Title: Don't Talk to Strangers

Author: JiMC

* * *

    This work is copyright (c) 1997, 2001, 2002 with all
rights reserved by its author, including that of publication.
Reposting is only allowed when permission is explicitly
granted by the author, and then only for the complete story,
including this disclaimer.  Contact the author at
<jimc-author@excite.com> for more information, referring to
this story ("Don't Talk To Strangers").

    The following is a work of fiction and is just a fantasy.
Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is definitely
beyond the boundaries of reason.

    This is a story that describes some sexually explicit
situations in a fictional universe that only vaguely seems to
be similar to the real universe.  The target audience is
adults (people over the age of eighteen) with broad minds.

Yet Another Note From The Author:

    This is another of my stories that I wrote a while back.
I had written the first half (about five hundred lines), and
sent them to a friend, asking his opinion, since the style is
such a departure from my other stories.  He informed me that
the genre that I was writing was called Mind Control, and he
pointed me to a web site where many such stories were kept.

    Since then, I have written many other stories, trying to
play within and without that genre.  However, this story
continued to beckon to me, mostly because the main character
in it is so unlike any other characters that I tend to write
about.  I really felt like this story needed to be completed.

    I added another hundred lines or so late last year, and
abandoned it again, this time for more personal reasons
unrelated to the story.  Finally, this past holiday weekend,
I decided to hunker down and complete the story.  I truly
believe that I did the story justice.

Foreword

    The girls come from many places.  I really don't care,
actually.  But once they are with me, they move with me,
wherever I decide to go.  I move often, never staying too
long anywhere.  The girls, once they find me, are mine...
until, of course, I've had enough of them.  Then I discard
them without even looking back.  I figure, let the bitches
figure out how to put their pathetic little lives back
together in a strange place.  Serves each one of them right.

    Their mommies should have told them not to talk to
strangers.

    I could describe myself in a few paragraphs, but I'm not
really about to do so with any detail.  For one thing, I'm
not about to let people know who I am.  For another, any
description of me will eventually come down to three words,
which are easier for me to write: I'm a monster.

    I'm not particularly good looking.  I'm not terrible
looking.  I'm mostly nondescript.  If you saw me in a mall,
you wouldn't give me a second look.  Unless...

    I do not give out any monstrous aura.  Actually, I think
I might actually give out some sort of aura that tells people
that I'm not a bad guy.  That's right... even my aura will
lie to you!

    I have a taste for pretty females.  But I don't seek them
out... they seek me out.  Somehow, like a bee to a gladiola,
they find me.

    They would probably spend the rest of their lives
regretting having found me, if they were to remember me.  But
they don't.  I have no idea what happens when I kick them
out, actually.

    So... what's a monster like me doing writing a story
about himself?  Well, for starters, I want to tell somebody.
People probably won't believe me, but I'll still have gotten
it off my chest.  After all, this is fiction, right?  Yup.
That's the ticket!

    But I would also like to say that I could be much more of
a monster than I actually am.  For one thing, I could prey on
kids.  I don't.  In fact, when I hear about those children
that are kidnapped at gunpoint, abducted from their front
yards, and all those other things you hear about in the
newspapers nowadays, it almost makes me want to seek out
those sick bastards and kill them.

    I said "almost."  I don't.  I deplore violence, actually.
Well, mostly.

    I just wanted to point out that there are REALLY sick
individuals out there.  I don't go hunting for my prey like
they do.  I simply allow my "victims" to find me.  Let the
police get the really sick people.  The police will never
find me... and even if they did suspect me (which I seriously
doubt), there is little that I do that is actually illegal.

    I consider any female over the age of sixteen to be an
adult.  In most states, that's the age of consent.  Not like
the legality would bother me, but again, I have my
principles.  If a girl is seventeen or older, she's fair
prey, as far as I'm concerned.  I don't bother the younger
ones.  I have no need.

    The closest that I came to endangering the life of a
minor was having a mother seek me out while she had her young
daughter with her in a store.  She probably would have
forgotten about her kid when she went seeking me out.  I
actually went out of my way to drive the daughter home,
leaving her with no memories of how she got there or what
happened to her mother.  Of course, I don't think her mother
ever returned, so the daughter probably was motherless for
the rest of her life.  Tough shit.  I did my good deed.  And
I didn't personally hurt the kid.

    As I said, I'm a monster.  But I do have my standards.

    I've studied enough psychology to know that I'd be
classified as a sociopath.  That's just a label and conveys
very little as to who the real me is.  I prefer the term
"monster."  It's what I am.  I don't pretend to be a nice guy.

* * *

Kara

    I hate night clubs.  They are too noisy.  They're usually
too smoky.  The people that frequent them sometimes make a
monster like me look like a saint.

    However, I sometimes do go by them.  It's a good place
for people to find me, you know.  Girls that have had too
much to drink, and who have gotten fondled just one time too
many and tell their boyfriends to take a walk can usually be
found there.

    And that, of course, is how Kara met me.

