What's a slut to do?

This is my first short story, submitted for your review. There isn't much in the way of sex, but rather a situational scene.


8am – 14 hours to go

So how does an intelligent woman sell herself in the modern world?
Sure, there’s prostitution and there’s such a thing as finding a
sugar daddy, but that’s not what I want. I’m a whore, or more
specifically, a slut. A whore sells herself to make money, but
I’ve never done that. Maybe money changed hands, but I never saw
any of it and no one bothered to mention details of any
transactions to me. It would have been like telling the walls how
much the paint on them cost. I’ve been a slave and a willing slut
to the same master since I was 18 and now at 34, he’s said I have
to find myself a new home.

I know I’m desirable and extremely good at sex. I know I’d make a
great toy for anyone since I get off on physical pain and
humiliation. While my friends went to college and got degrees so
they pursue their chosen career, I attended a different kind of
tertiary education. Now they are doctors, lawyers and engineers,
paying mortgages to live in nice homes, have credit card debt up
to their eyeballs and so much daily stress that they’ll probably
have all sorts of medical expenses as they get older. I’m used to
just being around, watching as much television as I want,
reading, going to shows, travelling and getting the best in the
way of beauty care. I love my career and I desperately don’t want
to give it up. I guess I could set myself up as a whore, but I’m
really not into anything that requires any effort. The most
effort I’m used to is keeping my hands behind my back while my
master canes my 36 D’s. Being a whore would mean I’d have to
advertise, have my own place to act as a home base, haggle about
price and run the risk of being arrested. What I really need is a
replacement for my master. Is that too much to ask?

My biggest problem is that I have 24 hours before I have to leave
master’s house forever. On top of that, I’m totally in love with
him. After nearly 16 years of being cared for 24/7, how could I
not be? It’s my own fault really. He brought in a new girl and I
couldn’t bring myself to submit to her authority. It’s not like
my master actually put her above me or anything, it’s just that
she assumed she was better than me, being the new girl and all,
despite me having been in my master’s care since just a few years
after she was born! My master is a good man. He wasn’t willing to
dispatch her when he found out we didn’t get along, especially
after all the work he’d put into acquiring her in the first place
I’m sure. She’s just 18 and fresh out of school as I was. He
probably promised her all the things he’d promised me. To send
her away would have been to break his promises to her and I know
he wouldn’t do that.

I made my own bed when I slapped her in front of him. It was a
cardinal rule I broke. A slave only strikes another slave at the
instruction of the master and I did it doesn’t even matter what
she’d done to provoke me. I am guilty and my master simply had to
follow through with one of the promises he’d made me when we’d
started our arrangement so many years ago. To change the rules
this late in the game would have compromised his position. I was
surprised at first that he’d even remembered telling me the
consequences of slave violence, but then he’d probably given his
new slave the same set of rules he’d given me. It’s just that 16
years ago, it would have been a lot easier to give up what I’d
just been given than it is now. Now, the very thought of having
to make my own decisions causes me to quiver in fear.

I’ve searched the internet and sent out a few emails to some of
the bondage sites, but I know most of them are run by Russians
and the best I could hope for, from any of them would be a roof
over my head, a mattress and a blanket, and possibly basic meals.
There will be no more pedicures, manicures, overseas travel,
parties, not even an expensive dress to wear every now and then.
I’m tempted to contact some of his buddies that he hasn’t been in
contact with in a few years, even though it would be another
breach of the rules. I mean what could he do to me since he’s
kicking me out anyway? But I won’t. If I have anything to give
him, it’s respect.

What I’d like to do is sell myself and leave the proceeds of my
sale to him as a gift to say thank you for all the years of work
he’s put into me. I was a rebellious teenager when he met me and
now I’m a self-aware, proud slut. I’ve grown in so many ways I
can’t count them and it’s all because of the opportunity he gave
me. I’ve read the fantasy stories online about slaves being
bought and sold, but in reality, I’ve only ever seen slaves
change masters at the request of a slave or the whim of a master.
I’m running out of time and as each minute passes, I’m getting
more and more scared. I haven’t felt this way in years and to be
frank, in a perverse way, it’s a little exciting.


5pm – 5 hours to go

I’ve had no response to any of the emails I sent. My master is
home from his office for the day but he’s enjoying his new toy
and I wasn’t invited. I guess he doesn’t want a repeat of my
shameful performance from last night. I simply have no idea what
I’m going to do. I’ve ordered my meal from the kitchen and I’ll
eat in my rooms, near my computer in case something arrives in my
email.

