She’d always been a pretty girl; has been used to men looking at her since she was 13 and her breasts began to grow. Her breasts are obvious — impossible to ignore — large for her slim frame, and firm with it.
They’re the first thing people notice about her, and since she has always been a sensual person, enjoying her body; the pleasure it can give and receive. She has happily learned to dress to advantage, although nothing too tarty. And she’s always liked strong, decisive men.
None of this is extraordinary, or interesting, until something happens that pushes her out of the ordinary. She’s always been quite ordinary — decent grades at school, but not spectacular; stayed on for A levels, but didn’t go to university; neither the most popular girl, nor an outcast, just one of the girls.
After school she got a decent job as a trainee legal secretary with a local firm, and did all the things young people do — went to dances, went on holidays, had various boyfriends. She was happy enough, but somehow, things always seemed a little pointless — the job dull, the boys shallow, unexciting.
Then something happened. She went down to London, sent by the firm, to an industry trade show — she was doing well with her training and they sent her for a bit of a reward. She was approached by a woman — a very well dressed, well spoken, discreetly glamorous woman, from some sort of exclusive recruitment agency; a very impressive personality.
She didn’t have any specific job in mind, she said, but based on CV and general presentation, Chloe could easily double her money if she were to come to London. She gave Chloe her card. Chloe shook her head; “No; sorry, not sure”, and anyway, she had a new boyfriend at home. The woman, M, asked could Chloe meet her later at a bar, to meet her colleague, and Chloe said ‘Why not?’ — M was full of interesting information — much more informative than the seminars at the conference, and Chloe was tired of walking round trade stands.
M came with a colleague, D — an olive skinned woman, very severely elegant (M was blonde). They were both very friendly, in a measured, slightly mocking way — Chloe didn’t mind; she was flattered that they would talk to her at all — and they really knew their stuff.
After a while they said ‘enough shop talk’, and asked about Chloe, her home life. All very friendly, taking a polite interest . They paid her many compliments on her appearance, her body. It was all done in a woman-to woman sort of way, though, so although Chloe was a little embarrassed at their frankness about her breasts, her lips, her arse, she did feel pleased and proud, in a foolish way. She was very young — still only 21.
They began talking about how well Chloe could do — not pushy, more compliments really, but they did have a direction. They were talking about how simple men are, how a pretty girl can get a long way, if she has the ability as well. Chloe supposes now that they wanted to see if she froze up at that point. Quite the opposite — she got a slight feeling that they might be interested in her themselves. She was flattered, a little drunk, and in a public place — with no fear that anything really bad could happen, so she giggled, let them see in her eyes she was interested.
They began to give her specific advice about clothes, tricks with the body, to distract a man, fill his head with thoughts of sex. It was all good fun, Chloe was giggling, even as she was blushing — they of course, were cool as cucumbers, watching her. Chloe sort of knew she was being played. But she was liking it a great deal, liking their eyes on her, liking it that such successful women were paying her so much attention.
She even put on a bit of a show for them, tried out little walks up and down the bar, giggling, but knowing that they (and others in the bar) were enjoying seeing her display herself. When they announced they had to go, Chloe was crestfallen; it shocked her how strongly she felt about it. They said their goodbyes, reminded Chloe that she had their card, smiled cool smiles and left.
After a few seconds, she suddenly felt that if she let this chance pass, she would regret it all her life. She jumped up, ran down the street after them;
“Er, Hi! Again! … Umm”;
They turned, smiling, puzzled; now she was so embarrassed she couldn’t speak.
“What is it dear?” said M.
“Umm, well, I … Er … Well I’m here in London on my own, and my train isn’t until 10 tomorrow, and I wondered … ”, now she began to think the whole thing was a disaster.
But they knew what she meant. M laughed in a slightly patronising way — but Chloe accepted it, somehow, as appropriate;
“Well, we’re off to another meeting actually, with a client, which might go on late; I’m not sure that’s what you would really want to do on a rare evening in London.”
