It was a big day at our office. A visit from the board - come all the way from America, and they were doing a tour - even the Founder was there. We were tidying and cleaning all week. I hadn’t been there that long, but I was fully caught up in the excitement - our founder was a public figure, quite well known - not to mention insanely rich.
I felt incredibly lucky to have got the job - times were tight, and my qualifications weren’t all that great, for all that I had been an A student in school - things went a little wrong in my final year, what with my parents dying in a car crash, so exams weren’t top of my list. I went off the rails a little for a few years after that - drugs, bad boyfriends, minor criminality; now I was trying to get my life straight again.
It turned out that the VIP party was going to tour our floor, so I dressed up - bought a new outfit - ok, yes, slightly prettier outfit than my standard work ones - and had my hair done. And I wore my high shoes. I knew that my prettiness, and the curviness imparted to my slim body by decent tits and a round, tight ass, were perhaps something to do with me getting the job - even though no-one had tried anything on, there was a feeling that there were a slightly greater number of pretty young girls in the office than chance would normally allow, and an acceptance that such girls might dress a little more excitingly than in typical office culture. And as a pretty girl who had lost a couple of years, I was happy with that - if it would help me move on a little more quickly.
Of course, they were late - these things always run over time. And Natalie and I had gotten bored, so we began horsing about a little - pretending we were working up a welcome dance for the founder - just filling in the time, really, although both of us, I suspect, didn’t mind an opportunity to show off a little to the rest of the office. But as luck would have it, we were gee-ing each other on to do sexy little shimmies when the VIP party walked in.
It could have been - well, it was - an awkward moment, but one of the female execs with him seemed to figure it out very quickly, after a quick whisper to one of our mates, who happened to be by the door.
“Carry on girls” she called, as we were giggling ourselves back out of the the way, a little panicky, wondering if we were going to get fired.
“A light-hearted welcome routine, Sir”, she said to someone - the Founder presumably. And then she looked back at us, with a power in her stare. So, nervous, blushing and giggling, we had to do our little routine for real, including the cheerleader bit which we had only talked about - flicking up our skirts to show Him our knickers - it just went that way. We trailed off, weakly, giggling again, and went back to the side of the room, hearts thumping, grinning but also horribly embarrassed that our little bit of playing had got mixed up with such an important visit, but we did get a little round of applause and a few smiles from the visitors and more from our colleagues.
It seemed soon forgotten, apart from banter - the party moved on, discussing more serious issues, no doubt. I saw the female exec eying us keenly, and wondered if we would get into trouble, but decided it wasn’t worth worrying about.
The rest of the morning was a bit of a holiday atmosphere, but real life quickly kicked in - we were a little behind as a result of the preparations work, and things were settling down - we would have forgotten all about it in a day or two.
Then, after lunch, I got a message - would I go to such a room on the second floor? Strange - I didn’t do many errands, and didn’t know anyone up there - but I went.
It was a small, swanky meeting room. The female exec from the morning was there, with one of the top brass - a woman - from our lot. Both of them looked incredibly suave and polished. I felt cheap and girlish; blushed. This had to be about this morning. Was I in trouble?
The exec - American, like the Founder, spoke;
“The Founder liked your dancing. He liked your body too, I think. You’re acceptably pretty. You dress nicely. You dress provocatively. You act sexy. He likes that in a pretty young girl.”
I am blushing, flustered - the way she is talking is inappropriate, certainly - borders on the insulting, but it is undeniably flattering. It doesn’t help, though, that there are two of them. I feel incredibly self-conscious. All I can do is smile, blush, and a silly little half-giggle comes from me. Suddenly, I’m all tingly. Where is this going? A pause, they both look at me, calm, assured, steady, but definitely watching my reaction closely. I realise I need to to be clear - they want to know if I am pleased, if I’m open to this sort of talk, before they say more.
Well, am I? Well, of course, I know immediately that I am. It’s exciting, the idea that this rich guy fancies me - even if it’s on such an obvious level. But the situation is so weird - these two, so businesslike about it. No subtlety, no hiding place. Am I happy to be talked about as totty, eye-candy, for the boss? I know the answer. Yes. Yes, I want this - whatever it is, it will be a change, an adventure. One thing about straight life - it gets a little dull.
It’s hard, telling these powerful, competent, women - successful businesswomen who would never be in such circumstances - to make it clear that you are happy to be considered as a sex-object - but hey, I’ve given up pride before. I blush, make myself smile;
“Wow! Gosh! I’m .. Thank you!”
I sound like an air-head bimbo, but it seems to do the job, because she carries on. Somewhere, I know that I have been moved along a moral line, lost some self-respect. But I am weak and poor (so many debts..), and they are strong and wealthy. I swallow, blush, and keep smiling.
“He’d like to see more of you. You’re invited to a private party his evening. You will dance - you will dance a great deal. You will wear a sexy dress - definitely a dress; a small dress. High heels, sexy underwear; very skimpy, sexy underwear - do you understand?”
She doesn’t ask if I can, or will go - just assumes. I’m irritated, but I swallow it - because of course I will go, of course I will dance, and of course I will wear a sexy dress - a VIP party ! I smile again, feeling weak; a little breathless;
“Yes .. yes - thank you!”
“One more thing”; she paused, letting the silence grow a little; “The founder will very likely wish to use you.”
A long silence. I know what she means, but I don’t want to know. ‘Use me’ - ‘Use’? That was just .. degrading.
