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Your Tormentor Ch. 01

By: ciphera



You're walking down the main street of your hometown, heading to the mall. You're thinking about dropping by the lingerie store, maybe picking up some cute new panties for your next skype session, or maybe a sexy new pair of stockings. Either way, you know you'll be going home with something nice and slutty to show to the men you've met online. 

You walk without paying attention to your surroundings; tuning out the traffic to focus on the images in your head. You can feel your pussy starting to get a little wet at the thought of the reactions you'll be getting later, and it puts a smile on your face. An older gentleman walking by smiles back at you, and you can't help but grin. Your long blonde hair and big blue eyes are probably giving him the impression that you're some young innocent girl, but your thoughts couldn't be further from innocent if you tried.

The sun is beating down on you, and you stop for a moment to pull a pair of sunglasses out of your bag. 

A man walking behind you doesn't quite stop fast enough, and bumps into you.

"Oh my gosh," you say, turning around at once. "Are you ok? I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine," he says, rubbing his shoulder. "Totally my - hang on..." He drifts off mid-sentence, and you raise your eyebrow at him. "Sorry if I'm totally off-base," he continues, "but... you don't happen to go by SweetKitten online, do you?"

You freeze. A moment ago the heat was all you could think about, but now the day seems frigid.

"Um," you choke out.

A grin spreads over his face. "It *is* you," he exclaims. "Your hair is so distinctive," he adds softly, reaching out a hand to stroke it. "I've always wanted to touch it."

You get the feeling that that's not all he's wanted to do to you. Since you first started posting videos and pictures of yourself online, you've been wondering if this would happen. The idea of being found in real life by one of the men you whore yourself out for online has always been one that both terrified and titillated you - more than one fantasy has started like this. But this isn't a late-night secret between you and your favourite vibrator, this is real life.

"Look," you force out, shakily. "I don't know what you're talking about, okay? Whoever you're looking for, that's not me." 

His only response is to grip your hair tighter. "Of course it is," he says, smile fading until only one side of his mouth is curled in a small smirk. "You wouldn't react like this if it wasn't you. Let me guess, you're scared I'll tell people?"

You can't help but flinch. He laughs.

"I *could* follow you home and tell your friends and family how much of a *slut* you are," he says. His voice is soft and considering, but his eyes are intent on your face, cataloguing your every reaction. He must like what he sees, because he continues. "Would you like that, kitten? Would you like your friends to see what you really are? Maybe they'd be disgusted...or maybe they'd want you to service *them*, too."

You stare at the ground between the two of you, your eyes filling with tears.

"Don't cry, kitten," he says. "I didn't say I *would* do that, did I?" He lets go of your hair, and reaches out. You cringe away from his touch, and then from the look in his eye. "Don't do that," he snaps. "I was going to be nice and wipe away your tears, but now I don't think you deserve it. Kitten, clean yourself up."

With a sniffle, you gently wipe your own tears away.

"I'll do whatever you want," you say. "Just please don't tell anyone. We can have a private skype session tonight and I'll do anything you ask, I promise."

He laughs again. "Kitten," he says, admonishingly. "You already do whatever any man asks, because you're a worthless slut. But you're also a fucking *tease*, because you only do it online. You know how much we all want to fuck you, and you *love* that our cocks can't reach you, don't you? All that "I wish you were here right now to fuck my throat", that's all bullshit. If any one of us showed up at your door, you'd react like - well, like this."

You raise your head to glare at him properly. "I'm not a slut," you say, "and I'm not a *tease*! I always mean what I say!"

"So you *do* wish I would fuck your throat? You want me to hold you down and cum in your hair?"

You go scarlet. "Stop *saying* these things in public," you hiss, "People walking by can probably hear us!"

"Good," he smirks at you. "I don't live here, I'm never going to see them again. But they'll see you again, and they'll remember what a whore you are."

You can feel the tears start to well up again. "Please," you beg again, "What do you want? Money? Please just leave me alone."

"I have plenty of money," he says. "And honestly, isn't it obvious? Or are you just as stupid as you look?"

You don't say anything, and he reaches out to stroke your cheek. "Say it, whore." He says.

"You want to fuck me," you mumble, almost inaudible.

His shark grin never wavers. "Say it louder, bitch."

"You want to fuck me," you say again, fighting the humiliation of having to say it in public, with his hand firm on your cheek. An elderly lady walking past hears you, and gives you a hard look. You look at the ground again, cheeks burning.

"Good slut," he purrs. "Was that so hard?"

