The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Blackmail: Five Exposures

(MC, MDom, Mf, oral, anal)


I wrote this. This is an original work of fiction, bearing little to no resemblance to reality. This is neither intended nor recommended for minors, the faint at heart, or forums/areas/locales where such depictions are proscribed, censored, or illegal. This has been posted with the kindly aid and permission of Simon bar Sinister, who also correctly notes, “The situations described here are at best impossible or at worst highly immoral in real life. Anyone wishing to try this stuff for real should seek psychological help and/or get a life.” Please do not repost, publish, or distribute in whole or in part without the author’s explicit permission. Stories by this author (and many others) may be found at MC Stories.

* * *

Prologue – Casting Call

“You…” Monica couldn’t bring herself to finish. Against her will, her hands trembled, five black and white eight-by-tens fluttering in her sweaty grip.

This can’t be happening. Not to me. Monica looked at the stills again, staring at them as if the contents might have changed. As if possessed, she went through them one more time, shuffling one behind another. Each one was incriminating; each one was worst than the last. And each one featured her. None showed any recognizable part of any other person, but the meaning was clear, as were the intentions of her blackmailer. “You bastard…” she whispered.

“Name-calling won’t help,” he answered, speaking for the first time since he’d given her the photos. Lanky, somewhat handsome, he’d introduced himself as William earlier, saying he had something that might interest her. Thinking he was hitting on her, Monica had acquiesced, to her regret. Now he sat easily in her kitchen chair, with the affected look of one who has time and patience to spare.

“What will?” Monica answered, mostly to herself. She remembered, vaguely, when and where the pictures were from. If she had known someone had a camera, was following her… “How long have you been stalking me?” she asked, a note of haughtiness returning to her voice.

“Oh, long enough. You go to some pretty wild parties, daddy’s girl.”

The insult stung a little. An only child, Monica was daddy’s girl, the apple of his eye. But if he saw these…

Blonde, blue-eyed, rich and gorgeous, fortune had smiled on her from birth. Simply put, she was a knockout. Good genes had provided her with a trim, busty form and an angelic face, and her family’s comfortable wealth had taken care of the rest. Boys had been competing for her for as long as she could remember, and Monica had reveled in the attention, taking it as her due. By the time she had reached college, she was at the top of the world, and long accustomed to being treated like a princess. Girls wanted to be her friend, and boys just wanted her. She took her boyfriends according to whim, discarding them just as easily, and if anyone thought she was capricious or a cock-tease, none dared say it to her face. But now, for the first time in her life, she’d gotten herself into something neither her charm nor daddy’s money could get her out of. Monica set the pictures down, side by side, trying to kick her brain into action.

The first picture was almost tame: Monica sat on a bed, wearing nothing but a red silk camisole and panties, ankles crossed, a happy smile on her face. In the next, she lay on her back, the top pulled up, her hands cupping her breasts as if offering them to the viewer. Her nipples were hard, and she’d stuck her tongue out saucily.

Nikki’s party. Could these be from Nikki’s party? It had to be; she’d only worn that cami once or twice since she’d bought it. It had been a few weeks ago, another in a stream of sorority get-togethers. Monica had had too much to drink, but she hadn’t given it much thought; after all, it had been just another party. Until now.

By the third picture, she’d apparently shed what little modesty she had. Leaning back on the bed, the side-tie panties were undone, and Monica had plunged two fingers into her neatly-trimmed pussy up to the second knuckle. Her free hand massaged her breast through the camisole, and her eyes were squeezed shut, lips pressed together in an unmistakable gasp of lust.

The fourth was a close-up of her face. Again her eyes were closed, mouth open, but now her hand drawing the head of an erect penis past her lips. God, what did I do? I don’t even know whose that is! What kind of… shaking, she turned to look at the next one, unable to stop herself.

If the first four had been indicative, the last was damning. Monica sat nude, impaled on the cock of an unknown man, holding her breasts together as her mouth gaped open in ecstasy. She didn’t know if he was the same man she’d apparently sucked off earlier, but it hardly mattered at this point. No one would be able to mistake it for anything other than what it was, a vignette of a co-ed shamelessly fucking her brains out.

The enormity of it all threatened to overwhelm her. She was the unwitting star of every picture, and in every case it was obvious she was an all-too-willing participant. That she remembered next to none of it didn’t matter. If her friends saw these… or the school… or her parents… “What do you want?” she finally croaked.

“Good,” he nodded. “Now you’re getting the picture. Get it? Getting the picture?” She barely managed a scowl, and William shrugged, unperturbed. “I guess it’s funnier if you’re me. Well, then, what do I want? Good question. On the one hand, it’d be cruel to let you know I have these without giving you the opportunity to get them back. On the other hand, I can hardly pass up this opportunity, can I? So after some thought, I decided to let you earn them back… if you can afford to, that is.”

“M-money?” Monica stuttered. If all he wanted was money, she could get that easily enough. Her parents were rich, and she could just –

“No, not money,” William leered. “Let’s call them… favors. One favor, one picture. What do you think?”

Monica stared in shock. “Favors? You mean…” She could hardly get the word out. “You mean, like… sex?”

William gave her a contemptuous look. “Of course I do. Carnal favors. Hot, hard-core, X-rated sex. I mean, just look at you; with a body like that, it’s pretty obvious what God had in mind.” His eyes glittered with desire. “And after all,” he continued, waving a hand at the photographs, “It’s not like it’s anything you haven’t done before. And loved.”

“But…” Monica sat silent for a moment, struggling to find a way out. “But how do I know you’ll keep your end of the bargain?”

William laughed easily, standing. “You don’t have any choice, though, do you? You have my word as a gentleman; that will have to do.”

He’s right, Monica realized. I’m at his mercy either way. If I can go through with it, there’s a chance that he’ll keep up his end of the bargain. “All right,” she announced, unable to meet his eyes. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent,” William told her. “Some ground rules, though. One: neither of us breathes a word of this to anyone. I’d like to protect my privacy, and I’m sure you don’t want me telling people what we’re doing, or why. Two: obviously, you’re catering to my fantasies. To that end, you will act as if you’re enjoying yourself. I want you to make me believe you’re into it; whether you actually are or not is up to you. Three: Each time, I’ll slip an envelope under your door. You will follow these instructions to the letter. If you don’t understand, or aren’t sure what they are, do the best you can and let me know when you see me. If you fail to follow these rules, I’ll assume you’ve decided you don’t care what I do with the pictures any more. Are we clear on all that?”

What else can I do? “Yes.”

“Good. One more thing then, sweetness. Any time we’re alone, you will address me only as ‘sir’ or ‘Master’. I, on the other hand, will call you whatever I want, and you will respond. Understand?”

“Yes. Yes, sir,” Monica told him in a small voice, defeated.

William nodded, apparently satisfied. “Mmm. That sounds really sexy coming out of your mouth. Very good. Let’s seal the bargain, then.”

Monica looked up, confused. “Wha… what do you mean?” she asked, bewildered. “Like… you want to… make love? Now?”

“No, not right now,” he replied, moving opposite her. “And, parenthetically, I doubt I’ll ever ask you to ‘make love’; you’ll put out for me in whatever fashion I dictate. But for now, I think a show of good faith is order.” Grinning, he seated himself, repositioning his chair so as to give himself a better view. “Why don’t you give me a little demonstration of how sincere you are? Let’s see…” he pretended to muse. “I think… watching you get yourself off would be just the thing.”

Monica looked at him, stunned. What? Oh, God, what do I do? I’m doomed if I don’t, but if I do… Cheeks burning in embarrassment, she looked away. “I don’t know if I can… I mean, if you’re watching, I don’t know if I can…”

“Monica, Monica, Monica,” William said, shaking his head. “I’m sure you’ve faked it before. It’ll be like… like you’re posing for a centerfold, all right? This is for my enjoyment. I don’t care if you come or not. Just make me believe you are.”

Monica thought for a minute longer, but she saw no way out. “All right. S-sir.” Just do it; get it over with. Pretend he isn’t here, that you’re alone in bed, that it’s been so long since… In truth, it had been a while since Monica had found any release, party blackouts notwithstanding. Carefully avoiding William’s eyes, she let her fingers creep down, her hand pulling up the hem of her skirt. One hand found its way underneath, until her tentative fingertips brushed her labia through her panties. To her surprise and horror, they were already damp.

“Now, Monica,” William admonished. “Don’t just tease me. Show me how much you want those prints.”

“Y… yes, sir.” Hesitantly, Monica pulled her skirt up further, the hem bunching under her white-knuckled fingers. Her free hand stroked her mound though her panties, teasing herself through the thin fabric. As the first gentle ripple of pleasure echoed through her, a bright light seemed to flash out of the corner of her eye, momentarily distracting her.

William hadn’t seemed to have noticed. “White lace,” he breathed. “How nice. Pull ‘em aside, Monica. I want to see you rub that hot little cunt.”

Monica reddened and tucked her head down, as she obeyed. Tugging aside the lace, her fingers ran lightly down the length of her pussy. Pretend he’s not here, she thought to herself desperately. You’re all alone, nothing to do for a while, it’s been a long day… “Ah…” she sighed as one finger slipped inside. Monica flexed it, welcoming the waves of pleasure each movement returned. Her other fingers curved up of their own accord, gliding slickly in a slow oval pattern, never quite touching her erect clitoris.

“Oh…” Her blackmailer almost forgotten, Monica moaned softly as she rubbed herself, gradually adding a finger to heighten the sensation. Slowly her pace increased, and her fingers began to stray across the surface of her clit.

“Mmm…” Monica was unable to stifle the moan now, hips thrusting forward against her pumping hand. Her nipples were rock hard, itching and burning. Monica moaned louder and spread her penetrating fingers as they plunged into her sopping cunt. She felt so wanton, so exposed, shamelessly finger-fucking herself at William’s command. “Ah… oh! Ohh…!”

“Louder, baby,” William urged. “I want to hear you come.”

Monica couldn’t take it any more; his urging, the embarrassment, the sheer exhibitionist thrill of it all overcame her. “Oh… ah… ah, ah, ahhh… ah… ohhhh… ah, ah! Oh! Ohhhhhh!” Despite herself, despite everything, a powerful climax washed over her. Bright flashes seemed to blind her, and her eyes snapped shut as she came, her pussy clenching against her thrusting fingers, her face red with pleasure and shame. Exhausted, she struggled to regain her breath, half-sobbing in her chair, until her senses returned. She kept her eyes shut, unable to look at her tormentor.

“Beautiful. Poetry in motion, babe.” He smiled patronizingly at the coed. “Now that’s what I call ‘good faith’,” he told her. “You can fake it like that anytime! No one would ever know you weren’t coming like a bitch.”

Smiling, he stood and patted Monica affectionately on the head. Like a bitch, Monica thought. His bitch. Shaken, she watched him turn and walk to the door. He paused after opening it. “Oh, and Monica? One last thing.” Monica looked at him, afraid to say anything.

He smiled as Monica guiltily darted her hand from between her legs. “Unless I tell you otherwise, I want eye contact from now on. Anytime you’re pleasuring me, I want to see those beautiful baby blues shining back at me. Understand?”

Monica nodded mutely. “Great,” he said, walking out. “I’ll drop off your first day’s instructions tomorrow.”

* * *

First Exposure – Close Up

The day had gone by all too quickly for Monica, who’d sunk into a dreamless sleep not long after William had left. There had been no message on her doorstep in the morning, and she gone to classes in a kind of light daze, half-expecting him to walk up unannounced at any moment. Nervously, she’d even stopped by her dorm on her lunch break, but if he’d been there, he hadn’t left anything for her. So it was almost a relief when she came home to find a plain manilla envelope slipped under her door. She opened it with trembling hands, examining the contents at the kitchen counter.

Inside was a photocopy of the first photo, the one of her smiling in her underwear on someone’s bed. Monica shuddered and turned it over, reading the neat handwriting on the opposite side.

Monica – first assignment. I was so impressed with your act last night that I’ve decided to get a repeat performance, of sorts. You still get to have your fun, but I want you to suck me off while you do it. Wear something casual – a nice summer dress and sandals will do. Wear pink lip gloss and matching nail polish, but easy on the makeup. Earrings should be large hoops or long chains. Don’t bother with a bra or panties. See you at eight!

