An old story, rather simple, which might go somewhere, perhaps…
I had spent four months in a whirlwind; from a small-time modelling commission, I had met a man, who had invited me to a party, where I had met another man, Claudio, my personal, wonderful, dream of a whirlwind, who turned out to be some sort of international money man come property dealer, incredibly rich, and incredibly handsome, and amazingly kind.
I had moved in with him after three days, and he had showered me with gifts, had women friends of his take me shopping with his credit card, so I could dress the part, and taken me everywhere with him — parties, restaurants, clubs, a short holiday in Mauritius, even often to business meetings, where I would often be the only female present who was not dressed as a maid; the only girl there whose principal job was not to allow the men to feel her pussy under short skirts, let them kiss her, squeeze her tits.
I was only 19; he was probably in his early 50s. I knew it was all about having a pretty, sexually willing young girl for him; a girl who didn’t mind that he showed me off to his friends. A girl who was happy to be taught exactly how he liked her to dress, how he liked to be pleasured, exactly how he liked to fuck, and who was happy to work carefully at making it good for him, at making herself good for him, at keeping him happy.
I knew all that; and knew, of course, what other girls would call me. I didn’t care; I loved it all, loved the money, the swank, the people, the sex (he was wild and strong in bed, but always considerate too), the clothes, the laziness, the luxury. And he made it easy for me - kept everything smooth, was never cruel or rude, or casual with me.
I wasn’t “in love” — not with him anyway (although perhaps I was, just a little bit) — but with the life. I had never experienced such things for real — they had always seemed an unreachable fantasy.
And now the whirlwind had told me;
“I’m leaving tomorrow. For New York”
A stunned silence. There was a finality — not cruel, but definite, in his voice. I knew it was serious. But I had to try;
“Am .. Can .. can I come too?”
He stepped toward me, took my hands, my wrists, in his strong hands;
“No. No. It is over for us. Over now. I won’t be here tonight. You won’t see me again, little American girl”
I cried, I begged; I went onto my knees, sobbing. After a while, I stopped, as it was clear I was annoying him;
“Please .. please. Is .. is there .. anything?”
He took my hand again;
“I don’t think so. Go back to your old life — think of it as a lovely dream.”
A long silence. I started to shrug off my shoulder straps, to kneel, to lean in to his groin, offering my mouth for what I knew he loved from me. He laughed, caressed my nipples;
“No, pretty, no.” And he stood;
“The apartment is paid for till the end of the month”; and he left.
I cried for two days.
Then I sat for a day, two days, staring out of the window, eating whatever was left in the fridge, mind empty.
And then I called the number of a man whose house we had been to for a party. A slightly creepy man who had given me his number after watching me watch a live sex show put on for the guests; two of his female servants, one in a maid’s outfit, the other dressed in an evening gown, had put on a display — the maid humiliated, slapped, stripped, spanked, then fucked with a strap-on dildo. It was all very elegantly done, but very real at the same time. My heart had been thumping as I watched, fascinated; he had approached me and given me his card.
“Call me anytime.”
And I had smiled, and shook my head, knowing that I was taken. But for some unknown reason, I had kept the card.
Now, now, I called him, and told him my name, reminded him.
“Ah yes, Sophia. The lovely Sophia. What can I do for you?”
And I told him — told him that Claudio had left me, high and dry — that I couldn’t face going back to my old life. I was blushing — knowing as well as he did that I was offering sex in return for continued access to the lifestyle I wanted. There was no pretence at anything else, even though nothing explicit was said.
“You poor girl, you must be feeling very vulnerable. And yet you call me. Do you know, I am not a nice guy?”
A silence. I should have hung up, said good-bye. Instead I hung on, heart thudding. What was going on?
“Will you come to dinner with me tonight? I am meeting a few friends — I would be charmed to introduce you.”
And I said yes, and I dressed as sexily as I dared, and was ready half an hour early. And in the back of his limousine, which was sent to collect me, a shock. Another young and beautiful woman (not as young as I, though - in her middle 20s, I guessed), also very elegantly dressed, also very sexily presented.
She was unsurprised to see me, I was nervous already, and became a little flustered.
“Who .. who are you?”
She took my rudeness well, not getting angry, but laughed softly, smiled a little, rather sadly, and said, with a hint of an accent; “I’m Yevlena. Nice to meet you. Don’t worry — I’m just the entertainment. You’re his date tonight.”