"This is so embarrassing," you whisper to the ground. After a moment, you rally your courage and look up at him again. You're taken aback at the hunger in his eyes. "This is it, though," you say, trying to be strong. "I let you, you know, once. And then you're gone forever, and you don't say anything about this, or me, to anyone. Got it?"

"It's cute how you think you're in charge here," is his only response. "Now come along. My hotel's not far."

You balk immediately. "I'm not going to a hotel," you say. "You could be a murderer!"

"You have two choices," he says firmly. "You can come to my hotel and do everything I say, like the good little slut that you want to be, or you can bend over this bench right here, and lift your skirt and drop your panties, and I can spank you in public."

You stare at him, outraged. "I'm not letting you spank me! In public, or anywhere!"

"Then you're coming to my hotel, kitten. Maybe I'll even drop a few coins on you after we're done so you can feel like a productive little whore. Would you like that?"

His voice is like dark velvet, but his words make you so embarrassed. You've never been so aware of how much you blush, and you know he's enjoying your reactions. You're also suddenly aware of your already-damp panties. You know that you're not getting off on this, but will he? He'll probably think all this taunting has made you wet, and you know how entertained he'll be by that.

Up until now, you've just been freaked out and humiliated. But now the flush on your cheeks isn't just from how embarrassed you are, and your pussy is starting to get wet again. Like when you mess around online, it isn't the events that are turning you on, it's his reaction.

"No," you grit out, but even you can hear the slight breathlessness of your voice.

He smirks at you. "The bitch *would* like to be treated like a two dollar whore, alright. I can work with that."

You want to tell him he's wrong, but you know he'd make you tell him the cause of your sudden reaction. You don't want to admit that the pleasure he's getting out of humiliating and debasing you is turning you on, you know exactly where that would lead.

You swallow your words, and step closer to him instead. "Which hotel are you staying at?"

*

The hotel is close, only a few blocks away. He spends the walk with his arm around you, hand slowly drifting down from your shoulder to your ass, until he's basically just holding your ass while you walk. You want to say something, but you don't know what he'd do instead if you complained. You decide that this is probably the lesser of two evils, and just focus on not making eye contact with anyone else on the street. Maybe you just look like a regular girl with a possessive, older boyfriend. Maybe you look like a whore. Right now, you can't tell.

When you reach the hotel, he opens the door for you. It's one of the fancier hotels in town, and the lobby is plush and gleaming. As you glance around, taking it all in, he grips you firmly around the waist and hauls you along to the elevator. Apparently he has no patience for sight-seeing.

You barely notice the elevator's decor, since as soon as the door closes on the empty box, he has one hand around your throat, and the other down your shirt, buttons slipping free to give him more access. His cool hands feel amazing on your flushed skin, and you can't help but moan softly at his touch. 

You try to move closer to him, but the hand around your throat is firm and unyielding, and you're trapped, pressed against the wall. He knows how he wants to touch you, *tease* you, and he clearly doesn't want you interfering. The hand inside your shirt caresses first one bra-covered breast, and then the other, before sliding under the lace edge of your bra to pinch your left nipple. You moan again; your nipples have always been so sensitive, and through the haze of sensation you can see him smirk widely at you.

"Enjoying yourself, whore?" he asks.

Before you can gather enough composure to answer, the elevator stops at a floor. Not *his* floor. He pulls away from you as the door opens, leaving you slumped against the wall, a wreck.

Two men walk into the elevator, chatting. When they notice you, red marks around your neck, shirt unbuttoned and bra revealed, even pulled down a little on one side, they slowly stop talking. One grins at you, predatory. 

"You can touch the slut," your tormentor says, "If you want. At least until we reach our floor."

They waste no time in complying. As the door closes, they close in on you. One grips your hair in one hand and pulls it back, before leaving a series of stinging bites along your jaw. The other goes straight for your breasts, pulling them all the way out of your bra and letting them bounce freely for a moment before leaning down to start sucking on your right nipple. The taller man, with his hand in your hair, reaches down to maul your left breast. 

You feel like a piece of meat, being handled roughly by these men who know what they want and don't care how you feel about it. Your tormentor grins at you, clearly enjoying the show, and you can feel how soaked your panties are. God help you, you're loving this too.

"Please," you whine, overwhelmed under the assault of four hands and two mouths. You don't know what you're begging for, but you know you need it.

"Can I fuck this bitch?" one man asks, pulling his mouth away from your nipple. He replaces his mouth with his hand, twisting and tormenting your sensitive flesh. You moan. 

