PET TEACHER
By "Deva" and Parker


It was late in the day - a typical southern-California hot Friday 
afternoon in late August - and I was straightening out my desk at 
the end of a long, tedious summer-school term.  Teaching math 
to senior high school students was both trying and tiring. 

Teaching was, however, my profession of choice, so I really 
couldn't complain. And the extra money earned by 'volunteering' - 
I was the new teacher at Greenwood High, and as such was 
'encouraged' to so volunteer - to teach in the summer term was 
more or less irresistible. Still, here I was, 34 years old, with few 
prospects and no love life to speak of, spending my summer at 
work with a classroom of kids who would rather be anywhere but 
here.

Just like me, I suppose.

The classroom door opened quietly and Maggie Moore, one of 
my eighteen year-old students, came in and walked to the desk.  
Maggie was a pretty girl, tall and graceful, with a slender body, 
long legs, and a nice puffy chest that made all of the boy's eyes 
open. With her long blonde hair and dark tan, she was a typical 
California girl.

Needless to say, I'd kept my eye on her all year. Having her in my 
summer-school class had been a happy surprise. Almost made 
the whole job worthwhile. 

It was a shame I'd had to fail her - she was bright, but just 
wouldn't apply herself. It was going to cost her an extra year at 
school.

"Miss Brown, I have to talk to you," she began, shaking back her 
thick blonde hair as she strolled around to my side of the desk.

"Of course," I replied, looking up at her as I sat in my chair. I was 
taller than her when I was standing, but right now she towered 
over me.

I shivered. She was so beautiful.
"I'm tired of it," she said.

"Tired?" I didn't know what she meant. "Tired of what?"

"Of everything." She gestured to the empty classroom; the 
school; the world. "Tired of being bossed around by adults who 
think they know all about what's best for me. Tired of being told 
what to do." She suddenly turned and slapped the palm of her 
hand down on my desk, making me jump. "Tired of being forced 
to go to fucking summer-school just because I can't multiply 
fractions or some stupid fucking thing like that."

She paused in her tirade to look down on me as I sat there 
silently, frozen with surprise. "But mostly," she said, lowering her 
voice, "I'm tired of being pushed around by a bitch like you."

That was quite enough!

I started to stand up, but she grabbed my shoulder and pushed 
me back into the chair. She seemed to be much stronger than 
me, despite my extra size and weight; I was completely unable to 
resist. Stunned at being touched like this by a mere student, I just 
sat there and listened to her. There were other teachers in the 
building. I was sure one of them would wander by and help.

"I know about you," she said, as if pronouncing sentence, "and 
I'm going to do something about it."

"You know about... what?"

She couldn't...

But she did.

Smirking, she leaned over and shoved her tanned face in mine. "I 
was up in LA last weekend visiting my old man."

She *was* pronouncing sentence.

"I know all about that store you like to visit; the stuff you like to 
read." My stomach churned as I watched my career - my life - go 
up in smoke. 

"I even know what books and magazines you bought on your last trip." 

Oh god! 

"Quite the little collector, aren't we?"

"Maggie..."

"Turns out the guy who works the counter is a friend of my dad's. 
I hear tell you're their best customer."

I had to get out of there! No one had ever found out about my 
'shopping trips'; about my secret fantasies. And now... a 
student!!! Panicking, I started to get out of my seat, pushing her 
away, but before I could break free, I felt a hard slap across my 
face. Despite my fear, I was infuriated - how dare this youngster 
strike me!

"I've been waiting for this chance for weeks," Maggie went on with 
authority, "Waiting for a chance to 'discuss' this with you, you 
bitch."

I started to fight; to say something at least, but then I slumped 
back down. What could I do? She had the power to destroy my 
career, maybe even get me charged with some kind of crime or 
something. I felt the resistance seep out of me.

"That's better," she smirked, straightening up as it became 
apparent that I was going to stay put. "Now, was there something 
you wanted to say?"

Numbly, I shook my head. No.

"Well I do." She sat down on the corner of my desk. "You're mine 
now. Thanks to you and those other asshole teachers, I have to 
spend an extra year here. You're going to make that year a hell of 
a lot more fun for me."

I sat stiffly, listening as this young girl's words made my spirit 
weaker and weaker. I knew what she was talking about. A couple 
of years ago, a young girl named Stacy Richards at Greenwood 
had been the victim of some sort of blackmail; nothing that had 
been officially admitted, but everyone knew about it just the same. 
Rumour even had it that Dr. Grossman had been involved. At 
least before his heart attack. I didn't know too much about it, 
really. I hadn't been teaching here at the time, but the stories had 
a way of spreading.

And I had thought about them a lot.

Usually late at night.

By myself.

"I know what you are," Maggie continued strongly, breaking me 
away from my musings. "Don't try to tell me you're not going to 
like it."

She knew.

Just like that.

I couldn't believe this was happening; that the truth was finally 
'out', so to speak. All those years of travelling away from home to 
find my material. All those years of locking the stuff away, terrified 
that a friend or - the ultimate disaster - my mother would find it. 

And such a young girl; I was dumb with fear and anticipation. 
My deepest fears and most intense fantasies were coming true all 
at once. 

All the times I had dreamed of Stacy Richards... of *being* a Stacy Richards...

"Pamela," she ordered quietly, now confident of being obeyed. 
"Stand up."

What else could I do? I rose slowly, turning away from her as a 
deep flush of... of something spreading across my face and neck. 

I tried to hide my face behind my thick brown hair. My slavery - 
there was no other word for it; she *owned* me now - had begun.

"I mean stand and face me," repeated Maggie, irritated."Keep 
your shoulders back, arms at your side, palms forward, and your 
feet together."

I turned towards her and thrust out my ample breasts, rotated my 
soft palmed hands so the palms were forward, and locked my 
toes and heels.

Maggie smiled at my attempts to obey. "That's satisfactory for the 
moment, but we will be doing something about your posture 
soon, won't we?"

I mutely nodded my head as she inspected my rigid body. I 
assumed she liked what she saw - at 34, I still had a trim, fit 
body, with large well-formed breasts.

"When I speak to you, Pamela, you will answer me as Miss 
Moore.  Do you understand?"  

I felt my heart sink, but I had to obey. This eighteen year-old 
female had me and there was nothing I could do about it.

"Yes, Miss Moore," I replied meekly, as a swell of sensation rose 
in my loins. Could she tell? I could feel myself flushing again.

"I'm glad you're wearing this today," continued Maggie, indicating 
my white button-down blouse and blue flared mid-length skirt. 
"From now on it will be only skirts and dresses for you, with heels 
and stockings.  No slacks and no pantyhose. Is that clear?"

Once again I nodded my submission.

She smirked. "Now that we have that clear Pamela, I want you to 
show me your pretty tits."

I was undone.  Here in the middle of my classroom, where 
anyone - teachers, students, even janitors - might see, ordered 
by a teenage martinet to display my breasts.  My hands went 
unsteadily about the task.

"Hurry," she gloated. "Are your tits as pretty as they look through 
your blouse Pamela?"

"Yes, Miss Moore," I croaked. My hands began working faster.

"Answer completely Pamela," she demanded.

I was being taught the game well.  "Yes, my breasts are pretty 
Miss Moore."  

I pulled my blouse free, unhooked my bra, and stood as I had 
been ordered, my firm, bouncing, hard-nippled breasts hanging 
free.

Aching for attention.

"Shoulders back, Pamela."

Back they went and, of course, out they came.

She ran her smooth hands under and around, squeezing and 
lifting, massaging the hardening, heaving mounds. I squirmed, 
but dared not break position.

"Time to nip these nipples," she whispered in my ear, her breath 
warm on my skin. "First a little tease." She closed her thumb and 
forefinger on the flinty projections. "Then a very big tweeze." Her 
sharp fingernails bit in, causing a wave of pain to wash over me, 
closely followed by lust.

God... please let no one see this.

"Does that feel nice, Pammy?"

"Yes, it feels nice Miss Moore." What could I say? It was the 
truth.

"Are you wet, Pammy?"

No!  "Yes, I'm wet Miss Moore." The truth again.

"But are your panties wet, Pammy?"

"They feel wet, Miss Moore."

"Slide them off, quickly Pammy."

I almost died at the thought of standing half-naked in my own 
classroom, on display for anyone to see! 

But I obeyed, slipping out of my pink nylon briefs and 
holding them obediently in my hand. The crotch area was 
damp with aromatic juices.

Maggie took them from me.  Like the good little slave I had to be, 
I returned to my rigid, bare-breasted pose.

"Very wet, Pammy.  That's nice but very naughty and you will be 
spanked a bit... well, rather a lot. Later on."

The word 'Spanked' shot through me like a jolt of electricity and I 
moaned just a little, my thighs moist.

"For now, hold up your chin... higher."

I raised my chin to the ceiling knowing for all the world what I 
must look like with my long neck stretched and my big tits, as 
Maggie would say, arching at attention. A trickle of sweat ran 
down the back of my neck under my hair as I held the position.

"Open," she ordered. She reached up and her fingers worked 
their way between my pink lips, sliding across the gums and teeth 
of my widely opened mouth.

"More," she insisted and caressed with thumb and forefinger both 
the front and back of my teeth, gums and tongue.  Especially the 
tongue...

slippery tongue...

squirmy tongue...

gripping it with those nails and pulling it all  the way out.

"Keep your mouth wide, Pammy.  Wide... and when you are told 
to show your tongue, this is the pose you will assume. You will do 
quite a bit of tongue training over the next little while.  Now, chin 
up... tongue out... further... straight, no curl... very cute."

Maggie then laid the wet crotch of my panties over my tongue 
covering it from front to rear.  Thinking that I knew my lessons 
well, I stood bare chested and bare bottomed, waiting.  Maggie 
pressed my tongue and pants back into my mouth.
"In. Close. Suck. Harder. Swallow your juices. Obey."

I knew full well that I was being trained to obey. Hadn't I been 
reading about this sort of stuff all my life? 

Overwhelmed by humiliation, I began giving up my power - myself 
- feeling no loss.  After five minutes of tasting and swallowing my 
essence for the first time, reality returned.

"Put on your blouse Pamela, but just leave your bra and panties 
into your desk.  We have this whole, wonderful last week of 
summer holiday left, and your lovely apartment in which to 
continue your obedience training. I want you completely trained 
by the time school starts. Come along now."

I followed behind my young controller, very aware that my breasts 
were jiggling saucily, clearly visible under my half-buttoned 
blouse. (Another of Maggie's demands: "either half-buttoned, 
Pammy, or not buttoned at all".)  

I prayed no one would stop us in the hall or the parking lot.  What 
could I say to anyone?  That I was being taken in hand by a girl 
half my age to be taught total obedience? And more; was it 
happening willingly?

I wasn't even sure if it was happening willingly. All I knew was 
that I had no choice.

Fortunately we reached my car without incident.  She indicated 
that I was to drive, but before I started, Maggie opened the 
remaining buttons of my blouse, folded it back, and pushed my 
skirt back to my hips.  

This assured anyone with the proper vantage point a clear view - 
according to Maggie - of my 'hot tits' and 'slit'.

That ride home was more than I care to remember. 

Once out of the parking lot my young mistress proceeded with 
her program of training and humiliation. Reaching down and 
adjusting my thighs so that they were well spread, she took a firm 
grip on my clit.

"I'm just getting a quick measure of your little boy part. Do you 
love this, little Pamscunt?  Hmmmm?" As she maneuvered her 
fingers the little boy part really did begin to stiffen to the occasion. 

What could I say?  Only the truth."Yes, I love it Miss Moore."

"And so erect, so stalky, so rooty.  Sit erect!"

Sit erect - tits erect - nips erect - stalk erect - root erect - clit...

Oh, Maggie!

Whizzing down the street in a pool of my own making, waiting for 
more. What was I? And what was I becoming?

Inevitably, the ride ended, and we arrived at my place. I lived in a 
ground floor apartment with a separate entrance. It was fairly 
private, but not so private that the walk from the car to the front 
door didn't seem to take forever. 

Standing before my apartment door, still half-undressed and 
trembling with lust, I turned my keys over to Maggie and realized 
that my life as I knew it until then was over. Things would never 
be the same. 

Maggie would effectively control me for this entire year, and after 
that... well, I doubted that she would give me up. And would I be 
able to give her up? A part of me felt like this was something I 
had been waiting for all my life. Another part was screaming in 
pain and humiliation.

Not that it mattered what I thought. More of my power flowed from 
me as I handed over those keys.  We entered my comfortable 
space, the door closing silently behind us.

"Stand still."

Good little submissives quickly learn to obey, and, of course, I 
was becoming a good little submissive. Perhaps I had been 
learning all my life. My feet came together, palms forward and 
shoulders back.  Maggie pulled off my blouse and unzipped my 
skirt, which promptly fell down to my ankles.  

I stood for the first time completely nude in the presence of a 
mistress... my mistress... THE MISTRESS.

More power loss.

"Stand in that corner," she ordered, pointing to a nearby wall. 
Stepping out of the pile of clothes, I approached the appointed 
spot.  "Press your nose into the corner.  Hands on top of your 
head, tits forward, elbows back."

Once I was in position, she turned her attention to the - my? - 
apartment. As I stared at the wall a few inches from my face, I 
got dizzy listening to Maggie move about from room to room, 
opening drawers and doors. Going through my possessions. 
Another form of violation.

Finally she returned to the room.

"Pamela," she ordered, "turn and come here."

Obediently, I turned around and walked to the centre of the room, 
hands still on top of my head.  I flushed with humiliation as I 
noticed how my breasts bounced as I walked.  I wondered how I 
could still be embarrassed.  Maybe I still had some sense of 
myself.

No matter. Maggie would soon take care of that.

"Stand properly and show me your tongue."

Chin up, tongue out, shoulders back... I remembered.

"More."

I stuck it out as far as I could, straight, pink and moist. My 'girl's 
prick' as I soon was to hear it described by Maggie. Now she 
stood in front of me, ovaled her carmined lips and slid my stiff 
tongue into her warm mouth.  

She leaked her juiced into my mouth for long moments and then pulled away.

"Swallow."

My now lipstick-red tongue slipped back into my mouth. 
Swallowing - obeying; my remaining power disappeared. 
Forever?

I was her's.

"You are mine."

The truth was out.  There was no denying it.  There was no 
resisting it.

"I am yours, Miss Moore," I agreed, submissively and obediently, 
to this girl half my age. She raised a hand and gripped my hair, 
holding me fiercely.  Another hand crushed a breast, pinching a 
nipple.

"You are completely mine," she hissed. "Body... soul... mind.  
You have no will but my will." I trembled in her hands. It was just 
like in the stories.

"Kiss me now," she hissed. "Passionately."

I knew very little about kissing in general, less about kissing 
another woman, and even less about kissing a girl. I did my best, 
though. 

I presented myself like the good little submissive I was being 
trained to be, soft, timid and obedient, waiting only to be 
devoured by her open lips.  

Wilting, eyes closed, I surrendered myself to her probing tongue 
and rampant power.

A series of sharp slaps across my burning cheeks brought me to 
a renewed sense of my position in this relationship.

"Not much passion there," she sneered. "You'll have to learn to 
do better than that, little one.  You have to be trained to give a lot 
more head if you want to play kissy face with me, Pammy."

All I could do was stand there totally naked, trembling and 
panting, frustrated at my inability to please my young mistress. 
What did she want? This was so hard!
Had it been like this for Stacy?

Maggie knew what to do. "I am going to start teaching you how to 
be responsive now, little Pammy.  First, I am going to subdue 
some of that cute body to put you in the proper frame of mind.  
Won't you like that, little girl?"

"Yes, I will like what you do." She glared at me. "Miss Moore," I 
added quickly.

"Sweet."

She removed, from what I had assumed was an overnight bag, a 
pair of shiny steel handcuffs, and fixed them to my wrists. 

The steel felt cold and hard against my skin, and it pinched as 
she clicked it shut. "Oww..."

The pain cut through the haze of erotic feeling in which I had 
been wrapped. I didn't like it.

She grinned as I winced. "We are going to clean that little body of 
yours right now," she continued. "I like my submissives spotless, 
smooth and shiny from head to toe, squeaky clean everywhere - 
every nook and cranny.  And once you're as I want you, that's 
how you stay." She smirked. "Spotless inside and out."

Her words sent another shiver through my body. Pain forgotten, I 
submissively followed her into the bathroom, where she began 
work in earnest. 

"Into the shower now, little cunt. You are my little cunt, aren't 
you?  Even if I can't see it very clearly through that forest." She 
tugged at my cunt hair. "Oh well, we'll fix that in a moment."

Then she paused, as if remembering something. "Well... aren't 
you my little cunt?"

Through my confusion and humiliation I murmured "Yes Miss 
Moore, I am your little c-cunt". I flushed at having to say the 'C-
word'.

"Again... just the end."
"Little cunt?"

"Again."

"Little cunt."

Satisfied - for the moment at least - she began running the water 
in the shower. "Now, into the shower.  But first I want you in these 
nice heels."  

I was forced into some silly shoes I had purchased years before - 
all bright red plastic, with ridiculously high heels and tight, thin 
traps.  In these shoes, I towered over Maggie as I stepped into 
the shower stall.

"Why, what a big little girl you are in your red shoes," she laughed 
as the lukewarm water soaked my body. "And you won't be taking 
those lovelies off for a long time... if ever."

I swayed back and forth in the shower stall, afraid I'd slip and fall 
off those stilts.  My hands were raised and hooked over the 
shower nozzle by way of the handcuffs. I sputtered as the water 
slapped into my face and ran down my body. 

I could easily have pulled the handcuffs off at any time, but I 
knew that I would be severely punished for this. I twisted under 
the spray as the water gradually became hotter.

There was a sudden flash. I tried to turn, but the water was in my 
eyes. By the time I shook it out, Maggie - Miss Moore - had 
disrobed and was joining me in the shower, enjoying my 
consternation at my first sight of her naked body. She was even 
more beautiful than I had imagined.  

Water poured down over us as she began to scrub me clean.  
She ran a sponge down my back, over my buttocks, into my 'tight 
little ass crack', down my legs...

It felt so good! I was beginning to relax and enjoy things. I turned 
to face her, planning to tell her so, when she suddenly slapped 
my face.


"Eyes closed," she ordered. "No looking.  From now on you may 
no longer touch or look without my permission." 

I froze in position, eyes held tightly closed. Once again, the 
sexuality of the situation had been dispelled by the sudden pain.

I was so confused. Isn't this what I had been dreaming about all 
these years?

"Now lets work on your sex flesh." Miss Moore - Maggie - was all 
business. 

"Underarms, too much stubble... tsk, tsk. But these big girl tits 
are something, Pammy.  Pinchable... nippable... scrunchable... 
and more."

The demonstration on my breasts left me once again breathless 
and trembling, a condition Maggie did not fail to notice.

"What do we have here, Pamsy?  Stiffy nips?"

"Yes, Miss Moore, I have erect nipples." My eyes were still closed 
as I spoke. My mistress had not given me permission to open 
them.

"Not right, Pamsy.  You are Pamsy, my little stiffy nips cunt.  Say 
it."

"I am Pamsy, your little stiffy nips cunt."

"Five time nicely and with feeling."

I obeyed. By the last repetition, I was on the verge of an orgasm.

"Very nice, Pamstits, and remember these lessons forever."

Dripping wet (in more ways than one), I was led out of the 
shower, not too unpleasantly I might say, by those erect... those 
'stiffy nips' and was told to sit on a stool. My eyes were open now, 
but I kept them cast downwards, anxious to avoid my mistress's 
anger.  


"This is too much hair," she announced, running her fingers 
through my thick, shoulder-length hair. "It will have to go from 
head to toe."

She walked into the kitchen and returned with a pair of scissors. 
"Now, this stringy shit-brown stuff is first.  Too warm for the 
summer really and I may want you as my boyfriend sometime." 

"Could you be a boy, Pansy?  Let's see..." She cupped one of my 
large breasts, teasing... weighing. "Guess not... but that's alright 
too."

Hair began to fall everywhere. My hair!  Tears gushed out of my 
closed eyes but to no avail. Soon she was done, standing back to 
admire her work. 

"Now isn't that sweet... put you into a shirt and tie, flatten those 
big girl udders and you make a smooth cheeked young boy."
"Well, I am getting ahead of myself. There's plenty of time for 
that, isn't there?"

She moved in to continue her work. "This curly stuff goes next.  
Lay back, raise your arms, and spread your legs.  Wider. You 
certainly know how to spread, don't you, Pammy... hmmmm... 
that's much better." She began to cut. 

"This is the last time that I will be doing this for you, bitch.  From 
now on you will keep yourself as I make you today. Do you 
understand?"

Eyes squeezed tearfully shut, I nodded. I was unable to speak.

"Zip-zip, under the arms - no young man here anymore.  And 
what do we have down here?  Are you hiding a little tennis ball, 
Pamsy?  There... why, Pamslit, you have hardly any lips on that 
little big girl cunt.  Just a lovely crack running all the way around. 
And speaking of around, roll over on the seat... bottom way up."

There I was, laying over a stool in my own bathroom, shaved 
everywhere, legs apart, bottom high in the air. The last of my 
womanness gone... Except for my large breasts hanging free 
over the edge of the stool, I was a little girl again.

I thought she had finished, but the cleaning was only about to 
begin again, this time in earnest.

"My, this pink, wrinkly bud looks as if it needs attention." She 
fingered my exposed anus as I squirmed on the stool. 

"Now, Pamsy, you know that I want you clean.  I'm going to make 
you slippery right here - doesn't that feel good?  Of course it 
does. Are you wet, bitch?  Of course you are.  Now, this is going 
to clean you out - squeaky clean. Relax."

Relax!

This was the first time that... the first thing... the first nozzle ever 
to enter my anus (my 'tight little girlie bung', according to Maggie).  
So slippery and slidey and foreign and stiff and smooth and hot 
and annoying and persistent and HOT, oh, so HOT!

My perception of what was happening around me began to get 
hazy. A swish of warm syrupy water... wiggle it around, "bitch... 
more."  My belly is full, liquidly pregnant, release... release... "no, 
no, Pammy."  Nozzle out... some kind of plug in and I'm wild with 
the sensation, twisting and squirming... 