I tried to look innocent - as if I didn’t understand. None of us believed me. Eventually, with a tight, sneering little smile, she said, very clearly;
“He will want to fuck you. Use you for sex.”
The silence that follows is thick and somehow sonorous.
She is impassive; the other woman is impassive - they could be talking about a filing cabinet. My heart is suddenly thumping; fast, irregular; I am shocked, breathing shallow and fast. Fuck the Founder! My legs are weak. At one level - yes - yes, of course - a rich, famous, good looking guy wants to fuck me. Hooray! But to be asked like this - in this impersonal, official way! Too humiliating! I stare at them, mouth open, for a few seconds, then cannot bear their even, calm expressions, and have to look down at the floor.
The silence drags on. I’m trembling. This is so unfair! Why are they being like this with me? All he had to do was say a couple of nice things to me and I would do whatever he wanted. But to discuss it in this cold way - it’s humiliating! I just can’t say yes. I can’t!
If I say no, then it will be over - no party, no dancing, no excitement, no chance at a different experience, a different life. I have to say yes! But I can’t! I look up again, wretched, suddenly terrified of this cool, powerful woman. Terrified and at the same time fascinated.
“Your friend said yes. He may want both of you.”
“N .. Natalie?”
She just stares at me. She’s not going to help me out again.
I found out later this was a lie - she hadn’t spoken to Natalie then - but by then I had already said;
“O…OK. Yes .. I .. I guess so.” Oh my god, did I really say that? I really did. I was bright red, and trembling.
She looked carefully at me, inviting me to change my mind. I blushed more, but I didn’t speak, looked down at the floor, quivering.
A long silence, during which I twice nearly blurted out ‘No!’ - but somehow didn’t. And then it was too late;
“Very good. Veronica will give you money for new clothes, shoes, underwear, a hair-do, and tell you the details. There’s a dinner beforehand. Don’t eat much - keep to salads. Don’t get drunk. We will look after you - don’t take drinks from the general tables. We need to make sure - you understand.”
I supposed I did - they couldn’t let anything untoward happen to the Founder - didn’t want to risk me getting tanked from nerves or whatever.
She left me with Veronica, who gave me a little wallet with details. I was not to say anything at all to my colleagues - my boss would be informed that I was required on other duties. I should collect my things and leave straight away.
She told me a few shops that would be suitable. She was calm, and matter of fact, and it helped me calm down, too. It was as if we were discussing some normal practical event. There was a pre-loaded card in the wallet - she said there were two thousand pounds on it!
“Spend it anyway you like; but if your outfit or behaviour at the dinner or at the club are not acceptable, your employment will be terminated. Your employment will be terminated if you do anything wrong at all, in fact. On the other hand, if you can dance and act and generally co-operate in a pleasing way as you did this morning, all will be well, and you will earn a significant reward.”
“I need you to sign this Non Disclosure Agreement.”
Of course she did. Whatever happened, the little people must not tell the story of what really happens.
And of course, I signed it. I didn’t read all of it, but it was quite short and seemed to be saying what I thought it might. Again, the little people never check the contracts (actually, neither do the big people - they pay lawyers to do the boring stuff for them - but hey). The little people know they’re going to get fucked before they start - no matter what it says on the piece of paper - so what difference does it really make?
And in my case, of course, I literally did know that I was, actually, going to get fucked.
I felt so weird as I walked back down the hallway (my, but the upper floors were posh!) - I was now a whore. The weirdness, I realised, came from not hating the idea as much as I knew I ought to. As I said, I’d had some dark periods in my life already; this might turn out dark, but probably nothing to match my worst - and in much, much classier surroundings, with new, sexy clothes, to boot.
The weirdness came and went in waves as the afternoon wore on; I felt almost sick a couple of times - but there was nothing to be done about it: I’d signed the paper, and whatever they had told me, I sort of knew that if I pulled out now I’d lose my precious job; so I kept a tight lid on it and threw myself into spending their money.
It was surprisingly easy to spend a fair chunk of it, fast - 200 on a pair of very high-heeled strappy shoes that almost weren’t there, 150 on some gorgeous lingerie, ditto, 500 on a dress, ditto. It was a halter neck dress, and, looking in the mirror, I knew just what it needed to set it off perfectly.
The thought made me nervous, but I looked again, and it was right - the dress needed a stronger collar to tie the spaghetti straps to. I went into Ann Summers and there it was - a diamante collar, with a couple of steel rings on it that would be perfect. It came with a lead, as well. What the hell, I thought - if the guy wants to fuck me (and I keep having to remind myself that, unbelievably, I’ve said yes already!), he can have me on a leash!
I went to the beauty parlour in the hotel where the dinner was - Veronica’s sensible suggestion. Natalie was there, too. We both blushed, and for a while it was hard to talk anyway, as we were being shaved, and plucked, and toned. They shaved my pussy, all but a little ‘landing strip’, without asking if I wanted it. I would never have dared ask, but I liked it.
Nat and I got used to each other after a while, and the knowledge that we had both answered yes to a very unusual question was just accepted between us after a while, although we did eventually figure out the trick that had been played on us. By then, it made us giggle. Nervous giggles, though.
We kept stealing sidelong glances at each other, though; is that what a whore looks like? Are we really going to both be there - with him? Or would he choose? I assumed the latter - so it was a competition. Which was fine by me because I was beginning to feel good, while Nat was less sure about her dress, and was frankly envious of the collar - although she was right, it was a little whore-like.
Then, all of a sudden, there was only just time for a shower, a beautician, and to get dressed - and another 300 odd off the card! It was exciting, spending all this company money - and looking in the mirror and feeling that I might even be worth it!
