"Why do you seek humiliation?" Molly asked the naked woman kneeling with knees spread apart in front of her, trying not to stare too hard at her exposed tits or her gloriously red pubic hair.
Z stared back at Molly, a little incredulous. "Why do I seek humiliation, this woman asks me," she thought to herself. She thought that the question was very silly and naive, but her Master had commanded her to remain here and answer this story writer's questions to the best of her ability. She had no idea why he'd ordered it, but a command was a command. But how to answer, so this Molly person might understand.
Bowing her head in deference, Z replied, "I might just as well ask you why you breathe, Miss," she said quietly. She certainly didn't want the writer to take offense, so she continued. "It's a necessity to breathe for our well-being, and for me, being humiliated is also a necessity. I crave it. If I don't get what you might call 'regular doses' of it, I go into a funk. Does that make sense, Miss?"
"I'm trying to wrap my head around the concept, Z," Molly answered. She was silent for a minute, thinking. "Maybe it would help if I heard how you met your Master in the first place."
"Very well, Miss. My name was Agnes, and I was living in NYC. To be brief, I heard about a place called the Hellfire Club. Young and curious, I visited the club, because even then, I had strange cravings for something I couldn't quite define.
"The club was located in the basement of a seedy building and had the feel of a real dungeon. The front room had a bar and all kinds of BDSM furniture. In the back there was a bunch of cubicles that you could use for more private settings. You could expect to walk in and see a naked woman chained to a rack and being whipped by her Master or people engaged in various sex acts right at their table. I was shocked, titillated, and incredibly drawn to that atmosphere."
Molly tried to imagine Agnes, all 5'2" of her, walking into a place like that. She was of medium build, which might not have caught people's attention, but that flaming red hair of hers must surely have drawn some eyes. Maybe at first she looked like a timid ingenue, peering around corners, her radiant green eyes peeking shyly into rooms. Molly wondered how she would have handled herself in a similar situation. As a currently self-proclaimed slave, Z's statements made it sound as if she took to that life style like a duck to water.
"People there told me about another place called the Bizarre Theater, where they had a stage and individuals could put on their own show. They also had BDSM themed rooms in the basement that the Dominants could rent. Well, on an impulse, I volunteered for a show, and was assigned to work with the man who ultimately became my Master. It was as if we were made for each other. He apparently intuited what I needed and craved, and provided it, seemingly effortlessly.
"His piercing blue eyes were almost mesmerizing. After a discussion, where he probed me with questions that ultimately led to a description of my first level of limits, he planned the show. We'd agreed he could call me any names that he wished. He had me wear a simple T-shirt, panties, and a sort of diaphanous skirt. Taking me out onto the stage, he bound my wrists together with a rope from an overhead pulley, then hoisted the rope until I was on tiptoes."
Molly noticed Z's eyes going out of focus as she smiled fondly, mentally revisiting that first scene with her Master.
"Once I was helpless in front of that audience of perhaps twenty strangers, he moved behind me, and with a powerful movement of his hands, tore the T-shirt open, and then into shreds. All those eyes, suddenly staring at my naked breasts!" Z shuddered with delight. "The shock flooded me with embarrassment, and my heart was racing. Somehow, the combination made my pussy start to lubricate. Standing alongside me, he lifted one of my tits, and loudly complained about how inadequate it was. I'm sure my face flushed hot with shame. He grasped my nipples and tugged at them using milking actions, and said something like 'even a sow has milk for her piglets -- these teats are useless' or words to that effect. I closed my eyes, moaning softly from the combination of the sensations his hands were making, blending with my growing humiliation."
Unconsciously, Z moved her hands to her breasts, tugging at them in a similar manner as she continued. "Since my eyes were closed, the surprise of having the skirt torn off my hips was magnified. Now I stood on tiptoe, clad only in those panties. Sweat was trickling down my armpits by this point. I expected that he'd rip the panties off too. But to my surprise, he just yanked them down to my knees -- I could feel them cling there. I looked down past my swollen nipples and flaming red pubic bush to where they were now positioned. Having them just partially removed felt even more naughty and lewd than being completely naked. I knew that all the onlookers were staring at my privates, and I was shivering with arousal at being seen like this.
"He reached down to those panties, saying something like 'this bitch must like being on display, because the crotch of these panties are all wet' as he addressed the audience. As if that wasn't humiliating enough, he pointed at one of the watching females and asked her to join us on the stage. Smirking with amusement, that blonde stranger came onto the stage as the rest of the audience clapped and shouted encouragement."
