CHAPTER ONE

**Tiffany and David meet for her first humiliation in a restaurant.**

Tiffany looked at me, her big, dark, almond-shaped eyes staring at me over the rim of the glass. It was her third glass of water -- lukewarm, no ice -- and she drank it in one long draw. Then, she set the glass on the table and lowered her eyes.

"Does that please you...Sir?" she said softly. There was just the slightest hint of anger in her voice.  I smiled. It was silly, it still felt awkward, but it was feeling less awkward every time she said it.

"Yes, it does," I said nonchalantly. "Now, eat."

I took another slice of the veal and she poked her fork in her rice. After a few minutes, I noticed she wasn't eating.

"You're not hungry?"

She looked at me and I knew immediately I'd said the wrong thing, shown possible signs of weakness. I recovered quickly. In a harsh but controlled voice, I said, "I asked you a question. Hands down and answer."

Tiffany slowly lowered her hands to her lap, one over the other, palms up. "Yes, Sir."

"Now, I asked you, 'are you hungry?'. Are you?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're not eating."

"My stomach is feeling a big queasy, Sir."

"Eat," I said and looked down at my plate. It worked, she picked up her fork and started slowly nibbling at the rice and vegetables.

The first hour had been like that, starts and stops.

I got to the restaurant at five and she was there, exactly as arranged. I have to admit I was a little unsure what to expect, the photos she'd sent could have been of a younger Tiffany, retouched, or even of a girlfriend. But any doubts I had quickly vanished. In person, she was every bit as pretty as her pictures. It was her.

She was sitting at a table for two near a wall in the front of the restaurant. An untouched glass of white wine was centered exactly on the table in front of her, her white-gloved hands folded palms up in her lap. I stared for a while before walking over, drinking in how sexy she looked. No, more than sexy. There was something classic and iconic about her. Something classic in a cool and clean kind of way.

Tiffany was an Asian-American graduate student at USC -- half Thai and half Korean to be exact. She said she was twenty-two years old and I believed her. Her hair was long and straight, raven black, and hung down to her shoulder blades. Her bangs were cut straight across and her hair straight again in back. It looked almost like a plastic sculpture of some kind. She was about 5 foot 6 and very slim. I'm not good at guessing weights but she was on the light side of "appropriate for her height". Her dress was form-fitting and white, so tight I could tell she had nothing underneath. The only break in those lines were the small indentations where the elastic held the thigh-high stockings in place. The dress ended just below the knees. I'd given quite a bit of thought to that aspect of her uniform. I considered an ankle length sheath, a visual reminder to me of her Asian heritage. I  imagined handcuffs holding her ankles close, enforcing that Geisha walk. I know that's Japanese, not Thai but I was never much turned on by Asian women anyway so I was grabbing for anything that might work for me.

She, on the other hand, probably would have preferred a just-covering-the-ass outfit. One thing I'd learned over the months of emails, photos, and online chats, was that this woman was very, very proud of her body. Photo after photo showed her out with her friends, her skirt always a little bit shorter, her bathing suit a bit more revealing, her heels just a bit higher. She over-sexualized herself, used the brightest red lipstick and darkest eye shadow, lips always pouting, eyelashes fluttering, bottom sticking out bending over a table to kiss a boyfriend. It turned me on until she told me she was a virgin.

That was the first time things really turned for me. That was when I decided to go through with the blackmail. She was a Tease. A classic Cock Teaser, taking the free drinks and letting the boys in the bars touch her bottom but knowing that nobody was going to take her home. A small spot of anger started growing somewhere in the back of my mind, but I extinguished it quickly. I'm a writer, I write erotic stories, I'm not the campus stud who slips roofies to the stuck-up sorority girls at parties. But this girl needed to be taught a lesson.

I settled on a demure dress length, in between her tastes and mine. In the long run, I was sure I would enjoy this more. It set the groundwork for transforming her from an independent, well dressed college woman into something else.

I sat down and looked at the menu without speaking. Occasionally, I'd look over the top of the menu and watch her. It was amazing, her focus was incredible. She sat motionless the whole time, not a twitch, not a sway. Her eyes looked down at the table, lips parted so minimally that it's likely no-one but me noticed. But I did.

The intense focus was no doubt part of her upbringing. She'd talked about her strict, controlling parents, the ones who were paying for graduate school and required nothing less than perfection, the ones who'd taught her complete obedience, the ones who'd ultimately allowed me to control their daughter. Between the training they'd given her in submission to their authority and my threats to turn over our chats and photos to them, they'd helped bring her completely under my control. She'd showed me their scathing condemnations of the small ear piercing she'd allowed herself when she first arrived at college. I could only imagine what might happen if I sent them file after file of their daughter following me on cam from chat room to chat room, offering herself to whoever happened to be there when we arrived.

I lay the menu on the table and waited patiently for the waiter. Tiffany's eyelids fluttered a time or two and her steady breath caught once. As near as I could tell, she was getting turned on. I didn't know what fantasies she was running in her head, but I wished I was there. She'd had an hour to work herself up. If she'd kept to the deal, she'd arrived at the restaurant at four, had her first glass of wine between four and four-twenty, then a second between four-twenty and four-forty, sitting in that same position the entire time. At four-forty, she would have ordered the third but didn't touch it.

The waiter was in his thirties and looked like a used car salesman. Hair slicked back with some kind of grease, a pretty good-sized belly and an obvious fascination with Tiffany. "Are you dining with the lady tonight?" he asked in his best formal voice.

"Yes, thank you," I said calmly. Then, "can you tell me what she's had so far?"

"Yes, sir, she's had two glasses of chardonnay and this one," he pointed to the full glass in front of her, "is her third."

"Thank you," I said. "And did the lady arrive alone?"

Tiffany's eyes shifted at that and met mine for just an instant before she lowered them again.

"Sir?" the man muttered.

"Did the lady arrive alone or did someone bring her?"

The waiter was silent for a moment. I saw Tiffany's nipples stiffen underneath the dress. She knew what I meant. It was a reference from one of her favorite stories. In that story, the main character -- a submissive woman whose Master loved nothing better than pimping her out -- had her meet her appointments this way. Sitting in a white dress with a glass of wine in front of her. As each man finished with her, he would bring her back to that same table, then order the wine and place it in front of her. The next man would arrive shortly and that was how he knew she was the one. In the story, though, it was always red wine and there was a powerful undercurrent of tension: she stared at the glass, certain she was going to spill it and ruin the dress. It was something her Master had conditioned into her by having her spill the wine on herself again and again. He had her repeat the act hundreds of times at an identical table in his basement. In the story, it worked. She would often break out in a sweat or tremble there in the restaurant, afraid she was going to lose control and reach for the glass before the next man arrived. When he did arrive, her gratefulness for taking her away from the glass made her that much more pliable in his hands. Tiffany had told me it was a favorite story -- it made her "juice" she'd said -- so I'd insisted we meet this way.

"No, sir, the lady arrived alone." I looked at the waiter but didn't talk. He squirmed, certain something was going on but not knowing what.

"Will you be ordering now?" he said, finally.

"Yes. I will have the veal piccata. The lady is on a . . . special diet. Would it be possible for you to just boil some white rice and vegetables?"

The waiter looked at Tiffany then back at me. "Certainly, sir." He began to walk away.

"Oh, and waiter?"

"Yes?"

"Would you bring the lady two glasses of water. Twelve ounce. Lukewarm, no ice." The waiter stared for a second, looked at Tiffany again, then nodded. "Certainly, sir."

---

When we finished eating, I ordered dessert and port for myself and another glass of water for Tiffany.

She'd been silent through the entire meal, answering only when I asked direct questions. "How did you get here?" "Where did you buy the stockings?" "Describe the red shoes to me." I kept my questions focused very tightly on things that related to her body, that body, I wanted to keep her focus there by making her talk about it. "What is the name of that shade of lipstick?" "How much exactly do you weigh?" Then, "when did you last evacuate your bowels?" and "when was your last period?" She blushed but answered.