– William

Monica glanced at the clock on the microwave; she had just under two and a half hours, although there wasn’t a lot she actually needed to do to prepare. This time, she amended. This is only for the first photo. Who knows what else he’s got planned?

She showered quickly and went through her wardrobe numbly, trying to keep the growing sense of dread at bay. She settled on a simple patterned summer dress, white with little blue flowers, and slipped it on. Irrationally, she worried more about not wearing a bra beneath than she did about going without panties. Since her chest had billowed out early in high school, Monica had taken to wearing one religiously, and her ample breasts were still free of any unsightly stretch marks.

Fine for him to tell me not to wear one, she thought angrily. He doesn’t have to carry these monsters around!

She was still fuming as she painted her nails carefully. ‘Go easy on the makeup’, as if I need cosmetics tips from a man! Still, the polish looked nice enough, and after some consideration, she did her toenails as well. The hot pink polish had been an impulse buy weeks ago, and would likely have gone unused in the back of the dresser but for William’s ‘request’. The lip gloss was a little trickier; Monica’s taste in lipstick ran to reds. Nothing quite matched, but she found a shade that was close enough eventually, adding two layers of clear gloss to make them shiny.

Actually, she thought, carefully dusting a hint of pink blush on her cheeks, pink looks pretty good on me. I might have to wear it more often, once I get this pervert out of my life.

She found a pair of gold hoop earrings she’d never worn, but one look in the mirror with them in made her switch to some dangly silver ones. Too whorish, she sniffed, unwilling to acknowledge to herself what she was doing. If he didn’t have those pictures, I wouldn’t give that creep the time of day.

Last came the sandals. One practical choice, she thought, and chose a pair of chunky black platform soles. He ought to like these, and it’ll be funny if I end up taller than he is… even if only for a little while.

One last look in the mirror, and Monica returned to the kitchen to wait. Her preparations hadn’t taken up much time, so she got some textbooks and tried to study until William arrived.

* * *

To his dubious credit, William arrived just before eight, smiling and dressed to the nines. Monica felt suddenly exposed, having somewhat successfully put the events to come out of her mind until the doorbell rang. “Hi,” he told her briskly, rubbing his palms together as he brushed by her. “All ready?”

“Uh… yeah…. No! Where’s the picture, first?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” William told her, withdrawing an envelope from his pocket. “Favor first, then the picture. I don’t blame you for being suspicious, but you’re going to have to trust me a little.”

“All right,” Monica said, somewhat mollified. “Uh… where do you want to do this?”

“Oh, I don’t know… here’s fine,” he told her, seating himself on her love seat. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” she answered, automatically, moving to stand in front of her blackmailer. As she moved by, his hand squeezed the young lady’s ripe ass, making her jump in surprise. “Oh! Uh… sorry… sir. You startled me.”

“It’s ok,” William shrugged. “You’ll get used to it. Kneel down, bitch.”

Monica bit her lip, doing as she was told. “I don’t expect you to love me,” he continued, spreading his knees apart. “Just to serve me. But if you pretend to enjoy it, I’ll enjoy it more. And if I enjoy it more, we’re done that much quicker. So play along, act the brazen boy-toy, and we both get what we want. Get me?”

Monica did. Considerate, in a twisted kind of way. She put on her best false smile. “Wh… what can I do for you today, Master?”

William grinned broadly. “Much better, Monica! I knew you could do it.” He patted her on the head like a dog, and leaned back, putting his arms behind his head. “Just suck me off today, baby; something to relax me a little. I can’t be too long.”

Calling it a pleasant surprise seemed wrong, somehow, but it was, anyway. Monica unzipped William’s pants. Silk boxers? Why… “Uh… sir? Um…”

“You may speak, but only while you’re doing your job,” William directed her, guiding her hand none too subtly to his crotch. As her hand worked his stiffening erection free, he sighed and closed his eyes. “What is it, cutie?”

“Ah…” Monica was a little distracted, watching William’s penis leisurely hoist itself under her smooth palm. “You can’t… um, be too long?”

“Ah, Monica…” William patted her head again patronizingly. “Did you want me to stay all night?”

Actually, she didn’t know. For all the trouble he’d gone to, she was expec- no, dreading, more than simple oral sex for the first photo. It almost seemed… insulting, somehow. “I… well, I just thought… I don’t know, sir. Your clothes are so nice, and I thought…”

“Sweet girl. Mmm, that’s nice, keep that up. And undo a few buttons; I wanna see that rack… Yeah... I would stay, princess, but I have a… mmm… a date tonight.”

Monica almost stopped in surprise. A date? He’s got a date? “That’s nice, Master,” she managed, resuming her strokes.

“Yeah,” he agreed, sighing again. “I like her, and I’m a bit edgy about it. So you’re going to help settle me down beforehand, with your hand.” He chuckled at his own joke. “And those nice full lips. Nice choice, by the way; pink becomes you.”

“Thank you, Master,” Monica said modestly, not sure how to reply to that. He’d picked the color, after all. Nice to blow you with, or just nice? So… I get off easy tonight, if I get him off easy, Monica thought, fighting an absurd feeling of jealousy. He’ll be calm all night… after I get him off! Once he’s done with me, he goes out with a smile on his face and leaves me all... Ohh. All what? It’s not like you want any of this. Yesterday was a fluke. I didn’t really…

Her train of thought was interrupted by William’s hand, pushing my head firmly towards his erect penis. She shook it away, irritated, and let her lips settle around his pole, taking the first few inches smoothly. He groaned softly, and Monica began a slow, measured pace, keeping her tongue still on the bottom of her mouth. For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was William’s slow, regular breath, and a rhythmic slick-slick of Monica’s lips on her Master’s cock.

“Hmm… mmm. Not bad, bitch, not too bad. I can tell you haven’t done this a lot, though.” Monica nodded, a little ashamed of her apparent incompetence. “Tell you what. I’m on a tight schedule, so… why don’t you play with yourself, to speed things up.”

“M… masturbate, sir?” she asked, unprepared.

“Sure. I want to get out of here soon, and I think watching my pet slut diddle herself while she blows me will do the trick nicely.”

Mentally, Monica groaned, but kept silent, knowing she had to act her part. He’s in a hurry. This won’t take too long… In Monica’s experience, men seldom lasted under a determined assault – inconvenient sometimes, but handy when all a girl wanted was to get a guy off of her. She reached under her dress, faking a moan of passion just as her lips closed around William’s tool. “Mmmmm…

Sure enough, he got into it quickly enough, and was soon pumping himself into Monica’s mouth, guiding her by the back of her head. Moving her at his own pace, she hardly even had to move, concentrating simply on keeping her lips puckered around his manhood, throwing an occasional embellishment with her tongue or jaw. Monica was a little out of practice, more used to having her partners service her, but she’d done it enough to get by; certainly, William seemed happy enough.

Or at least, he seemed to be. “Not bad…” he breathed. “But I’m… not going to come… unless you really do it. So… do it. Louder. Make me believe it.”

Oh, god… I thought he was buying it! But I don’t do it loud! What’s he want, real or noisy? But she knew, really, what William wanted. Her hand dipped underneath her dress, memory of yesterday’s orgasm suddenly resurfacing. “Mmmm…” she moaned around his cock as her fingers ran along the length of her bared pussy. You want it for real?

“Ohh…” You want it loud?

Ohhhhhh….Believe this!

Monica starting rubbing herself in small, tight circles, concentrating more on herself than on the cock slowing pumping itself in her mouth. Shame, anger, and determination all conspired together, and her body responded, growing aroused and awake almost instantly. The darkened room seemed to brighten, a light that came from no source she was aware of. Ignore it. Do what you have to do. “Mmmm…. Uhlm, umm, ummmmmmm…”

Muuuuch better, baby… oh, that’s good… Suck me off, you little whore… yes… that’s what that slutty little mouth is for… good… When I come… oh… swallow it all… Swallow, or it goes on your face… and I this one… won’t count at all… hmmm…”

Think I can’t come? Think I won’t come? Fuck him, fuck this opportunist son of a bitch and his dirty secrets and dirty pictures. I will not be intimidated. I’ll get out of this; he can’t break me. Fucking blackmailing single-minded fucker, thinks women are just bimbo holes for him to stick his meat into. He doesn’t know me at all, thinks I’m just a pair of lips and a set of tits and a wet cunt and his cunt to lord it over and pretend he’s in charge when he’s just a twisted horny sick fucker with his cock in my mouth.

Oh, God, his cock is in my mouth. His cock is in my mouth and I’m sucking it. He’s fucking my mouth and I’m fingering myself and he’s looking at me looking at him and he’s getting off watching me suck him like a whore. This is so wrong. On my knees and no bra and no panties and tarted up like his own private cock-candy. He’s getting close and I’m getting louder and I don’t care and I’m getting close and I want him to come and God I’m so close now feels so dirty why does this feel so good I’m not a whore just please come in my mouth Master ohgod I’m… I’m…

Monica’s climax came almost at the same time as William’s own, so closely together that she would never know whose orgasm had set off whose. She barely had the presence of mind to keep her lips on William’s surging cock, her mouth seeming to fill with his salty come as fast as she could swallow it. She lurched up awkwardly on his knees, trying to keep herself oriented correctly, mindful of his threat if she let even one precious drop go astray.

The room became peaceful again, silence barely touched by the pair’s labored breathing and Monica’s quiet suckling. Monica came to her senses as William gave her a gentle nudge, and she detached herself with a strange reluctance. William sighed, smiling contentedly as Monica unsteadily regained her feet.

“That was just what I had in mind, bitch,” he told her, zipping himself up. “I feel great! Nothing quite like getting head before a date, am I right?”

Monica looked away, humiliated, and stayed silent. “Not so chatty now, huh? Well, that’s ok. Today. But from now on, you answer any question I put to you, or else.” He stood and made his way to the door, sauntering carelessly.

“W-wait!” Monica called, something jogging her out of her reverie. “The… the picture!” William stopped and looked over his shoulder, questioningly. “Uh, I mean… my picture, sir. May I please have it?”

William nodded, and set the eight by ten down on the table by the entrance. “Here you go, as I promised. You’ve earned it, Monica; well done.” He opened the door and stepped outside. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I came. God help me, I came. Again. I… I’m… I don’t even know what to think. What am I? What am I becoming? Why…

Monica stared at the picture for a good ten minutes before burning it in the sink, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. She needed the long shower she took next, and went to bed early.

* * *

Second Exposure – Head Shot

Tuesday and Wednesday were easier than Monday somehow; Monica simply refused to think about her situation, or the implications of the previous evening. I just got caught up in the moment, she rationalized, when she couldn’t avoid thinking about it altogether.

The expected envelope lay in the entryway on Wednesday, and Monica showered before she even opened it, putting off the inevitable as long as possible. She turned the photocopy over without looking at the picture this time, drying her hair with a towel as she read her instructions.

Monica – had a great time on Monday; hope you enjoyed yourself as well. Tonight I’m feeling more selfish. Denim shorts and one of those checked shirts, the tightest you can get into. Hair in braided pigtails. Panties are optional, but no brassier. Wear red lipstick and matching nail polish, and buy some lubricant if you don’t own any. See you at eight!

– William

Monica was already choking at the first line, the memory of her involuntary orgasm resurfacing. Trying to recover, she wondered at his choice of words. What does he mean, selfish? Isn’t the whole thing selfish? And why so specific about my makeup and stuff? She shrugged mentally. Well, it’s his show. Sighing, she pulled on her jacket, snagged her purse, and left to pick up what she needed.

* * *

“This won’t do. Not at all.” Monica stayed silent. She was afraid of something like this, that William would find some excuse to extend her sentence.

I tried, she told herself. I did! The makeup was easy enough – who didn’t have red lipstick? She’d had to buy a gingham shirt, finding it on a discount rack in the third store she’d visited. It was a good two sizes too tight, and nearly impossible to button up, but she had a hunch that that was what he’d had in mind. She’d finally given up, held her breath and just fastened the two buttons across her bust, leaving it open at the top and tied off at the bottom, country-girl style. And the lube… the less said about that excursion, the better. Monica had gone to a pharmacy across town, so the likelihood of being recognized was remote, but still… The guy behind the register had kept his face carefully neutral, but Monica knew he was wondering what a nice-looking girl like her wanted with it, and how often she used it. Ears burning, she’d come straight home, his bland expression following her, and gotten herself ready.

