#Delicious

I was 26 when I met him—R. I was working as a lawyer—I was doing pretty well; I had always been smart, and having a pretty face, nice manners and a good figure never hurt anyone either. I was no dummy, swept off my feet by a charmer. It was just that he was remarkable. Rich, handsome, easy manners; very casual but also very personal when he spoke to you. I met him at a party, where he made it clear he liked me, liked my looks—in a very direct way, without any bullshit, but managed to be flattering and engaging. I was charmed, in spite of myself. I liked him too, and liked his friends, and basically invited myself back to his flat, where he entertained me for a little while, and then, delightfully, uninhibitedly, masterfully, fucked my brains out. I had never been taken to such heights, or felt it so intensely. I thought I was in love. [Read More]

Estimated reading time: 31 minutes; 6600 words

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In the lobby of a small and obviously very exclusive hotel, he stopped me. 'Chloe. Today— today I’m trusting you not to let me down. Don’t worry— you won’t— I know you’re ready.' We arrived at a very exclusive restaurant on a hotel terrace, a few floors up— very luxurious, even by his standards. I was flattered, impressed, to be taken somewhere so special. We were led to a table by the Maitre D’. I felt eyes on me, but as long as I was with R, I gloried in being so obviously dressed to excite sexual attention. Then I realised we were heading for an occupied table. A man a decade or so older than R, very strong looking, rich looking, but restrained, calm, easily confident and assured. His face a little ugly. [Read More]

Estimated reading time: 41 minutes; 8600 words

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The experience of walking in public, feeling semi-naked, with the unaccustomed weight of the bracelet/cuffs at my wrists, the cool air between my thighs and on my naked sex, my unfettered, uplifted breasts moving heavily in the thin blouse, the echoes of everything that has been said that afternoon ringing in my brain—this is all but overwhelming. I am soon trembling, walking along, conscious of the command to be always sexually inviting; terribly, terribly nervous, embarrassed, but at the same time pathetically desperate not to let him down, not to fail. The higher-than normal heels add to the feeling of vulnerability— I am convinced that everyone who sees me knows me for what I really am— a slut, a degenerate, a whore. [Read More]

Estimated reading time: 17 minutes; 3700 words

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This chapter is deprecated. It goes too far, too fast. It is here only as a record of failure. It will be deleted once a rewrite is complete. [Read More]

Estimated reading time: 24 minutes; 5000 words

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And that's it, now. That's your life: Whore — Delicious; Delicious — Whore. The more totally you allow us to transform you into a whore, the more often you'll get to spend time being Delicious—but always knowing that the only point of Delicious is to give the posh folks the fun of treating a sexy, smart, educated young woman of their own class worse than they would treat a street slut—and have her smile and ask them for more. [Read More]

Estimated reading time: 62 minutes; 13200 words

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Presenting herself to him at a posh cafe in the park, she is on test. Without touching her, saying only a little, he lets her see just how deeply ensnared she is, and reinforces his control. [Read More]

Estimated reading time: 16 minutes; 3500 words

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