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Humiliated Ch. 01

By: curiouswhore



I was headed to the river for an evening of fishing. My favorite river abuts a golf course and there is a network of service roads and cart paths through the woods between the course and the river. As I walked down one of the roads, I suddenly came upon a golf cart and someone in the woods nearby. 

As I approached, I heard, "Hey, I know you."

 It was a guy that I had worked with at my previous job and from the sound of him, he was trashed. I got closer and could see he was drinking a beer and there was another on the cart. After a short conversation, it was obvious that my first impression was correct, he was hammered and he was a rather obnoxious drunk at that. He kept going on about what a great golfer he was, he called himself "The Birdie Machine". I kept thinking what an idiot he was and just wanted to get out of there as quickly as I could. Finally, he puttered off in the golf cart and left me alone. 

I continued along to the river and began to fish, losing myself in what I was doing as I usually do while I'm on the water. After a while, I thought I heard something and glanced back into the woods and saw a golf cart parked just into the woods on one of the passing trails. I thought it rather odd, but didn't give it too much more thought and continued to work my way upstream. About half an hour later and several hundred yards upstream, I heard the noise of the golf cart again and realized that he was following me upstream and watching me from the woods. I wondered what he was up to, but I thought I probably knew him well enough to say that he didn't mean any harm, which led me to think either he was just curious and having a drunken adventure or he was checking me out. Despite always having been straight and how obnoxious he was, I found myself just a little turned on by the idea of him peeping at me from the woods. I continued my fishing and from time to time I could hear noise of one sort or another that let me know that he was still around, though I'm sure he was trying to be undetected. I realized that my cock was starting to get hard, I was turned on, but I told myself I just had to take a leak.

I decided that I'd give him a little thrill and step into the woods within eyeshot of him to relieve myself. I angled to the woods just far enough away from him that he wouldn't panic and think that I saw him. I stepped into the woods and was sure to select a spot hidden from the cart path, but clearly within sight of where I could see him trying to hide behind a tree. I shed my fishing gear and then dropped my waders and quickly pulled my cock out of my pants to pee. It took me a minute to get things flowing due to my partial hard on, but I finally started to take a long piss, much to my relief. I could see him out of the corner of my eye and I found that as my bladder drained my cock was getting harder until finally I had stopped peeing altogether and my cock was becoming fully erect. I was embarrassed that I was getting hard from this jerk watching me, but I couldn't deny that my cock was now standing straight up in front of me. Almost involuntarily, my hand slid up the length of my cock and slowly back down. I could see still from the corner of my eye that he was now standing fully in the open, but I didn't turn to look at him. I did begin to slowly stroke my cock. It throbbed achingly and I stroked harder and faster. I became more and more turned on that he was watching me stroke myself. 

"Can I suck you?" It was almost a whisper and I jumped despite knowing where it came from and perhaps even expecting it.

I didn't answer, but turned slowly towards him and moved my hand away from my cock. He went to his knees in front of me and his mouth quickly sucked my cock inside. His mouth moved up and down my hard shaft, sucking and licking and nearly buckling my knees.

"I'm going to cum", I warned him, but undeterred, he continued sucking until I felt my cum boil up from my balls and erupt into his mouth. He sucked and licked until I was done shooting and then stood, stroking his own cock which he had freed from his pants and begun working over while he had been sucking me.

"Would you do me?" he asked tentatively. His lack of assuredness was in such contrast to his brazenness earlier, I knew that he thought I might just as likely tell him to fuck off. My eyes dropped to the meat that he was holding in his hand. It was large and thick and though I'd never done anything like this before, I knew I wanted to suck it. Before I really even knew what I was doing, I was on my knees in front of him taking his fat cock into my mouth. As soon as I felt the heat of his swollen cock on my lips and tongue and tasted the salty precum oozing from him I knew that I was born to suck cock. I devoured what I hadn't known that I'd been missing all my life. It was quickly obvious to him that I was not just doing him a favor and his bravado quickly returned.

"Oh yea, you like that don't you?" I could hear the smile in his voice as he said it and all I could do was moan back, "mmmmm". "That's it, suck it, suck my cock". He was growing more confident, and more obnoxious as it became more and more apparent how much I craved his cock.

Suddenly, he pushed me back away from him and I fell back on the ground. He stepped forward and stood over me stroking his cock and I just stared, wanting nothing in the world more than to get his cock back into my mouth. "You knew I was looking didn't you?" "Yes" I admitted, struggling forward and groping with my mouth for his cock. He pushed me away again, "You fucking cock sucker. You let me ask you first like I'm the fag didn't you. You're the fucking fag cock sucker aren't you?"

"Please", I croaked as I struggled against his hand pushing against my forehead.

"Look at you, groveling for my cock. Beg me for it fag."

"Please. Please let me suck it. Please, oh god, please just let me suck your cock, please", I begged, knowing that I was surrendering all control to him. At that moment I'd have said anything, done anything to have his cock in my mouth. His hand moved around from my forehead to the back of my head and he suddenly pulled me forward and shoved his cock into my mouth. "Mmmmm" I moaned as I felt his hot cock fill my mouth again. 

"That's it. Keep sucking bitch, I got a mouthful for you in a minute."

"Mmmmmm", I moaned without thinking, just needing his hot load like a fish needs water.

"Yea, you're not just a cock sucking fag, you're a cum loving slut aren't you", he taunted pulling his cock out of my mouth.

"Yes", was my instant reply, "Cum in my mouth, on my face, please, oh god I need your cum, please, I'll do anything, please."

He pushed me back again and this time, straddled me, leaning forward and beginning to roughly fuck my face. I tried to relax my throat and keep from choking. I was in heaven gagging on his cock. It became my whole world, that beautiful cock, the smell of it, the taste of it, the hardness being forced into me Shoved down my throat, his balls slapping my chin and his sweaty pubic hair matting against my nose and eyes. Then in an instant it was gone, but before I could moan my disapproval the first hot splash of cum landed across my cheek.

"Oh yes" I practically sobbed, "yes, mmmm" as I licked at the underside of his shaft and felt it lift up and away from me as another hot pulse of cum shot out onto my face.

His hand tilted his cock down and pushed it back into my mouth as I sucked him clean and milked the rest of the cum from him hungrily.

He stood over me and looked at my lust crazed face, covered in his cum and saw my hand stroking madly at my own swollen cock. He grabbed my knees and forced them back roughly until they were so far back that they were on either side of my head. I felt his cock against the crack of my ass and then suddenly he was inside me. The penetration was so sudden and unexpected that I gasped and moaned loudly.

"Now you're really my bitch", he grunted as he felt my ass contract around his cock.

"Fuck me", I gasped.

He pounded almost straight down into my ass. I was bent practically double and my cock was just above my face. I watched it throb with every thrust of his cock into my ass. His pace quickened and I could feel my balls pull tight. First a short pulse and then a steady deluge of cum poured from my cock onto my face as I felt the hot wetness of him filing my ass. He thrust forward one last time and grunted then stumbled back against a tree. I lay on the ground in front of him and my legs fell back to the ground as I sprawled limply. My face was covered in cum, both his and my own and I could feel his last load starting to seep from my asshole and down between my cheeks. He pulled his pants on and stumbled away to the golf cart and left me there. It was some time before I could finally gather the strength to dress and go home.

I fell quickly to sleep, but the next day I awoke and could think of nothing else. I thought perhaps that I could get it out of my head and go on with my life if I wrote it down. I sat at my computer and wrote my experience in every detail that was burned into my mind. I was shocked to suddenly find that I was bi and embarrassed at what a slut I was, but the thought of sharing my humiliation with others was too much to resist. I posted my story on Literotica then threw my legs over my head and stroked myself until I came on my face again.

Humiliated Ch. 01



Tracy had one too many cool glasses of Chablis, while dining with friends. They weren't ladies that lunched, though they did meet up for the occasional dinner together. Since university they kept in touch, attending weddings, and the usual social gatherings, whenever possible.

The others seemed to have far more interesting lives, though she knew they weren't all fun and games. Margaret's funeral had brought it home to them all that life was too short, to put off that elusive something. 

"Do tell, what is it you have always wanted to do, though never managed to achieve?" Irene asked. Her usual noble, nasal accent, made the question sound like a demand.

She was referring to their earlier conversations, concerning Margaret's early demise. They had moved on to the inevitable subject of sex and the lack of it, so the question sounded less than innocent. Especially as they were about to pick dare cards, from an empty desert bowl.

"I'm not about to give you a clue as to my dare," Tracy pouted. "You'll just have to pick one and hope for the best," she smiled.

As usual Penelope had to be courageous and so, she picked the first card, laying it face down on the table. The others followed suit. 

"Well?" Irene asked. She was eager to turn hers over, obviously keen, to see what she was committed to. 

"Let's, turn them over together," Bernice suggested. 

On the count of three they turned the card and quietly read the instructions. No-one gasped in horror, though Tracy felt queasy. Each had thought up a dare while visiting the bathroom. The attendant wrote them out, to keep them anonymous, as they knew each others hand writing.

Tracy wanted to say she couldn't do this. It was just too naughty. It might even be dangerous. Having read the card several times, she passed it the left, for the others to read. They were interrupted by the waiter re-filling their glasses. This time Tracy didn't cover the wine glass with a hand. Instead, she gratefully accepted, and took a gulp of the cool liquid. 

"I can't see you carrying this out," Irene smirked, while fanning the card. The others laughed along with her. 

"I will! A dare is a dare, and I accept the challenge," Tracy admonished them. She didn't feel so confident inside. She quaked, with stomach churning fear. It was a surprise to feel excited too.

"You can be the first then," Irene stated. "We all go along, to see you carry out the task. To protect you, of course, though nothing will happen," she artfully smiled.

The others took over planning, before she had a chance to think of an excuse to back out. Her life was boring, she conceded, so maybe this would add a little spice to it. She told herself that was wrong, not spice, but excitement. With her friends along, nothing would happen. She would be perfectly safe, of course she would.

On the drive to Irene's home she felt excited. A little aroused too! She put it down to the adventure, nothing to do with a perverse sexual anticipation.

Irene borrowed her maid's car, which was an old Honda saloon. It would hardly be suitable, to show up in a brand new Cadillac. Penelope picked the outfit. They giggled at her while she stared at it in a mirror. 

"You bitch! It's worse than I thought," Tracy exclaimed. Even she was surprised that she didn't reject it. The exhilaration in the room was electric, infecting them all with excitement. Her friends had taken a day off from busy executive positions, so she felt obliged to carry out the dare. Or at least, she told herself that.

In the hotel suit they prepared her make-up. She had her nails done, not at the usual boutique, for it would be horrid to be recognised there. They tied her blonde hair into pig tails, while she mildly protested that they were going too far. 

Tracy giggled with them. She was a thirty-three old woman, wearing an outfit unsuitable for when she was sixteen. The mirror image of a dumb blonde was effective. Driving the battered old car would fit the scene they had set-up perfectly.

"Come on, practise the part," Bernice chided her. 

The three of them stared at her, waiting for the image to come alive. They had all tried their hand on the college stage, that's where they first met. That had been more than a few years ago, and it had been a failure then.

Tracy twirled the short, flowery dress and giggled, in a high pitched whine. "I'm so silly, I forgot my purse," she chirped. 

"Well done!" Bernice laughed, while clapping her hands in appreciation of the performance. The others laughed along, adding their own comments. 

"I always thought you were a dumb blonde," Irene smirked. 

"Thank you, ma'am. I hope to be a bimbo, when I'm old like you, ma'am," Tracy replied, with a scathing look directed at Irene. 

"Careful ladies, don't forget, we all have to go through with a dare," Bernice reminded them. Good old Bernice was the sensible one as usual. The same age as the others, yet usually the one to bring a focus, and a sense of decorum to their little group.

"Come on then, young girl, your audience awaits your entrance," Irene said, pushing her toward the door.

"OK! One more drink, then the adventure is on," Penelope announced. 

"Sorry, miss, Angel will be a good girl, and do as she's told," Tracy said, with a convincing girly whine. 

They laughed along with her, and each hugged her. 

"I'm proud of my little darling," Irene said, and kissed her on the cheek. 

She meant it too! Tracy wasn't used to being the centre of attention, so she started to enjoy it. Having Irene praise her was a surprise and heartening. 

The shiny black Lexus, with blacked out windows, followed closely behind the Honda. They turned out of the hotel car park, toward the area all agreed would be perfect for their game. The neighbourhood wasn't up market, or too down at heel either. 

Tracy turned into the assigned gas station, and sat in the car for a moment or two. Her friends would guess she was having second thoughts. Checking her face in the mirror, she recognised a look of fear in her eyes.

"Get a grip, girl," she said, out loud. She got out of the car, trying to keep the hem under control. Lifting the nozzle with both hands meant letting it swirl around her thighs. Damn! The Honda was low down, so she had to bend, when opening the little filling hatch. 

Unused to filling up a car with fuel, meant it was difficult to co-ordinate the whole process. She had parked too close and had to bend forward, to watch the gauge. If the cost was too much, the guy wouldn't co-operate. The dials seemed to rotate so rapidly! She clicked off the gun to put it back in the machine, with several attempts needed. 

Tracy hadn't been able to practise filling up, as there weren't any gas stations that allowed filling, without paying first. Using a credit card was out of the question.

Walking up to the pay station she kept her head down. It was one thing being praised by her friends, yet another, expecting to fool a guy in there. They had chosen well. The lighting was poor, so the old guy probably wouldn't notice her age. He would be too busy looking at her legs and cleavage.

This thought brought on a charge of embarrassment, making her falter. She saw a shadow behind the counter and looked away. "Sorry, I forgot my purse," she said, as rehearsed. A quaver, added a touch of authenticity to the girly voice.

In a panic she quickly fluttered out of the small store, back to the car. She bent over, rummaging around for money, knowing there was none. Leaning over the seat she did the same. There was enough junk to rifle through. Somehow she felt more in control, wiggling her ass at the guy; if he was watching the performance.

It was all a part of the dare, she reminded herself. Distract him, so he didn't look at her face. Excite him a little, to get his co-operation, but not enough to get into trouble. They had briefed her well, only she still felt embarrassed. After all, she was flaunting her body at a stranger.

As she walked back in, the sense of power over a man, from using feminine wiles, evaporated. She looked like a dumb blonde, and felt like one too.

"I really am a silly girl. I've left my money at home," she said, sounding like a pathetic young thing. The confused state she was in, added to her sounding like a stupid blonde. 

Tracy was scared, aroused, and way out of her comfort zone. All she could think of was running away and hiding, from her friends and failure. If she hadn't been so scared she might have made the move toward the door, and escape from the torment.

"You had better sit there, while I call the police," the guy said. 

In a daze she stumbled to a chair, beside the counter. Even in her confused state she heard from the tone of voice, this was no old guy. She dare not look at him, or he might see she was no teenager. 

"Please! There's no need to involve the police," she blurted out. She was ready to explain it was all a joke, only just holding back. She had to brazen it out, or lose the dare. If he insisted on calling the police, she would have to capitulate, and confess. 

"Can't you trust me? I'll bring back the money and something extra for you! Honest!" she pleaded.

"My uncle owns this group of gas stations, and left strict instructions. Got to report it, it's theft you know," he explained, with a shrug of his shoulders. 

While he spoke, she looked out the window, across the oily tarmac. Her friends had gone! If the police turned up, what was she going to say? She really couldn't pay up now! The thought of being dragged off by the police, to be charged with theft, was horrendous. 