She hadn’t said Chloe couldn’t go. Risking a put down, she said;
“I could do some of those things you told me, and distract him!” — meaning it only partially as a joke, but still taken aback when D, who spoke less often, and who was more serious, did something quite powerful.
She put out a finger and lifted Chloe’s chin: “You want to be careful, pretty Chloe, you might get into deep waters.” She smiled at the girl, but there was a challenge in her eyes; “are you really up for this?”
A sudden rush of daring came over Chloe. These women were quite realistic about a sort of sexual currency in business dealings. She giggled a bit, and then a small, nervous, but sincere voice, which she realised was hers, said;
“If I fancy him, I might not mind.”
She was blushing crazily. She had as good as told them she would fuck their client if they took her with them. Of course it all sounded like joking, but D’s eyes were locked onto hers, and she could see that Chloe meant it. And somehow, she did. Chloe liked the idea of these two knowing she would let a stranger fuck her for the sake of their attention.
D’s smile relaxed a little, and something changed in her attitude toward C. She ceased to act as if she was interested in Chloe’s feelings from that instant onward, revealed her cool and calculating self. She began a slow, almost offensively direct survey of Chloe’s body, as if looking over a horse. Chloe was a little surprised, then shocked herself, realising that she was, actively and specifically, pleased by this — somehow this meant they were taking her seriously, and she discovered that she desperately wanted to be taken seriously.
She found herself shifting to stand more prettily, and waited until D’s eyes met hers again, nervous now, but wanting the woman to see that she was game. Trembling, she felt her nipples stiffen. She was excited, and frightened, but knew, somehow, that she was going to go through with whatever came with the glorious attention from these increasingly fascinating, masterful creatures.
M stepped closer, and claimed Chloe’s attention; her voice was soft, almost concerned; “You know, D is right. You don’t really know what you’re saying. The man we’re going to see…”
“Please, please, let me come with you — I’ll be helpful, I promise — my … my shorthand is good, and I won’t say a word!”
There was a short silence. M and D exchanged glances. D looked at Chloe, back at M, and nodded.
It was M’s turn to do the controlling thing with her finger under Chloe’s chin.
“Very well. You may accompany us. It goes like this; the man we are visiting has very strict dress codes for young female staff. We will need to go and buy you a shorter skirt, some higher heeled shoes and some hold up stockings. I think the blouse will do if we cut off two or three buttons, and you won’t need your panties. You will not speak. Shorthand will not be required. You will meet his eyes only briefly when you are introduced or if he addresses a direct question to you — your eyes will be lowered the rest of the time. Don’t try any of the moves we mentioned. Concentrate on walking elegantly and keeping your thighs apart and your hands by your sides or behind your back. If are successful in ‘distracting him’ it is likely that he will use either your mouth or your pussy, possibly your ass.”
Chloe stared at her for a few seconds, foolishly, shocked. And then realised that this was no more than she had offered myself for — it was just that M had put it plainly. But it was still a shock. Now was the time to walk away.
But she couldn’t; couldn’t lose face, partly. So she blushed, and looked down. Her knees felt weak, but she didn’t move away, and after a moment, looked up again, into M’s eyes, shy, seeing that M was indeed serious, totally sincere. Chloe’s heart made a little flip, then she giggled again, nervously, and heard herself say;
“O … OK.”
She giggled some more, knowing how weak this was, that her vulnerability was horribly clear.
“Have you ever had a man fuck your ass before?”
It felt somehow pathetic to admit to her that this outrageous seeming act, which she would have slapped any boyfriend for even mentioning in passing, was outside her experience, as if she had let M down. But she didn’t dare lie;
“N … no I haven’t.”
It was all so strange! But she genuinely wanted to oblige. Not sexually excited yet (although there were stirrings), but personally excited. Exhilarated? Certainly!
“In that case, I feel certain that we will find ourselves informing him of this, and that he will want to take your virginity there. What do you have to say to that?”