Flash! who would have thought... down there.  Stand up?  
Impossible... "not impossible for a good girl..." nothing's 
impossible for a good girl.  Sit on the pottie... 

Flash! finally... not yet... the plug holds fast.  Another nozzle.  
More squeaky clean. up front. up. up.  Swish and swish. and I am 
wild. 

The plug is pulled and there I was, Pamela Brown, lying back, 
eyes shut, hands cuffed above my head, legs spread wide... 

Flash! screaming out a magnificent orgasm... having my first 
asshole cum!

When I regained control of my senses, Maggie was standing over 
me with a large grin on her face. "That looked like fun," she 
smirked. I looked up at her and started to say something, but she 
slapped me across the face before I could speak.

"You bitch!" she almost screamed. "I've told you: don't look at me 
without permission." Her face was red with anger. "I'm going to 
have to teach you a lesson you'll never forget."

I cast my eyes downward and tried to babble out an apology, but 
it was too late for that. She grabbed me by what was left of my 
hair, dragged me through the bedroom and into the kitchen.

Oh god! People could see in the kitchen window.

I tried to say something, but just then, Maggie yanked open my 
jaw and shoved an apple hard into my mouth. I automatically bit 
into it, leaving my mouth trapped open, like some sort of stuck 
pig.

"Get over there," she screamed, slamming me into the kitchen 
table. The breath was knocked from my body as I doubled over in 
pain. The bitch grabbed the handcuffs and hooked them over a 
bolt underneath the table on the other side from me. 

I was now bent over my own kitchen table, hands fastened 
securely, struggling to catch my breath against the pain in my 
stomach.

That was nothing.

Maggie left the room and came back a few seconds later with her 
overnight bag. I struggled to see what was happening, but 
couldn't get my face around.

"Here's another little visitor for your ass, Pam-hole," she said. I 
squirmed as I felt the head of something at my anus, but it was 
no use. With one quick shove, the dildo - I assume it was a dildo; 
it felt like a baseball bat - was reamed into me up to the hilt.

The pain was unbelievable! I would have shattered the windows 
with my screams if not for the apple in my mouth. I bucked and 
moaned on the table, but couldn't get loose.

Maggie just laughed, running her hands up and down my body. 
"Feels good, doesn't it little Pamscunt?" I shook my head, eyes 
wide with pain. It didn't feel good. 

There was no eroticism; none of the delicious thrill of submission 
I had felt earlier - nothing of my fantasies here.

This was torture, pure and simple.

And it got worse.

She pulled something else from her bag. Once again, I was 
unable to see what it was, but it didn't matter. I soon felt it: it was 
some kind of large paddle. With a laugh of pure malice, she 
began to administer a vigorous thrashing up and down my ass 
and lower legs. 

I wouldn't have believed it, but the pain got worse. The thing in 
my ass felt like it was about the burst while the beating left my 
ass on fire with pain. I don't know how long she kept it up, but 
when she was done I was limp and sweat-soaked with pain.

Eventually, she pulled the dildo out of my ass with a loud popping 
sound and unfastened the handcuffs. 

I slumped to the floor, trembling and panting. The bitch reached 
down - a big smile on her ugly face - and patted me on the head.

"There now," she cooed, "You'll get used to it in a while."

No.

I shook my head. "Enough."

"What?"

She looked amused.

"Enough." I struggled to my feet. Despite the pain, I could feel my 
power slowly coming back to me. "You can't do this to me 
anymore. Your blackmail about the books doesn't matter. No one 
will believe you. And if they do, I'll just tell them about how you 
used the information to torture me." 

I looked her in the eye. I would never have imagined how much 
power there was in the simple ability to look at someone. "You'll 
be the one in trouble, not me."
"But Pammy," she countered in mock surprise. "I thought you 
liked it."

"Maybe parts of it," I answered truthfully, "but no one will believe 
that." I gestured to my ass and upper legs. They were black and 
blue from the thrashing. "Especially when I get a doctor to look at 
these." I was beginning to feel better already. "Maybe I'll just 
press charges anyway."

She didn't seem worried.

"Before you do anything stupid," she said, "take a look at these." 

She pulled some photographs from her pocket, holding them up 
so I could see, but not handing them over.

I felt the confidence - the power - rush from my body. It was all 
there: me in the shower, eyes closed and lips parted; me bent 
over a stool with the nozzle in my ass; me reaching down to 
massage my pussy, obviously enjoying myself; me on the toilet, 
obviously in the throes of lust; me on the toilet...

There is was. No one seeing those pictures would ever believe 
that my participation hadn't been willing. There was nothing I 
could do. She owned me. I cast my eyes downward, 
contemplating the school year that yawned ahead of my like a 
chasm.

Had it been like this for Stacy?

"There there, little Pammy," she mocked me. "It's not so bad. 
You'll get used to it." She brought her bare hand down hard on 
my bruised ass.

"In time."

The worst thing about it was that she was right. I already liked 
being dominated by her: the shame and humiliation. 
By the end of the year, I'd be nothing but a slut - a lust-bitch - 
craving pain and humiliation.

And I'd get it too.

A couple hours later.

I was dressed again, this time in clothing that Miss Moore had 
pulled from her bag. 

I'm wearing a tight, black leather mini- skirt that barely hides the 
bruises from my spanking and a cut- off shirt that leaves my 
midriff bare. 

The red shoes are still on. She has combed back my newly-
shortened hair, and I look years younger.

My mistress is waiting at the door as I walk over, eyes cast 
downward. 

Already, I am getting more used to walking on the high heels.

"Come along little Pamscunt." She gestures for me to precede 
her out the door.

She's taking me out to show me to a few of her friends. 

Apparently, I'm going to be meeting some of my students a bit 
early this year. 

And, inevitably - against my will - a small shiver of pleasure 
emanates out from my... my cunt.

I'll get used to it. 


BLACKOUT
By  Parker


The West Side Projects. 

Irregular clumps of grey, concrete structures surrounded by torn 
and twisted chain link. Each cluster of three buildings encloses a 
concrete playground, where the skeletal remains of slides, see-
saws, parallel bars cast long shadows in the setting sun. 

Rusted swings sway like hunched gibbets in the wind. A stubborn 
drinking fountain, cracked porcelain and weed filled, still bleeds a 
small trickle of brackish water... 

"... by then, the cunt was moanin' and whinin' like a bitch in heat. 
Humpin' up and down on my black cock and screamin' like she 
didn't know if it was the best or worst thing she'd ever felt." 

"Shit, man..." 

"Best fo sure..." 

Laughter. 

The tall man looked around before continuing, enjoying the 
attention of his audience. "You'd think she'd never had a cock up 
her cunt before, the way she was carry'n on, bouncin' and 
squealin'..." 

"Like that bitch Taylor owned a couple years ago..." 

"Fuck, she probably hadn't," one of the listeners - a fat kid named 
DJ - interrupted again. "Stuck up college bitches..." 

"Yeah. Think their cunts are made've gold or somethin'." 

"She wasn't no fuckin' virgin," the man laughed. "C'n tell ya that." 
"Not after that party," another man called out. 

Bright splashes of color - promises, threats, questions, names 
and dates - scrawl wildly across the uniform grey in futile 
explosions of illiterate anarchy. 
The rusting, empty aerosol cans dot the weed and broken-glass 
fields that surround, separate and enclose the concrete deserts. 

Roads erode... 

"Hell no," the storyteller laughed. "By the time we was done with 
her, she'd fucked more brothers than one of Taylor's bitches on a 
busy night. Bitch had more cocks in her that night than a rich 
whore." 

Catcalls and jeers momentarily interrupted the story. 

DJ spoke up: "Then what happened?" 

"Ahh, not much. Tommy put one of Marcie's party dresses on the 
bitch, drove her a couple'a blocks n' booted her outta the car." 

"Fuck... on 49th?" 

"Yeah." The speaker grinned knowingly. "She got out OK, though. 
Lannie and a couple of guys porked the bitch in behind the gas 
station - said she barely put up a fight she was so badly fucked 
up - then she got a cab." 

The black metal door had been built for safety. 

For security. 

It remained at its post, but just barely, hanging on by a rusted 
hinge. The landing inside was dark, the empty light socket staring 
down like a blind eye. The elevator door is jammed open, and the 
elevator - a cruel joke even when it was new - hung a long step 
downward, filled with debris. Piss-soaked stairs led upward... 

"A cab? On 49th? Fuck off." 

"Yeah," the tall man laughed. "Right outta fuckin' nowhere, the 
only fuckin' cab on the West Side. It was Jackson, though. Word 
is she offered to blow him for a ride to the fuckin' campus. Said 
she had a talented mouth." 

The men all laughed. 

"Said the bitch was drippin' cum all the way home..." 

"Wooooeeee..." 

The third floor landing leads down a debris and graffiti hallway to 
an open door. A group of men - all black - are seated in a circle in 
a room that has been informally enlarged through the destruction 
of two walls. A lucky few are sitting on the holed remains of 
furniture; the rest are perched on crates or milk cartons. 

All are listening... 

"Had ta wipe it off the seats with a fuckin' rag." 

The men laughed again. Some clapped and whistled. Best story 
they'd heard all night. 

"Not bad, bro. Not bad." 

The men turned, still laughing. 

The man who had spoken walked into the room, closely followed 
by two or three others. 

"Hey Darrell," the man who had been telling the story grinned 
over at his friend. "Whad'ya mean 'not bad'. Fuckin' 'not bad'? 
Y'can't top that." 

Darrell grinned back. "I can." He reached the circle of men. "C'n 
top that by a long shot." He pulled a box over and sat down, 
facing the others. 

"OK." DJ, as usual, spoke up. "Let's hear it, bro." 

Darrell sniffed, leaning forward. "Listen up then. Remember 'bout 
three weeks ago, that blackout on the West Side?" Most of the 
men nodded; that particular blackout had led to a bonanza of 
burglary and looting. They'd all made too much money to forget it. 

"OK." Darrell continued his story. " Me'n few brothers were ridin' 
the T-Rail south, just after Burnside Station, where it goes into 
the tunnel..."

****************************

The woman looked up from her paper when the five black men 
got on the T-Rail at Burnside Station. Her pretty face creased for 
a moment in a look that was part fear and part anger (and part 
guilt at feeling this way), but a quick glance around the inside of 
the compartment revealed enough other passengers - *safe* 
passengers - so that trouble seemed unlikely. 

Still, she felt more than a little uncomfortable when she saw that 
the black men had taken seats between her and the other 
passengers. She ran a nervous hand through her blonde hair and 
looked back down at the newspaper; best just to ignore them. 

The train would be at McLellan Station soon enough, and she 
would be safe there. If the black men stayed on, she would get off 
and catch the next train. 

The T-Rail jerked forward, letting out a loud screech as it left 
Burnside Station. Picking up speed, it rounded a corner, went 
over Sherman Street and plunged into the mile long tunnel which 
ended at the next station. 

The woman glanced up as she rocked back and forth in her seat, 
still uncomfortable. Was one of the black men staring at her? She 
dropped her eyes downward, frightened to attract attention. In her 
expensive business suit and skirt, she felt like a target. 

Instinctively, she reached down to touch her briefcase. Still there. 

Her decision was made. She was definitely getting off at 
McLellan. There was no way she... 

The lights went out and the T-Rail ground to a halt. 

"Fuck, I remember that," DJ interrupted. 

"Remember that fuckin' jewellery store?" Another man spoke. 
"We musta scored..." 

"Hey." The other men fell silent. "Do you wanna hear the story, or 
what?" 

"Sure, Darrell." 

"Yeah. What happened?" 

Silence. 

Then a low rumble followed by the quiet hum of the fans starting 
up again. There was a collective sigh of relief in the compartment 
as the air started flowing again. A few people began to talk and 
there was some nervous laughter. 

The woman started. Was that movement beside her? She 
strained to see in the pitch blackness, but it was no use. 
Frightened, she began to get to her feet, to move across to the 
other end of the compartment. It would be... 

A large hand wrapped itself around her mouth and dragged her 
back down into her seat. 

She let out a muffled squeal and brought her own hands up to 
free herself, but froze when she felt a cold, metallic edge on her 
throat. 

A knife! 

"Jus' relax," a voice whispered to her. The knife blade dug a little 
deeper into her throat, not yet cutting, but not far from it. "Fight'n 
I'll cut you 'nother mouth." 

The woman dropped her hands and relaxed back in her seat, 
almost paralysed with fear. She felt other hands, grabbing at her, 
touching her... One of them took hold of the shoulder strap of her 
purse and jerked it away from her. She almost felt relief at that; 
maybe once they'd robbed her they would let her go. 

Robbery she could handle. 

The hand left her mouth, but the knife remained at her throat. 

"Jus' sit quiet," the voice ordered softly. "Make a sound'n your 
dead. Got it?" 

The woman nodded her understanding, too frightened to speak. 
The hand that had been at her mouth now moved down the front 
of her body, slipping under the top of her blouse and cupping her 
breast through the bra. 

She stiffened in panic, but the knife kept her from moving. The 
hand moved from one breast to the other under her blouse, 
squeezing her breasts through her bra, pulling... pinching... 

"Nice tits, bitch." 

The woman squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip, trying not to 
cry out. 

"Stand up," the voice told her. "Nice'n slow." 

Trembling, she obeyed, pushing herself up out of her seat and 
standing with her hands by her side. The knife stayed at her 
throat as she moved. The hand pushed her a step forward and 
she felt the man move around to stand directly behind her. 

She felt his body push close against her from behind as the hand 
slipped around over her shoulder and down under her blouse to 
resume fondling her breasts. 

"Good bitch." She felt warm breath at her ear as the man licked 
and nibbled at her earlobe. "Nice bitch." 

"Uh..." 

She let out a quiet gasp as she felt the presence of another man 
right in front of her. The knife pressed down for a moment in 
warning and she managed to control herself. The unseen figure in 
front of her moved closer until she felt his breath on her face. 
Closer... then his lips touched her's. 

"Mmmm..." 

She pressed her lips tightly together and turned her head, but a 
hand grabbed a fistful of her thick blonde hair and turned her 
head forwards. 

"C'mon bitch," the voice whispered in her ear. "Give m' brother a 
kiss." 
"Jeez'... I don't fuckin' believe it..." 

"You guys did this on a motherfuckin' T-Rail?" 

Darrell grinned. "It get's better..." 

Reluctantly, she kept her head steady and parted her lips. 
The man in front of her immediately pressed his face closer and 
slid his tongue into her mouth. 

She fought to keep from gagging as she felt his stubble burn her 
chin and hot, fetid breath invade her mouth. After a few moments, 
the man pulled his mouth away, giving her lips one last lick with 
his tongue. 

The woman panted, almost hyperventilating with fear, fighting 
back the urge to bring her hand up to wipe the man's spittle from 
her lips. She waited in silence for the next humiliation. She didn't 
have to wait long. 

There was a quiet snick, and she felt the cold steel of a second 
knife slide down her chest and under her blouse. She held her 
breath as it slipped under the front strap of her bra and cut it. 

The front of her bra fell open, exposing her breasts to the man 
behind her. He let out a quiet chuckle as his hand pushed away 
the torn remnants of her bra and directly fondled her breasts. 

The knife was taken away from her chest, but before she could 
feel any sense of relief, a hand pulled at her skirt, tugging it 
downwards. 

At first, she thought they were trying to pull it off, but it was just 
held tight. Then there came a quiet tearing sound. What was... 

"Spread your legs, bitch" whispered a voice from low down in 
front of her. "Or you'll be cut." 

With a quiet moan of fear, the woman realized what was 
happening. 

They were using a knife to cut a slit up the front and back of her grey skirt. 

Moving awkwardly, she obeyed, widening her stance so the knife 
wouldn't cut her leg. 

Then she stood, shivering, while the man in front of her made a 
long cut up the front, and then the back, of her skirt. 

After the second cut was made, a hand slid up the inside of her 
thighs up to her crotch. Her eyes watered and a tear trickled 
down her cheek as she felt a hand on her pussy, cupping it and 
rubbing. 

"P-please," she whispered. 

"Jus' relax," the voice whispered at her ear. The man gave her 
breast a little squeeze, tweaking the nipple. "Be a good little 
bitch." 

The blade of the second knife wad be over with. 

"Ohhh, you hot bitch." The woman felt his tongue on the side of 
her neck. She twisted her head away, but that only gave him 
more room to lick and kiss up her neck to the side of her face. 
"Ohhh yeah..."  "Now, spread your legs." 

She obeyed, opening her legs until her knees were spread further 
apart than the man's, pulling apart the long slit in her skirt. As she 
did so, she felt a second hand - the hand that had been holding 
the knife against her throat - slip around and cup her other breast. 

"Reach down between your legs and grab my cock." 

She let out a quiet moan, hesitating. 

"Do it," he hissed, tightening his grip on her already sore breasts. 
Whimpering, she reached down through the long slit in her skirt 
and touched his cock. It was long and rock hard where it stuck up 
between her thighs. 

Sensing what he wanted, she wrapped her fingers around it and 
began sliding her hand up and down, masturbating it between her 
thighs as if it were her own. 


The woman was resigned to it now, and the quicker he came, the 
quicker it would be over with. 

"Ohhh, you hot bitch." The woman felt his tongue on the side of 
her neck. She twisted her head away, but that only gave him 
more room to lick and kiss up her neck to the side of her face. 
"Ohhh yeah..." 

"This is gettin' stupid." 

"Yeah... you guys didn't..." 

"Shut up and listen." 

The men fell silent. 

One hand left her breast and dropped down to her exposed 
pussy. She let out a small gasp, squirming on the man's lap, but 
was unable to avoid his fingers and they rubbed up and down the 
outside of her pussylips and then slid inside. 

Still masturbating his cock, she fought it for as long as she could, 
but after a minute or two of the man's fingers exploring her 
pussy... and her clit... she felt herself begin to get moist. 

As much as she hated what was happening to her, her body 
couldn't help but respond. It was purely a physical reaction, but a 
reaction nonetheless. 

She prayed he wouldn't notice. 

"Juicin' up nicely, bitch." Her face burned with humiliation as her 
fingers, sticky with pre-cum, continued their work. "Just 'bout time 
to finish up." 

The man shifted his weight so that her feet reached the floor on 
either side of the chair. "Now, I want ya to stand up and sink your 
juicy cunt down on my black cock. Got it?" 

Again, the woman nodded. She was at the stage where she 
would do *anything* just to end the ordeal. Moving slowly, careful 
not to give the impression that she was trying to escape, she 
gathered her legs under her and pushed herself up off his lap. 
His hands tightened on her breasts, but she had no intention of 
doing anything stupid. She had come too far for that. Her fingers, 
which had been busy masturbating his cock even while she 
stood, stopped pumping and pulled the cock forward. 

She let out a small moan as she realized just how large the cock 
was. Still, she had no choice; as slowly and gently as she could, 
she let herself sink down, her fingers guiding the man's cock into 
her unwilling pussy. 

First the head slipped in... then one inch... two inches... (for the 
first time, she was thankful for the moisture which made this 
relatively painless) four inches... 

"Ahhh..." 

She let out a little cry as the man lost patience with her slow 
descent and used her breasts to drag her back down onto her 
lap. With one brutal thrust, his massive cock was buried to the hilt 
in her spasming pussy. 

"Shit. You fucked th' bitch right on the fuckin' T-Rail?" DJ looked 
sceptical. "Don't fuckin' believe..." 

Others, however: "What was she like?" 

"Well," Darrell answered, grinning, "I'll tell ya..." 

"Whew," the man sighed. "This is one tight-cunt bitch." 

The other men laughed softly as the woman hung her head, face 
burning with humiliation. 

"OK bitch. Start ridin'." 

She knew what he meant. 

With a quiet moan, she gathered her legs under her and began 
riding his cock, pushing up and down... up and down... sliding her 
now-sopping pussy up and down on the unwelcome intruder, 
unwillingly serving his pleasure. 

"Faster, bitch." 
Sweat broke out on her brow, matting her blonde hair to her 
forehead and trickling down her face onto her chest where the 
man's hands mauled her breasts, as she began to move faster 
and faster: up and down, riding his long, hard cock in and out of 
her stretched pussy. 

She began to pant and emit quiet grunting sounds in time with 
her movement as she bounced up and down on his lap like some 
kind of whorish puppet. After a while, the muscles in her leg 
started to cramp up, but she kept moving. 

Up... down... up... down... 

In... out... in... out... 

Against her will, her pussy began to spasm around the invading 
cock as her body trembled, betraying her... 

"You mean she liked it?" DJ again. 

"Always the same; white bitches love black cock. They can't 
fuckin' help themselves." 

"Thas' a fact, jack." 

"Straight up," Darrell agreed. "And then..." 

"Jeez Darrell," came a voice from in front of her. "I want some a' 
that." 

"Stop for a second, bitch." 

She fought back a groan of frustration as the man forced her to 
be still on his lap. She panted as she sat there, feeling his cock 
buried deep within her burning pussy... just a little more... 

"Bitch's mouth's free." 

The feeling of pleasure fled as she realized what the man had 
said. Her mouth? Oh, no... 

A hand clutched at her face, pulling her forward. "You heard'm," a 
voice whispered. "Open wide." 
The tears streamed down her at this new humiliation, but she 
obeyed without question, parting her lips to accept this new 
invasion. She just wanted to get it over with. Immediately, she felt 
a long, hard cock slip into her mouth. 

She gagged at the bitter taste of the pre-cum, but didn't pull 
away. With a quiet moan, she began to suck at it, bobbing her 
face up and down and using her tongue to... 

"C'mon bitch." She felt the hand tighten on her breasts. "Not done 
here yet." 

Once again, being careful not to bite down on the that was cock 
being fed into her mouth, she began to move, sliding her wet 
pussy up and down on the man's cock. 

In her bent over position, it seemed to penetrate even deeper, but 
she had no choice. Using her hands to brace herself, she began 
to pick up speed. And slowly, ever so slowly, the pleasure began 
to build again as her tight ass bounced up and down on the man's 
lap while her mouth sucked hungrily at the other man's cock.