My master just left. He came to see me one last time before my
departure. As I sucked his cock, still slimy from his new toy’s
juices, I begged him to change his mind about me. I didn’t bother
with silly offers like presenting myself to the whip or taking a
brand from a white-hot poker, permanently marking me as a
rule-breaker. What would be the point since he could simply tell
me to do either one for his amusement anyway? I suppose I could
have begged him to kill me, but I value my life too much,
although that option has occurred to me as well. I think he may
have felt a little sorry for me though, and that caused my heart
to swell even more than his balls before he covered me in his
beautiful cum.

He made a casual comment about my oral sex technique being better
than every one of the women, young or old, rich or poor, at the
swinger club he occasionally took me to. I just know he was
suggesting that if I went there, I might find someone to take
care of me. Despite feeling sorry for myself, I couldn’t help but
love him even more for his kindness. I was grinning like an idiot
as he creamed my forehead and hair.


10pm – 0 hour
My master gave me two final gifts as I left the house, carrying
even less than I’d brought with me all those years ago. The first
was a deeply passionate kiss, albeit one tasting of her pussy,
but the second was a gift I’d never considered possible. He
gifted to me every item he’d allowed me to call my own since I’d
joined him in his mansion. That included the Porsche I’d driven
almost every day, all the clothes I’d left in closets and
drawers, a laptop computer, everything! Not only that, he said
he’d look after them until I sent for them. How could anyone not
love him? He even had the car keys in his hand when he told me. I
couldn’t help myself. I hugged him so tightly as I cried
shamelessly that I’m sure I could have bruised something.
Eventually I had to let him go and I walked away, feeling his
eyes boring into me I couldn’t let myself look back. I sat in MY
car for a full 15 minutes, sobbing.

At the door to the club, I ran into my first real obstacle. My
master was a member but I wasn’t. I was dressed appropriately, in
jeans and a sweater, sneakers and my handbag, but the door man
stopped me. At first I thought he was going to comment on how
obvious it was that despite freshly applied makeup, I’d recently
been crying. But nooooo… he wanted to see my membership card. I
didn’t have one. My master must have flashed it when he’d
escorted me in the past. I personally knew nothing about such a
thing. I wasn’t getting in without an escort now though, when it
mattered most. I went back to my car and cried again for another
few minutes before an idea hit me.

I took my necklace off, laid it out on my lap, then found a piece
of card I was able to write in lipstick on. I wrote, “Will do
anything (underlined) to get inside”, then after removing my
sweater to reveal the tight tee shirt beneath, used the necklace
to attach my new sign around my neck like I’d seen homeless
people do. I was, after all homeless, wasn’t I? The doorman could
only insist I keep the entrance clear when I went back to the
club. It was very chilly, being February and my nipples were like
rocks, even visible through my bra. Despite my discomfort, I
waited. And I waited. People coming and going smiled at me as
they passed but no one as much as talked to me as I stood there,
freezing to death.

I was forced to wait nearly two hours before a guy and his
well-dressed female partner somewhere in their 40’s came close. I
saw her hand tug his and they stopped a few feet from me. She
said something to him and I saw him shake his head. She said
something else and he seemed to give a resigned nod. Then the
woman came up to me, really close, like what some people would
consider uncomfortably close. She was wearing an expensive
perfume and she reeked of money. The guy waited behind her, much
as I imagined I’d look waiting behind my master. After appraising
me silently for a moment, she sniffed me. For some reason, that
unsettled me, as if I was being judged. Although I’m quite used
to being appraised, this was different. I wasn’t doing this for
my master, but for myself. A simple snap of her fingers followed
an abrupt decision that I’d passed whatever test she’d given me.
I followed her through the doorway, noting that it was the guy
who showed his membership card, not her.

Inside, I was told to strip for further inspection. And inspect
me they did. Together they noted everything there was to note
about me, from the fillings in my teeth to the brand on my hip,
to my ringed clit, to the barely visible scars in various places
on my body. It was as humiliating as they’d intended, but it made
me soaked between my legs to the point that there was moisture on
my thighs before they’d even finished looking me over. When they
were finished, the woman simply pointed to the ground at the feet
of the guy. Her wishes were clear enough. I dropped to my knees
and unzipped the guy’s nondescript jeans. His cock was out and in
my mouth within seconds, right there in the well-lit dressing
room, not even in the club proper, much less the private rooms
that were available. When the woman saw he was sufficiently hard,
she lifted her skirt and once again snapped her fingers. Again I
knew what was expected. I rotated towards her, still on my knees,
pulled the gusset of her panties aside and began to lick at her
exposed labia before pushing my tongue between the folds of her
pussy.

