worse, her cream-colored lace bra made it look like she had gone braless, when she actually hadn't. She tried to cover up her breasts with her free hand.