"Please, I'll do anything to avoid the police," Tracy whined. She couldn't believe the earnest tone of voice she managed to conjure up. It sounded genuine, and it was.

"You had better think twice, before making such an offer," he told her. 

"I mean it, honest," she said. She moved close to him, putting a finger over the phone cradle. "No police and I'll do what you want, please, sir," she begged. There was a confused idea forming in her head, about flashing her breasts at him. Surely that would be enough, together with a promise to return with the cash.

"I'll show you, I really don't have any money on me," she offered, looking coy.

"OK. Show me," he demanded. 

He had taken the hint, so maybe she could regain some control. Taking a deep breath, she pulled at the neckline. It was too tight to pull her breasts out. Even if she did, there was no way she could pull the bra from them. It would also be a struggle to get them pushed back in, leaving her exposed, if someone walked in the store.

He held the phone as though it were a weapon. "It's up to you," he said, in an offhand manner.

"Wait, please, sir," she croaked, from a dry throat. Pleading with a young guy, to let her expose her breasts, and calling him sir, was humiliating. It left her feeling vulnerable and stupid. 

She should have been dominating the situation, and using her feminine charms to get what she wanted. It would have worked, if the old guy had been there. This handsome young guy wasn't so impressed with her body. She had to admit, she wasn't eighteen any more. She was still attractive, as a nice petite blonde with large breasts, so surely she could win him round.

Gritting her teeth, with determination, she grabbed the hem with both hands. Showing him her voluptuous body would surely distract him, from phoning anyone. She must prove to her friends she was worth something. She had to prove to them, and herself, she was still attractive enough to win the dare.

Before she lost confidence she hiked up the dress, over her head, to stand before him in her underwear. The set was pink, new, and sexy. It held her breasts in a provocative cleavage. The pair of high cut panties was sexy, yet covered her decently.

She still couldn't look at him. She found herself hoping this stranger, approved of her body. Her chest heaved from deep breaths. Was it fear of rejection, or from arousal, she couldn't tell.

"Turn around, let me take a good look at you," he told her.

Looking up at a security mirror, she got a good look at him, for the first time. Tracy quietly gasped. No! She had hoped to see him interested in her, maybe even a little aroused. Instead, she recognised him! It was Nigel, a friend of her step-son, from college. He was a young eighteen year old, who had visited her home on a number of occasions.

Her knees almost buckled. She shivered with fear. Her mind went blank from an intense feeling of shock. This young man, a friend of her son, was checking her out! She desperately needed to wrap both arms around her exposed body, but couldn't move.

"You're cold, I'll have to warm you up," he teased. 

With her eyes tightly closed, she didn't see him move close behind her. She felt his arms wrap around her body. He held her tight, squeezing her breasts. She wanted to yell at him, to leave her alone. 

She wasn't a silly, young blonde, to be bullied into doing what he wanted. She opened her mouth to speak, only to croak something unintelligible. She couldn't get the awful thought out of her mind, that she had proved herself to be a stupid bimbo. This young guy saw her as a foolish blonde, from having been ensnared so easily.

"Nice tits," Nigel whispered in her ear. He pulled the bra up, exposing them. 

No! Tracy silently cried out. Her son's friend was mauling her breasts. She dare not turn around, to let Nigel discover who she was. He would be sure to brag about it in college. Her husband would find out, his son would treat her with complete disdain, and she would be kicked out of their home.

Nigel bent her forward, over the counter. He let go of her breasts, letting his weight hold her down. He pulled out his cock and pulled aside the crotch of her panties. Two fingers, roughly delved between her legs, rubbing her, pressing her sex. It was an inattentive fore-play. He just wanted to take her.

He pushed up with a strong pair of legs. The muscles bulged and tightened as he thrust into her. 

Tracy wasn't ready for it, though her body was. Her sex was open and accessible. She lifted her head, letting out a throaty moan. He hadn't excited her; she had done that to herself. The humiliation of having this young guy, a friend of the family, take her, was exciting. She was being fucked in a store, where anyone could walk in, and catch them at it like rutting animals. 

The moan of protest crystallised into a deep, throaty groan from pleasure. She was being fucked hard, by a young buck. She had been forced into it, unwillingly taken by him. The pressure in her head was strong enough to override all reservations, all her inhibitions, every moral fibre had been stripped away.

Tracy pushed back against him, finding his rhythm, helping him to fuck her. She lifted her head, wailing lightly. An orgasm was rocking through her body, vibrating her nerve endings with a message, yes, yes, yes! 

So sensitised was her sex, she felt him cum, the first time that had happened. She felt his cock expand a little more, felt it spasm, and imagined his thick virile sperm shoot inside, right up inside, filling her up. A flash of lightening, like a summer storm, struck out from her stomach, burning her breasts, searing the pleasure points in her brain. Following close behind the intense wave of pleasure, came a roll of thunder. A second orgasm rumbled through her body, less intense, yet lasting longer.

The intensity of the climax left her weak and fragile. 

Nigel slapped her ass. "You've paid for the gas. Didn't take you long to fuck me either. You're an accomplished whore, I'm impressed," Nigel said, and slapped her ass again. "Come on, get your clothes back on," he demanded.

Tracy felt as though the slaps were a punishment, for her disgusting behaviour. She hadn't been a silly, naughty girl she had been a dirty whore. She had paid for the gas with her body. Her son's young friend had fucked her! He had used her like a whore! The humiliation was deep, and threatened to overwhelm her. 

Nigel slapped her ass again, harder this time, wanting to get her going. He knew the local traffic pattern well, and customers would soon start to arrive. 

Tracy silently sobbed, hiding her face on the counter under her long blonde hair. 

"Come on, we need to get out of here," Irene cajoled her friend. She couldn't use gentle tactics, for someone had pulled up at a pump. She grabbed Tracy's arm and pulled her toward the door. Irene marched her friend to the car, and dumped the lump of a woman, into the passenger seat. 

"I'll go back for the dress," she said. Tracy didn't hear, for she had withdrawn into a safe little shell, trying to ignore what she had done. 

Irene marched back into the store. She picked up the dress, which had been dumped on the floor. She held out her hand. "The security tape!" she demanded. 

"All ready, as agreed," Nigel smiled. "Hey! Where's the extra money?" he shouted, to her retreating back. "You owe ten for gas," he complained.

"You owe ten for the fuck. We'll call it quits," Irene laughed. 

Nigel smiled, with the knowledge there was a copy. It had been a coincidence he recognised the woman. Or, should he call her the victim. As predicted by that callous bitch, Irene, the woman had been easily manipulated, when knowing what buttons to press. Irene certainly knew all about her weaknesses. 

He knew who she was, and would make use of that information. If he could be as clever as Irene, he would make a great deal of use out of it.

Irene cut her laugh short, as she left the store. Revealing her real intentions, for organising the crude dare game, would be a wonderful moment. Now wasn't the right time. She straightened her face, trying to look concerned and disgusted with her friend. 

Irene threw the dirty, trampled dress onto the back seat. Driven across town, in her underwear, would be just a minor irritation for Tracy, compared with what was to come. She couldn't take Tracy back home, in this state, so naturally they drove to the hotel room.

"Don't worry Tracy, you're safe with me," she lied.



Humiliated Ch. 02



Over the next couple of weeks I struggled with accepting my bisexuality and just the idea of the intense arousal that I felt during my humiliation next to the river and with how much I had loved sucking cock and being fucked by that obnoxious bastard. The fact remained though that every time that I thought about it, my cock became painfully hard and I secretly craved it again. Having the whole story posted on Literotica was just more delicious humiliation. Some wrote to tell me how much they wish it had happened to them and others, my favorites, wrote to tell me what they'd do to me if they got the chance or even told me to do things to myself for them. Each day I checked my email for feedback. One day I received a note that I was shocked to find:

"This story sounds familiar. We know a lot of the same people and if you don't want them all to receive a copy of your story with your name posted to it, you better be at my house at 8pm on Saturday. Obnoxious jerk, eh? You think I humiliated you then, wait until Saturday, asshole. 

- "The Birdie Machine"

I was panicked now. I couldn't go, who knew what he'd do. I didn't exactly portray him in a positive light, he had to be pissed, but I couldn't not go either. What if he sent my story out to all kinds of people I knew? 

I was terrified as I approached his house on Saturday night.

I knocked on the door and he answered. He smiled, but it wasn't a friendly smile. He said nothing but "strip". There was no point in trying to reason with him. I took off my clothes. I felt my cock rising and tried desperately to think of something else to keep from getting hard.

He said "Go to the TV and turn it on." I did as he told me to and a porn film began playing. A guy was on a low table with five or six guys standing over him stroking themselves. I stared as they each began shooting their loads all over the guy on the table. I turned to face him and he snickered. I looked down and my cock was hard.

"I thought you'd like that one you slut". His words stung but there was no denying it anymore. Now that I was facing him I was horrified, but shamefully aroused, to see that there was a video camera on a tripod facing me and on the couch there were several dildos.

"Don't worry, the camera's not on, I'm not going to film you." I breathed a sigh of relief and he quickly followed with, "You turn it on, you're going to film yourself." My heart dropped and I hesitated. "Turn it on and tell the camera what a whore you are and that you can't get enough cock in your ass or cum on your face." I froze. "Do it now unless you want everyone to know how much you loved it before, I'm just going to keep this between us unless you piss me off."

I went to the camera and turned it on. I stared into the camera, "I'm a cock loving whore and I can never get enough cock in my ass or enough cum on my face". My cock throbbed and I'm sure that I looked like I meant it, worse, I did. He walked over and picked up one of the dildos, placed it on the coffee table in front of me and told me to suck it. I knelt on the floor in front of it and bent forward taking it in my mouth. 

"That's it, show me what a good cock sucker you are and then I'll let you suck mine. Suck it good. Let me see you swallow it to the base bitch."

I was becoming more and more aroused. I wanted to show him that I could take the whole thing and I wanted to taste his cock in my mouth again. 

"That's it, look at the camera while you suck it."

I looked into the camera with lust filled eyes as the fake cock bottomed out in the back of my throat.

He dropped a tube of lube on the table in front of me. "You can use this before you fuck yourself if you get right to it."

I didn't hesitate. I squirted the lube into my hand and stroked up and down the shaft of the dildo. I straddled the table and when I felt the head against my asshole, I sat down slowly forcing it into my ass. I moaned.

"Yea fuck yourself. You love that don't you?"

"Yes" I humped up and down on that fake cock and felt like I was going to cum any second.

"Stop and lean forward"

I obeyed with a whimper, I was so close to cuming.

"That one must not be big enough. You want a bigger one don't you?"

"Yes" came my reply without hesitation.

He reached down and pulled the dildo out of my ass and went to the couch and grabbed a much larger one. I was nervous when I saw the size of it, but I panted with anticipation. The fat head of the dildo rubbed up and down the crack of my ass until I felt it settle over my partially opened hole. He pushed it forward and buried it into me in one stroke, forcing a gasp and a moan out of me. "That's more like it, isn't it?"

I could hardly breathe or talk for a minute, then managed to croak "Yea".

"Okay, ride that one now, bitch"

I sat back up and began to slide up and down the huge dildo that was now plowing my ass. I forgot about everything else, him, the camera, everything except the sensation of that cock filling my ass to the fullest, sliding out to my tight ring and then plunging back in.

"Lay back on the table and fuck yourself so the camera can get a good view", he interrupted and I quickly lay back, pulling my knees up towards my chest and reaching around my legs with both hands to grip the dildo and fuck myself harder with it. I panted loudly with each thrust. I didn't care if the camera recorded it. I didn't care if he saw it. I didn't care about anything but fucking myself with that beautiful fat cock. I moaned louder and fucked myself wildly. I wasn't even aware that he was still in the room until his cock came into view above my face. He was stroking it.

"I'm going to cum all over your face, that's what you want, isn't it?"

"Yes"

"You wish there were more guys here don't you?"

"Yes. I wish the room were full of guys taking turns feeding me their cum and fucking me."

"That's good, because that camera is making a webcast and it's going out live to anyone that wants to watch. What do you think about that?'

"I don't care. I want them to see. I don't care, I just want more cock.", I panted truthfully and totally out of control.

"Well you better give them the address then", he mocked.

I whimpered and moaned, gave the address and kept straining to get more of the dildo into my ass.

It didn't even seem like five minutes later and suddenly I felt my hands being pushed away from the dildo. I looked down and a guy named Bob that I had once fired was standing naked between my legs. He just looked at me and said, "I knew you were a sick fuck. Believe me, I'm going to enjoy this even more than your slut ass." He pulled the dildo out and shoved his cock into me. 

I saw a flash of light and thought at first it was from the pain of his huge cock, but then I noticed that the front door was open and there were headlights outside. The guy from the coffee shop that I frequent walked in. "I'm not gay but I couldn't resist coming over here to cum on your face", he laughed.

Then there were at least five guys standing over me stroking their cocks while Bob roughly fucked my aching ass. I reached up and took hold of two of the cocks and stroked them. The first one started to cum. I remember the first blast landed on my cheek, everything was a blur after that. One cock after another, as many as I could get my hands on or my mouth around. Load after hot load landing all over my body. Some of the guys that fucked me came in my ass, others pulled out and came on my crotch or on my stomach. It could have gone on for hours or days, I didn't know and didn't care. No matter how many times I tasted hot cum, felt it sprayed all over me or felt another cock filling my ass it was never enough. Sometimes I noticed a face, my ex-boss, guys that had worked for me, but all I really cared about was another cock.

I woke up later, I don't know how much later. I was still lying on the coffee table. My arms and legs were hanging limply over the sides. My hair was matted with what had to be fifty loads of cum, every inch of my face, chest and stomach was caked with cum. I struggled to lift myself up onto my elbows and noticed a huge puddle of cum on the table under my ass. I tried to struggle to my feet and barely had the strength. My ass was so sore that I could hardly walk. There was no one else around and so I struggled into my clothes and stumbled towards the door. As I passed the camera, I could hear it still running.

I never found out many that were there, but that night made me a toy for a not very exclusive club around the area. I went to the hardware store two days later, when I was well enough to walk again, and the clerk told me that the paint I was looking for was in the back room. When I walked out back, he pushed me over a stack of boxes and yanked my pants down. "I've been wanting some more of this", he said as he shoved his cock into me. He fucked me until he came and then walked out. Later, I went to pick-up my dry cleaning and the guy at the counter told me it was $20 and a blow job. My son's principle asked for a conference with me and I thought he was in trouble until he and one of the gym teachers bent me over a desk. One of them fucked my ass and the other fucked my mouth. When they'd finished with me by pulling out and cuming on my back and my face, they sent me out without letting me wipe it off. They told me not to worry because everyone in the office had seen my show anyway. I know that I should be ashamed but instead, no matter how many times and places I'm used throughout the day, I end the day with a hard cock, thinking about be used until I finally have to jerk off and lick one more load from my fingers.



Humiliated Ch. 02



Chapter 02

Her friend takes control

"You were such a stupid slut, letting that guy do that to you," Irene scolded her friend. "You're a mature, married woman, behaving like a bitch on heat. You should have won him round. Instead, you let him fuck you for a tank of gas, like a common whore. You're such a stupid bitch, fucking like that in the store. Anyone could walk in and catch you at it," she fiercely reprimanded Tracy.

