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 Copyright (c) Robin Neal, all rights reserved, reposting without permission
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   PET

   4.  NIGHT OUT

   She helped me out of the limousine.  We were on a dark side street in
what had to be the red light district.  No one was close by, but the lights
and noise from the nearby thoroughfare were like a carnival.  I fought my
handcuffs and made a little frustrated, angry whining noise, but she took
me by the pony tail and shook me once firmly, then held me face-first
against the car while she unbuckled my gag and unlocked the cuffs.  The
first thing out of my mouth was "I'm not going to..." at which Cissy shook
me again and said "Pet!" in the voice she used when the very next thing I
said would get me punished.  I stood there trembling and sniffling, rubbing
my wrists, while she gave me instructions.  "Pet, you are fond of using
inappropriate terms to describe the role of a House girl, and it's time you
learned the difference firsthand.  All I expect of you tonight is to
accomplish your task and get back to the House by yourself.  If you can do
that, you will not be punished, and you will have gained an important new
perspective.  I know that you think this will be difficult, but you will
find that it isn't if you can simply discipline yourself and do as I've
told you.  A taxi home costs about twenty-five dollars.  Once you have the
money, get a cab and give the driver the card in your purse.  There is
nowhere else you can go even if you knew the city.  And Pet..." she paused
as she was getting back in the car, chillingly beautiful in her boots and
furs.  "Do NOT make me come find you."

   The huge limo hissed away and I looked around, frightened by how alone I
was and desperately trying to think of a way out of my situation.  I looked
in the little purse for the first time, not knowing what I was hoping for,
and found hardly anything.  Lipstick, a compact with powder in one side and
mascara and eye shadow in the other but no mirror, a hairbrush, the card
with the address of the House and a pack of long menthol cigarettes and a
lighter.  Not even a quarter for a phone call!  For a minute I thought of
just trying to hide and wait for morning, but just then a door slammed up
the street, away from the lights, and a man's angry, drunken voice yelled
something I couldn't catch.  Terrified, I hurried toward the thoroughfare,
trying to keep my balance on the slick pavement in my five-and-a-half-inch
mules.  I had trained in them at the House but this was the first time I
had ever worn high heels on the street.

   Halfway to the corner I stopped and looked at myself in a shop window,
putting on lipstick and trying to keep my tears from messing up my mascara.
The maids had given it an extra effort when they had made me up earlier.  I
took my hair down and gave it a few quick strokes.  Then I got my first
good look at my dress.  My breath caught and I almost started crying again.
It was hopelessly brief.  I had popped a nipple out of the scooped neckline
while brushing my hair, and it was already erect from the cool breeze.  I
pulled the stretchy little micro back up over my huge boobs, and the hem
rode more than halfway up my ass.  On the third try, by putting my purse
under my arm and using both hands, I got both my nipples and my bottom
covered.  I hadn't taken three steps before I could tell by the chill that
my cheeks were partly exposed again.  At least the tight spandex kept my
heavy breasts somewhat under control, but I was totally humiliated to think
that people were going to be able to see my vagina if I wasn't really
careful the way I moved.  Maybe even if I WAS careful.  I bit my lower lip,
blinking back my tears, and then mentally kicked myself for messing up my
lipstick.  Back to the shop window and fixed it again.  Dammit, Pet, stop
sniffling!  This was so confusing, so unfair.  'This isn't me,' I kept
thinking over and over and over.  'I don't look like this.  I don't act
like this.  I'm not LIKE this!'

   I hovered around the edge of the lights at the corner, wracking my brain
for a way to get the money other than by doing what Cissy meant for me to
do.  I didn't think I was capable of it.  Ever since I had been brought to
the House and Cissy had explained to me what a House girl is, I had refused
to even consider it.  But what were my options?  I had nothing to sell,
nowhere to go, nobody I could talk to except at the House.  For the first
time, the House seemed like a refuge to me.  Any man I talked to outside
would probably try to jump me.  I could be abducted, raped, God only knew
what.  Any woman on this street would see me as foreign competition.  I had
no ID, so the cops would assume I was a hooker and arrest me, THEN probably
try to jump me.  I was so frightened.  All I wanted was to be back in my
room.  There, if I was good I wouldn't be punished and I was getting used
to my training.  The only people I had to please were Cissy and the
Instructors.  The other girls wouldn't bother me even if they were jealous.
They were busy with their own training.

