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Dear Reader, This was written in response to a specific request for a story following a specific
plot. I hope you enjoy it. E.Z.

HANNAH'S HUMILIATION

Most men consider me very attractive. I have a lovely face with a
great and easy smile, shoulder length brown hair and hazel eyes. At
thirty-one, I am still 34B - 26 - 35, carrying 135 pounds on a five
four frame. But, women... all women... are afraid of losing their
looks, particularly single women like me who are fighting a war with a
lot of younger competitors for the available men out there. So, I
spend a lot on clothes and makeup. Really, I should spend more time
in the gym, but, who has time. As an attorney struggling to make
partner in a major firm, I barely have time to date.

The last guy I really dated was Warren Parker, an attorney who left my
firm to go into industry. Warren and I were a hot, hot item a year
ago. I did things with him I thought I would never do with a man.
Worse than that, I let him take some photos of me. Well, I did not
let him take the first ones. They were of me bound. After those,
which he took without my permission, I let him take the ones of us
together, using a delay timer on his Nikon.

I got them all back when we spilt up. I thought.

It had been a hell of a week. Many longs hours, many pointless
meetings, even a court date in which the judge ate me out big time.
By Friday at four, when I trudged back into my office to wrap up a bad
week, I was exhausted and ready for a hot bath and cold cocktail. I
found a large manila envelope in my chair. It was sealed with
"personal" written in red and underlined. Examination of the envelope
showed it was hand delivered and did not come through the company mail
route. Standing, I zipped it open with my letter opener.

There was a typed letter and another, smaller envelope inside. The
letter read:

"Hannah: Projected recipients of the enclosed envelope are (it listed
the five name partners of my firm, the men who would make, or break,
my future). Think about it."

I opened the smaller envelope, removing a single eight by ten black
and white glossy photograph. The instant I looked at it, I felt the
sweat break out on my face, the tingling in my limbs, the bile rising
in my stomach. I knew I was going to faint. I fell to my knees behind
my desk... gasping for air... struggling to breath... my chest tight,
like someone had a band around me. I reached for the waste basket and
puked my guts out.

The rancid, acid taste filled my mouth and nose as I puked again,
green bile dribbling down my chin into the waste basket. I put my
head between my knees to keep from fainting.

I wanted to scream.... NOOOOOOOO!!!.... WHO IS DOING THIS TO ME???
But, the only noise was the wheezing as my breath returned. Finally
able to sit up without fear of fainting, I reached for the picture.

The photograph was of me. I was naked and on my knees with my arms
pulled back severely, bound behind me at the wrist and elbows, arching
my back and thrusting my breasts out. A rope bound my ankles to my
thighs, keeping me kneeling on frog-style legs. The end of a black
dildo was visible sticking out of my pussy. A gag was in my mouth. I
was looking directly into the camera with a slutty, happy expression,
telling everyone I was enjoying this immensely.

I puked again.

It was a long, sleepless night. Not even five Scotches eased the
anxiety as I paced and wondered. I knew the pictures had to come from
those Warren took of me but, dammit, I trusted him. And, I still did.
I did not think he was the one responsible. Not Warren. He broke up
with me and we parted on very good terms. But, if not him, who? Who
in the hell was it?

Saturday, I was exhausted, sleepless and still in shock. Listlessly,
I puttered around the house, doing a cleaning job worse than I care to
admit. At eleven the mail came. There was another envelope. I
started to shake just from seeing it. I checked it throughly: no
return address; no indication of who sent it.

I looked at the photo first. It was me again, of course. I was on my
hands and knees with an unidentifiable man fucking me doggy style. I
remember when Warren made that one. He sat the camera so I facing
right into the lenses. I was in obvious ecstacy.

The letter read: "Hannah: My, my. You *are* a horny little slut, aren't
you? Like those big cocks in your sweet wetness, Hannah. What a
lovely picture you take, too. Stay home this afternoon and get ready
to go out. Do not call Warren. I'm not kidding, slut!"

I couldn't even eat lunch and I could not stop sweating. I drank
gallons of water, afraid I would dehydrate. The phone rang at two
twelve.