Tracy sat in the passenger seat feeling stunned and vulnerable. Although wearing just a bra and panties, she just sat there, looking shell-shocked. She didn't care where they were going, she was just grateful to be leaving that awful place. It would take some time to recover from what she had done, if ever.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a big fat guy grinning at her. He was looking down from the cab of a truck. The lights changed and they sped off. At the next set of lights he caught up and wound the window down. He shouted something, so Irene opened their window and leaned over her Tracy. 

"She's a cheap whore, if you want some," Irene shouted to him. "Tell him," Irene demanded.

Feeling as though she deserved this horrid punishment, Tracy looked up at the fat guy, and weakly smiled. 

"I'll fuck your ass babe, real hard," the trucker yelled with glee. "Is your asshole nice and tight?" he asked. 

Tracy had never been so insulted and demeaned in her life. This morning had started as a daring adventure, only to turn into a pathetic disaster. 

She had never been driven around in a battered old car, in her underwear either. Occasionally a chauffeur drove, though not one who touted her ass for business. 

The guy nor Irene could be blamed for taunting her. In this old battered car, in her undies, she was inviting trouble. What could she expect, after letting a young friend of her son, fuck her for a tank of gas? 

***

It was bad enough Irene knowing about it, but at least that boy in the garage hadn't recognised her. He was a friend of her step-son, and was only just eighteen. He had taken her over the counter, in his uncle's gas station store. Her step-son's friend had fucked her! She had been so afraid, and stunned from the humiliation of standing before him in her underwear, she just gave in to him.

The thought of it all getting back to her family was devastating. That was partly why she hadn't been able to talk him round, as planned in the dare. She was supposed to walk in pretending to be a stupid air-head, who had forgotten her purse. She was supposed to flirt with the guy running the gas station, and talk him into letting her off paying. 

It hadn't been the old guy, but someone she knew. Throughout the ordeal she kept her mouth shut, avoiding looking at him, not wanting to be recognised.

***

She hardly heard her friend telling her off. However mean Irene was, it was nothing compared to how hard on herself she was; blaming herself for what happened. 

"Here put this on," Irene said, handing over the awful dress. Instead of taking the elevator from the car park, straight to their floor, Irene led her through reception. The ultra-modern, steel and glass atrium, declared this one of the most prestigious hotels in the city. It left her feeling dirtier than ever.

Tracy kept her head down, feeling thoroughly retched. She was dressed like a silly young blonde, and felt everyone was staring at her. She didn't just feel small, she felt tiny, like a fragile bird, with its wings clipped. At least it would all soon be over. 

As soon as they got back to the room, where her clothes were, she could change. If only the way she felt about herself could be that simple to change. Changing out of these young adolescent clothes, and escaping home, was all she could think about. 

Waiting for an elevator, Tracy noticed a man's reflection in the polished steel. He was staring at her. When he whispered into a cuff, she realised he was a hotel security man. It stung her face red to realise, there was only one reason he would be watching her. He was reporting that a prostitute had walked into the hotel. 

Tracy had stayed in this luxury hotel, and attended conferences with her husband. It was one of the plushest hotels in the city, and they often hired an expensive suite for the night. Normally the manager and concierge would have welcomed her, but not today, not the way she was dressed. 

The dress was a micro-mini showing off far too much leg. The bust-line was both low and tight, forcing her breasts into a deep cleavage. They bounced dramatically, while striding across the highly polished marble floor. In the high heels she was forced to take tiny steps, clattering over the hard marble floor, while trying to keep up with Irene. It was no wonder she was being mistaken for a prostitute. 

The shame, of being taken to the security office and questioned, would be horrendous. The prospect of waiting for them to make a decision, over whether to let her go with a warning or call the police, would be an agony. The idea of squirming before those men, dominated her imagination. A picture of her pleading with them, begging them to let her go seemed real.

What if they threatened to call the police, unless she pleasured them for free? With the lad in the gas station she had been passive, but this time they would expect her to show some skill. Could she purposely have sex with them? Could she bring herself to behave like the whore they thought she was?

Tracy's legs were weak. She almost collapsed from palpitations. She imagined being spread over a desk, being fucked hard by those big, beefy security men. In her head she was telling them it was all right to fuck her, because she was just a dumb slut. 

The elevator arrived and Tracy almost fell into it.

"Thanks for getting me out of there, Irene," Tracy mumbled. 

Irene pushed the stop button in the elevator.

"Don't think for one moment I'll just forget about your despicable behaviour! You'll be punished for failing the dare, and especially hard, for what you did. Unless, you want me to deliver you home like this, with cum running down your thighs. Do you want me to hand this DVD to your husband, to discover where all that dried up sperm came from?" Irene asked, with a hard glare.

"What? You wouldn't! Please Irene!" Tracy exclaimed. Her husband would recognise the boy in that store. He would never believe it was a coincidence, and that she had been forced into it. 

"I like to play games, and you'll do as I say, under my rules. Agreed? " Irene fiercely told her. Irene stood over her friend, dominating the cowed woman.

Already in a state of shock, Tracy wondered, in confusion, what Irene meant. She was a long time friend, so surely she wouldn't go as far as telling her husband. It was just like Irene to take advantage, so Tracy bent to the inevitable. She was going to suffer for this dire mistake, and felt it was deserved whatever shit Irene threw at her.

"I don't understand. What kind of games?" she asked.

"All you have to do is obey me and my rules. In return I'll keep your dirty little secret," Irene shouted at her. "Up to the room, or down to reception, the choice is yours," she added. A manicured finger hovered over the zero.

Tracy imagined being delivered to those big men in dark suits. In this delicate outfit she looked ripe for plucking. They would suck her juicy fruit and make her regret walking into their hotel. As each shift came in she would be handed to another group of muscular men to be worked hard. She imagined the state of her body, covered in cum, after they had finished with her. 

"Well? What are you going to do? Do you want to go down to reception?" Irene persisted.

Tracy heard her friend's voice as though it were a distant sound. She thought she asked if she wanted to go down in reception. The scene in her head changed from a dirty little back room to an acre of glassy marble. On her knees by the desk she was servicing a casually dressed man, checking in. 

"High, Tracy, didn't recognise you. Nice job you're doing, really professional," the man said. With his cock in her mouth, she looked up to recognise a business colleague of her husbands.

"No! Please, Irene, take me to the room, I'll play any game you want," she said in desperation. 

"Are you sure? My games can get pretty rough!" Irene teased her. 

"Yes, of course, anything you want. Just don't tell anyone, please!" Tracy whined. She was desperate to get her clothes on, and most of all, winning Irene's confidence. She felt so low, she would agree to anything.

Outside the room, Irene gripped her arm. "You're just a silly blonde slut, that's the game. You've already proved you are, so it shouldn't be too difficult. You just have to do as I say, and your dirty little secret is safe, agreed?" Irene bullied her.

"Yes, what ever you say," Tracy demurely replied.

"Call me mistress from now on, seeing as I own you. Don't forget the voice, pathetic and girly," she harshly reminded Tracy.

"Yes, Mistress," Tracy replied, when Irene nudged her. There was no need to try and sound pathetic, the pitiable feelings clearly sounded in her voice. She was wondering why she was so sexed up. Images of being taken by strangers, those security men, who were doing bad things, haunted her. 

Tracy nodded, wondering what she had gotten into. She walked in, meekly following Irene. At least their friends weren't there. Tracy expected to be humiliated before them, with Irene making her perform embarrassing tricks, for their amusement. 

She hadn't made such a success of her life as they had. She had a wealthy husband, with a nice, staid life style to match his position. Unlike them, she didn't have a flourishing, glamorous career. Even her clothes were dowdy and respectable, except for that afternoon. She was wearing a short, girly dress, more suitable to an eighteen year old, dumb blonde.

Tracy hid behind Irene. A hotel employee was in the room, folding down the bed. She rapidly scanned the room for her clothes. Not seeing them was worrying.

"Hello madam, how may I help you this afternoon," he asked. A Hispanic accent tinged his voice, making even that innocuous statement sound sensuous. He looked at Tracy, who was trying not to be noticed. His eyes glinted, reflecting thoughts, wondering why she might be there.

Irene ignored him, as he was just a lowly employee. "In the bathroom, girl," she demanded.

Being pulled into the bathroom like an errant young girl, in front of the stranger, was demeaning, though there was n choice, she had to submit. It had been agreed, so Tracy braced herself to face Irene's wrath, and to submit to any indignity.

"Strip off and wash your dirty cunt, its dripping with that guy's sperm," Irene harshly told her.

Tracy cringed at being reminded how nasty she had been, and the dirty evidence of it. Her pussy and thighs were caked in the young mans cum. It was uncomfortable to smell her sex juices down there too. She scrubbed between her legs with a wet cloth, trying to expunge the sordid truth. Like Lady Macbeth she cried, only silently, 'out damn spot', or rather 'out damn cum'.

"Dry yourself off, you dirty little slut," Irene berated her. She pulled her victim out of the bathroom.

"Hello, Rodrigo. I take it you're finished for the day?" Irene asked. 

Shit! The man was still there, probably waiting for a tip. Tracy tried to hide behind Irene, only her friend kept a firm grip on her arm. Tracy quaked in fear. She was naked, in front of a stranger! This lowly hotel employee was staring at her, with a nasty lascivious look.

"Yes madam, I am at your service," he answered. His words were respectful, though the expression was that of a wolf, inspecting its prey. "As you are here, do I take it you have agreed to my offer?" he smiled.

"Indeed not! Certainly not! I don't do that sort of thing. I'm a decent woman, an important woman with connections. I'm the one who receives the pleasure. That's why I invited you here, for my pleasure, not yours," Irene harshly rebuked him.

He put on a dejected look then shrugged his shoulders in resignation. 

"However, I do like to play games, as you know. Your idea aroused my curiosity, only involving someone else, not me. This tramp is deprived enough for you to play with. So, let's see what you can do with a submissive female," Irene told him. She took hold of Tracy's arm, pushing her between them. 

"I've brought you this dumb blonde, to play with," Irene announced. A big smile ironed out the lines around her eyes. She was obviously pleased with herself. "What do you think of it?" she asked.

"Very good," he chuckled. "Nice tits, shapely legs, and her ass is still firm. The waist could be slimmer, and the breasts are not so perky. She is past her prime. Though, she must have been a beauty in her day," Rodrigo stated, while looking her up and down. Despite the criticism, he licked his lips in anticipation.

Tracy squirmed in front of the man. He was being bluntly truthful about her body, increasing the humiliation over being naked before him. Having her faults openly discussed like this was unbearable. Irene held both arms, preventing her from covering her exposed flesh. She squeezed her thighs tightly together, at least protecting her sex from this lowly employee's examination.

She was dumbfounded. Her friend had cruelly teased her about being a whore, while driving here. That punishment she deserved. Was she now going to be given to a stranger, to perform something distasteful, and beneath Irene's dignity? Irene was too good for this man, and what he wanted, yet Tracy was being assessed, to see if she was good enough. 

"If the slut pleases you, she's yours to play with," Irene chuckled. "Slut," Irene said firmly, while grabbing Tracy's chin, to gain her attention. 

"You must obey him. Remember our agreement, do as you are told, and everything will be alright. Be a good little slut, for your mistress, and obey Rodrigo." Irene firmly stated.

"I'm going shopping. I'll be back in a couple of hours. Have fun!" she cheerfully said, over her shoulder.

Tracy jumped when the door slammed shut.

"On your knees, slut," Rodrigo demanded. 

Tracy nearly fainted. The terrible things Irene had taunted her with, left her bewildered. Her head was in a spin. She had been left here, to entertain this hotel employee! That much she understood. As though her weakened knees were obeying him, they gave way, and she inelegantly swayed to the floor. 

From all that had happened to her that afternoon, she felt as though a stun-gun had crippled her. Her head was pounding, with a racing heart. She couldn't look at him. She looked down at the carpet, where her body slowly collapsed, until she was on all fours. She tried to recover by taking a deep breath, trying to calm her breathing.

"Crawl here to me," he demanded.

"I can't, my mistress," she started to say; only to wonder what could be said.

"Your mistress gave you to me," he chided her. "Obey me! Or, I'll spank you for disobedience," he warned her.

She needed to be punished, for the terrible thing that had been done. Was this humiliating position, the punishment Irene meant? Irene was too important to entertain this lowly employee. She was so mean, in her friend's eyes that she was only just good enough to be given to him. She was just a dumb slut, to be given away to a stranger. 

With such a dire threat hanging over her, there was nothing to be done, except capitulate.

Tracy crawled to him, as though over hot coals. The look of agony on her face was hidden, in her long blonde hair. Her forehead bumped his knee so she stopped. She closed her eyes, intending to escape a little of the disgrace. How could her friend have given her to a stranger, like a whore? Even worse than that, she was expected to be his obedient, submissive slut. 

On all fours, with her mouth inches from his crotch, it was obvious what she was expected to do. This was not a just punishment, it was a persecution. How could her friend do this to her? 

Tracy opened her eyes in surprise, showing the whites as though stung. 

Rodrigo deftly wrapped the slut's hair around her head, to reveal a soft white neck. He pulled an old dog collar around her neck and fastened it. 

She seemed stunned when he first saw her. She remained compliant, from being in such an unexpected situation. He intended to keep her guessing and off balance. This wouldn't be the first rich bitch he had played with. They often came to him with haughty expressions of superiority, and left him as happy, obedient little pets.

Evaluating her reaction to being naked, it was obvious the slut was submissive. Irene had been right. Irene had put the slut through the mill, before bringing her to the room, leaving the victim docile. If she hadn't been a natural submissive, the slut would have made a fuss, and kicked off by now. It was a pity, for he would have enjoyed thrashing her.

Rodrigo attached a leash to the collar and pulled on it, lifting her head. She tried to look away, but he gripped her chin. 

"You are here to obey me, do you understand, little slut girl," he firmly said. "Call me master, when you manage to answer," he strictly spoke, whipping her ass with the leash.

"Ow! Yes. . . Master," Tracy cried out.

"That's not good enough," he calmly told her, and whipped her ass again. "What are you here for?" he asked, with a patient voice, as though speaking to a dim girl.

"I'm, here, to, obey, you, master," she sobbed. 

"Very good, my obedient little slut girl," he said, with a soothing voice, laden with sarcasm.

Tracy tried to hold back the dry sobs, not wanting to be whipped again. Irene had told her to obey and now this man had reinforced the demand. The prospect of obeying didn't sound as awful, as it should have. Letting someone else tell her what to do, taking responsibility for her actions, seemed appropriate; after being such a terrible slut with that boy. 

She deserved to pay a penance, and this was it. Being told to obey, because she needed to learn how to behave decently, and needed some discipline, was what she wanted. Being told she was a 'little slut of a girl', brought her down to earth, and it humbled her. It put her in her place, a stark reminder that she was just a stupid little slut.

He patted her bare bottom and stood up. Pulling on the leash she crawled beside him, keeping to heel, like a pet bitch. He would have liked to train the wealthy woman, into a pet bitch, but Irene had left specific instructions. It was a pity, for he enjoyed brainwashing these priggish women, into becoming an eager to please pet.

Making a few circuits of the hotel suit, gave her a chance to get used to the lowly position expected of her. He knew from experience what was going on in her mind. She was trying to justify this harsh treatment. He would keep her jumping through hoops for the next two hours until she was broken, ready for Irene to collect.

Rodrigo led her into the bathroom. "Take my cock out, slut," he demanded.