    I was walking on a sidewalk outside the parking lot of a
club named Rascals.  Even from the street, I could hear the
THUMP THUMP THUMP of the music.  The parking lot looked like
it was near capacity.  It was a Friday night.

    I was between girls that night.  My last one had used up
whatever bit of sexuality that she had left, and I had told
her to get lost.  As I said, I don't care where they go.
They are adults, and are supposedly able to look after
themselves.  The girl had entered my life just to be used up
like a sheet of toilet paper.  And just like toilet paper, I
had no need to keep it around once it's used.

    Anyway, the doors to the night club burst open, and a
rather pissed off lady emerged.  She was followed by what I
assumed was her boyfriend, who was being held back by the
bouncers, apparently in an attempt to keep her from getting
harmed.  Of course, the bouncers never even considered that
the guy walking past the club smoking a cigarette might
actually be a danger to the woman.

    Anyway, the boyfriend managed to get out of the club, and
went to the girl.  She turned on him, shouting invective at
him.  She was going to go home by herself... she'd find a
taxi.  And if she ever heard from him again, she'd have a
restraining order against him.

    I actually chuckled hearing that.  The girl had spirit.
She might last more than a couple of weeks.

    After about five minutes, the guy finally threw his hands
up.  "Fine.  Get your own ride home!"  he shouted at her.  He
turned and looked for his car.  In another minute or so, he
found it, started it up, gunned the engine, and finally took
off.

    The girl was still close enough to the entrance that the
bouncer asked if she needed to call a taxi.  She was still
angry enough not to be thinking and turned him down.
Apparently, she was angry at the entire male race: she called
the bouncer a few choice names.

    By this time, of course, I was about a block away.  If
the girl didn't find me, and there was never any guarantee
that she would, I'd find a laundromat or some other place
where somebody would be interested in striking up a
conversation with me.

    It took the woman a few minutes before she realized that
she had no transportation, and she had insulted the bouncer
that would have called a taxi for her free.  He might even
have paid the taxi fare!

    She looked around, mentally calculating the distance to
her apartment, the cost of cab fare, whether or not there was
bus service that could help.  For some reason, she drifted
off in one direction--the same direction that I had taken, of
course.

    I didn't even have to look back.  I just knew what was
happening.  I slowed my pace even more to allow her to almost
catch up with me.  I spied a laundromat a couple of blocks
down, which, as I said before, would have made a good place
to make a catch.  A smile went to my lips.  Fate was smiling
at me!  Between where I was and the laundromat was a bar.  I
could make out the Budweiser sign in the dark window.  I knew
this place; it was a gay bar.  A great place for the pickup!

    The girl was nearly caught up to me when I turned into
the gay bar.  A few people looked at me as I entered, and all
of them didn't see anything they were interested in.  As I
said, it's mostly girls--heterosexual ones, actually--that
were interested in me.  There were very few of them in there.
Homosexual males were never attracted to me.

    I found a couple of empty stools at the bar, and took
one, leaving the one to my right vacant.  I'm a bit
conceited; I really think that my right side is my best one,
and I wanted to look my best.

    On cue, the girl that was following me entered the bar.
Once again, a few people looked up, but this time there was
some interest.  The girl seemed a bit nervous that all the
attention she was getting seemed to be coming from the female
gender.  She apparently didn't know the nature of this bar.

    She ignored the stares and quickly found where I had sat.
I was drinking a vodka tonic with a lime.  She went to the
seat next to me, just as I had expected.

    The girl was actually quite safe where she sat.  As I
said, I do not attract attention from homosexual females.  As
a matter of fact, I seem to repel them a bit.  Any one
approaching her would find themselves thinking other thoughts
when they caught sight of me.

    "Excuse me, mister?"  the girl said.

    "Huh?"  I said, pretending to notice her for the first
time.

    "Could you give me some money for a pay phone?"

    I looked at the girl.  "Sure," I answered.  "Let me buy
you a drink first.  You look like you could use one."

    "No thanks, really," she said, not wanting to increase
her indebtedness to me.

    "My pleasure, miss."

    I signaled the bartender, and asked the girl what she
wanted.  She looked at me and finally said, "Merlot?"

    I nodded my head to the bartender, and indicated that it
would be on my tab.  He got a bottle from behind him, and
poured a glass.

    "We don't get many like you two," the bartender said as
he gave the glass to the girl.

    "I can imagine," I said, twinkling my eye at the
bartender.

    The bartender realized that I knew the nature of the bar,
and simply shrugged.  He had just wanted to avoid the kind of
scene that would happen when straight people inadvertently
came in.  There was a cocktail waiter at the service area
looking for some drinks, and the bartender went back to work.

    "The name's Frank," I lied.  I wouldn't even consider
"Frank" a good name for a hot dog.

    "Kara," the girl answered.

    "Cheers," I said, raising my vodka tonic.

    She raised her glass and sipped it.  I figured that she
had already had three drinks in the previous hour and was
tottering over the legal limit.