M still had her finger under Chloe’s chin, and she froze for a few seconds — this was the point at which she should back down. She couldn’t not tell the truth. The truth, though, startled her as she spoke, quietly, in a breathy voice;
“I … I think … I think I’d quite like that to happen. W … Will you still be there?”
Chloe was bright red, her cheeks pulsing with heat. How could she be saying these things? Yet she had no thought for anything else other than pleasing these two.
“Oh yes, he likes an audience. If the meeting is a success, we’ll pay you £500. Come on, there’s a lot to do. Oh, and one final thing. Don’t EVER, interrupt me, or D, like that again. You stay quiet, speak when you’re spoken to; listen and learn, and be extremely polite. D and I are ‘Madam’, and the client is ‘My Lord’ because he is a Lord, and his staff are all either Sir or Madam.”
They marched her into an expensive boutique, and quickly bought her a gorgeous little pleated grey skirt — a size too small and really short. Two doors along she wore a pair of high heeled wedge soled pale blue strappy mules out of the shop, and in a flash department store she was provided with white hold up stockings, and accompanied to the dressing room by M, who watched as she removed her panties and tights, took them from her and binned them, just as her old skirt and shoes had gone. The stockings were short, really only a few inches beyond the knee, leaving an expanse of bare, inviting thigh. Chloe thanked god she’d just had her legs waxed, and had shaved her pubes a little, to neaten them.
Then came another shock;
“Lift your skirt.”
Chloe froze, but then realised that she knew, clearly, that she wanted to. Really wanted to. In fact, she suddenly realised she wanted M to touch her there. Still, it was hard to do such a wanton thing, in a public dressing room — for a near stranger! How could this be?
Nevertheless, slowly and with short, shallow breaths, she lifted the new skirt to show her pussy to M for the first time. She was so frightened that M would decide she was ugly down there, and call it all off. She didn’t dare drop her hands, and stood there, trembling, until M spoke;
“A nice enough puss. Still too curly — just a neat line down the middle is all you need to bring attention to your slot: the rest should go; but you’ll pass. Are you wet?”
Again, the insistent need to be totally truthful, however betraying, however shaming, however it made her vulnerable;
“Um … A … A little” — more fiery blushing.
“He’ll want to find you wet. Keep thinking about being pushed over his desk and him taking you in the ass, with us watching. If that doesn’t work, you must tell me in the lift at his office that you need assistance. Come on, quickly now.”
The rest of the journey was a blur — she was ignored in the taxi as the two of them discussed business matters, facts and figures. She was trying to concentrate on getting wet down below. She didn’t think M’s advice very sensible — the thought of having her ass fucked had always made her squirm before. But maybe that squirming was because, somewhere deep down, some dirty part of her wanted it. She didn’t know, couldn’t think straight.
In any case, she did get wetter.
One thing she knew, though. She wanted ‘assistance’ in the lift. From M or D. Or both of them, preferably. She began to get very wet at the thought of this.
Chloe didn’t have to ask: D, very matter of factly said “lift your skirt, girl”, even before the lift doors closed, and, after only a tiny hesitation, she just obeyed; D’s hand was at her immediately, and Chloe nearly swooned from pleasure and shame in equal proportions, as two fingers with long, lacquered nails ran along her slit, ending at her clit — now peeking out from its hood. She was being sexually manipulated by a stranger in a lift, with another stranger looking on!
“Look at me girl!”
She was quite frightening, really. M was firm, and strong, and Chloe knew she would never challenge her. But D was somehow terrifyingly cold. Disobedience didn’t even occur to Chloe.
D’s face was impassive, Chloe had no way of knowing if she liked her pussy, approved of her wetness, or not. She might as well have been studying a routine two page report. Chloe, on the other hand, was almost overcome with the intensity of it.
“Just remember, do exactly as you are requested to at all times; keep quiet, smile prettily, be very well mannered and pretty-behaved. Try not to think — we’ll look after everything for you.”