So now the dreadful deed was going to happen. It was uncanny to feel relieved, over doing what had been anticipated all along. It would have been better to be doing this in a more comfortable position, in the bedroom. Damn! She was thinking of being comfortable while sucking on his cock. She cringed at the thought, thinking she must be a slut, to think like that.

"Hold it firmly and point it down," he casually said.

In consternation she watched a stream of urine hit the bowl, splashing the water right next to her. On hands and knees, while holding his cock, she looked up at the stranger urinating. A hot yellow stream shot right past her face. It was both disgusting and fascinating. She was holding a strangers cock, watching for the first time, how it worked. 




Humiliated Ch. 02



"Shake it," he told her.

Afraid of hurting it, she gently moved it from side to side. 

"That's no good," he said, and grabbed a fistful of hair. "Lick it clean, slut," he harshly shouted, while pulling her face against his wet cock. 

With a whimper of self-pity, she licked it, trying to avoid the eye of his penis. Still holding her hair, he shoved his cock into her mouth. "Do a proper job, slut," he warned her. 

The taste wasn't so terrible it was the thought of it, making her wretch. Bringing herself under control, she managed to suck his cock clean. 

"Well done, slut," Rodrigo encouraged, while patting her bare ass. "Down, on the floor, good slut," he commanded, and pushed her into position with a foot.

"Open you legs, wider, come on! You can do better than that, you nasty slut," he encouraged her. 

With eyes wide in astonishment, she watched him lather her crotch. How was she going to explain this to her husband? She wanted to protest, to at least try and explain to him why this was so wrong. Instead she lay very still, as he glided a cold steel razor over her crotch, ever closer to her lips.

His hands and fingers made a thorough job of denuding her pussy. In that position, with a pile of towels under her hips, her crotch and bottom were on show to him. Having had his fingers delving into her sex, and pulling on her lips, it was no wonder they glistened. 

"On all fours again, come on move," he said, with another slap to her ass. 

When he pulled something from his pocket Tracy caught sight of it and gasped. 

"You guessed my little pet," he laughed. He eased the little fluffy tail into her bottom. "Come with me, my pet is to learn obedience and self control," he informed her. 

Crawling out of the bathroom was more of an ordeal than when entering it. Her pussy was shaved and she had a small fluffy tail sticking out of her ass. The humiliation was building up to a terrible pitch. Her body was trembling from a deep sexual frustration.

From a bag he pulled black rubber phalluses, six of them, and placed them in a row on the floor. Each was a replica of a full size penis. It worried Tracy how this tormentor was going to humiliate her next. 

"That's it, slut, take a good look at them. Slut is going to carry them across the room. On all fours, you obviously can't use your hands. So take the first one in your mouth. By the way, if there are any teeth marks on the soft rubber, you will be punished, for being a bad slut. First one then," Rodrigo said, giving her bare ass a push, with his shoe.

"More, you can take more of it than that, bad slut," he warned her.

Tracy choked and eased off the long dildo. She tried again, slowly pushing her head toward the floor. It surprised her how much, of the horrible tasting thing, she could engulf. 

"You are not trying hard enough," he said, and slapped her ass with the leash. She whimpered, and pushed her lips further down its length. He was pleased with her progress, knowing it would take time for her to learn this lesson. 

Her husband had once commented that her rose bud lips looked perfect for his cock. She had been appalled and made him sleep in the other room. He had been drunk at the time, though this was no excuse for such un-gentlemanly behaviour. He had the good grace never to mention the horrible idea again. 

As that memory returned, she thought this all the more vile. A hotel employee had her sucking a nasty tasting cock, and there was nothing she could do about it. Her will to resist had been broken by Irene, and he was grinding her self-worth into the carpet. 

She crawled to the other side of the room, deposited the phallus, and was led back on the end of the leash.

"More this time," he ordered. "You can do better than that!" he demanded. Tracy managed to kiss the carpet, only to quickly shake it out of her mouth, gasping for air. 

"Careful, slut, it represents a penis. A penis is your master, the love of your life. Your well-being depends on it. Don't forget this or, you will be punished severely," he said, while holding her chin, looking closely into her eyes.

"Yes, master," Tracy replied. She tried again, carrying the phallus in her mouth, a little deeper this time.

By the time the sixth phallus had been carried, she was able to suck it into her mouth, and partly down her throat. She learnt to breathe around it, even when its head was expanding her neck.

Rodrigo patted her bottom and stroked her hair. "Well done, pretty little slut, you have done very well," he complimented her.

Tracy responded by wagging the tail, stuck up her ass. She felt the fine hairs tickling her bottom. The arousal was ever more frustrating. She looked at the phallus before her, wanting it in her vagina, only to feel so very bad from the idea of it.

"Squat there and practice your new skill," Rodrigo told her. With both hands she pulled the black cock until, its head separated her lips. She nodded and at the same time pushed it all the way in, down her throat, engulfing it all. 

"Hey, you are such a good cock sucking slut!" Rodrigo exclaimed. 

Tracy was ashamed and excited all at the same time. The feelings confused her. She should have been outraged from being treated so badly, yet she felt elated. Right then, pleasing this tyrant seemed important, and she just couldn't restrain the feeling. 

She felt like a stupid, insignificant slut, from being so pleased at accomplishing such a degrading act. She tried to tell herself it was important, to keep him happy just to avoid receiving even worse ill treatment. In the back of her mind, she guessed it was from being humiliated, and that was turning her on.

"As you are such a good little slut, I have reward for you," Rodrigo announced, while patting her head. "You can put all the cocks back, with your pussy," he informed her. He grabbed the leash to manoeuvre her over one of them.

He pushed her bottom, forcing her crotch over one of the big black phalluses. She resisted. 

"Perhaps the slut would rather have it up her asshole?" he laughed. 

In a fit of terror she pushed her sex over the head of the phallus. To her surprise it fit. She was so wet and ready, the large bulbous head, slipped between her lips. Tracy felt defeated. She was just a dirty little slut. She pushed down on it, engulfing it entirely. 

With him gripping the leash tight, she crawled across the room. The tail waggled from her ass with every movement, dusting her cheeks as she crawled. She turned around and with a tremendous effort managed to push the dildo out of her pussy. She had to help it with her fingers at first. 

Looking at it resting on the floor, she felt empty and in need. She reluctantly moved across the carpet, to pick up another. This time she didn't need telling. She squatted on it and absorbed the large thing into her body. She felt her vagina being stretched. 

The feeling was good. The feeling of fullness, of being complete, of needing an orgasm was overwhelming. The penultimate one had been delivered. She turned around and eagerly scampered back for the last one. 

"Whoa! Hold on, stupid little bitch!" Rodrigo warned her. "You are so eager I think you want to cum. Yes?" he asked. 

He held her face close to his. She could smell stale cigarette smoke and garlic. It didn't dampen an overwhelming enthusiasm though. 

"Here, squat on the floor, lay back," he ordered. He held the dildo over her, moving around in circles. She looked like a puppy, keenly watching a favourite toy. Her eyes followed it, wherever he moved it. It was placed in her hands and she looked up at him, full of expectation.

"Go ahead, play with your pussy," he smiled. He watched her eagerly fill her pussy with the big black dildo. She worked herself hard, manoeuvring it against her clit with each inward stroke. It was a wonder she didn't hurt herself, through she had learnt over the last half hour how to handle it.

Irene walked in with shopping bags. She stood in the open door, with an expression of surprise. Her finely shaped eyebrows were raised to meet her hairline. Her open mouth closed to become a big, generous smile. 

"You can stop that, right now, slut," Irene exclaimed with a fierce shout. She marched over to Tracy and shoved her with a pointy, high heel show. She grabbed the messy dildo from her friend's hands, and leaned close to her face. 

"You are a dirty fucking slut. You are just a stupid, little girly bimbo. I can't leave you alone for a minute, without you whoring yourself. I will have to watch you, and keep you under my control," Irene said. 

She tapped her nose with the smelly dildo. She watched the woman's face redden, as though she might explode. The beautiful young face creased up, in an agony of shame. Irene pushed the dirty phallus into her mouth. "Work with that, I don't want you to enjoy yourself, and cum. Not yet, not until I say you can," Irene warned her.

"Well done, Rodrigo. You have turned my friend, into a well trained, slutty bimbo," Irene announced. She clapped her hands in glee, laughing out loud.

Tracy felt leaden, so heavy, as though her whole body had turned into an iron machine. Her hand continued to piston the phallus in and out of her mouth. She felt small, as though shrunken by the tormentor. She wanted to crawl away through the deep pile of the carpet, like a tiny bug. 

Between them they had crushed the humanity from her, leaving just a lowly, thoughtless bimbo, in place of her high moral standards. She was deeply dejected, being laughed at by her one time friend. Being naked before her, sucking so lewdly upon a black penis, left her feeling she deserved the ill-treatment. 

She felt like a lowly bug, needing to be stamped upon, before she infected the whole room with her filthy tricks. She didn't deserve their praise, for she was just a dirty little slut. She was something without moral gumption, without the decency to behave properly around them.

Irene was going to take her away from here, to play with, and probably make her suffer. She deserved it. She needed to undergo a thorough cleansing of her soul. She needed a mistress to control her, someone strong to obey.

***

Tracy took no notice of the stares, as they walked through the hotel lobby. The little skirt was held up by the tail, she knew that, but other things were on her mind. Or, rather, one thing dominated her thoughts. She must obey her mistress, to the extent that she must try to anticipate her demands. 

In the back of the car, Tracy lay across her mistress's feet, reinforcing the humble position. The chauffer drove home without comment. When they arrived, he opened the door for Irene, to clamber out, with Tracy on a leash behind her.

He gathered up the shopping bags, following the procession into the house. Although the house was not as grand as Tracy's, it was fashionably decorated, in a minimalist style. What little furniture there was, it was very expensive. 

On the end of the leash, she was led to the centre of a large room. A grand piano stood to one end, looking as though it had never been played, merely there for show. Tracy was soon to learn she wasn't there just for show.

"Michael. You can leave the bags in the hall. I need you here. See this little slut. She is all sexed up and needs a man, could you oblige?" Irene asked, sounding imperious, as though she were asking him to valet the car.

"Anything to oblige ma'am," he smiled. 

Irene had noticed the hardness in his trousers, obviously grown from taking an interest in her pet. She didn't think of herself as a harsh person, so thought to give both what they needed. At the same time, she would enjoy some entertainment. 

The young man dropped the chauffer's uniform trousers to his ankles. He grabbed Tracy's hips and ploughed straight in. 

Tracy squealed in fright, like a stuck pig. She was frightened from being unexpectedly taken, as well as feeling distressed from a sudden realisation, that she was so wet and open. 

It was no longer possible to suppress the abhorrent idea, of being turned on from humiliation. She was painfully aware that her body was way ahead of him, already aroused to the edge of a climax. Her body needed to be fucked, and so a feral part of her mind urged her onward.

"Yes! Fuck me, harder!" she whimpered. "Punish my pussy, fuck me harder," she cried out. 

"Well! I never thought to see, a friend of mine, begging to be fucked by a mere chauffer," Irene loudly stated. She watched keenly, as her employee pounded away at her one time friend. Tracy was on all fours, with the skirt around her hips, and the furry tail squashed between them. 

He was breathing heavily, holding onto her, keeping her from moving. He cared nothing for her satisfaction, as he heaved against her buttocks, crashing into her, with mighty thumps of his hips. His cock pinned her in place, reaching deep into her vagina, sometimes lifting her knees from the floor. He hefted once more, a deep shove of his iron hard cock, and held it there.

"More! Fuck me more! Punish my pussy. I'm just a stupid slut, punish my pussy. Fuck me hard!" Tracy cried out.

As he pumped his sperm into her, Tracy cum. She lifted her head to yell, in fury, anguish and relief. Instead a whispered breath of air, rasped her throat. She seemed to gargle, as though on his juice. He had made use of her, so pulled out. He wiped his sticky cock on the back of her skirt, zipped up, and nodded to Irene.

"You're welcome Michael," Irene smiled. "Quiet a show, I'm impressed," she added, with an arched eyebrow, indicating amusement.

"I might keep you, just to amuse the staff. Always need to keep them happy, otherwise they move on," Irene said. She nudged Tracy with her foot, where the woman had collapsed on the floor. 

She was still breathing heavily, not bothering to recover her composure. All was lost in the world to her. She was somewhere far away, trying to make sense of what had happened. Hoping it was all a nightmare, knowing full well it was not. The worst of it was, she had become aroused from the dire punishments dealt to her. 

The young guy in the gas station, the trainer in the hotel room, the chauffer and last but not least, Irene. All had humiliated her, leaving her aroused, where she should have been angry and fought back. It could have been prevented, and it should have been stopped in the first place. Instead she could only blame herself, for all that happened. She needed to be punished more than ever.

Knowing Irene intended just that, to punish her, by playing games with her, left her panting. A panic attack threatened to overtake her. The power of the orgasm still gripped her, helping to hold everything in check. She would pay the price of even this retched behaviour. She would have to obey her mistress, however cruelly treated. Tracy would do whatever it took, for redemption.

"Come on, he wasn't that good, I need to get you ready," Irene said, prodding her with a delicate designer shoe. She looked the woman over, musing on how conservative she usually dressed. Her hair and make-up was always so precisely presented, as though she were a manikin.

Now she was spread out on the floor, with her hair a mess. The little skirt was twisted up around her waist, and she had lost her panties. Irene remembered they hadn't given the stupid woman any underwear. The boob-tube was rolled under her neck, from when the chauffer pulled her breasts free. 

They still looked sore, from the rough treatment he gave them. His cum was seeping from between her legs. Irene stepped back, not wanting to spoil the new expensive shoes. It was all right for the hired help, to spill their sperm into her new pet, but not on her new shoes. 

"Come on slut, get up," Irene demanded.

"Yes, mistress, sorry mistress," Tracy murmured. 

"Speak up, slut," Irene shouted, and smacked her ass. "Don't spill your filthy fluids over my floors, either," Irene said, poking her in the ribs, with a sharp heel "Otherwise, you'll lick them up off the floor," she warned.

"Yes, mistress, sorry mistress," Tracy whined.



Humiliated Ch. 03



Chapter 03

Forced into becoming a slut

Tracy felt so humiliated and inadequate she hung her head in shame. 

Irene and the two other long-time friends were successful, with professional business careers. Even in college she had been the least bright among these rising stars. As a housewife she had always felt less worthy, though neither of them said anything. Her husband was far wealthier than the three friends, but this left her feeling like a kept woman. She often felt as though she were just a trophy wife, as he was seven years older. 

The dreadful act, committed earlier, left her feeling distraught. Being laid so low, Tracy thought she deserved the cruel punishment, meted out by Irene. After such demeaning treatment, she felt thoroughly worthless. 

Irene had joked about keeping her around the house, to amuse the household staff. A start in this direction had been made, when Irene's chauffeur roughly used her. She could hardly believe this had happened, but the proof was there, as his cum was still slick on her thighs. 

She felt dirty and pathetic. 

All her inhibitions, as a responsible wife and mother, had evaporated under an onslaught of abuse. Irene had her thinking of herself as a toy, to be played with and tormented. Irene's self-worth had sunk so low as to believe she was a mere sexual plaything, ready to be given to the household staff, just to keep them amused.

"Look at the state of you. You are such a dirty little slut. You're not good enough to be given to my staff to use," Irene shouted at her. "What have you got to say for yourself, slut?" Irene demanded.

"Sorry, mistress," Tracy whimpered. She tried to shut out everything, unable to think about those despicable acts she had performed. It was all too easy to believe she wasn't good enough for anything at all.