The shorts were the sticking point. They were denim, designer even, and pretty snug. Snug enough, she’d believed, not wanting to buy a new pair for a single night of less-than-consensual sex with a nitpicky blackmailer. So she’d pulled them on and greeted William at the door, her mistake confirmed when seeing them turned his smile into a small frown. Monica had suspected they wouldn’t pass muster, but… well, she’d thought he’d let it slide. Not so.

“Did you really think these were good enough?” he asked, sounding more curious than angry.

Monica trembled a little, feeling exposed, helpless. “N… I wasn’t sure, Master. They used to be tight, but I think I’ve lost weight since the last time I wore them. They’re… kind of tight, though, and…” she trailed off uncertainly.

“‘The tightest you can get into,’ I believe I said. Not ‘used to be tight’, or ‘tight but comfortable’, or even ‘tightest you own’. Stupid bitch.” He sighed and covered his eyes with his hand.

He’s going to add more days! came a panicked thought. Do something! Monica surprised herself by dropping to her knees, hands folding meekly in her lap. “Please, Master, don’t let this spoil everything!” William dropped his hand, a little taken aback at her sudden subservience. “I’m sure I can get a suitable replacement in no time. Don’t let this ruin our evening together. Please, Master?” She didn’t know if the gambit would work or not, but it was worth a shot. “Please, Master. Your slave begs you.”

A hint of a smile had crossed William’s face. Well, he wanted me to act like I love it, right? Maybe if I lay it on a little thick, he’ll go easy on me. “Your fuck-toy is sorry, Master, and she’s been thinking about tonight all day.” Sort of true, anyway. “Please? She’ll try extra hard to please you tonight, Master. To make up for her… naughtiness.”

William scowled in thought, then nodded once. “All right. Maybe. But you if you’re not one hundred percent convincing, or I detect the smallest bit of reluctance to obey me, we’re done for tonight and I start adding days. Or release the pictures, whichever I feel like. Understand?”

Monica nodded gladly. “Yes, Master, thank you! Your bitch understands!’

William smiled and shut the door behind him. “That’s good. You’re learning well, Monica. But you’re not my bitch, tonight. Tonight I want an eager, responsive slut, bouncy and full of life. Can you do that?”

Monica was so happy at dodging the bullet she would’ve agreed to nearly anything at that point. “Oh, yes, Master! I can’t wait to please you! Please, command me!”

“Good. Stand up. Get me a cold beer and grab a pair of scissors. Then go into your room, take the three tightest pairs of jeans you own, cut them down into shorts, and show them to me. I’ll choose what you’ll wear tonight from those. But if none of them please me…” he ended warningly.

“Oh, don’t worry, Master!” Monica assured him, already moving to bring him his drink. “Monica is sure she can find something. Your slave will make you so proud of her, you’ll want to fuck her right then and there!”

William nodded, settling down on the couch to watch TV. “Good. Get to it, then.”

* * *

Over the top seems to work with him, Monica mused, putting the finishing touches on the last pair of cutoffs. Have to remember that. It’s not too hard to pretend to be his sex bimbo, and it makes things go a lot more smoothly. Finished, she held up the last of the three mangled pairs of jeans to the fading sunlight, inspecting her work. There. Done. Wonder which one he’ll pick?

The first was the worst, both from an aesthetic and modesty viewpoint. Her inexperience at alteration showed most of all here, as little remained of the original garment. It was little more than a waistband, with a narrow piece of cloth descending between the legs. Crotch-cutters,, she sniffed, although he might like that. The second was better, more neatly-trimmed, and she’d managed to keep the pockets. Worn, the denim rode just above the bottommost curve of her backside, forming a cute ‘V’ in front. It was also the tightest of the three; they pinched her privates every time she moved, and an unpleasant-looking roll formed above the beltline from her ordinarily-flat stomach.

Monica wasn’t sure whether to rate the last pair a failure or a success. Like the second, they had Vs in the front and back, showing a good deal of thigh and smooth ass. They were tight, too tight to wear with panties, but not as constricting as the second pair. As an artistic touch, she’d pulled apart the fraying fabric at the ends, giving it a more haphazard cutoff look than the first two pairs. Well, I hope one of these is good enough for Ma- for William. Gathering her courage, she presented her selections to William, hoping one would suit him.

“Let’s see…” William mused, picking up one, then another, while Monica waited at attention, hands nervously twining around each other behind her back. Biting his lip, he discarded the ultra-brief pair, to Monica’s relief. “This one is too hot. And this one is too cold,” he continued, tossing aside the relatively modest second pair. “But these…” He handed the ragged-edge pair to Monica with a grin. “These are juuuust right. Put these on and come out smiling, princess.”

Relief washed over Monica like a warm shower, and she pulled the shorts to her chest excitedly. “Thank you, Sir! I’ll go put these on right now!” She’d almost made it to her bedroom door when she remembered something. “Uh… Master?”

William turned away from the TV to face her, mild irritation showing. Monica wondered if she was pushing it, but she ploughed ahead. “Uh… your date, last night. How did it go? Was it… nice? After, um, coming here. I mean, um…” Monica trailed off at the inadvertent double entendre.

William smiled patronizingly. “It went very well. I was quite the gentleman.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “But no stalling, now. I want you squeezed into those and ready to dance in five minutes.”

Dance? “S-sir? I… I don’t really know how…”

“Surely you’re not planning to ruin my fantasy, are you?”

Monica shook her head at the none-too-subtle threat. “No, sir. I just… don’t want you to be, ah… disappointed, with my dancing.”

“Just try,” he said, returning his attention to the television. “I’m sure you’ll do fine, if you remember the ultimate goal.”

She did. Cheeks burning, Monica shut the door. I don’t understand. Why don’t I say ‘no’? Why can’t I just stand up to him and call his bluff? It is a bluff… right? She changed hastily, hurrying to rejoin her Master.

* * *

It was her third song. The first had been awkward; by the time she’d gotten into the bump n’ grind, it was already ending. The second wasn’t a lot better: “Mony, Mony” was her least-favorite song, for obvious reasons, and it was nearly impossible for her to dance to it in earnest. But the last song was right up her alley.

“…I know a guy who’s tough but sweet…”

Monica danced a frenetic, haphazard boogie that seemed to set every part of her anatomy flouncing lewdly. William had chosen the soundtrack to her humiliation, and now Monica danced like a groupie on speed. Her pigtails flew in every direction, and her firm breasts, lacking their accustomed support, bounced freely under the red-and-white gingham shirt. The new cotton rubbed against her nipples, lubricated with her perspiration, and they stood tall and rock-solid under their inadequate covering.

“…Go to see him when the sun goes down
Ain’t no finer boy in town
Iiiiii want candy, Iiiiii want candy…”

A light sheen of sweat covered Monica’s gyrating body, testament to her exertion. The music moved her on and on, each sugar-poppy song segueing into the next, a seemingly never-ending series of quick-tempo tunes designed to make her bounce like a bimbo in a seventies jiggle-fest. Monica danced like a woman possessed, desperately committed to her Sisyphean task of keeping with the beat while giving William the maximum amount of eye-candy. The lights seemed to dim and brighten as she moved, trying to distract her, but Monica was determined. Everything she’d ever seen in a nightclub, on TV, half-remembered ballet lessons and last semester’s belly-dancing class… all were employed, grist for the mill of Monica’s private exhibitionism for her Master.

“…Some day soon I’ll make you mine,
Then I’ll have candy all the time
Iiiiii want candy, Iiiiii want candy
Iiiiii want candy, Iiiiii want candy…”

The music faded out, and Monica came to a kneeling stop, arms spread wide, panting. She waited for the next tune, but none came. Looking up, she saw that she was done dancing for today: William’s face was a mask of pure, unadulterated lust.

“Lie back,” he told her hoarsely. He cleared his throat, pressing a button on the remote to turn off the stereo. He stood and unzipped his pants, never looking away from Monica’s prone body. Monica lay back, near-swooning, and William practically fell on top of her, straddling her chest.

Uff!” Buttons went flying as his eager hands tore her shirt open, leaving Monica’s formidable tits exposed. William’s hard-on towered above her, looming in her vision for a moment as he reached over to snatch the bottle of lubrication from where it lay, forgotten by the couch. A single firm squeeze, and the translucent gel gushed out, a large gob of the semi-viscous liquid spattering between her peaks.

“I’m going… to fuck… your tits, now,” William told her, struggling to take off his shirt. “Your hands… go here.” His hands took hers, tugging them roughly into place, so that the hapless coed cupped her well-developed breasts from the sides, providing her Master with a slick demi-tunnel. “Take it… in your mouth… whenever you can, and…”

Monica didn’t care. She’d been damp since the second song, and now her excitement overcame any reluctance she had. “Come on me,” she rasped. “Do it. Fuck my tits. Fuck ‘em, fuck… yes! Come all over me, Master…”

A wordless growl was William’s reply as he thrust himself between her glistening breasts, hauling her head up by her pigtails to dig her chin into her chest. Her lips thus aligned, he plunged through the valley into her waiting mouth, and began to fuck her tits and mouth simultaneously, reigning her head to him with each powerful stroke.

“Mmm… mmmph… mmmnn… mmmnph…” Monica’s full lips smacked after William’s retreating cock, opening wide to receive it as it returned again, frenetic and undeniable. Her hands pressed her soft breasts together, making his passage as tight a squeeze as possible. Again and again William sank himself into her frictionless love-channel, guttural noises roiling out from Master and slave.

Slut! Whore! Fuck… slave! Slut! Whore! Fuck… slave! The words ran through Monica’s mind like a mantra, in time with William’s pumping cock. Slut… bitch… cock… slave… take… it… all…

“Here… here it comes…” William told her, rearing back, eyes wild.

Monica released her sore breasts, both hands grasping to take his pole, jacking it, pulling it, aiming it at her face. “Come on me! Come, Master, come!”

And he did, white jets of come seeming to streak in the air before Monica’s eyes. The lights of the room seemed to be flashing, had been flashing, as if the blood diverted from her brain to her loins was shorting out her vision. Semen rained down on her chest, her face, gobs streaming out to coat her half-nude upper body in his essence. The light was so bright now, and Monica moaned…

…And came to. She was still lying on her back, William’s seed cooling on her flesh, running off in places. The salty tang of him was the only taste in her mouth, testament to how much of his come she’d received. The light was normal now, less charged and hot. Her left hand had stopped midway to her mouth, carrying a palmful of come to her lips, and her right was struggling to rub her burning cunt through the soaked denim. “Wha…” she burbled.

William chuckled, already buckling his belt. “You passed out, I guess. You looked like such a contented little slave, I didn’t have the heart to wake you.” He zipped up his trousers. “I knew you were ok when you started licking yourself clean.”

Monica dropped her hand, overwhelmingly mortified, and William shook his head. “No, no, don’t stop on my account. Keep cleaning yourself up like you were. I like watching you.”

Her spirit broken, Monica resumed her hand-to-mouth self-cleaning. William retrieved his jacket, eyes never leaving her as she carried out her assigned operation: wipe, suck, lick. Wipe, suck, lick.

Damn, what a kinky slut you are. Covered in your Master’s come, licking up every drop, and still horny as a cat in heat from your tit-fucking. Wish I had a camera. Ah, well…”

Monica looked up in shock, but William was already heading for the door. “William – Master – wait!”

William paused at the door. “Yes?” he sighed, obviously not wanting to stay.

“That girl… the one you took on the date the other night…”

William turned around, face hostile. “Careful, slut,” he warned.

Monica nodded jerkily. “Yes, Sir, I didn’t mean… didn’t mean anything by it. I just was wondering… do you think she’d approve? Of us, I mean?”

William laughed out loud, incredulous. “‘Us’? What ‘us’? There is no ‘us’, fuck-doll. Her, I want to date; you I just want to fuck. She’s a woman, the kind men want to date and get to know. She’s smart, funny, pleasant to be with. You, on the other hand, are a plaything. A cock-teasing princess, playing at being special when all she really needs is to be fucked stupid, over and over. A sex-toy, for men to play with when they want an easy lay, then set aside for the next guy. A big rack, soft lips, and a hot cunt, nothing more. Understand?”