We lurked near the lobby until we saw Veronica and Ms M, our American recruiter; we were both suddenly shy, and crept up cautiously. It became clear that there were four girls altogether - two from other parts of the building were coming towards M as well, one of whom I had noticed in the beauticians, although I didn’t know her. The other must have come direct from work, judging by her outfit. We became even shyer. Had they been put the same question? It was impossible to know, and impossible to ask them. They were both young and very pretty, with well-developed figures. It seemed the Founder had no time for flat-chested girls.
Men were looking at us - men I recognised, and men I didn’t - mostly men, some younger women, obviously there as eye-candy. But we were the real totty, no mistake. And I was going to flaunt myself so that it was me that got fucked. I was a little panicky at the thought, but yes, I had decided it - I was going to be as pretty and sexy and attractive as I could be - and I would put out, if he wanted me.
It made me feel all fizzy inside, knowing this, and I had to stop myself thinking about all sorts of consequences and implications but I was certain - there was no way I was going to have done all this, put up with that humiliating interview, and not be the girl The Founder chose.
I began to get very self-conscious indeed. M was looking at me, calm but focused, and I blushed. But I liked it; liked her looking - I was sure she was mostly looking at me, and not the other three - but I kept wanting to check, and so I kept meeting her eyes, then looking down, blushing, flicking my eyes back up, to meet her knowing eyes and small smile, which only made me blush more. She knew - she knew I was ready to be fucked - that I was going to whore myself. It was weird, knowing she knew - but I knew she was pleased, and I liked it - I really liked it, I realised, even though I found it disturbing. It gave her a power over me, and I was happy that she had it. Somehow it was safer to be under her power than to be there on my own. I found I wanted to please her - to show her that she was right about me - that she could trust me to please Him, to be what He wanted.
I preened a little, noticed her smile at the corner of her mouth, blushed, and preened some more. My pussy was warm. God, I had never felt like this before. Nat said something, but I couldn’t really talk at that point - somehow I decided it was very important to be seen, for him to notice me, and so I began to position myself where he would certainly see me if he arrived via the lobby. Suddenly I wished that the dress was shorter - after having felt it was too short all afternoon. What was the point having made an effort if it didn’t get me the prize? The prize of being fucked by a stranger? God, but this was weird!
A commotion - it was the VIP party. Almost without thinking about it, I ‘dropped’ my little clutch purse and bent from the hip to pick it up, turning away from where he would pass. The short hem rode up my thighs; I stayed down, making it seem I had fumbled, before slowly straightening up.
I was bright pink, butterflies in my stomach; I had just flashed my thighs - possibly my skimpy panties - to the whole top-brass of the company. But I saw that tiny smile at the corner of M’s mouth again, and I felt good - even if it made me blush all over again. The way she was looking at me - was she a lesbian? I knew I wasn’t a lesbian myself - I liked men, I liked sex with men - but the thought of her wanting me sexually was strangely fascinating.
I was shaking now - the other three totty girls were looking at me, variously grinning or daggers; and quite a few of the men in the room were staring at my ass or breasts. We were moving into the large private dining room, and Nat, grinning, made a point of catching hold of the lead hanging from my collar and walking me in. I tried to protest but M caught my eye and shook her head. She was quite the Madam, and I blushed, knowing for sure that I was being whored, and knowing for sure that I was whoring myself right along with them. It made for a noticeable entrance, alright. Being led along on a leash seemed shockingly slutty, and, weirder still, I liked it - liked knowing that anyone who saw would be thinking about me in terms of sex, would know that I was going to be fucked that night by someone rich and powerful. I was a little bit breathless - calmed myself the only way I knew how - by walking attractively - OK - sexily.
It had all happened so fast - I wasn’t that sort of girl? Or was I?
Six of us girls were placed at a round table, within the main horseshoe run - where all could ogle us, of course. I concentrated on sitting as prettily as I could, and ate hardly anything, drinking only water, smiling a lot when people spoke, but not really speaking. Nat, on the other hand, was gabbling away like anything - she was nervous too, I supposed.
Mostly I was aware that I was displaying myself. All of this was shameful - to be doing this in front of a load of strangers, so a rich man would choose me instead of another slut - but I had come this far, and there really was no going back. There was no point being here and not being knock-out sexy - even if I felt like a slutty bimbo. So I posed like crazy, lifting my arms to brush back my hair to make my tits move, licking my lips slowly - that sort of thing.
At some point, it occurred to me that if I stood up and went to the loo (even though I had no need to), He (and everyone else), would probably watch me walk; that I could walk very beautifully, very sexually. I blushed at even having had the thought, but it wouldn’t let me go. And then I thought; why not get Nat to lead me? Make it really obvious that I was happy to be led around on a leash. Make myself appear submissive and vulnerable; not even able to move without being directed.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t! But something was compelling me, and in the end I leaned over to Nat, and asked her if she would lead me to the loos. She looked at me with puzzlement, then shock, then with a wicked grin;
“Ok then, you slapper, you!” She was laughing, but we both knew that this was serious too; that I really was being a slapper, and I blushed, but kept looking at her until she stood up, and reached over for the lead.
The room went almost silent as she led me out of the room, walking slowly. I walked like a catwalk model, along an imaginary straight line, letting my hips move in a pronounced wiggle, my hands demurely clasped behind my back, eyes lowered. Nat was doing her best sexy walk too. I was trembling, but my pussy was hot and I knew I liked it.