    "So, how much do you need?  A quarter?  A buck?  Is it a
long distance call?"

    "Huh?"  Kara asked, confused.  "Oh... money for a pay
phone!  Yes.  Just a quarter or so.  My ride left me and I
need to get home."

    "No money?"  I asked, looking at her outfit.  There was
no way she could have hid a dime in her dress.

    "No pockets," she said, grinning slightly.

    "That's the problem with women's fashions," I remarked.
"Never enough pockets.  That way, they make more money
selling pocket books."

    This struck her as funny.

    Kara hadn't noticed, but a couple of girls had approached
her, only to be turned off when they saw me talking with her.
It was just like I had predicted.

    I signaled the bartender.  "Do you have a business card
for a taxi service?"  It was a rhetorical question.  Bars
always had those numbers available for when their patrons had
just a little bit too much.

    "You need a ride?"  he asked me.

    "My friend here does."

    He looked at her once again, and then looked at me.  "I
can call her a cab, if you want."

    I turned to her.  "Do you want, Kara?"

    "Um... well, maybe in a little bit.  I'd like to finish
my drink."

    "No problem, miss."

    The bartender left, and Kara looked at me.  "What did he
mean?"

    "Mean by what?  Wanting to call you a cab?"

    "I mean, when he said that they don't get many like us."

    "Oh.  Look at the couples at the tables," I said.

    Kara looked, and after a few seconds, she realized that
all most of the tables, the couples were members of the same
gender.

    "Oh!  I didn't realize.  Does that mean that you..."

    I waited for her to finish the question, but Kara started
blushing, thinking she was asking something too personal.

    Finally, I let her off the hook.  "No. I sometimes prefer
this kind of place as a place where I can have a peaceful
drink without being bothered."

    Kara nodded and then said, "I didn't mean to be a
bother..."

    "You're not," I said.

    She seemed to relax when I said that.

    I already knew what would happen.  She'd invite me to
share her cab.  Then she'd decide that she'd prefer to go to
my place instead of hers.  And, of course, she'd never be
heard from again.

    Kara followed her role perfectly.  She arrived at my
apartment, thoroughly infatuated with me.

    My place was small, and I had already removed all traces
left behind by her predecessor who was doing God knows what
right now, trying to put her life back together.

    My one-month lease would expire the very next Friday.
Kara would follow me to my next destination, somewhere in the
mid-west.  I was due to escape the big megalopolis between
Boston and Washington, and a small rural community would be a
good place to dump Kara and find myself her replacement.

    Of course, Kara had no idea that her life was predestined.

    "There's only one bed," Kara said, giggling nervously.

    "Yes.  It's where I sleep.  You can take the sofa."

    This struck her as funny.  "I thought we'd... you know...
share..."

    "The sofa doesn't appeal to me, Kara."

    "I mean the bed, silly!"

    "Oh.  Are you making a request?"  I asked, raising my
eyes.

    "I... um... I guess... I mean..."

    "Because if you are, then I'll accept your request if you
accept one from me."

    "You want to sleep with me?"  she asked, coyly.

    "Maybe later.  But first, I'd like to fuck that ass of
yours."

    My remark left her almost speechless.  I had figured that
she had never done anything so exotic before.  I was
apparently right.

    "Fuck... my ass???"  she asked, incredulously.

    "Yeah.  A good ass-fuck will put me to sleep nicely.
Then you can wake me up tomorrow morning with a blow job, and
then maybe I'll fuck that pussy of yours."

    Kara had never been spoken to like this before.  She was
shocked that anybody would be so bold to just assume that she
could be ordered to do those perverted things.

    As Bugs Bunny would say, she didn't know me very well.

    I could see a lot of emotions going through Kara's face.
This is one of the joys in being me... watching a person go
through the changes.  She was changing from being a totally
independent female that had recently told her boyfriend to
take a hike to a subservient little slut that would fuck a
professional hockey team just because I thought it might be
funny.

    Right now, my superior smile was slowly pissing the hell
out of the "old Kara" that was gradually disappearing.

    She was considering her options.  She could easily go
home.  I had my wallet on the dresser, and would make no move
to prevent her from taking out enough money to pay a cab.
There was a telephone in the living room where we were.  It
wasn't connected, but she didn't know that.  I had no
interest in having any bills with my name on them.  She could
walk right out of my apartment, the same way that she left
her loser boyfriend.

    But what was really happening was that the "new Kara" was
convincing the old one that she wanted, more than anything
else, to be with me... to please me... no matter how weird I
acted, or how insulting I was to her.

    I watched the drama play out within her mind, her facial
reactions making it clear to me what was happening.  Once
more, I had wished I had a video camera to record this.  But
when Kara's replacement came along, I'd get to see it again.
And again.  Ad infinitum.

    Finally, she said in a small girl's voice, "I've never
had anybody in my... my bottom... before."

