Willing Victim 4

By Succubus

A message was on my machine when I came in from classes today.  The flashing red light raised my hopes as I dropped my bundle of books and bag in a heap on the hallway floor.  I pushed a strand of hair out of my eye and pushed the button, hoping to hear His voice.  At once, the rough and smooth tones of His voice filled the room.  I felt a stirring inside of me, a slight throb in my cunt, and wondered for the millionth time how the hell He had gotten so deep inside of me.

“Wear red, and be early.  Paradigm, 8:00 o clock…Look like the slut that you are.”

I played it four times before bothering to move.  I felt heavy when I stepped away.

I stepped into the shower, my mind on the night ahead.  I was certain I had chores I needed to do, work, but I couldn’t think of a single thing.  My mind was wrapped around the question of “what next?”  I slid the soap across my skin, picturing Him watching me.  I closed my eyes as my fingers slid inside of me, just as I would do if He were here—If He were watching.

I shook off my daydreams and urged myself on.  He had said to be early, which meant He wanted me there, waiting for Him, when He arrived.  And I would be.

  I’d thrown out most of my old make-up; I only wore what He bought for me these days.  Even the act of stopping for gas in lipstick that I wear because it marks me as an owned slut carries with it a small sexual thrill.  In a million such ways was I coming to understand slavery.  To be owned, fully:  Body, mind and soul. 

The black around the eyes, the shine of blood red lips: both were prerequisite.  Perfume between each thigh, behind the knees, in the hollow of my neck.  I could feel my pussy, wet once more, inside the little silk panties.  I slid on the tiny red slip of a dress.  I turned to scrutinize myself in the mirror.  With the slightest bend forward, the bottom curve of my ass became visible.  I slipped on the high-heeled sandals and looked once more at my reflection.  He’d love it.

My stomach churned slightly, my head buzzed with nerves, as I stepped into the car.  I don’t remember any of the drive to the restaurant, but rather, I was surprised to see the building before me.  I had been in a daze of anticipation, my mind stuck on Him again.  I spent more and more time there.

I shook slightly, wondering if the soft breeze showed my ass, my nerves in a riot, my legs stressing from the sandals.  I felt the eyes of the men on the street upon me as a wave of warmth across my skin.  They may not have known it, but their eyes felt like fire.

The hostess gave me a look of superiority, summing me up in her mind as a “slut”, which was fine with me, for meanwhile I was summing her up as shallow and ignorant. The waiter looked me up and down with a grin upon his face, before turning to show me to a table. 

Finally I felt a small piece of comfort, of safety, ensconced in a corner booth, plants arranged about me, hiding me from the heavy stares of the customers.  I ordered a bottle of wine as directed, but drank none, waiting instead for my Master to come for me.

It was after 8 when he arrived, but of course, that was his prerogative.  I kissed his hand, and a slow blush crept up my face as I caught a man at the table across from us staring at me.   James saw it too and smiled.  His hand slid obviously across my breast, and down beneath the table, creeping across my mound.  My cheeks burned brighter and I cast my eyes down to the floor. 

My Master was aware of my embarrassment.  He placed one finger at my chin and pulled my face up.  “Look at him,” He ordered.  A flood of desire washed across my body with His words.  Slowly I turned my eyes upward once more.

The man was staring at me as though he’d never seen anything like this in his life.  I felt the flush of red slide across my chest and wash up my face.  I could hardly see the man; it took every single effort I had to look him in the eyes.  I felt utterly humiliated, but still I could feel the wetness of my own panties. 

James pushed his fingers against my cunt, his touch no longer soft and gentle.  He pinched at the folds of my pussy through my panties.  Leaning towards me, he whispered “slut” into my ear.  My body started to shake. 

I was desperate, trying to control my face, my body, trying to remain still and quiet so that at least no one else would see my utter debasement.  As James forced his fingers past my panties and deep into my snatch, I lost my battle.  I shook and bit my lip, stifling slightly my cry of pleasure.  James plunged his fingers into me, fucking at me with one, then two. 

My eyes were barely slits as I stared at the man.  He had become a lifesaver to me, a piece of a raft as I floated in a sea of my own passion.  I saw the heat in his eyes, felt the lust in this man.  I loved feeling that, loved knowing a man would like nothing more than to use every inch of me.

Slowly James withdrew his fingers from me.  I held the man’s gaze for a second more, and then looked quickly to the ground.  As I came back to earth, I became aware of my shame, of my defeat.  But then, that had been the entire point.  James poured us each a glass of wine as though nothing whatsoever had happened.   I looked down at my fingers and tried to breath normally. 

The waiter arrived, leering as ever, his eyes now fixed firmly upon my breasts.  I knew I made James proud, I knew I was the slut He wanted me to be.  The fact that my desire was returning so quickly—as though it had had no release—was proof enough. 

James ordered for the both of us and I smiled—he always ordered my favorites.  When the waiter walked off with our orders, James said to me: “I do believe he liked your breasts, my dear.  When he comes back, you really ought to show them to him.  You shouldn’t be a tease, a slut like you:  turning men on then not giving them satisfaction.  So that’s what I expect.  When he returns with the food, you will lower the top of your dress and show the poor guy your tits.  Are we clear?”