Faster and faster she moved, picking up speed as the feelings 
built towards orgasm, humping and bucking and sweating and 
grunting like a practised whore. Just a little more and... 

The T-Rail let out a loud screech and jerked forward a couple of 
feet. The lights flickered... 

The woman's feet slipped out from under her and her pussy was 
violently jammed down on the man's cock as she fell back onto 
his lap. At the same time, the man whose cock she was sucking 
lost his balance and fell forward, driving his cock straight down 
her throat. 

All three came at once. 

The man on the chair stiffened and, clutching hard at her breast, 
shot his cum out into her writhing pussy. 

The man in front pulled back slightly, ending the involuntary deep 
throat, but still shot his load into her mouth, filling it with his thick, 
salty cum. 
The taste sent her over the edge. Choking and sputtering cum, 
she twisted and writhed on the man's lap, panting and gasping in 
ecstasy and humiliation as waves of pleasure crashed through 
her sweat-soaked body. It was all she could do not to scream out 
loud... 

The lights flickered again. 

"Fuck!" 

"Move it." 

There was a flurry of activity around her as the man behind her 
pushed her off his lap and shoved her over onto a seat beside 
him. 

"Listen, bitch," the man hissed, shoving the newspaper back into 
her hand. "You sit quietly and get off with us at the next station." 

She tried to say something - to protest - but her mouth was full of 
cum. Grimacing, she tried to swallow as she heard the other men 
take their seats in front of her. She felt his knife prick her in the 
ribs. 

"Any trouble..." He didn't even bother to finish the threat. She felt 
him get up and move away. 

The lights flickered and then came back on. 

There was silence in the room. Each man stared at Darrell, 
waiting to hear what happened. 

Darrell just stayed silent, looking around the room with a big grin
 on his face. It was DJ who broke the silence. 

"Fuck, Darrell. What the fuck happened?" 

The passengers had cheered as the T-Rail began to move again. 
People had looked around, smiles of relief on their faces, but no 
one had noticed anything different. 

Anything wrong. 

And, if anyone noted that the attractive blonde in the 
conservative, grey business outfit on the other side of the 
compartment looked a little dishevelled, well... they put it down to 
nerves. Claustrophobia. More than one passenger looked a little 
worse for the wear. 

Still, all's well... 

The T-Rail eventually ground to a stop at McLellan Station. 

The woman lowered the paper and looked at the black men. They 
had stood up, and one of them flashed a knife at her. 

She glanced at the other passengers, but no one had seen it. No 
one knew anything was wrong. 

She got to her feet, grimacing at the cold, sticky feeling between 
her thighs where the man's cum had leaked out of her pussy, and 
began to walk towards the exit. 

"Excuse me, lady?" She almost fainted with relief, turning as a 
young man at the other side of the train called out to her. At last, 
someone had noticed... "You forgot your briefcase." The man 
gestured to where her briefcase sat at the back of the 
compartment. 

Help me you idiot! 

The man smiled at her and turned back to his paper. 

"Thanks," she muttered. One of the black men stood in the exit, 
preventing the door from sliding shut as she slowly walked back 
and picked up her briefcase. 

With a final glance around the compartment - no help there - she 
sighed and walked out onto the platform. The door slid shut and 
the T-Rail pulled away with a loud rumble. 

She stood on the platform, now surrounded by five black men. 
"C'mon bitch." It was the man who had raped her. 

The man with the knife. "And keep quiet." 

Meekly, totally broken, she followed the men out of the station...

**************************************

The men all began talking at once: 

"Fuck, that was hot..." 

"Great story man..." 

"Wheeeoo..." 

Again, it was DJ who asked the question that everyone was 
thinking: "What the fuck happened to the bitch, man? Sell her to 
Taylor?" 

Darrell laughed. "Fuck no. It's not everyday a white cunt falls into 
your lap like that. I fuckin' kept her; she's *my* bitch now." 

"Fuck off!" 

"No way, man..." 

Darrell turned. "Tina," he called, "hustle your white ass in here." 

The men all stared at the door as the woman - Tina Swanson - 
entered the room, closely followed by one of Darrell's friends. 

Darrell watched with satisfaction as the men all gaped. Even *he* 
was surprised every time he saw her: all traces of the confident 
young career woman he had raped on the T-Rail three weeks ago 
had been systematically erased. 

In her place stood a cock-hungry bimbo. 

*His* cock-hungry bimbo. 

She was dressed in a tight, black polyester mini-skirt, just over a 
foot long, which barely stretched from her lower abdomen to the 
bottom curves of her ass. 

Her long, slender legs were bare all the way down to the bright red, six inch pumps. 

The only other item of clothing she wore was a half-cup tank top, 
bright pink, at least a couple sizes too small. It left her stomach 
and upper chest completely bare, hardly sufficing to push up her 
smallish breasts. 

Her upper body was bare, completely exposing a large tattoo on 
her upper chest: "DARRELL'S BITCH" it said, in big red letters, 
still bright and new. Her face was heavily made up, lips made 
thick and pouty with shiny, red lipstick and green eyes strongly 
outlined with eyeshadow. 

Each ear had been triple pierced, and three heavy, plastic hoops 
dangled on each side of her face. Her blonde hair, so stylishly cut 
the first time he had seen her, was streaked with purple and 
teased up in a wild, sluttish manner. 

Even so, someone recognized her. 

"Motherfucker," one of the men exclaimed. "That's no bitch; that's 
a fuckin lawyer. She's a fuckin' DA." 

Darrell grinned again. "Thas' right," he agreed. "I fuckin' knew it 
when I saw her on the T-Rail. She put m' brother away a year 
ago." 

He paused for a moment before adding: "'Course, don't matter, 
nohow." He turned back towards where the woman stood just 
inside the doorway. "C'mere babe." 

Smiling, the woman walked over to him, hips swinging in the tight 
miniskirt. She draped one of her bare arms over his shoulder as 
she came up beside him. He reached around and squeezed her 
ass. 

"Tina babe," he said, "you don' wanna go back to no stuffy 
courtroom, now do ya girl?" 

Tina pouted and shook her head uncertainly. 

"Whadya want?" 

She smiled. 

That was an easy one. 

She knew the answer. 

"Wanna stay with you, babe," she giggled, dropping her free hand 
to her crotch and lewdly gyrating her crotch towards his face. 
"Wanna do the 'wild thing'." 

Darrell grinned at her and she sighed inwardly with relief, running 
her tongue over her thick, pouty lips. She was getting better at 
this: pleasing him; acting the bimbo; being his "bitch". 

Surviving. 

Darrell turned back to the other men and got to his feet. "Y'see," 
he leered. "A happy ending for everyone." 

He turned to leave, a giggling Tina on his arm. Just as he got to 
the door though, he turned, pulling his blonde bimbo around until 
she faced the men. 

"Before we go," he told her, "you should say 'hi' to the brothers 
here. N' be nice; you won't be my bitch forever, y'know." 

Tina swallowed, catching his meaning. She looked slowly around 
the room, catching each man's eye and trying to look as sexy as 
possible. 

If there was one thing she's learned in the last few weeks, it was 
that her survival depended on satisfying black cock. In her mouth; 
in her cunt; in her ass... 

And there was plenty of black cock here in this room. With a 
small shudder - half fear, half lust - she knew that she'd 
eventually belong to at least some of these men. 

Just as she now belonged to Darrell. 

"Hi boys," she purred, giving her hips a little wiggle. "Hope to see 
ya soon." 

Darrell laughed... 

The West Side Projects. 

Irregular clumps of grey, concrete structures surrounded by torn 
and twisted chain link. The skeleton slides and gibbet swings 
have disappeared, their outlines swallowed up by the dark, 
starless night. 

Dim light shines out through grimy, boarded windows, revealing 
the presence of numerous closed, half-shadowed rooms. Babies 
crying... couples fighting or making love... 

And, in one of those rooms, Tina Swanson - Darrell's bitch - takes 
another load of cum up her ass, all the while humping her white 
ass backwards and crying out in simulated ecstasy..


CHARLOTTE I
By Parker & ????


"Pardon me Madame, but we're in Port". 

Francesca D'Abrette opened her eyes to see the Captain's 
bearded face on the large colour monitor that hung from the 
ceiling of her opulent cabin. 

"Thanks, Bole." She stretched, catlike, working the sleep from her 
body. "Give me an hour or so to get ready, and we'll go ashore. 
Oh... and tell the crew that tonight's a party night." 

The corner of the Captain's mouth twitched in what might have 
been a smile. "At once, Madame." He nodded and the screen 
went dark. 

Yawning, the young millionairess slid off the soft bunk and 
planted her feet in the thick carpet. The cabin was indeed 
opulent, but the luxury went unnoticed; in her almost thirty years 
of existence, she had come to expect nothing less from her 
surroundings. Indeed, she would have tolerated nothing less. 

That was why, upon inheriting the "Monaco Nymph" cruiser when 
her brother died (in somewhat mysterious circumstances), 
Francesca had personally ensured that it was completely 
refurbished. 

A large, mirrored wardrobe filled the length of one wall in her 
large cabin/bedroom, and Francesca took a moment to admire 
her reflection before opening it to select some suitable clothing. 

She was not a beautiful woman, but she was a striking one. Her 
face, under her short, dark hair, was a bit thin and harsh. Her 
body, while lithe and muscular, was not really curvaceous enough 
to be called attractive; indeed, she was almost completely lacking 
in breasts. 

Francesca could easily have rectified that with surgery, but on the 
whole she was not really all that interested in attracting the kind 
of men who were turned on by large breasts. 

Really, she was not all that interested in attracting men in any 
case. Her pleasures lay elsewhere. And, if she did decide that 
she wanted a man (as she did on rare occasions), she had 
learned that money was far more effective an aphrodisiac than 
any mere physical feature. 

And money was one thing she had in abundance. 

Smiling back at her reflection, she slid open the door to the 
wardrobe. At one end hung a variety of night dresses, some long 
and expensive, others short and slutty. Next to these were her 
'bedroom clothes'; a range of fancy dress costumes that might be 
worn by herself or by a 'friend' in any fantasy she might choose to 
enact. 

The remaining half of the closet contained day and evening wear 
from the world's greatest designers. She pulled out a short white 
Channel dress-suit, a present from an old girlfriend. She loved it's 
perfect fit and simplicity, and decided it would be ideal. In a place 
like St. Maxine, simplicity often attracted far more attention than 
flash and glitter. 

And Francesca D'Abrette loved to be noticed. 

After a quick shower, Francesca slipped into a silk camisole, 
panties and shear white stockings, put on her dress, and applied 
some make-up. Preparations complete, she called the Captain on 
the boat's intercom. 

"Are you ready to leave?" she asked. Upon hearing an affirmative 
response, she strolled to the upper deck. Topside, she paused 
briefly to survey the view. 

The Port of St. Maxine consisted of a small bay nestled snugly in 
between a rise of land to the east and an artificial breakwater to the west. 

The town itself - long one of the lesser-known "getaways" for the 
rich and famous - was spread out in a picturesque sweep of 
colour and light, beginning on the north beach with the famous 
"Promenade des Anglais" and sprawling on upwards through 
numerous magnificent summer homes and on up into the gently 
rolling hills of southern France. 

The Mate - one of the six men crewing the large cabin- cruiser - 
nodded respectfully as he assisted her in her descent down the 
short ladder to the launch bobbing in the choppy Mediterranean 
water. She was popular with the crew. One of the reasons for this 
was her habit of throwing small "parties" for them at many of the 
various ports of call. 

This particular stop was one of their favourites; five of the six men 
(short straw stayed on watch - she would be sending out some 
"entertainment" later on) would be joining her and the Captain 
onshore later, once the relevant arrangements were made. As 
usual, Fransesca would not be participating, but she did like to 
watch. 

It promised to be a memorable evening. 

The Captain, Nedrick Bole of South Africa, had booked a table in 
one of the town's more celebrated restaurants - a Michelin "3 
Star" on the busiest section of the popular Promenade des 
Anglais. The restaurant had, of course, been booked up when he 
had called - one usually booked weeks in advance for this 
particular establishment - but the D'Arbrette name opened a lot of 
doors. 

As they entered the restaurant, the Maitre d' Hotel came straight 
over to her, atypically ignoring at least one gesture of request 
from another guest. 

"Miss D'Abrette!" he greeted her in flawless english. "It is so good 
to see you here again!" He ushered the two of them to a corner 
table. 

Over dinner, she and Captain Bole discussed plans for the crew 
party later that evening. For these occasions, Fransesca usually 
provided luxurious quarters, unlimited alcohol and a number of 
prostitutes for the men to enjoy. 

She herself rarely participated, usually just watching. Tonight, 
however, she felt like doing something more. Something special. 

Just what, however, she wasn't certain. 


After the waiter had unobtrusively cleared away the remains of 
their repast, Fransesca and the Captain made their way to a 
public phone to begin making arrangements for the coming 
evening. As was almost always the case in Europe, the booth 
was plastered with an assortment of stickers pasted onto the 
glass surroundings. Each had been printed in both english and 
french, and advertised the services of various 'escorts' based in 
the town. 

CALL YOUNG BLONDE NIKKI ON 755632 FRENCH IS MY 
SPECIALTY 

MISTRESS HELGA INVITES YOU TO HER DUNGEON PHONE 
133598 - NOW! 

SAMANTHA WILL BE YOUR 24-HOUR SLUT TEL.613344 

SCHOOL-GIRL SHERRI NEEDS YOUR PUNISHMENT -166455- 

DEBBIE NEEDS YOUR BODY ON 314569 MASTERCHARGE 
AND AMEX 

"Captain... have a look at these!" 

Bole, who had been scanning the passing crowds for attractive 
women while Francesca had examined the cards, peered into the 
small booth. She held up a couple of the cards for examination. 
"Which of these do you want? I think I might give 'School-girl 
Sherri' a ring!" 

"Ha!" Bole laughed. He like this part of the job. "I was thinking of 
her myself! The men always like that sort of thing. How about 
'Debbie'?" 

"Why Captain," Francesca teased, "a breast man. I never knew." 

Bole grinned, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm only thinking about 
the welfare of my crew," he declared stoutly. 

Fransesca laughed. After a final glance at the other 
advertisements, she slipped the two cards they had chosen into 
her purse and left the phone booth. 

Something was bothering her, though. She still felt like doing 
something different tonight, but she didn't know what it was. 

Ah well... something would turn up. 

A few moments later, they entered the Hotel Adelphi, walking into 
its large, marble reception area. It was there they encountered an 
unexpected problem in the form of a stubborn desk clerk. 

"I'm sorry Mademoiselle, but we are fully booked tonight." The 
speaker - the creator of the problem - was a young blonde girl 
standing behind the reception desk. 

Unused to being refused anything (it was an experience as 
unpleasant as it was unfamiliar), Fransesca stared at her. She 
saw a girl in her early twenties: a tall, willowy blonde, with soft 
blue eyes and long hair that fell in gentle waves down her 
shoulders. 

A girl who was in her way. 

The desk clerk - Charlotte - looked back, trying to maintain a firm 
look on her pretty face. She saw only a rich woman; a spoiled, 
rich woman who was all too used to getting her own way in 
everything. 

A woman who had not been forced to scrimp and save and work 
her fingers to the bone in order to get through two years of 
business school; a woman who had not been required to trudge 
endlessly from interview to interview, finally accepting a position 
far below that for which she was qualified. A woman who had no 
right to speak to her in that tone of voice. 

A woman she resolved herself to stand up to. 

As for Fransesca, she suddenly realized just what it was she 
wanted to do that night. The reason - the source of her strange 
restlessness - suddenly became apparent. A nasty smile flickered 
across her face. 

If Charlotte had been a little older - a little more experienced, 
a little more observant - she might have sensed the 
danger in the woman's smile. But she was none of these things. 
"Call me the manager" Francesca ordered, smile gone, glaring at 
the poor blonde. 

Charlotte sniffed, but did as she was told. Henri would sort this 
spoiled woman out. Soon a short frenchman - Henri Delacourt, 
the manager of the hotel - appeared from a side door. Charlotte 
turned to explain to him, but was cut off before she could speak. 

"Francesca, mon ami!" Henri rushed forward, taking the proffered 
hand and bestowing an elegant kiss. "But it has been too long! 
How are you? How is your brother?" After accepting his 
obeisance, Francesca cooly explained how her brother had 
regrettably just passed away, and that she, as his only heir, now 
managed the D'Abrette empire. 

"You have both my sympathies, and my congratulations..." he 
said tactfully. Knowing what he did of the D'Abrettes, he had a 
pretty good idea that her brother's death had not been an 
accident. 

Still, it was not his place to question either the motives 
or actions of the rich. He was, despite his senior position in the 
hotel, a servant; and he knew it. 

He was also well aware that the D'Abrette empire included a large 
Parisian holding company, which in turn owned a controlling 
interest in the Adelphi hotels. 

"And how might I be of service, Madame?" 

"The 'Nymph' is moored in the harbour," Fransesca told him, "But 
we were hoping to enjoy a night on dry land. However, the young 
lady here informs me that you have no rooms available." 

"Mon dieu!" The manager turned and slapped his young desk 
clerk across her slender wrist. "Charlotte! What nonsense. Do 
you not know who this is? You will ensure that the penthouse is 
immediately readied for her, and that her visit is made as 
enjoyable as we are able!" 

Charlotte, amazed at this turn of events, blushed furiously, but 
quickly nodded her head in obedience. "Oui Monsieur, je 
comprend, je comprend!" 
Francesca smiled as the young girl stammered out an 
embarrassed apology. 

"She's very pretty Henri. Perhaps she could be our chambermaid 
for this evening?" Henri frowned; that was highly irregular. "Oh," 
she continued, "And while you are here, might I invite you and 
your wife to dine with us on the Nymph next week? We will be 
returning to St. Maxine on the first of the month." 

He was perceptive enough to perceive the implied promise; he 
did not wish to spend the entirety of his career managing this one 
hotel. "Mademoiselle," Henri said, beaming. "You are too kind! Of 
course we will be happy to join you. Charlotte will get changed 
immediately, and ensure that your room is prepared!" 

The manager was well aware of the eccentricities of the rich, and 
neither knew, nor wished to know, why the young heiress might 
demand a chambermaid in her bedroom. 

He had learned the importance of discretion, but realised that his 
blonde employee might not recognize such values. As Francesca 
and the Captain left to take a drink in the hotel bar, he pulled the 
girl to one side. 

"Charlotte," he hissed, "Miss D'Abrette is one of our most 
valuable customers. I will be asking her in the morning about your 
performance and will expect an favourable report! In that way, 
you may make amends for your unforgivable rudeness to her." 

"But Monsieur..." Charlotte felt like she was going to cry. "It was 
not my fault. We were booked. And the way she looked at me... it 
was if she was undressing me with her eyes!" 

Henri looked around to lobby; no one was nearby. He turned back 
to Charlotte. "Indeed," he whispered, "she may well wish to do 
such things or worse, so you should accept that now! 

If you are good to her, and she speaks well of you, I can assure 
you that your future within this hotel will be significantly improved. 
I might add that she will likely reward you very well herself." 

That was the carrot; time for the stick. "If, however, you refuse to 
do this, I promise that you will never work in this business again!" 
He stared at her. "This is a large chain; you are aware that I have 
the means to do as I say." 

Charlotte wilted under his intense stare. She was one of the 
many young hopefuls who had arrived at one of the resort 
villages in the south of France from a poor farming family, 
searching for riches. 

Despite her attendance at business school, good jobs - indeed, 
any kind of jobs - were scarce. And anything, she reasoned, was 
better than the life of street prostitution that had befallen so many 
of her contemporaries. One thing that was always in demand in a 
place such as St. Maxine was female beauty. 

Charlotte shuddered. 

"Yes sir," she said quietly, "I will do as you say." 

"That is good. Go to the chief housekeeper and ask for a 
chambermaid's outfit. She will dress and prepare you." 

He put a fatherly hand on her shoulder. "You may be shocked at 
the activities that take place this evening but do not forget my 
promise!" 

Nodding, the young girl left the desk, to go and ready herself for 
the night that lay ahead. After she left, the manager picked up the 
desk phone and punched a button. 

"Madame..." He spoke into the receiver. "This is Henri. Charlotte 
will be coming by in a moment for a chambermaid's uniform. I 
want you to give her one of the costume outfits... Yes, the one we 
used for the longshoreman's party last year... don't worry about 
that; tell her to put it on when she gets to the penthouse..." 

In the bar, Fransesca and the Captain sipped their drinks and 
made use of the bar's cellular phone to call the women advertised 
on the cards. 

It was a matter of only a few moments to contact them and set up 
the evening's activities; any hesitation the prostitutes might have 
felt was quickly dispelled when Fransesca mentioned the location 
of their assignment. 
The Adelphi was one of the most expensive hotels in a town full 
of expensive hotels, and anyone who could afford a night in the 
penthouse could surely afford to pay top rates. 

Business finished, Fransesca relaxed in her seat while the 
Captain informed the crew of the plans for the evening and 
arranged for some company for the unlucky crew-member 
consigned to watch duty. 

Word came, in the form of Henri himself, that their room was 
ready, along with all the "special arrangements". Fransesca and 
the Captain quickly they finished their drinks, and took the 
elevator to the eighteenth floor penthouse. 

His employer didn't react, but Bole could not help but gasp as 
they entered the penthouse. The main bedroom was huge, 
featuring two all-glass walls that afforded a spectacular view of 
the sea-front all the way down to the eastern hills. 

The white walls contained numerous specially-commissioned paintings 
by some of France's most acclaimed modern artists. It was a suite, of 
course, and polished wood doors lead to a library, a second 
bedroom, and a large, brass and marble bathroom. 

The second bedroom door was partly open, and they heard a 
rustling coming from behind it. Francesca walked up to the door 
and knocked. "One moment, Madame." It was Charlotte. "I am 
getting changed." 

Francesca turned to the Captain and giggled. "I think she's shy!" 
she smirked. "We'll soon cure her of that. Still, we'll play along 
with her to start with!" Fransesca felt a warm glow of anticipation. 

She had been right; this was indeed what she had needed for 
tonight. Her crew would have their party, and she would have 
her's. 