"Hi, slut! Ready for your pictures to be distributed!"

"Who are you! What do you want from me!" I guess it was my legal
training. As anxious as I was, I was extremely intent, trying to get
every clue. It was a woman's voice. It was voice I had heard before.

"I'll tell you that tonight! You're to do exactly as I tell you or
the pictures go in the mail. Listen! Go to the store and buy a
Wonderbra that maximizes what little tits you have. I want your
nipples to show! Buy thong panties in hot pink and black thigh high
stockings. Wear them with that super short black skirt; you know,
the one you wore for the Christmas party in '96."

"It's too small. I have put on some weight."

"I know. I want your big ass to wiggle in that skirt like ten pounds
of mud in a five pound sack. Wear the white see through blouse, the
one Warren gave you for your birthday. Lastly, wear those black pumps
with the six inch heels. What did you call them: 'My fuck me pumps.'
Use red lipstick... bright red. I want your finger and toe nails
painted the same bright color. Your hair should be loose on your
shoulders. Understand?"

"Please.... please... why are..."

"Shut up, slut! Be at Cody's in the Village at eight. Plan to stay
out all night. See ya!"

She disconnected.

From deep inside me, a sob floated up. I began to cry: a deep, gut
wrenching, soul emptying cry.

The crying jag ruined my time frame, and now, I was speeding through
traffic because I was afraid I was going to be late. It was eight o
two when I opened the doors to Cody's. Cody's is a hot pickup bar
for the "to twenty-five" age, swinging, modern, very liberal, set.
The women there are good looking young professionals. I was not the
oldest person I saw. But, I was the oldest woman. My fear of being
compared unfavorable in looks and age offset my fear of being exposed
by my blackmailer. I felt the bile rise again and struggled to keep
it down. Looking around for a familiar face, I saw one of the
younger attorneys and a paralegal we had just hired. I did not know
anyone else. Then, I felt a hand on my arm.

"Hi, Hannah. Remember me?"

"Sara Parker. Are you...?"

"Come on. Let's sit down. We have a table over here."

As I followed her across the room, the pieces fell in place. Sara was
Warren's younger sister. Only twenty-two, she was a professional
model, with a tall, lean body and a face that appeared in print and TV
ads all the time. I always felt inadequate next to her. And, what
women wouldn't. She was perfect.

But, why did she want.... Wait! Sara had seen me kissing another man
at a party one night. It happened while I was still dating Warren.
Sara worshiped her big brother and I remember the angry, hurt look on
her face when she saw me. Was this pay back for that perceived
infidelity?

Sara guided me to the large table in back where six women and five men
sat, all her friends out for a good time. They were all professional
models... beautiful, lean, young. She introduced me as her aunt...
Aunt Hannah... and, asked everyone to call me that. I felt like a
maiden aunt... an old, unattractive, maiden aunt... Aunt Hannah. Sara
was mean, a real bitch.

Men can not understand what I am mean by this. Women will know
immediately. To be the oldest, least attractive women in a group is
very humiliating. I looked at them: those lean, perfect bodies,
narrow but cute bottoms, high, firm breasts. How could I compete?
Sara might be mean but she was smart. She knew exactly how to
humiliate me the worst.

Sara took me aside. "Now, here are the rules. You'll relax and have
fun, or, act like it anyway. You'll dance with every man or woman
who asks you. Dance close! Rub against them! Act like the slut you
are! No drinking, but, I want you to order and eat three deserts
tonight, the most caloric ones they offer. Can't let those chubby
thighs get thin, can we? If anyone takes any sexual liberties with
you, you're to happily accept them and encourage further ones. I mean
any liberties, Aunt Hannah! Am I clear?"

"Sara, why...?"

"Answer me!"

"Yes, Sara. Very clear."

"That's a good, old, fat, slut!" she said patronizingly, giving my
cheek a pat with every word.

It was the most miserable evening of my life.

Sara and one of her friends, Lucinda, kept making catty little remarks
about my shape and age. Of course, by the end of the evening, everyone
in Cody's knew me as Aunt Hannah. Women can be such bitches! I had
cute, young things come ask me questions: girls I had never met,
asking advice as if my age gave me experience and wisdom. And, the way
they asked, implying I was so much older, did I remember when...