    "Cool," I said, playing my role.  "I get an anal cherry
as a bonus.  Fine.  For the cherry, I'll give you five
minutes of pussy licking tomorrow morning, before I take my
shower."

    Once again, the "old Kara" couldn't stand being talked to
that way.  I idly wondered what Loser Boyfriend had done to
piss her off before.  It was probably nothing compared to
what she was enduring now.

    "I'd... I'd like that," Kara said, still in her little
girl voice.

    I bet, I thought to myself.  A girl like Kara probably
INSISTED that she get a good pussy licking before anybody
even fucked her.  Tough shit.  Her life was changing,
although she didn't know it.

    "Of course, after the ass fucking, I expect you to clean
my prick.  I don't want to stain the sheets."

    Actually, I didn't give a fuck about the sheets.

    Kara meekly nodded.

    Fuck.  This bitch was already broken.  She might not have
enough to last the two weeks that I had estimated.

    "F... Frank?"

    "Yes?"

    "Would it be all right if I cleaned it with a face cloth?"

    "A face cloth?  You mean, something that will touch my
FACE?  Are you fucking nuts?"

    "S... sorry," she said.

    Well, she still had a little spunk in her.  Not much, but
maybe she would last a couple of weeks.

    "So.  Strip.  Lets see those hooters.  What size are
they, by the way?"

    "My... hooters?"

    "Are you fucking deaf?  I don't have time to learn sign
language!"

    "Thirty... thirty five... C."

    "A C-cup?"  I asked, looking unconvinced.

    Kara simply nodded.

    "Well... let's see 'em," I said, taking a seat on the
recliner.

    Kara was standing in the middle of the living room.  She
looked around nervously.

    "Um... Frank?  Could we... like... close the curtains?"

    "Why?"

    "Your lights are bright.  Somebody across the street can
see inside?"

    "I knew it.  B cups.  Probably 34B."

    "No!  I mean... you want me to take off my clothes with
the curtains open?"

    "Fuck it," I said, getting up off the recliner.  I walked
towards the bedroom.  "Find your way out, Kara.  Good
riddance.  What a fucking asshole!"

    "Wait!"  Kara said.  I could hear the desperation in her
voice.

    "Strip right now!"  I barked.  "Show me your tits.  And
then, press them against the living room window.  If there's
a peeping Tom looking in on my apartment, he or she might as
well get a good show."

    Kara looked at me, once again in shock.  Things were
getting progressively worse, and she had no way out.  If I
threw her out while I was pissed at her, there was no telling
what would happen.  I had done that with some other prick
tease that pissed me off, and she committed suicide the very
next day.  Not that I have any conscience about that... I'm a
monster, remember?  But my emotions tend to really affect
those people that are attracted to me.

    Kara's hands moved to the buttons on her blouse.  She had
a bit of trouble getting her fingers to properly unbutton it.
I got a bit annoyed and walked over to her, and pulled the
two sides of the blouse apart, shooting her buttons all over
the apartment.

    "I said, STRIP NOW!"  I yelled.

    Kara meekly nodded, and pulled her ruined blouse off her
shoulders into a heap on the floor.  She then reached behind
her to undo her bra.  She allowed the garment to join her
blouse.

    Kara's tits were nice.  They weren't too large and
flabby.  But they weren't tiny little cupcakes, either.  They
were nicely shaped with enough firmness to keep them aloft.

    Her nipples were hard.  I tend to have that effect on
females.  When I get angry, their nipples and clitoris tend
to get hard... almost demanding attention.  In fact, as Kara
stood in front of me, naked from the waist up, she
unconsciously started to flick at her sensitive nipples with
her fingers.

    "Stop that!"  I said, indicating her errant fingers.

    "Sorry," she said.

    "Press them to the window now, slut!"

    Kara cringed as I called her that word, but slowly walked
to the window.  She pressed her breasts against the window as
ordered.

    "Keep them there a minute," I said.  "Just in case he has
a camera.  This is a Kodak moment, you know!"

    The thought that some stranger might be filming her made
her blanche, but she held her pose.

    Kara's reluctance to undress with the curtains open was a
new experience for me.  I had never encountered this before.
I didn't know why I had told her to press them against the
window, but in retrospect, I think it was due to an old movie
that I had seen called Kentucky Fried Movie.  There was a
parody of the old B-movies from the early sixties called
"Catholic High School Girls in Trouble" which had a scene
where a girl was getting fucked in a shower, and her breasts
visible against the clear shower door, getting jammed against
the door with each thrust.  thrust.  I had really liked that
scene, and I guess I was reliving it.

    I doubt that I had any peeping Tom neighbors.  Even if I
did, I would be gone in a week.  If somebody got his jollies
by spying in my window, then my punishment of Kara would
probably be a bonus for him.  Live and let live.  Any peeping
Tom would have no idea what I was really doing to Kara,
anyway.

    "Was that a minute?"  asked Kara.

    "Guess so.  Now show me your pussy.  Take off the rest of
your clothes."