"Not good enough. Explain to me why I should keep your dirty little secret, and look after you," Irene asked. 

"I'm really sorry mistress. I don't deserve your friendship. Please don't tell anyone what I did. Look after me, and I'll play your games, please, mistress" Tracy simpered.

"You'll play my games will you? Well, then, I'll keep you as my personal slut. While you obey me, I'll keep your secret. Do you promise to behave, dirty little slut?" Irene asked, with a devilish smile slitting her mouth. 

"Yes mistress! I promise to do whatever you want, I'll obey you, honest! Thank you mistress, for letting me be your slut," Tracy snivelled, in complete submission. 

Irene looked at her onetime friend, with a look of disdain. The dare-game had been designed to embarrass the woman, though it hadn't been anticipated she would become so pathetically submissive. She thought the woman would have rebelled by now, after being pushed beyond normal limits of endurance. 

It was true, she liked to play games. Having this woman so compliant, so willing to obey, was tempting a dark side of her personality. Twice she had nearly relented, almost telling her it was all a bluff, and just a joke. Looking at the snivelling mess, kneeling at her feet, seemed to be too much of an opportunity to miss. 

The friends knew each other well, recognising who was dominant, and which of them was submissive by nature. She never guessed Tracy could be totally dominated, and would enjoy being so badly humiliated. They all had a hidden perversity, and this dismal enjoyment of humiliation, was fascination. 

"Get up and follow me," Irene commanded. 

In a spare room Irene looked through a wardrobe of party costumes. She entertained an exclusive circle of game players, who used the outfits for their nefarious parties. There was sure to be something to fit this new, unwitting member.

***

Dressed in a saucy French maid's costume Tracy prepared to serve the guests. Irene made her wear a crotch-less pair of panties, which wouldn't have been so bad, except the short hem was held up by stiff petticoats. A pair of shapely, smooth legs was sheathed in sheer nylons, held up by suspender straps. 

This was the first time she had worn a corset, and it was securely fastened, pinching her waist tight. The brassy red silk, was trimmed with black lace. With her breasts pushed up into a deep cleavage, it was only the thin lace that hid her nipples.

Tracy felt highly embarrassed to have everything so devilishly on show. Being naked would have been less lascivious. Yesterday she wouldn't have believed it possible to consent to such a humble position, not to mention enduring this rude display of her body. It would have been intolerable serving Irene, let alone a group of strangers. 

Tracy tried in vain to keep the crotch together. With every movement the crotch split wide, showing off her secret place. The lawn had been mown bare, so that her denuded secret garden was on show. Whenever she bent forward to serve a seated guest, she heard those behind her, rudely comment on an exposed sex.

At home, Tracy had a maid to serve guests, though they always wore a sensible dress with an apron. If it was a large party, extra help would be called in. With eight guests, expecting to be kept watered and fed she had to be quick on her toes. The short hem bounced around and her breasts bounced upon the low cut corset. Her nipples had to be tucked back in, every time she made it back to the kitchen.

Acting as Irene's maid was embarrassing. Being dressed like a disreputable extra, in a cheap pornography film, was thoroughly demeaning. Having Irene decide what she would wear, stripped Tracy of yet another shred of confidence. 

She was already suffering in a state of anxiety, feeling guilty, over the appalling acts she had committed. The present deplorable situation seemed a just retribution. She had acted like a slut, so the punishment fitted the crime.

"Are these on offer?" Derrick asked. 

Tracy looked confused, until the young guy pinched one of her nipples. She was bent over with a tray, serving him a drink. Both nipples had yet again popped up over the thin lace. Unable to find the words to complain, she kept the pose, while he fiddled with them. 

Everyone laughed as he twiddled both nipples, pretending to adjust an old fashioned radio. 

"Be careful the maid doesn't spill that drink over you, Derrick," Irene laughed.

"She looks more like a naughty slut than a maid," he retorted. 

"She is that. She's a slutty maid. If she does spill anything, or gives any trouble, give the slut a spanking," Irene announced, to the onlookers.

He let go of a nipple to take his whisky, not wanting to have it fall into his lap, despite the delightful prospect of spanking her.

Tracy's nipples had never been particularly sensitive, though a stranger's rough handling had her at a disadvantage. When he let go, she gasped, from pain and arousal combined.

The raucous crowd could see the maid was sexed up. Their comments left her feeling small, and thoroughly demoralised. Being aroused in the midst of strangers, displaying her body so wantonly, fixed in her mind that she was just a dirty little slut. 

Irene observed with relish that she had her friend, in an abject state of submissiveness. The passive attitude, and state of arousal, confirmed what she had thought. It was delightful to know, whatever game she wanted Tracy to play, it would be carried out.

The intensive feeling of submission became overwhelming, as she bent to their whims, fetching and carrying like a humble servant.

"No! I said a whisky and dry, not soda," Mildred complained. 

"Sorry ma'am. I'll fetch your drink straight away, ma'am," Tracy hurriedly offered.

With some small relief, Tracy returned to the kitchen, relieved not to be punished over the mistake. It was so humbling to serve these rude people, and to be at their beck and call as their slutty maid. Full of nerves, she served them with trembling hands. 

"You stupid bitch, these shoes cost a fortune! Go fetch a cloth, quickly girl," Angela scolded her. 

"I'm so sorry ma'am, really I am, so sorry," Tracy gabbled. With a sense of foreboding she ran to the kitchen to fetch a cloth.

On the floor, at the young woman's feet, Tracy rubbed off the gin and tonic. While bottom up on hands and knees, everyone had a fine view of her rear. There were a few appreciative comments over the way her bottom swayed. More of them rudely commented, on her swollen pussy, as it bulged through the split crotch panties.

The feeling of abject misery showed on her face, as she stood before the young woman. From being a wealthy mature woman, she had sunk into the role of a poor humble maid. 

"I'm afraid they will never be as good as new. The silly little slut needs to be punished. Michael, you have a strong arm, would you be good enough to carry out the punishment?" Irene asked.

Pinching an ear, as though Tracy were a naughty schoolgirl, Irene dragged her over to Michael. He grabbed both arms to pull her over his knee. He took great pleasure in tearing her panties down. 

Tracy yelped from pain, when he swiped her bare ass, with a big strong hand. 

"Hold still, you stupid slut," Michael warned her. He reddened the upturned bottom, with slaps to both cheeks. They weren't hard, as they more for effect. He slapped her loudly a few times, encouraged by the onlookers.

Tracy once more stood among the strangers, wanting to rub her sore bottom, though unable to move. Tears formed in her eyes, to silently drop to the floor. 

"What do you say, naughty slut," Irene demanded.

"Sorry ma'am. Thank you for punishing me, sir," Tracy pathetically spoke. She had been prompted before the party, over how to behave and what to say, during this game. Although it was expected, the public spanking was still a shock.

As a wealthy mature woman, it was highly embarrassing to be thrashed by a young stranger. In front of an audience it was devastating. Her panties were on the floor by her feet. It was impossible to pick them up in front of everyone.

"Pick them up, and hand them to Michael," Irene commanded.

It was as though her mind had been read. Knowing her red bottom, and her crotch, with an obvious pair of swollen lips was on show to everyone, left her breathless. She was panting with arousal, after being so ill used. The humiliation had her so stoked up, she was on fire.

With a shaking hand, her panties were waving in his face. 

"Take them as a souvenir," Irene laughed.

The others laughed with her, and at the stupid bitch submitting to such a dreadful manhandling. From then on she had to serve them without panties. On top of that, they knew full well what a depraved a slut she was. From then on they treated her with even greater disdain. 

When she bent over with a drink, someone would casually paw her sex, while another pinched a nipple. The continuous molestation of her body, kept her on the brink of an orgasm. Tracy couldn't escape the fact, that she was a pitiful pain slut.

"The girl is a degenerate," Simon commented, while fingering her.

"A bit past a girl, it's more like an old slut," Millie guffawed. 

"I've thought of a game to play," Irene said, while ringing a clutch of little bells.

"A devilish game as usual," Michael grinned.

"This looks interesting," Clarissa added, among other eager responses.

"It's a naughty quiz! You will discover the reward as we go," Irene laughed.

"Intriguing, as usual," Michael slurred.

Irene gave Mildred a piece of paper with one word written upon it. She had to mime a nipple, without touching her own. It seemed impossible, even when she waved her own ample bosom in Michael's face. At last someone caught on, when Michael pretended to lick her nipples. By then they were impolitely outlined through her silk dress.

"Well done Derrick!" Irene laughed, and everyone applauded. "Now for your reward," she said, handing him a bell. He looked at her, with a bemused look on his face. Irene pointed at the maid, who was quietly standing to one side, waiting for orders.

"Be a good fellow and attach it to a nipple," Irene smiled.

He made a show of pulling a nipple free. With a loss of dexterity, through drink, he took a while clipping the little bell to Tracy's nipple. Eventually the clip was slid over a hard rubbery nipple. Already large, it began to swell with trapped blood, becoming engorged like a tiny penis.

"Ring your bell, slut," Irene demanded. 

With a look of abject misery, Tracy shook her breasts, to ring the bell. Of course, everyone laughed at her. They began to sing an old song, 'ring my bell'. Fortunately they couldn't remember the words, so they dried up, and she was allowed to stop the demeaning act.

Another guest started an inebriated mime. Someone murmured the word 'penis', and it was pointed out the maid didn't have one. The others had caught on to the purpose of the game.

"Lips, err, labia," John shouted. 

"Well done," Irene smiled, with a devilish glint to her eye. "Hold up that dress, slut," Irene demanded. 

Tracy was standing in the middle of the circle of guests, showing off her bare ass and pussy. Knowing what was next, made her shiver with dread. The guy got on his knees before her and pulled on her slippery, swollen lips. 

"Open up slut, you know you want to," Irene said. "Come on, push those thighs apart, or we'll be here all night," Irene complained. 

John didn't complain over how long it was taking, as he was enjoying playing with the slut. Eventually he managed to clip the bell to her lips. He wasn't too gentle about it either. Tracy gasped every time he pulled on her swollen labia.

"Come on, let's see you flap those lips," Irene demanded. Tracy rocked her hips from side to side, managing to ring both bells in unison. 

Another mime was quickly recognised as a nipple. Both breasts were pulled out of the corset, to be rested on the rim. The guy clipped the nipple tight, and stood back to admire her large breasts, with swollen nipples. He weighed them then rang the bells, trying for a tune. 

"Jingle bells!" someone guessed.

A woman this time, clipped a bell to her other lip. With little sympathy she shoved it on, causing Tracy to wince in pain.

"Rock them all, up and down," Irene suggested, with a snorted noise of derision. 

Bouncing up and down on her toes, Tracy rang all four bells. Vibration through the tight clips tingled both nipples and lips. The already aroused body began a final journey to a climax. In trepidation she realised a deep orgasm was about to overwhelm her, in front of everyone!

"Stop right there, slut," Irene harshly spoke. She slapped Tracy's ass and face. "You do not cum, until given permission," Irene stated. 

Tracy felt so shameful, she wanted to die. Everyone now knew she was going to orgasm, and everyone knew she had to have permission! She had been denied all manner of freedoms and this showed just how passive she was. She was Irene's little slut girl, completely at her mercy, willing to endure anything, however immoral and degrading. 

Irene handed the last piece of paper to a guest. She wriggled her ass at everyone, for them to easily guess the next humiliation to be inflicted on the stupid, slutty maid. 

Tracy couldn't bear to watch. She heard the word that condemned her body to a further humiliation, and clenched her cheeks together. It was obvious what part of her body was to be insulted next, though how, was a mystery to everyone.

Irene produced a dildo, with a bell attached to one end. Everyone laughed and clapped. It was with difficulty that a winner was decided upon, after so many had shouted, 'asshole'.

Irene picked a young, innocent looking guy. He smiled sheepishly, looking shy. 

Tracy looked at the wicked looking, black butt plug, and clenched her cheeks. Her shoulders betrayed the silent sobs. She lowered her head, trying to hide in long hair to save face, trying to shut out the tormenting crowd.

"Relax your asshole, slut, otherwise it will hurt," Irene warned her.

The young guy massaged her crack with grease, finally easing a finger into her brown, crinkly hole. He reamed her with two fingers, before pushing at her hole with the butt plug. He was gentle with her, but it was till going to hurt her virgin hole. He had to push hard, to get its head past her tight asshole.

Tracy whimpered throughout the ordeal. Feeling it pop into her bottom, elicited a gasp of pain. It was physical pain, as well as mental anguish, from having this humiliation witnessed by a raucous crowd. She let go a pathetic whimper. 

Given a moment or two to recover, Irene soon had her performing. "Wiggle that ass, slut," Irene demanded. "Walk across the room, sway those hips, slut," she directed.

The ringing bells became a torment, for the rest of the evening. Each of them in turn had her attempting a tune, by wiggling her body. The feel of the butt plug in her ass couldn't be ignored. Her exposed body betrayed her sexual arousal, as she paraded around between them. 

It wasn't long before everyone had drunk enough, and either phoned for a cab or had a chauffeur pick them up. 

Tracy had to tidy up the mess, while Irene directed her over the simplest of tasks, rubbing her nose in the lowly status as a slut maid. It was all the more demeaning to be ringing the obnoxious bells, with every movement.

"It's late, you had better prepare for bed," Irene told her slut.

"Oh! Mistress," Tracy whined. She wanted to say more, but knew better than to blurt out something, without permission. 

"Yes, my dear little slut, what is it?" Irene asked.

"My husband will be wondering where I am. I need to go home, mistress, sorry mistress," Tracy whimpered. She had been holding onto this thought for the last hour. The thought of going home, and at last escaping this hell, had got her through the torment.  

"Your husband has been phoned, and informed you are staying with me. So, for the whole weekend, you are all mine. I have such interesting games for you to play. We, I mean I, will have such fun," Irene chortled. 

She understood why Tracy didn't just run off. It wasn't because of the revealing clothes and nasty bells. The woman stayed because she had been completely subdued. The stupid woman hadn't yet accepted the fact of enjoying the humiliation, or rather needing it, which were two separate things. 

The hurt look on her face revealed, she still felt it was all a punishment. As she still went along with it, proved to Irene, her friend needed the humiliation, in some vicarious way. She had watched how aroused Tracy became, from the dire treatment dished out, and couldn't help planning more diabolical games.

"Please, mistress," Tracy said, looking up at her onetime friend. She was squatting on the floor, at her feet. It was another rule she had to obey. 

"Go on, tell me, slut," Irene yawned.

"Something's happened to me, mistress. It's not just a game, I've changed, I mean, you've changed me," Tracy thoughtfully spoke.

Irene bent forward to stroke her hair. "What's the matter little slut. I've just brought out of you something that was there all along. Don't fret, just do as you are told, leave everything to me," Irene told her. 

"Please mistress, it's wrong, I shouldn't be like this. I'm horny all the time. You made me show off my body to your friends. You forced me to play along in those grubby games. I've behaved like a slut with them. It just isn't right," Tracy complained.

At first Irene thought the woman's limit had been reached, and that she was readying to walk out. Instead she just sat there, wallowing in the calamity she brought upon herself. 

"There, there, sweet little slut, your mistress will look after you," Irene teased. She loved rubbing it in, by treating her like a stupid slut. The woman's face looked so crestfallen, she almost felt sorry for her.

"You've got to let me leave, mistress. I'm sorry, mistress. I really am," Tracy earnestly said.