The Captain walked over to a beautiful teak drinks cabinet. After 
surveying the extensive collection of premium brands, he poured 
himself a glass of Scotch and mixed a Martini for Francesca. 
After he passing it over to her, he took an appreciative sip of his 
drink. 

"Not ba..." he began to comment, but fell silent when the door to 
the second bedroom opened and Charlotte walked out, her 
cheeks flushed red with embarrassed self-consciousness. 

She was quite a sight. 

Her long, wavy blonde hair had been tied up in a high pony- tail 
with a white lace ribbon drawn into a large bow. Thick, pale pink 
lipstick and red blusher - applied by the housekeeper, in 
accordance with Henri's instructions - gave her a beautifully tarty 
look, that perfectly matched the effect created by the skimpy 
maid's costume. 

The outfit itself was a thing of beauty. It displayed her svelte 
figure perfectly, the tight, black silk squeezing her breasts 
upwards, the twin points of her nipples moulded and clearly 
visible beneath the thin material. 

The plunging neckline and puffed shoulders were trimmed with 
white frills, as was the thigh-length skirt's hem. 

White petticoats flared under the tiny skirt, hanging clear from 
tight panties and stockings. 

Gossamer thin, white net gloves went from her fingers to upper 
arm; black stiletto high-heeled shoes clasped her feet, and, as a 
final touch, a bib-like apron was tied around her torso with a large 
bow, matching the one in her hair. 

Charlotte fought back the tears as she entered the main 
bedroom, tottering slightly on the high-heels. She had belatedly 
come to the realization that the outfit she had been given was not 
the normal hotel chambermaid uniform. 

By then, however, it had been too late to protest. She had known, 
when Henri had pulled her aside in the lobby, that more would be 
expected of her than simple maid's duties, and she had accepted 
this as the price she would have to pay to keep her job. The 
costume though... she felt like such a slut in it! 

'One night,' she told herself, gathering her courage as that man 
and his hateful employer stared at her, him in open admiration 
and the woman in... well, she didn't know what. 
It scared her, though. 

"How do you feel darling?" Francesca spoke at last, gliding 
forward to inspect her new maid. 

"Umm, I feel embarrassed Madame" replied the poor girl, acutely 
aware of the looks her breasts and thighs were receiving, both 
from Fransesca and the Captain. 

"Don't worry," Fransesca assured her, fussing over the bow in 
Charlotte's ponytail. "You look splendid." 

She stepped back, taking in the full effect of Charlotte's maid 
costume. "Quite delicious. And in about half an hour we'll have 
you looking just as I want! Just stand there for a moment." 

Francesca went to the phone, and dialled the direct number given 
to her by the manager. "Hello, Henri? Yes, this is Francesca. 
Yes, she is perfect... just one more thing to complete the 
ensemble. I need some... virile young men who can be trusted. 
Just for about twenty minutes." Charlotte's face adopted a look of 
fear, but she kept her position; there was no backing out now. Not 
if she wanted to keep her job. 

Fransesca noted her expression and smirked over at her as she 
listened on the phone. "That would be perfect. Oh yes... by all 
means. Please do. The more the merrier." 

She hung up the phone and walked slowly over to where 
Charlotte stood in her maid's outfit. Slowly, she ran one of her 
long, painted fingernails down the frightened girl's cheek. "Don't 
worry my dear," she purred. "We're just completing your 'look' for 
tonight's party." 

"Madame." Charlotte swallowed, gathering her courage. She 
couldn't just let this happen without saying something. "I am not... 
not a prostitute." 

Fransesca smiled at this. "Well," she said, glancing over at the 
Captain who was trying, vainly, to suppress a chuckle, "I'm glad 
to hear it. I'd hate to think that I was going to have to pay extra for 
your services. You do come with the room, don't you?" The 
Captain laughed out loud. 
Charlotte started to speak, but was interrupted by a knock at the 
door. The Captain strode over and pulled it open. The manager 
stood there, with five men who appeared to be from the hotel's 
kitchens. 

"Portuguese," he announced, correctly interpreting Fransesca's 
raised eyebrow, "and don't speak any English or French. They 
can all be trusted." He led the five men into the room. 

"Excellent," commented Francesca, motioning them over to the 
where the Charlotte stood, now trembling. 

The cooks laughed and pointed at their young co-worker who 
stood before them in her new outfit. They knew who she was, just 
as she recognized them. 

Charlotte, conscious of her position in the hotel as only one who 
was used to worse could be, had made a point of ignoring those 
whom she considered to be of a 'lower position' than herself. 

In her few months as an employee, she had managed to alienate 
most of the kitchen staff as well as many others with her 
haughtiness. Hence, seeing her reduced to a mere chambermaid 
- a sexily dressed chambermaid at that - was a pleasant surprise 
to these men. 

One of them, bolder than the others, reached for the tail of the 
large apron bow that hung from the small of her back, and pulled 
it free as he passed. The apron dropped to the floor. Anxious to 
retain what clothing she had, the humiliated girl crouched down to 
pick it up. 

"Charlotte!" Fransesca ordered angrily."Stand up! As long as you 
are my maid, you will NEVER bend your legs to pick something 
up. They must remain straight, and slightly parted, with your back 
arched inwards. Do you understand?" 

Flushing red with humiliation, Charlotte glanced over at the 
manager. He just stared back, however, expressionless. No help 
there. Trembling, Charlotte looked back at Fransesca and 
nodded. 

"Good. Now try again. And do it slowly! We all want to watch." 
Charlotte did as she was told, feeling the tiny skirt slide up over 
her thighs as she bent at the waist, legs straight and slightly 
parted. 

The cooks, as a group, moved around to get a view of her from 
behind, laughing and jeering as her tiny panties were exposed. 

They stretched against her shapely buttocks, clearly outlining the 
shape of her vulva. 

The cook who had pulled free the apron ventured forward to slap 
her hard across her exposed ass. Charlotte gasped and tried to 
straighten up, but Francesca, who had moved up next to her, 
gripped the girl's neck, keeping her head low. 

It was time to begin in earnest. 

"Get your cocks out boys," she ordered, a cruel smile on her 
face. The manager quickly translated her statement into 
Portuguese, and then followed the order himself. 

Fransesca examined the exposed cocks in satisfaction; they 
would do nicely. One of the men even sported what must have 
been at least an eleven inch monster of a penis. Perhaps later, 
she herself would... 

The same bold cook who had earlier tormented Charlotte moved 
forward and tried to press his cock against the girl's barely- 
covered pussy. 

"No!" Fransesca spoke sharply, using a tone of voice calculated 
to establish control, regardless of the lack of a common 
language. "You're not fucking her. She's going to suck you off." 
She waited while the manager translated her words before 
continuing. "And none of you are going to cum until I say! Do you 
understand?" 

Once again, the manager translated. The men looked a little 
disgruntled at this requirement, but nodded their agreement. The 
thought of that snooty little desk clerk being forced to wrap her 
sexy lips around their cocks was irresistible. They would have 
agreed to anything. 

Fransesca turned her attention back to Charlotte. Still held down 
by the back of her neck, the girl had fallen to her knees and was 
waiting quietly, head down, seemingly resigned to her fate. The 
skirt, never particularly concealing, now rode high on her rump, 
exposing long, slender legs right up to her ass crack. 

Fransesca leaned down to whisper some final orders in the poor 
girl's ear. "Keep your hands behind your back, holding up the 
hem of your skirt, slut!" Charlotte, now crying, moved to obey. 
Her trembling hands hesitantly pulled the short skirt up, 
completely exposing her backside. 

"Now," Fransesca continued, "I'm going to spank you until all of 
your friends here are ready to cum, so you'd be well advised to 
give them your best efforts!" 

She shoved downwards and released her hold on the girl's neck. 
Shaking her head in mute denial, Charlotte knelt on all fours on 
the thick carpet. She looked up to see that the men had formed a 
queue in front of her, the manager at its front; his cock hung 
limply from the fly of his dress trousers. 

"It's not very clean" he said apologetically, smirking down at his 
employee. "But don't worry, it will be by the time you're finished." 

This was too much for Charlotte. Mouth held firmly closed, turned 
her head away from his limp cock. Francesca knelt behind the girl 
and raised her palm. 

SLAP! 

"Ow!" Charlotte, recoiling from the impact, instinctively dropped 
her gloved hands to protect her reddening ass. 

"STAY STILL!" Fransesca shouted, "AND MOVE THOSE 
HANDS AWAY." Sobbing, Charlotte obeyed, once again pulling 
the skirt up on her thighs. "Now open your mouth," she was 
ordered. "The spanking will continue until you are finished." 
SLAP! 

Charlotte trembled in shock as Fransesca's hand was once again 
brought painfully down onto her exposed ass, but followed orders, 
opening her mouth as wide as it would go. 
The manager looked down at his subservient employee, enjoying the 
sight of her pouting lips opening to accommodate his member. 

He decided that he could get used to this. As he slipped his cock 
in, Francesca brought down her palm again, and Charlotte started 
energetically sucking on him. 

A few seconds later, as the manager grew visibly harder inside 
her mouth, Francesca momentarily stopped the spanking and 
grabbed the girl roughly by the ears. 

"Come on my petite bimbo! Open up; let me see your pretty little 
tongue cleaning your nice manager's cock!" She pulled the girl's 
head back, and watched in delight as the maid/receptionist 
obediently ran her pink tongue all around the manager's still- 
growing cock head, collecting lumps of smegma as she licked. 

The man was soon groaning in pleasure at the sight of the girl 
kneeling before him in absolute submission. Impulsively, he took 
hold of her pony tail and yanked her head towards him, driving his 
cock down her throat. 

"Let me feel your throat around me Charlotte!" he ordered, voice 
hoarse, as he slid his nine inches of throbbing manhood deep 
into her face. "Arggghh - the slut's gagging on me - merde! it 
feels good!" 

The sight of the girl's slender neck contracting around his cock 
heightened his feeling. Before he could come, however, 
Francesca ordered him away, and gestured for one of the cooks 
to take his place. 

The first cook was a huge, bearded man, his thick, hairy arms 
covered with tattoos. He wasted no time in thrusting his greasy 
cock between the Charlotte's still-parted lips and then fucking her 
face, his cock driving down into her throat. 

Gasping for air, Charlotte tried to pull back, but her assailant 
grabbed ahold of her ears and pulled so that she had no option 
but to take the whole penis down her throat. 

SLAP! 

Fransesca, delighted at what was taking place before her eyes, 
had resumed the spanking. 

After a minute or two, Francesca ordered the man to the back of 
the queue and allowed a younger cook - the one with the eleven 
inch penis - to enjoy the sensation of Charlotte's moist young 
mouth. Gagging and chocking, Charlotte accommodated it as 
best she could. 

The sucking continued for some time. As each man looked like 
he was just about to come, Fransesca got him to pull out and 
move to the back of the queue. 

The rotation moved quicker and quicker as each man was sucked 
again and again by the sobbing girl. After each of the six men had 
enjoyed Charlotte's mouth three times they were all visibly ready 
to orgasm. 

'Time for phase two,' Fransesca decided. She stopped spanking 
and began to speak. "Form a circle around her. I want you to cum 
in her hair, on her face or her dress. Charlotte, you will lick and 
touch them until they cum all over you!" 

Charlotte, momentarily unrestrained, tried to stand up. She had to 
get away! No job could be worth this price. It was a futile effort, 
however. As she began to pull herself to her feet, Fransesca 
grabbed her by her ponytail and pushed her back to her knees. 

There was no escape. Hand firmly gripping the poor girl's hair, 
Fransesca leaned forward and whispered: "I'm going to allow you 
thirty seconds, slut. If they're not finished in time - if they haven't 
cum all over you - then they will cumming up your ass. It's your 
choice!" 

Fresh sobs wracking her abused body, Charlotte started 
frantically licking and sucking at the circle of cocks, sweat and 
pre-cum dripping down her lovely face and smearing her carefully 
applied make-up. 

She used her long, slim fingers to masturbate two men while bobbing 
her mouth up and down on a third. She felt her hair being yanked 
cruelly as a man wrapped it around his cock using it as a make-shift cunt. 

One man pulled open the elasticated frilly arms of her dress, 
pushing his cock under the lace and against her shoulder. 
Another pushed his cock down into her cleavage, while the 
seventh - the Captain had at last decided to join in - had wrapped 
her frilly skirt around his penis and was masturbating it up and 
down his erect cock. She was now servicing seven men at once. 

For Fransesca, however, it was still not enough. 

"You've got twenty seconds Charlotte!" she warned, pitching her 
voice above the groans and sobs. "Say slutty things about 
yourself while these nice men bring themselves off!" 

The terrified girl pulled her mouth of the cock and, after coughing, 
began to speak. "I'm a slut..." she said, her voice faltering as she 
cried in shame. "I'm..." 

"Be more dirty!" Francesca interrupted slapping Charlotte's tear-
stained face. Charlotte choked back her sobs and obeyed as best 
she could. The man whose cock she had been sucking began to 
run his hand up and down its well-greased length, all the time 
keeping it pointed directly at her face. 

"FUCK... FUCK MY FACE. I'M A DIRTY SLAVE SLUT. HURT 
ME, MAKE ME CRY - I DESERVE IT!" she cried. Desperate to 
make the men cum before Fransesca carried out her threat of 
allowing them to rape her ass, she began to lick at the cocks 
surrounding her, speaking as best she could between slurps. 

"MAKE ME SICK WITH YOUR SPERM, DRIP IT ONTO ME AND 
MAKE ME LOOK LIKE THE BITCH THAT I AM." Moving as 
quickly as she could, Charlotte moved from cock to cock, licking, 
sucking, rubbing, kissing... doing everything possible to make 
them cum all over her. 

"I'M A SLUT... I'M A WHORE... CUM ALL OVER ME!" 

That did it. One of the cocks in her hand begin to jerk. 

"In your hair slut!" Francesca told her, grabbing the girl's hand 
and directing the cock as the first string of sperm flew through the 
air and landed with a audible splat in her pretty blonde pony-tail. 

"Oui! I'm cumming," cried the manager, his cum spraying the 
upper part of her tits and maid's dress and dripping down towards 
the apron. 

"Make sure it all drips onto you bitch! Anything falls on the carpet 
and you're licking it up." 

But nothing fell on the carpet. 

Thankful to have succeeded in making the men cum within the 
thirty seconds, Charlotte squeezed every last drop from the 
men's cocks, making sure that it all landed somewhere on her 
body. Jet after jet of thick, white cum covered her face, hair and 
dress. All in all, it took under a minute for all the men to empty 
their balls over the cum-covered slut. When they were finished 
they stood back to admire their work. 

Charlotte kneeled, gasping in the middle of their circle. Her little 
silk dress was now covered with white sperm, the thick fluid 
dripping down the material until it congealed and dried. Smears of 
glistening white jism marked, slug-like, the trails it had taken 
down her face and upper chest, and her hair was matted with 
glistening cum. 

"You stink like a pig!" remarked the manager, laughing at the 
kneeling, crying girl. 

"Good work!" remarked Francesca, motioning to the Captain. As 
the cooks pulled up their slacks, he gave each of them a one 
thousand franc note, thanking them for their efforts, and then 
showed them to the door. 

While he did this, Francesca pulled the manager to one side. 

"Fancy finding Charlotte looking like this in a bedroom with five 
men!" she commented. "What a slut! And for someone in a 
position of responsibility at the hotel? Don't you think that your 
other employees should be informed?" 

The manager was momentarily taken aback. What was this 
leading to? His puzzlement showed on his face. Fransesca 
sighed dramatically. 

"I hardly think that Charlotte could resume her former position 
here if word got out about her... activities?" 

"Ahh..." Things were becoming somewhat clearer. "Perhaps I 
begin to understand. But I promised her..." 

"I'm not suggesting you fire her," Fransesca smirked, guessing at 
the promises the manager might have made to convince the desk 
clerk to act as a chambermaid. 

"Merely that a... new position might be a little more suitable for 
her. I'm certain that, after a little training, her employment at the 
hotel could be both long and... profitable." 

"Ah," the manager prompted, at last understanding the game, 
"And you might be able to help out with this... training?" 

Fransesca laughed delightedly. "But of course," she answered. "I 
would be glad to lend my assistance." She looked over at 
Charlotte who, still dripping with cum, had struggled to her feet. 

The Captain stood behind her, ensuring that she would not 
escape. "With a little work," she murmured, "I'm sure her career 
at the hotel could easily be advanced. The first step is to ruin her 
reputation among the employees." 

"Ahh." The manager nodded in agreement. He would play along. 

Having agreed on a course of action, Francesca and the 
manager turned and ordered Charlotte to approach them. She 
obeyed, her head bowed in shame, still dripping cum onto the 
carpet. 

"The manager is going to walk you through the hotel's back 
rooms." Fransesca was all business now. "You will confess to 
any man that should see you that this is your responsibility, and 
invite him to enjoy your mouth."

"Only when every male member of the staff has had the chance 
to enjoy you, and all the woman have seen you, will I expect you 
back!" 


She expected some sort of reaction, but the girl had lost any will 
to fight. Sobbing quietly, Charlotte followed the manager as he 
left the room. 

Once again alone, Francesca and the Captain sat down and fixed 
themselves another drink. Both were excited and horny from 
watching the receptionist's humiliation, and took showers in 
advance of the evening's entertainment. 

Within the hour, the five crew-members had arrived and were 
awaiting the whores. They didn't have long to wait, and they 
weren't disappointed. 'School-girl Sherri' turned out to be a 
young-looking woman with long, brown hair done up in pig-tails. 

And Debbie, the Captain's choice, measured up beautifully, with 
curly, platinum-blonde hair and large, firm breasts. Drinks were 
poured, rates discussed and payment made. 

Now, only one thing was missing... 

"But I don't know," the manager protested, having been called 
back up to the penthouse. "I'll find out." Picking up the telephone 
he dialled Housekeeping. 

"'Allo? 'Allo..." It was a woman. She had to shout over some sort 
of commotion going on around her. 

"Is this Housekeeping?" the manager asked, also shouting. 

"No," came the answer. "This is Housekeeping." 

"This is Henri. What's happening down there?" 

"Oh... nothing monsieur.. nothing at all!" she said, plainly lying. 
"Madame, I am the manager. I do not expect to be lied to. You 
will tell me exactly what is happening or I will ensure that you lose 
your job. You will answer at once!" 

Sensing some entertainment, Fransesca hit the 'speaker' button 
on the telephone. Now everyone in the room could hear what was 
being said. 


"Monsieur, I apologise! I did not realise!" the woman said, clearly 
afraid for her employment. 

"Don't worry Madame! Just tell me what is going on! In english, if 
you please." This was in deference to Fransesca, whose french 
was limited. 

"Monsieur, I fear I cannot tell you! It is dreadful!" 

"Madame," the manager said, losing patience, "If you want to 
continue as an employee of this hotel, I suggest you overcome 
these inhibitions and explain yourself!" 

"It is the young receptionist, Charlotte!" the woman explained, 
clearly distraught. "It would seem that she has engaged in some 
sort of an orgy with the customers... and members of the staff. 
Her body and clothings is covered with man's.... er, man's....." 

Fransesca grabbed the phone. "A man's semen?" she asked. 

"Yes Mademoiselle, Man's semen! It is shocking that she is such 
a slut! I believed her to be innocent and good, but it seems I was 
wrong! Now she has touched herself while many of the men here 
make their, er, semen, onto her face, and other men make sex 
with her mouth..." In her excitement, the housekeeper's english 
began to falter. 

"Madame?" called Francesca. "I hear the sound of women's 
voices. Are they shouting?" 

"Oui Mademoiselle. They are angry because the slut has had 
love with their men!" 

"Are they? How did they find out?" asked Francesca, who was 
now becoming very interested in the woman's account. 

"But it was obvious from her appearance. They also are 
receptionists, waitresses, and maids here at the hotel. They have 
tied Charlotte to the sinks!" 

"And what are they doing?" Francesca had hitched up her tight 
white skirt and pressed her hand against her pussy as she listened 
in anticipation. This was even better than she had hoped. 
"They throw the rotting food and vegetables at her Madame! 
No...wait! They have thrown cans of food at her, to make her 
bruise. I fear that they might kill the slut!" 

"Do not worry," Fransesca told her. "The manager will be right 
down." 

Taking his cue, Henri bustled out of the room. 

"You have been most helpful, and we shall ensure that you are 
suitably rewarded!" 

Fransesca kept the woman on the line, listening with malicious 
pleasure as the housekeeper gave an account of Charlotte's 
continuing predicament. 

A few moments later, however, the manager's voice came onto 
the line. "Hello? Mademoiselle D'Abrette?" 

"Yes Monsieur, I am still here. It sounds like young Charlotte is 
having a rough time down there!" 

"Oui Madame... It is true. But I think you would approve!" 
"Yes," Fransesca agreed, "I rather think I would, but that is 
enough for now. I do not want her damaged. Yet. You must tell 
them that Charlotte will be temporarily leaving the hotel for re- 
training. Let them know that they will be seeing her again soon." 

"Of course Madame. And then?" 

"And then bring her up," Fransesca ordered. "We still need a 
maid for the party." 

By the time Henri arrived with his cum-encrusted charge, the 
party was in full swing. Sherri was "entertaining" two crew 
members at once while being energetically spanked by a third, 
while the Captain exercised the privileges of rank on Debbie's ass 
as she stood, bent over the couch. 

The other crew members took advantage of the well-stocked bar, 
waiting their turns. There was no rush; the party was going to last 
all night. 

Unexpectedly, it was the whore Debbie who reacted when 
Charlotte was led into the room. 

Having sucked off a good dozen or so men after her exploits in 
the penthouse, the young girl was again glistening with fresh 
cum. 

Her costume, never all that concealing in the first place, was 
stained and torn in a number of places, exposing large patches of 
abused flesh. 

"My god," Debbie exclaimed (somewhat inappropriately) as the 
Captain fucked her from behind, "It is her. The one who gave us 
the trouble last week." 

Fransesca, grinning, walked over to the trembling girl. 

"Trouble?" she asked. 