There were giggles all around as I ate the three deserts as ordered.
Since that was all I had eaten all day, by the end of the evening I
was bloated, making me appear even fatter.

I was asked to dance a lot but not as much as the other women at the
table, who seemed to take particular pleasure at refusing a dance
request but pointing me out as an alternative. I could see the
disappointment in the men's faces. But, they danced with me.

Sara had told me to accept liberties. I did. And, many liberties
were taken. If was not the men's fault, really. In these clubs, men
always as a girl to dance. They make a move on her, maybe just a hand
in the small of her back holding her tightly. If they do not receive a
discouraging sign... resistance or a comment... they make the next
move. Then, the next. That's the way it's done. The women's
responsibility is to send the stop signs. My blackmailer had told me
not to send stop signs. So, the men got progressively bolder with me.

The crowd had started to thin out. A man who had been after me all
evening asked me to dance. I'd already endured his hands all over
me when we danced previously. He guided me to the darkest part of the
dance floor, whispering nasty things in my ear. Look, I'm not a
prude. Under the right circumstances and with the right man, I would
have been enjoying this. But, he was horrible! I couldn't help it.
When I felt his hand under my skirt sliding between my legs, I froze.

I felt Sara's hand on my arm. I almost wet myself, afraid she had
seen my resistance. She had. "We need to go, Aunt Hannah. Offer
your friend a blow job in the parking lot on the way out."

The man heard Sara order me to perform oral sex on him. Most men
would have jumped at this opportunity and I knew it. I was waiting
for him to pull me outside. But, his eyes burned into me, then flitted
from Sara to me. He knew something was strange. He gave me a quick
kiss on the cheek and walked away, saving me another humiliation and a
mouth full of cum. I followed Sara to her condo.

There were only Sara and two other women and three guys there. Sara
ordered me to act as waitress, telling me to call everyone "ma'am" or
"sir". She gave me a small, white lace apron to wear over my skirt.
I was hustling drinks when Mark came into the kitchen with Sara. Mark
was twenty-one and an underwear model, meaning he had the hard body
that could take the camera's eye. He also was Sara's boyfriend and an
arrogant shit.

"Mark and I have a bet," she said. They could tell I was afraid. They
could smell my fear. She had a mean grin as she stared at me until I
had to look away.

"Mark bet you are getting off on this, Aunt Hannah. Are you? Are you
wet between your legs from being humiliated? Well?"

"Oh, god, please, no. I'm begging, Sara. Don't... please, don't!"

"Pull up your skirt so we can check, Aunt Hannah. Now!"

"No....no.... I won't do it!"

"How many people do you want to see your pictures, Aunt Hannah?
Everyone you know? Should I post the pictures and your address on the
Internet? How about to the Bar Association? Do as you are told! Now!"

I began to sob but I did it. My arms were like lead, my fingers stone,
as I slowly wiggled and tugged until the too tight mini skirt was
around my waist and my tiny pink thong was in clear sight.

"Which of us do you want to check, Aunt Hannah? You need to ask
politely. Whose finger do you want between your chubby legs?"

I couldn't speak. I could only shake.

"I'll count to three. If you haven't asked one of us, I'll call
everyone in here and let them all check. One..."

"Mark."

"Ask him nicely."

"Mark, please check me," I sobbed.

"Stupid, slut! Say "Mark, please finger my slutty pussy to see if I'm
wet from being humiliated'."

I shook my head no.

"Two."

"Mark... oh, god... Mark, (sob) please finger my (sob) slutty pussy to
see... to see if I'm (sob) wet from being humiliated (giant sob)."

What a shit eating grin he had as he slipped his finger between my
legs. He was not content to rub my labia through the thin sheen of
the panties. He pushed the panties aside and entered me, pushing his
finger all the way in to the palm. I couldn't look at them. My skin
was hot... prickly... beet red for my humiliation of standing in front
of this bitchy, blackmailing woman and having her boyfriend's finger
up me, buried to the hilt.

"Very wet," he said softly.