He took her silence as a reply, and opened the door. “Here’s your photo,” he told her, flipping it onto a table. “My number’s on the back; any problems with the tasks you’re given from now on, you call me ASAP. I don’t want to sit around all night waiting for some dumb cunt to follow instructions any more. I’ll be busy for a while, but I’ll want you on Friday. Look for your instructions between now and then, and clear off your schedule for that evening.”

Monica watched him go numbly. Why is this happening to me? Why does his come taste so good? She stood groggily and slumped onto the couch, nearly exhausted. I’ve never been treated like this! Why am I so… I’m not… I mean, I don’t… I’ve never… Her hand had crept between her thighs, fingering its way past the undone zipper and stroking insistently at her still-burning snatch.

She came less than five minutes later, rocking and crying and shuddering and sobbing and… and… She came hard, heart hammering double-time, biting the meat of her palm to keep from screaming out. It was good, but not nearly as good at the one she had in the shower fifteen minutes later. In her mind’s eye, Monica was being used over and over, happily servicing a never-ending line of men with every part of her body.

Slut… whore… fuck… slave… slut… whore… fuck… slave…

Fuck me, Master… Fuck your slave…

* * *

Third Exposure – Black and White

On Thursday, Monica was actually relieved to find her envelope during her lunch hour – anything to break the suspense. Halfway done. Never thought I’d get this far! The photocopy of herself masturbating seemed tame compared to what she’d been doing lately, and she turned it over with a sardonic smile.

Monica – You’ve been a great sport so far, so I’m taking you out tomorrow as a reward of sorts. Meet me at ‘The Smoky Mirror’ at eleven for drinks, dancing, and a little fun. It’s a Goth-themed club, and I want you to look the part. Latex or lace, your call, but I want it done full-out. I’m giving you a lot of leeway this time, but the end result should be Gothic to the nines and eminently fuckable.

– William

Oh, great. I go from ‘Daisy Duke’ to ‘the Vampire Monica’ in under a week. Well, at least I’ve got a plenty of time to get ready. Biting her lip, Monica sat at her kitchen table and began to jot down some hurried notes on what she needed to get.

* * *

Monica stirred her drink and glanced around the room anxiously, trying to look for William while avoiding eye contact with anyone else. William was late, probably on purpose, leaving her to fend for herself in a nightclub full of preeners, posers, and what looked like genuine Children of the Night. As time went on and the drinks flowed freely, more and more eyes lingered on Monica, who’d retreated early on into a corner, waiting for her Master’s arrival.

Half an hour ago she’d been proud of her getup, almost happy to be at the outlandish dance club. Her outfit didn’t just blend into her strange surroundings; it exemplified them. A search online for “Goth” and “latex” had produced some horrifying results, but researching “clothing” and a few internet malls had given her some ideas. There seemed to be three cardinal rules to the look: antique black clothing, lots of makeup, and Do Not Smile. Thus armed, (and with the memory of her near-disastrous failure with the shorts,) within a few days of hard searching Monica had haunted every thrift and vintage store within two hour’s drive, and assembled a beautiful ensemble for her ‘date’.

First, the underwear. Easy enough; a pair of side-tying black satin panties and some slinky thigh-highs worked perfectly. The latter would stay up on their own, but Monica had tied red ribbons on the tops of the stockings, giving the illusion of an old-fashioned garter. She didn’t need a bra, as she’d found a beautiful black halter-type corset, breathtakingly tight. It was trimmed with red ribbons, and lifted her already-sizable breasts up and in, giving her a truly amazing amount of cleavage.

Next came the skirt, a breathtaking layered number, the folds all in different shades of black and dark red. A secondary layer of crinoline puffed it out and away from her legs, modestly falling a few inches below the knee. Fashionably Victorian, it narrowed tightly in the middle, giving her an absurdly tiny waist when the corset was cinched in. Monica loved the rustling noise it made when she walked, reminding her of dead leaves on an autumn night.

Monica waffled for a while on footwear, unable to decide between stiletto heels and boots. The heels weren’t well-suited for dancing, but they went better with the stockings than the boots. In the end, she went with a pair of old-fashioned ‘granny boots’, thinking they would make a statement, as well as be more comfortable. High-laced, they came up to mid-shin, leaving a playful expanse of stockinged leg between hem and boot-top. And finally, the accessories: a high silk top hat, fishnet elbow-length gloves, and a choker with an oversized red stone shining over her throat.

Oddly, the makeup had been the hardest. Monica struggled to apply the layers of foundation, heavy eyeliner, and dark eye shadow her role required. But the results were worth the struggle; she looked as ‘Goth’ as any model she’d seen on the Web, maybe more so. She had already received a lot of compliments and more than a few passes from the club denizens who roamed around her, male and female alike.

The rum-and-coke made a slurping noise, and she realized she’d drained her second already. Another look around the club, and she made her way through the press of bodies towards the bar, needing something to do. She leaned over the bar to make herself heard, and put in her order. The bartender took her money without a word and turned to make her drink, taking her order well ahead of several others waiting. Must be my charisma, she thought. I might have to visit here again… under different circumstances.

“Looking for me, Barbie-goth?”

Monica turned, startled, to see a beautiful woman sitting beside her. She hadn’t seen her arrive, hadn’t seen her before at all. With a knockout figure, captivating green eyes, long red ponytail, and a shiny all-black micromini, the newcomer would have stood out in any crowd, even this one. “Uh… no.”

The redhead took a swig of her drink and clucked her tongue. “Maybe. Are you sure? I saw you come up to the bar, saw so many people watch you go. And I thought to myself, there goes a girl who’s waiting for someone. Someone special. Maybe someone… like me.”

Monica didn’t know what to say. In her universe, girls didn’t hit on girls, not out of the blue. But things were different here, now. “I… uh, no. I’m waiting for… someone.” Oh, God, help! Where’s that drink?

“I know, baby. I can tell.” The woman shifted closer to Monica, leaning in to whisper in the agitated girl’s ear. “Know what you look like to me?”


Her voice dropped to a thrilling whisper. “You look like someone’s lost little kitty. Like a slutbunny gone astray. Like a little lost slave, looking for someone to master her, to own her.”

“N… n…” The redhead’s hand had crept under the folds of Monica’s skirt from behind, stroking her pussy through the velvety satin panties. Monica made to shift away, but the woman’s other hand clamped firmly down on her wrists, trapping her bent over at an angle against the bar. Monica whimpered softly, unresisting, as the woman’s hand began a slow, gentle caress. Oh, no… please…

“A slave,” the woman repeated, “A slave who will do anything she’s told. A slave who needs something very, very badly.”

Her fingers were having their desired effect on Monica, already lubricating at the unprovoked assault. I… she… this can’t be… Monica stifled a moan. “Nuh... nyuh… please…”

“Please? Please what? Please, stop? Or please, don’t stop?” She released Monica’s hands, cupping Monica’s cheek, her hidden hand still busy beneath the blonde’s skirt. “Tell me. You’re getting nice and wet for me; I can feel your heat all over my fingertips. You’re not pulling away. You’re not asking me to stop. I think you want this, little kitty. I think you like this a lot. I think you want it. Want me to do it. Yes? Or are you still waiting for someone, my sweet little pussy-cat?” She purred sensuously. “Here, kitty, kitty…”

Abruptly the girl’s fingers stopped, and William was standing next to them. “She’s waiting for me,” he told her. He was dressed simply, in a black t-shirt and blue jeans, but his face held a protective wariness Monica was glad to see.

The redhead raised one immaculate eyebrow. “And you are?”

“I’m her Master. Aren’t I, Monica?”

Monica suffered a moment of confusion, not knowing what to do, where to turn. Everything seemed so crazy, so upside-down and mixed up! But her befuddled mind recognized William, for what that was worth, and she spoke without really meaning to. “Master… he’s my Master. I serve him.”

“Ah.” The fingers withdrew from Monica’s parted thighs, and the woman extended her hand to William gracefully. “My apologies, sir. Rose Red, at your service.”

William kissed the proffered hand, taking a moment to inhale Monica’s scent on the woman’s delicate fingers. “A pleasure, Rose. I trust my pet here hasn’t made herself a bother?”

“Perish the thought. We were about to get on famously, weren’t we, kitty?” She patted Monica’s face, a look of regret crossing her features for a moment. “But alas, this kitty’s already been collared. I hope you won’t take offense at my petting your pretty kitty?”

“Not at all,” William smiled. Monica couldn’t tell what he was enjoying more, the double entendres or Monica’s helpless distress in their presence. “My kitty enjoys being petted. Sometimes I pet her while she laps up her cream.”

Rose let out a sparkling laugh, unfeigned delight. “Does she, now? Well, well. I thought she looked domesticated. Tell me,” she asked, bringing her charm to bear on William, “Is she a lap-kitty? Does she enjoy licking as much as she enjoys her cream?”

If William was nonplussed for once, Monica didn’t see it, lost in her own horrified thoughts. She’s… she’s asking him to… he… he wouldn’t! Would he? I can’t… No, please, no!

“Perhaps,” William answered, non-committal. “She hasn’t been out of the house much, so I don’t know how well she plays with others.”

“Aw…” Rose purred, coquettishly disappointed. “Too bad. She seems so affectionate.” Rose straightened, giving William a nod. “Do look me up, if ever you decide to ‘belle’ the cat. I’d be ever so grateful to you.” She left gracefully, a knowing smile on her lips, Monica and William watching her exit.

Monica realized what she was doing and spun around, taking half her drink in a nervous gulp before she was able to meet William’s eyes. “I… I’m sorry, Master, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t know, she just came up to me and—”

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” he soothed her, patting her shoulder comfortingly. “You did just fine. Scared you for a moment though, didn’t she?”

“Yes… yes, Master. I thought… I don’t know. I’m glad to see you, sir,” she concluded, sincerely.

“And I’m happy to see you, too.” William smiled at her, sipping his own drink. “Can’t leave you alone, can I? I run a little bit late and you’re picking up chicks for me…” He seemed to think of something. “Hmm. That gives me an idea. What do you say I call her back and we—”

“No!” The sudden image of a ménage a trios with the latex vixen and her blackmailer overwhelmed Monica, and she almost shouted. “I mean… I’d rather not, sir,” she corrected herself. “I… I don’t you want me all to yourself?” She gave him what she hoped was a winning smile, her hand stealing up to run up his leg.

“Hmm. Well, I do hate to share my toys with others… but you have to admit, it’s an exciting proposition.” He let the prospect hang in the air a moment longer, relishing the desperate look in his slave’s eyes. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll decline Red’s idea. No one gets to play with you but me. But in return…”

He drew close, locking Monica’s eyes to his. “In return, for the remainder of your term, you will play your given role to the hilt, like you agreed on day one. You act, speak, and look the part, no matter what it is. If I say you’re a dog, you bark. If I say you’re a brainless bimbo, you love small words, short skirts, and tight sweaters. If I say you’re an anal-erotic exhibitionist gymnast, I want you doing jumping jacks anytime I’m not boning you in the ass. Are we clear?”

Monica nodded rapidly; she would do anything to not get loaned out. If that meant compromising what little dignity she had left, so be it – it would only be with one man, after all. “Yes, Master! I understand perfectly.”

“No matter what it is? Understand, if I have any hint, the slightest doubt, that you’re not a completely and fully eager slave-bitch, then I’m calling Rose Red over to see if she and I can come up with a way to make you regret your decision. I’ve got all weekend.”

“Yes, absolutely, no matter what. Please, Master. You won’t be sorry!”

“We’ll see,” he told her, turning to watch the crowd on the dance floor.

* * *

Nearly an hour went by, and Monica was getting antsy. William seemed to be enjoying himself, drinking, dancing, generally having a good time. Monica put on her best face, mimicking the crowd around her to put on a convincing show of having a blast. The third rum-and-coke hadn’t hurt her acting skills a bit, and she made sure William was the center of her world. When he danced, she danced as sensually as she could, on display for his gratification, shouldering aside memories of her earlier high-energy debut. When he moved close, she ground her hips into his, sighing when he groped her in full view. When he moved away, she teased him, mock-pursuing or pretending to be momentarily attracted to any nearby female dancer. When they rested, she gave herself over to his advances, making out like a schoolgirl in heat.