"Mais oui," came the answer. "She got us kicked out of the hotel. 
She makes trouble for all the prostitutes." Sherri grunted her 
agreement around the cock in her mouth. 

"You don't like prostitutes," Fransesca laughed, running a long, 
sharp fingernail down Charlotte's face. The poor girl said nothing; 
she just trembled, looking at her tormentor with large, frightened 
blue eyes. 

"Nothing to say for yourself? Ah... young girls are so shy. Well, 
you have had enough fun for one evening. For the rest of the 
night, you are to act as our maid, serving everyone at the party. 
Do you understand?" 

Charlotte nodded, broken. It was not in her to refuse this woman 
anything. But still... 

"M-madame," she stuttered, "After... after tonight; you will let me 
go?" 

"But of course," Fransesca lied easily. "I have spoken with the 
manager. He knows you are only to act as a maid for one night 
only. I have arranged for him to place you in a special position in 
the hotel as a result of your service to me." 
Somewhat reassured, Charlotte began her evening's duties. She 
spent the next several hours moving about the room as gracefully 
as she could manage, taking empty glasses, pouring and serving 
drinks and generally acting the perfect maid while a veritable orgy 
raged around her. 

She was touched and fondled numerous times by the men, but 
she was not otherwise molested. Even Fransesca ignored her, 
except for the occasional reminder to keep her legs straight and 
slightly parted when bending over. 

The sky was visibly brighter in the east when the party finally died 
down. The whores were paid extra and sent away. 

Exhausted, Charlotte stood in the corner, waiting to be released 
as the men got dressed and filed out of the room, anxious to be 
gone with the tide. 

At last Fransesca turned to her. 

"You have done beautifully tonight," she told the girl. "And, as I 
promised, I have arranged with Henri for you to be placed in a 
new position at the hotel. This position, however, will require 
some additional training." 

"T-training?" Charlotte's lower lip began to tremble. 

"Fortunately," Fransesca continued, "I have had some experience 
in these matters, and have decided to look after your education 
personally. The manager has agreed." 

"Noooo...." Unable to prevent herself, Charlotte burst into tears. It 
was not over after all. She was still crying when Fransesca and 
the Captain led her out the back entrance and down to the docks, 
still wearing the cum-stained chambermaid costume. 

Henri surveyed the wreckage of his penthouse and frowned. 
There were hours of work to be done here. 

Fortunately, the D'Abrette pockets were very deep, and would pay 
for the labour without even noticing the cost. Perhaps he would even 
add on ten percent or so as a "tip" for himself. 

Sighing, he stepped to the window and looked southward to 
where a small launch approached the 'Monaco Nypmh'. If he had 
possessed a set of binoculars, he would have been able to watch 
his young employee, still crying and struggling, being fondled by 
Fransesca D'Abrette in the back of the launch. 

He didn't have the binoculars, however, and so turned away and 
back towards the penthouse and work. Life went on, and he 
would have to arrange for a new receptionist for the afternoon 
shift... 

Ahh... and he must remember to inform his wife about dinner with 
Fransesca next week.


EPILOGUE
ONE WEEK LATER...


Henri watched anxiously as Charlotte, still wearing the frilly maid 
outfit, obediently followed along behind Fransesca D'Abrette as 
the millionairess strode confidently into his office in the hotel. 

The Captain, taking up the rear, came in after them and closed 
the door. 

The manager studied his young employee, looking vainly for 
signs of abuse. She was physically unmarked, but her 
demeanour had changed considerably. 

Rather than the self- confident young woman he had hired as a 
desk clerk just over three months ago, he saw a frightened, 
subservient girl, blue eyes cast downward, trembling body 
awaiting the commands of her cruel mistress. 

Or, it immediately occurred to him, her master. 

"Monsieur," Fransesca greeted him brightly, "I have come to 
return your property. The training is complete." 

"C-complete, Madame?" To his annoyance, the manager found 
his voice catching in his throat. 

"Oh yes," she answered, smiling. "Quite complete. Perhaps a 
demonstration, while we discuss legal matters?" 

Henri started to ask what she meant by "legal matters", but fell 
silent when Fransesca turned to the girl. 

"Charlotte," came the order, "the last time you were with your 
manager you performed fellatio on him in a crude and ineffective 
manner. Show him how you have improved." Without a word or 
any other sign of objection, the girl moved forward, fell gracefully 
to her knees, and pulled his cock out of his trousers. 

Henri swallowed as he felt her lips, soft and warm, encircle his 
penis. He had enough experience to recognize the level of skill 
and effort she was expending; she had clearly had a lot of 
practice over the last week. 

"Now Henri," Fransesca continued, satisfied with Charlotte's 
performance, "we have a few matters to discuss." She handed 
over a piece of paper. "This is Charlotte's new contract." 

Trying to concentrate, Henri scanned the paper. It was a standard 
"personal services" contract; the employee - Charlotte - was 
employed to provide "entertainment services" for certain guests 
of the hotel, in return for which the management would provide 
room and board; no salary was mentioned. 

The contract - perfectly legal as far as he could tell - required only 
the signature of the manager of the hotel to make it binding, as 
Charlotte had already signed. 

Henri looked up from the document. "Entertainment services?" 

Fransesca smiled. 

"Charlotte," she said, "Tell your new master what your duties are 
to be." 

Charlotte paused in her task and pulled her mouth from his cock. 

Lips glistening with drool and pre-cum, she looked up at him with 
her large blue eyes and began to speak. 

"Monsieur, I am to be attached to a special room which will be set 
aside for friends of my mistress; I will provide 'services' for them 
during their stay. When the room is empty, I am to live with the 
kitchen staff, cleaning their quarters and providing any other s-
services they require." 

The girl fell silent, still looking up. 'Waiting for further orders,' the 
manager realized. 

"Very good," Fransesca praised her, giving her head a pat. "Now 
back to work." Charlotte obediently slid her lips back over the 
manager's penis and resumed her labours. 

"Special room?" the manager asked, suddenly short of breath. 

"Check with Paris," Fransesca told him, referring to the head 
office. "It's all arranged. Two friends of mine from Scotland - Nigel 
and Miriam Hammersmith - will be visiting next week. They have 
expressed an interest in young Charlotte." 

The manager nodded his understanding. Twisting around as best 
he could without pulling his cock free of Charlotte's mouth, he set 
the contract down on the desk and signed his name with a 
flourish. There; it was done. Charlotte belonged to the hotel now, 
for... the next three years??? 

"Madame," he raised his head. "The duration of the contract..." 

"Is the maximum legal length for such a document," Fransesca 
told him. "Any longer and it would not be binding. After the three 
years are up, however, I have made other arrangements." 

Smiling, she produced a second contract and handed it over. It 
was another personal services contract, identical to the first, 
except that it was dated as beginning the same day the hotel 
contract expired, and it was made for the benefit of one "Sherri 
La'Rou". 

The manager was puzzled for a second, but then he understood. 
"Schoolgirl Sherri," he exclaimed. "She will be working for a 
whore!" 


"Indeed," Fransesca agreed, accepting the document as he 
handed it back. "I have spoken to Ms. La'Rou, and our little 
Charlotte here will begin her new career as a whore after finishing 
here." 

She reached down and once again patted the poor girl's head as 
it bobbed up and down on the manager's cock. 

Charlotte groaned in humiliation, but continued her work. The 
manager was just about to cum... 

"By the time her three years are up with Sherri," Fransesca 
continued, "She will be such a hardened little slut that no one will 
take her for anything but a whore." 

Despite the hellish experiences of the week-long "training", 
Charlotte wanted to say something - to protest - but just then, the 
manager came in her mouth. 

As she had been trained to do, the poor girl sucked it all down, 
letting only a small trickle escape down her chin for effect. 

By now, she had done this scores of times, and her technique 
was flawless. 

Her efforts earned her a final pat on the head from her mistress. 

Fransesca turned to go. 
"Don't forget," she called back as the manager pulled his limp 
penis from between the kneeling girl's lips, "dinner tomorrow 
night." 

"Of course," the manager answered after her, "my wife and I are 
looking forward to it." 
The door swung shut. Henri fell silent, looking down as Charlotte 
delicately placed his penis back in his trousers and zipped them 
up. 

She had indeed been well-trained. 

"Well," he said, pulling her to her feet by her pony-tail, "Let's get 
you set up in your new home; I'm certain the kitchen workers will 
be happy to see you again." 
He walked out the door with Charlotte, still silent, still sporting the 
thin trail of sperm on her chin, following obediently behind. 

If he had turned to look at her as she hastened along behind him, 
he would have seen one, large tear well up in a sparkling blue 
eye, spill over and run down her cheek. 

He did not, however, turn around. There was no need.


PRINCESS
By Parker


I couldn't believe it!

It went way beyond my wildest dreams.

Here I was, Steven Murdoch, computer geek... nerd... dweeb - 
whatever you want to call it - in the pink and bow bedroom of 
Janice Sweet, the most beautiful and sought after girl of 
Greenwood High.  Tall and slender, with short, dark hair and big 
brown eyes - Homecoming Queen... voted "girl most likely" two 
years in a row - she was easily the most popular and, in my 
opinion, the most beautiful girl in school. 

I'd been watching her for a couple of weeks now, ever since my 
mom lost her job in Point Hope and had been forced to take on a 
night shift at Bakersville Freight and Transport and I'd transferred 
to Greenwood. For all my watching, I'd never dreamed that 
anything would happen between us. I could say it's because we 
move in different circles, but the truth is, I don't really have a 
circle. I was new at the school and kind of shy. I didn't really know 
anyone.

Janice though... you know the type. Girls like that don't have 
much to do with geeks like me. Sure, we're fine for helping out 
with homework now and then, but girls like that invariably go out 
with guys like football or basketball stars. 

That's what it had been like with Janice when I'd started school 
in mid- September. According to the grapevine, she'd been going 
steady with Biff Hammond, captain of the football team for over a 
year. They'd been a fairy tale couple, the most beautiful girl in school 
going out with the most handsome jock...

Then he dumped her.

In public, too. In the cafeteria. It'd been all over the school in minutes.

That's why, when I saw her after school a couple of days later, 
sobbing in the woods behind the parking lot, that I knew what was 
wrong. 
And that was why I screwed up my courage and went to 
talk to her. She'd turned away at first, but quickly opened up and 
soon we were talking like we'd been friends forever. 

She really needed someone to talk to.

I walked her home that afternoon.

Some girls look great from a distance, but when you really get 
close and talk to them, they turn out to be a disappointment.

Janice wasn't like that.

Over the next four weeks, we spent lots of time together. Sure, a 
lot of it involved me doing her homework and stuff, but that was 
only to be expected. 

I thought it was developing into more.

My hopes were confirmed when she invited me to be her date at 
Cindy Parker's Halloween party. I stammered out a "yes" and it 
was a date.

A date! 

With Janice Sweet!

It was almost too good to be true. It was like one of those movies 
where the-most-popular-girl-in-school-looks-beneath-the- surface-
and-falls-in-love-with-the-geek. 

Like a fairy tale. 

Certainly not real life.

But, when she kissed me that night, I knew it *was* true. It wasn't 
a very long kiss, but it promised more. I felt like a frog slowly 
being turned into a prince.

We made arrangements to meet the next day to get ready for the 
party. She'd have to go early to help Cindy set up, but she 
wanted me to come over in the late afternoon so she could help 
me get into costume.
"What costume?" I asked.

"You'll see." 

She smiled.

I was going to ask more, but then she kissed me again.

Longer this time.

The next day was Saturday.

I was on edge all day, looking forward to the party, but scared at 
the same time. Even my mom, who's usually so far out of it from 
her night job that she never really sees me, noticed something 
was up. 

I tried to explain to her what it meant, me having a date with 
someone like Janice Sweet and all, but she just nodded and said 
"That's nice, dear."

She didn't get it.

Sometimes I wish dad were still around.

So that brings me to Saturday afternoon.

In Janice's room. As I said, it went way beyond my wildest 
dreams. In more ways than one.

When I went over to Janice's at about 3:00 to get ready for the 
party, she met me at the door dressed as a man! 

Or a boy, at least. 

"J-Janice?"

"Hi Stephen." 

She smiled at me. 

"Do you like it?" 

She turned around, giving me a full view. She may have been 
dressed like a man, but the way she smiled and moved... well, if 
she was male, then I was gay. 

Still, the costume was pretty good. Her dark hair was wet down 
and combed across her head with a part down one side. She 
wasn't wearing any makeup that I could see, and she had put on 
a pair of heavy glass, which hid her eyes and made her look... I 
don't know, less female? They certainly de-emphasized her 
looks. The rest of it was pretty simple: a fake moustache; a guy's 
slacks and a jacket with covered her chest; and a pair of men's 
dress shoes.

Not bad.

"Looks good," I told her (and basked in her sudden smile). "But 
what about me? Don't want people to think I'm going on a date 
with a guy."

She laughed. 

"Come see," she said, taking my hand and leading me into her 
bedroom. I saw at once what she was laughing about. It was all 
laid out there on her bed: a yellow dress... girl's underwear... a 
pair of yellow shoes with heels... a blonde wig...
"Uhm..." I turned to her. "You want me to go as a... a girl?"

She nodded, smiling. "You'll be my date," she explained happily. 
"It'll be perfect. We'll win first prize for sure." I felt my stomach 
begin to turn. Going out with Janice was a dream come true, but 
going as a girl? 

It was too much!

Christ, I'd never live it down. Even with Janice...

"I don't know," I told her. "I don't think this is a good..."

Before I could complete the sentence, she walked up to me, took 
off the glasses and brought her lips to mine for a long kiss. Her 
fake moustache tickled a bit, but I wasn't about to complain... not 
as long as her warm, moist lips were pressed against mine and 
her tongue slid teasingly across my teeth...
Finally, she pulled away. 

"Are you sure?" she whispered.

"I..."

She kissed me again. By the time the kiss ended, I was trembling 
and my cock was straining at the front of my jeans. I groaned as I 
felt her hand slide along the front of my crotch, rubbing against 
my cock through the thick material.

"I really want you to wear the costume," she told me, smiling. 
"Besides, dressed as a guy, I feel pretty aggressive." Her smile 
took on a new intensity. "A 'guy' like me on a date with a 'girl' like 
you... who knows what will happen?" 

Her smile promised everything. 

How could I refuse.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

"Oh... good. I can't wait to see how you look." She took my hand 
and led me into the bathroom. "Let's get started. The costume 
has to be perfect."

Maybe I would have protested more if I hadn't been so bloody 
horny. I wanted to complain... when she got me to strip down to 
my underwear and then smeared that white foam stuff all over my 
arms, legs and underarms, I wanted to tell her "no". 

But the feeling of her hands on my body - as well as the 
occasional rub against my still rigid cock and the special smile 
she gave me - kept me silent.  I almost felt like crying in the 
shower when I washed the white stuff off and it left my arms and 
legs completely hairless, but when I got out of the shower, she 
was waiting with a towel, her eyes sliding up and down my naked 
body... licking her lips.

How could I?

I finally did object when she glued false nails on over my own - 
they weren't particularly long, but definitely female with their soft, 
pink polish - but she just laughed. 
"Don't be a silly," she told me. "They'll peel off with a bit of polish 
remover." She looked up at me from where she was kneeling by 
the chair. "They'll be the first thing I take off," she purred, "after the party." 

I swallowed and fell silent.

I just watched as she completed my costume: a pair of girl's 
panties - not lingerie, just solid, tight underwear, which held my 
straining cock tight against my abdomen; stockings which came 
up to mid-thigh and were held up by a pair of garter belts; a light 
corset - at least, that's what I think it was - pulled tight so it held 
my stomach in and pushed up my chest; a pink bra - a "junior" 
she called it, smiling, with what looked like two pink, papery bags 
filling it out. 

Then a yellow dress, which came down to just above my knees; a 
pair of yellow shoes with heels - "three inch," she told me, "you'll 
have to practice a bit" - fitting snug over my stocking-encased 
feet; a pair of dangling earrings, clipped on of course; and, finally, 
the makeup.

The makeup took forever. 

I kept wanting to take a look at myself in the mirror - curious, 
despite my distaste at what was happening, to see what I looked 
like - but she wouldn't let me turn around. "Just wait," she told 
me, concentrating as she applied... well, I don't know what it 
was... lots of stuff. "I want it to be a surprise."

Finally, she seemed to be finished.

Janice stepped back and gave an appreciative whistle as she 
looked at me. 

"Wow."

"Lemme see..." I got out of the chair and tried to look at the 
mirror.

"One more thing," she told me, putting her hand on my shoulder. 
"Don't look yet."


I obeyed, sitting back down as she fitted the wig over my head 
and pinned it on.

"Perfect," she smiled, stepping away. "Now you can look."

I turned and looked at myself.

At myself? 

I would never have believed it.

I'm not the biggest guy in the world - kind of small and thin, 
really... my mom says I'm 'small boned' - so I was the right size 
and build for a girl. And, boy, did I look like a girl. The wig gave 
me curly, almost platinum blonde hair, which tumbled down over 
my ears and onto my shoulders. The hair framed what, I have to 
admit, was a beautiful face.  I don't know what she did with the 
makeup, but it sure worked. My male face had almost 
disappeared behind blushing cheeks... high, thin eyebrows... 
delicately made-up eyes... hot pink lips...

And it wasn't just the hair and face. The yellow dress fit snug 
across my chest, not showing any cleavage - no surprise there - 
but definitely highlighting what appeared to be my small, firm 
breasts.  

It narrowed over my stomach - which was quite thin due to the 
corset - and flared out over my legs, coming to a frilly end just 
above my knees. The visible part of my legs was covered by the 
stockings, which ran down into the yellow shoes.

Janice stepped beside me and looked into the mirror. She'd put 
the glasses back on and was wearing a cap. 

"What do you think, uhm... Stephanie?" she asked, smiling at our 
reflections. "Do we make a cute couple."

Stephanie? 

I couldn't help but grin. She'd done an incredible job! I looked a 
hell of a lot more like a girl than she did a guy. "It's amazing," I 
told her, turning away from the mirror and walking towards her. "I 
can't believe..."
"Uh oh." The smile left her face. "That won't do. We'll never win 
the prize with you talking and walking like that."

"Like what?"

"Like a guy," she said, rolling her eyes. She grinned and checked 
her watch. "We don't have much time, 'cause I have to be at 
Cindy's soon. I'll get you started and you can practice here before 
coming over."

I started to say something, not happy with the way things were 
going, but she silenced me with another smile and my lessons 
began. Over the next hour or so, she taught me how to act like a 
girl: how to walk on the shoes; how to sit; how to talk - I had 
trouble with that last part, and we eventually settled on a low, 
breathe voice; how to move and...

Well, it seemed like a lot to learn, and before I knew it, Janice 
was throwing on her jacket and rushing off to Cindy's to help set 
up for the party. I tried to kiss her as she left, but she turned away 
with a giggle. "Don't want to ruin the makeup," she told me. I 
frowned. "Besides," she said, slipping her hand under the dress 
and rubbing my cock through the panties, "there'll be lots of that 
later on."

That was good enough for me.

Over the next couple of hours, I practised on my own in Janice's 
room, determined to win the prize for her. As I practised my 
walking, all the time talking to myself in that low, breathy voice, I 
couldn't help but look around her room. 

I was a bit disappointed to see that there were still a few pictures 
of Biff around, but I was mollified to see one of them stuck up on 
a dartboard and another defaced with nail polish.

He was definitely out.

And I was in!

By the time eight o'clock rolled around, I was getting pretty good 
at it. I was more or less used the walking in the shoes, and the 
makeup and clothing weren't quite so foreign. 
Not that I really enjoyed dressing like a girl; it's just that I really 
wanted to make things perfect for Janice. 

And, of course, the promise of things to come was a pretty 
powerful incentive. My mind kept going back, recalling the feel of 
her lips on mine... her hand on my cock... 

Time to go. 

I gathered up the purse Janice had thoughtfully left behind for 
me, through the white sweater over my shoulders - she'd told me 
to leave my clothing in her room - and called a taxi. I was a bit 
nervous leaving the house dressed and made up as a girl, but no 
one gave me a second glance. The taxi driver even called me 
ma'am. 

It was almost fun in a weird kind of way.

Cindy's house was in the upscale part of Bakersville. I knew who 
she was from school - who didn't... she was part of Janice's 
popular crowd - but I'd never met her. 

Ah well...

My stomach tightened as I walked up to the front door. I could 
hear music coming from inside and the front of the house was 
covered with Halloween decorations. At least I hadn't come to the 
wrong house. 

Bloody hell... *that* would have been a disaster. 

I rang the bell.

The door opened and a girl looked out.

It was Cindy.

She wasn't in costume.
"Oh, hi." She stepped back from the door. "Come on in."

I entered with a growing sense of dread. 

Something was wrong.
"I'm sorry," Cindy said, closing the door. "I don't know if we've 
met." She held out her hand. "I'm Cindy. Are you here with 
someone?"

I nodded clearing my throat. Hesitantly, I reached out and took 
her hand, my pink nails gleaming. "I'm... uh... Stephanie," I told 
her, speaking in my girl's voice. "I'm here with Janice."

Cindy smiled. 

"OK. She said she was expecting someone." She turned and 
walked down the hallway towards the music. "Follow me." I 
followed, remembering to walk as I'd practised in Janice's 
bedroom. She turned the corner and gestured me into a large 
room full of people. 

It was the party.

No one was in costume.

No one.

"This is it," she said. "I'll go tell Janice you're here. Have fun." I 
stood, paralysed as Cindy walked into the room and disappeared 
into the crowd. A few moments later, Janice emerged and came 
running up to me. She wasn't wearing her costume and she 
looked upset.

"Stephen," she whispered, grabbing my arm and pulling me into 
and through the crowd. "Come with me. Quickly!" I tagged along 
behind her as best I could, my heart pounding with fear. 

I was at a school party dressed and made up as a girl... and it 
wasn't a costume party. My short life flashed before my eyes as I 
tried to imagine what would happen when I got caught. "Through 
here." She shoved me into the bathroom and closed the door 
behind us.

"I screwed up," she said, looking at me. "Cindy told me that it was 
a costume party, but she changed her mind without letting me 
know." She looked like she was about to cry. "I feel like such an 
idiot."