"My, my. The slut likes her humiliation. Look at me, Aunt Slut!" My
eyes leaped to her face. I felt my burn increase, my breathing become
shallow. Yes, dammit! I was getting off on the humiliation.

"Bring her to the edge, Mark, but, don't let her cum." Sara's voice
was like the hissing of a snake: evil and cold.

Mark slowly guided a second finger up my gooey slit. I felt his thumb
touch my clit, which was rigid and quivering.

"Nooooo!!"

It was an explosion... a volcano erupting without warning.
Instantaneously, my body went rigid and my back arched. My orgasm
smashed me, knocking me to the floor. Mark's hand never left me: his
thumb rotating my clit, his fingers sliding up and down, thrusting in
and out of my pussy.

I was writhing on the floor like a mad woman, smashed again and again
by orgasms. I could hear my screaming. So could every one else.
Quickly, they were all in the kitchen watching me... all seven of them
watching as I wiggled on the floor in an orgasmic fit, my legs
thrashing, my hands still clutching the hem of my skirt at my waist.

They watched as I screamed when my body when rigid... arching... only
my heels and my shoulders touching the floor. They were giggling and
smirking as I passed out from the greatest orgasm of my life.

When I awakened, the lights were off in the kitchen and I was alone,
still clutching the hem of my dress. Slowly, I struggled to stand. I
reeked of sex. I was sore and tired. I stumbled to the door, opened
it and went into the living room.

There was only a single, soft, light on. Lucinda, her boyfriend
Jeremy, Mark and Sara were all naked and on the floor. The others
were gone. Sara was sucking Mark's cock. Jeremy was between
Lucinda's legs, his cock buried in her. Sara looked up at me.

"Anybody want to use the old slut?"

"Send her away," Mark murmured. The others grunted negatively.

"Nobody wants you, Aunt Hannah. Go home. I'll call you."

How humiliating! To be available for sex and nobody even wants you. I
had to admit to myself if no one else, I was still horny even after
the multiple orgasms I demonstrated for the crowd. I'd never been
this horny. When I finally crawled into my own bed, I started
masturbating and could not stop. I awakened the next morning with my
hands between my legs and my vibrator still buried in my pussy. I
started my Sunday by masturbating again.

Sara called at two to give me instructions, ordering me to arrive at
the club at seven. I almost panicked as I opened the door. I'd
never been in a gentlemen's club before. I knew they existed and
often the male attorneys in my firm entertained clients there. It was
dark and the rock and roll music blasted my ears as I looked for Mark
and Sara. I found them sitting with friends.

"Aunt Hannah!" Sara called out. "Glad to see you're on time. Come
on!"

I followed her through a curtain at the back. The room was full of
women... girls... teenagers! Their must have been twenty of them in
various stages of undress. I was the oldest.

"Okay, ladies. Here're your costumes. Lockers are over there. Hurry!
We are starting now."

I took a wad of clothes from the woman who had given us instructions.
Following Sara, I began undressing, hanging my clothes in the locker.

"Sara, what's happening?" She had that cold, evil snake's expression
again. I knew I was beet red and shivering.

"Wet T-shirt contest, Aunt Hannah. The winner gets a thousand
dollars. Hurry up!"

"Please, Sara. Don't! I can't stand any more humiliation."

She laughed in my face. "We both know you get off on humiliation,
Aunt Hannah. So, just do as you are told. I'll mail the pictures
if you don't obey me!"

Fighting back tears, I finished undressing and put on the costume they
gave me and my black pumps Sara had told me to bring. The costume was
a white thong bikini bottom and a tiny, cropped white T-shirt. My
nipples were erect and very noticeable. I should have told you. I have
big nipples and when I am aroused, they are huge.

The thong showed my full ass off to perfection. Everyone could see it
and my chubby thighs. Even worse, I had not trimmed my pubic hairs as
everyone else had. I tried to get all my hairy bush into the bikinis
but I could not. Some hair still stuck out around the bikinis edge as
Sara dragged me toward the stage.