We did go to the loo, hid in a cubicle, and Nat exploded into hysterical giggles. I was too nervous to giggle, and she looked at me, getting more serious;
“You really want to fuck him, don’t you?”
“I .. I suppose I do. Yes. Well, what I want is .. I want him to choose me. And .. and then I guess that means he’ll want to fuck me. Oh God, Nat; what is happening?”
“Come on, we’ve got to get back”
We tumbled out of the cubicle, and I shrieked a little, surprised, as M was there - she must have heard everything.
We dithered like guilty schoolgirls until she said, briskly;
“Natalie, you may go back now. I will bring Lila along in in a minute.”
There was no arguing with her, but it was an entirely different matter being led along by a boss, a stranger - with Nat I could pretend that it was all a bit of fun, play-acting, but we all knew that M was deadly serious, and there were high red spots on my cheeks as she took the lead;
“Lift your skirt, please - right up now; that’s it. Hold for me.”
I complied without thought, without hesitation; she had natural command - over me at any rate. I was trembling tinily, all over - a delicious but un-nerving feeling. She held the lead, shortened it, with one hand, lifted so that my head was up. Then, her other hand went under my dress, beneath my legs.
She was going to feel me up - find out how shamefully wet I was! Desperately, if stupidly weakly, I pulled away, as I knew a decent girl should.
She jerked the lead a little, shocking me. Her voice was calm, but again was utterly convincing.
“Don’t try to resist me, pretty - not ever. Do you understand me?”
She wanted an answer, it was clear, and somehow, despite being clear that what she was saying was insupportable - immoral - plain wrong - I had no better idea than to do what she wanted - I was suddenly genuinely frightened of earning her displeasure - or was that eagerness to earn her approval?
“Yes .. yes, m .. madam’ my voice was weak and breathy, but it was clear enough in the silent room. She let it hang while the reality of what had been accepted as the reality between us sank in, then;
“Now, open your legs - better. Keep still, now.”
And I made myself keep still as she touched my pussy through the lacy little panties. I couldn’t help it; my eyes closed, I bit my lip, and even so made a little moan. I was so wet!
“These panties will never do; you’re soaking you little slut. Take them off!”
My eyes flew open at that, but her face was calmly serious, and I blushed, looking down. There had been a knowing look in her eyes that shook me. She was right; I was a slut - and I liked it; liked being singled out by her, liked her fingers on my pussy. Liked being unable to resist her orders as I rolled my panties down my thighs, then dropped them to the floor. She made me leave them where they fell.
She took the leash, and led me back to the dining room. The sensation of being naked under the short dress was incredible - terrifying, exciting, sexy.
We re-entered the room, to another rapid quiet. The sound of my heels on the parquet floor was loud and obvious. When she left me at the small table, I was too embarrassed to even look at the other girls, just stared down at my plate, imagining them sneering at me, feeling my heart thump in me. But I was still posing carefully, needing to look sexy, to be desirable. I was making myself a whore - forcing the pace, even. Why? Beyond the obvious answer that I kept finding myself wanting to. Wanting to more than anything I could really remember wanting before. Yes, I had been addicted to cocaine - I had craved it - but never this real, deep, positive wanting. I wanted to be chosen. I wanted to please M. I wanted these people to see how sexy I was.
Much later, there were a series of toasts from the top people at the table, and the last one was directed at Nat and I - we were made to get up, and reprise our dance. I went white, knowing this meant flipping up my dress to show my naked puss; but there seemed no other option.
We both blushed like crazy, and made a hash of it, giggling madly. I got an incredible kick from flashing my pussy (of course I made sure I was facing the Founder and not too far from him at that point) - it left me breathless, my pussy hot and throbbing. They had us do it again. Why not - two pretty young girls shimmying for forty older men, and flipping up their skirts at the end? They would have liked it a third time, but we sat down to wolf whistles and banging of glasses and hands on the tables.
The other girls now looked at me in mixed disgust and awe - I was the real whore here, and I had just proved it. For myself, I was on some sort of high. I was blushing, ashamed - sure; but I was also enjoying the feeling of being on a rollercoaster.
I was fairly sure I had seen the Founder looking directly at me. It was a strange feeling, knowing that one man here had pre-booked for access to my pussy, and that I was going to let it happen, despite the fact that I had never even spoken to him. Luckily, there were moves afoot to leave, and I could be busy getting ready to go on to the next venue so I didn’t have to think, and could move around to disguise the trembling of my legs.
M appeared, took my lead without saying a word, and led me out. Again, all I could do was concentrate on walking well, and keep my eyes down - I couldn’t bear to look anyone in the eye. Oh my god, it was really going to happen!
And it seemed it must be, for in the jostling for spaces in cars and taxis, it ended up that M led me directly to the VIP limo; ‘space for one more’ she said; but when I leant around the door it looked full up, with seven older guys in suits ranged along the seats - the Founder at the far end. When he noticed me, he said, in a cool voice, looking directly into my eyes;
“If you don’t mind kneeling on the floor in the middle, I’m sure none of us will object to the view.”
And so I would travel across London, kneeling in front of the seven top execs of my firm in my revealing dress, feeling their eyes on me, not daring to look up; feeling desperately vulnerable, all my energy focused on looking pretty. There was nothing for it but to comply, trembling, more desperate than ever to hold on to looking good - I had nothing else, nothing at all.
Just before we left, the door opened again, and there was M;
“A package, Lord D”, she said; “I thought it might be .. appropriate.”