"*You* feel like an idiot?" I was almost angry with her now. 
"You're not the one..."

"I did try to call you," she interrupted. "Over and over again. You 
didn't answer."

I fell silent, my anger fading. The phone had rung a number of 
times. I didn't pick it up because it wasn't my house. 

She'd tried to warn me.

"Now what?" I asked.

"I guess we'll just get you out of here," she told me. "We'll go 
back to my place and you can change."

I almost sagged with relief.

And anticipation. 

We were heading back to her place. 

I remembered the feel of her lips on mine.

"Come on." She opened the door and led me out of the bathroom 
and back into the main party room. The place was packed. 

Practically everyone who was anyone at Greenwood High was 
there, either standing around drinking and talking or dancing on 
the large dance floor set up in a corner of the room. I tried to 
keep my attention focused on Janice's back as she led me 
across the room, hoping and praying that no one would try to talk 
to me, but I couldn't help but look around as we waded through 
the crowd.

That's why I saw Biff before Janice did.

"Hello Janice," Biff sneered. He seemed to be a little drunk. 
Maybe more than a little. He looked at me. "Who's your friend?" 

Janice stopped walking and glared at him. "None of your 
business," she snapped. "Asshole."

Biff just grinned. At 6'4" and well over 200 lbs., it took more than 
an angry ex-girlfriend to intimidate him. "That's not very ladylike," 
he mocked her. He turned back to me and I could see his eyes 
taking me in. "Your friend here's a bit rude, not introducing us. I'm 
Biff." 

He looked at me as if expecting an answer. I froze, unable to 
move or think under his gaze. What was I going to do? I felt like I 
was about to throw up. He was going to...

"This is Stephanie," Janice answered, her voice dripping acid. 
"She's new in Bakersville... just transferred to Greenwood. And 
she's not for you."

Biff shook his head, keeping his eyes on me. They were small 
and red; I could tell he was pissed. "Is that so?"  

"Yes," Janice told him. "That's so. Leave us alone!"

Biff shook his head. "I'll leave you alone," he answered, "but I 
think you're friend here wants to dance with me." He reached out 
and grabbed my arm. 

I tried to pull away, but he wrapped his hand around my wrist and 
held firm. I would have yelled, but I was more terrified of causing 
a scene and attracting attention than I was of him.

Almost.

Janice quickly leaned in and whispered in my ear: "You'd better 
dance with him." I stared at her, horrified. "Just once... he'll get 
drunk wander off." 

I opened my mouth to say something, but found myself speechless 
as Biff tugged on my arm. 

"Just remember what you practised," she hissed. I just looked at her 
blankly as Biff led me onto the dance floor. 

What I'd practised.

The voice... the movements...

It was a medium tempo song, so we didn't dance very close. 
Thank god. He just held my hands and we sort of bobbed up and 
down more or less with the music. My earlier observation that he 
was pretty drunk turned out to be accurate and me... well, I wasn't 
much of a dancer.

Still, even drunk he made small talk as we danced, asking me 
where I was from and how I knew Janice. Stuff like that. 

By now my head had cleared a bit, and I managed to feed him a 
story about how my mom had just been transferred from Point 
Hope and was just starting at Greenwood. Just like my real story, 
only with a Stephanie rather than a Stephen.

Finally, the dance ended.

I desperately looked around for Janice, but she was nowhere to 
be seen. I tried to break away, but Biff just put his arm around my 
shoulder and led me to a group of his friends, where he 
introduced me as Stephanie, a new girl at school. 

Having no choice, I played along with him, waiting for an 
opportunity to make my escape. A couple of the girls chatted with 
me, and before long I'd repeated the "Stephanie" story a number 
of times. 

The party continued.

I kept trying to get away, but Biff was all over me, giving me his 
undivided attention. I even went and sat in the bathroom for about 
twenty minutes, hoping he'd lose interest and leave me alone, but 
when I emerged, he was waiting with a drink and a smile. I took 
the drink and, pretty upset, gulped it down. He made a joke about 
me being "his kind of girl" and left to get me another. After a quick 
look around for Janice - she was still nowhere to be found - I 
headed for the door. 

Biff was waiting with another drink.

The party continued.

After a couple of hours, I was a little drunk, having downed half a 
dozen drinks myself. 
I don't think Biff left my side and we had three or four more dances 
and I was slowly introduced to everyone the party as Stephanie, 
the new girl. 

I don't know whether it was the alcohol or just the fact that I hadn't been 
caught, but I was almost beginning to relax a bit in the role. I was 
still terrified of being found out, but it was looking like I'd get 
through it. The party was beginning to break up and soon I'd get 
away for good.

I guess I shouldn't have been surprised when, after Cindy 
announced the last dance - "Stairway to Heaven", of course (god, 
I hated that song) - Biff grabbed my arm and pulled me onto the 
dance floor. Up to then, the dances had been fairly chaste, but 
this was a different matter.

This was a slow dance.

Biff put his drunken arms around me and pulled me close as the 
song began. Terrified, and more than a little repulsed, I stiffened 
up and then, having no choice, relaxed and melted into his 
embrace. It was too easy. I was tired... a little drunk... and my 
feet were killing me. It was so easy just to lean into him and 
relax... it was almost...

"Oops..." 

My foot slipped. I threw my arms over his shoulders to steady 
myself. 

"Stephanie," Biff said.

Instinctively, I tilted my head upwards and looked at him. I saw it 
coming - I knew it was coming - but, almost hypnotized with fear, 
I didn't turn away. Besides, what could I do? It was too late to...

He kissed me. 

I felt the gorge rise in my throat as his tongue slipped between 
my open lips and explored my lipsticked mouth. 

Dimly, I was aware that my arms were still wrapped around his 
shoulders, but I was too weak to pull them away. 
I felt faint and my head was spinning as his breath, thick and heavy with 
alcohol, flowed into my mouth, filling me up with his smell... his 
feel...

When he broke away, I was panting and confused, staring up at 
him with my lips parted. My mind reeled with revulsion. I'd been 
french kissed by a boy... a great big, drunken football player... 
and there was nothing I could do! 

I was so weak in his arms. 

Powerless...

The whole world seemed to shrink away as he leaned down and 
kissed me again. I think I moaned with fear this time, trembling 
helpless in his grasp. From a distance, I was aware of a flash and 
a bunch of people cheering... egging him on... making jokes 
about him... about us. Another cheer went up and I felt his hand 
on my ass, squeezing and pulling me even tighter into his arms 
as his tongue explored my mouth.

He pulled his mouth away.

"It's a bit public in here," he whispered, nodding over my shoulder 
at the jeering teenagers. "Come with me."

My head was spinning. Helpless to resist, I followed as he took 
my hand and led me through the house onto the back patio. It 
was dark and a bit cool. I shivered in my light dress and he put 
his arms around me.

"You sure are a fox," he mumbled drunkenly, drawing me forward 
for another kiss. "Much nicer than your friend Janice." What a 
jerk! I mumbled "no" and tried to push him away, but it was 
useless. 

And so, we began to neck out there on the porch at Cindy's 
house. His hands roamed freely over my body, squeezing... 
fondling... prodding... 

I was terrified that he would touch me in the 
wrong place and discover that I wasn't really a girl, and kept 
trying to back away. 
Eventually I ended up in a corner up against 
a railing, unable to move away as the necking continued and he 
began to grind his crotch into me. I almost threw up as I felt his 
stiff cock rubbing against my stomach.

What was I going...

*FLASH*

The darkness of the night was broken by a bright camera flash. 
Biff broke away and looked at where the flash had come from. 
"What the hell...".

Janice walked forward, carrying a polaroid camera.

"Looked like a Kodak moment to me," she smirked.

"You bitch," Biff taunted her. "I dumped you because you were 
getting so fucking jealous... but you're even worse than I 
thought." Then he grinned and looked at me, standing dishevelled 
in the corner. "I'll give you a 'kodak moment'!"

He turned back to me and, before I could do anything, swept me 
into another embrace and brought his face forward for a long, 
passionate kiss. I twisted and squirmed in arms, horrified at the 
feel of his tongue in my mouth, as Janice snapped two or three 
more pictures. When he finally broke away, I slumped, gasping 
against the rail.

"Like what you see?" Biff snarled at her.

"Oh yes," Janice told him, smiling. "I like it." She put the camera 
down and walked towards us. "And now, I've got a surprise for 
you, lover boy."

Biff looked puzzled at her actions. "What?"

Janice grabbed Biff's hand. 

"This!"

By the time I realized what she was doing, it was too late.

She took his hand and shoved it under my skirt.

Up to my crotch.

My cock.

"Fuck!!!" Biff stumbled backwards on the porch, staring at his 
hand like it had suddenly betrayed him. I was dead now, and I 
knew it. Biff would kill me. And if he didn't, it would soon be 
known all over school what had happened.

And everyone would kill me.

My life was over.

Biff must have been thinking along the same lines. 

"You are dead, asshole," he growled at me. "You are fucking 
dead." He started towards me...

"Don't be stupid," Janice laughed at him. "You beat him up and 
everyone will know what happened. You two were quite the 
couple at the party." Biff stopped, now more confused than angry. 
I think I even saw some fear in his eyes. 

He had a lot to lose. 

"And besides," Janice purred, "there's always the pictures. Soon 
everyone will know about you and... him."

Biff sagged against the railing. 

She had him.

"Unless..."

Biff and I both looked at her.

Was there a way out?

She laughed. "Unless you two do exactly what I say." Janice 
walked towards Biff, staring him in the face. "I can get you out of 
this, and the whole thing will stay my little secret."
"What?" Biff asked. 

He looked frightened.

She took his hand and led him over to me. He didn't say 
anything; he just followed along. When he was standing directly 
in front of me, she put her hand on my shoulder. "Kneel," she 
ordered. I gathered myself to run, but Biff put his hand on my 
shoulder and pushed.

"Do what she says, you little faggot," he growled.

I knelt.

Biff moaned quietly but didn't argue as Janice reached down, 
unzipped his pants and slid his cock out. It was enormous, long, 
hard and... and wet as it dangled inches from my face. Holding 
his cock in her left hand, she reached around behind my head 
with her other hand and pushed me forward until the head of his 
cock was resting against my lips. 

"Open," she told me.

I shook my head, trying not to breath.

"Do it," Biff ordered.

I obeyed, almost retching. 

Biff immediately moved his hips forward and, just like that, his 
cock filled my mouth. Janice leaned down - "... there's a girl..." - 
and whispered lewd instructions about... about cocksucking. 
About how I should do it... about moving my lips and my tongue... 
bobbing my head... about sucking... 

In a trance, I did as she said.

When Biff began to move his hips back and forth, moaning, she 
straightened up and began to talk to him, keeping one hand 
resting lightly on the head. On my knees, sliding my tongue 
across the underside of Biff's huge cock and sucking lightly as it 
slid in and out of my pink, lipsticked mouth, I listened as Janice 
told Biff how he was going to get out of it.
"Feels nice, doesn't it?" she taunted him. "That's not so bad, is it? 
Getting your cock sucked by another guy."

Biff grunted.  

Janice laughed.

And, as Biff's cock grew ever larger and harder in my mouth, I 
listened in growing horror while she explained what she had in 
mind for him.

For us.

She explained how this was her payback for his breaking up with 
her... for how he'd humiliated her in front of the entire school. She 
told him how he'd be ruined at school if it came out that he'd been 
necking with a boy... about how everyone had seen us at the 
party - not to mention the pictures, which would soon be 
circulating - and that if anyone ever found out about Biff's 
"Stephanie" being a boy... well, he'd be more than a 
laughingstock. 

And so, she told him, her hand jerking my head forward, forcing 
me to take the head of his cock down my throat, his only way out 
was to keep me... as a girlfriend! His girlfriend. 

That was the price of her silence and, with respect to my end of 
things, her assistance. She would keep quiet about me and make 
certain I was able to keep up the masquerade. He would "go 
steady" with me for the rest of the year, not seeing any other 
girls.

By the end of her little speech, Biff was grunting and thrusting his 
cock down my throat. I was gasping for air, and had put my 
hands on his thighs for support. Janice's hand kept me from 
pulling away and I was sucking and slurping at his cock for all I 
was worth, bobbing my head up and down in a frenzy. 

Anything to get this over with.

Janice laughed. "You two are getting into it already. I'm doing you 
both a favour, bringing you together like this."

Biff suddenly stiffened and grabbed the back of my head. Holding 
me firmly, he shot what seemed like gallons of warm cum into my 
mouth. I swallowed the foul stuff as fast as I could, but it kept 
coming up. I coughed as it bubbled over my lips, sprayed out my 
nose and splattered across my chin. 

Finally, he was done. 

Janice slid his cock out from between my lips and zipped him up 
as I knelt, retching on the patio deck. Biff, in no condition to say 
anything, just stood there.

Smiling, she helped me to my feet . "Tch tch... what a mess 
you've made, Stephanie." She fussed over me, straightening my 
hair and wiping my face with a cloth. 

After redoing my lipstick, she grabbed each of us in her arms and 
led us back into the party room. There were still about dozen kids 
sitting around talking. The guys laughed and slapped Biff on the 
back as Janice led me into the kitchen where a number of girls 
were talking.

Cindy looked at me, horrified. "Stephanie!" she said, taking a 
facecloth and rubbing a bit of cum which was dripping from my 
chin. "Really."

Janice giggled.


**********************************


That was three months ago.   

For the first few weeks after the party, Janice was really into it, 
overseeing every aspect of my conversion to a girl... to Biff's 
girlfriend. She took me to the mall the Sunday after the party and 
got my ears pierced for real... no more clip-ons, she told me, 
smirking as I tried to hide my tears. 

It hurt like hell. 


The routine started the next day. Every morning before school, I'd 
go to her place and she'd help me get ready, showing me how to 
dress and put makeup on for myself... laughing, as she explained 
to me about how I should act and talk. 

She'd decided that, with the platinum blonde hair and a boyfriend 
like Biff, Stephanie would be a bit of an air-head, so I was taught 
to talk and act like a blonde bimbo... lots of giggling and gum 
chewing...

Janice's interest has since waned. She has a new boyfriend now 
and isn't really interested in getting revenge on Biff any more. 

But it's too late.

***********************************

Janice had a friend in the school administration. Stephen no 
longer exists at Greenwood High; it's Stephanie now. Stephanie 
Murdoch. 

They registered me in 'home ec' and a bunch of courses like that. 
I'm now well known to all the teachers and kids as 'Stephanie'.

***********************************

For the first week after the party, Biff and I saw each other as 
little as possible, only meeting when Janice set things up so we 
had no choice. 

Then, the next weekend, I think he decided 'what the hell' and 
took me to a movie. Janice was delighted and dressed me up like 
a little tart for my first real "date". He was a total jerk about the 
whole thing, treating me like shit all night and then making me 
suck him off afterwards in the back seat of his car. 

I don't think he much liked going out with a boy dressed like a girl, 
but he seemed to enjoy what I did with his cock well enough. 
After that, we spent a lot of time together, almost as if we *were* 
going out. 

I got to know his cock real well.

************************************

Biff and I never really talked about what Janice did to us. I tried to 
bring it up, once, speaking in my normal voice, but he just 
punched me in the stomach and told me shut up. Then he pulled 
out his cock and stuffed it in my mouth while I crouched, gasping 
at his feet. 

That was the last time I tried that. 

I think he was working real hard to convince himself that I really 
was a girl. That was the only way he could deal with what was 
happening to him... to forget that I wasn't a girl. To forget what 
Janice had done to him. 

And me... I could never forget that I wasn't a girl. 

Me fucking the other guys was Biff's idea. 

After we'd "gone steady" for about a month, he told me that he 
wanted me to start sleeping around with other boys at school. He 
thought it would protect him in case we were ever found out... 
that too many other guys would be compromised. I thought he 
was crazy. I complained, telling him that eventually necking and a 
blow job wouldn't be enough, and that I'd be found out.

Things were dangerous enough as it was.

Biff grinned a sick grin. 

"No problem," he told me. "I've got it figured out."

"What?" I asked.

He threw me over the back of the couch and showed me what he 
had in mind.

Janice laughed when I told her. 

"So our Stephanie's going to be a bit of a slut, is she?" She 
seemed to like the idea. The next morning when I showed up at 
her house for "dressup", she had me bend over and forced a 
thick buttplug up my ass "to loosen me up for all my boyfriends". 
She'd also bought a new wardrobe and new makeup... "more 
appropriate for a slut like Stephanie."

**************************************

Biff's plan worked. 

He put out the word that I was into anal sex and was looking for 
action. Since then, I think I've had half the jocks at school 
between my legs or between my lips. It hurt like hell at first 
getting it up the ass - particularly from the black guys with the 
massive cocks - but I'm so loose back there now I can barely feel 
it. 

Not that I let on, of course... oh no, not Stephanie the 
cocksucker... the ass slut... the most popular slut at Greenwood 
since Stacy Richards. Biff let me know that I was to show his 
friends a good time, which meant lots of action. Moaning... 
whining... panting... yelping out fake orgasms... the whole nine 
yards.

***********************************

I got good at it. Anything to get the bastards off as quickly as 
possible. It's almost routine, now. I'd show up at a party and 
immediately attract all sorts of attention. 

I'd gulp down a couple of quick drinks to deaden my senses and, 
over the course of the evening, any number of guys would slip 
their arm over my shoulder and lead me into a bedroom or 
bathroom or whatever. 

Sometimes they'd be satisfied with a blowjob - I'd kneel down 
before them and, making the appropriate moaning sounds, slurp 
and kiss and swallow their cocks until they come in my mouth; 
sometimes they'd take me up the ass while I bucked and moaned 
like a whore. 

Whatever. 

As long as it was quick.

*************************************
Not that I like it.  

The taste of cum still makes me sick. 

I'm a cheerleader now. I get to spend more time with the football 
team that way. Biff says he loves the way my tight ass wiggles in 
the cheerleader outfit. 

He should.

Janice made me practice it enough.

And there's always the buttplug.

************************************

So, now it's three months later and I'm still Biff's girl, although 
that ended really when Janice started going out with her new 
boyfriend and lost interest in Biff. I don't think Janice really cares 
much about us any more, but Biff won't take any chances. And he 
won't let me change back. 

Besides, I've fucked so many guys at school it'd be suicide to 
change now. I'm stuck as Stephanie the cocksucker... the ass 
slut at least until the end of the year.  

****************************************

It's Valentine's Day, and I'm at Janice's place getting ready for my 
usual party date with Biff. He'll pick me up at Janice's house.  I'll be wearing the appropriate "slut wear" (as Janice calls it): leather mini-skirt; pumps; tank 
top... no panties (just a harness holding my poor cock flat against 
my stomach) and, of course, lots of makeup.  

Maybe he'll have me suck him off in the car before he goes to get 
his real date... maybe not. It doesn't matter; there'll be plenty of 
that later on.

Then he'll drop me off alone at the party.

But I won't be alone for long.

I never am. 
GOING AWAY PARTY
By Parker


Things were hazy; dream-like; a blur.

She had been attending a "going away" party for one of the secretaries at the firm, Suzie Myers. Monique, a junior partner at the law firm of Parker & Co, would not normally have gone to such a party; the firm encouraged its lawyers to maintain a discreet distance from the staff. 

And Monique, the youngest partner in the history of the firm (at 28), was not about to do anything to jeopardize her position or her career. But this case was a little different, as it had been Monique's complaining that had gotten Suzie fired in the first place. It was not that the secretary did a bad job; rather, Monique objected to the girl's appearance. Suzie was a bit of a 'punker', and Monique had complained to the other partners about her clothing and spiked hair.

Suzie had been "let go", and was now leaving the city. And so Monique, feeling a little guilty, had accepted when Suzie had asked her to attend the party. 

Of course, Monique made certain that none of the other lawyers knew that she was going. That might raise eyebrows, and there was no way Monique was going to do anything to jeopardize her career.

Monique hated to be late for anything. That was why she was wearing her business clothing - long, grey skirt, white shirt, grey jacket and conservative two-inch heels - when she arrived at the bar; she had come directly from work, and really only planned to stay for a few minutes.

She had been surprised to find that Suzie was by herself at a booth in the bar, but the girl explained that the other secretaries had phoned and would be a few minutes late. Suzie suggested that they have a drink and Monique agreed, happy to find any activity to fill the time until the others arrived. 

Monique didn't really known Suzie all that well, and the fact that she had been directly responsible for the girl losing her job made her feel a little uncomfortable. Not that there was any way Suzie could have found out that Monique was responsible.

But still...

The drink had tasted a bit strange - somewhat bitter. But Monique ignored that, putting it down to her discomfort at the situation, and said nothing. 
But when she began to feel seriously dizzy a few moments later, however, she was forced to tell Suzie that she was feeling sick. The girl had been extremely concerned, and had insisted upon calling a taxi.

"Don't worry," the young secretary had said. "I'll take you home."

Monique had tried to tell her that that wasn't necessary, and that she could get home on her own, but a wave of dizziness overtook her, and her tongue felt strangely thick and unresponsive. The words came out as an inarticulate mumble.

Suzie just smiled and put her hand on the other woman's shoulder. "I'll take care of everything," she had said.

By the time the taxi arrived, Monique had been only barely conscious. She remembered being shoved into the back seat of a car - presumably a taxi - but she had no idea where she had been taken.

All she knew was that she hadn't been taken home.
She had been pulled out of the taxi at what appeared to be some sort of club. There were lots of bright lights and music and people moving around in what appeared to be a large smoky room. 

Monique blinked rapidly, and tried to focus on what was happening around her, but events moved too quickly to register properly on her fogged senses. She just felt herself dragged through the crowd and into a different room. The music and talking dropped to a dull roar as a door was shut behind her.

Things were hazy...

Monique tried to say something, to protest, but she was still unable to speak. All she could to do was look around in confusion as a number of figures surrounded and approached her. Women, she thought, but dressed in what appeared to be rather bizarre costumes. She squinted, trying to make out what was going on, but it was difficult to see what was happening, as the lighting in the room was extremely dim.

Was this some sort of dream?