    Kara turned back from the window, and moved back to where
her blouse and bra were on the floor.  She quickly unbuttoned
her skirt, and it joined them.  She was wearing panty hose
(got to let her know that I don't like that!), and pulled it
down.  She started to roll the hose on her legs, and then
looked up at me and saw my look of disapproval.  She quickly
pulled them off, causing two runs in the process.

    Kara's panties quickly followed, leaving her entirely in
her birthday suit.

    Kara had a hairy box.  That would be something else she
would need to fix.  But for now, I had other ideas.

    "OK.  Back to the window.  Let our peeping Tom watch you
masturbate for a minute."

    "M... masturbate?"  Kara asked, not believing her ears.

    "Are you going to question EVERYTHING I say, you pathetic
twat?"

    "N... no," she said.  She went back to the window, and
started to diddle herself.

    "Kara... do it like you mean it," I ordered.

    Kara's motions got a bit more involved.  I could hear her
breathing get a bit quicker.  I think the idea of
masturbating in front of some unknown person may have
thrilled her in some way.  That wasn't my intention, though.

    I saw her knees start to shake, and I ordered her to stop.

    She did so, and looked at me.  She was still standing in
front of the window with her hand between her legs.

    "That's enough," I repeated.  "Clean your fingers."

    Kara looked at me, questioningly.  Then her face got a
resigned look as she realized that I had no intention for her
to clean her fingers in the sink.  She slowly brought the
fingers of her right hand into her mouth, one at a time.

    "Taste good, slut?"  I asked.

    Kara's response was comical.  She started shaking her
head no, and then realized that such a response might make me
angry, so she changed it to a nod.  It ended up making her
look like a fucking idiot, still with a finger in her mouth.

    "All right," I said, getting down to business.  "From now
on, you are no longer Kara, but simply 'K.' No name... just a
letter.  You got that?"

    She looked at me, and nodded again.

    "And you can call me 'Owner.' I am your owner, from now
until I get tired of you.  Just nod your head if you
understand that."

    K nodded.

    "You can take your fingers out of your mouth now, K. I
want you to go into the bathroom.  You can take a piss if you
want.  No shitting.  I want something delicious for you to
taste after your ass fucking.  Anyway, as you leave the
bathroom, take out a towel, and bring it into my bedroom and
onto my bed.  You will lay on that towel with your ass
sticking in the air, an open invitation to me."

    K nodded again, but I wasn't finished.

    "While you are waiting for me, you will think of what you
can do for me that will make me happy enough with you that I
will allow you to go back into the bathroom and put some K-Y
jelly in your ass.  Remember that I want a blow job tomorrow
morning, and a fuck after that.  I will lick your pussy
before I take my shower.  So... none of those tonight will
make me happy."

    She continued to stand there.

    "Get moving," I ordered.

    K quickly went into the bathroom, and I heard the noises
of urination.  I knew that some girls are embarrassed by that
sort of activity, and having them do it in front of me could
be just another cobblestone in the road to their ultimate
degradation.  However, I got no such vibe from K, aside from
her embarrassment of undressing in front of a window.

    I heard the toilet flush, and K left the bathroom with a
towel.  She then disappeared into her bedroom.

    I went over to the television set and turned it on.
There was an episode of Law and Order on.  It's my favorite
show... I like it when the police and the prosecutors win.
The show had just started, so I figured that K would be
thinking for about an hour before I got in there.  I had my
priorities.

    I don't remember exactly which episode I was watching.  I
don't even remember which detectives and lawyers were on it,
they seem to change every year.  Even if I did remember, I
don't really want to give any date or time information, as
you can probably understand.

    If I was a wonderful fiction writer, I would probably
switch to K's point of view at this point.  After all, she's
on a towel on my bed with her ass up in the air.  She's
probably getting tired in that position while I'm watching
Law and Order.  She's definitely afraid to change her
position in case I were to decide to come in.  For all I
know, her muscles are screaming in pain holding that same
position.  Until writing this, I never even considered it,
actually.

    A good fiction writer would also somehow let you know
what was going on in her tiny little brain.  I knew that she
was trying to figure out some special degradation that would
please me.  The more time I gave her, the more outrageous the
ideas would go through her head.  That was just common sense
(although I have found that "common sense" isn't so common).

    I must admit that aside from what I can glean from facial
expressions and the looks she gave, I have no idea what she
was thinking.  It would be entirely fiction for me to pretend
to know my victim's point of view.  The fact remains: I
really don't fucking care.  I'm a monster.  She should have
known better than to chase a stranger into a bar and talk
with me.  She did that, and I took advantage of it.  I don't
pretend to be an angel.  I just take what is offered to me.

    Anyway, when the TV episode ended (the good guys won!), I
sauntered into the bedroom, where K was dutifully presenting
her ass to me.  I told her that I'd be a few more minutes,
having to prepare for bed.

    I left the bedroom for the toilet.  Experience told me
that the degradation most often thought of by the girls up
for ass-fucking is giving me a rim job.  I wanted her to
enjoy her degradation, of course.