In her white dress, clear skin and makeup, she looked like a quiet, demure virgin. An offering of innocence and playfulness -- always front and center in her Facebook photos -- but an offering nonetheless. Inside her was another Tiffany, one who spent hours on the phone with me talking about defilements she'd never dreamed of.

The virgin presentation had served her well. And she was a virgin -- in the strict sense at least. But the picture was more complicated.

The silver and diamond necklace she wore, for instance, was worth at least $1,500 and was a present from a man who she regular serviced with her hand. The dress was new, but the money no doubt came from the same account she used to pay for her trips to New York and Chicago. She enjoyed her own version of jet setting, flying to the two cities where her childhood girlfriends lived. The money came from about six different lawyers in the Valley. While her parents were paying for her education, the men didn't know that. One of her professors had got her started after she cried on his shoulder about not being able to buy the kinds of clothes and jewelry she wanted and still pay her tuition. He connected her with exactly half-a-dozen men who enjoyed giving a long-haired Asian a spanking, followed up by a handjob or blowjob. She manipulated them expertly, she now had a steady revenue stream to buy the things her parents didn't provide.

Tiffany had managed to keep her virginity, and get her bottom spanked all in one tidy little package. And get paid for it on top of that. Life was good. Except that, after a while, the spankings weren't enough for her. That's where I came in.

When dessert came, I took a spoonful and let it sit on my tongue for a while before chewing. It was perfect. I've had probably three perfect mousse's in my life and this was one of them. I would have to remember this restaurant.

"Tiffany?"

Without moving, she answered, "yes, Sir?"

"Show me where your ear piercing was."

She turned her head and pointed with a beautifully manicured, deep red nail.

"Good. Now, where are we going to pierce you tonight?"

I watched her body change visibly, she sat up straighter and leaned back, her eyes closed and her hands went back to her lap. "We are going to..."

"Not 'we' dear."

Without a pause, she said,"Sir is going to have my..." She stopped, opened her eyes and leaned forward. "Please, do we have to do this here?"

I slid my hand quickly into my case and dropped two 8 X 10 glossy photos of her masturbating in panties into the middle of the table. She panicked, eyes darting around the room to see if anyone had noticed.

"Sir, Sir, I am sorry, I apologize, Sir is going to have my ears pierced, Sir," she stammered, leaning forward, eyes pleading. "Two piercings on each side, Sir, please, Sir, please, please..."

I flipped the photos face down. On the back, it only showed her name and the date. She sat back in her chair, tears running down her face.

"This is for real, Tiffany. Do not fuck with me."

She sniffed and said, "no, Sir." A drop of snot hung from the tip of her nose for a long time before it dropped onto the tablecloth. The tears were running down the sides of her neck. I handed her my napkin. "Clean your face."

Tiffany dabbed at her eyes and cheeks, careful to smudge the makeup as little as possible.

"Now, let's make sure we have the right girl here, shall we?" I said, picking up my case. I set it on the table and slid out a stack of papers. I took out one of our earlier emails and read her own words back to her.

I started reading from her email, "'...I so remember getting my braces. The dentist leaned over me to tighten them and I remember my pussy throbbing for some unknown reason. I was wet and I smelled myself and started crying. He asked me what was wrong but I couldn't talk. He stood up and looked at me for several seconds and I nearly came right there. I could tell he knew. He stared into my eyes and then sniffed the air and smiled. "Let me help you," he said and pulled a Velcro strap around each of my wrists, keeping them pinned at my sides. When he leaned back over to finish tightening my braces, he put his knee between my legs. I struggled to keep my body completely stiff, terrified that if I moved I would start humping his leg and cum right there. It was the feeling of bring put into bondage, humiliating, nonconsensual, by a man, that was so hot. When my mother came into the room to take me home, I didn't know what to do. She had to smell it too. I felt another wave of humiliation and almost came in front of them both...'"

I turned to look at her. She was obviously agitated. I wasn't sure if it was because she was turned on or scared that someone had heard me.

"Did you write that?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Come over here."

Tiffany got up and started to walk to me, felt the pressure of the wine and water inside her and stopped, holding the edge of the table. "Sir, may I..." I knew immediately from her face what was the problem. "No, you may not," I said in my steadiest voice.

"Lean down a bit," I said when she was next to me. She did. I pushed her lips back and ran a finger over her upper teeth and gums. "Yes, well, he did good work, didn't he?" She flushed and when I motioned, she went quickly back to her seat.

"How about this one?" I pulled another piece of paper.

"Sir, please, could we do this somewhere else?" she interrupted, eyes down, voice trembling. I watched her shoulders, hunched slightly, shaking, revealing her condition to me.

"Open your knees."

Her eyes popped open and she looked around the room. "Sir?"

"Just a few inches. Open your knees."

I watched her wrestle with herself. Everything she'd said and done with me over the last few months was coming home now. Her eyes looked at the pictures face down on the table. They could be in her parent's IN box at the push of a button and she knew it. She parted her knees.

"Shall I have you masturbate for me?"

Her eyes watered up again. "Sir, please."

"Push your wrist harder against your crotch, Tiffany. Then, just sit still." I opened another one of the folders. "'...taken and non-consensually pierced in other places...a nose ring, lip ring, nipples and pussy lips, aiiiiiii, locked for being sluttish, like in your story...i am so close right now, i could easily cum...'" I looked up at her. "Did you cum writing that?"

"I don't remember."

"Sir."

"I don't remember, Sir."

I turned back to the page. "'...ears pierced, hair cut so i cannot hide the piercing and collar...' and here, a few days later, '...big hoop earrings do not turn me on, only Hispanic sluts wear them...'. Do you have something against Hispanics, Tiffany? Are you better than them? Is that how you sorority girls talk?"

"Sir, I meant..."

"What kind of earrings do Asian sluts wear, Tiffany?"

"Sir, may I go to the ladies' room, please?"

"Show me your earrings, Asian slut."

"Sir, I am not wearing any earrings," she said, lowering her head again.

I raised the page again and kept reading, "'...and if I do get a nose ring or pussy rings, they have to be welded so it can never come off...' Do you remember writing that to me?"

"Sir, we were... yes, Sir."

"And your roommate. The Korean girl. What was her name again?"

"Kyung Mi. We call her Kaitee."

"You want to make love to her. You want her to dominate you."

Tiffany was silent but her breathing changed again. I read, "'...Kaitee can order me to dress totally sexi, which is the opposite of how I usually dress...'maybe black leather, hot pants, throw away my bras, aiiiiii!...maybe she even cuts my hair Goth or Mohawk so I cannot hide my piercings...'" I looked up at her, "then this, '...i wish i was at my place so i could cummmmmm....' Very hot. Very nice, well written. And this one, '...i was thinking of being colared and leashed and in heels and nude and being led by her into a public setting of some sort...'" I turned to look at her. "Does that still make you hot?"

She squirmed in her chair. I saw her eyes close slightly and knew she was fighting the urge to rub her crotch. "Do it," I said. She stared at me then said, "no". I smiled and slid my hand across the table toward the photos. Tiffany leaned forward and sobbed, but I saw her shoulders moving slightly as she rubbed herself. I let her go for a few minutes then said, "you know you are going to have a big wet spot on the back of that white dress when you stand up, don't you?" She leaned back quickly and sucked a quick breath. I smiled.

"Sir, please, I need to use the ladies' room. Very badly."

"Put your hands on the table, palms down. I don't want you touching yourself anymore."

She put her hands in front of her, slid forward slightly in her chair. I watched her face, her lip trembling slightly.

"Hard to hold it?"

She nodded. "Yes, Sir." Then, "please..."

I looked at my watch. It was nearly seven. I didn't know what had happened before four, but I knew she'd had four glasses of water and two glasses of wine. I picked up the photos and put them back in my case, taking my time. It's a fine line between pain and humiliation. I looked at her. Had she crossed it? As long as she knew she was holding it in because I wanted her to, it was humiliation. But how long to keep her like that? I watched her and noticed something odd. She was holding her breath.

"Does it help?" I asked.

"W...what, Sir?" she managed.

"Holding your breath. Does it help you not piss yourself?"