Dream or not, the figures felt real enough. Hands pulled at her clothes, first slipping off the jacket and then unbuttoning her blouse. For some reason, the fact that they seemed to be taking care not to ruin the clothing comforted Monique. 

There was no brutality; no threat. She was just being gently undressed. Almost before she knew it, she was standing naked in the midst of the bizarre figures. Monique blushed, embarrassed, and tried vainly to cover herself with her hands.

The figures took her arms led her to what appeared to be some sort of examination table. The young lawyer tried to pull away, frightened, but her captors handled her easily, turning her around and forcing her to lie down backwards over the table. 
Monique was now on her back, looking upwards into a light, unable to make out anything more than vague silhouettes above her. The dream-like quality of the scene intensified as her perceptions retreated even further into what she was now certain was a drug- induced haze.

She felt something cool on her arms. Confused, she turned her head to see two thick bands of what looked like rubber cuffs being fastened to her wrists. The cuffs had two shiny metal D- rings attached on each side. 

Monique started to mumble a protest, but was immediately distracted by the feel of something being done with her legs. She turned her attention downward to see a pair of white transparent rubber stockings being pulled up her legs. 

'That's not right,' she wanted to say. 'I don't wear things like that', but all she could manage was a quiet moan. It still felt as though her mouth were frozen. 

Monique tried to bring down her hands to remove the stockings, but found, to her surprise, that her wrists had been fastened to the top of the table, above her head. She wriggled, trying to pull her hands free, but the cuffs on her wrists held firm.

Once again, she tried to say something, to protest. This time she was cut off by another person's mouth on her own. She gasped in surprise at the feel of the other person's lips covering her open mouth; the other person's tongue boldly exploring... 

Her eyes slowly focused on the face in front of her... It was a woman. SHE WAS BEING KISSED BY A WOMAN!! 

Monique moaned and tried to turn away, but the woman simply grabbed her head and held her head steady. 

Monique moaned and tried to twist away as she felt a hand - she assumed it was the woman's - sliding along her exposed breast... teasing and rubbing her nipples. 

Against her will, the young lawyer felt her body responding. 

She was now thoroughly frightened, and the idea of kissing another woman made her want to throw up, but still... but still her body responded; nipples grew hard... The captive felt herself begin to pant and even started to kiss back.

What was happening to her?

The woman's face filled Monique's view, but she could still feel what was happening to her lower body. She felt her feet being forced into some kind of extremely high-heeled shoe. Even lying on her back, the angle her feet were being forced to assume was uncomfortable, if not actually painful. 

She twisted her ankles, trying to dislodge the shoes, but they wouldn't come off. They seemed to be attached to the thick rubber cuffs that were tightened around her ankles. After the shoes were fastened on, her feet were pulled upwards and apart and tied in that position.

And still, Monique was helpless to do anything other than return the passionate kisses of her insistent partner. To her horror, Monique felt her pussy beginning to moisten as the warmth from the kisses and fondling slowly but surely worked its way downward. Her whole body was now awash with blurred and unfamiliar sensations... the stockings; the rubber cuffs; the kissing... 

She might have felt her back being lifted briefly from the table and a thick rubber material slipped under, but she wasn't sure. She did, however, feel the material wrapped around her tummy and slowly pulled tighter and tighter. 

Just when she thought she would no longer be able to breath, the tightening stopped, and she felt a set of lacings begin done up along one side. The rubber material - a corset? - covered her abdomen up to just below her breasts.

Despite the discomfort of her position, Monique felt herself approaching orgasm. She couldn't help it. The feel of the other woman's tongue and lips through the haze; the feel of those gentle hands - there was now clearly more than one person fondling Monique's small, firm breasts - was driving her wild. She felt the pleasure rising higher...

and higher...

and...

The hands and mouth suddenly pulled away, and Monique was left panting, eyes closed and mouth open, just on the verge of coming, but not quite there.

Not quite there...

Not quite...

Frustrated, she opened her eyes to see what had happened. Her earlier confusion had begun to lessen, and her perceptions were beginning to sharpen. What was...

A hand grabbed her mouth and stuffed something inside. It was soft rubber, and felt like... like a penis? Not large, but it did fill her mouth. Arousal forgotten, Monique moaned in protest, and tried to push the intruder away with her tongue, but it was fastened on with some sort of a strap which ran behind her neck. Monique was forced to suck at the rubber phallus in order to prevent herself from gagging.

That discomfort, however, was quickly forgotten when she felt something - a finger - sliding slowly into her anal passage. Monique squealed loudly and looked down. She just caught a glimpse of her lower body - stocking-encased legs held upwards and apart in a set of metal stirrups, and a shadowy figure kneeling between her legs - before a pair of hand pulled her head down and slipped a blindfold over her eyes.

The enforced blindness only intensified the feeling between her legs. Monique felt the finger in her ass sliding in and out, liberally smearing some kind of cold, lubricating substance. The finger was withdrawn just as a tongue started sliding along an exposed nipple. 

Monique, still partially aroused, gasped and involuntarily hunched her back upwards towards the tongue, nipples hardening, as first one mouth - and then another - began sucking at her breasts.

At the same time, she felt a long, thin nozzle being slid up her ass. Monique squealed and tried to clench her anal muscles, but the earlier lubrication made it impossible for her to prevent the intrusion. 

A moment later, she began to feel a warm rush of liquid gushing into her. This lasted for about thirty seconds, after which the nozzle was quickly pulled out and something else - something thicker and harder - inserted in her ass and left there. She tried to expel the liquid, but found that she couldn't.

Monique groaned and writhed on the table, her fogged mind overwhelmed by contradictory sensations. Her belly felt bloated and cramped, but the feel of the mouth sucking at her breasts overcame the pain and discomfort. 

Then she felt something at the mouth of her pussy... something long and hard... cold... a dildo? 
Slowly the object was slid into her wet pussy. Monique moaned, and couldn't stop herself from trying to lift her lower body upwards onto the rubber cock. 

At the same time, she felt hands pulling at her head and hair, but she ignored them. All that mattered to her were the sensations in her breasts and pussy.

This continued for what seemed like hours, but was probably only a few minutes. Monique whimpered in frustration; every time she was just about to come, the dildo was removed and the mouths pulled away from her nipples. 

Whenever that happened, the pain from her bloated belly would overcome her, driving away the arousal. And then, inevitably, the mouths and dildo would return, and she would quickly be brought back up to the brink of orgasm.

Only to be held back...

Again...

And again...

Once again, she was brought up just short of  achieving orgasm.

Things seemed to move quickly all of a sudden. A panel was slid up at the lower end of the table, leaving her plugged ass hanging loose over the edge. The butt plug was pulled roughly from her ass, and the lukewarm water gushed out. 

Monique tried to hold it in, not wanting to void herself in public, but her anal muscles were almost numb. Frustrated and humiliated, Monique began to cry.

She heard someone laugh.

Just as the last bit of water dribbled out, she felt something very cold on her nose and then up her nostril. The front of her face went suddenly numb. 

Before she could really focus on this new sensation, she heard a clipping sound, and felt something pulling at her nose. It wasn't painful, but it definitely felt strange. She almost thought that she felt something lying on her upper lip. Sort of like...

Her confused thoughts were interrupted by another flurry of activity around her. The lower panel was extended, once again supporting her ass, but the support under her head suddenly disappeared, and she felt her head being pulled downwards over the side of the table. 

The strap was undone from behind her neck, and the rubber phallus was pulled from her mouth, leaving a long trail of drool to fall down on her face.

"P-please..."

Mouth suddenly free, she begged them - whoever they were - to stop. The drugs she had been given earlier had worn off a bit, because she was now able to speak. 

Those words were ignored, however, as rough hands grabbed her head and slipped on some kind of helmet. It seemed to consist of a number of leather straps which covered her head. 

A single strap went down over her face along the bridge of her nose and then spread out to surround a kind of metal ring, shaped in a circle, was centred over her mouth. 

A strap and buckle under her chin held the harness, and ring, in place. This was followed by a thick leather collar with four D-rings which was buckled in around her neck.
"N... no... don't... what are..."

Her protests were cut off by a shape which moved into her upside down line of sight and pressed against her mouth. She couldn't see properly, but her sense of smell told her what it was: a woman's pussy! She moaned and tried to turn her head, but it was held firm between the other woman's thighs.

"Come on little puss," a voice whispered to her. "Give a lick."

That voice? It sounded...

"Come on, little puss..."

Monique groaned a humiliated 'no', but the woman continued to press her crotch down against the young lawyer's face until she could no longer breath. Finally, Monique opened her mouth and tentatively stuck out her tongue. 

The taste made her sick to her stomach, but the pressure immediately eased up a bit, and she was able to breath again. Tearfully, Monique began to lick as best she could. It was better than suffocating...

As she began to suck and lick the woman's pussy, the captive lawyer felt hands touching and manipulating her breasts and pussy. She still had not been allowed to orgasm, so her sensitive nipples immediately went hard again. 

Suddenly, she felt the same cold feeling that she had felt earlier on her nose, and her nipples went numb. Then she felt the pulling sensation, but couldn't tell what was happening. 

Her attention was fully taken by the now sopping pussy at her face. It was all she could do to keep from choking with revulsion at the taste and smell of the other woman's pussy juice. 
As if at a distance, she felt the cold sensation a third time, this time at her pussy. 

Just as she felt the odd pulling sensation, the woman whose pussy she was sucking came, and flood of pussy juice covered her face and ran into her mouth. She swallowed the repulsive liquid, desperately trying not to vomit.

Finally, the woman pulled away, and Monique was left gasping and panting for breath, face shining with pussy juice. She lay like that for a few moment before the panel supporting her head was replaced. Blinking away the pussy juice that had gotten in her eyes, she looked downward and saw...

SUZIE!

The lights had been turned up a bit, and she could see better. It was the young secretary from work. She seemed to be dressed in a weird leather outfit, but Monique's eyes were immediately drawn to the arrangement at her crotch. 

Suzie was wearing some sort of harness which supported a long, black rubber dildo, the other end of which disappeared into Suzie's pussy. The girl approached slowly approached between Monique's widespread legs.

"S-Suzie," Monique groaned, trying to ignore the taste of pussy juice in her mouth. "Wh... what..."

The secretary said nothing. She just leaned forward and inserted the long dildo into her ex-boss's sopping pussy. There was no resistance. Monique groaned, but was unable to suppress the spasm of lust which fluttered through her lower tummy.

"What... what are you..."

Suzie grinned and pumped her hips back and forth.

"S-stop it..." Monique groaned and writhed on the table as the girl fucked her. "No... don't..."

Suzie smirked. "Don't what?" she asked, speaking for the first time.
"Don't... don't..." Monique couldn't help herself. Tears of humiliation ran down her face, but she had to come. She absolutely had to! "Don't..." Oh god. Could she say it? She had to: "Don't s-stop," she whimpered. "Don't stop."

Suzie's grin widened, and a number of people around the room began to laugh. "Does the youngest partner at Parker and Company wanted to be fucked by a secretary?"

"Ohhh.... no... y-yes," Monique groaned. "Oh yes." She began to buck her hips off the table in time with the younger girl's thrusts, desperately fucking back at her. She was so close...

"You want to come, you little lawyer-slut?"

"Yessss......" Monique was now beyond humiliation. Beyond caring. Her entire world centred on that wonderful thing between her legs. Frantically now, her sleek body covered with a sheen of sweat, she bucked and writhed on the table, groaning and whimpering.

Just about there...

Just about there...

JUST... ABOUT... JUST...

Suzie pulled out.

"Nooooooooo..." Monique thrashed about on the table, overcome with frustrated lust, but it was no use. The dildo was gone; she couldn't close her legs or reach down with her hands to finish the job. There was nothing she could do. Eventually, she stopped writhing and just lay there, panting and sobbing as her arousal slowly receded.

After a few minutes, she blindfold was replaced and the world went dark. Once again, she felt hands running over her body: something that felt like a bra, only tighter, was placed on her breasts and the straps hooked over her shoulders; she felt something cold on her upper lip and chin and a strange tugging on her nose and then... breasts. 

The numbness was beginning to wear off, and she began to feel an ominous ache in the places which had previously been frozen.

While this was being done, she felt a hand at her pussy, teasing her clit. She quickly became aroused again and was soon moaning and writhing on the table. Again, however, the teasing stopped short of allowing her to orgasm. 

When she finally stopped panting, she realized that her wrists and ankles were no longer tied down, and she was being helped up to her feet. The hands pulled her off the end of the table and steadied her as she tottered on the ridiculously high heels. 

Her feet felt almost perpendicular to the floor, and she found herself barely able to stand, much less walk. Her wrists were quickly and efficiently locked together behind her back and she was forced to walk, with small, careful steps, about ten feet across the room.

The blindfold was suddenly pulled from her face. Blinking, she looked... straight ahead at a full length mirror.

At herself!

The woman in the mirror...

She was more or less the same size as Monique, with more or less the same features... but that was where the resemblance ended. Where Monique had been an attractive, but conservative, young lady, this woman looked like something out of some kind of bizarre porno movie. 

This woman's long, slender legs were sheathed in white, rubber stocking, which ran upwards from a set of bright red, absurdly high-heeled "slut" shoes to her upper thighs. The stockings were attached by a red elastic material to an extremely tight, rubber corset. 

The corset itself, which ran from just above the woman's abdomen up the just below her breasts, was laced tightly up the front. The woman's waist couldn't have been more than eighteen inches in the corset. 

The woman was wearing a tight, rubber push-up bra, which made the most of her small, firm breasts. Those breasts were further pulled upwards by a slender chain which ran from two small rings in her nipples - RINGS IN HER NIPPLES! - to a larger ring which hung down from her nose. 

The chain was just tight enough to pull slightly on the nipples, and this caused the woman in the mirror to keep her head facing submissively downward. 

The woman's head... well, the hair was different. Where Monique had sported blonde, shoulder length hair, this woman had an ultra-short, spiky haircut, which was barely visible underneath the leather harness which covered her face and supported a metal O-ring over her quivering lips. 
The single leather strap which ran down her nose gave her wide, blue eyes a cross-eyed expression. Monique just stood there, balanced precariously on the high heels, staring at her image in the mirror.

What had happened!

In the mirror, she saw Suzie Myers, now dressed normally, come up behind her. Monique moaned and leaned backwards as Suzie reached around and began teasing her nipples.

"What do you think of my appearance now?" the girl asked, sliding her fingers down the front of the corset to the captive's crotch. "Not quite so wild, hmmm?"

Monique, still in shock at her new appearance, was unable to answer. Suzie's hand reached her pussy and... and pulled. Startled, Monique looked down to see Suzie's fingers playing with two golden rings which hung from either side of her newly pierced pussy. 

The horror of the situation suddenly overcame her, and she began to cry in earnest. How could she ever go back to work - face her colleagues - with all of these horrible... things attached to her? 

Suzie laughed and slipped a brutal finger into her ex-boss's pussy. Despite everything that had happened to her, Monique began to become aroused again...

"Don't cry, little puss," Suzie told her. "Your career as a lawyer is over, but you have a new career now." 

Monique moaned and squirmed as Suzie reached another hand around and began playing with a pierced nipple. 

"My friends here at the 'club' were looking for a new toy," Suzie continued, "and I thought you'd be perfect. You see, they like to play these little games - you know, dress up and such - but it's really no fun to play with someone who likes it... too much." Tears streaming down her face, Monique tried to say something, but she just couldn't stop panting...

If only she could come.

She was getting close again...

Suzie stopped playing with her just as another woman walked into Monique's field of vision.
It was... the woman looked almost exactly like... like Monique! She was even wearing Monique's clothing. The captive lawyer stared, eyes wide behind the leather harness.

"Oh," Suzie laughed. "You haven't been introduced yet. This is Sandra. She's going to be winding up your affairs for you."

The woman named Sandra smiled nastily and nodded her head. "Don't thank me," she smirked. "It only seems fair. "After all, you're going to be pretty busy around here."

Monique started to say something, but the words only came out as a gasp as Suzie tugged at the chain which connected her nipple ring to her nose ring. The woman named Sandra laughed and walked away.

Suzie's tongue slipped out and licked at Monique's ear as she continued talking. 

"My friends here like to play a particular little game. They like to see how long they can keep little girls like you aroused without actually coming. They have all sorts of special toys that'll keep you on the edge without letting you come."

"All sorts of toys. You see," she explained, once again running her hands over Monique's breasts, "they're experts at it. The record is almost six months. But I think they'll break that record with you."

Monique jerked forward in Suzie's grip. "S-six... m..."

Suzie laughed. "Oh yes," she chuckled. "As I said, this is your new career. A lifetime career. They'll keep you here for at least a few years - they have some very nice kennels in the back for slave bitches like you." 

Suzie stopped laughing and leaned in, whispering intently in the captive's ear. "And all the time you're here, they'll keep you bound, gagged and costumed. You'll never be free: you'll eat what they give you, when and how they give it to you; sleep when they let you; shit and piss only when they let you - if you ask nicely enough; you'll never be free, and they'll never, never let you come." 

"The fun part is that you'll constantly be forced to give them sexual pleasure... just like any other sex toy - fucking, sucking and everything else they can think of. But you'll never come."

Suzie pulled her face away from Monique's ear and began molesting her pussy again. 

Monique tried to say something - anything to change things - but all she could do was moan and squirm in the girl's grip.
She had to come!

"And after they're finished with you here," Suzie continued, "one of the members will 'inherit' you. I understand that Sandra - you've met her - has nice, quiet estate in Mexico where she breeds women for black market babies."

Then, without warning, she pushed her captive forward. Unable to balance on the high heels, Monique fell painfully to her knees. 

Suzie reached down and inserted a large, two headed dildo into the captive's mouth. It fit in through the O-ring and was clipped in place. Once fastened, Monique was forced to suck on the rubber phallus while the other end stuck out a good six inches from her face.

Another woman, someone Monique didn't recognize, moved forward and grabbed ahold of the face dildo. The woman guided the head of the dildo into her pussy, grabbed Monique's face, and pulled. 

Monique felt a sudden stab of pain as her breasts were jerked upwards by the chain attached to her nipple rings, but was unable to lower her head. Her vision was quickly obscured by the woman's thick, pungent pussy hair, as she found herself forced to fuck the woman with her face.

"Well, I'll leave you to it." It was Suzie, whispering in her ear. "Enjoy your new life here. It's not quite the same as being a high-priced lawyer, but I'm sure you'll get to like it. After a while."

Monique tried to say something - anything to convince Suzie that this was a mistake; that she was sorry for getting her fired - but all she could do was gurgle and moan; and jerk her dildo- face back and forward in time with the woman's urgent thrusts.

From behind, she felt fingers on her pussy, playing and teasing her clit. Again, she felt a wave of humiliated arousal surge through her body, but she knew, as her tears ran down her face and mingled with the juices of the woman whose pussy she was fucking, that she would never, never be allowed to come.

And so, Monique began her new career. 






OFFICE GIRL
By Parker


"Please?" The blonde girl squirmed in her seat, a look of near panic on her face. "I have to go back to school." 

Carol Brookmere looked over, stern and unforgiving, at the younger woman who was sitting so uncomfortably in a chair to the front of the desk. "Miss Boyd," she said coldly, adjusting her small, metal-rimmed glasses, "you should have thought of that before you decided to steal from us." Her english accent, still noticeable despite the many years she had made America her home, gave a clipped, formal tone to her speech. 

"I told you I was sorry," Amanda whined. She dropped her eyes downward, unable to meet her boss's cool gaze. "I didn't think..." 

"Exactly," Miss Brookmere pronounced, rising from her chair. The small, grey-haired woman came around from behind the desk. "You didn't think. You didn't think how many people you would be hurting by selling the results of the mining reports."

"You didn't think of what it would do to the reputation of this company; it could ruin us. You're only here for the summer. It's just another step on your path to getting an MBA and a high paying job back in the city."

"But most of all," she concluded, slapping her hand down on the top of her desk directly in front of the girl, "you didn't think you were going to get caught, did you?" 

The younger girl looked down, not answering. Miss Brookmere grabbed a handful of the student's curly, blonde hair and jerked her face upwards. "Did you?" she repeated. 

"N-no..." The reply was little more than a whisper; the twenty year-old looked like she was about to burst into tears. "I..." 

"But you *were* caught. And that's a fact. Now you must pay the price. You must make amends." The older woman paused for a moment, as if to gather her thoughts. 

Absentmindedly, she pushed the glasses up on her nose. "I don't know what you were paid to steal the information..." 

The blonde girl tried to say something, but Miss Brookmere immediately cut her off. "... and I don't care. That doesn't matter now." 

The grey-haired woman walked back around behind the desk and picked up a folder. "I do know," she continued, "the value of the survey work the results of which you sold." Her thin lips curled downward in disgust at the word 'sold'. 

The folder was dropped to the desk. "Your options are simple. I'll repeat them: either you work off your debt - replacing the value of what you stole - or we call the police. Very simple indeed." She glared at the younger woman. 

"But you must decide." 

A moment of silence in the office. 

"Now."

Miss Brookmere couldn't entirely keep a smile off her face as she watched the blonde girl bite her lower lip in indecision. She loved the way the girl's summer-blonde curls fell loose over her forehead, framing her fine, delicate features and setting off her wide, green eyes. 

Beautiful. 

She'd agree to stay, of course. 

They always did. 

Really, it was their own fault. No one forced them to accept the "bribe" from the company's competitors to sell confidential information. No matter that the offer really was extraordinarily generous, or that, in fact, it had been arranged by Miss Brookmere herself. 

The moral complicity was the same as if it really had come from a hostile third party. The only difference was that the girls who accepted this particular offer - and most did - got caught. 

And paid the price.

                  * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Amanda weighed her options. 

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. This was just supposed to be your standard summer job: low paying, but the work wasn't particularly difficult. Most important, it was another bit of "real life" experience to add to the resume. 
Some effective padding. Just the sort of thing the senior partners in the City liked see. Amanda was only one year away from completing her MBA, and the interviews would be starting that Fall. Hence, the summer ritual of "resume padding" assumed a new importance. 

But the job had turned out to be a bit of a dud, even for a summer temp job. It had sounded interesting in the listing.