There was something odd in the way she said it, but I was so relieved that I tried not to worry, and we had only some small talk after that — because I was too nervous for anything else. As I got to know her later, I realised she could have explained a lot to me, had I only asked her.
When we were dropped at the exclusive dining club, Yevlena kept herself tactfully several paces behind me, letting me get to everything first, being very self-effacing, although she looked just as much the part as I did. We were led through to the private dining suite, and ushered in. Mauritz sat with several other men, one or two of whom I recognised, with a blush, as other friends of Claudio’s.
Languidly, almost insultingly slowly, Mauritz rose, and greeted me with a kiss on the hand; “Gentlemen, the lovely Sophia!” and he all but twirled me for them, like a piece of interesting art.
Yevlena wasn’t even introduced, but went demurely to stand to one side of Mauritz’s armchair, eyes lowered, as he sank back down, indicating that I should perch on the arm with a little pat of his hand.
They resumed their conversation, something about business, and ignored us — except for their eyes. I had of course got used to being ogled when out with Claudio — I was always dressed elegantly and expensively, and drew men’s eyes. But I had always had Claudio’s aura around me then. Now, I was acutely conscious of how invitingly I was dressed, how exposed my cleavage, how short the asymmetrical skirts were on one side, how glossy my lipstick, how black my lashes.
And they were looking at me differently, I thought, now that Claudio was gone. They were looking at me just as much, and in just the same way that they were looking at Yevlena, who was, by her own account ‘just the entertainment’. My heart began to hammer, and I began again to wonder, more seriously, just what Mauritz had meant by “I am not a nice guy”.
Others arrived, a couple and a woman alone, all of whom were introduced, where necessary, with their full names and details of their work — contrasting with the way I had been mentioned simply as ‘the lovely Sophia’ — I began to be rather uncomfortable.
After a little while we were called through to the next room for dinner. I sat on Mauritz’s right hand side, Yevlena on his left. The lone woman, who introduced herself as Madame Flavia, sat to my right, and talked to me mostly, asking, very politely, about me. She knew Claudio — knew of me and my circumstances a little. She was not noticeably sympathetic, but neither was she unkind. She seemed interested mostly in my background. It was pleasant, having a normal conversation — it took my mind off what I had got myself into.
Mauritz’s hand arrived on my lap and lazily groped my thigh. I flushed — Claudio had never been as crude as this. On the other hand, what did I want? I moved, making things easier for him, only for his hand to slip directly, inside my skirt. My nipples began to tingle. The woman — Flavia — at my side, grinned at me and whispered; ‘These men are SO crude!”
I blushed — she had seen! It must be obvious to others, too, that I was allowing Mauritz to feel me up in these elegant surroundings. But I dared not move to obstruct him.
A few minutes later, I noticed Yevlena blushing, deeply, and then she spoke in a low voice to Mauritz, who interrupted everyone with his shout of laughter;
“But of course, pretty — if Sir Gerald asks to see your lovely nipples, you must open your blouse for him! And the rest of us will no doubt appreciate his initiative!”
And elegantly, Yevlena complied, showing a perfect pair of breasts, large, clearly natural, but with no feeling of heaviness, each prettily erect nipple pierced with a heavy silver ring. She stopped eating at that point, and kept her hands at her sides for the rest of the meal. No-one spoke to her either, although we all looked. She looked only at the table in front of her, although she kept her head up. Her cheeks were a little pink, but she seemed calm.
Dinner was over, and we adjourned again to the lounge room of the suite, Mauritz indicating he wanted me on the arm of his chair again - an adjunct; of course, I complied, smiling happily at him, arranging myself to look good, to be available to him; to his hands. I had never felt I had to be as obvious as this with Claudio, but I knew, somehow, that it was necessary for Mauritz - if I wanted him to stay interested.
If I wanted him to pay for me.
He had hardly spoken to me all evening, but now he engaged me in some very proficient small-talk, helping me to relax, to feel that he was interested, at least a little, in me as a person. He was playing me, as much as I thought I was playing him. Only he had all the power. All I had was the pussy.
And I was about to have it graphically demonstrated that there is plenty of pussy - pussy willing to go a lot further than perching on the arm of a chair to be fondled and displayed.
At a sign from Mauritz, Yevlena moved to kneel, very obviously according to a plan, on the coffee table, and folded her hands at the small of her back. Several men stood near her and began to caress her breasts, teasing her pierced nipples, as they talked together - ignoring her. One put two fingers into her mouth and she held herself prettily for him as he poked them insolently in and out. I felt a shudder of excitement pass through me — I was thrilled! I found myself staring, transfixed; she was letting them use her as a lovely plaything.