“Thank you, M. Yes, open it, do” this last to one of the other men, who ripped the package open to reveal a pair of cuffs that matched my collar. A chill tingling gripped me as I knelt there. I had seen these earlier, in the shop. Yes - there it was - a chain linking the cuffs. Handcuffs.
The Founder’s voice cut through again, without being loud at all. “Excellent - a splendid idea - thank you again, M. George, will you do the honours?”
And George leant forward and took my wrists, placed them at the small of my back - which I made easy for him - and chained me for the first time in my life, without bothering to ask permission. It worried me, but it also calmed me. I no longer had to decide what to do with my hands - they couldn’t protect me or guide me, and I wouldn’t have to choose where to go; I would go where I was led, and nowhere else.
There were sotto voce comments as we drove; about my tits, about my legs, about my mouth. I felt very young, and very vulnerable, and also very sexy indeed, my chest rising and falling with the intensity of it all, making my tits move. I looked up at the Founder a few times, and caught him looking at me once. I looked as sexy as I could for him, and let my mouth open, slowly, let my tongue come out, licked my lips a little, but couldn’t meet his eyes, lowering my gaze submissively. But I had seen a faint, wolfish grin, and I knew he would fuck me, and I was grateful - yes; grateful, even as I blushed for shame as one of the men next to him said I was ‘obviously hungry for cock’.
He was right. They could probably all have fucked me there and then, and I would have just let them.
They have certainly all fucked me many times since, and I haven’t just let them - I have begged them, enticed them, danced for them, stripped for them, seduced them…
I was blushing wildly as he took the lead and pulled me into the club, arms cuffed at my back. Paparrazzi bulbs flashed, and I only just managed to walk normally. He kept hold of the lead - and I had no option but to let him lead me about as he chatted to people, trying to look as if this was normal for me; blushing and biting my lip, eyes lowered in shame, but still holding my shoulders back, flaunting my bust in the low cut dress, letting the high heels sway my hips as I walked, until at last he made his way to M, who was smiling at me outright now. He spoke with her quietly, handed her the lead, and suddenly I knew what was coming. I was going to be fucked now, right now - without being once consulted about it. I almost forgot to breathe. But I made not the slightest struggle. Not that he even looked at me; he took my acquiescence entirely for granted, and amazingly, I let him.
He was making his way up a few steps toward a door marked “Private Lounge”. He had beckoned to a younger exec and brought him along too. The room was very swanky and comfortable, with one-way mirrors onto the dance floor, soft couches and low tables. M stayed for a moment, then left, to return shortly with drinks. They had made themselves comfortable, and were idly talking, looking me over as I stood there, not daring to sit down, my heart thumping. They were looking at me entirely as a sexual prospect - the way men look at women when they think they aren’t looking, or are sure it doesn’t matter. The way men look at whores. I found it incredibly shaming, even though I wanted whatever was to come next without reservation. I was face to face with the simplest relation I could have with these men. I was something to fuck, something that would do all it could to encourage them to fuck it, something that had no pride - no right to pride anyway. I felt vulnerable, and excited and (oh god!) sooo sexy, although my knees trembled a little.
M gave me a drink that I didn’t recognise, held it to my lips and said ‘drink’, quiet but forceful. I obeyed, partly as I had little choice, and partly because I assumed she was worried about me dehydrating or something. It was, I found out later, a special cocktail laced with drugs, designed to relax and stimulate me. Stimulation I did not need; I was desperate to be fucked - my pussy was soaking, and when He suggested I dance to the slow, funky music that was playing, I smiled as well as blushed, and began to move; nervously at first, but very soon in the most suggestive manner I knew how. My heart was hammering, but I kept it smooth. I didn’t dare look at any of them.
M came behind me; first, she pulled a stretchy blindfold over my head. I flinched, but somehow, it made sense. They were looking at me - not I at them. It didn’t matter whether I found them attractive or not. And I had no real right to look at them - not the way they did at me; the blindfold just made it explicit. Then she unlocked the cuffs from my arms, and pulled deftly at the bow of the halter neck, so that the dress fell away. My god I had no panties on - only my bra, corset, collar, stockings and heels remained to me! I nearly fell, my knees were so wobbly, but made myself step out of the dress and start dancing, until once again I was caught up in it; and then I began to caress my body, running my hands over my belly, up my thighs, and then, because it seemed natural, cupping my breasts above the corset; offering myself as a sacrifice to his wealth and power.
I was emitting little moans now, so keyed up was I, and when one of the men stood in toward me I was still and trembling as, with something cool and metallic (a pocket knife?), he cut away the brassiere. I almost sobbed, but turned it into a weak giggle.
He sat down again, and then M told me - dance! Again, it took a little, but now I was dancing, naked but for collar, corset, stockings and heels, blindfolded, for two men I had never met before. I felt my breasts sway, and I felt their eyes on me, and I was more turned on than I had ever been in my life. I was caressing myself continuously now, holding my breasts for them, letting my hands slide down my belly toward my sex, trembling.
When the founder told me; “come here, pretty”, it seemed utterly natural that I should walk as sexily as I could toward him, then sink slowly to my knees and allow him to push my mouth down onto his fat cock, feeling my breasts against his thighs.
This is it. I’m a whore. And I like it. There is something about knowing that the cock in your mouth belongs to a multi-billionaire who has chosen you. I am deep-throating more than I have ever managed before, letting him push my head down, not fighting him even when I start to choke, soft, eager, submissive, giving - wanting so much to have him like me, to like what I am doing for him.