After a few minutes of watching me work on her, she stopped me,
grabbed a handful of my hair, and used it to direct me into the
corner where I waited while they disrobed and wrapped towels
around themselves. I still had no idea if they were into some
sort of BDSM thing themselves and if so, who was the sub and who
was the dom. His outfit was bargain basement material, worth less
than the shoes she was wearing, but she often looked to him, as
if for approval. The first words from either of them came from
the guy. He simply asked who’s slave I was, as if all women
waiting outside a swinger’s club with a sign offering services
for entry was commonplace for a slave. I politely told him I was
no one’s slave anymore and before I could continue with a full
explanation, he held up his hand for silence. It was the woman’s
turn to speak, which she did, in short, abrupt sentences, as if
she wasn’t accustomed to wasting words. She told me her name was
Eleanor, the guy was her husband Frank and today was his
birthday. I would be expected to see to it that he enjoyed a good
orgasm before I was free to do whatever it was I had needed entry
for. Feeling the need to be as succinct as she’d been, I simply
answered with a, “yes ma’am” then followed that up with a
question regarding his preference for any particular hole. His
response was that he wanted what he called an, “Around the
World”, followed by an explanation when he saw my confusion.

We made our way into the club and one of its private rooms. With
the curtain closed, I once again dropped to my knees and sucked
him to full erection while his wife watched with interest,
occasionally allowing her hand to slip between her thighs. I took
him all the way into my throat, and then used my tongue to tickle
his balls. After a few minutes, he pushed me to my back and
pushed my knees apart so he could get his cock to the entrance of
my pussy. My legs were still bent from the kneeling position I’d
been in but he didn’t seem to care. He roughly penetrated me,
finding that I was wet and ready for him. A few more minutes
pumping there and he moved to put his cock between my tits. I
could tell I’d be expected to hold them together for him while he
titty-fucked me. When the lubricant from my pussy had soaked into
my skin and his strokes became less slippery, he dropped back
into my warm box. Instead of climaxing or returning to my tits,
he once again pulled out, aimed a little lower and skewered my
ass with one thrust. Finally he moved my legs out of the way, for
which I was grateful, but it wasn’t for my comfort. He just
wanted to get the maximum amount of his 7 inches into my ass.
After he came in me, his wife dropped to her knees next to him
and began to suck his cum right out of my stretched asshole.
Frank smiled and said aloud that she was the best wife ever.

It was as if I suddenly no longer existed to them. Once Eleanor
was sure she’d cleaned out my ass, she began kissing her husband
right on the lips. I could imagine what he tasted, having been
there myself. He didn’t seem at all turned off by it though. He
was lost in a private world containing just the pair of them. I
figured I’d been dismissed, but I had nowhere I needed to be, so
I sat back and watched them. After a few minutes Eleanor noticed
I was still there and broke her kiss long enough to tell me I was
dismissed. I politely asked her if I might watch them for a few
more minutes and if she wanted me to, I’d lick her pussy for her.
She thought about it for a moment then readjusted herself to give
me access to her pouting quim. I licked her through 2 orgasms and
a hand job Eleanor gave to Frank. Eventually they were sated and
lay back. Frank finally gave me permission to tell my story,
which I did as quickly and efficiently as I could.

Frank summed up my plight in just a few words when I’d finished.
He simply asked if he was right in thinking that I was a lazy
slut that wanted everything but with little to no effort. My
response was that I was a career slave with no master. He then
told me to go away and suck a few cocks while he had a private
word with his wife. Hoping and praying they were going to talk
about taking me in, I did as I was told. An hour later, Frank
caught my attention just as I was finishing off my third cock.


Epilogue

My lifestyle has certainly changed from what I was accustomed to
a year ago. I no longer have a set of rooms to personalize; I can
no longer jump on a private jet to Europe with my master for the
weekend. I have a doggy-bed just inside the kitchen of a
3-bedroom ranch-style home to sleep on. I am a maid to a pair of
lower-middle class people who both work but don’t only not pay me
for my efforts, but punish me if the house is not kept spotless.
Twice a week, Friday and Saturday, I’m a fully-fledged whore,
doing anything for the customers that Frank and Eleanor provide
me with. I still don’t see the money from it, but my purpose is
clear; I fuck them any way they want, oral for $30, vaginal with
a condom for $50 and anal for $60. I get the money and give it to
Eleanor so she can buy new clothes and cosmetics that were always
difficult for her to afford. They have someone lined up for this
week that’s going to pay them $200 to fuck my pussy without a
condom. For all I know, he could give me a disease or make me
pregnant. But it’s not my place to complain. I know they’ll take
care of me if I get pregnant. If I get a venereal disease,
they’ll drop the price I guess. I have found out that Eleanor
gets off on sucking my pussy while Frank canes my tits. Frank has
figured it out so he can fuck her at the same time, which means
we all cum at least once a week from this. I might be old for a
slave, but my career is still on track for bigger and better
things. Especially after what Frank told me today, he’d like to
try sometime.