Madam Flavia, at my side, spoke softly; “Isn’t she gorgeous, like that? Such a lovely piece.”
Then, when I nodded, she said; “You, my dear, will be twice as lovely when you know what she knows.”
I was wondering what on earth she meant by this when a call came, and she went out of the room, to reappear a few moments later with an older woman, very plainly dressed, with a lumpy, grim face. She was not introduced, but walked directly up to the group around Yevlena;
“Excuse me, gentlemen, but this bitch is a thief. She stole money from me earlier today.”
This was transparently untrue — everyone knew it was the start of the ‘entertainment’ — but nevertheless, everyone reacted, and Yevlena pulled her blouse together and blushed, as the men around her took a step backward, allowing the woman to approach, whereupon she slapped Yevlena’s face, hard, not faking at all, so that Yevlena cried out, and flinched away from her.
“And a slut to boot, I see.”
Yevlena was crying now, her chest heaving;
“No .. please!”
The older woman took a handful of Yevlena’s hair, pulled her head up, and leaned in;
“Admit it — you’re a thieving slut!”
Yevlena met her eyes, weakly, though;
“No..” her voice was weak, too.
Another slap — Yevlena made no attempt to fight back; the accusation was repeated, and this time Yevlena lowered her eyes. Her blouse had fallen open again, and her breasts were exposed and lovely as they softly swayed, the nipples hard.
“Please” — it was pathetic — I felt she deserved the slap, wanted her to suffer, watched it with fascinated approval.
“Admit it, bitch!”
“Yes” — it was only a little more than a whisper.
“Say it, cow! Tell these fine gentlemen that you are a thief, and a slut! Come on; head up!”
And now Yevlena, eyes wet with tears, lipstick smudged, clearly and softly said;
“I .. I am a slut and a thief.”
It was incredibly powerful: Yevlena, gorgeous and in slinky evening clothes, looking incredibly sexy, completely in thrall to this bullying, violent, nondescript older woman, humiliated in front of the company; Yevlena’s chest was heaving, making her breasts move. I could hardly breathe, waiting for the next act, almost unaware of Madame Flavia, who had come back to sit at my side, and casually slipped her hand around my waist.
Her hand slipped down from my waist to the curve of my buttock, very softly, as if by accident, and I turned to her briefly. Her smile was soft and friendly, and I dimly understood that she was watching me as much as the show. I was pleased - flattered, I suppose, but much more interested in what would happen next.
The woman walked behind Yevlena, who seemed frozen, quivering. She reached out and pulled Yevlena’s blouse back and halfway down her arms, full exposing her shoulders and her breasts, trapping her arms. She came to face Yevlena again, sneering;
“So, cunt, we’ve established what you are; now, give me back my money!”
Yevlena’s chest was heaving, the effect on her breasts was mesmeric. She whispered;
“I .. I can’t. I .. I don’t have any money.”
“Nonsense, bitch — I’ve seen your clothes, your car, your flat — you’re rich. Now pay me!”
A pause, then;
“All .. all those things are .. are paid for by .. by other people. I don’t .. they don’t .. give me .. money.”
“They don’t give you money .. But they fuck you, right? They fuck that lovely body of yours, don’t they?”
A shuddering sigh passed through Y;
“Yes. Yes; they f .. fuck me.”
“You’re telling me you are not just a slut but a whore — and a stupid whore — a whore who just gets presents, never money — is that it — a shit-for-brains whore? Is that what you are?”
A long pause, then Yevlena, dripping tears onto her nipples, nods.
“Say it, bitch, say it, for all these fine people to hear!”
“I .. I’m a shit-for-brains wh..whore”; and a heartbreaking sob came from Yevlena.
But I noticed she held herself beautifully, making the best of her position to show off her lovely breasts, her naked shoulders, her pretty face — not allowing the crying, genuine as it seemed, to make her look ugly.
At this point, Mauritz took my wrist and made it clear I was to sit on his knee. I felt weird, but I was in no mind to argue with him — indeed, I was desperate to see how the scene with Yevlena unfolded, and so I perched on one of his knees, legs perforce parted — he rested one big hand on my thigh, possessively. After a little dithering, I decided to sit as Claudio had sometimes had me at home, my legs quite splayed, on the end of his knee, my hands loosely at the small of my back. I felt the need to compete with the amazing spectacle of Yevlena, half naked and dominated, and was pleased when Mauritz’s hand moved up my thigh above my stocking tops, flexing my hips sensuously, and turning to smile at him, letting him see I was turned on.