The fact that this bald statement was not a turn-off — far from it; made her almost delirious, like a wet dream — that was mad, totally crazy, but relentlessly pulled her in, deeper in to the insanity of the evening.
The building they were in just reeked of money and power, and it was intoxicating; a visible quiver ran through her, and she hyperventilated a little, before calming herself down, shooting a look of reassurance at M as the lift slowed.
“You may drop your hem now, pretty” said M, which made Chloe giggle to cover her sshcok — how strange, to have gotten so relaxed about showing her naked pussy in a public place so quickly.
A look from D quieted her immediately, and she took a deep breath, knowing she must not become hysterical — realising that it was a real possibility — that her excitement was a hair’s breadth from becoming panic if she let the strangeness get to her, terribly conscious of the way her cleavage was now exposed by the removal of three buttons from the thin cotton blouse.
She darted a quick, nervous smile at M and then they were walking a short way along a wide and plush hallway to an outer office where three women sat. Two were young, pretty, leggy, busty, skimpily dressed, not so much sitting as kneeling on funny back to front chairs, knees spread apart, now looking up and smiling radiant, open, soft smiles of welcome. The other woman was in her mid 50’s, conservatively dressed, short, awkward looking, fussy, angular.
She stood; approached them;
“Miss M, Miss D. Welcome. We weren’t expecting three.”
M said; “Yes of course. I’m sorry, but Chloe here just happened to be available at the last minute, and we hoped she would be acceptable.”
To Chloe it sounded as if she was simply to be given to this man, as a sweetener, that it had always been the plan that this would happen, amazed that there was no surprise at all, suggesting that such things must be normal, here. She thought she ought to do something about this, but, very simply, she didn’t want to. Instead, she just thought how clever and amazing M and D were — to have got her to this stage of accepting the unbelievable, without any seeming effort at all, in under three hours.
She was trembling tinily, trembling all over; horribly aware of the gazes of the two bimbos, who no doubt understood her likely fate much better than she did. The thought of leaving didn’t even occur to her; instead, her mind was busy with wishes that she wasn’t blushing so obviously, that she could be as cool as all the others. But then it was not they whose skirts were being matter-of-factly raised by the older PA to expose an obviously well-lubricated sex; whose slit was once again being investigated by strange fingers in a curiously impersonal way.
Part of her demanded that she run away, scream, shout. But in fact she just stood there, as calmly as she could, thighs well apart, as the woman concluded her little study. Chloe couldn’t keep a little gasp of pleasure to herself, as the woman, either accidentally or intentionally, flicked her clit, deliciously.
One of the girls giggled, to be quelled by a stern look form the older woman. Chloe blushed again. If allowed to speak, she would have asked all of these women to ravish her, right there. She was more ready for sex than she had ever been, and she was loving the feeling that she was not responsible. Yes, she hadgot herself into this situation, but now there was nothing to be done but obey.
“Her presentation is acceptable, if a little unrefined.” M said, “She’s quite fresh, not trained, but she responds well.”
“She is fully available?”
“Oh yes, completely”
What did that mean? If the last hour is anything to go by, more than Chloe could imagine, she thought. It was such a risky, exciting, portentous phrase — “fully available” — it made her feel all loose inside.
“Very well, I will announce you.”
The woman knocked on an imposing door, opened it slightly and leaned through;
“Miss D and Miss M for their meeting, Sir”
After a short, sotto voce conversation, she ushered the three of them in. The room was huge, heavily panelled in dark wood, with dark, heavy, masculine furniture. The man standing at its centre was also dark; tall, broad-shouldered, but not too heavily built: strongly featured if not handsome, relaxed, supremely confident. Chloe felt weak at the knees, knowing that she was now supposed to encourage this stranger to fuck her. And, she realised, that he really wanted that to happen. She was ready to bend over his desk right then and ask him to fuck her as hard as he liked. She’d never felt so horny in her life. Or so vulnerable.