   Finally I couldn't wait any longer.  Someone was going to notice me
anyway.  There were crowds of men and a few women, cruising between the
clubs, topless bars and peep shows, laughing and carousing.  I gave my
dress a last hopeless adjustment and started up the street to the right,
staying close to the wall.  I didn't get far before the catcalls and
whistles started, and at that moment it came to me that I was making it
worse by trying to hide.  Mademoiselle Marienne, the Posture Instructor,
had talked about it a million times.  Her cold, intense tone came back to
me.

   "Carriage is a projection of self-image, young ladies.  Show the world
that you are weak and insignificant, and you will be treated
disrespectfully.  Show the world that you are special and impressive, and
the world will beg to please you." I made myself try, and as my months of
posture training took over I held my head higher, boobs thrust out and back
arched.  To my surprise, my dress fit better this way.  I gave the hem a
little twitch and it stayed down as long as I kept my chin up and my
shoulders back.  It even covered most of my butt.  I started handling my
heels better and took short, balanced steps, knees straight, a bit pigeon
toed like a runway model.  Right away the noise slacked off; the watchers
buzzed among themselves instead of making rude noises.  By the time I got
to the end of the block, I was almost strutting.  In the street lights I
could see that my dress was a shiny emerald green, setting off my coppery
red hair.  For the first time in my life I got a real gut-level taste of
being an attractive girl, a sexy girl that people WANTED.  It was
humiliating and shameful and wild and powerful.

   But it wasn't getting me any closer to home.  I ducked into the quietest
bar I could see close by, a dingy little place with a curtain instead of a
door.  It was very dark inside and smelled like a dirty carpet soaked for
years in beer.  I tried not to make a big entrance and still keep my
posture, but I got noticed anyway.  The men in the booths buzzed.  I headed
straight for the refuge of the ladies' room, and touched up my makeup in
the cracked mirror.  I needed to pee, but couldn't make myself use the
filthy toilet.  I would just have to wait.  Lipstick perfect again and so
nervous I was getting hiccups, I ventured back out into the barroom.

   There weren't many people inside and they were mostly in the shadowy
booths.  The bartender was a fat, bald man right out of a movie.  I minced
over to the bar, chose the stool second to the very end, and froze as I
realized I had two problems.  One, I had no money for a drink even if I
knew what to order, and two, I could think of no way to get up on that bar
stool, even with my long legs, without showing the entire establishment my
pussy.  I had to do something, do it right away, and do it gracefully. 
Heart pounding, I put my purse on the bar and made it up as I went along.
It turned out to be a kind of slither, knees tight together, one hand on
the stool and one hand keeping my boobs in my dress.  It worked all right
considering how bad it might have been, but when I was settled I realized I
was sitting on the leather of the stool, not the fabric of my dress, and if
I could have looked past my bosom I would have seen my cute little shaved
pussy exposed to the whole world.  I crossed my legs, quick.

   With problem number two behind me, problem number one was looming.  The
barkeep was on his way.  I had to stall him until I could think. 
Reflexively I picked up my purse and opened it, not looking his way, and he
hesitated halfway down the bar.  Once I had my purse open there was only
one option.  Never having smoked in my life, I started right then.  The
pack was full but already opened.  A good thing because I would not have
known how.  I watched myself in the bar mirror, trying to look nonchalant
and elegant as I lit my first cigarette, put my lighter away and blew smoke
at the ceiling.  It tasted awful but had an immediate calming effect.  I
marveled.  Had Cissy, somehow, known I would have to do this?

   He was on his way again and I didn't really have any better plan than
before.  It crossed my mind wildly that I should tell him the truth, that I
didn't have any money at all and could use a drink anyway, but before he
arrived a voice on the other side of me said, "Um...  Hi." It was a
serviceman, a sailor I guess, young and not terribly good looking, with an
embarrassed but determined look.  He had been sitting with a couple of
similar guys when I came in but I had barely noticed in my rush for the
washroom.  Now he had obviously decided to say something to me, but when I
turned to him, relieved to be rescued from the bartender, he seemed to get
stuck.  His buddies in the booth snickered.

   "Hi," I said helpfully in my best contralto.  What on earth was wrong
with him?  Then it hit me that he was frozen by my looks, confronted by an
exceptionally beautiful girl.  No, I corrected, confronted by an
exceptionally sexy girl.  I watched him try twice, and he could NOT take
his eyes away from my cleavage.  An incredibly devilish feeling swept me.
He tried to tear his eyes away again.  I arched my back just a little bit.
He failed.  I blew more smoke at the ceiling.

