Zippers

PART 24

 

 

I immediately swallowed my pride, fixed my gaze on my Mistress and tried to think like the girl in the video had perhaps done. I tried to imagine that I was desperately horny. I knew that I had to ooze confidence and throw myself into it; it really was an ‘all or nothing’ walk. I took a deep breath and then twisting on one foot, I slowly stepped my other leg forward. My bare skin was on full display from the very top of my thigh to the white plastic of my high heels. I was such a whore. I stepped down so that I would put one foot almost in front of the other; the height from my heels exaggerating the swing and forcing a sinuous, filthily debauched, writhing from my hips as I moved.  

 

I tried to keep it smoulderingly sexy and focussed on my Mistress. I kept my mouth slightly gaping and the shame of my busting cleavage pushed out crassly towards her. While I did this, my hands started to move on my body. I felt like the girl in the film now, a depraved ‘cum-slut’, and I knew I had to play the part as well as possible.

 

She was smiling at me as I glided across the room to her.

 

‘Good’ she nodded keenly ‘very good slut! Keep that going, and work those hands up to those tits! Show me how much you love them!’

 

I swallowed quickly, burying the urge to dissolve into tears one more time. I worked my hands up until I held handfuls of my own inflated breasts. By this time I was standing right in front of her. She giggled at my earnest display, I blushed intensely; I could never win with her.

 

‘Good slut’ she said as she stood up.

 

She stood just slightly taller than me, in spite of the height of my heels.

 

‘One more thing before you hit the road’

 

She walked out, leaving me standing there. I had so feared having to go out again.

 

I heard her in the bedroom and then she walked into the kitchen. I heard the banging of pans and the tap running and then some quiet movement. I stood, alone, dressed like a prostitute, in my own living room. I tentatively tried to pull the jacket edges closer together, to try and cover myself a little more. It was totally futile; the jacket was too small for that. So I just stood there, nervously working my balance from shoe to shoe.

 

After several minutes Vivienne came back in. I could hear water boiling on the stove in the kitchen.

 

‘You are going to be so hot tonight slut’ she purred mischievously.

 

I dared not even turn round as I heard her walk up behind me. I felt the chain from my bag and then she spun me round to face her. She was looking straight into me, I had to look down. She took the chain again, this time from the front, and led me forwards.

 

‘Go to the bedroom and sit at your table’

 

 

 

In no time, Vivienne had me watching in the mirror as she carefully, one by one, started to remove the studs from my ears. Each one was sore and I could see, as she placed each one on my dressing table, the specks of dried blood on the pins. I counted all six out of each ear as I sat there motionless, nervously watching her careful movements.

 

She went back to the kitchen and soon returned with one of my pans and a small bottle; clearly something that she had brought herself. She placed the pan down on the table and then reached into it. I could see her grinning as she pulled out the first, and largest, of my new matching earrings. My heart groaned, silently.

 

She just hummed a little to herself as she wiped the pin of the earring with some of her antiseptic and then moved towards my ear. I felt a sting from the alcohol and an aching as she pushed the metal through the young piercing; then she clipped the bar onto its fastening. I watched in misery as she returned her hand to the pan and the hideous ornament continued to hang from me.

 

Within a few seconds, she was hanging the ‘next size down’ earring in the piercing above on the same ear. It was all I could do to sit still and tolerate the humiliation without reacting. I resisted protesting and I tried my hardest to not give in and give her the pleasure of seeing how I really felt. I watched helplessly as she gradually set all the earrings in place. To my horror, I saw the brazen tart, my perfect ‘slut alter-ego’ starting to emerge in the mirror. The nightmare concept-woman that I had always despised but had only fully conceived of and crystallised that day at the café, was now coming into fruition.

 

When she had finished, to ‘rub my face in it’, she made me make some of my ‘slut faces’ into the mirror. She made me turn my head to the sides as I did them, to show off my new earrings. She had me licking the air in front of me, ‘wishing for some cock’ as she put it, deliberately rocking my head a little to make the obscene amount of gold dangle and sway in my ears. She told me to push my breasts out more. I felt a crushing wave of panic envelope me as she returned from the kitchen with another yoghurt. She made me practice my ‘party trick’ with my earrings and newly inflated breasts. With her eyes fixed on me, every second of it was torture.

 

I tried my best to put on a good show for her. As she laughed and taunted me, calling me her ‘ultimate whore’ and a ‘desperate cum slut’, all I wanted to do was to crawl under my bed-sheets, hide and grasp one of my teddies. I wanted to wish myself away; to another place or another time.

 

My fear only continued to rise when she handed me a bottle of lubricant and told me to make sure I was fit to deliver ‘pussy services’. In abject humiliation, as she watched me, I hitched up my skirt and rubbed a generous amount of the warm, oily liquid onto my folds and deep into myself. I tried my best not to be churlish as I did it. God knows I had never been sunk to such depths before!

 

‘Your assignment will test your sluttish abilities today Anita’ Vivienne finally spoke.

 

Her tone was neutral and instructive and on this occasion, that worried me. If she was going to merely expose me, as I was, I’m sure she would have been a lot less pleasant with me; she would have taunted me.

 

‘You are going to do your first ‘double’ today’

 

I looked at her in the mirror.

 

‘You are going to get a man off, twice; once with your mouth and once with your cunt’

 

I saw her smile at the pleading expression that took to my face.

 

‘It’s an excellent way of testing your technique. A man will come practically immediately when confronted by such a sexy slut as you. Make no mistake slave, you look like you have come straight out of a man’s wank-fantasy’

 

I blushed.

 

‘But the second come is more difficult as he has just been spent. It will be a measure of your technique and skills. It will test your ability to please him, to excite him’

 

I wanted to cry

 

‘If you fail to get him off twice in, oooooh….say……twenty-five minutes, then there will be a punishment session waiting for you when you get back, a….lengthy one….Its just as simple as that slut’

 

I felt like I was going to pass out.

 

‘Now don’t fret’ she laughed, reaching out to me and holding my cheek ‘you can do that, Anita, believe me when I tell you this; but you’ll have to use your sluttish wiles. You’ll have to use all the things you’ve learnt today, your face, your walk, your party trick, your dance moves as you slide up and down him, anything you like’

 

She was smiling and stroking me, almost fondly, like she wanted me to succeed.

 

‘I don’t care. Just make sure he gets off twice’

 

Her smile faded.

 

‘I’m making it easy as well; he’s already a client of yours’