Humiliated Ch. 03



"Don't be silly dear you have to stay the weekend. I've planned some naughty games, especially for you," Irene rebuked her. It was adorable, the way this mature woman, had sunk into such a subservient role. 

"But mistress, I can't stay. All this trouble has got to me," Tracy said, with a sob. "I need to get away somewhere quiet, to recuperate. I need somewhere peaceful and calm, somewhere to recover from all these bad things I've done. I've become a pathetic little slut. If I stay here I'll sink into the abyss," Tracy meaningfully pleaded. 

"You agreed to play along with my games. In return I keep quiet about you fucking that boy," Irene firmly stated. Watching her flinch at the ugly word, 'fuck', was heartening. 

"You brought it on yourself. Think of it as a punishment. You can go home once I've finished with you, Monday morning. Your husband will be away for a few days so you can rest then," Irene forcibly told her.

"Yes mistress, sorry mistress," Tracy reluctantly answered. 

Tracy was afraid of losing everything. If Irene informed her husband, she would be stripped of a marriage, a home, her wealth, and position in society. On the other hand, staying here meant losing her mind. Her morals and self-respect was being stripped away, with every sordid game she submitted to. 

"Come on, a good night of rest will perk you up," Irene encouraged her. Thinking on that, made her determined to push Tracy harder. She stroked her hair, and lifted her head to look into her eyes.

"You are my little slut, and will obey me, won't you sweet thing," Irene said, demanding an answer, from the way she looked into her eyes.

"Yes, mistress," Tracy quietly replied. The feeling of being ensnared by circumstances overwhelmed her. She could escape by just walking out, but the consequences were too awful to face.

Tracy quickly showered and joined her mistress as instructed. While naked, she bathed her mistress. She felt like a dutiful body slave, from a bygone age. At least there was no-one around to witness this demeaning task. She dried her mistress off, and pampered her in her boudoir. 

After such a demanding day she was exhausted, needing to be dismissed to a spare room, for a much needed rest. Instead, Irene had other ideas. In such a pliable state she was ready to give in, whatever nasty game was demanded.

"A massage my dutiful slut," Irene ordered.

Tracy's hands glided over her oiled body. She often stayed at a resort to be pampered, so knew how it felt, and guessed how to do a good job.

"Don't stop there, everywhere, slut. Massage my breasts, gently," Irene demanded.

In an agony of foreboding she submitted to the instructions. With both hands she cupped a breast, and pulled on a nipple with trembling hands. Moving to the other breast, she couldn't help noticing how aroused her mistress was becoming. 

"Down there, now!" Irene huskily demanded. 

Tracy wanted to run away and hide. She had never touched a woman down there. Massaging breasts had been a first too. She had submitted to that, so why not get it over and done with. She found the outer folds of her moist and open pussy. 

It was appalling at first, until it become fascinating to watch a familiar reaction. She began to play with her mistress, in the way she wanted to be played with. If she had received this much attention from her husband, she would have had a happier marriage. The dreadful thought caught in her mind, like a barbed hook. 

She leaned in closer, making a thorough job of it. She ran her fingers lightly over both upper thighs, teasing goose bumps over them. Fingers ran over inner folds to find her mistress's engorged clit. She rubbed it harder, finding satisfaction from the little gasps of pleasure she elicited, with each sensitive stroke. 

"Kiss me, NO! Down there," Irene pleaded. 

Tracy hesitated, but she had gone this far, so one more step could be made. 

Irene watched her slut's head dip into her crotch. She sighed noisily, from watching, and feeling a pair of full lips kiss hers. When a tongue tenderly touched her wet pussy she thrust her hips into the sluts face. She rubbed her sopping sex over her friend's face.

The look of shock and arousal on her sluts face was erotic. "Kiss me deeply," she implored. The slut didn't hold back this time. With a new found gusto, she licked and probed, with hard fingers and an exploring tongue. A woman knows what to do, knows how to give pleasure, knows how to extract the maximum of pleasurable sensations from the merest touch.

"Oh! Yes! Yes! I'm there, keep going, keep me cumin," Irene instructed, on an outpouring of pure emotion. She shook her head from side to side, in a state of liberated ecstasy. 

Slowly recovering, Irene looked at her cute slut, still kissing and adoring her pussy. With both hands she pulled the woman up her body, holding her close. Irene wrapped both arms around her, to burry the slut's face in her breasts. She felt slut's tears on her sensitized body, and smiled with satisfaction. 

"Good little slut. You are all mine now. I shall look after you, so don't worry about a thing. Just obey me, and everything will be just fine," Irene told her. She patted her bottom, and stroked her hair. This promised to be a wonderful weekend of fun and games.



Humiliated Ch. 04



Chapter 04

Tracy is swopped for a painting

As soon as Tracy awoke she realised where she was, and recalled the dreadful acts she had committed yesterday. She felt sick with disgust over the despicable sexual performances. Her onetime friend had witnessed the first dreadful act, and she felt so guilty over it she thought it fitting to be punished.

The punishment involved being humiliated, leading her into a spiral of degradation until she submitted to Irene's games. The so called games had gone too far to escaping Irene. The woman had trapped her through blackmail, and reinforced the entrapment with constant domination. 

Irene was now her mistress, treating her with disdain, moulding her into a submissive maid. Humiliation, guilt, and a round of constant bullying browbeat her into capitulating to the harridan.

"Quickly, maid! Get my breakfast, we have a busy day ahead of us," Irene commanded.

"Yes Mistress, sorry Mistress," Tracy timidly answered.

Tracy was naked until Irene decided what clothes she was to wear; yet another humiliation heaped upon everything else. Thankfully the chauffer and other staff were nowhere to be seen. With the utmost care Tracy cleaned the kitchen, afraid of being spanked if she upset her mistress.

Tracy entered the living room to stand before Irene with head bowed.

"Have you completed your chores, maid?" Irene demanded.

"Yes, Mistress," Tracy humbly answered.

"Then I'll find you some clothes. You're a nasty little slut, but I don't want you running around in my home naked. There is an overall in the maid's room, go fetch it. I'll be in the games room," Irene haughtily informed her.

Running breathlessly back to her mistress, she suddenly halted in trepidation on seeing a look of anger on the woman's face.

"I didn't give you permission to wear it, maid," Irene shouted at her.

"Sorry, Mistress," Tracy whined, and quickly stripped the cheap nylon garment off.

"Bend over that chair!" she demanded.

"Oh! Please Mistress," Tracy began to protest. She saw the paddle in Irene's hand and quailed in fright.

"Bend over, now!" she forcefully said.

"Yes, Mistress, your maid is so sorry Mistress. I won't disobey orders again mistress, I promise!" Tracy whimpered.

"Learn to obey your Mistress, or it will be difficult and painful for you, maid," Irene threatened, and whacked her with the hard paddle.

"Ouch!" Tracy yelped, and covered her bottom with both hands.

"Owww!" she wailed, from the pain in her knuckles, when the paddle swiped them. She soon learnt to take the punishment on her bare bottom.

All day Tracy ran around at her mistress's shouted orders. She didn't have time to wonder over how easily she had fallen into such a humble roll. At times, when washing up, or standing by, waiting for the next instruction, she wished the weekend would quickly finish, so she could go home.

The dreadful punishment almost felt justified, after what she had done in that awful run-down garage. Letting herself be taken by that young lad had started all this, and she wondered if she would ever be free of guilt. 

She had promised to play Irene's game in exchange for her silence over the matter. She expected to be punished for what she had done, which would help assuage her guilt. It hadn't occurred to her that a friend would punish her so severely. Irene's dominant side brought out her submissive personality, more than she could have imagined.

Dressed in a stretchy one piece bodysuit, a short skirt, and a skimpy blouse, wasn't too bad. She hadn't been given underwear, and the bodysuit was split at the crotch. It was convenient for the bathroom, and for anyone who put their hands up the tiny skirt. Normally that wouldn't be an issue, though here it certainly was.

A friend of her mistress arrived, to be served drinks and snacks. She stood behind them, feeling so very small and pathetic. Only a couple of days ago they had been on equal standing among friends. Now she was just a humble maid, being treated without the slightest respect her age and position in society demanded. 

"I think I recognise her from somewhere," Maurice mused, while she bent over him refilling to his glass. He appreciated the cleavage on show; amused at how embarrassed she was from the red glow on her face.

"It's just a pathetic little bimbo, nothing of consequence," Irene casually commented. 

"She's not the usual waif and stray you take on," he commented.

"It can be trained to perform, though it's too stupid to understand complicated instructions," Irene added

Irene knew Tracy in college, where she had been a swot, and passed exams with ease. It had always amused her to tease Tracy. Knowing she had married well, and that her husband held a responsible position in an international corporation, made it all the more amusing to humiliate her. 

"Here, girl, try this out for size!" Irene demanded. 

Tracy stood before them, with the nasty thing in her hand, wearing a bemused look. Surely she wasn't expected to use it!

"Inside your cunt! Now! Unless you want to be put over my knee," Irene told her, with a red fingernail pointing at her crotch. 

Like a performing animal, she obeyed. Bowing her legs, she rubbed the nasty looking phallus over her pussy lips. Told to hurry up, she pushed, easing the vibrator in. At first it seemed too big to fit. As she loosened up, trying hard to relax the taught muscles, it felt as though it was filling her entire body.

"Here, try it out. You can keep her on her toes with it," Irene smirked. She handed Maurice an innocent looking control, much like a television remote. 

He pressed a button, and received a satisfying moan from the girl. He started to press buttons, studying her reactions. 

Tracy felt the damn thing squirm inside her vagina. It vibrated, shook, then seemed to crawl up inside her body. She couldn't help squealing, and rising up on tiptoe. She held her legs inelegantly apart, attempting to make room for the horrid thing, rather than have it tight inside, where every movement was felt in the walls of her vagina.

She wanted to shout at them both, but dare not. The terrible torture seemed to go on forever, alternating with slow and fast vibrations. It wriggled inside her with varied intensity, changing from just the touch of a button. She was brought to the edge of an orgasm, only to have the movement change before the needed climax. 

It was a dire humiliation to have her pussy stimulated by a stranger. The embarrassment of just holding it had heated her up. With this man doing such despicable things to her she lost control, and was ready to orgasm.

They laughed as the vibrator fell out of her pussy, knowing she had become so wet and open. There was going to be no escape from the awful torture. Licking it clean she handed it to Irene's guest. She was laid over a low coffee table, with legs spread, waiting for it to be inserted. He took his time, teasing her lips and clit, while it vibrated. The intensity of sensations coupled with the humiliation nearly set her off again.

"Try this one too," Irene suggested.

He pushed the vibrator deep inside. She felt some relief from the feeling of being full. It wasn't on an energetic setting, not enough to push her all the way. She felt another being inserted into her asshole. He used the wetness of her thighs to lubricate it, and eased it in. 

She watched him pressing buttons, feeling both of them working her up. This time he built the rhythm up slowly, pushing her toward an inevitable climax. Spread out before them the orgasm arched her back, and she yelped as though in pain. She didn't want to, but put on an impressive show for the two of them.

"Get up little pathetic maid," Irene firmly ordered. "Refill the glasses," she demanded. 

"She's certainly a sexy slut. Does she always have such an impressive orgasm?" he asked. 

"She gets so worked up on humiliation, she desperately needs fucking," Irene explained.

Tracy heard the comment and almost cried. It was true! It seemed the woman knew her better than she knew herself. Had she always been like this? Had Irene uncovered a nasty side of her mind that had been suppressed all these years?

Walking with stiff legs, Tracy wondered when they would bother to remove the dreadful devices. They seemed to have forgotten her existence, even when she poured the wine. Her lowly existence beat her into a deeper compliance, heightening the overpowering feeling of submission.

"I was thinking about that painting, the one you showed me last week," Irene said.

"The one by Billy? He's a new talent, not someone who will shine then fade away. A good investment," Maurice advised.

"What about a swap? The girl for the painting?" Irene enquired.

Tracy heard the statement, not believing what had been suggested. Was she just an object, a commodity to be traded. Being swapped for a painting, or anything else, was outrageous. Surely Irene was teasing her. After all she had been put through, more than anything previously suffered, this pushed her even further down the pecking order.

She listened intently for the answer.

"What can she do? How could I use her in the studio?" he mused.

My god! He was considering the offer.

"Anything you like. The stupid slut will carry out your instructions, whatever they are. Dress her up in a business suit, to greet your guests, or have her naked as a work of art," Irene suggested.

"So you were listening to me last week. I've been designing a live sculpture, and she might do," he smiled. 

"I was listening when you showed me the sketches. It all looks very interesting," Irene laughed. It would be interesting to see this woman displayed in his gallery. Especially after seeing his ideas.

"Remove the skirt and top, girl," Irene demanded. 

The bodysuit was sheer, like a pair of tights, revealing her entire body for his inspection. Both vibrators stuck out of her holes, looking lewd and disgusting. They laughed at her, only then remembering she still wore them. 

"You can remove them, maid. I told you she's a stupid little slut," Irene laughed.

"These are video's of her performing in a garage, and here, over the last couple of days. Just show them to her if she attempts to refuse anything you want ," Irene said.

Tracy quickly put on the short skirt and little top. She hoped her mistress was goading her into rebelling, which she dare not do. The thought of anyone finding out about the vile things she had been up to had her jumping to obey.

The man was walking to his car, and she was expected to join him. 

"Please mistress, please keep me here. I'll do anything you want, I promise. However nasty and depraved, I don't care what you do to me. Please don't give me away to a stranger," Tracy begged. 

"I know you'll do anything you're told, because your nothing but a dirty little slut. Be a good little maid and do as you're told," Irene patronisingly told her, as a parting order.

Tracy hung her head in shame. They were the same age, and were as wealthy as each other, if she counted her husband's income. In just two days she'd been reduced to feeling like a worthless slut. It occurred to her this man might not be as demanding as Irene, so she walked to his car as commanded. 

She dare not look at him. What must he think of her? As far as he was concerned he owned her, as an object to be used. They had toyed with her sex and bottom, and she hadn't dared to complain, so he must think she was a vile young woman, ready to comply to anything he cared to inflict upon her. 

***

Tracy stood in the middle of a workshop, while Maurice was adjusting what looked like a stool. Feeling pathetic from being sold to this man for a painting, she just stood with head down, waiting for the next humiliating situation to befall her. She was an owned object, and would have to accept anything he put her through.

Maurice lifted her head with a finger under her chin. "You're a cute little thing, what's your name?" he asked.

"Tracy, sir," she whispered. 

"Well Tracey, you are going to become a work of art. I sell the usual paintings and sculptures, and in addition some more exotic works. My own designs are created for me, and you are going to try them out. Come over here," he said, and walked to a work bench.

Tracy was somewhat relieved. If she was going to help him out with art objects, she had guessed right about it being easier than staying with Irene.

"Climb into this, here let me help. It's a bit awkward, let me adjust the padding. There, not too uncomfortable?" he asked.

Tracy tried to reply, only her mouth was held open by a wire cage. She was perched in a metal frame, with arms, legs, and head, held in place. She watched him clamber onto the seat, which had been a regular soda fountain stool, with the addition of the frame which held her.

"Can you guess what it is yet?" he smiled at her. 

She tried to nod her head, and found it was too difficult, so resorted to the one word reply. It sounded as though she were gargling. His crotch was in front of her mouth, which was held open, so of course it was obvious what it was for.