A company called Unified Analysis had been looking for a temporary executive assistant to establish a plan for office restructuring - but the reality had fallen far short of her expectations. 

For one thing, the company had turned out to be quite a bit smaller than she had expected. The company brochure had represented a business in which the company received core samples and other types of field tests from various mining and related enterprises and provided analysis reports of those samples. 

That was true enough as far as it went, but the company itself was only a middleman, receiving samples and then sending them out to commercial labs. 

Hence, the entire company consisted of just four women: Carol Brookmere, who owned and ran it, Vanessa Todd, a technician who coordinated all of the technical reports along with what little in-house testing actually took place, Janine Bush, who provided secretarial support. 

Then there was a slender, dark-haired girl names Linda (Amanda didn't know her last name), who seemed to be something of a office 'go-fer'. She just did routine filing, typing and general carrying/fetching for the other women. 

She was a bit of a mystery to Amanda, as she never went out for drinks or lunch with the other workers, but Amanda really didn't pay much attention. 

What did catch her attention, however, was the fact that there was very little work for her to do that matched her expectations or required any of the skills she had acquired in years of business school. It was mostly just routine scheduling and the like. She had complained a number of time to Carol, but nothing changed. Disappointed, Amanda had already written off the summer when she received a call from a man offering her a fabulous amount of money for the results of certain, specified core sample tests. 

She had been reluctant at first, but money was great and the risk seemed small. She had easy access to the reports. Besides, what did she owe Carol? The woman was using her for mundane labour and paying her slave wages on top of it. 

And so, about one month into her summer employment, Amanda had photocopied the results of the required tests and mailed them to the specified address. Everything had seemed to go smoothly, and she expected to receive payment at any time. 

And then Carol, looking angry, had called her into her office. She knew. 

Somehow, she knew... 

Options: They were twofold and they were simple. She could either allow Carol to call the police and then sit quietly until they arrived to take her away, or she could agree to work at the company for an extra year, "working off her debt". 

The latter possibility was certainly unattractive; it would mean missing a year of school and spending it stuck in this backwater. 

On the other hand, the probability - no, the virtual certainty - of being convicted for industrial espionage... well, Amanda didn't really know how serious a crime that was, but she suspected that it was pretty serious. 

The money involved had been substantial. And, even if the penalty was not as serious as she feared, no one would ever hire her after that. As a convicted felon, her business career would be over before it started. 
Options... 

When she caught herself trying to figure out how to convince the university to let her defer her final year, she realized that she had already made up her mind... 

The blonde girl looked up. 

"I'll do it," she said, lip quivering slightly. "I'll work the extra year." 

Miss Brookmere nodded, unsurprised. To date, not a single girl had chosen to call the older woman on her bluff. Moving swiftly, she opened a folder and put it down on the desk in front of the younger girl. "Here's our standard services contract. I've filled in one year for the length of employment." 

Amanda, upset, barely even read the document before signing it. 'Stupid bitch,' Ms Brookmere thought, retrieving the signed contract and putting it away in her desk. 'Didn't even glance at it.' 

In fact, the document contained a number of clauses and provisions which would have surprised the young business student had she been careful enough to read through it. 'No matter,' the older woman reflected, 'she'll become familiar with those clauses in time.' 

"Now," she stated, walking around the desk and standing beside her new 'office girl', "we must discuss your new duties." 

"New duties?" Amanda looked up over her shoulder at the woman standing behind her, her green eyes questioning. "What..." 

"Hush." Miss Brookmere leaned down and silenced the girl by laying a finger against her lips. "You really must learn to listen." 

Obediently, Amanda fell silent, her cheeks turning red. When she was sure of her control, the older woman took her hand away from the girl's lips and moved it slowly downward until it came to rest on the swell of her small breasts. 

Amanda stiffened at the touch, but didn't pull away as her boss cupped her left breast and gave it a soft squeeze. Likewise, she just sat there, stunned and frozen, when the hand was slipped down the top of her white blouse, under the bra and resumed its squeezing. 

"That feels good now, doesn't it?" Miss Brookmere had leaned over, and was whispering in the younger girl's ear. Amanda didn't answer. The older woman chuckled, then slid her tongue lightly along her employee's ear. "Tell me you like it." 

Frightened, and uncertain of what was expected of her, the blonde girl jerked her head up and down, nodding. "Tell me," the older woman hissed. She bit down on the girl's earlobe. 

"Uhmm... I, uh... l-like it," Amanda stammered. Her hands clutched the arms of the chair, ready to push away, but she didn't resist. Miss Brookmere smiled, well aware of the girl's state of mind. She understood well the mixture of confusion, fear and, eventually, arousal that would prevent the girl from walking out. 

As long as she was careful... 

"Good." The older woman was whispering again as she answered the girl's uncertain statement. "I thought you might." She shifted her position slightly and then brought her thin lips up to those of her young employee. 

Amanda shifted in the seat, keeping her mouth firmly shut, but Miss Brookmere just squeezed, hard, on the younger woman's captive breast. 
Amanda couldn't help but open her mouth, gasping in pain, and the older woman took the opportunity to slip her tongue into the blonde girl's mouth. 

Amanda whimpered, but had no choice but to endure the long, passionate kiss. She was panting by the time the Miss Brookmere broke the contact, her small, firm breasts heaving in the other confident woman's hands. Miss Brookmere allowed herself a slight smile as she removed her hand and straightened up. 

This one was going to be easy.

                  * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Linda?" 

The slender, dark-haired girl looked up from where she was busily licking envelopes, a look of trepidation on her pretty face. "Yes Miss Todd?" 

Vanessa Todd, the office technical expert, couldn't help but smirk as she looked at the eager, frightened face of the office girl. The little slut certainly hadn't been this compliant last year when she'd started work at UA. But things had changed. "Come here, girl," she ordered, taking off her glasses. 

Linda put down the envelopes she had been holding and hurried over, walking as swiftly as she could in her four-inch heels and tight miniskirt while still swinging her hips as she had been taught. 

The other woman watched appreciatively, brushing her mousy brown hair out of her eyes as the girl approached. She felt a tingling in her pussy as she noted the girl was trying to walk as sexily as possible. Janine had worked wonders with the girl. 
Linda reached the side of the desk and waited for the next order. The look of revulsion, only partially hidden beneath a pouty smile - also Janine's work - demonstrated that she knew what that order would be. 

Sure enough, the other woman made a short gesture towards the floor at the side of her desk. Trying to look expectant and eager, the dark-haired girl immediately knelt down beside the desk, keeping her eyes carefully downcast. Miss Todd gripped her face in her hand and turned it upwards, staring into the office girl's eyes. 

"Since the new girl arrived," she said quietly, again brushing a stray lock of hair out of her face with her free hand, "you haven't been able to serve us as you normally do." The younger girl swallowed. "Do you miss it?" 

Linda nodded without hesitation, but a slight grimace gave her away. The training could only do so much. Miss Todd smiled, though, not angry; she preferred it when they didn't like it. 

It was more fun that way. 

Still... 

"Tell me," she demanded. 

Discipline was everything. 

"Yes Miss Todd," the girl said, voice small. "I miss serving you as I n-normally do." 

"Good." The technical expert pushed her chair back from her desk and gestured between her legs. "Because you're going to do it now." 

Linda hung her head, blanketing her flushed face with a curtain of hair. "Yes, Miss Todd." 

The girl crawled into the space beneath the desk and, as the older woman brought her chair back up against the side of the desk, buried her pretty face under her skirt and began to work at her pussy, licking and slurping with all the skill she had developed over the last year. 

Vanessa moaned and, almost immediately, began squirming in her seat. The girl had certainly improved over the course of the year - a much more useful education than they gave you at some bloody business school, or wherever the slut had been studying...

                  * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Now," Miss Brookmere said sternly, moving around the desk and taking her seat, "what were we talking about?" 

"Uhmm..." Amanda was clearly flustered by what had just happened. "My n-new... duties." 

"Yes," the older woman agreed. "That's correct. But before I go on, I'd like you to do something for me." 

Amanda sat, waiting. 

"While I speak," her boss said, "I want you to masturbate." 

"What!?!" Amanda jumped to her feet, releasing her white- knuckle hold on the arms of the chair. "You're crazy! I'm not going to..." 

"SIT DOWN!" The young blonde's protests were cut off as the other woman slapped her hand down on the table with a loud bang. "Sit down and hold your tongue." 
Amanda opened her mouth as though to continue her protest, but quickly thought better of it and dropped back into the chair. Miss Brookmere got up, walked around the desk and put a hand on the girl's shoulder. 

"Listen and listen well young lady: you made your choice. If you want to leave, you do so now. But if you do, you might as well head directly to the police station. If you stay, you do what I tell you. Do I make myself clear?" 

The blonde girl began to tremble. "B-but, I..." 

Miss Brookmere nodded as she felt the trembling beneath her hand. Another typical reaction. The hopelessness of the girl's situation was finally beginning to sink in. 

Time for the next approach... 

"Now now," the older woman interrupted, her voice soft and comforting, "it's not so bad." She reached down and began unbuttoning the girl's blouse. Amanda continued to tremble, but she didn't say anything. 

When the front fell open, the grey-haired woman reached slowly around and undid the bra, leaving the girl's breasts half exposed. The blonde girl started when her employer cupped one of her almost naked breasts, but didn't pull away. "There... that feels good, doesn't it?" The older woman rubbed her fingers along her captive's nipple. 

Amanda bit her lip and looked down, her face flushing red with humiliation, but she nodded. It *did* feel good. "That's right..." Miss Brookmere brought her other arm down, grasped the girl's right hand and brought it up to where she was squeezing and fondling the girl's breasts. 

Gently, she placed the girl's hand on the breast and gave a squeeze. "Go on," she whispered. "It'll feel good." 

Obediently, staring straight ahead as though in a trance, Amanda began to cup and fondle her own breast, doing to herself what her boss had been doing to her moments earlier. 

Smiling, Miss Brookmere slid her wrinkled hand down, across the girl's exposed stomach and under the waistband of her skirt. Amanda whimpered quietly as she felt the older woman's hand on her pussy, but she didn't protest, or stop fondling her own breast. 

Nor did she complain when she felt the older woman's fingers slip under her panties and start rubbing the outside of her pussy. After playing with the girl's pussy for a few moments, the woman withdrew her hand and used it to pull the younger girl's skirt up around her waist. 

"Now," she ordered, "sit up in the seat." 

Amanda did as she was told, still in a trance. 

"Take off your panties." 

The blonde girl chocked back a sob, but obeyed the order, pushing the narrow strip of cloth down her legs and onto the floor. 

"Drape your legs over the edge of the chair." 

A tear trickled down her cheek, but Amanda did as she was ordered. In moments, her pussy was lewdly displayed, a long, pink gash between her widely spread legs. Miss Brookmere considered the scene with appreciation: between the widely spread legs and exposed breasts peeping through the open blouse, the girl made a very attractive picture. 

A perfect office girl. 

Onto the next stage... 

"Now," she said sternly, returning to her own seat behind the desk, "you'll do as you're told. I ordered you to masturbate. You'll do it until I tell you to stop." She looked the girl in the eye. "Is that clear?" 

Lip quivering, the blonde girl nodded. 

"Tell me!" 

"Yes, Miss Brookmere," Amanda stuttered, broken. "I'm to m- masturbate until you tell me to stop." 

"Fine. Get to it." 
Hesitantly, as tears flooded her green eyes, the blonde girl dropped her left hand to her spread pussy and began to play with herself. The other hand continued to fondle and tease her exposed breasts...

                  * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Ohhh..." 

Vanessa Todd was well on her way to an orgasm when the office door swung open and another woman walked in, holding a file folder. 

The newcomer was a blonde woman, about forty years old and extremely fat. Miss Todd immediately sat up in her seat and pretended to look busy. 

"Hi Janine," she greeted, trying to keep her voice normal. 
The blonde woman wasn't fooled; she had seen her friend in this state before. Smiling, she walked up to the desk. "You know the rules," she chided gently, her tone taking the sting out of the criticism. "Nothing until the new girl is hired." 

Vanessa nodded and smiled ruefully, acknowledging the mild rebuke, but nodded towards the boss's office. "Carol's lowering the boom right now." She pushed her chair back and dragged the current office girl out by her hair. "You know what that means, don't you little one?" 

Linda, who had heard the comment about 'lowering the boom' on Amanda nodded, a genuine smile appearing on her lips for the first time in months. "Well," Miss Todd told her, "you're not done yet." 

She pushed the younger girl's face back down between her legs and turned back to her friend. "Is that it?" she asked, pointing to the file folder. 

"Yup." The large blonde woman threw the folder down on the desk. "Take a look." The technician grinned, her breathing heavy as she opened the folder and examined the contents. She went through every page, one by one, as the orgasm built and built and... 

Finally, she dropped the folder and came, gripping the sides of the desk as her legs spasmed and kicked uncontrollably. Underneath the desk, Linda fought to draw breath as the other woman's thighs ground together on the side of her head, forcing her nose and mouth hard up against the woman's sopping pussy. 

This went on for a good ten seconds as the large blonde woman looked anxiously at the door to Carol Brookmere's office. It wouldn't do to get caught... 
The orgasm finally subsided. With a long, tremulous sigh, the brown-haired technician pushed her chair back from the desk and allowed Linda to crawl out from between her spread legs. The young office girl was still gasping for breath, her face shiny and bangs plastered to her forehead with pussy juice. 

Miss Todd gestured, and the girl immediately resumed her place, kneeling beside the desk. As trained, she made no move to wipe the fluid from her face. Smiling, the brown-haired woman ran her index finger along the girl's cheek, gathering up a dollop of her own glistening juices. 

She held the soaked finger in front of the girl's trembling lips. Without a word of protest, the office girl parted her lips and took the woman's finger into her mouth, sucking it dry. 

"Good, isn't it?" 

"Mmmm, yes," the girl breathed, still sucking. "Good." 

Laughing, the brown-haired woman looked up at her friend. "Want a turn?" she asked. "I think Carol might be busy for a little while yet." 

The heavy blonde woman glanced at the closed door to her boss's office and then nodded her head. "Send her over," she said, walking across the room to her own desk. 

Miss Todd looked down and pulled her finger from the girl's mouth. "Do you want to suck the pussy of your blonde mistress?" 

Linda looked like she was about to cry, but she answered with enthusiasm: "Yes please." 

"Off you go then," Miss Todd ordered, giving the girl a shove. "Doggie walk." 
Smirking, she watched as the office girl crossed the room on her hands and knees, ass swaying under the mini-skirt. 

The technician appreciated the view, particularly as the girl wasn't wearing any underwear. It had been weeks since the girl had 'entertained' a male customer (a part of her duties at the company), but Carol made 'easy access' a firm policy for office girls. 

You never knew when someone might drop by. Linda eventually reached the other side of the room and slithered into her accustomed place beneath the secretary's desk. 

Across the room, Vanessa Todd grinned maliciously as she sorted through the content of the file folder...
                  * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Miss Brookmere watched for a few moments as her young employee masturbated on the chair in front of her. When she was satisfied that the girl was hard at work, she adjusted her glasses and turned her attention to some papers on her desk. 

The moment her attention strayed, however, the blonde girl pulled her hand away from her gaping pussy. The older woman had expected this, and reacted immediately: "Did I tell you to stop?" she asked angrily. 

Amanda, flushing red with humiliation, could only shake her head in silence. 

"Well then," Miss Brookmere said sternly, "you'd best continue then. When you've had an orgasm - a *real* orgasm, mind; I can tell the difference - then we'll discuss your new duties. Until then, you'll sit there with your fingers up your slit." 

The grey-haired woman turned her attention back to her work. The blonde girl stared in disbelief for a few moments, shocked as much by the language her boss had used as the orders she had been given, but then slowly brought her hand back to her exposed pussy. She began rubbing... 

Miss Brookmere continued to work at her desk while her humiliated young employee played with herself in front of her, desperately trying to bring herself off. 

The older woman couldn't help but admire Amanda's technique as the girl's long, slender fingers slid up and down along her pussy, expertly teasing her fully exposed clit. The little blonde slut clearly knew what she was doing. 

And, despite the humiliation of her position, the girl was becoming flushed and her breathing was getting heavy. 

The older woman felt her own pussy beginning to tingle as she imagined the feel of the girl's fingers... the teasing touch of her soon-to-be well trained tongue, lapping... 

Well, time enough for that later. 

One had to build up to these things. The girl seemed compliant, but... 

"Oh." 

There it was. It wasn't big; it wasn't earth-shattering, or dramatic in any sense of the word, but it was real. 

The girl had cum. 

Miss Brookmere laid her pen down on the desk. 

"Now," she began, as the blonde girl sat panting, legs spread and fingers glistening with her own pussy juice, "regarding your new..." She stopped speaking. "You've stopped." 

Amanda swallowed. "I... uh..." 

Ms Brookmere opened her desk drawer and pulled out an object. She flicked a switch and it began to buzz: a vibrator. A pink, plastic vibrator. She placed it on the desk in front of the blonde girl. "Use this," she ordered. 

Amanda froze for a few moments, looking at the buzzing object as if it were a poisonous snake, but eventually reached over to take it gingerly in her hand. 

The older woman smiled as her young employee brought the vibrator down and began massaging her clit with it. For a tense moment it had looked as if the girl might refuse, but it hadn't happened. 

The girl had made her decision and appeared to be prepared to do what she had to do to get through it. Already, her breath was starting to become short as the plastic toy did its work. 

"Well then, regarding your new position." She sat back in her chair and adjusted her glasses. "As you've no doubt noticed, the company is not in need of any sort of restructuring at this time." 

"However, there are a number of tasks around the office with which you can be of assistance. Vanessa often needs reports typed; the filing is always a mess; the stock rooms always need cleaning..." 

"But," the blonde girl interrupted, slightly breathless from the feeling of the vibrator in her pussy, "that's... that's what Linda does! I'm a..." 

Miss Brookmere laughed. She just couldn't help it. Here the girl was, breasts dangling in full view, legs spread, pussy gaping and filled with a vibrator, and she was concerned about being given a job that was beneath her capabilities. Well, she'd learn soon enough; there were no longer any jobs that were beneath her. 

"That is correct," the older woman smiled. "You will be the new office girl. Linda is leaving us at the end of the week." 
Amanda opened her mouth to argue, but the hopelessness of her position seemed to overwhelm her. She had no choice; it was either do what she was told, or go to jail. And she had made her decision. 

"Of course," Ms Brookmere continued, "since you will be performing what is essentially unskilled labour, your pay will be commensurably less. However, with the money you will be saving on rent..." 

"S-saving on..." Amanda was panting now, and her nipples peeked, rock hard from her half-open blouse; the vibrator was doing its work. 

"Yes. You will be moving in with me." 

Once again, Miss Brookmere's pussy began to tingle at the thought of this beautiful young blonde moving into her house. She already had the appropriate 'items' laid out at home: dog collar; cuffs; strap on dildos... 

"Excuse me." 

Her thoughts were interrupted as Vanessa Todd stuck her head into the office. "Sorry to interrupt, but I need your decision on the, uh... option buy-out." 

Ms Brookmere looked at Amanda. The girl had gone beet red at the intrusion, at the prospect of someone else seeing her in this condition. But she hadn't stopped playing with herself. 

Good; the one *was* going to be easy. 

"Bring me the offers," she said, sighing. 

Duty called. 

The brown-haired technician approached the desk and placed the file folder in front of her boss. She glanced down and smirked as she saw Amanda's spread open pussy and exposed breasts. 

She itched to reach down and cop a feel, but resisted the urge. Time enough for that later. The blonde girl looked down in humiliation, unable to meet the other woman's eyes. 'Far cry from the arrogant bitch who started her a few weeks ago,' Vanessa thought to herself. 

She couldn't wait to feel the bitch's tongue on her pussy... 

Miss Brookmere opened the folder and paged through the contents. It contained half a dozen pieces of paper, all offers to buy out the option contained in Linda's contract. 

Of course the company had renewed the option on the one year contract - Linda didn't know yet; there was no notice requirement - and now it was just a matter of determining the party to whom their rights under the contract were to be sold. 

The first offer was from a Scottish couple, Nigel and Miriam Hammersmith. They were looking for a new 'domestic'. Ms Brookmere considered and then put the offer aside. Nigel and Miriam were dear friends, but all things being equal, she preferred to sell out to someone in the field. 

The remaining offers all fit that description: one was from a mining operation in Alaska; another came from a petroleum and natural gas exploration unit in the middle east. After a few moments' thought, Miss Brookmere chose to accept an offer from the crew of an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico. 

United Analysis had done several deals with that company over the last few years, and she felt that they deserved the chance - it must get so lonely for the men on the rig. 

Besides, she reflected, poor Linda never did learn to enjoy sex with other women; it seemed only fair to place her in a position where she'd be surrounded by men. After all, she would be working there for the next several years... 

Her decision made, Miss Brookmere closed the folder and handed the oil rig offer to her employee. "This is the one," she stated. "I trust you can make all the necessary arrangements for shipping by the weekend?" 

Vanessa looked at the paper and grinned. "No problem," she answered, turning to leave the office. "I'll see to it right away." The woman glanced down at the new office girl as she left the office. The younger girl was panting now, running the buzzing vibrator in and out of her sopping pussy. She seemed oblivious, lost in her own world. 

Ms Brookmere sighed as her secretary left the office. She wished that she could be there when they told Linda what was to become of her. 

The poor girl had no idea that the option on her contract had been renewed - that it *could* be renewed; she expected to be discharged at the end of the week, having paid her 'debt' to the company. 

The grey-haired woman couldn't help but imagine the scene when Vanessa, after securing the girl for shipping, would tell her what was happening: the panic; the tears; the begging... 
It wasn't to be, though. She had other duties. Besides, sometimes it strengthened character to deny oneself these little pleasures. 

"Ahhh..." 

She was interrupted from her thoughts as the new office girl experienced another orgasm. 

Miss Brookmere licked her lips as she regarded the girl, legs splayed, pussy exposed and dripping, breasts glistening with sweat... 

The new office girl. 

One pleasure, she promised herself, she would experience to the fullest...