As time went on, something strange came over Monica. Something stirred in her, something sexual, hot and mammalian and irrepressibly female. The music seemed to carry her, guide her, awaken every nerve in her milky skin. She felt alive, electric, magnetic and irresistible and so very aroused

God, I’m getting hot! She needed to leave, and soon. Rose Red’s attempt at seduction had set her juices flowing, and she’d stayed wet ever since. In near-desperation, she’d tried to get relief once or twice, pressing her mound into William’s questing fingers or humping his thigh while he felt her up. But to no avail; an hour of constant arousal had frustrated her to her breaking point. “Master…” she whined into his ear, straddling him on an oversized chair. “Master… let’s goooo…”

“Go? Go where?” he asked, breaking off from nibbling on her pale neck. “Aren’t you having a good time, slut?”

Monica felt her pussy clench up at the word, a telling statement about how turned on she was. “Yeah, but… I need you, Master.” She leaned close, pressing her bosom into William’s face, running her hands through his hair. “Please. Your fuck-toy is begging you, Master,” she whispered as seductively as she could. “She’s so hot and horny for you. She wants her Master’s big cock inside so badly it hurts. Please, Master. I can’t wait any more; I need that monster cock stretching my tight little pussy until I just scream for you. Let’s get out of here so your slave can fuck her Master, make him come in her tight, hot cunt…”

…And Monica was on her way out, William towing her by one hand. Her loins ached, throbbing with need, and she nearly plowed headlong into a large group of people on her way out. God, look at me! she thought, drunk on lust. That was no act. I need him to fuck me, now! If that makes me a slut, then fuck it, I’m a slut!

Within seconds, Monica was sitting in the passenger seat of William’s car, squirming in need and trying to keep her hands out of her lap, without much success. As her Master turned the key in the ignition, she craned her neck to see if there was enough room in the back seat to accommodate them both.

Fuck it. “Master, I’ve never been more turned on in my life,” she began.

“Then what are you waiting for?” William asked her, sliding his seat back as far as it would go. “Get over here and fuck me.”

He didn’t have to tell her twice. Monica clambered over to mount him, kissing his face and neck in urgent distress. Her hands were tugging his manhood free as he untied her panties, soaked through with her desire. She raised herself up as high as she could in the cramped confines, hitching up her skirt and fumbling to position him right… there! Monica sank herself down on his sweet cock with a feral growl, seizing his headrest in both hands for support.

She held him inside for a moment, breathlessly savoring the sensation of his hard maleness. “Yeeeessssss…” she hissed through clenched teeth, raising herself up until her head bumped the ceiling before coming back down again. His cock felt enormous, threatening to split her in two with its unbearable breadth and length. Monica could feel every inch of him in her, every vein and pore as she plunged on it over and over, impaling herself on that sublime, heavenly cock. “Yes! Oh, God, Master, yes!”

Monica was pounding down on her Master’s lap now, one hand on the ceiling giving her even more leverage to batter her cunt with his powerful tool. William had taken hold of her hips, gripping them for dear life as the girl went wild, fucking herself with wanton abandon. Her eyes were closed, her mouth shaping wordless syllables of lust as she brought them closer to orgasm, closer and closer, until…

“ArrrrrrRRRRRAAAARRRRGGGGHHH!” Her Master’s sudden tensing body cut through Monica’s sex-fog, and she seated herself violently, grinding her hips to coax him to ejaculate as deeply as possible into her pulsing womb. His seed shot into her and she hung, transfixed at the moment of orgasm until his second spurt sent her over the edge. Her howl of liberation joined his own, and she collapsed onto him, body wracked in spasms of release...

“All right!”

“Anybody want a cigarette?”

“That’s what I call a dance with a happy ending!”

“It was great for us, too!”

Monica opened her eyes. She was slumped over William’s limp body, muscles aching from her awkward position. Through the steamed-up windows of the car, a crowd had gathered, laughing and cheering the spectacle they’d just witnessed.

“I’m next, baby!”

“Do it again! Do it again!”

Ohmygod, ohmygodohmygodohmygod. They all saw us, they saw me fucking him and coming and ohmygod… She stared out the window, paralyzed.

“Um… Monica?” William sounded content, sleepy, not at all upset. “‘Less you want to give our audience another show… how ‘bout you get off me now?”

Monica scrambled off, trying to conceal her face without looking like she was hiding. She didn’t know if anyone outside knew her, but they’d probably remember her for a long time to come. Mortified, upset, and powerless to do anything about it, she rode home in silence, taking the well-earned photo from William when he dropped her off without a word.

If events had scared him, he didn’t show it, or maybe he had sublimated his anxiousness into his libido. When he pulled up outside Monica’s dorm, he pulled her face to his lap without a word. He came quickly enough, and Monica walked back to her room with the taste of his semen intermingling in her mouth with her own juices. She’d swallowed it long before she got to her bedroom, but the taste lingered long enough for her to finger herself to another orgasm.

* * *

Fourth Exposure – Posed and Poised


“William? M-master? It’s me.”

“Ah, Monica. How nice to hear from you. How is everything?”

“Ah… good. Except for… um, this. My instructions.”

“Got ‘em already? You must be checking at lunchtime; I just put those out for you.”

“Yes, sir. But they’re, um…”


“I… I can’t do it.” Silence. “I just can’t. The whole—”

“Can’t, or won’t? Did you break your leg?”

“No, I just…”

“Unless, Monica, you are in some way physically unable to carry out the instructions, I expect you to carry them out. I don’t need to threaten you again, do I?”

“No. No, sir.”

“So. Is there any reason you can’t, other than that you don’t want to?”

“No, sir.”

“All right. Then I’ll see you Saturday at noon.”

“…Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

* * *

For what it was, Monica admitted to herself, it was beautiful. For what it was. William had obviously put a lot of thought into her costume for the day; she had little doubt it would fit her perfectly.

The maid’s uniform was laid out on the bed as he’d written, awaiting her body to fill it out. She’d arrived an hour early, more hoping to catch him unready than out of any eagerness. Even though last week, I… no! Forget the club. Forget how you looked, forget what you did. Forget what he did to you, how he made you come all over his… Stop it. Forget all that. Just get through today. I do this, and I’ve only got one session left to go.

She drew on the stockings first, a pair of wide-meshed fishnets with gathered seams running down the back. They were harder to get on than she’d guessed; her toes kept poking through the holes, threatening to tear the fine material. The lace garter belt held them in place, already adjusted perfectly for her height. Of course he knows my size. I’ll bet he’s got every inch of me committed to memory, after all we’ve… never mind, just get dressed.

Next came an intricately-patterned pair of black lace panties, French-cut of course. She put them on over the black satin garter belt, reasoning she might need to remove her panties well before the belt, if she ever took her stockings off at all. The material felt strange going on, gliding smoothly over her freshly-shaved pudendum, another specification of her instructions. Monica soon determined why they felt so strange: what she’d taken for an errant fold in the lace was, she discovered, a gap, cleverly hidden by the lace. For all their apparent elegance, the panties were crotchless. Standing or sitting normally, someone looking at them wouldn’t be able to tell, but by merely moving a thin fold of cloth to one side, her labia would become completely exposed.

The matching black bustier was snug in the back, but a few adjustments to the straps made it bearable. The bottom was even more restrictive than the top, compressing her ribcage several inches, at least as far as she could tell. Better not get out of breath in this thing, Monica thought, Feels like a flight of stairs could wind me! She had to do a bit of tucking in once it was in place; the squeezing ‘push-up’ effect was so vigorous that she almost spilled completely out of the demi-cups while bending over for the next item.

The dress itself was black silk, with white lace trim. No maid, French or otherwise, ever worked in such a getup, at least not in any domestic capacity. The traditional French maid’s uniform had seen some heavy modifications, all of them designed with sex in mind. The cut in front was a slightly rounded ‘V’, rather than the usual squared-off ‘U’. The cut seemed to have been done with Monica’s bodice specifically in mind, as the dress concealed nothing not already covered up by the ornate bustier. The back was similarly low-cut, leaving most of her smooth back bare, discounting the ornamental ribbons holding it closed. Only as she was tying the costume in place did she notice the last, and most dramatic, alteration.

Lace trim abounded, naturally, but the skirt part had taken it to extremes. Three separate layers of stiff, lacy folds were attached beneath, as a kind of underskirt that extended just a bit past the dress’s hemline. The crinoline (how do I know what to call it? Monica wondered) was starched and reinforced, pressing the skirt out at almost right angles to her legs. Since the hem had only came to mid-thigh to begin with, the final effect was quite… pronounced, especially when walked; the whole thing had a tendency to sway from her hips, moving as a unit and exposing her with every step she took.

So far, her costume looked more like a teen boy’s fantasy of a stripper maid than an actual uniform, but it was of surprisingly high quality. Monica had expected cheap fabric held together with glue; instead, the lace and silk were soft, the stitching well-concealed and surprisingly strong. Someone spent a pretty penny on this, Monica surmised. Guess it won’t do to disappoint…

A few items remained on the bed, hidden until now under the dress, and she donned them with meticulous care. A delicate pair of fingerless lace gloves, clasped at the wrist. A black ribbon choker, unornamented but for the lace trim. Dangerous-looking three-inch stiletto heels, the patent leather shined mirror-bright. For some reason, she’d ended up with three spare pairs of panties, identical to the ones she was wearing. Surely he doesn’t want me to wear ‘em all at once, right? Maybe… maybe he expects we’ll go through that many today. Oh, my…

Patting the useless headpiece into place into her perfectly-coiffed hair, Monica took a long look at herself in the full-length mirror, making the necessary last-minute adjustments. It was about as revealing as it could possibly be and still be recognizable, cut far too high here and way too low there. There was no way she could ever wear it in public, not even as a joke or at a costume party, but it somehow managed to avoid being completely trashy. The girl in the reflection looked vulnerable, docile, sexual in her implied servility. I guess it fits, though. I’m at his beck and call; he can do whatever he wants with me. His slave. She turned sideways, noting how flattering the archaic uniform was on her. I can see why men dig it, she mused. A docile position, teeming with sexual overtures, doesn’t argue, good around the house… hell, what’s not to like?

William still hadn’t come home, so Monica touched up her makeup, using a little more rouge than necessary, then set to cleaning the apartment, per her instructions. It wouldn’t do for the Master to arrive home and find her idle, after all, and Monica doubted straightening up the place a bit would be much on his mind once he got home.

* * *

Monica heard the key turning in the lock, and was in position, front and center, by the time her Master made his entrance.

“Monica!” He sounded surprised. “You’re early!”

Oui, m’sieur Je m’appelle Monique. Je suis ici, et prépare pour vous, m’sieur.

“Quite,” he said absently, taking a few moments to admire his dutiful servant. Monica – make that Monique – stood straight, tall in her high heels, eyes submissively downcast under her Master’s scrutiny. The makeup, the clothes, that sexy accent… she’d taken care of every last detail, it seemed, every luscious inch of her dedicated to her fulfillment of his fantasy. She was the very epitome of the erotic French maid: shy, scantily clad, and utterly obedient to her Master’s will.

“I’m… very impressed, Monique. Well done.”

Merci, mon Maître. Votre slave est très heureux de vous server, m’sieur.” Monique executed a small curtsey.

Naturally, a French maid had to speak French. Monica didn’t know much of the language, but between her French classes last year and a few hours studying earlier, she was confident she could do well enough. The appearance, the feel of her role was more important than the actuality; it was unlikely that William would be asking for a scholarly discourse any time soon.

As if to confirm her thoughts, William stepped behind her lifting her abbreviated skirt to inspect his prize domestic. Monica inhaled sharply as an inquisitive finger dragged across her shorn mound, withdrawing after a momentary caress. Stepping back in front of her, his lips held a glimmer of a smile.

“You pass inspection, Monique. Well done, indeed,” he told her expansively, and ‘Monique’ felt a curious wave of relief as she blushed. “You may continue in your duties for now. I want this place immaculate by this evening, and I expect tea to be served at four o’clock promptly.”