The waiter was standing across the room watching us. I wondered if he suspected. He must.  Our meal had been too ritualistic for him not to know something was going on. I motioned to him and he came to the table.

"We're finished. Can you bring the  check?" He nodded, staring at Tiffany the whole time. "Very good, Sir. Are you sure you don't need anything else?"

I looked at Tiffany. She raised her eyes slightly and looked into mine, pleading. "Do we need anything else, Tiffany? Is there anything you need that I am not providing for you?" The waiter turned to me with a  puzzled look, then turned back to Tiffany.

Very quietly, she said, "no...Sir."

CHAPTER TWO

**Tiffany meets Linda and Marlene at the tattoo parlor.**

The appointment with the tattoo artist was schedule for nine o'clock. He would have booked us earlier but he didn't get in to work until then. He slept all day and kept his shop open all night. Most of his patrons -- the ones who asked for him by name -- were nightowls. His reputation was huge, he'd been in all of the ink magazines and did the convention circuit. He had three apprentices working with him. That was the part that appealed to me -- I would have an audience watching her as she got her first real marks.

It was only a few minutes after eight when we left the restaurant. I flagged down a taxi and looked in at the driver. He was a young guy, maybe in his late twenties. I waved him on.

Tiffany looked at me, puzzled. I smiled. "You'll see."

The next driver was an overweight, greasy-haired old man with a dirty beard and stained grey shirt. I saw tattoos running down his left forearm and onto his big, cigarette holding hand. I opened the front door and motioned for Tiffany to slide in beside him. "Get in." She stared with me with panic in her eyes while the driver pushed a half-eaten sandwich and a paperback novel onto the floor. He gave a big grin that showed cracked yellow teeth and patted the stained leather seat. "Sure, honey, I don't bite," he said with a slow, gravelly voice. "Come on, sit down."

Tiffany bent down, turned, and rested her bottom tentatively on the seat -- like it was on fire. She swung her legs in, keeping them pressed tightly together, then pulled the door closed. She stayed as close to the door as she could, leaning her shoulder against the window.

I watched him look her over three times, head to toes, a big smile on his face. When I slammed the back door, he turned to me and asked, "where to, Chief?"

"We're getting our first tattoo," I said calmly.  "Just head north." He put the taxi in gear but didn't flip the meter. He merged into traffic quickly and did his best to split his time evenly between watching the road and taking in as much of Tiffany as he could.

He asked who was getting the tattoo. It was like a gift from fate.

"Tiffany, the man asked a question," I said without turning my head. I saw her suck in a quick breath and squirm. "Aren't you going to answer him?"

The driver turned to stare, his eyes locked on her cleavage and nipples. I heard him give a little laugh. "It's OK, honey, I see it all the time. Nice, upper class girls like you don't like to talk about their tattoos, do they?"

"No, no, I'm not..." she protested, then stopped.

The driver turned his head and looked at me, gauging how far he could go. I nodded and smiled. "So what are we doing tonight, honey? A nice little butterfly? Your daddy's name? He is your sugar daddy, ain't he?"

It was quiet in the cab for a few seconds. I said, "actually, the tattoo's for me. She's just an escort." It had the expected effect on Tiffany, she blushed red and pressed her legs together tighter. The driver was quiet for a few minutes.

"I can give you her number if you like, maybe you can get a finder's fee for some out of town businessman?" I leaned forward and whispered to him, loud enough for her to hear:  "A lawyer who likes to spank Asian girls? She loves a good spanking and gives a great blowjob." She moaned quietly and I saw her moving her knees as I talked about her.

"Just talking about it gets her hot. Are you juicing, dear?" I asked. "It's a word I learned from her. Juicing. Isn't that right, Tiffany?" I paused. "Tell the man what it means, dear." She whispered. "It means my vagina is getting wet."

"Yer what?" he grunted.

"She means her pussy," I said. Tiffany's face reddened. I turned back to the driver. "She'd a pricey little whore, but worth it. Tightest asshole in town. She loves it down there." Tiffany - an ass virgin if there ever was one - was mortified and turned a brighter shade of red.

The driver remained quiet for a few minutes, then asked if I wanted to stop anywhere on the way.

"I'm glad you asked. We do need to pick up a pair of panties."  Tiffany wiped her eyes and tried to regain her composure. "She forgot hers."

The driver looked at her again, this time, focusing on her hips and legs. He smiled and licked his lips. "There's a nice Victoria's Secret a few blocks out of the way," he offered.

"That sounds tasty." I turned to Tiffany. "I'll bet your customers like you in your Victoria's Secret panties?"

"Yes. Yes, Sir, they do," Tiffany said weakly.

"She's not wearing any right now, you know," I said. The driver's eyebrows rose just slightly. "I'm hoping she doesn't leave a damp spot on your seat. She gets wet a lot down there...when I talk about her."

"Likes to show off, eh?" he asked, taking a drag from his cigarette. He blew the smoke in her direction, watched her nose twitch. "These Asian chicks..." I saw him look at me in the mirror, wondering if he'd gone too far. I nodded. "...love to show off their bodies." I nodded again and he loosened up. "Yeah, I see it all the time. The designer clothes, everything tight, you can see every line, you know? And the Come Fuck Me Jimmy Choo's, and the eye makeup. Damn!"

I laughed. "I know what you mean. You know what he means, don't you, Tiffany?"

Barely audible, she said, "Yes, Sir, I know what he means."

"Here we are." The driver pulled up in front of the store. "Now, before you go in, I need to make it very clear to you. You are *not* to use the bathroom. Is that understood?" Tiffany shuddered and I knew she'd thought about it. "Yes, Sir."  She opened the door and slid out, went into the store alone. She came back quickly carrying a bag. I motioned for her to get in the front seat again and she did, hugging the window like before.

"You didn't wear the panties out of the store?" Tiffany blushed. "No, Sir." "So, you're still naked underneath your dress?" I turned my eyes to see the driver. He was grinning as I expected. "Well, no loss. You don't get to keep panties on very long anyway, do you?" She was silent.

"So, where to?" he asked.

"Take us to Uncommon Inks on..."

"...on Superior Drive. I know it. Carson's place right?"

I nodded and he turned the taxi around, heading north toward the tattoo parlor. On the way, I asked if he knew of a barber shop near the place. He told me there was one on the same block, so I asked him to drop us there.

"You're not gonna do anything to that beautiful head of hair there, are you?"

I waited a few seconds then said, "we'll see."

The rest of the ride was quiet. When we were a few blocks away, I asked if he wanted Tiffany to suck his cock. He laughed and said he had a wife to get home to and she's kick his ass if she found lipstick smears on his underwear. I gave him a rain check, told him to call her anytime and to put it on my tab.

---

"What number did you give him?" Tiffany asked as the driver pulled away.

"I just made one up." I said, sliding my wallet back into my pocket. "You were very good back there."

Tiffany blushed and said softly, "thank you, Sir." I nodded. "Sir, I still need to pee." I nodded again and started walking. We walked up the block until we came to the big plate glass front of a place called "Sergeant Cutter's Place".

"Sir, this is a men's barber shop, not a beauty salon."

"Yes," I said and pointed at the glass.

There were dozens of 18 X 24 inch photos in the window, all framed, all showing what to her must have looked like relics. Black and white photos with haircuts that could have been demos for Mad Men. Along the bottom row were the more mundane cuts. I pointed at one and she leaned down. It was a traditional men's brush cut -- the sides completely shaven and the top flat and spiked. Her eyes locked on the picture and I let her stand there a long time. I'm not exactly certain what she was thinking but I can guess.

"How would you look in that?"

"gyrl would look good like that. Once gyrl's ears are pierced," she said without looking up. "Sir."

I shook my head. I pretty much hated the Gor references, but I knew it that they "made her juice" (as she'd written a hundred times) so I let her go on. "That is one option. There are others," I said, pointing to a pixie-looking Goth haircut.

While she stared at it, I looked up and down the street. There were a few people a block or so away but traffic was heavy. From the other direction, a couple of men in 50's style leather gear and greased back hair were heading toward us. I ran my hand along the back of her neck, took a fistful of hair and pushed her face closer to the glass. She struggled, eyes turned to look at the pair as they came closer.