Which I was — no need to pretend, at all.
I too, was a shit-for-brains whore, but I hadn’t quite seen it, yet.
It was time for Act Two with Yevlena.
“So, bitch, if you don’t have money, you’re going to have to earn some for me, yes? And the only thing a shit-for-brains whore can do to earn money is to get fucked, right?”
Yevlena just nodded, softly. I somehow understood (and she confirmed it to me later) that this scenario was much more extreme than she had expected, and that it was genuinely hard for her to accept what was happening; at the same time, she was utterly determined to give satisfaction, to be allowed to continue with the lifestyle she was addicted to.
I wasn’t unaware that this related to my own situation, although I had yet to find out how directly this was true — at this point all it did was make me excited, and increasingly keen to see her violated.
“So there it is guys — who wants to fuck this pretty little slut? I mean I saw you playing with her tits, but she’s mine to order about now, and I’m offering her to you.”
A silence; then “Already fucked it. Nothing new there.”
“Me too. All her holes.”
They were talking about her as if she was a hole in the wall! Yevlena was blushing darkly, but held her position, looking incredibly sexy. God, but she was a slut. She deserved everything they could throw at her, I thought, as Mauritz put his hand inside my dress and started to fondle my breast. He wasn’t Claudio, but I felt sexy, and wriggled against him, feeling Madame Flavia’s eyes on me; blushing, somehow happy that I was of interest to her; found myself wriggling a bit more, for her benefit as much as Mauritz’s.
“How about two at once?” the harridan suggested; “Right here, now, in front of everyone. Three, even?”
Yevlena went white, stiffened up, bit her lip and closed her eyes. Tears were glistening. I got a huge jolt just hearing those words, and immediately knew I wanted to see it — see that pretty girl taking two cocks at once, being jerked around.
I think Mauritz felt me move, and took advantage, his other hand high on my thigh slipping under my skirt, openly feeling my pussy.
I saw that Madame Flavia noticed this, that she was smiling at me, and a flush of embarrassment came over me, but I found myself smiling weakly back at her, accepting the fact that she knew I was letting Mauritz do this to me in public.
Meanwhile, negotiations were going on as to how much the men would pay to degrade Yevlena, to gang-fuck her in front of all of us, while she, poor girl, was made to take off her blouse and skirt.
Next minute, she was kneeling on the floor, sucking one man’s dick, while another held her arms tight behind her. Then they swapped places, the man who had been in her mouth pushing brutally into her ass while she sucked the other one. She was crying and snuffling, but she was also doing her best to stay pretty, knowing that this was her stock-in-trade, that if she ended up looking undesirable she would lose everything.
It was incredible to watch; I got very worked up; my chest heaving, heart thumping, not sure if I was horrified or captivated; whether to be disgusted or turned on. All the while Mauritz was manipulating my pussy and my breast, and I was very conscious of the way Flavia was watching me.
They flipped Yevlena over, and now they all three took her, one underneath, in her ass, one between her legs, in her pussy, the two sandwiching her, going at her roughly, the third man at her backward angled head, forcing his cock into her throat, her face in his ass.
I don’t know whether it was fake or not, but she appeared to have a terrible, helpless orgasm as they came in her, one after the other, leaving her sticky with come, broken, sobbing, but still self-consciously holding herself well; looking sexier than before, if possible.
After that, Mauritz whispered in my ear that he wanted to take me home, and I agreed — I was eager for relief from my own excitement. Flavia caught my eye again, knowingly, and I acknowledged her smile — I was flattered that she was interested in me, piqued to know exactly what that interest was. I wondered who she might be.
I went with Mauritz, and played my part (willingly, happily), kissed him, allowed him to feel me up, acted sexy for him, sucked his cock as if it was the most important thing in the world, encouraged him to fuck me as crudely as he wanted. He was not as good a lover as Claudio, and he was harsh and rough, too, but I had a rather good series of orgasms — I think the ‘entertainment’ had got me quite wound up.
I spent the next week at his villa, lazing around, going to the odd party, shopping — he gave me some pictures of another girl he liked, and I went and found clothes that were similar to hers. Slutty clothes, I thought — even if they were expensive. But he was paying.
He got rougher in bed each night, but I surprised myself by responding very sexually — I would have acted if I had had to, but, in point of fact, there was no need.