"She's gagging for it," the other man laughs.

Before your tormentor can reply, the elevator stops. 

"Maybe another time," he says. "This is our floor."

The men reluctantly hand you over to him. You feel weak and helpless, over-stimulated. You almost trip as he drags you out of the elevator.

You regain some of your steadiness as you stagger down the hall, and with it comes a cooler head. What were you just *doing*? Those men groped you, and you were *okay* with it. More than okay, it soaked your panties. 

After a moment, you realise that your bra has been tugged down, and your shirt is unbuttoned. You slide your bra back into place to cover your breasts, and feel a familiar blush rise in your cheeks.

He notices, and laughs. "Feeling embarrassed?" he asks. "That was nothing. By the time I let you go home, you'll be a true slut."

The worst part is, you believe him. 

Your Tormentor Ch. 02



At the end of the hall, he releases his grip on your wrist, and casually pushes you up against the wall.

"Now," he says, face close to yours, expression hard and flat. "I want you to be a good little slut for me, okay? I know you want to be good for me, and I won't ask you to do anything more whoreish than anything you've already done for me online." Not that that narrows it down much. "But if you disobey me, I'll punish you. Understand, bitch?"

You nod, eyes locked on his. You're trying to look sincere, but you're not sure if you *feel* sincere. You let go in the elevator, when let those strangers ravish your breasts and your mouth, but that was it. Now that you're back in your regular headspace, you can't imagine being that girl again. 

Something in your gaze must be less than genuine, because his hand comes up to grip your throat. "I'm not going to complain if I have to punish you," he says. "The only one crying will be you. So if you fuck up like the worthless, stupid little whore that you are, remember that all I asked you to do was obey me."

You close your eyes against a fresh welling of tears. How could this happen to you? You thought you were so careful about hiding your identity online. But this man recognised you on the street after a moment and dragged you to his hotel, and now you're forced to be his fucktoy until he releases you, or face the consequences.

As one tear slides hopelessly down your face, you hear him laugh.

"Cheer up, whore," he says. "It's not that bad! I know you'll love everything I'll make you do."

Your tears, as well as amusing him, seem to satisfy him. He lets go of your throat and steps back.

When you manage to regain your composure and open your eyes, he's standing in front of the now open door. He clicks his fingers, and you stare at him, uncomprehending.

"Hands and knees, slut."

You cringe, but drop to the floor almost automatically. A few of the men you talk to online love to watch you crawl around on all fours, pretending to be so worthless that you're barely more than an animal. The command is so familiar to you that it's almost second nature to obey it, even when you don't want to. He grins at you, like he understands how easy it was for you.

"Good girl," he says approvingly, and something in your cunt twinges. You have something of an inappropriate reaction to that phrase. "Now come along," he says, speaking like an owner to a dog that wasn't very good at following orders. "Get inside, bitch."

You hang your head in shame, but crawl on your hands and knees into his hotel room. You shiver when your bare arm brushes against his trouser leg.

The room, or suite, as you realise, seems spacious and airy from your vantage point. You've crawled into a large, open living area, with a handful of doors leading in different directions. Behind a large couch you can see the far wall is all glass; there's a balcony beyond it. You crawl far enough inside that you give your tormentor plenty of space to walk around you, and then stop. Sometimes online you can almost follow orders that haven't been given yet, anticipating correctly what they want from you, but you can't tell how this man wants to torment you.

"Slut," he says loudly, as the door closes, and you look up automatically. You cringe a moment after you do. You can't *believe* you just answered to "Slut". He looks pleased that you did, though, and you can't help but feel an answering reaction.

"Kneel," he continues after a moment of silent eye-contact, and you, again, obey without thinking. It's not so much that you *want* to be a good slave for him, as it is that you almost can't help but be good. You've spent so much time obeying people online, it really has become second nature for you to drop into this headspace where you obey basically unthinkingly.

He steps close, and strokes your head for a moment, running his long blunt fingers through the silken strands of your hair. "Good girl," he purrs again, and you shiver under his touch. "You like that, don't you," he adds. You've already humiliated yourself enough today, you decide, and refuse to answer. 

In response to your disobedience, his hand clenches tight in your hair. 

You yelp, hands coming up to try to free yourself from his grip. His other hand swoops down immediately, trapping both your wrists in his grasp. His grip on your hair only tightens, pulling back so that you're forced to look up at him.

"Tut tut," he says reprovingly. "And you were going so well, too."

You gasp in pain, tears running free down your face. At this moment you'd do anything to make him let go.

"Please," you beg. "I'm sorry!"