"Kiss him." She squirmed but I held her tight and repeated it. "Kiss the photo."

She hesitated for a second, then pushed her lips against the glass, felt the grime and,quickly pulled away. "Do it," I barked. She started again, kissing with closed lips. "Use your tongue," I growled. "No," she whispered, kissing the dirty glass again lightly. "Are you forgetting the photos? Mommy and daddy? Do you want them to see the pictures of their dear little girl at college?" Tears welled in her eyes as she leaned forward and opened her mouth. She pressed her tongue against the cool, dirty glass, wiping up and down the picture's clean-shaven cheek.

The couple stopped and watched. They held hands, giggled.

"You go, girl. I like him too, honey," the shorter one with the blonde hair said.

"Oh, do you?" the other man snapped.

"Don't be jealous, he's hers, isn't he?" Blondie snickered. He leaned his head against Brownhair's chest.

"Tiffany. Rub your titties against the glass." Brownhair looked at me and smiled. "Obedience training?" I nodded. Tears ran down her cheeks as she pressed her body against the window, her chest moving in small circles, the grime staining the front of her white dress.

"Ooooh, she *really* likes him..." Blondie purred.

I slid the toe of my shoe along her leg, sliding her skirt up until it bunched around her hips. "She's soaking wet," I said with a grin. "Not that you'd much care..."

Brownhair laughed and stroked Blondie's hair and said, "this one might. I like to watch him switch sometimes." He pulled Blondie close and they kissed, tongues probing deep, hands exploring denim and leather.

"Either of you want a blowjob?" I asked casually. Both of them snorted. "Yeah, maybe. We'll see when we get home." They walked away laughing while Tiffany cried and licked the face now in broad, wide circles.

"Enough," I said. Tiffany dropped to the sidewalk, head down, breathing hard. She wiped her eyes then gave me an angry glare. "David...Sir, we're in *public*."

I waited a few seconds, then said, "...and?"

Tiffany didn't answer. I could see something like rage behind eyes but she stayed quiet. We stood there in silence for another few seconds, then I calmly pointed out a buzz cut. "Here's another possibility."

She didn't answer.

"Do you like that one, Tiffany? Would it show off your earrings?"

"Yes, Sir, that would display my piercings very nicely."

- - -

Uncommon Ink wasn't exactly what I'd expected. It looked more like a high-end martini bar than a sleazy tattoo parlor. Floor to ceiling mirrors along one wall reflected the class and polished chrome cases and shelves along the other. There was even an espresso machine but it didn't look like it got much use. There were two refrigerators against the back wall, brushed stainless fronts, extra wide doors. Not your grandfather's tattoo parlor.

About two feet down from the twelve foot ceiling -- and covering the entire back well -- were awards and samples of Carson's art. I didn't know a lot about tattoos, but I had to admit his work was impressive. The photos showed that his work was colorful and inventive, with a precision that any Old Master would have admired.

Behind the counter, two distracted looking women with short cropped black hair and skintight black mini-dresses watched us walk through the door. I saw Tiffany straighten up, her hips swayed just a bit, her step shortened. I smiled. She sensed competition and instinctively turned up the tease factor. I wondered if she even realized she'd done it. Probably not. After years of primping and strutting, no doubt it just came natural. I noticed her shift her body to present her small titties as best she could, shoulders back slightly and spine arched. She was a B cup (34B-25-34) but that was no surprise to me -- I hadn't seen many full-racked Asian women. Looking at the two well-endowed girls behind the counter no doubt triggered the narcissistic and competitive part of her brain. One of the women -- the shorter one -- was sitting on a high stool filing her nails. They were long and painted black to match her eyelids and lips. She raised a finger and blew softly. A cloud of particles floated to the countertop. She looked at Tiffany and smiled. Tiffany squirmed.

The other woman -- the older one with a no-nonsense look on her face -- leaned against the wall, arms and legs crossed.

"Hi. Is this her?" the taller woman asked. Tiffany turned and looked at her, immediately lowering her eyes when their gazes met. They ranged over the woman's body, locking on the four or five inches of flesh exposed between the bottom of the skirt and the top of the thigh-high leather boots. Tiffany made out tattoos of skulls, crows, and spiral designs. The woman noticed her staring and looked at David. He gave her a smile and a nod. She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, Tiffany's eyes glued to the designs with a combination of awe and terror.

"Yes," I answered. "What do you think of her?"

The woman paused before answering, moving her knees slightly. This caused her thighs to press together, the tattoos swimming before Tiffany's hypnotized stare. "I told you on the phone we don't play those kinds of games here." The woman turned to her partner. "Linda, do you remember the telephone call? About two weeks ago? The man from Chicago?"

Linda calmly filed another nail, blowing another small puff of dust onto the glass countertop. "The one who was bringing in his Asian girlfriend to have some..." she looked up at Tiffany, her eyes traveling slowly from Tiffany's face to her crotch, "...work done?"

Tiffany forced her eyes from the older woman's thighs and turned to look at me. I smiled. I could tell by the languid look on her face that things were proceeding better than planned. I knew that taking her here would produce a certain kind of dissonance in her mind -- her fascination with tattoos and piercings would combine with her fear about my revealing the photos to paralyze her and strip away her normal defenses. It was too early in the game to expect her to feel aroused by her knowledge of her complete helplessness but that would come. In time.

"Yes. Well, this is him. And..." the woman leaned forward, uncrossed her legs and started walking toward the end of the counter, "...her."

Tiffany was frozen. I could tell she wanted to run, to bolt and hit the street, find a taxi, and race back to her dorm but her body wouldn't respond. Right now, all she knew -- all she needed to know -- was that she would do anything I wanted her to do because she couldn't risk my turning the photos over to her parents. The fact that we both knew she wanted this anyway only helped me. It made it worse for her. She couldn't honestly tell herself she was forced. The tension inside her brain must have been intense.

As the woman came around the end of the counter and walked toward Tiffany, I felt my cock stiffen. Her body was amazing, long legs sheathed in black leather, wide hips and a small waist, tattoos running up both sides of her long neck, curling around her ears, visible because of the insanely short haircut. She was an Amazon, a goddess, a commanding presence that filled the room and screamed Sex.

She walked to Tiffany with a manly, powerful stride that made it clear she would not put up with any trouble from either of us. I smiled as I watched Tiffany's shoulders slump -- just the slightest bit, but enough. The woman had just met us and Tiffany was already completely at her mercy. Her parents had trained her well -- she could sense a dominant personality and responded instinctively. I could almost imagine her turning around and offering her backside like any other submissive animal.

I saw Linda smile, no doubt she'd seen this scene played out before. She was the one I'd talked to on the phone, not Marlene. She'd made the arrangements, told me to play along with whatever they did. I watched her as she calmly went on with her filing, a thin dust of residue clouding the top of the display case. She saw me looking and ran a finger through it, a big grin on her face. I stared puzzled but smiled back and nodded.

Marlene stopped a foot or so in front of Tiffany and stood looking at her. Tiffany lowered her eyes, fixed them on the tips of the woman's boots. I saw her fingers tremble slightly, watched her hair and noticed the same thing. It reminded me of the way a dogs trembles during a thunderstorm. Just the slightest tremors, barely noticeable.

"I think I'd like to fuck you," Marlene said suddenly. "Or maybe just see you naked." Tiffany stood completely still. Marlene slowly walked around her, stopping when she was behind her back. She bent down and rested her fingernails on the outside of Tiffany's legs, just above the knees. "Linda? Would you like to see the Asian bitch naked?" Tiffany's legs were actively trembling now, her fingers closed into fists. Linda didn't respond. Everything was silent, the sound of Tiffany's breathing loud in the room. Marlene slowly slid her hands up the back of Tiffany's legs, raising the skirt until it was bunched just underneath her ass. She leaned forward and whispered into Tiffany's ear, "part your thighs."

Tiffany broke then, lunged forward and ran out the front door. I ran after her, my small briefcase still on the countertop. She was leaning against the front of the flower shop next to the tattoo parlor, slumped halfway to her knees.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" I asked, standing over her, arms crossed.