Waiting in the shadows as other women preceded me on stage, I surveyed
the audience. It was full of hooting and happy men, some rooting on
their wives or girlfriends, others just enjoying the feminine flesh so
openly displayed. The women on stage strutted like sluts or stood
still like zombies depending on how they reacted. One thing they had
in common. They all squealed and jumped around when they were sprayed
with cold water, soaking their tiny costumes which were identical to
the one I wore. The obvious result was erect nipples and goose bumps
everywhere.

I was steeling myself to go on. I had no choice. I had watched the
ones before me. Once again I was to be the oldest, with the
chubbiest thighs and biggest butt in the contest. My breasts were
exceeded in size by many of them. Now, it was only one woman in front
of me.

Sara whispered in my ear.

"Did you notice Ray Winters from the office sitting with Mark? I knew
you'd want him here!"

"No!" I barked in horror. The bile rose again and I felt faint. Sara
slapped my face, seeing my loss of color and afraid I would faint. I
sobbed as I tried to regain my control.

Ray Winters was a new partner in my firm, thirty-two and very good
looking. He and I had been assigned to a case together where we
really got to know each other. Since then our relationship had
blossomed wonderfully, to the point of sex, which I was sure we'd
consummate on our next date.

Now, any relationship with him would be gone forever. He'd never
have a meaningful relationship with a woman who would participate in a
wet T-shirt contest. I was crushed. This was going to be the
greatest humiliation of all, prancing wet and almost naked before a
hundred men and the man I really liked... the man I'd consider
marrying.

"Your turn, Aunt Hannah," Sara said softly and pushed me up the
stairs.

I stumbled into the spotlight. I froze, unable to move. "Show us
your fat ass!" Mark shouted. I felt a tear on my cheek. Then, the
ice water hit me.

I guess one never knows how one is going to react under extreme
stress.

I was shaking with humiliation and the ice water as I looked down at
myself. The T-shirt was plastered against me, every millimeter of
flesh exposed, my nipples, huge, hard rocks clearly visible, the
bikini bottoms soaked and my pubic hair both visible through the
material and sticking out around the edges, my pussy lips obvious
under the cloth, my chubby thighs covered with goose bumps.

It was so erotic I thought I would orgasm right then and there.

I moaned from deep down inside me and started to bump and grind to the
music... thrusting my hips back and forth... my hands all over my
body, stroking myself. I turned around and bent over, showed my naked
ass to everyone, wiggling in their faces. I felt my hand cup my pussy
when the music stopped and the lights went off. I was in a daze as a
woman guided me off stage.

I won the contest. It seems my hot, full body and wild gyrations got
me more votes than anyone. Sara was royally pissed off I won, her
anger very obvious to everyone. After I redressed and collected my
winnings, I walked towards them. Sara stopped me.

"Well, you old slut, Ray and I had a long talk. He bought all the
pictures and the negatives from me. You belong to him now. Have fun!"
She stalked away. It seemed to be the way I reacted a lot any more.
I stood like a zombie as Ray walked toward me, a little smile on his
face.

"Hannah, follow me home. We need to talk." He kissed me gently on
the cheek, took my hand and led me out of the club.

Ray shoved me down on the couch in his living room, handed me a
highball, and sat beside me. He had a funny little smile on his face
as he watched me. I realized I felt very secure and comfortable with
him... even though he had seen me parading like a slut and had dirty
pictures of me with another man.

"God, you were magnificent! I've never seen such a desirable woman.
A woman so sexy, sensual. You really turn me on!"

"Oh, Ray, please forgive me. That's not the real me. I'm so sorry
you saw me like that. I..."

"I hope it's the real you. I loved seeing you like that, Hannah. It
enhances, not damages, what we have together. And I know everything.
Little Sara folded like a balloon when we talked felony charges. I
have all the pictures and the negatives. I'd love to see them but
I won't look at them if you don't want me to. What do you want,
Hannah?"

"I don't want to think beyond tonight. And, for tonight I want the
man I want to be in my life... you... to fuck me until I beg for
mercy."

He took me in his arms. Before the night was over, he fucked me until
neither of us could move. What started as the worst weekend of my
life, ended as the best. But that's another story.

The End

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E-mail address: ezriter@hotmail.com