"I don't think you *are* sorry," he says. "I think you just wish I wasn't punishing you. But what did I say?"

"You said," you gasp, wrists and scalp burning, trying to think. "You said if I should obey you and not fuck up?"

"I said you were a whore. And you are, aren't you? A worthless, stupid little slut?"

"Ye-es," you whine. "I'm a stupid slut! I'm sorry, please. I won't fuck up again, I promise!"

He releases you, and you fall in a graceless heap to the ground.

"Good," he says. "See that you don't, bitch."

You blink away tears, and nod in his vague direction.

"Now, where were we?"

You crawl closer to him on your hands and knees, and kneel again, massaging your sore wrists when you get a chance. You can't help but flinch when his hand slides into your hair again, and he chuckles.

"I'm not going to hurt you unless you do something to deserve it...again," he reassures you.

His free hand comes down to unbutton and unzip his pants, and you understand exactly where this is going. He frees his cock from his underwear, before wrapping his hand around your throat.

"You always talk about how much you *love* to suck cock," he smirks at you. "Time to prove it, slut."

You do love to suck cock. You have something of an oral fixation, honestly. You're always sliding your toys into your mouth; sometimes nothing gets you off like choking yourself on a dildo on camera. You can smell his cock, heady and musky, and your mouth starts to water. 

You try to lean forward to lick his cock, but his hands, firm in your hair and on your throat, stop you. You look up at your tormentor, confused.

"Do you want something?" he asks, clearly amused.

"Um," you say. If you don't say it, maybe he won't make you do it. You glance down at his thick, heavy cock, and swallow. The truth is, he doesn't have to *make* you do it. Right now you want nothing more than to gag on his cock.

You hear him chuckle, and realise you've been staring at his cock like a child in a candy store, eyes glazed and mouth watering. From his perspective, you must look like a total cock-whore, a cumslut craving her next mouthful. You feel like one, too.

"You clearly want something," he says. "Why don't you just tell me what it is?"

"I..." you hesitate, and then sigh. "I want to suck your dick."

He cocks an eyebrow, and a dam inside you breaks.

"Please," bursts out of you. "Please, can I suck your cock? I just - I need it in my mouth, I want your cum down my throat, please. Please let me choke on your dick, I need it. Please?"

Instead of answering, he reaches up and hooks his thumb in your mouth, forcing it wide. He pulls you close, inelegantly sliding his cock into your mouth. He thrusts carelessly, harshly, pushing his cock deeper and deeper as though you are some kind of dick-sucking toy that doesn't need to breathe.

You moan around his thick cock. His total lack of regard for your comfort while he plunders your mouth, fucks your throat for his own pleasure...you can feel your pussy dripping. He's just providing what you begged for like a wanton slut, and you can't get enough of it. He pulls out, and you gasp for breath, while disappointment twinges in your gut. 

He lets go of your hair, keeping you close to his dick with the firm hand around your throat. He slaps your cheek hard with his free hand, making you yelp, and then with his cock, dripping your own saliva onto your face. You know you look like a wreck.

"You like this?" he asks breathlessly, cock drooling on your cheek.

Before you can answer, he slaps you again with the back of his hand, methodically, and you whine.

"You little whore," he says. "Of course you fucking do. You love this, don't you? Finally being treated like a piece of meat, the way you've always wanted. Isn't that right, *kitten*?"

You open your mouth to reply, and he slides his cock back in. You choke at the intrusion, gagging, but he just presses forward, smirking at the tears in your eyes.

He uses your mouth for - you have no idea how long. You lose time, dazed and breathless. When you manage to focus on the world again, you realise you've unbuttoned your jeans and tugged them down, one finger teasing your clit and another sliding deep inside. You're close already, have been since you first realised how serious this man was about wanting to ravish you, willing or not.

Moaning and drooling around his cock in your mouth, you ride yourself swiftly to one of the most satisfying orgasms of your life. It punches through you like lightning, aftershocks sparking through your clit, promising even better orgasms soon.

He pulls his cock out of your mouth again as soon as he realises what you've done.

"Naughty slut," he says. "Did you have my permission to do that?"

Your mouth has been so well-used that you can barely form words with it, but you husk out a no.

"I didn't think so," he says. He doesn't sound angry. His lip is curled in amusement, and your sex-fogged brain slowly realises that he's pleased that you were so turned on by him fucking your mouth. And then you wonder if he's also pleased that you've just handed him another reason to punish you.

You see the glint in his eye, and swallow unevenly.

Of course he is.