"What are you doing? David, what are you doing?" she sobbed, "this isn't what you said we were going to do..."

"Tiffany, Tiffany," I said quietly, staring down at the top of her head. "Maybe you don't understand exactly what the new rules are." She wasn't sobbing now, just breathing slow and loud. Between barred teeth, she snarled, "maybe I don't, *David*. Why don't you tell me about them?"

"Stand up," I said. She didn't move. "Now." She still didn't move but I could hear her breathing had slowed again. She was regaining her composure, her anger receding. I thought about the situation, considered my next move. It was another moment of truth, another line of her defenses that would either stand or be shattered. After a few minutes of silence, I turned calmly and walked back into the tattoo parlor.

I waited inside for less than five minutes before Tiffany walked in, eyes dry and clothes adjusted as well as she could manage. She returned to where she'd been standing when Marlene was touching her. She dropped her arms to her sides and stood for fifteen or twenty seconds. Then, she lowered her eyes and opened her legs. I looked at Linda and smiled. Tiffany had taken another step in her downward spiral.

---

Marlene lost no time pulling Tiffany's skirt up around her waist, exposing her naked cunt and ass. I told her and Linda about Tiffany's full bladder. Linda obliged by bringing a bucket and offering it to Tiffany, who politely declined. Marlene slapped her cheek lightly and said with a grin, "you can't hold it forever, honey," then turned to Linda, "can you?" Linda blushed and shook her head. "No. Trust me. You can't." She rested the bucket on the floor between Tiffany's feet.

The two of them had Tiffany put her hands behind her head, fingers interlaced behind her neck, then squat slightly, knees wide open, bottom pushed out. She cried constantly, tears running slowly down her cheeks, but did everything they asked as quickly as they asked it.

Marlene and Linda walked back behind the counter, ignoring us now. Linda picked up her nail file and Marlene leaned against the wall again, opened a magazine and flipped idly through the pages.

"How long can she hold it?" Linda asked.

"I don't know. I've never done this before."

Linda went back to filing her nails.

"When will Carson be here?" I asked after a few more minutes.

"He's a little unpredictable," Marlene said without looking up. I looked at my watch. We'd been there twenty minute already, which still meant we were a little early. I opened my case and looked through the photos of Tiffany again. Naked, spread, playing with herself, all pretty innocent stuff for blackmail, for most women anyway. But even these simple shots would change her life completely if they ever got out.

I looked up at the scene in front of me. Tiffany, squatting with knees open and skirt up around her waist here in a public place with two other women watching. I took my camera out of the briefcase and took a side shot of her from my chair. Then, I got up and walked around, taking three or four more, always making sure to get one or both of the other women in the shot. Even if her parents weren't totally offended by her position, I could weave a story of a lesbian relationship that would change the photos into something much worse.

As I leaned in to get a closeup of her face, Tiffany whispered, "David, I need to...pee. So bad." I nodded. "Yes, I know."

At about ten minutes before nine, Tiffany stood up abruptly and dropped her skirt, smoothed it down with her hand. She turned to me and said, "David! People!" I looked up as a couple of men in biker gear walked into the store. They laughed and greeted Marlene and Linda, started talking about a movie they'd just seen. One of them -- a bald headed guy with a long, grizzled beard, stared at Tiffany for a minute then turned back to talk with Linda.

"Get back in position," I said to her.

Tiffany's hands went to her skirt and she pulled it up an inch or so but then she stopped, her eyes full of shame and fear. "I can't."

I shook my head, let out a sigh. "Do we have to play this game every time?"  I stood up and pushed my foot against hers, opening her legs. Then, I slid her skirt up around her waist and sat back down. Before the fabric slid back down her thighs, she reached for it and pulled it back up, holding it. She closed her eyes and turned her head to the side, trying to hide her face.

"College kids playing Master and Slave?" one of the bikers asked Linda, laughing.

"Yeah," she said. "You get it once in a while. Kinda pathetic."

"They're having big fun, though," Marlene added. "She's got a full bladder but she's a shy little thing."

They all laughed and I watched Tiffany's chest shake as she sobbed. I wanted to let them take her in the back room and fuck her -- finally get her past all that virgin teasing and give her a good reaming -- but satisfied myself by taking a few more photos of her with the four of them in the background now.

"Hey, Joe College," Baldie said.

I smiled. "Class of 2002."

"Yeah. Whatever. You want a good picture of your girlfriend here?" He leaned against the counter, pointed at Tiffany.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Just get your camera ready," he said. The two of them exchanged looks. "Nevada City?" "Yeah, Nevada City all the way." They laughed and stepped toward Tiffany. I felt a moment of panic. What if something happened? I couldn't do much to protect her if these guys got out of control, I hadn't anticipated anything like this. Linda had promised me the place was perfectly safe and secure, they'd been there twelve years without any trouble. But this didn't look safe and secure to me.

Linda must have noticed my anxiety because she looked at me and whispered, "they're pussycats, don't worry." I nodded and watched. For the next five minutes, the two men posed and postured, hands on Tiffany's bottom, tongues licking her neck, mouths around her nipples, fingers poised just at her cunt while I clicked picture after picture. They put her on the sofa, spread here legs and took turns laying on top of her, pants pulled down around their knees. They put her head in their laps, her hands down their pants. Tiffany didn't resist and the camera didn't care. Without a single kiss, nipple pinch, or inch of penetration, they'd given me an entire set of pics that would have looked like a gang bang to anyone who wasn't there.

I handed each of them a twenty and told them to have a drink for me. They told me to get their email from Linda and send copies of the photos. Tiffany panicked then and dropped to her knees, begging me not to send them. I looked at her and said, "we'll see. It's all up to you, isn't it? Just keep behaving and everything will be fine."

I left Tiffany there, kneeling on the floor in front of the sofa, while I went to talk to Linda and Marlene. Carson would be along anytime, they said.

"So, you two aren't a pain thing?" Marlene asked.

"No, not really. Discipline."

"Discipline," Marlene repeated. "So, like, you say it and she does it?"

I nodded. "It's the only part of the game I really care about. Everything else is just..."

"I know," Linda interrupted. "I know exactly what you mean. It's the subtle part that's exciting, isn't it?" She stood up and pushed the stool back against the wall. "The part where you show her that you own her completely." She looked at Marlene. "Like Marlene here." I watched as a look came over Marlene's face I hadn't expected. I'd seen that look in Tiffany's eyes. And in a dozen other women's eyes. Marlene -- the Amazon, the one I'd expected was the butch -- was Linda's thrall.

"Show him your piercings," Linda said. Without hesitation, Marlene slid the tight skirt up around her waist, leaned her shoulders against the wall and thrust her hips forward. She opened her legs and used her fingers to open herself and show me a series of eight surgical steel rings along each of her cunt lips. I saw the tattoos as well. The ones that showed between the boots and the skirt continued up into her crotch, swirling designs and tongues of fire that covered her thighs and belly and -- to my shock -- even extended to the inside of her cunt lips, fading as they moved from the labia majora to the labia minora. I could only imagine what it must have been like to get that second set of inner tattoos.

"You like the tattoos?" Linda asked. I was too stunned to say anything. "Tell him about them, Marlene."

"They..." she paused, blushing deep red. I was surprised by that, thought this was old hat for the two of them.

"Marlene is a bit new at this, aren't you, Marlene?" Linda purred softly. She put her hand between Marlene's legs and began stroking her clit. "To showing yourself off to strangers. Showing them your pretty new rings and tattoos." Marlene's body shook. "She cums easily...don't you?" Marlene's neck was flushed red and her eyes watered. "Can you cum again for the nice man," she taunted. I saw Marlene's fingers tense as she pulled her lips open wider. She turned her head, pressed her cheek against the wall. "Tell the nice man about your tattoos. Your cunt tattoos. The inside ones."