Z was kneading her tits faster and harder as she recalled that moment. "At his suggestion, the blonde woman knelt with her face only inches from my crotch as she examined the panties, testifying as to their dampness. To my delighted horror, he told the blonde to check my cunt wetness internally. I'd never had a woman touch me there before. And this stranger was going to do it in front of an entire roomful of people!" Z was squirming now, and Molly could smell the tang of the slave's cunt juices, which had formed a small puddle on the floor beneath where she knelt.
"But before the woman touched me, he asked her to hand him my panties. I felt them slide down my calves, and I had to lift one foot, and then the other, to allow their removal. Seconds later, he slipped those soaked panties over my head, placing them so the crotch covered my nose, and I was staring at the onlookers through their leg holes. The eyes of many of them seemed to be bulging, maybe with incredulity. I didn't have time to dwell on that, though, because I felt cool fingers parting my labia, and one or two small fingers slide into my pussy and go into motion. The woman was fingering me! Reflexively, I pushed up off my tiptoes, almost as if trying to escape from her probing. I was torn -- I didn't want this woman feeling me up in front of the crowd... and yet... I did want it."
One of Z's hands now went to her clit, as the other continued playing with her tits. She was obviously lost in the re-telling of this critical moment in her life. Molly herself was squirming on her seat, turned on by the mental image created by the story, enhanced by the actual sight and smell of a now completely aroused Z. "The man who would become my Master merely pulled on the pulley rope, and I was now suspended off the floor, absolutely vulnerable, unable to move away from the woman's probing fingers. In fact, she reached behind me, grabbing my ass to stabilize my hips and fingered me faster, letting her erect thumb mash against my clit." As she spoke, Z was currently mashing her clit, right before Molly's eyes.
"I didn't want to cum with all those people watching. At least that's what my mind said. But my body had other ideas. With every deepening inhalation, I smelled my cunt juices on those panties. The fingers playing with my pussy were insistent. My clit felt like it wanted to explode. Instead, to my abject embarrassment, my cunt exploded -- literally. I sprayed the kneeling blonde with my cum, as I screamed in the strongest climax I'd ever felt! The crowd went wild! My Master whipped off the panties, so everyone could see my facial contortions as I came. The woman kept fingering me and fingering me, and I came and came! My cheeks must've been scarlet." Z went silent, as she began shaking in orgasm, kneeling before Molly.
"Thank you, Miss," Z sighed as she recovered. "Retelling that story was almost as humiliating as living it the first time. You can see the effect that humiliation had on me right now."
Molly grinned down at the red-headed woman. "Yes, I can see and smell the evidence," she said, eyeing the spreading puddle of liquid beneath the self-described 'slave' woman. "So that was your introduction to your Master, and to your body's visceral reaction to being embarrassed?"
"Yes, Miss," Z answered. "And once he and I realized this, the floodgates were opened." She laughed. "Literally." For several years we explored BDSM together, learning to trust and respect one another, until finally I asked to be his slave, willing to obey him in all things. He could do what he wanted with me and I would obey. I knew that he was aware of my limits and wouldn't exceed them. But he gently pushed against some of those limits, and I often reacted positively, and the limit was eliminated. I often found it was more the fear of the unknown that created such perceived limits, and that having a trusted Master helped me overcome those fears. And my cravings were being met more and more as we learned about each other. I no longer wanted to be Agnes, so I begged him to call me Zero -- nothingness -- or Z for short."
"What sort of limits got eliminated in that manner?" Molly asked, her voice filled with curiosity.
Z smiled. "The first time he showed me clothespins and clamps, I was skittish, but willing. So they were sort of a 'soft limit' because I'd never experienced them. Once I'd felt their bite, the resulting numbness, and the rush of fresh pain with their removal, I knew I could not only endure them, but also find them exciting. During subsequent shows, he'd invite some onlooker to apply the clamps, and that added the tinge of embarrassment that I relished."
Flushing an interesting shade of scarlet, Z confided, "You may not know this, Miss, but back in those days women seldom shaved away their pubic hair. About the only ones that did were prostitutes. Master once shaved me, while a group of people, some of whom I knew, watched. That was so intensely humiliating that I couldn't meet anyone's eyes. As he was finishing up, he slipped two fingers inside my cunt, to lift and smooth the tissues for a few final strokes of the razor to clean a difficult spot. But he had to quickly remove the razor, because I started convulsing, cumming on his fingers, since I felt so magnificently, abjectly degraded. I was certain the onlookers felt I'd be a hooker, walking the streets for him."
She actually sighed. "That never happened though." Molly couldn't tell if her sigh'd been one of relief, or regret.