    There was also another point to this.  With the
television off, there was very little noise in the apartment.
In her position, her hearing was probably accented.  She
would hear me taking a shit.  If she hadn't considered a rim
job, she'd be thinking of it now.  And if she did, the fact
that I had was taking a dump would probably set her mind
reeling.

    I brushed my teeth, and flossed.  My "Oscar" was starting
to harden in anticipation of the shit feast it would soon be
receiving.  Of course, the rim job would actually bring me a
positive stiffy!

    I finally went back into the bedroom.  "Hello, K."

    I waited for her to answer.  It took her almost a minute
before she realized that I was expecting a response.  "Hello,
Owner."

    Great.  She remembered her role!

    I stuck my finger at the entrance of her pucker.  I could
feel her muscles tense up from the contact.  I smiled.

    "So... have you thought of something that would please me
and allow you to lube up?"  I asked.

    "Yes, Owner," K replied.

    "And what is it?"  I asked, my Oscar hardening in
anticipation of the expected rim job.

    "May I please have the honor of sucking your toes?"

    Oh, my.  This girl had imagination!  She might last the
two weeks, and maybe even more!

    "That sounds like an idea, K. You'll find the lube in the
medicine cabinet.  You have two minutes to get ready, slut!"

    K got off the bed and scampered into the bathroom.

    I undressed and looked at the towel on the bed.  It was
in the middle of the bed, which was not what I liked.  I had
my own side of the bed, and I didn't give a fuck if my girls
had any preference.  I moved her towel onto the other side,
and laid down on my side.

    I hadn't been offered many toe jobs before.  Usually, its
the only first or second day of being with me that the girls
have any ideas of their own.  After that, they sort of get
resigned to being a cum receptical... suck, fuck, ass-fuck,
lather, rinse, repeat.  Not much variety, and that's usually
why I get bored with them.

    But K seemed to be a member of the one percent of the
girls that I got that seemed sexually inventive.  I'm not
sure if having her toes sucked was something she ever did
before she met me; there are many females with many fetishes.
This K was actually starting to intrigue me.  What other
delights would this minx come up with?

    K came back into the bedroom, waddling a bit as she tried
to keep the lubrication between her ass cheeks.  This always
amused me, and I smiled as she entered.  Of course, this
sometimes has the undesired effect of making my victim think
that I was happy with her, but K didn't seem to get that vibe
from me.

    She saw me lying on my side of the bed, my feet near the
edge.

    "Owner, shall I kneel over here and suck your toes?"

    I hadn't considered positions, actually.  My Oscar had
gone soft, feeling rejected because my ass wasn't going to
get a good tongue bath.  I could actually only think of two
positions... her on her knees, as she had suggested, or her
over me in a longish sixty-nine position.  That would, of
course, leave me with only her toes to occupy me.  That
wasn't very appealing to me.

    "Kneeling will be fine, K. Proceed."

    K knelt down and didn't hesitate a bit as she stuck out
her tongue and touched between the big toe and its immediate
neighbor.  The feeling was electric, and Oscar stopped
pouting and started taking notice.

    This girl seemed to be proficient at this.  I decided
that she had probably liked having it done to her, and was
doing the activities that she liked with me.  Her tongue
traveled up my big toe, and a moment later, her lips covered
the big toe.  I could actually feel the suction in her mouth.

    Oscar tried to stand higher, apparently wanting to get a
better view.  As I said, I had a couple of toe jobs before,
but K seemed to be very well versed in their application.
Her tongue stuck out from her sucking lips, moving back to
the webbing between the first two toes (I'm not web footed,
but I don't know any better term to describe that patch of
skin where she was licking).

    Her tongue moved up the second toe, and her lips soon
left my first toe to take up residence on the second one.
Oscar enjoyed this as well.  In fact, Oscar was positively
throbbing!

    This girl had just sucked two of my ten toes, and Oscar
looked like he was ready to spill his seed all over my groin!

    I did an old mind trick that concentrates on a single
part of my body (not my foot!), and Oscar got the message and
started behaving better.  By this time, K had reached the
third toe and her tongue was snaking its way toward the
fourth.

    I concentrated on the sensations she was bringing to me.
Oscar described it as a "blow job from a distance," which was
rather colorful and totally Oscar.  Myself, I was thinking
that there was some sort of electrified wire between my toes
and my ball sac that K had somehow managed to tap into.

    My little toe didn't seem so sensitive, but K seemed to
know this instinctively.  She quickly moved to the little toe
on my left foot.

    As she moved from toe to toe, Oscar started misbehaving
again, especially as K neared the big toe.  Once again, I had
to concentrate to keep him from making an unwanted mess.

    K gave her longest attention to the big toe on my left
foot.  Oscar was behaving, but just barely.  I was also torn
for the first time in my life.

    This toe job was totally out of the ordinary.  But I also
had a rule that my sluts NEVER get a compliment from me
during their first twenty-four hours with me.  What to do?
What to do?