He pulls out, and I wonder if I have failed, desperate for a few seconds, but his voice comes;
“Let’s see if she deep-throats as nicely when she’s helpless, shall we? M, will you cuff her elbows for me?”
It is incredible kneeling there, before him, naked, thighs splayed, on show - more, displaying myself, as I docilely allow myself to be made helpless, the snick of the cuffs sounding like gunfire to me. Suddenly I remember that M and the other exec are watching this - watching me whore myself so abjectly! Panic rises but is trumped by him, as He reaches out and puts a hand in my hair, pulling me onto him, and I co-operate as smoothly as I can as he pushes himself deep into my mouth in one smooth thrust, then holds me down.
My heart beats faster, even, my hips buck - the panic transformed into a further dose of sexual need. God, but I like this!
I am completely determined to satisfy him, to show him that I can do what he wants me to, and it is only when I start jerking involuntarily that he lets me up, leaving me to lick and tease his cock as I wait for him to do it again - which he does, several times repeating the sequence, each time forcing me to accommodate him for longer. My eyes are streaming with automatic tears, but I hold myself soft for him, occasionally losing myself so much that I forget the two watchers in the room, watching as I whore myself so completely.
It shames me, but it doesn’t turn me off. Quite the opposite - I find myself waving my ass, splaying my legs wider, wanting to look as sexual as possible. Wanting M to be impressed - strangely, it is her, after Him, that concerns me.
His hands are on my breasts, kneading, possessing them. I am moving utterly shamelessly to give him what I hope he wants. I have given myself over to him. I cannot understand how this has happened so quickly, so utterly. But then I am in no state to think straight.
“Nice tits, pretty. Up with you now, onto the table - turn round. On your knees; open yourself; face down. Spread your thighs for me.”
Somehow that crude compliment meant everything to me. I am docile, keen to obey; M guides me, until I am kneeling on a low table, head down, ass up in the air, sex spread wide, arms locked at my back; helpless, utterly vulnerable. Frightened, a little, but finding that fear adds to the excitement.
I am so eager to be fucked, so eager for him to fuck me, and when he penetrates me I start crying, and saying ‘Thank you! thank you!’ The feel of his cock really is that welcome, but as well I feel that I am being somehow anointed, anointed by money and power, and I move with him as sensually as I can, until suddenly the other guy’s cock is presented at my lips and I realise just how much of a whore I might be made to be.
I am shocked for a few seconds, a cold line of sanity clearing my sex-fuddled brain a little, until something in my head asks what benefit there could be in refusing him, as against what negative? And I open my mouth and lean forward - make it easy for him, although the idea of being used by two men at once makes me quake at the depravity of it. What sort of girl allows such a thing?
At the same time, I experience an enormous surge in sexual heat. It may be depraved, but it gets me very hot indeed. I have never felt so consumed by sex before - to be possessed by two men at once, to feel myself jerked back and forwards by their thrusts, helpless, penetrated at both ends, watched by the fascinating, frightening M - I am experiencing almost constant minor climaxes already, and then, quite soon, a big one, and another and then I am jerking wildly, which seems to excite both the men so that they climax as well, and for a few seconds I am being pumped full of sperm from front and back, flailing about like a rag doll.
As they pull out of me, I almost collapse; shame warring against ecstasy. It is incredible and devastating to have been fucked like that; two cocks thrusting deep into me, arms tied, blindfolded; with M watching; to be powerless, vulnerable, while being so forcefully, relentlessly used; to have enjoyed it so much, to have submitted so much, to have orgasmed so wildly, so helplessly. It is at once terrible and glorious.
I am crying and jerking with aftershocks from the shattering orgasm, gasping and moaning, thanking them wildly, pathetically, telling them in the most open way that I have never been fucked like that before, that they are the best, until someone softly stops my lips with a finger, leaving me to realise my own shame.
The Founder and the exec casually zip themselves up and leave, talking and laughing; talking about me in the most casual way; ‘Nice blowjob.’, ‘Yeah, lovely silky tight puss on her; you’ll have to try it.’, which has me quivering with shame; talked about like a whore. Because I am a whore, now.
Shock and reality set in, but M is there; she releases my arms, lifts the blindfold and holds me while I sob. I am crying and laughing at the same time, looking up at her, desperately afraid that I will see disgust, and unspeakably relieved to see a small, sardonic smile; she is pleased with me!
“My, my! Quite the little nympho slut, aren’t we?”
… and I giggle to stem the tears, putting my hand to my mouth, shocked to hear myself described that way, but unable to argue with it, suddenly convulsed by another post-orgasm twinge that makes me wail - or is it a moan? And there is another sensation; her hand at my sex; gentle but insistent. I tense, my legs closing, but she tells me;
“You keep yourself open, pretty. Never close yourself to me. Ever.”
Her voice is soft, but there is steel in it, and I don’t even think about disobeying, lying back and slowly, weakly, letting my thighs fall open, heart thumping wildly - I am about to let myself be used by a lesbian - and I want it!
It is an incredible feeling - she is wickedly skilful, seeming to know just what to do to drive me wild - gentle, but remorseless, not letting me do anything but lie there and let her do as she wills, and in a few minutes I am begging her, pleading with her, demanding to be allowed to come, humping myself shamelessly, moaning.
She smiles;
“Shall I make you come, pretty? Would you like that?”
“Oh! Oh God, yes, please. Please!”
“But I want something in return.”
“Oh! Oh yes! yes; please!”
“I’m going to spank you; hard. It will hurt - but you’ll come, never fear. Now, turn over for me, stick your bum out. Legs apart like a goos little pussy.”