I shuddered as I heard these words.  But I can’t! —I thought.  There’s no way I would have the nerve to do this.  One pleading look at James told me there would be no mercy in that corner.  He sat with a stern look upon his face.  “Yes, Sir,” I replied like the obedient little slut I knew I was.

My throat went dry with fear as I saw the waiter turning back towards our table.  My stomach flipped and flopped.  I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.  Closer he came, just a few tables away.  My heart was racing, stuck inside my throat.  I stared down at the napkin on the table before me.  Before I realized it, my own hands were doing it:  the straps of my dress were sliding across my shoulders.  One big swallow and shakily the dress lowered, exposing first one, then the other breast.

The waiter stopped in his tracks as if he had been burnt.  He looked behind him, where his boss and the rest of the staff worked, then back towards me.  I stared harder at the napkin, willing myself to have an out-of-body experience.  The waiter’s smile grew huge as he approached.  He positioned himself between the rest of the room, thankfully blocking me from the stares of more people.

“Nice tits, lady,” he said and I had to chuckle a little.  A quick slap at one of my breasts stopped my laughter in its tracks. 

“Remember your manners, slut,” James murmured in my ear.  I shuddered again, always responsive to His voice.  “Now touch your breast, whore, touch them for this waiter.  Show him what a slut you really are.”

My face burned deep red at his words.  I was trembling all over now.  A tear slipped from one eye and I felt so exposed, so raw.  I needed to hide, to cover myself, I need to hide my own arousal, but He would never let me.  Slowly I slid my hands across my breasts, gently caressing their curves. 

“Pinch them for us, dear, pinch those nice nipples.  We see how hard they are getting, we know how turned on you are,” James said to me, his words breaking loose a flood inside of me.  My thighs squeezed of their own accord; I was acutely aware of how empty my cunt was.  I was desperate.  Roughly, I pinched at my own nipples, hurting myself for His pleasure. 

I heard them both chuckling at me, amused.  Another tear slid down my cheek and I felt so wretched, so pathetic.  James slid his hand across my cunt beneath the table and still, despite my torment, it felt like shock of electricity.  He leaned across and pulled up the front of my dress, covering my breasts once more.  I stared at that napkin still, my face stained red perhaps forever in my shame. 

I stayed this way for the most part, as dinner was brought and eaten, as dessert came and went.  I was hurt, I’d decided, James had been mean.  He’d teased me too hard.  And I wanted to cry—I was merely waiting to leave the restaurant to do so.  I followed His every order, of course—I had to:  He was still the entire center of my universe.  But so much greater is the pain when the pain comes from that center.

I sulked all the way out the door.  James seemed not to notice, that or He was ignoring my mood, my temper.  I was wrapped up in feeling sorry for myself.  He led me away from the restaurant.

I started realizing that He was leading me down a dark alleyway.  My pace started to slow uncomfortably.  He turned to me, and I could see He was angry with me.  Fear sprang inside my gut for the very first time.  I had displeased him.  And here I was, alone, in a dark alleyway, with Him and all His strength.  And his property, completely, no less.

“James?” I questioned, the tremble of my legs obvious in my voice.  He stopped, and turned to me, His eyes cold and hard.

His hand came back quickly, and the sting of a slap hit my cheek before I knew what was happening.  I cried out from the blow, confused.  Roughly James pushed at me, turning me in His strong arms, manhandling me, until I was pressed against the rough brick wall of the alleyway, his body hard and unyielding behind me. 

He held me there, for a moment, paused.  I felt His cock, already hardening in His pants, pressing against my ass; I felt the roughness of the wall before me as it scrapes against my breasts; I felt the heat of His breath against my ear, and I was undone once more.  Warmth and wetness spread through my cunt.  Beyond my will, a gasp flew from my lips.     

“That’s right, MY slut, you little whore,” He whispered into my ear.  I felt Him fumbling at His belt, the buckle sharp as it scratched against my ass.  He pulled my panties aside and thrust himself up into my cunt.  A moan tore from my throat as His heat sunk deep inside of me.

He chuckled and I heard Him say, “You’re wet as hell, you piece of trash.  You like this, don’t you, you just want to be used, that’s all my little whore wants.”

And He was so right.  I felt my cunt throb against Him.  The heat of His cock was incredible as it stabbed into me.  I cried out into the night.  My pleasure grew; the tears now rolled freely down my face as I felt my orgasm nearing. 

He pulled my hair back, yanking at my head, His cock fucked up into me mercilessly.  Heat washed through me, a liquid heat, as I came.  My juices coated his cock; they slid down his balls.  My cunt squeezed at Him, milked Him, as I screamed out in my pleasure. 

His cry was guttural as He pumped his seed deep inside of me.  I shook, my cheek pressed against the dirty brick, my eyes fixed on a pile of garbage lying in a heap before me, and I am demolished.  I turn and look back at James, and think to myself:  “I might just be falling in love.”

“Better, little one?”  He asked me.  I could only nod and smile, my happiness obvious as He laughed. 

He wrapped His jacket around my shoulders to keep out the cold night—and to hide the stains that now covered the little red dress.  His arm was big and strong around me, I felt safe inside of it, beside Him.  I was His, completely, and every moment He taught me what it meant to be a slave.   I felt slavish in my devotion as we walked on through the night.