    K looked up at me between my feet, seeing Oscar standing
rigidly at attention.  She smiled at me, knowing that she had
done a good job.

    It took a lot of concentration for me to say, in an
uninterested voice, "Interesting technique, K. Now assume the
position for your ass fucking."

    Her face registered a bit of disappointment in not
hearing a compliment, but brightened almost immediately.  I
guess that my "Interesting technique" comment was the most
positive thing that I had said about her since she entered my
apartment.  Fuck... I was in danger of losing control!

    Slowly, K moved toward the towel.

    "I said assume the position, slut!"  I barked, maybe a
bit too loud, trying to reestablish who was in charge here.

    Quickly, K got into position.

    Oscar was still hard from K's attention to my toes, and
he was looking forward to a nice chocolate bath.  Especially
since he knew that my slut would make him squeaky clean
afterwards.

    I got up and got a good luck at K's ass.  The K-Y jelly
was smeared up and down her crack where it wouldn't do much
good.  For some strange reason, I hoped she had enough in her
asshole, and then checked myself.  Why the fuck was I worried
about this slut's comfort?  I was glad I hadn't verbalized
anything like that.

    Trying once again to reestablish control, I put Oscar
into my hand and aimed him for her pucker.  As Oscar's head
touched her entrance, I could feel her flinch.  Good, I
thought.  Let her worry!

    Oscar, however, wasn't his normal self.  I realized this
as I pushed him into her asshole and he started to bend.
What the fuck was this?  Just a minute ago, he was ready to
"drive a twelve-inch spike into a board" (sorry... another
quote from a movie!), and now he was a mere shell of himself.

    K, however, moaned in pain from the pressure.

    That did it.  Hearing her in pain woke up some other part
of my brain.  This other part of my mind took charge, and
Oscar once again took on his stainless still skin.  I moved
out and back in, this time impaling K's ass with about half
the length of Oscar.

    Another moan of pain, and I pulled out, ready to try
again.

    The third time was the charm.  I was completely inside K,
my balls rubbing against her ass.

    K moaned again, but this time it wasn't so much in pain.

    I've seen this before, but mostly from girls that weren't
anally cherry.  My penis is six inches long (despite what you
hear in stories written by wannabe Don Juans, six inches is
usually more than most girls have ever experienced,
especially in the ass), and even the experienced girls
usually feel some pain before he pleasure kicks in.

    K, however, WAS cherry.  And her moans indicated that she
was already starting to get over the pain.  This was
unheard-of with my bitches.  Once again, I was wondering what
was going on in her brain.  Her eyes were clenched shut.  Was
she thinking about some fantasy that she was getting herself
off on?

    Damn!  I was once again falling for this bitch!

    I gave Oscar a direct order, and he started pummeling my
slut, over and over.  The hydraulic engineers working Ball
Duty sent their message to Oscar and about five minutes after
I first took K's cherry, they started filling her tight
passage with my boiling sperm.

    I continued to thrust as Oscar sent load after load into
K. I noticed that her moaning right now was definitely
pleasure.  Fuck!

    I finally pulled out of K, and rolled onto my own side of
the bed.  I was spent, and Oscar seemed satisfied.

    K, without being reminded, moved down toward Oscar and
started licking.  The bitch was cleaning me up without being
reminded!

    I don't know how long she continued; I fell asleep a few
minutes later.

* * *

    I woke up from a lovely dream.  I was a king, sitting on
a throne, having a bunch of concubines licking my toes.

    I felt a familiar sensation.  Oscar had just awakened me
when K had gotten up and gave me her morning blow job.  Her
technique wasn't great, which gave me hope.  She was mortal,
after all!

    Still, Oscar enjoyed the attention.  I was once more back
in control.  I decided to keep Oscar from shooting for thirty
minutes.

    Afterwards, I gave K most of the standard rules.
Usually, I change their name on the first morning once more,
giving them a number.  It was dehumanizing.  But for some
reason, I didn't do that to her.

    I explained that she was to remain nude at all times,
except when I explicitly told her to dress.  The fact that
her blouse was mostly destroyed made this easier, actually.

    If K wanted to show any affection to me, she must suck
me.  Again, I made an exception with K, giving her the option
of either sucking Oscar or my toes, which were now clamoring
for names of their own.  If I didn't want to be sucked, I
would simply slap her away.

    Tomorrow evening, Sunday, K would be entered in a
wet-T-shirt contest.  She would do whatever she thought was
necessary to win... complete nudity, fuck the club owner,
whatever.  If she didn't come in first, she would be
punished.  I let her know from my tone that said punishment
was not going to be pretty.

    After that, we'd live one day at a time.  She'd live with
me as long as I had a use for her.  I warned her that I bored
easily.  Not unexpectedly, the thought of being apart from me
really worried her.  Her addiction to me was complete.

* * *

    K actually remained with me for six weeks.  It was some
sort of record.