   The bartender was waiting and I finally let my new friend off the hook.
"I can't think of what to order," I purred.  Purred, also for the first
time in my life.  "What do you think?" From that point on, it was pretty
easy for a while.  I had a glass and a whole bottle of pretty inexpensive
champagne in front of me, a benefactor on the next stool who seemed so
overawed that he didn't even try to put his hand on my leg, and for the
first time that night I had some options.  Paul wasn't much of a
conversationalist and whenever I didn't want to answer a question, I could
turn to give him a little deeper view between my boobs and he would forget
what he'd asked.  I was learning fast.  I found out a couple of typical
things about his life story, and I had my third glass of champagne, my
second cigarette, and I even made a quick foray to the ladies' room and
back ( to do my lipstick again, I was getting kind of obsessive about it ),
complete with a repeat performance of getting up on my barstool.  Paul
might have seen the barest flash of my pussy before I got my legs crossed.

   I thought of asking him to loan me twenty-five dollars, but I just
couldn't bring the conversation around to it.  Visions of Cissy and what
she expected me to do tonight, where that twenty-five dollars was supposed
to come from, kept going through my mind.  She was going to ask me about it
and I had learned that I positively couldn't lie to her.  She would punish
me herself, this time, if I didn't do what I was supposed to, and I had
good reason to fear her punishments although they never physically harmed
me.  So I talked to Paul, whom I had decided was kind of nice, and had
another glass of champagne, and then I began to notice something
disturbing. I was getting wet.  By now my barstool had wiggled over a few
inches somehow and my thigh was up against Paul's, and I was getting wet.
Since I had come to the House that had never happened unless Cissy made it
happen, which she could do any time in any of a hundred ways.  But it had
never just happened.  Now my naked sex was right against the leather of my
barstool and without meaning to I was rubbing it when I moved, and I was
feeling it, getting slippery without any really direct stimulation.  In the
back of my mind, crazy confusion began to form.  Again and again I thought,
"But this can't be happening.  I'm being forced to do this.  I don't want
to do it!" And further back in my mind, hidden in a kind of secret place, a
little voice whispered, "Or do you?"

   Finally, the situation resolved itself the only way it really could.  I
was going to lose my chance.  I had unintentionally pushed a breast up
against Paul's arm a couple of times and I'd had a couple more glasses of
champagne and my nipples were getting very obviously hard.  In fact, my
boobs themselves felt swollen and kind of hot, almost itchy.  I just took a
deep breath and leaned over and told him in a whisper what I wanted to do
with him and how much it was going to cost.  He seemed just a little taken
aback, but he had the money and what could he really say?  I had another
cigarette and another glass of champagne, and he went and had a word with
his awestruck friends and then we left together.  I was noticeably tipsy
and he helped me down off my sex-partner barstool and escorted me out the
back door to the parking lot.  The decision made and my new hormones
raging, I was feeling fey and wild.  As we walked I took his arm.  He put
his hand in the small of my back, I moved it down to my ass and settled it
there firmly.  It kind of helped keep my dress down.  I almost as tall as
he was, in my mules, and he had to take very slow steps so I could keep up.
I was walking pigeon-toed again, and switching my ass back and forth a bit
without even meaning to.

   When we got to his car (it was a big pickup truck) I didn't even let him
unlock it.  I gently pushed him back against the door and put my boobs up
against his chest and bit him on the ear.  He gasped.  His jacket was over
his shoulder, and I took it from him and dropped it to the ground at his
feet and started kissing him.  He seemed totally entranced, his eyes might
even have been closed.  I shoved my bosom hard up against him again and
slid down the length of him to my knees.  My mouth was at the level of his
belt buckle and I clicked my teeth against it gently, teasing him.  He had
taken his wallet out of his pocket, and I took it out of his hand.  Barely
remembering what I was supposed to be doing, I took out twenty-five dollars
and put it in my purse, then put my purse on the ground beside me.  I
reached around behind him and put his wallet in his back pocket, then
opened his belt buckle and his pants, dimly remembering to be careful not
to break a nail.  The physical reality of his penis stopped me for a
moment. I kept thinking that I didn't want this, I didn't know how to do
it, and if I did it I would be somehow changed forever.  But my little
voice, the whispering one, argued that I DID want it, I had to learn
sometime, and I was already changed forever.  That last part, anyway, was
certainly true.