Oui, Maître. Merci, m’sieur, j’obéis.” Monique curtsied again, lower this time, then turned to resume her chores. She had to stifle a giggle of pleasure at the way William’s eyes had followed her bosom on its descent; the expensive push-up bustier had transformed her chest from eye-catching to eye-popping. Still feeling his gaze on her, she bent over a few steps away, picking at a non-existent piece of lint on her shoe. Straight-legged, skirt riding up and off of her lace-wrapped bubble butt, she could only imagine the view’s effect on her watching Master. She dawdled a bit, just long enough to stretch the credibility of the moment before recovering, smothering a private smile. She understood her role was to tempt him until he had to have her, and that was exactly what she planned to do. If that’s what he wants, that’s what he’ll get, she decided. I’ll tease him like no woman’s teased him before! As much as he can take, as many times as he can take it… or me! I’m gonna make him come so many times he won’t want to call me for a month!

* * *

Eeeeek!” Monique squeaked, surprised. She’d been folding laundry in front of the dryer when an unexpected had had run up her stockinged leg, startling her. She spun, cheeks reddening, and tried to compose herself.

“Hard at work, I see,” William told her. “And you scream so prettily, too.”

Finally. William had let her work unimpeded for nearly an hour now, contenting himself to watching her progress with a lewd eye, and she’d begun to wonder if she was slated to do nothing but clean today. “Oui, m’sieur. C’est vrai.

“Good. Turn the washer on,” he suggested.

Monique turned and closed the lid to the washer. As she turned the knob to ‘Permanent Press’, she stiffened, relaxing only with effort as William’s hands slowly caressed her exposed rump.

“A delightful outfit, for such a delightful girl. What a fine ass you have, ma cherie.”

M… Mer… Merci beaucoup, Maître,” Monique stuttered. Her eyes closed while his hands roamed freely, lovingly kneading her rear.

And then he stopped. “Up on the washer, facing me,” he commanded. “Turn it on, first, though.” Monique hastened to obey, awkwardly struggling her way onto the smooth surface. The silk of her uniform slid easily on the slick finish, but she managed to finally find a perch without completely losing her balance. Her hands gripped the front edge tightly, and she looked at William, questioningly.

“Nice…” William stepped back from her, now admiring the view. In a sitting position, the stiff petticoats held the bottom of her dress out at a steep angle from her thighs, giving her Master an almost unobstructed view between her legs. Monique gasped involuntarily as the washer abruptly switched itself into spin cycle.

“Now… spread your ankles, baby. Slowly.” Monique complied, ankles dangling, feeling her thighs part, her weight shifting subtly. Further and further she exposed herself to his gaze, until she bolted suddenly upright.

“No, no, that’s what I want. Do it.”

Monique’s flush of embarrassment returned full-force while she apprehensively resumed her former position. As before, the shift brought her labia in almost direct contact with the thrumming washer, separated from its vibrating surface by nothing but a gossamer-thin layer of fine lace. “Oh! Ohhh….”

“That’s a girl,” William cooed, watching her intently. “Hold it right… there.”

Maître,” Monique asked, not daring to raise her voice much over the rising hum of the washing machine. “Que est-ce… qu’est-ce vous veulent-il…

“Put your thumb in your mouth, Monique,” William told her, opening a nearby folding chair and seating himself.

Monique reluctantly obeyed, not wanting to lose what little control she had over her situation. “Mmm?”

“No more questions, putain. That thumb stays where it’s at until you’re done. And I think you know what I mean by that.” He folded his arms behind his head, leaning back comfortably. “Your duty is to serve me, in whatever capacity I desire. And right now, my desire is to watch you come all over a household appliance.”

The washer’s vibration seemed to know just where to go; Monique could feel the first damp sign of excitement trickling from her single-minded core. “Mmmh?” she asked, plaintively. “Mrrrhmh? Mmmmrrrrrrrhhhh…

It took a long time. William stayed and watched the whole thing, only stirring himself to restart the washer when it ran down. For a while Monique didn’t think she would come at all, tickled into orgasm from such an unlikely source, but it was tireless, and eventually her hedonistic pussy surrendered. William helped her down, wiping the bright afterimage spots from her eyes, then instructed the weak-kneed girl to change her panties before resuming her duties.

* * *

Monique set the pot down on the drying rack and dried her hands on a dishtowel. William had a dishwasher, but it was already full and running, and there was still what looked to be several day’s worth of dishes to finish yet. The mountains of dishes still waiting for her attention remained considerable: pots, pans, dishes, most of them bearing the caked-on remainder of whatever he’d been cooking. Turning, she saw William put down his teacup, quietly reading the paper. Noting it was half-empty, she moved to refresh it before he could ask, deftly adding sugar and cream from the service she’d set out earlier.

“Mmm. Thank you, Monique.”

Oui, m’sieur,” she replied meekly, eyes downcast and hands holding the hem of her dress as she ducked into a brief curtsey. Earlier, he’d had her practice some little touches like that in front of the mirror until she got it right, so she knew what effect such apparently small gestures had on her appearance. Tugging from the front, for example, brought her creamy breasts more sharply into the foreground, while tugging from the back gave her Master a diverting garters-and-panty shot to relish. “Plus de pain grille, Maître?

“No, thank you.” He tossed the paper to the floor, then cleared a spot on the table in front of him. “There’s something else I’d like to taste right now. Up, girl.”

Oui, m’sieur, j’obéis.” Monique sat facing him on the table, ankles coming to rest on either side of his knees. Under his guidance, she leaned back into a semi-recline, supported by her elbows. Her pussy pulsed dizzyingly when his warm breath rolled along the expanse of nylon on her legs, and up further caressing her bare thighs. Hazily, Monique realized she was still aroused from her strange climax only an hour ago.

“Ahh… ohhhh…” Despite herself, Monique felt her inner resolve melting under his talented tongue. She’d meant to put on a good show, be seen to accede to his wishes so he’d leave her in peace, eventually. But deep within, she knew this wasn’t what she wanted, wasn’t really what she was like. But now… God, he’s good! I haven’t been licked out like this since… since… When was it? Who was it? The parties and boys seemed to blur together. But wasn’t there someone, before? Someone I… I…

Ai… Aie… Aieee…” Monique suddenly noticed she was nearing orgasm, only a few minutes into it.

“Tell me, Monique,” William said, taking his mouth away from her nether regions just long enough to instruct her. “I want you to tell me how you come.”

Monique’s hips were churning now, her hands gripping her garters uselessly. “Ai… Maître... cela… sent si bon… ahhhhh… oui, Maître, oui…

Her thighs were clamping down now, threatening to crush William’s head in her involuntary vice. She barely felt his strong hands, pressing them apart, keeping her exposed, open, vulnerable, his. “Prends Monique… prends ton slave… incitez-l’à… à… ahh… je… je viens, Maître… Maître… Ma… ahhh… aaaaaaAAAAHHHHH!

And she was on her knees on the linoleum, still shuddering with after-spasms, her sight blotchy and blurred. William’s hands were on her neck, pulling her head roughly towards his erection. Monique dove onto it eagerly, suckling his hot member like a starving woman. Her lipstick smeared, adding an odd waxy taste, but she didn’t care anymore. She was a French maid, a sex-toy dressed up to tempt and tease and taunt, and William was her Master. She had already come twice today, came when and where and how he told her to, and he had watched her do it, watched her writhe and squeal and call him Master. She would play for him, with him, take it any way he wanted her to take it. She would suck him off, suck him dry, take that beautiful gorgeous delicious cock between her lips and thighs and asscheeks and make him come

She was sobbing again, the throes of a small but real orgasm making its way through her nervous system. Semen was everywhere: drooling from her lips, plastering her face, matting her hair. William’s seed. Her Master’s seed.

“Obedience becomes you, Monique,” he told her hoarsely, meeting her devoted gaze. “I’m going to take a shower now. Clean yourself up while I’m in. Brush your teeth, fresh makeup and panties, then meet me in the bathroom.” He watched her full lips smack lovingly around his shrinking cock, cleaning every trace of his sperm from it. “Slut,” he added, unnecessarily.

Oui, Maître. Votre slave obéit.” Monique smiled up at him, licking her lips. Your slave obeys.

* * *

Monique changed and freshened up briskly, and was ready with a towel when William emerged from the shower. She stole a long look as he dried himself vigorously, willingly risking potential punishment for this first chance to see her Master in the nude.

Come to think of it, he’s never seen me completely naked, either. I wonder why that is? Still… he’s pretty well-built. Oh, God, that cock… and he’s already getting hard again! His girlfriend is one lucky woman. Maybe as lucky as…

Monica cut herself off angrily from that thought. She wasn’t lucky, she was pretty damned unlucky! A sex-slave, however temporarily, was not a lucky thing to be.

So, a subversive voice asked, do you feel bad because he’s just using you for sex… or because it’s almost over? Monica had no answer to that.

“That was nice,” William told no one in particular. “Nothing like a good shower after a hot slut’s sucked you off.” He looked at the girl kneeling passively on the bathroom floor, awaiting his next order. “Except maybe fucking her lights out right afterward.”

He saw her sudden intake of breath, that erotic glow of red spreading from her neck that Monique always got when she was turned on. Doesn’t take much to get her motor running. But then, it never did. Gotta love a girl who starts creaming at a single-entendre.

“Go wait on the bed, Monique. Play with yourself until I get there.”

Oui, m’sieur, j’obéis.”

He gave her five minutes, taking his time before joining her. The coed was kneeling on the covers, masturbating shamelessly. Her eyes were half-closed, not even registering his arrival, and her lower lip pouted out in a muted moan of self-pleasure. “Cease,” he commanded. He was gratified by Monique’s near-instant obedience. Only the slightest look of disappointment marred her flushed features, quickly swept away by renewed excitement as her Master approached, untying his robe.

“On your back, feet on the floor.” Monique moved to comply, smiling unselfconsciously as William stood at the foot of the bed, poised to begin. He reached under her body, tugging her towards him, simultaneously dragging her rear up and off the bed and impaling her on his rock-hard penis.

“”Uhhhnnn!” Monique squealed. She tried to roll for support, but found she had next to no leverage at all. With her ass hanging out in space, she was almost completely unable to move, her shoulders more of a resting point than someplace to maneuver from. The helplessness merely added to her already keyed-up passions.

William let her hand in mid-air for a moment, silently relishing the scene. Monique was squirming deliciously on the end of his prick, transfixed. Every slutty nerve in her body must be screaming at her to let go now, to become wholly his. Her hyper-sexualized costume, her unquestioning obedience to him… her submission was like a drug to him, and his cock jerked stiffly inside her, eliciting another squeak of lust.

“Ankles behind my neck,” he told her, hitching her waist in closer to support her weight. The blowjob she’d given him earlier would buy him a little more stamina this time, but her capacity for getting him hard seemed unlimited. This was an interlude, he knew, a quickie of sorts. He’d fuck her selfishly, use her to get off quickly, so that later, when she… he put that out of his mind, not wanting to over-anticipate. “Then just hang on.”

“Oh… AH! Ah, ah, ah! Oh, oui, Maître… je suis a toi… ah…oui… ahm oui! Ahhhhh… je m’abandonne... je vous prie… bai… baisez… baizez-moi… OH! Ooohhhh… oui… oui…oui…

A very quick quickie, William amended mentally. With ‘Monique’ taking so naturally to the role of compliant sex doll, responding so exceptionally well to his caprices, he wouldn’t last long in her enthusiastic cunt. Half a day and she’s completely submitted. I didn’t expect her to fight it as much as the first time, but this… He looked down at the girl beneath him, gasping inarticulately now as he thrust in and out of her defenseless pussy. No complaint for her role since she put on the dress, and she’s obeyed every command since then. Maybe there’s a cumulative effect or something, that would explain it. Which means that she’ll do absolutely anything for that last picture. I’ll have to make sure she earns it twice as much as she will this one. He gripped her thighs tighter and pushed himself even deeper into her, half-expecting to see the head of his cock emerge from her throat.

By the time he’d spent himself, Monique had come twice, dissolving into a whimpering pool of lace and damp passion when he withdrew. “Go clean up and resume your chores,” he told her, tying his robe closed.