The man greeted M and D warmly, made a little small talk, without seeming even to notice Chloe, who could only stand, her hands at her sides, desperately self conscious. The formalities over with, Lord K (for that is his name, and Chloe recognised him from pictures in Tatler and Queen) looked quizzically at Chloe, then over to M;
“I take it this is a little gift for me?”
“Yes, my lord; a little de-trop, perhaps, but she became fortuitously available, and, well we couldn’t think of anyone better to offer her to — if she is to your taste, of course.”
Chloe was trembling as he approached her;
“She’s nervous!”
“Extremely fresh, my lord, but ripe.”
He smiled, untroubled, lifted Chloe’s chin in a way that was becoming familiar to her, looked into her eyes until she, unable to cope, looked down, demurely;
“Don’t worry, pretty; you wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t what you need. Look at me now!”
She knew that this was the voice of her ideal man; strength without any need to bully or rage. Her gaze quailed before his ; she felt he could see the thoughts rushing through her mind;
“I think you’d be happier stripped, pretty thing, with your wrists restrained — don’t you agree? You’re all of a flutter.”
A pause, as he looked at her, teasing with his eyes — she was melting. She thought she had better answer, but no sooner did her mouth move than he made a shushing gesture, his fingers at her lips.
“Quiet, you need only answer direct questions. Others know what is best for you now. Step up onto the low table now, and prettily remove your blouse, bra and skirt; display yourself to me.”
And so, because there was nothing in her head but the need to please, she stripped; without dramatic, ‘stripper’ moves, but doing her best to display herself to advantage, to telegraph submissive modesty allied to helpless arousal (all as suggested by M and D in the bar), until she was wearing nothing but the stockings and the heels.
After a moment he spoke on the intercom;
“Girls, bring a pink satin full restraint set for the pretty gift.”
She was all but naked! Presenting herself, quietly, but as sexually as she could, to three strangers — strangers who kept upping the ante on the depth of her submission — because that’s what it was, she realised, echoes of what little porn she had come across resounding in her mind. Submission.
She wondered if her feet were far enough apart, moved them a little further out, caught a small approving nod from M, and closed her eyes in satisfaction and commingled shame. She had submitted to M and D. Would submit to Lord K. She knew she would — could not imagine having the nerve, in any case to ask to be released.
Her nipples were like stones, her skin taut with excitement, her pussy tingling. In any case she was about to be ‘restrained’ — even if it was with pretty satin. Her submission would be enforceable then.
Lord K spoke, to M and D;
“The tits are really rather good, and I think a well formed cunt, under all that hair. Obviously no virgin.”
“No, but her arse is untouched, and she’s never been restrained, or punished.”
The word punishment opened new doors of fluttering speculation. Of course; of course, how could she not have understood before — especially given D’s manner. She had submitted, to Dominants; and Dominants whipped submissives — it was a cliché, but obviously a true one. She was going to be whipped!
Then she really did taste fear at the back of her throat; her heart was thudding. But she did nothing. Nothing that is, except try her hardest to look desirable; show her lovely breasts, her long, svelte legs, her smooth, firm arse, her slim belly, her long neck to their best advantage. Because that’s all she could be, here — a sexy toy. If she couldn’t be that, then she was pointless.
It was ridiculous, but she knew herself to be full of happiness that he liked her breasts. She was proud of them, liked to wear low cut blouses, thin tops. But now here she was deciding that a little toss of her head would set them swaying a little, and show off the stiffness of her proud nipples. Maybe if he was playing with her nipples he wouldn’t be whipping her. But maybe he liked to whip ‘rather good’ tits — she’d heard of this. Her eyes closed as her heart trip hammered.
“Do you judge her responsive?”
D laughed, speaking now for the first time;
“Helplessly so — she’s born to be used. She’s dripping; test her yourself.”