   I kissed Paul's cock, stroking it gently.  I was just a little afraid of
it.  It got bigger.  I stroked harder.  I tasted.  Then I licked.  His
moans encouraged me.  I tasted again.  Then, heart thumping and breathing
hard, I took it in my mouth.  It was pretty big for me, for a first time. I
slid it in as deep as I comfortably could, then slid it out and licked some
more.  A warmth was growing deep in my belly, down near my crotch, and my
nipples were so hard.  This time when I slid it in, I slid it in a little
DEEPER than I comfortably could, and I started to move my head in regular
strokes.  Somewhere during the next few minutes, I started moaning with him
and truly sucking.  I forgot everything except what I was learning at that
moment.  I had one hand around the base of Paul's dick and somehow got my
other hand down between my legs.  My massive boobs had come out of my
ridiculous little dress and were pressing against his thighs, stimulating
me even more.  My incredible new body took over and didn't need my brain at
all.  Everything I tried seemed to work perfectly.  Part way through, I
learned how I could get the full length of his cock down my throat for a
second if I didn't breathe.  When Paul finally exploded, I had my hand on
his ass, my nose in his pubic hair and my lower lip against his balls and I
felt his climax like it was happening inside my own body, which it sort of
was.  We convulsed together, he groaning and I unable to make a sound.  In
a way, despite everything Cissy had done with me, I had never been so
penetrated, so soundly fucked.

   Paul recovered slowly, gasping, and so did I.  I had actually come,
fingering myself, right after he had.  He asked for my number, still
tongue-tied as he watched me try to get my tits back in my dress.  I didn't
have a number to give him.  I said I might see him again in this part of
town, but I wasn't sure.  It occurred to me that I could tell him I needed
a place to stay.  But I would have had to tell him some reason why, and I
couldn't tell him about the House or who I was, and I wasn't thinking
straight enough to make up good lies.  Anyway, being a sailor he probably
didn't have a place for me to stay.  In the end, letting him go felt right.
He drove away and I breathed a deep sigh, trying to sort out all these new
feelings.  Paul seemed so different from men I had known in my previous
life, but my little voice said that what was different was me.

   I WAS different, I had changed, whether just now or gradually, over
time, I couldn't really tell.  I turned to the car parked next to me and
looked at my reflection in the window.  Who was that strange, seductive
girl?  I wondered incongruously if they had any more of these little
dresses at the House, maybe black?  Cissy had had the maids tie me to my
dressing rack to get me into this one, it was the only way to make me hold
still enough.  Now I realized that I wanted to try on some others.  Why did
I want that?  I wondered how I'd look with my hair piled up like Shelly, a
girl in class everyone thought was really lovely, or with my makeup
different.  Cissy had given me a little shiny purple thong bikini a few
weeks ago when I'd sort of accidentally been good, and I'd petulantly
thrown it in a drawer and refused to wear it.  She said since it was a
gift, I didn't have to wear it if I didn't want to.  Tomorrow, if I could,
I was going to see if it fit.  New feelings were washing through me faster
than I could keep up.  I thought of Cissy again and now, when I wanted so
badly to be back at the House, it came to me how she always took care of
me, and I realized for the first time how it hurt her too when I fucked up
and she had to punish me.

   It being past midnight, and being alone in a parking lot in the worst
part of town, I stopped philosophizing.  I got my heels on and straightened
my dress and my hair.  I had lost most of my lipstick and I redid it in the
side mirror of a car.  My foundation and eye shadow still looked pretty
good.  I kept to the shadows until I got around to the thoroughfare.  But
when I stepped onto the sidewalk I lifted my chin and my boobs high, and
walked like I'd been trained to.  Instead of going to the curb and waiting
for a cab, I walked up the sidewalk hunting for one.  I lit a cigarette
without stopping, casual as if I'd been doing it for years, and blew smoke
at the sky.  People stared, I stared back.  When a taxi came down the
boulevard, I stepped to the curb and stopped it with my boobs.  I just put
my hands on my hips, pulled my elbows back and held them out where the
driver could see them and brakes squealed.  As I swiveled my long, long
legs into the back seat, I wondered whether I could go to a police station
or something, tell the story of my kidnap and try to go back to my former
life.  I wondered, but only for a second.  Fingering the first twenty-five
dollars I ever made doing something I really wanted to do, I handed the
goggle-eyed driver Cissy's address card and blew smoke out the open window.

   *****

   In episode 5, the House suddenly seems different to Pet.  Can it really
have changed so much, or is it Pet who's different?