Marlene began to speak but her voice clenched as she came again, moaning loud this time. "The tattoos must be redone every few...aaahhhhh..." Linda sped up the circles she was making with her fingers and Marlene came again. "I heard about her from a man she'd been doing video sex with. He found out she lived in the same town as me and gave me her name and email. She's been mine ever since we met." Marlene came again, this time, grinding her hips and begging Linda to stop. "She's got a nice body, eh? And she's a monster in the sack. She licks my cunt until her jaw aches, don't you, dear?" Marlene was begging now for Linda to stop, said she was getting sensitive and it hurt. Linda took her hand away and told her to smooth her clothes.

There was a small, high pitched noise from across the room. We all three turned just in time to see Tiffany pull her hands away from her crotch. I knew she'd cum, I recognized the sound from a dozen phone calls. She put her hands behind her back but her eyes were still glued to Marlene's body.

"We need to get them together sometime," Linda laughed. Tiffany turned red and lowered her eyes.

--- end of Chapter 2

CHAPTER THREE

** Tiffany finally meets the tattoo artist but is in for a rude surprise. **

At about ten minute after nine, Tiffany let out a long, low moan and started crying. I looked up from my magazine and watched. She was suffering badly. Her legs and belly were trembling, her eyes were squeezed tightly shut. There were small beads of sweat on her forehead. I could tell she was  reaching the end of her endurance. She'd been holding four glasses of water and three glasses of wine for at least two hours, she wouldn't be able to control herself much longer.

"Tiffany?" I said. She stayed quiet. I watched her move her elbows forward, pressing the insides of her wrists against her ears. "Tiffany?"

"You're... not going to...make me do it, are you? Not like this...please?" she managed between sobs. "Sir..."

I stood up and walked toward her. Linda and Marlene looked at each other and smiled. Linda had been filing Marlene's nails. Now, she put her nail file down on the countertop and got up and walked around the end, stood in front of Tiffany.

"What is he not going to make you do, dear?" Without a word, she slid her hand between Tiffany's legs and started rubbing her clit with her finger. "Do you want to make tinkle all over my hand, little girl?" Linda teased. Tiffany was sobbing loudly now, nothing in all of her years of reading Gor, playing with online BDSM chats and flirting with spankings had prepared her for this. She muttered, "no, no, please, no, no, no Sir, anything but this, no please..."

"Marlene?" I called. She shifted her position against the wall, sliding forward just a bit.

"Yes?"

"Would you please show the little girl to the ladies' room?"

Tiffany turned her head and opened her eyes. Tears and mascara ran down her face and neck but the look of relief and gratitude overshadowed everything else. "Oh, thank you, thank you, Ma'am, Master, Sir," she muttered as she closed her legs and started following Marlene. They walked through a swinging door at the back of the room, Tiffany taking short, quick steps, her thighs pressed together tightly.

Linda sniffed her fingers and smiled at me. "You were never going to make her pee in the bucket, were you?" I shook my head. "Wimp," she laughed.

I stared at her. "You know why I didn't. And I know that you know why."

"Of course I know why," she said. "It's only the threat that matters." I nodded and she continued as she walked back toward her stool behind the counter. "The act doesn't even enter into it, does it?"

I walked to the refrigerator against the back wall and opened the door. "No. No, it never does." I reached for a cold bottle of water and pulled a dollar bill out of my pocket.

"Free for customers," she said. I smiled and put it back.

I looked at the clock. Nine twenty. Linda shook her head. "Don't watch the clock, it slows him down." I took a drink of water and looked around at the designs on the walls.

Snakes seemed to dominate, followed by skulls and daggers then a variety of Celtic looking swirls. There were cute girlies leaning against palm trees and motorcycles and logos of the top Nascar patrons. I was fascinated to see the amount of reds, yellows, and greens among the standard blue designs.

"You should get one," she said. I turned around and shook my head. "No. Nope. Never did understand why people get tattoos. Guess I'm just too old."

"You're never too old," Linda said, reaching out her hand. I gave her the bottle and she took a long drink. "So, what's her story?"

I took the bottle back and twisted on the cap. "She thinks she's getting her ears and one nipple pierced." I set the bottle on the counter. "She's been telling her girlfriends about the ear piercings all week. And, she's completely turned on by the idea of transgressing her parents' boundaries by getting a nipple pierced."

"'A' nipple? Who the hell gets one nipple pierced?"

"Scared Asian girls who are flirting with the edges," I said. Linda sensed the edge in my voice.

"That's not all there is to it, is it?"

I shook my head. "No. No, not at all."

"I read her comments in the email you forwarded." I smiled. There was nothing like the rush I got sharing her intimate emails with strangers. "About the big hoop earrings and Latina sluts." I nodded. "Yes. She's certainly learned the stereotypes. It's from her parents, I believe. I haven't met them but I've heard a lot about them."

Linda leaned forward across the counter, her chest pressed against the glass, face turned up toward me. I stared at her cleavage. Part of a tattoo peeked out from between her mounds. She caught me staring. "It's OK. I like men to look at me." She slid her hand across the countertop and touched my arm. I got hard and she smiled. "So, you're going to play that up?" she asked.

I stood up straight, stepped back slightly. "Yes. Absolutely. It's the best way I can think of to get inside her head. Like tonight, for example." I took another drink of the water. "She doesn't know it, but she's going to get both nipples pierced. And a tattoo."

Linda shook her head. "No way. She'll never go for it. She's like a kid who stumbled into an adult movie. She'll say no."

"We'll see," I said. Marlene and Tiffany came back into the room, chatting happily about Marlene's boots. Marlene was holding her hand, her other hand motioning in the air.

"She wants a pair just like this," Marlene said.

I nodded. "For Kaitee, right? Kaitee would make you wear them in public so you'd look like a hooker?" Tiffany stopped giggling and let go of Marlene's hand. She lowered her head and let her arms drop to her sides. I felt a rush go through my crotch. Her obedience training was so much a part of her she didn't know when it was going to kick in and take over. Even Marlene was taken off guard, I could tell by the way she stared from Tiffany to Linda then to me.

I pressed the issue. "Are you juicing, Tiffany? Didn't you write me over and over about how you wanted Kaitee to dress you up like one of those Latina whores and parade you around the campus?" Tiffany squirmed but I could tell from the red on her neck she was getting aroused again. "Tell Marlene your fantasy."

In a near whisper, Tiffany started. "Kaitee comes into our apartment one day and finds me at my computer, playing with Master David online, touching myself between the legs. I don't hear her come in because that time Master David made me wear earplugs so he could talk to me. He didn't want to type his instructions when he told me what to do to myself, he wanted his hands free so he could touch himself. Kaitee stands outside the door and listens for several minutes as I talk to Master David about how much I want to be her lover, how much I ache for her to touch me, how much I long to serve her on my knees as her faithful slave. As she listens, she starts to understand so many of the things I've done for her. I go out and buy her favorite coffee and pastries every morning, I give her backrubs, I make sure to replace her favorite soaps and shampoos when they run low."

I watched Tiffany's hands as she talked, sliding up underneath her skirt, touching her shaved, naked cunt. Marlene and Linda noticed too, nudged each other and smiled.

"Kaitee pushes the door open and I turn to see her. Immediately, I click the screen to a music video but it is too late. She knows. She knows everything. But she doesn't say anything. Not right away. Not until two days later when she shows up with a pair of thigh length latex boots. With four inch heels. She doesn't mention the other night, she doesn't mention anything. She just orders me to strip naked and put the boots on.

"I start to argue but she just walks away. I am hot now, completely aroused by her absolute confidence that I will obey. Kaitee is from a much richer family than mine and has never had to ask anyone for anything. She just tells them and they obey. And now, I would be doing that as well.

"I put on the boots and she returns with two other girls, two girls I've never seen before. Both are black girls with big chests and bottoms pressed into tight clothes. They are drinking straight from bottles of Hennessy and smoking. Kaitee points with her finger for me to follow them. She tells me to put my hands behind my neck and I do. Then, they walk me out of the apartment and out of the building. They parade me around campus, men and women laughing and pointing, gasping when they recognize me, asking her if they can touch me...aahhhhh..." Tiffany froze as she came, her fingers rubbing frantically at her pussy. She looked from Linda to Marlene to me, then back to Marlene.

Marlene laughed and asked, "so you're saying you like my boots?"