Of course, I don’t, I am not really listening - I just say;
“Yes, yes, please pleeease! Oh God, please!”
She slaps me then, hard across the face, and back again. I fall to the floor, shocked, but still hopelessly loose and weak.
“I gave you an order, pussy, and I expect you to obey; quickly, gracefully, completely. Try again.”
Her voice is calm, sweet even, but utterly convincing. There was nothing in my mind but wanting her to approve of me again - having displeased her felt truly frightening, and I urgently replayed her words in my mind, and then obeyed, determined to please, trying to be both graceful and speedy, to do everything she has asked of me; lifting my bum high, face on the table, thighs spread wide, shaking now at the thought of being spanked.
The spanking isn’t hard - not by my current standards, anyway - but it was my first time, and it was psychologically and emotionally devastating, incredible, life-changing.
She just kept on slapping at my poor ass, varying the strokes in all sorts of ways, stopping occasionally to pass her fingers between my legs with mind-bending effects - it was beyond anything I had ever experienced, and she played me for what felt like a lifetime, until finally, losing the distinction between pain and pleasure, I found myself bucking and moaning and screaming.
And then she sent me over the edge and it was glorious and devastating at the same time - different from the last one, even more powerful, and I am crying with gratitude, feeling utterly opened up, opened out, taken out of myself. It was at that point, I think, that I became a nymphomaniac; those orgasms so close together, so different, so powerful, so degrading and at the same time so glorious, were so all-engulfing that nothing apart from wild sex was ever going to seem really important to me again. When I could think again, I looked at her, like a child, eyes wide, happy to let her tell me what would happen next.
She smiled;
“Now, you must clean your face, put your dress back on, and go and dance. Later, there will be more, don’t you worry.”
And, in the face of her calm certainty, I obeyed. While I was using the little bathroom off the private lounge, the reality of what has just happened to me hit me, and I realised that I was going to be re-joining a group of people for whom what I had just done would mark me out as a degraded slut.
And I had no underwear any more. My tits would be so obviously free in the halter neck, and the short skirts would flip up all the time… I was getting nervous, but there was nothing else for it as Ms M cuffed me and attached the chain. I tried to plead with my eyes - not daring to speak, but she only laughed at me as she fixed the chain. She leaned in to speak softly into my ear, as her hand found my puffy sex lips and still swollen clit;
“Pity you’re not pierced down here, girly - we could lead you by your sexy little cunt - wouldn’t that look good?”
And in fact, though I felt myself blush hotly, I also had to accept that I liked it, as she led me back into the club. Liked imagining these people, these strangers, looking at me, knowing that I had just let the Founder fuck me; that I would probably let him do it again, if he wanted to to - that it wasn’t even really up to me, that M was really in charge…
M released me, and then I was dancing - dancing with Natalie, seeing her eyes, too, looking at me differently; smiling at her, giggling foolishly, a little hysterical, but seeing her looking doubtful - either worried for me or shocked, I couldn’t tell. But I had stopped caring - I was dancing only for the Founder, and dancing as sexily as I knew how - those orgasms, together with the drugs, acted powerfully on me.
When, a little later, M came over and showed me the lead and the cuffs, I stopped dancing straight away, and gave her my whole attention, like an eager pupil, blushing and feeling shamed, but at the same time more than willing to be made to feel this way, if it pleased her, pleased the Founder to have it so.
I had, very strongly, the feeling of a door opening for me, a door that would only open once, and not for long, and that I had a chance at passing through, if I did the right thing. I was naive, but I wasn’t stupid, and it was really obvious that what lay through the door was not anything normal, like a promotion, or a bonus, but that it was certainly something to do with my availability as a willing sex object; but somehow that didn’t put me off. It drew me in, and when she said;
“You are lucky, the founder wants to make further use of you; will you kneel, please”, my blush was as much excited pleasure as it was of shame, and I giggled, weak, submissive, frightened; advertising my helplessness, humiliated.
I knelt, right there, in front of my friend, in front of all the strangers present; and when she tapped at my knees with a pointed toe, I shuffled my thighs apart, obediently, and allowed her to deftly tuck the cuffs through the straps of the halter neck, then docilely lifted my wrists, so that soon, my arms were raised, my wrists locked at the back of my neck. I felt my unfettered breasts rise and sway, loose, sensuous. By now, many people were just watching, not dancing, and I was shaking, trembling, almost hyperventilating. How could this be happening?
The leash was casually clipped to my choker again, and a tug indicated I was to stand - awkward with my wrists locked, and I was desperate to be graceful. The humiliation was almost overwhelming as I tried to stand despite my restraints, but there was no rage, only vulnerability and shame and eagerness to please; my response to the laughter and ironic applause was a weak little smile and a humiliated blush as I trotted meekly after M, blinking back tears.
Once again, the shame was matched by a foolish pride in being the centre of attention. I did, I absolutely did mind being made to be so obviously the founder’s whore, but it was worth it for that feeling of special-ness; worth being made to kneel, thighs spread, back straight, hands locked behind my neck, on a low table to His right, His hand proprietorially on my bum, and me wriggling against him, eyes down, wanting him to know I was responding, even though it shamed me to do so.