He unzipped the jeans to pull his cock free. She wanted to close her eyes tight. Instead she watched with morbid fascination as he aimed his cock at her, then felt it rub her lips. There was no way she could refuse him, even if she had been allowed to. He didn't need to truss her up like this, for he owned her, and could do anything he liked with her.

"Imagine this is a party, and you're at the bar in this seat. The guests can sit waiting for a drink, and help themselves to a blow job. Like so!" he explained, and shoved his cock into her mouth. A few demonstration strokes was all he needed to confirm it was adjusted correctly. 

"The subjects body can be adjusted, up or down, to position the head correctly. Perhaps a counter weight might be needed to stop the stool toppling with a heavier occupant. Anyway, the adjustments work for whoever is in the frame. I'll try it out at the next show, with you as the model, unless I can get a volunteer," he enthused.

He released her, making comments about how easy it was to secure someone in the frame. "It could be used in a game of forfeit. The loser has to spend the evening in this. They wouldn't be able to say no to anyone, once locked in it," he laughed.

Tracy looked at the bizarre gadget, thinking it was torturous rather than entertaining. She could imagine Irene using it at one of her parties, and nearly suggested it. She remained quiet, even resisting asking how long he was going to keep her. She dare not ask, in case it was for the whole weekend.

"What's next? This is an interesting piece. Not very original, though a distinct improvement on the usual tatty affair," he stated. 

Tracy realised he was looking for compliments for his inventions. What could she say? It was better to keep quiet, and suffer in silence.

"You'll have to remove those things for this one," he told her.

It wasn't a harsh order like Irene's demands, but she had fallen into the habit of doing as she was told. Striping naked had become second nature, so she pulled the little top and skirt off and struggled out of the tight body-suit. She didn't even try to hide her nakedness, and he didn't ogle her naked body, so it wasn't so bad.

She stood still while he dressed her. Eventually he was satisfied with the adjustments for a perfect fit. She was now a bondage maid. It was more dreadful than when at Irene's, where she was made to feel like a pathetic maid.

Around her neck was a padded metal collar, with two bars extending to a tray. The tray was also attached to a leather belt around her waist. Her wrists were shackled to the belt, leaving her helpless to fend off wandering hands. From the belt and the tray, a clear plastic belt looped between her legs over her sex, then up between her cheeks to the belt. Soft rubber edges to the plastic would make it easier to walk, though for the moment she just stood there.

What was most uncomfortable were the two attachments to the plastic belt. One in her pussy with the other up her ass. Now she knew why Irene had put her through the humiliation with two vibrators inside her. These were simple rubber dildos, but just as humiliating, if not more so. They could be seen through the clear plastic, so whoever she served would see them.

He put a metal cup on the magnetic tray, for it to click in place. 

"Be careful how you walk," Maurice advised.

Tracy didn't need telling. As directed she walked across the workshop, with small delicate steps. The large phalluses were working her vagina and anus, rubbing both walls with every step. He was using her like an artefact conjured up in this workshop. More than ever she felt like an object. Something to be used and played with.

"At the party you can wear that to serve my guests, so get used to it," he casually stated.

Tracy groaned quietly at the thought of facing strangers, and having them see what a stupid, craven slut she had become. Looking around the place she could see there were more devious devices to be tried out, and shuddered. She was getting used to this maids outfit, even beginning to enjoy the awful dildo's, despite not wanting to.

"That's enough for now," he said. "We'll try one more then call it a day," he added.

When he pulled the dildo from her ass it was a relief. When he pulled the one from her pussy it felt as though her insides were being dragged out. It seemed to go on forever, from being so deep. A wet sucking noise was embarrassing, as it revealed how juiced up she was. 

"You seem to have enjoyed that," he laughed. 

She was so tormented with disgrace she couldn't answer him. It was one thing to suffer the indignity, but for him to see how much her body enjoyed it, was simply dreadful.

"Irene was right, you're a horny little slut. Cute though," he chuckled. "Now get on your hands and knees. This one will be easy, you don't have to move for this one," he encouraged her.

He lifted her arms behind her back, so that she was resting on her knees, balancing on her forehead. Fortunately he put a small cushion under her head, to make it more comfortable. He cuffed her wrists, holding them back over her bottom, which was sticking up. That was uncomfortable.

"Try to relax, or you'll get cramp," he advised.

Tracy felt a round pipe pushed between her cheeks, with one end on the floor and the other sticking up. Attached to it was the inevitable dildo, which he gently pushed into her bottom. It was dreadful to feel how easily it slid in to her once virgin ass. He attached the cuffs to the tube, locking her in place. When she tried moving her arms to relieve an ache, it pulled the tube and therefore the dildo deeper up her ass. 

"Flatted your hands out, upward," Maurice instructed. 

She felt something hard rest upon her shoulders and hands. It pressed her down a little further into shape. She wondered what the hell this torturous position was about.

"There, that's just perfect. You make a good piece of furniture. A very decorous coffee table," he laughed. 

His offhand attitude, and that he just accepted she would submit to any indignity, made her feel small and worthless. She was certainly small now, while screwed up into a ball.

Her shoulders, hands, and the metal pipe, supported a round piece of glass. She couldn't move, dare not try either, if she was to be used as a table. The feeling of being just an object for him to use struck her deeper than any of the bullying Irene had inflicted upon her. 

A tear dribbled from her eye, running down a cheek, to spill upon the carpet she was resting upon. Either he didn't see it, or didn't care.

Once freed of the glass and manacles, she stretched out over the carpet. She may be free of being a humble piece of furniture, but certainly not free of being this man's object. The only way to survive the coming exhibition would be to switch off, and think of herself as nothing more than a thing to be used. She had demonstrated how submissive she was, so the die was cast. She would have to dutifully obey him.




Humiliated Ch. 04



Meekly she followed him to a bedroom, his bedroom. His twisted mind had created those despicable devices, and more, so what was she in for next? In trepidation she watched him lay a large towel over the bed. This didn't bode well.

"Lie face down," he ordered.

He began by lightly massaging her back with finger tips. "This is your time for pleasure, just lie still and relax. Close your eyes to experience every touch to the full," he quietly spoke. 

She couldn't relax just because he told her to. As his fingers glided over her flesh she began to succumb. The light touches, then a deep muscle massage allayed her fears. His hands were strong and experienced. Tracy sank into a world of her own, where nothing existed except the deep sound of his voice, and wonderful sensations coursing through her body.

A pleasant smile lit his face as he continued on automatic, feeling her muscles relax. He enjoyed a massage, and this was the next best thing. 

Tracy groaned pleasantly, bringing him back to the present. He didn't even remember turning her over. He had been massaging her breasts, trapping her nipples between fingers to pull on them. He slowly moved down to her belly. With palms outstretched they moved in a circular motion, around and around. His hands wondered down over her mons, interested to see how she would react. 

Tracy moaned more deeply, opening her legs a little. He delved further down, toward her lips, finding them ready. It wouldn't hurt to give her a deeper massage than planned. She deserved a little pleasure. He concentrated on her sex, with both hands. 

"Yes! That's so wonderful. More, please. Please! " she murmured breathlessly. 

These were more words than he had heard her speak all evening. He lifted her hips to push a pillow under her bottom. With one hand massaging a breast, the other feather touching her thighs. As she opened up, her clit protruded with glistening juices. 

"You're a juicy little slut, aren't you," he commented.

She had a pleasing body which he now knew very well. The demure expression she usually wore changed to a look of intent desire. He concentrated on massaging her thighs and everything between them. A finger circled her anus, with the other hand deeply massaging her sex.

Tracy heaved her hips at him, not knowing where she was, only that she was feeling so much pleasure, and feeling so alive. She kept her eyes tightly closed, in case the fantasy faded away.

Maurice felt his cock becoming achingly stiff and wondered if he should fuck her. She had willingly been purchased by him, though despite what Irene had said, he didn't think she was just a stupid slut. She wasn't the usual young thing collected from the gutter to be corrupted.

The signs of wealth were plainly there. Her hair was expensively fashioned, her nails were finely manicured, and her skin was toned, indicating she was used to being pampered. How this woman had fallen into Irene's clutches he had no idea, but she belonged to him now. While she was still under the influence of Irene's indomitable will, he just had to take advantage.

He lifted his hands from her prone body to undo his trousers. He watched her squirming up at him, searching out his fingers, with her hips lifted off the bed. It looked as though her sex was a chicks open mouth, desperately needing to be fed.

"Please, sir, please! Take me," she croaked, from a dry mouth.

He crawled onto the bed between her outstretched legs. He nudged her sex with his cock, feeling her push at him. She desperately wanted him, or rather she needed a cock inside her. Irene had been right. After the humiliation he put her through in the workshop she had lost control and just need to be fucked.

Maurice gently pushed, entering her smoothly. Her vagina was tight, gripping him strongly. It felt as though it were flexing, rippling over his cock as he entered deeper. He pushed harder, seemingly stretching her vagina, with an overpowering need to reach in all the way. 

Slowly he pulled back, a long leisurely stroke. Under him she pulled back too, then thrust up, with a mighty heave of her hips. He got the message. He thrust in with a harder, faster rhythm.

"Yes! Fuck me hard. Faster! Fuck me hard and fast!" she encouraged.

Maurice rode her hard. The pillow under her hips was squashed flat into the soft bed covers. Her heavy gasps for breath matched his, as her thrusts harmonized with his. Like a machine they fucked in unison, as though joined at the hips, face to face.

He couldn't hold back. Unable to wait for her he climaxed. He was pleased to hear a blast of sound, heralding her orgasm. 

"Yes!" she hissed, phrasing the word in a long, sighing, out-breath. 

Maurice held his body over her, watching her eyelids flicker. He carefully lowered his heavy body to her side, not wanting to crush her. She now looked relaxed, with a pleasant smile on her face, wiping away the previous look of sorrowfulness. He stroked her hair. He stroked her eyebrows and nose, exploring her face with finger tips.

She kissed his fingers then his hands. 

"Tell me this isn't a dream," she whispered.

"It's not a dream, we are both real and this is real," he said, and bent to kiss her lips. 

"Is it safe to open my eyes?" she asked.

"It's up to you," he answered.

Her eyes flickered open. "My, you are handsome. Who the devil are you?" she asked. "Have I gone to heaven or hell?" she asked, with a serious look. 

"Most likely its hell for some, and hell for others. You'll have to take a chance," he smiled with charm.

"I have no choice. You own me, and made me yours," she sighed.

"That's right!" he lightly laughed. "I forgot for a moment. I bought you didn't I. You're my little slut and I can do whatever I like with you. What do you think of that?" he teasingly asked.

Tracy didn't know what to say. The powerful orgasm gripped her still, influencing her thoughts. She had never before experienced anything so all consuming. Her whole life had been twisted out of kilter by Irene. The woman had found something damnable in her. She had been nastily sexed up, kept that way for so long it hurt. Then this man had worked her body into a frenzy of desire. This handsome man had conquered her, fulfilled her, and made her his.

"What can I say? I belong to you. I'm yours. You can do whatever you want with me," she whispered. 

The words were tried on for size, and they fit how she felt. He was sitting up on one elbow staring at her.

"You can use me however you like," she said, a little too loud for comfort. 

"I will, you can be sure of that," he grinned.



Humiliated Ch. 05



Tracy on Show in an Art Gallery


"It's Sunday evening, master," Tracy quietly said, with a guilty look.

Maurice wondered what she meant for a moment, then realised she was expecting to go home. 

The weekend had been filled with enjoyable sexual encounters, turning to love-making rather than just sex. She felt guilty about it when thinking of home. She was a married woman with responsibilities, yet selfishly pushed it all aside, leaving her free to explore an uninhibited and lurid affair with a stranger.

He was no longer a stranger, after what they had experienced together. She knew him well, and he knew her too well. She discovered a need for humiliation that drove a sexual desire, not guessed at before. Going back to being a neglected trophy wife would be difficult. Having betrayed her husband was bad enough. The realisation their marriage was nothing more than a sham, would be intolerable.

"You belong to me now, until I release you," Maurice firmly stated. Seeing a look of defiance, he added. "Remember those despicable recordings your mistress gave me. I still have them. Perhaps you need to watch them as a reminder of your position."

A look of anguish washed her features. It wasn't just the threat of disclosure that kept her from insisting he let her leave. It was a surprise to feel how all pervading the need to stay with him had become. He was a powerful man, able to manipulate her into a helpless, pitiable wreck. At other times he could be so loving, and considerate of her feelings. 

Experiencing such an onslaught of raw sex, kept her in a tumultuous state over the entire weekend. The powerful arousal he induced had left her unable to resist his every whim. Surely this couldn't go on much longer. She had to escape and return to a mundane life, before she lost all reason.

"Your mistress phoned," he stated. This simple statement had her full attention. "She has arranged with your husband for you to stay the week. No one will be expecting you home," he added.

"Yes, master, thank you master," she dutifully replied. It wasn't what she wanted to say. It had become a habit. She wanted to tell him she had to go home. It was impossible to tell him, 'No', or deny him anything. She wondered what the devious woman had told her husband.

He was relieved to see her capitulate. She even seemed happy that a decision was made for her. 

"Follow me to the Gallery," he ordered.

From the apartment behind the gallery they entered his store. Paintings adorned the walls, with free standing sculptures by keen new artists. Everything was for sale. She felt like one of his works of art, after what he had put her through. As he said, he owned her, after swapping her for a painting.

It was demeaning thinking such thoughts, and exciting all at the same time. If he had simply abused her, as her mistress had, it could have been interpreted as a just punishment for the terrible mistake she made. 

Having received such passionate loving, and giving so much of herself in return, it was impossible to discount it as a retribution for her misdeeds. She was enjoying it too much. The conflicting emotions of guilt and shocking pleasure, had her mind in a whirl leaving her unable to protest.

Tracy gave in, to obediently follow him.

All at once the gallery became familiar. The objects on display were different, but the three rooms were the same. She had visited it with her husband on viewing evenings. The corporation he worked for purchased works of art, for the reception area and directors offices. Important customers were gifted works of art as an incentive to sign lucrative contracts.

Tracy stood very still looking around the gallery, taking it all in. As a living work of art owned by him, she could be sold to the corporation. She might be given to a customer, while set into position as a piece of lewd furniture. A stranger would own her as a sex object. 

She would be used whenever and however the stranger wanted, without considering her feelings. She would have to obey him, or her, committing lewd sexual acts to satisfy their nasty fantasies. As they became bored with her, they would offer her to friends, or use her as party favour. 

The thought of being used at a party as nothing more than a sex object, worked her up. She imagined they would eventually sell her on, to start all over again, learning to satisfy another's sexual desires. The fantasy of spending her life as a sex object, being used and abused, had her panting.

She shook her head to clear the notion from her thoughts. Just one week and all this would be over. It had to be withstood without losing her mind, even if her morals had been damaged beyond repair.

Dressed in an expensive business suit, she was ready to greet a customer. It was quiet all morning, with little demands upon her, as he was constantly on the phone. Making coffee and fetching lunch was nothing more than being an assistant. It gave her some pleasure to be working, as she had married straight from university. 

The late afternoon soon came around, when specially invited customers were due. Just one at a time would be visiting, so Maurice could work on them one to one. Tracy set up the wine and snacks on a side table in a private room. This was where the naughty works of art were offered to discerning customers.

"Hang up your clothes, all of them," Maurice instructed. 