Tiffany put her hands over her face and stood silently while we laughed and talked about our favorite parts of her fantasy.

---

"What's the party?" I turned toward the voice and recognized the face immediately. Carson. He looked a bit thinner than he had in the magazines and he'd shaved his head bald, but it was him. His pale, hairless chest showed underneath his open leather vest and his black leather pants hung loose against his thin legs.

Tiffany's reaction was exactly what I expected - she was disgusted. Everyone in her world was beautiful -- naturally or artificially. They wore expensive clothes and sported healthy looking tans and perfectly manicured hair and nails. This man was a scrawny, nasty little thing who looked thirty pounds underweight with bad skin and cheap clothes.

"This is Tiffany," I announced.

Carson looked her up and down, snorted and laughed. "This is the cock tease we're going to decorate?" He walked around her once slowly, stopped once and ran his hand up the inside of her left thigh. Tiffany looked at me, lowered her eyes. Carson leaned back against the counter. "Let's see your titties." I smiled. He didn't waste any time getting to the point.

Obediently, Tiffany pulled down the top of her dress and dropped her arms to her sides again.

"Lean back. You know, like you're proud of them," Carson said.

Tiffany pulled her shoulders back, straightened her spine.

"Firm anyway," Carson said. "Pull your nipples out." Tiffany held them between her thumbs and index fingers, pulled gently. "More," he said. I watched her close her eyes and pull harder.

The front door of the store opened again but this time, Tiffany didn't flinch. I saw her bite her lip but knew she was slipping inside herself now, surrendering to the inevitable. Years of training taught her how to do that, how to vanish inside herself and let her body do what it had to. The couple stood at the door and stared for a moment, then the woman pulled the man's arm and they went back out to the street.

"I guess not *everyone* likes this kind of thing," Carson sneered, "do they, Tiff?" He looked at Linda. "You through with her?" Linda set the nail file down on the counter. "Not quite."

Linda stood up and leaned over the counter, palms on the glass countertop. "Come over here. Bring your little slanty-eyed, slanty-slit self over here."

Tiffany let go of her nipples and started to pull up her top. Linda held up her hand. "Did *anyone* tell you to cover yourself up?"

"No, Ma'am," Tiffany said. She quickly pulled down her top and went to pinched her nipples again.

"Did anyone tell you to do *that*?" I asked. Tiffany froze now, paralyzed. She knew exactly what was going on, she'd read it a thousand times. She was trapped, there was no right answer. Anything she did would be wrong for either Marlene or me. She turned to me and I saw it in her face: she wondered how I was going to punish her. The rush was incredible. It was one of the first times realized how absolutely she could be controlled. To anticipate her own punishment meant she'd crossed another boundary in her mind. I nearly came from just that look. It was so much better than I'd expected. Kaitee was going to be so happy when this was all over.

"Sir?" she whispered. "How do you want me?"

I smiled. "You're doing fine, dear." I looked at Linda and Carson, both of them waiting patiently. I'd given them a rough outline of how I wanted the night to go and they were playing along expertly. They deserved a big fat tip on top of the price we'd agreed on in my last phone call. "Just do what Linda says. Exactly what Linda says from now on."

Linda stared at her. I watched Tiffany frozen in place, holding her nipples between her fingers, the tension exactly where it was when I interrupted her. As Linda looked, Tiffany withered, her body melting, her will vanishing.

"You can pull your top up," Linda said. Tiffany covered herself.

"So, you're Thai?" Linda asked.

"Half. And half Korean." Then, "Ma'am."

"You like your expensive clothes and your pretty makeup, don't you?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"You know it makes you look like a real high class whore."

Tiffany stayed silent and perfectly still, I was enjoying myself and nodded for Linda to go on.

"Do you like looking like a high class whore? A high class little slant whore?"

"I'm not a whore, ma'am. I just want to look pretty, ma'am."

"Well, you do look pretty," Carson said. "Very hot."

Linda raised her voice and asked, "so, does your cunt really slant sideways?" Tiffany closed her eyes and I saw her shoulder slump again. Linda was playing it up. "You know, your little pussy slit? It didn't feel like that when I was touching you earlier. Did you like me touching your slit earlier?"

"No, ma'am. I'm not like that," Tiffany whispered.

"Not like what? You don't like girls touching you? Or you don't have a slanty little pussy slit?" I watched Tiffany's hands ball into fists and tremble. "Hmmm? Which is it? Or do you have a slanted little cunt but don't want to admit it. I can make you strip naked you know. Right here. Right now." Tiffany's face changed. She was clenching her jaw, the humiliation setting in hard now. And the rage at her powerlessness. She'd been well trained to swallow her anger and not let it show.

"Enough fucking around, let's get on with it," Carson said. He went to the refrigerator and took out a Coke, popped the tab and drank it in one long gulp.

"Before you go," Linda said, curling a finger at Tiffany, "come over here." Tiffany walked to the counter. Linda ran a finger through the accumulation of dust on the countertop -- residue from her and Marlene's fingernails.

"Clean this up."

"Wait," Marlene said. She leaned forward and spit into the middle of the area, then ran her finger around in circles, turning the dust and saliva into a murky paste. Tiffany looked at me but I kept my face completely still, she was theirs for now. Marlene walked around behind her and held her hands then pushed the back of her head down until her cheek pressed against the glass. She rubbed her head back and forth until her cheeks, lips and chin were coated with the slime. Then, she grabbed a handful of hair and pulled her back up.

Linda stared at her. "Nice. Very nice." Tiffany sobbed and shook but kept her body perfectly still. Linda ran her finger down the side of Tiffany's cheek, then pushed it into her mouth. Tiffany closed her lips and sucked the goo until Linda's finger was clean. Linda did it again, cleaning the other cheek.

"You're one sick bitch," Carson said to Linda.  He went through the doors at the back of the parlor while Linda slowly wiped the rest of the muck from Tiffany's chin and feed it to her.

---

Linda led us into one of the four rooms where Carson and his team did their work. They were small and dark except for bright lamps on adjustable arms that dangled over the chairs. Almost like medieval torture chambers, I thought. Everything was focused on just that tiny spot in the room where metal encountered flesh.

She sat in the big soft chair. It was more like a dentist's chair than I'd pictured - it reclined and had leather covered head and arm rests, plus a footrest that swung up when the seat leaned back. Tiffany recognized it too, trembled a bit as she sat down.

Carson wasn't in the room, which was good for me. I needed to talk to her alone. Things were going along almost perfectly but I was about to make the biggest push of the night and I needed to reinforce my position. I took a few tissues out of a box on the shelf and ran some water over them. "Clean your face." Tiffany took them and dabbed her eyes and cheeks, cleaning up the mascara and caked makeup that her tears had been washing down the side of her face. She was attractive even with most of her makeup gone. A very pretty girl who hadn't needed all those clothes and makeup to hide behind. Who hadn't needed to become such a cock tease to get attention. But who had chosen that life and was paying for it now.

I took the wad of tissue and threw it in the trash can. Then, I handed her a bag and told her to fix her makeup. "I want you to look pretty for your phone call."

"Phone call?"

"We're going to call your parents." Her face changed again, a look of terror now. "You're going to have a nice little chat with them and ask them if you can get your ears pierced." She shook her head, more from fear and shame than resistance.

"They'll see the room," she protested weakly as I handed her the telephone.

"You'll tell the it's for a play. It's the set and you're helping put it together."

"Please, please, don't make me do this. I'll do anything, anything you want. Haven't I been good all night already?" She was shaking, the telephone nearly fell out of her hand.

"Would you rather I talk to them?"

Crushed completely now, she hung her head and started dialing the number. She put on a cheerful face and confident voice and waited for her parents to answer her video-call. She jumped right in, told her parents things were going incredibly well both in class and at work. They ignored her and asked about the room she was in. She told them it was the set for a school play, a play about a tattoo parlor. They told her they wanted her to leave immediately, she shouldn't even be around a "fake one of those places", it would corrupt her. She looked quickly at me, begging for a reprise, but I mouthed "ask them". Haltingly, she forced the words out, "Mother, Father, may I have my ears pierced?" There was silence for only a few seconds, then simply the word "no" and they broke the connection.