He turned back to Chloe, looked her in the eyes again;
“Until those useless girls get here, will you restrain yourself for me?”
This WAS a direct question. There was only one possible answer, and she gave it; nervously, but willingly;
“Yes my Lord, of course my Lord”
“Hands at the back of your neck, then; chin up, grasp each wrist with the opposite hand, and don’t let go, whatever happens.” He waits until she has obeyed, her breasts lifted and set moving deliciously.
“Now you are to pretend you are restrained with strong steel chains — you can’t let go even if you want to. Understand? You won’t disappoint me, will you, pretty?”
“No, my Lord”.
When he smiled at her she melted inside; his hand was at her sex. She had expected crudeness, but for now his touch was nearly as subtle as D’s. She mewed softly with helpless pleasure as he slowly insinuated two fingers into her soaking slot — she had never been so wet, so open, so shamed. The fingers moved backwards, to her ass. Feeling a constriction, she leant forward slightly, swiveled her heels outward. She was helping him to penetrate her ass! And then a finger pushed into her tight little ring, at the same time as his thumb slotted itself into her pussy.
“Gnnn. Aaaa- aah …”
She nearly came — just from the intensity of the situation. She was nearly in tears with the pleasure and the shame; the utter exposure of her wantonness, all mixed up into a wicked drug.
He stepped away from her then, eliciting another mew, this time of disappointment. Her groin bucked, reflexively. M and D exchanged cool, but satisfied looks, while Chloe was almost panicking with shame. Once again he lifted her chin, commanding her attention;
“You’re a very lovely girl; you’re also a helpless slut. If you allow me to restrain you, I have a fancy to using you rather … how shall I say … yes … ‘harshly’ — there really is no other word for it. Now would be the time to say that you wish to leave. You will not have another chance.”
Her head hummed, her brain too cloudy to think clearly - think at all, so that she says the only words that come to her — the truth again;
“I … do whatever you want to me, please. … My … My Lord”
Something in her relaxed then. It was over; she was no longer responsible, except for looking pretty, and being obedient. Also, it was clear from the atmosphere between the three that she had said the right thing, that they were pleased with her, and she wanted that so much, because her opportunity to do anything independently had been gradually reducing over the last few hours, until now it was simply to do her best to submit prettily, and to display herself wantonly.
She felt desperately vulnerable. Some sort of crude comment about her — about her sexual nature — was made, that she didn’t really understand, some sort of in-joke, and they all laughed. An hour previously she would have wanted to know what it meant, felt left out, felt angry; insulted — but she understood somehow that she had ceased, now, to be a player on their stage. That she had become a prop, a mechanical.
She blushed, deeply, ashamed, but somehow also calm. Lack of responsibility for seeming intelligent, or witty, or well informed meant more time to concentrate on what had become a fascinating subject for her: how to hold herself, display herself so that M would want to have sex with her. Because somehow M was the pivot of all this. The most beautiful, the most fascinating person she had ever met. And no, she didn’t fancy herself in love. Just possessed.
Idly, she wondered what it would be like to be whipped. She didn’t want it … but, there again, she was suddenly aware that she would be disappointed if K didn’t do something like cane her — that there would be something missing from the experience. And once she had thought that, she realised that she would like to have D take something — a belt perhaps, to her breasts. Not that she likes pain, but because she would like to see whether D’s marvellous cool would be altered in such circumstances. And then she thought that anything D had from her, she wanted M to have too — so that now she was hoping that all three of her would beat her at least once.
She was lost in fantasies, in unreality, as the two lovelies from the outer office entered: she was required to kneel; found herself, stupidly, softly, even helpfully obedient, made embarrassed little giggles at her own clumsiness, blushing delightfully — and then they began to attach the slinky restraints; first, a collar; fully three inches wide, the pink satin backed, as it was throughout, by fantastically pliable white leather, and decorated with sophisticated little lace trims — pretty, but obviously strong.