* * *

Late that evening, William made a room-by-room inspection of his apartment, Monique trailing behind. He observed the tidiness of the rooms, the dust-free surfaces, the polished wood and vacuumed floors. Every dish and pot was clean and put away, and she’d even brought order to his CD collection. He sat down on a chair in the living room and sipped the brandy she’d brought him while considered. His docile maid waited nervously at his side, hands clasped chastely behind her back.

He really had no reason to keep her here any longer, he knew. She’d cleaned flawlessly; he’d found nothing that would even serve as a pretext for having her remain. And he was tired; two vigorous orgasms had largely quenched his day’s lust for the busty blonde. A pity, I can’t… ah. Perfect. Something to get me going one more time, and make sure she knows her place. One last thing to do.

“I’m pleased with your service today, Monique,” he said aloud. “The apartment is adequately clean, and your… more personal services… have met my expectations, thus far. Well done.”

Merci, m’sieur.” Monique flushed into a low cursey, and William felt a familiar stirring below his belt at the splendid display.

Time to let the other shoe drop. “You’ve completed your day’s work. And so…” he let it hang in the air, watching a gratified smile spread across her shyly beautiful face. “…There’s just the matter of your recalcitrance earlier this week.”

As good an actress as Monica was becoming, (Is she acting?, William wondered), she couldn’t entirely conceal the swing her emotions took. Her sunny smile froze, then melted into a tight, uneasily neutral ‘servant’ look.

God, I love that look on her. She needs to learn that her happiness comes only as I grant it to her. “But in light of your satisfactory performance today, I’m inclined to be merciful.” He set down his snifter and moved his legs a little further apart. “Bend over and receive your punishment, Monique.”

Trembling, Monique complied. She seemed unsure of what to do with her hands, so William guided them the flipped-up lace hem of her skirt, having her hold it out of the way on the small of her back.

William savored the moment, hands lovingly caressing his pet’s yielding ass. He cupped a supple ass-cheek in one hand, marveling at its springy firmness as he released it. Folded over his lap, her heart-shaped derrière made an inviting target, just begging for his attentions.

Monique was using every ounce of self-control to keep from squirming in her Master’s lap, the tension mounting every second she waited for her chastisement. Finally he spoke.

“Twenty spankings on your behind, Monique. I want you to count each one out for me, loudly and distinctly. If I don’t hear you clearly enough to suit me, it doesn’t count. Do I make myself clear?”

O-oui, Maître. Je comprends.

SMACK! The first blow landed without warning, nearly dislodging Monique from William’s lap. “Uhh! Un!” she half-grunted, wincing at the stinging warmth. SMACK! “Duh-Duex!” SMACK! “T-trois!” SMACK! “Q-quatre!”

William methodically spanked Monique’s firm backside, alternating from cheek to delectable cheek. He loved the way her flesh rippled from each contact, the way she writhed erotically against his rising manhood as she took her undeserved punishment.

He stopped at ten, wanting to make her humiliation last. He brought his hand to his nose and inhaled. Smiling, he let his fingers trail down the lacy expanse of her panties to confirm what he already knew: even as she sobbed quietly, Monique was growing wet.

“The last two were a bit muffled,” he lied softly. “Could it be that you’ve decided to disobey me?”

Non, m’sieur! Votre slave est désolé!” she choked in distress. “Elle sera plus forte!

“See that you are,” he warned. “But if you genuinely want to please me, you’ll spice it up a little. I can do this all night.”

He was telling the truth, Monique knew. The tenth stroke had hurt as much as the first, and already her abused backside was tender and hot. And her willing debasement, literally at his hand, was arousing him; his erection lay iron-hard under her corseted stomach. My pain excites him, she thought. As much as it excites me.

SMACK! “O-Onze! Merci, Maître!” SMACK! “D-douze! Je suis désolé, Maître!” SMACK! “T-treize! Punissez-moi , Maître!” SMACK! “Qua-quatorze! Plus du, Maître!” SMACK! “Quinze! J’ai besoin…

Monique was hollering now, not caring who heard her. “Good,” William told her, leaving no square inch untouched. “Keep it up.”

SMACK! “Seize! Oui, faites-l’encore!” SMACK! “D-dix-sept! Je mérite…” SMACK! “Dix-huit… oui, encore…” SMACK! “Dix-neuf! Je suis votre putain…” SMACK! “Vingt!”

Monique was shaking against him now, her body shuddering in pain. No, not pain – when his fingers cupped her mound she thrust herself up onto his hand, pressing his fingers into her fleshy nest. She wasn’t shaking at all… the poor girl was humping his leg! “Why, you little slut,” he told her as he drew her off of his lap, flustered and panting. “Enjoyed it, did you?” Embarrassed beyond words, Monica stayed mute, not knowing what to say.

“Well then. Have you learned your lesson?”

Monica wanted to get away, to escape the thoughts and feelings admixed in her breast. Pain was crossing into pleasure, and she was thrilling at every smile, every crumb of praise he threw her way. She needed time, perspective, something. “Oui, m’sieur. C’était assez. J’ai appris ma leçon.”

There was a long pause, and Monique watched William’s face draw into an icy scowl. What had she said? What…

Oh, no. She opened her mouth to take it back, but the damage was done, and William was speaking.

“That’s enough, is it? You’ve learned your lesson?” He leaned forward angrily. “And are you the one to decide that, you stupid little strumpet?” he hissed.

Monique almost stepped backwards, fearing what he might do. “Non… non, Maître! Votre slave est tres désolé! Non…

“You will be sorry.” William sat back, untying his robe with one hand. “Stand directly in front of me, facing away.”

Monique moved quickly, seeing him pick up a tube of lubricating oil from the table next to his chair. He was hoping for this, she realized. Or planning on it. Either way… either way I… I want him to. I want this…

“Now,” William said, relish in his voice. “Sit on my lap.” Monique stepped back and maneuvered herself, taking his lube-slick cock in one manicured hand and guiding it towards her pussy, unprotected by the crotchless lace. Yessss…

“No, not there,” William said, lifting her up by the waist and repositioning her. He put the head of his penis at her rosebud and pressed against the tight gate. “This is not for your pleasure, slut.”

“Aaaaiiiiirrrruuuushhhh…” Monique hissed as he lowered her onto him, pushing himself into her tight sphincter. “Aie… aiiieeee, Maître… b-blesse…

“Yesss…” William crooned in her ear. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” He lowered her another half inch down, dragging another shudder-sigh of pain/pleasure from her. “Punishment… for you. Relax… and get it all in. You can go… when I’ve come…”

Monique took William’s hands in hers and lowered herself further down, biting her lips fiercely as she impaled herself. “Nnnnnn…” His advice was good; by relaxing and descending, then relaxing, then descending, she could make her way down his pole, little by little. “Ce n’est pas… aussi mauvais, Maître…

“Gooooddd…” William groaned. Her ass seemed to be rippling down his cock, inching along with a squeeze-and-release rhythm that would surely have done him in if not for their earlier exploits. As the girl was lowering herself, he saw no need to hold her waist any more, and let his hands slide up to tug her rock-hard nipples through her costume. Monique groaned back and dropped the last inch all at once, bringing a sigh from both partners.

Monique could scarcely breathe; she’d never felt so full before! No one had ever so much as dared ask permission to take her ass, and now she was giving it to William, letting his cock invade her innermost reaches, her last virginity. It was so obscene, so dirty, so… so good. She understood, without thinking about it any further, that her transformation was complete: she was William’s whore, and she would do absolutely anything he wanted her to. Anything.

As if to show him her acceptance, she leaned forward in his lap, gripping his thighs for support while squeezing with everything she had. William moaned in approval, and she began rocking him towards orgasm, buried to the hilt between her cheeks. She was his slave, his cocktoy, and she would give him everything she had to show him she understood that, at last.

J’obéis, Maître, j’obéis,” she breathed. “Baisez-moi, je vous prie… oui…je suis ton slave…et je… j’obéis…

William sat back, unable to move against Monique’s efforts. Two minutes ago she’d been sobbing as he paddled her ass, and one minute ago she’d cried out as she penetrated herself on her Master’s cock. Now she was cooing to him, urging him with body and voice to violate her, to fuck her, to come in her, to own her. It was the breakdown he’d been hoping and waiting for, the moment when she discovered and admitted her true purpose.

“Does… it hurt?” he asked her quietly, fingers mauling her breasts.

M… me blesse” she admitted, panting. “Vous êtes… si grand… et je suis si… serré…

“Play with yourself,” he commanded between labored breaths. “You have my permission… to come like this.”

Oui… oui, Maître… j’obéis…” She straightened up and let her legs pump her body up and down, leaning forward on the up, back on the down. Freed of the necessity of holding her weight, her fingers flew to her dripping snatch, plunging inside with a flurry driven by her need for release. Her vision faltered, the fireplace seeming to strobe in and out of her sight.

J’obéis… j’obéis... j’obéis…” Monique repeated the word with each thrust of her hips, with each rock of her body. “J’obéis… j’obéis... j’obéis…” William’s cock felt enormous, painful and unsettling and wonderfully fulfilling… “J’obéis… j’obéis... j’obéis…

Monica fell asleep on the ride back to her dorm, exhausted. He handed her bag to her impatiently and drove off, leaving her to wave and thank him in French. It was only once he was out of sight that she realized she was still dressed in her remarkable uniform. She hurried on tired legs upstairs, locking the door and nearly collapsing onto her bed, sore and giddy. She slept for eight dreamless hours straight before she even stirred.

* * *

Fifth Exposure – Pin Up

It’s the last time. One more time, and you’re done with M… with William forever.

Monica was standing in her bedroom, arms hugging her sides protectively. A week had gone by since her domestic experience, long enough to look forward to getting the fifth picture. Whether it was anxiousness to see it done, or to see him again, she refused to let herself think about, any more than she thought about what thought made her come every time she masturbated. She was in the middle of a traumatic experience, that was all; she could hardly be blamed for looking to find a bright side, could she? So if picturing herself serving William did it for her, that was only to be expected, right? Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t find it erotic at all, fantasizing about her abject slavery, her servile body craving his touch. About worshipping his cock, making him come, obeying

Stop it. You’re not a whore. She hugged herself tighter, looking at the bed. You’re not his slave. You’re just doing what you have to do, that’s all. One more time, and you’re done.

The box looked unimpressed. It sat malevolently on her bed, unopened. It had come with a note, her final instructions. Monica could almost hear William’s voice when she’d first read it.

Monica – Your last picture. Can’t you just feel the tension? I know I can. After meeting ‘Monique’, it’s hard to wait, but I want it to be just right, you know? So clear your schedule for Saturday. I expect you to be fully shaven from the neck down, showered, made up nice, and hair in a braided ponytail. Don’t open the box until 9AM. When you do, wear everything included inside, put on a coat, and wait for me. I’ll be along to pick you up soon after. After this, your debt is paid in full.

– William

The clock struck nine. Hands trembling, Monica opened the box, and began to dress.

* * *

Monica sat on her bed, waiting. One gloved hand idly dusted at her thigh, brushing away a speck of powder she could only feel. It was strange, not being able to feel your own skin; the latex seemed to glide over her flesh with a warm intimacy that was as sensual as it was alien. Blindfolded, trench coat wrapped around her body, she wondered what she would look like when William came to get her.

A harlot. You look like a harlot. Appropriate, really. The outfit hadn’t been to hard to get into, much to her relief – nothing like the maid’s costume she’d donned last time. No, nothing like that at all. That had been silk and lace, all fantasy and elegance. There was nothing elegant about her current clothing, if you could call it that.

The blue latex hot pants had been hard to get into, even though the zipper ran from front to back, letting her put in on it two pieces if she’d wished. She’d struggled for a while before noticing the accompanying directions; once she’d read them and dusted herself with a good amount of baby powder, they slid into place and zipped up easily, a shiny second skin that left nothing to the imagination. The smooth material hugged every nook and cranny, and her ‘camel toe’ was prominently displayed through the ultra-thin, ultra-tight shorts. Underwear was totally unnecessary, and probably would have spoiled the effect.