    She constantly thrilled me with her toe jobs.  Even Oscar
had to admit that her toe jobs were at least the equal to the
best blow jobs he ever received.

    But, after five weeks of living in Iowa, I started
hearing the wild geese calling.

    She was sucking Piggie, my big right toe, when I decided
to break the news to her.  I really appreciated K and her
many talents.  Of all the sluts that I ever had, she was
probably the most memorable.

    But a guy like me needs to move on.  K could easily call
herself "Kay," and find a new life out here in Iowa.  She
knew enough to be a first class hooker, a lifestyle that she
no longer considered beneath her.

    "K.  I'm letting you know that this will be your last
session with me.  It's time to move on."

    K looked up to me, and got off of Piggie long enough to
ask a question.  "Are we going somewhere else, Owner?"

    "Not me, K. You."

    K resumed sucking Piggie, and her face considered what I
had told her.

    I saw a tear drop from her eye as she switched from
Piggie to Biggie, my big left toe.  However, I had gotten
over her many charms.  Of course, Piggie and Biggie and their
eight brothers would miss her tender ministrations, I
promised them that I'd train a new slut in the proper care
and feeding of them.

    K, of course, had very little memory of her previous
existence left.  When girls get caught up with me, I tend to
become their entire focus, forcing other less important
memories into unreachable areas.  Perhaps, with a good
hypnotherapist, she'd recover them.  But I doubted it.

    "You still like me, don't you," she said.  It wasn't a
question.

    For the first time, I didn't lie to her.  "Kay, I will
always remember you.  In fact, I can give you one gift."

    Kay looked up at me hopefully.

    "You have been the best friend of Biggie, Piggie, and all
my other toes.  They want you to share their last name."

    "Huh?"

    "Kay Toe.  Kato.  Like Bruce Lee in the Green Hornet.
Like the surfer dude that was staying with O.J."

    Kay thought about this for a moment, and started to smile.

    "Kato.  I like it," she said.

    "Think about this.  Before I named you K, what was your
name?"

    Kato thought for a long while, and ended up just shaking
her head.

    I said, "I can give you this bit of good news.  As soon
as you leave, you will start forgetting about me, just like
you can't remember your original name.  You'll forget where I
live.  You'll forget what I look like... mostly."

    Kato thought and said, "You really have to go, don't you?"

    I shook my head.  "No, Kato.  YOU have to go.  I have
another couple of weeks on this apartment.  You'll need to
start your own life.  You will have ten dollars for each
fuck, suck, ass-fuck, and toe-suck.  From there, you'll be on
your own."

    "How much money is that?"  Kato asked.

    I knew this already.  "Two thousand, twenty dollars."

    "We made love that much?"

    "We had sex that much.  You may have made love, I had
sex."  I was lying through my teeth.  She had started to
affect me.  Unlike most of my sluts, she never really stopped
being inventive.

    "I won't remember all this?"  Kato asked, taking what I
had told her as gospel truth.

    "You'll only remember Oscar, Biggie, and Piggie."

    Kato smiled.  "I loved you, Frank."

    "The name's not Frank," I said.

    "I know."

    "May I use the bathroom?"  she asked.

    "Of course."

    Kato had a tiny satchel with the small amount of clothes
I allowed her to wear outside the apartment in it.  I pulled
out a halter top and a pair of shorts.  There wasn't any
underwear, of course, so I brought the two items into the
bathroom where Kato was.  She was crying.  I had really hoped
to avoid this, but I knew it was futile.  She took her
clothes from me, sniffling.

    I went back into my room, not allowing her display of
emotion affect me.  I then put three thousand dollars into
her satchel.  Oscar, Biggie, and Piggie had demanded it, and
I wasn't about to argue with them, especially with them
having blue balls for the next day or so while I wait for the
next girl to "discover" me.

    Kato reappeared in the bedroom wearing her shorts and
top.  I handed her the satchel, telling her that her
fuck-money was inside.

    Kato nodded, and I walked with her to the door to the
apartment.

    As soon as she stepped out of my apartment, I knew that
my power over her was over.  This usually was never a
problem, as my sluts usually were so completely cowed by this
time that they would never think of doing anything to harm
me.  Despite this, it was still the one time that I could be
harmed by them, and I knew it.

    Kato was different from my other sluts, though, and there
was the tiniest fear in the pit of my stomach.

    Kato didn't disappoint.

    She took a couple of steps toward the elevator, and then
turned around, running back.  She opened her arms and grabbed
me, kissing me on the lips.

    It was the first and only time that I ever received a
kiss on the lips from one of my sluts.

    The kiss didn't last long.  As she pulled away from me,
she said, "Goodbye, Owner."

    And it occurred to me right then that in the apartment,
Kato had called me Frank.  That had never happened before.
And, outside the apartment, no longer under my control, she
called me Owner.

    I watched her walk away, and when the elevator doors
closed, she was out of my life.

    Oscar, Biggie, and Piggie still argue with me to this day
whether I should have ever let her leave.  They'll never
understand.

* * *

                           The End