The collar was adjusted to fit very snugly — it would be impossible to forget she was wearing it — partly because she could now only move her head in a limited way, but secondly because each breath had to come consciously. Next, the cuffs, slightly less tight; immediately linked, first to each other, and then pulled up and back over her head; linked to the collar behind, her lovely breasts rising and swaying; their vulnerability an invitation, the proud nipples an advert of her arousal. The sensation of vulnerability was powerful and effective; she whimpered a little; the girls giggled.
The ankle cuffs were looser still, heavy, and joined by a short length of gleaming chain. Then a quarter cup, strapless, uplift bra, snugged up to the undersides of her unfettered breasts, subtly tailored to provide support and uplift, connected front and back with taut chain to the collar, making her tits appear to defy gravity, moving with exaggerated freedom.
A belly chain and a loop of chain from the collar at the front, taken between her legs and up to the belly chain at the small of her back — the feel of chain on her soft and sensitive sex lips affected and shamed her almost unbearably, and she quivered, helpless, obviously, blushing as the girls giggled again.
The matching shoes were a little too small, with what must have been 4” heels, but Chloe is in love with them as soon as she saw them. In fact, she was in love with the whole get-up, entranced with the way every part made her feel like a living doll. Shyly, Chloe raised her eyes to meet M’s, loving the look of approval she read there, her heart fluttering madly. M smiled at her, a satisfied, saturnine smile, and said;
“Chloe, why don’t you thank Lord K for your pretty clothes, and tell him he was right to have you restrained?”
Chloe’s heart flipped. She didn’t think she could manage to get even a word out! Now they wanted a little speech from her! And to say such things in front of the two bimbos! But she must! Again, she found that the truth of her feelings made itself clear without her having to decide what to say;
“My … My Lord. I … I thank you so much for … for these, lovely, lovely things. I … I hope that you like me in them even half as much as I like wearing them. And … and I am happy to be restrained”
And it was true — there was something relaxing about having her wrists linked as they were — again, a freedom from responsibility — enforced acceptance. She need not blame herself for not struggling, not resisting, as it was simply no longer possible. There was muffled tittering from the bimbos, and a lopsided smile from Lord K, but again Chloe got the impression she was saying the right things.
Which was good, because these people now had her chained up and were really quite scary. And also because when she got that feeling, she also got a warm feeling in her belly which was like a drug to her. It was the same feeling she had had earlier, when parading herself to M and D in the bar; a warm, sexy, heady feeling, which centred in her pussy, and as she felt right now, made her want to be fucked.
All of which made it extremely easy for Lord K, approaching, to bury two fingers unceremoniously into her soaking sex, and for her to keep soft, and even thrust her hips a little, making it easy for him, knowing M could see how how completely she was opening herself, overwhelmed by the feelings of surrender, of shame, and the pleasure of being penetrated. And the surrendering itself made her hotter, and she began to go deep into a loop of ever greater arousal until she realises she was getting close to climaxing; her hips thrusting hotly, helplessly, her lips mumbling please for more, her cheeks hot as she realised that, however ashamed she was, she didn’t want him to stop.
But he did, stepping away from her, leaving her writhing in disappointment and shame, hearing them laugh at her helpless arousal, and having no choice but to accept it.
“Interesting. Well, ladies, we have business to discuss. May I suggest that this little lovely will be all the better for a more prettily trimmed pussy and an encounter with Miss A’s cane — she can be brought back in half an hour or so.”
“But of course” purred M — “Just as you wish, Lord K.”
And without more ado, Chloe was led, shaking, from the room, by means of firm pressure on the chain that ran between her legs, the links finding their way between her well lubricated sex lips. She was too overwhelmed by the speed of events to do anything but obey — which was, after all, what she had agreed to do. She wished she could think of something else to do other than simply go along with them, with the threat of the cane. But in fact, doing what he waned — pleasing M, was, in simple fact, exactly what she did want.
Read the next part of Chloe and the Agency
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