The matching high-heels were punishingly high – Monica guessed them at four inches, far higher than she was used to. Any step would be a cautious, tottering one, hard to walk in but riveting to watch. The spiked blue leather collar was oversized, obviously meant to be worn as a loose accessory than anything else. The elbow-length blue latex gloves needed a liberal dose of baby powder to go on, but at least they kept the cold steel of the handcuffs away from her skin. No key had been provided.

The boy-sized t-shirt was the final insult, no doubt included to remove any doubt as to her role today. The word ‘Whore’ on the front was bent almost unrecognizably out of shape by her breasts distorting the cotton fabric. Taking that as her cue, she’d overapplied her makeup, guessing what use she’d be put to soon. Nothing tender or playful this time, she guessed.

She was right on time; less than a minute passed from when she’d put on her coat to when she heard the front door unlocking, and a man’s footfalls approach her. The blindfold, the last accessory she’d put on, prevented her from knowing for sure who it was, but who else would stride in like he owned the place, come right to her where she sat?

“Gorgeous,” he breathed. “I love seeing you at your slutty best.” He took her by one manacled hand, and led her to the door. “Come on. Let’s make the most of the day.”

Monica had to fight a smile. She was already wet.

* * *

From the length of the car ride and the unsteady walk indoors, Monica assumed she was back at her Master’s apartment. He’d led her by the arm, cuffed and cold, and she’d barely had time to shed her coat before his hand was pressing firmly on her shoulder, guiding her to her knees. Monica gave her Master head there and then, not even sure whether or not he’d shut the door. For all she knew, he’d driven in a circle, and she was now blowing him in the hallway of her own dorm, handcuffed wrists eagerly working his shaft into her over-lipsticked mouth.

There was a short break, just long enough for her to be moved to another room. Warmer, with softer carpet. Monica’s hands were uncuffed, then recuffed behind her back. Again pushed to her knees, she crawled up to what felt like the foot of a bed, between someone’s thighs. His cock was already up and damp with pre-cum, and Monica set to it with a will. It wasn’t until she heard the grunts and pants heralding his approaching climax that it occurred to her that it might not be William’s cock she was sucking on. She didn’t stop until the last gush had swirled down her hungry throat.

She was left alone for a while after that, with no way of knowing how much time had passed. Eventually she was brought into another room and hauled into position, standing with her arms suspended behind her and over her head by something or other. Nipple clips flared into painful life, the cold slack of the chain curving just above her pudendum. She stood awhile, nipples hardening into throbbing pellets, until someone took pity on her and began licking the torrent flowing down her thigh. Unseen hands unzipped her shorts part-way, and a tongue buried itself in her grateful snatch. Her licker tugged on the chain from time to time as he worked, sending Monica spiraling deliciously across the indistinct pleasure/pain line. She came quickly the first time. The second time took longer, dragged out by her unidentified master of cunnilingus.

The third time he’d worked a finger into her ass as well, and Monica realized how lonely it had been. Her entreaty for more attention there only earned her a ball gag, and she moaned uselessly to herself until her climax arrived. Moments after coming, she was bent over something soft, wrists shackled to her ankles, being taken from behind. She was already halfway to another orgasm when her lover switched targets, gloriously fucking her ass from behind until he came, several minutes after she did.

Pulled to her feet, Monica was next bound face-up on the bed, spread-eagled. Her ball gag was replaced with a ring gag, forcing her teeth apart, and her nether regions were carefully wiped and fingered to arousal again. A dildo slid into her vagina, then a smaller one in her ass, and her hot pants were carefully re-zipped before the tools came alive inside her, vibrating in place. Her Master left her alone like that for an hour or so: blindfolded, bound, and silently coming her brains out.

It was a long day, and Monica didn’t mind at all.

* * *


“Here you go. The last picture.”

Monica took the eight by ten from William tiredly, sagging in the frame of her apartment door. She’d been at his place until evening, when he finally removed the blindfold and took her home. She felt like she was covered in semen and dried sweat; no orifice was left untouched, and she’d lost count of the orgasms well before lunch. Her mouth and jaw ached, the product of several different gags, not to mention being her Master’s method of choice for re-arousing himself. For all she knew, she’d serviced several men; he hadn’t said, and Monica couldn’t bring herself to ask. What difference did it make at this point, anyway?

But it was done. The last incriminating picture, ending the longest month of her life. She glanced at the image: herself riding some frat boy’s cock reverse cowboy style, holding her breasts. It looked almost innocent, contrasted to what she’d done to get it back. She crumpled it and smiled lopsidedly at William.

“Want a cup of java before you go?” she heard herself ask. All she wanted was sleep, but somehow… somehow, she didn’t want it to end, not yet. Not like this. She had something to say, some way of making it all right…

“Sure.” He walked in and seated himself in the kitchen, waiting patiently until Monica had made the coffee and poured it for them both. “Did you want to say something?”

A hundred things. Monica searched, trying to nail down the thoughts that raced through her head. After a long silence, she’d only been able to pin down one, and she went with it before she lost it again. “Why?”

“Hmm.” William sipped his coffee. “A long story. The short version is, revenge.”

Monica frowned. “Revenge? But we’ve never… never…”

“It was about two years ago. A beautiful girl, a spoiled brat in the body of a woman. Way out of my league, but she liked my attention and my money. But you never see these things, when you’re in love, you know? My friends warned me, her friends warned me, but I didn’t want to know.” He sighed, taking another sip. “By the time I suspected something, it was too late. I went to her place to confront her, and she wasn’t alone. We fought, for a while. She told me I’d known what I was getting into, that I’d brought it onto myself for being naive. That she was through with me, and I’d best get used to it. Then she kissed the poor guy she’d been cheating on me with that night – one of several, as it turned out – and told me ‘Take a picture; it’ll last longer than we will.’”

Monica struggled to comprehend. “But… but…”

William continued as if he hadn’t heard. “It took a while to get over it. I couldn’t put her out of my mind, but I couldn’t forget her either. I loved her… and hated her. And that’s what gave me the idea. The plan. To make her suffer, to make her pay me back for all the time she stole from me. For every time she’d cheated on me, for every cock she’d sucked while I thought she was in bed studying, or with a headache… for each one, I’d fuck her the way I’d always wanted to.”

He smiled strangely. “It took a while to get everything in place, but eventually I found a way. I won’t bore you with the details; let’s just say it wasn’t easy, but it was worth it. I erased her memories of me and let her go on with her vapid existence, watching her from afar to see if she’d notice. She didn’t. I hit on her in class, and she acted like she’d never met me before in her life, even let me feel her up on the drive home. When we got there, I said the keywords that would make her my slave for the night.”

He chuckled to himself. “It was perfect. I fucked her stupid, letting my frustration fuel me. And the next day she walked right by me without recognizing me at all. Two days later I did it again. The next week she blew me in the men’s room between classes, and gave me a strip tease slash lap dance slash sixty-nine that weekend. I was using the Kama Sutra as a check-list for new ways to have her, because the hottie who’d fucked me over was now putting out as often as I asked her to, would do anything I told her to. Anything at all.”


He continued as if he hadn’t heard. “The twelfth time she thought she was prostituting her way through college, and she propositioned me on the quad in an outfit that would make a hooker blush. That weekend I brought a camera with me, and we played ‘Porn Star Tryout’ till the wee hours. The shots were crude, but sexy as fucking hell. And that was when I realized they could be more than just mementos.”

Monica’s mouth suddenly went dry.

William saw her expression and nodded, grinning evilly. “That’s right. They became my pretext for blackmailing you. With the posthypnotic suggestion, you’d do whatever I wanted – but where’s the punishment in that? I wanted you to suffer, Monica, to pay off your debt in humiliation. I thought about pimping you out, but that seemed dangerous. No, blackmail was better. You’d fuck me, and hate it – but you wouldn’t stop. You’d do it over and over, coming every time, telling yourself it was just to get off the hook, telling yourself you’re not a slut, even as the evidence stares you in the face. You haven’t even asked about the negatives yet, for example.”

Monica started to rise, but was stopped by a gesture. “Sit and listen.” She sat back down.

“So I had her ignore the camera, making for perfect candid shots. I’d fuck you, and print off a nice big copy of one for next time. A month ago, I ‘blackmailed’ you into pulling a train at a frat-house party. Not here, don’t worry; I doubt anyone recognized you but me. But they sure as hell will if they ever see you again; you were pretty popular by the end of the night. Nice guys; they were more than happy to let me shoot as many pictures as I wanted. You should see the rest of my collection, especially once I get this last set developed. You could put together one hell of a portfolio, if you didn’t mind the triple-X rating. That, and if you were able to remember it.”

Monica struggled for air, lightheaded. “How… how many…”

William shrugged. “Under hypnosis, you told me you’d cheated on me sixty-eight times, all told. Sixty-eight times I swallowed your lies, and sixty-eight times you abused my trust. Or did you mean, how many times to go? Well, with today made it twenty-five times, so you’ve only got forty-three more to go.”

“Forty-three times…”

“Right. Not even halfway there, yet. Sounds like a lot, doesn’t it? A lot of tears, a lot of regret, a lot of shame… for you. For me, it sounds like forty-three slices of Heaven. Forty-three times I get to act out my darkest fantasies with you. I haven’t even really gotten started yet, daddy’s girl; just wait ‘till you start getting some things pierced! Oh, I’ve got plans, all right. You’re going to make the Whore of Babylon look like a prude.”

He smirked at her, leering evilly. “I’ll use the cheesiest pickup lines I can think of on you in a bar and be in your panties within an hour. I’ll give you a three AM booty call and have you show up wearing an overcoat and a smile. You’ll decide I’m the perfect guy to help you act out your weekend-long rape fantasy. Forty-three more times.”

He smirked again. “On the upside, you won’t remember them. Unless, at the end, I’m still feeling vindictive. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, right?”

Monica was crying now. William let her go on a while, allowing her a few minutes of misery before interrupting.

“Monica.” She looked up. “‘I’ll always love you,’” he quoted, emphasizing ‘always’.

He waited as Monica’s breathing settled down, became shallow and regular. Her eyes dulled over, unfocused, and her body lost the rigidity she’d been carrying since she had sat down. He sipped his coffee quietly until she spoke. “Ready, Master.”

“Good. You will forget about your activities with me this month, and prepare for new instructions.” What to do next, he wondered. Midterms were coming up, and he wasn’t about to flunk out just because he was in the middle of revenge. Monica would wait as long as it took, given periodic ‘refresher’ inductions. He was firm about the number though. Sixty-eight times in all, no more, no less.

Maybe just ‘Monique’ once a week until exams are done; she did a really good job, and fell into the part as naturally as I’ve ever seen her. That just may be her true calling in life…

He stood and yawned, stretching contentedly. Still, her fucking’s become world-class. She was such a terrible lay when we were dating, so self-centered. Once she was done, she was done. Not at all like now. He grinned sleepily. Now she’s done when I say she is.

He took looked around Monica’s apartment until he located a Tori’s Secret catalogue. He returned with it to the kitchen table where Monica sat impassively and began paging through it, looking for ideas. That goth-y thing went well; I wonder how hard it would be to get her into a threesome? Probably not very… I’ll have to go back to The Smoky Mirror and see what ‘Rose Red’ thinks… Hmm. Halloween is coming, and that has a lot of potential… maybe I should do an ‘all costume’ month? Wow, that’d be hot. She did so well as a French maid… I’ll have to reinforce that fantasy, that one’s a keeper…

Finding a phone book, he called an ‘adult novelty’ store and placed several orders for costumes in her size, all on her charge card. Come October, she would be the proud owner and primary model for a number of new outfits, and she’d cater to a new fantasy every time she put one on. Not her fantasy, necessarily, but that was hardly his problem.

Slutty schoolgirl… a short-skirted Supergirl, complete with Kryptonite choker… a bondage-freak policewoman… the silent, submissive harem slave... the exhibitionist Girl Scout… tail-wagging fuck-bunny… Life was good.

“Monica,” he said aloud. “Let’s begin. From now on, you will have persistent sexual fantasies of being an oversexed French maid, seductive and submissive. You will tell no one of these fantasies, but you will masturbate thinking about it at least once a week. You will also find yourself checking out other girls, noticing them sexually for the first time. You will be ashamed of these feelings, but the thought of sleeping with women will begin to get you as aroused…”

Monica took it all in.

* * *