With her clothes on hangers against the wall they looked like just another modern work of art, though out of place among the paintings of naked women, and bacchanalian groups. He looked her over, studying her carefully. She felt like just another exhibit. 

When he led her over to a Persian rug, she saw the equipment, and gasped. Her eyes were open wide with astonishment to realise she really was to become an object in his gallery. Serving his guest in a maids costume, or something more salubrious, had been expected. Even serving wine naked, would have been better than this.

"You know what to do," he firmly ordered.

Tracy was full of foreboding as she got down on hands and knees.

He lifted both arms behind her back to cuff her wrists. Her head was touching the floor with her bottom sticking up. He gently massaged her back and arms, telling her to relax. It was an uncomfortable position, but bearable. 

Tracy felt the familiar large round pipe pushed between her cheeks. One end was on the floor with the other sticking up to form a support for a table top. Her knees, and the pipe made three legs. Attached to the pipe were two dildos, which he slowly eased into her asshole and pussy. 

She was now firmly attached to the pipe. He secured the cuffs to the tube, locking her in place more securely. She wouldn't be able to resist pulling her arms to relieve an ache, and that would pull the dildos deeper up her ass and pussy. 

"Flatten your hands out, upward," Maurice instructed. 

She felt the glass table top rest upon her shoulders and hands. The heavy weight pressed her down further into shape, to become nothing more than a piece of furniture. Through tearful eyes she saw the blurred image of another tube. 

"Open your mouth," Maurice instructed.

A dildo entered her mouth, which she had to grip with her teeth. It was strapped around the back of her head, securing another table leg in place. Tightly secured in position, it was impossible to move. Tracy felt small and insignificant, more than she had ever been while tormented by Irene.

Hearing voices in the store, announced the customer had arrived. Being displayed as a piece of furniture in this gallery was even more humiliating than trying it out in his workshop.

She closed her eyes tight, but that didn't prevent her from recognising the voice. It was familiar from office parties and sales functions. The procurement CEO was one of her husband's colleagues! 

He couldn't possibly recognise her like this, or expect her to be in such a despicable position. That thought was little comfort. The wave of humiliation drove her further into thinking of herself as her masters object. She was forced to squat in position as just another exhibit.

"Good grief! I didn't realise at first. That's real?" Bob asked. The incredulous expression revealed he needed confirmation of the obvious.

"It's one of my new lines. Live art. Do you like it?" he asked, with a sound of pride clearly in his voice.

Maurice put a bowl on the table and Bob carefully placed his wine glass down. Through the glass table top they stared at the naked body of a beautiful woman. The dildo's in her mouth, pussy, and ass, were clearly visible. 

"Nice, very nice," he chuckled. "A pity her holes are filled!" Bob commented. 

"I have another version almost ready. The mouth and vagina are available in that one," Maurice stated.

"A good idea, but who would be so depraved as to get into the contraption?" Bob mused.

"I'm sure you could find someone at one of your parties," Maurice whimsically suggested.

"Maybe. How much? I'll take one. It will be a hit I'm sure," he laughed with Maurice.

He bent down to take a closer look at the woman's face. Tracy couldn't close her eyes, as much as she wanted to. She was desperately hoping not to see any sign of recognition. Not that she could do, or say anything if he recognised her. In any case, what would she say. There was no defence to being in such a corrupt position.

Of all people to catch her like this, it had to be Bob. He had been over familiar with her while dancing at corporate functions. She had been able to put him in his place with a sharp rebuke, as her husband was of equal standing in the organisation. In this vulnerable position he could take advantage without the slightest possibility of her complaining.

After being referred to as a depraved slut, being recognised as a colleagues wife would be devastating. This would be yet another person able to take advantage of her, with the threat of revelation forcing her to play his vile games. 

The mention of his parties had her imagination racing. He could have her tightly bound as a table, with men taking her two at a time. Her reputation as an executives wife would be shattered, if he decided to reveal who she was. 

"She's a juicy slut. Seems to be enjoying the humiliation of it," Bob commented.

The dildo in her mouth distorted her features enough to be unrecognisable. Besides, how could he relate the prim and proper wife, with this obviously depraved slut. As he had said, who would be prepared to debase herself in such a demeaning position.

"She's a debased, table-base," Bob laughed.

He took hold of the table top in both hands to rock it back and forth. Tracy felt the dildo's working her vagina, ass, and mouth. The movement was only slight, yet enough to work her further into a heated state. Her breath hissed from around the dildo filling her mouth.

"Do you think I can make her orgasm?" Bob asked. 

"Probably not. She needs more than that, though she does look near," Maurice casually commented.

"The other table sounds better. I've thought of someone who would enjoy it. She's an old bird, who gets left out, so might be grateful for a double fucking," he laughed.

Tracy heard the nasty laughter, remembering she had never liked the man. She had guessed he was corrupt, only at office functions he had to behave correctly. Even then he had come across as being crass and uncaring. Being trapped in the hands of this nasty creature would be horrendous. 

It was such a relief when they concluded their business by signing a cheque. That it was her they used as a humble table, was all the more poignant. Her up turned bottom was on view, with her asshole flexing in time with the dildo being moved around.

The horrible man manipulated the dildos once again before leaving. This time an audible squelching noise was heard from her juicing pussy. Their laughter had to be tolerated. She felt her juices running down her thighs. That it was a colleague of her husband's doing this to her was bad, and because it was this obnoxious man, it was vile.

"Careful the slut doesn't ruin that rug, it looks valuable," Bob commented, before he left.

Her pussy was dripping wet, and while moaning, saliva dripped from around the thing in her mouth. It was a telling state to be in. The rug was valuable, but she was just a worthless object. Less than that, she had been reduced to an uncontrollable slut. According to her husband's colleague, she was just a filthy sexed up bitch. 

At that despicable man's parties she wouldn't need to be forced, she would bitterly enjoy being fucked in both holes by whoever cared to take her. They might be complete strangers, or employees from her husband's department. It wouldn't matter who they were. The humiliation would have her climaxing with everyone who took her. 

She imagined her belly and vagina being filled with sperm. Afterwards, when everyone at the party had fucked her, would Bob reveal who she was? He was the type to heap humiliation upon her. The men would gather around in astonishment, to see they had carelessly fucked the wife of a CEO. The woman they had thought was just a dirty whore, was someone they knew, and the wife of their boss. Tightly compressed as a piece of furniture, there would be no escaping the inevitable lewd comments.

At that moment she cum. A dreadful wailing noise from around the gag heralded a powerful climax. The table top quivered, as her limbs flexed as much as they could in the awkward position.

***

An evening exhibition had been organised and Tracy was to be a living piece of art. She had endured almost a week of humiliation in the art gallery, being displayed as various pieces of furniture to private customers. Inevitably she thought of herself as nothing more than an object for Maurice to use. The feeling of being owned was still painful, yet she was thriving on the humiliation. It seemed there wasn't a moment that she wasn't sexed up, like a wanton hussy. 

The caterers delivered food and drink, and finally she was ready to serve his guests. 

With nerves taught she looked once again in a mirror. Her body was covered from head to foot in shiny black leather. It was stretched tight, showing every curve of her luscious body. Her nipples stood out, with clamps biting them hard, keeping them engorged.

The fear of being recognised wasn't a reason to be so nervous. It wasn't because she would be serving his guests while dressed so lewdly either. The outfit was an effective disguise, and she became used to showing off her body to strangers. She looked in the mirror, yet again wondering why in hell she was putting up with this disgusting degradation. 

If she had been simply used as a living sculpture, it wouldn't have been so bad. What was so humiliating was how she was to serve his guests. He called her a living decanter. She was to distribute red and white wine, as well as snacks from a tray in a more usual manner.

It was difficult to walk, but she waddled to her position in the centre of the gallery. She felt so full, it was impossible to ignore the stimulating sensations from every step she took.

Nothing in her life, or at this bizarre studio, had prepared her for such a humbling role. Standing with a tray of nibbles, she wondered if it were possible to escape. Too late now, the guests were arriving. 

A stranger walked up close to take a good look at her. Tracy stood still, not daring to move. She stared straight ahead, with only her eyes visible to the stranger. She heard the tinkle of glass when he took one from a rack.

She felt his hand on her bottom as he traced its firm roundness. The sharpness of a fingernail was felt through the thin leather stretched tight between her cheeks. When he took hold of the plastic nozzle imbedded in her asshole and moved it, she felt a tremor deep inside her bottom.

He turned the plastic tap to serve himself a glass of red wine. A stranger was using her ass as a wine decanter! Tracy felt the wine pour from her bottom. The feeling of being nothing more than an object to be used was more potent than ever before. The feeling served to distance herself from what was happening. Thinking of herself as an object here in this studio, became a necessity to hold on to her sanity, or she would scream.

A glass full wasn't enough to alleviate the fullness of a whole bottle of wine filling her bottom. She hoped his guests would be put off by the thought of drinking from her asshole. Otherwise she would be forced to go to the kitchen for a refill. The thought of waddling back here in front of an audience, was dreadful.

A plastic bag had been squeezed into her bottom, filled with red wine, and a tap pushed into the neck of the bag. In her vagina was a larger bag, filled with white wine. 

While her master was filling it, she couldn't believe how much she could take. A whole bottle of red filled her bottom, and one and a half of white in her vagina. A tap would be turned, and out flowed wine for his guests. She was a living wine decanter and a party ornament, no-longer a person.

As more guests arrived she became the central attraction. Everyone wanted to see the living sculpture. Most were too frightened to use her. The bolder guests showed off her use, by turning a tap to produce wine. The feeling of it running from her body made her shiver. The movement was enough to ring little bells attached to her nipples.

She didn't hear the delicate tinkle as their conversation had her full attention. She just couldn't tune it out. She just hoped the novelty would wear off and they would leave her alone. There were works of art throughout the gallery, but she was the most bizarre and most fascinating. 

"Do it again, Jonathan, it's fascinating," Maria giggled.

"You do it. It's simple enough," Jonathan laughed. 

He relented, as he enjoyed the process. He unnecessarily pressed his hand to her crotch, and twisted the tap with the other. He made a show of pushing and pulling at it. The feeling of the wine sloshing around in the bag embedded in her vagina, brought on a shiver. Her whole body tingled. 

The little bells tinkled loudly, as he kept moving the tap, pushing and pulling at it. It was now half empty and her vagina was closing around the bag, squeezing it. She had been afraid she might be stretched permanently, but it seemed her muscles were stronger than she realised. 

The next glass was sprayed with wine, almost spilling from the forceful flow.

"How can she demean herself in such an awful demonstration," another woman asked. 

She wasn't walking away in disgust, despite the tone of voice. She stood with the others, watching with intense fascination as men poured glasses of wine from the human decanter.

Tracy watched Maurice join the throng. It was all the worse that he was here, as he knew who she was.

"Watch this," one of them said. He alternately pulled and pushed on the two taps. Feeling the wine slosh around in opposite directions brought on tremors in her legs and belly. The bells rang loudly, announcing her state of arousal. The humiliation was already turning her on, and the stimulation inside her body added to the forced excited state.

Tracy couldn't escape it. The internal stimulation, the men's hands playing with her body, and the humiliation of women's comments, forced her to the edge of an orgasm. 

'Not here, not in front of everyone,' she silently pleaded. Taking deep slow breaths through her mouth, she tried to calm herself. Holding back from the brink was possible. The nerve endings throughout her skin were so sensitive she would lose the battle if someone touched her. They were talking not touching, and she could shut out their disgraceful remarks.

The spectre of having an orgasm before an audience was receding. 

Tracy opened her eyes wide with fear. Her husband was here, and he was standing before her! 




Humiliated Ch. 05



"I wondered what all the fuss was about. How does it work?" Richard asked.

Her husband was fiddling with her sex before a crowd of awful people. He didn't know who she was. He thought she was just a novelty object, owned by Maurice. She was no longer a wife and stepmother, she was a work of art displayed in a gallery. Her body was there to be used and commented upon by critics. 

She had been just a trophy wife, so there wasn't much difference. She had been used as a pretty ornament on his arm at business functions, and dinners with clients. She had been dressed up as a distraction for clients, while her husband smooth talked them into a contract.

Instead of being eye candy she was now a vile living wine decanter. They openly reviled her now. Did they do the same behind her back, when entertaining as a dutiful wife? 

"She likes you Richard. You're ringing her bells!" Jonathan laughed. 

Tracy realised the heightened humiliation was pushing her over the edge. There was no way to hold back. From behind the mask she croaked a dry moan. Her legs stiffened, her tummy rippled and flexed. The tray tipped, almost spilling the few snacks left. 

The thin leather was so tight it showed every muscle flexing. Every quiver of her body was revealed. The nipple bells danced around as though alive. Her husband held an arm to steady her. In front of strangers, as well as people she knew, a deep orgasm rocked her body. Her whole body trembled in its grip. 

It carried on and on, prolonging the agony of humiliation. They were applauding her! The women could see it was a genuine happening, and could guess why. The poor woman was turned on by the disgrace of such a lewd position.

"The trollop is turned on by the degradation of it all. It's obvious she's been hot all evening," a woman commented.

Though still on her feet, Tracy sank into the afterglow of a desperate orgasm. Her mind whirled in anguish. Her owner had turned her into a sex machine! Anyone could stimulate her. No-one, and nothing they did was unwelcome anymore. Everything and anything excited her beyond control. 

She had lost control of her body and mind. There was no escaping the fact she had become a sex object, ready to be manipulated at any time, by whatever means suited her owner. 

"You seem interested in my work of art, Maria," Maurice said, with a devious grin. "You must buy it to wear at your next party," he told her.

Before she could muster a reply he walked off.

"I couldn't possibly, it's too disgusting," Maria blustered. 

"You'd be surprised what you might do when Maurice decides to work on you," Jonathan teased. He kept his voice low and serious, amused at the way she quivered. 

"I couldn't! He wouldn't make me, I mean, he couldn't, could he?" Maria blushed.

"If he puts his mind to it," Jonathan quietly and meaningfully spoke. 

Maria put a hand to her open mouth, as though suppressing a screech of fright. She looked flushed with excitement, and quickly turned away from the lewd exhibit. 

Jonathan had certainly learnt something new about Maria. She was older than him, though she was certainly attractive. The state she was in gave him something to work on. Obviously something more subtle than the obscene outfit was required, though as tight and revealing would be perfect. 

Maurice watched the two of them from a distance, assessing the size of their bank accounts. They were two new customers. An outfit for her, and another for her paid for by him. He smiled to himself. No-one would buy the lewd outfit, but it certainly generated interest and stimulated ideas.

***

After the show Tracy was shattered. Maurice led her to his apartment behind the studio. He slowly removed the bags from her body and she sighed deeply as he did so. It looked as though she were a deflating blow-up doll.

He carried her to the bathroom to wash her all over. She just lay there, letting him move her limbs and working suds into her most intimate of places. She smelt of bath oil and soap. Her skin was fresh yet she was still exhausted from the extreme experience. 

He carried her to his bed and cuddled her. 

"You're a wonderful obedient slave. I'm glad I bought you. I shall look after you as my most cherished possession," Maurice told her. 

"Thank you, master," Tracy sighed. 

She had been bought and paid for, to become an object owned by him. There was no denying what he had made her into. She had been shaped into the work of art he wanted her to be. She was just an item in the art gallery. The idea of being not longer responsible for anything, with no decisions to make, and nothing to trouble her was irresistible. He was looking after her and caring for her like a precious object, which was so very comforting. 

He kissed her face, and stroked her body until she fell asleep.