"I own you now," was all I said. She didn't flinch, didn't respond. "Me and me alone." I reached into my pocket for the camera and pressed the Review button. She watched as it played through the pictures of her in the other room, on display, legs open and bucket on the floor, then the photos of her with the two bikers. She started shaking her head and whispering again, begging me to turn them off.

"That telephone call must have reminded you exactly how things will go for you if your parents get any of these pictures. And not only them. These can be made public in just seconds and you know it. Everyone will see what you really are. Your teachers. Your friends. Your roommate. Everyone who's ever known you."

She nodded, eyes brimming with tears, lips pressed tightly together. I left her like that for a full five minutes, the slideshow cycling just inches from her face. Her eyes dried up, her mouth relaxed. Again, she'd swallowed it and normalized it. The perfect submissive. It was automatic by now. She'd had years of training before she even learned about Gor. Before we met. She knew her place thoroughly.

"Now, let me tell you how tonight is going to proceed. You are going to have your nipples pierced. But not a nice gold ring like you thought. You're getting the little barbell type piercings." I leaned closer. "Do you know that's the kind of piercing black girls get? And brown girls? Big stainless-steel barbells. Not nice little gold rings like white girls." I was making it all up but Tiffany had no way to know that. I knew that her head was full of racial stereotypes -- black and Latina girls at school scared her. She knew they were all wild, drug-using whores who loved to dress in Spandex and cheap jewelry and show off their "junk". Just the idea that she'd get the same kind of piercing as a black girl terrified her.

"You are also getting a tattoo." As I expected, she pushed herself upward in the chair and shook her head violently. "Never, no, never. No matter what you do, no." I ignored her and went on. "It will be at the top of your left thigh, as high as we can go." I reached into my pocket and took out a small piece of paper with some characters written in black. "Do you recognize this?" She shook her head. "It says 'chang nyeon'. Do you know what that is?" Again, no. "It's Korean. For 'slut'. 'Whore'. You know. A girl who gets paid to give handjobs and blowjobs?" Through gritted teeth, she asked, "why Korean?" I smiled. "Isn't your girlfriend Korean? Kaitee?"

"I can't get a tattoo," she continued to beg. She reached for me but I didn't move. She froze halfway through the motion. It had hit her. This was happening. Slowly she slumped back into the chair, defeated and empty.

I picked up one of the piercings from a tray. "Do you know why they get this type?" I held it in front of her face. "You know, the brown girls?" I rolled it in my fingers slowly, watching her eyes focus, the fear growing. "They get these so they can have their nipples stretched." I picked up another device from the desk. I wasn't sure what it was for but it was adjustable and I knew Tiffany wasn't going to think too hard about it. "They put these under the piercings and wear them every day, turning just a little every morning," I turned the small adjuster on the thing, "and, over a few weeks, their nipples get longer and longer."

"And I like long nipples." Tiffany jerked upward in the chair when she heard the voice. Standing in the door was a man in his sixties, white hair cut close, cleanshaven and muscular. His navy blue suit was obviously tailored and looked like it cost what I make in a month.

"Allan?" she choked through dry lips.

I put my hand on her belly, told her to lay back down. "I've contact most of your regulars, Tiffany. Allan here seems to be one only one who's really very excited about you asking for these piercings." I stoked her belly as she slowly leaned back into the chair. "So, I invited him to watch." Allan pulled up a chair and sat at the end of the chair. He reached and wrapped a hand around each of her calves, massaging them slowly.

"You're really going to go through with it?" he asked. Tiffany looked at me and I answered for her. "It took her a while to convince herself, but she's always wanted it and decided 'what the hell?'. I've known her a long time so she asked me to come and kind of hold her hand, you know?" I kept eye contact with her through the whole lie. Finally, she nodded and said, "Yes, Allan. I figured what the hell. It's...nice to know...you like the idea." I smiled at her. She was learning fast.

"Are you getting your ears pierced too?" he asked, still absently rubbing her legs.

"No, no, she decided not to," I answered. Tiffany gave me a puzzled, angry look. "It will give her something to talk about with her friends. She'll be saying 'no, I decided not to get pierced' knowing all the time that she just..." I turned to her "...got pierced somewhere else."

Allan looked at me puzzled. "I don't understand."

"It's just a little game she and I like to play," I said, giving a slight chuckle and hoping he bought it.

It hadn't been difficult to get the numbers of the men she serviced. Kaitee was more than willing to take Tiffany's phone one night and download her entire contact list. I'd phoned the men one by one, always pretending to be one of the others. I learned quickly that none of them would have gone along with my blackmailing her so I had to keep those relationships as normal as possible. I planted seeds with each of them, though, that she was looking to change her life up a bit, get some piercings, maybe do some other body work. The groundwork was laid. Now, they would think that any changes they saw -- anything I chose to do to her body -- would be her way of 'changing things up' to make herself more marketable.

Allan was another story. He really got off on body modification. When I told him she was getting marked and that she'd invited him to watch, he jumped at the idea. By the time I was finished negotiating, he ended up paying for the whole thing. Plus my airfare. In exchange, I told him he would get to watch both the piercings and the tattoo, then he would get how own private show back at his hotel room. Tiffany would model her new marks for him and his camera, then finish him off with a nice deep-throat blowjob.

---

Tiffany was completely quiet through the first part of the procedure. After she signed the consent form, she submitted to everything with an ease that spoke volumes about her submissive nature. When he told her to pull down her top or open her legs, she did it with absolutely no hesitation. It made me want to push her further, nobody could be this submissive. I told Carson she wanted to help. From there forward, she did little tasks for him, holding tools in her open palm, moving the lamp, wiping his forehead if a bead of sweat appeared. She was totally obedient and silent, answering only when someone asked her a direct question.

The one time she showed any sign of resistance was after the first tattoo. It was easy for her to see that Carson hadn't tattooed what I showed her. Instead, he tattooed the word "puta barata" high up the inside of her left thigh. She had no idea what it meant and was shocked and angry that I'd changed the design without telling her. But even worse was when I pressed her right knee down, opening her legs wider, and told Carson to tattoo 'ho dog' at the top of her other thigh. She opened her mouth to protest but it was only a fleeting thought. My cock got hard as I saw her body go limp in the chair, another layer of resistance shattered.

Back at Allan's hotel, she followed his commands and stripped naked, then put on the pair of thigh-high red boots he'd bought for her. She took a few minutes to adjust to the four inch heels, but was quickly strutting around the place just like she always had. In control of her body again, teasing, preening, oozing sexuality and availability. That same combination she'd used in so many bars and on so many beaches to get what she wanted.  Her makeup was perfect again, her hair brushed and shiny, body flawless and tempting. When she opened her legs so he could take pictures of the tattoos, it was easy to see her cunt lips were swollen and her slit damp. It made sense - showing her new body off turned her on. He made her touch the piercings, tugging at them gently, stretching her sore nipples for him.

Allan videotaped her as she sat down at his desk -- legs wide open, hips grinding in his chair -- and looked up the meaning of both 'of her tattoos on the Internet. He told her to read the descriptions aloud into the camera. She cried the first few times around so he made her redo it until she got it right. "Sound proud, you whore. You're proud of what you are, aren't you?" She finally swallowed her shame and read:

"puta barata - literally, a cheap whore who charges so little because nobody will pay a single cent more." Allan smiled. "Maybe we'll start cutting the rate on my blowjobs, eh?" She didn't answer. "Go on," he said. "And 'ho dog' - girl that will give it up to any guy or girl like a dog in heat."

Allan nodded and said, "that certainly sounds like you, doesn't it?" He made her read it again and again into the camera. The last time, he had her touch herself and make sexy, pouting faces at the camera between every few words. That was all he could take, he made her suck him off right then.

She was on her knees, long black hair covering the tops of his thighs, cock deep in her mouth, when I went into the other room and phoned Kaitee. "Things are going better than I expected. Your friend is really something. I think we're ready to proceed with part two of the plan."

** This story marks the end of the first of three trilogies featuring Tiffany Please write me if you'd like it to continue. **