Of course, after a minute or so, his hand made its way under the short skirts and to my naked pussy, and, after an initial flinch, to which he responded with an irresistibly forceful thrust that lifted my knees off the table, I gave in, and responded just as wantonly, opening my thighs, leaning forward a little, lifting myself as he penetrated me with two, then three fingers, my sex slippery, my sigh soft and as sexy as I knew to make it, bringing knowing grins and laughter from those standing close by. I went bright red, but I made myself move slowly, as sexily as I could, finding myself moaning occasionally as he worked his fingers in my pussy, biting my lip to avoid yelping when he hurt me - he was pinching and twisting as well as caressing - testing me, it seemed, and I became determined not to fail him - not to fail myself..
Having established my availability, he pulled back and put his hand back on my bum as he talked, and I was no better than an ornament for the next twenty minutes or so, alternately fondled, teased, penetrated, abandoned, never spoken to; all the time keeping myself as pretty as I could, all the time conscious that I was proclaiming myself his whore to the whole gathering - and somehow proud of this, without in the slightest losing my feelings of shame and with mounting fear as to what the future might hold, not to mention pain in my arms, still chained behind my neck.
Then, without warning, things moved on. He beckoned M over, spoke briefly to her, until she nodded. She stood up, took the lead, still attached to my choker, and indicated I should rise. Without a word, she led me back toward the private room. I began to get nervous - I couldn’t see Him coming with us, but I did see two of the other executives moving in the same direction, and I sort of understood what was going to happen next. Every fibre in me rebelled against this - just to be whored out to anyone he fancied - I wasn’t up for that!
On the other hand, chained as I was, shamed as I was, I didn’t know how to resist. I didn’t dare tug against M. I felt like crying, but didn’t want to appear pathetic; and so, helplessly, I acted as best I could through what followed; acted so well that it stopped being acting in a shamefully short time.
Once again, the men I was to serve lolled in their chairs while M had me dance for them. Once again, she blindfolded me. I welcomed it this time as the sight of their greedy stares shamed me too much.
Once again, she released my arms and I stripped, wanting to die, but at the same time needing to feel beautiful, desirable, even if one of them is a fat slob, and the other a scrawny guy with a horrible beard, who I know works on the upper floor in our building. Being sexy, lovely, desirable, is the only thing I can control. She cuffs my elbows again before both of them use my mouth, then both of them fuck me. It is terrible, this time, being restrained, cuffed, and I want to beg her to let me be free, but I daren’t, and so I am helpless as they use me, a slave to their whims. I even move for them, make it easy for them to use me, finding myself shamefully desperate to have them think well of me as a whore, at least… I am also aware that M is watching, and I don’t want to let her down either. Slow tears escape my tightly closed eyes every now and then.
I didn’t come either time - not even close, but at the same time I knew that if either man had just been a little more skillful - or even just lasted a little longer, I would not have been able to hide my arousal.
These two left with even less acknowledgement of me than the previous time, and I was left, lying on my back, legs apart, painfully aware that the way I wanted to feel M’s cool fingers on my sex again left me terribly vulnerable.
She wouldn’t touch me, though, just removed the blindfold, grinned at me little, and sent me through to the bathroom.
When I returned, she chained my wrists behind my neck again, ignoring my ineffective little mew of protest; fixed the lead to the choker, and then casually untied the halter neck straps, pulling down the bodice of the dress so that my breasts swung free, crossing the straps behind my back and tying them through the cuffs again. The dress wouldn’t fall further, but my breasts were naked and I couldn’t bring my wrists back in front of me.
I shook my head, eyes wide, feeling panicky, but could manage no more resistance than this as she grinnned and shook her head a little - warning me against defiance - and led me back onto the dance floor, and back to His side; the unmistakeable company whore. My breasts always get a lot of attention naked - not only are they large for my trim frame, they sway noticeably without sagging in the least - very obviously not fake. I was hyperventilating a little, and had to force myself to calm down.
Another half an hour of more invasive, casual fondling, broken only by him having me dance for him, breasts swinging free, wrists chained; a circle of onlookers commenting and laughing, managing, after a little while, to lose myself in dancing as sexually as I could, shameless, before I was once again led back to the private room, this time to dance for and be fucked by three more strangers. I cried, softly, openly this time, as she led me back to the room, but I didn’t resist - it was only the shame - I responded all too frighteningly easily to the sex, and this time I did come, noisily - helplessly, for the second one, and then faked it for the third when it became clear that this would please him. He called me a dirty whore and spat on me. The others laughed, M included.
This time I was in tears as they left, rolled up in a foetal ball. I had not been freed from the cuffs at all, this time, and my shoulders ached. She opened the catch and indicated the bathroom. I was in tears as I showered, as I dried myself, but pulled myself together to apply make-up before facing M again - I could not let her find me ugly.
But I couldn’t smile, either, as I came out to her. The music had stopped - I realised the party was over, and this nearly broke me - somehow, now, I had to carry on with my life, even though it was smashed. If I tried to go back to work now it would be impossible - I would be branded a whore, and would have no defense.
After a little pause, I managed to look up, meet her eyes, my lips trembling; waiting really, to see what she wanted - because I didn’t know anything anymore.
At last, she spoke;
“You did well tonight, pretty - exceeded our expectations of this event. You will be well rewarded. There is a room here for you, come!”
And she attached the lead to my collar, adjusted my ruined dress so that it was at least minimally decent, cuffed my wrists again. I accepted all this as docilely as before, not even considering resistance as she led me to the lift. She didn’t speak to me again, and I was too shell-shocked to do anything but stare at the floor, quivering slightly, numb.
We arrived at last - a large, high ceilinged room, everything sumptuous - thick carpet in the corridors, mirrors, a luxurious room. I saw it all, but didn’t really take it in as she helped me into bed, handed me a warm milky drink…
