This is a work of erotic fiction. None of the events described here have ever happened. Although I encourage readers to give me feedback both positive and negative, nasty anonymous comments are not appreciated.
This and all subsequent chapters were co-authored with one of my readers, who is a big fan of the John Norman GOR series. All references to Gor and things Gorean refer to the works of John Norman. These references are related back to Jennifer's first exposure to BDSM and how it shaped her current fantasies.
If you have not read Jennifer's Jewellery Shoot yet, I encourage you to do so. This story will make more sense if you do, because we pick up as she returns to her apartment.
The driver broke her reverie, awakening her from a soothing nap.
"We're back at your apartment Miss."
Opening her eyes, she was horrified to find her right hand under the short skirt playing a sonata on her still wet and oozing pussy. She jerked her hand out from under the skirt and looked quickly to the driver. He was standing there with a smile on his face, the door wide open, having seen it all.
"I hope Miss had a pleasant ride."
"Oh, yes, thank you," she mumbled.
She gathered her bag and quickly exiting the back seat. Without another word, she walked swiftly across the sidewalk and up the stairs leading to her place. Her senses were magnified, acutely aware that she was nearly naked and a sight for any passerby; Her high heels cracking like fireworks on the 4th of July as she scampered up the stairs.
Typing in the security code, she turned to look back. The driver was still watching, the same delighted grin on his face. "Fuck," she silently mumbled, and quickly entered the apartment complex.
Arriving safely at her apartment, she entered, closed the door, dropped the bag, then turned and leaned back against the door. With her head titled back and eyes to the ceiling, a sense of relief allowed her to audibly sigh.
Exhaling a huff of air, she hoped her arrival had not awakened her roommate Steph. A check of the clock revealed it was nearly 2:30 AM. She gathered her bag, removed her heels, and tiptoed to her bedroom. She was exhausted, yet needed another shower to wash away the sweat and imagined filth from her skin. As she stripped, her phone suddenly began to sing, buried deep in the bag "What the..." she whispered, and searched through her musky clothes to retrieve it. "How...," she continued, not finishing her sentence, wondering who, what and how.
She did not recognize the number, but quickly opened the text message. With the phone in her right hand, her left flew upward to cover her mouth in shock. It was a picture of her, naked from the waist up, gagged, head thrown back, eyes rolled up, in the throes of orgasm. The text read: We have a video, also, deary. Bet mom would be proud of her darling. 616-555-..... Same time tomorrow night. Don't be late.
With a silent scream, she fell to the bed, clutching her stomach and covering her mouth at the same time.
Jennifer tossed and turned all night. She had no idea what she was going to do about the blackmailer's demand. She came from a strict family. They would never understand her posing topless, and if they saw a video of her orgasm, they would disown her instantly. She eventually fell into a fitfully sleep, but visions of Gorean slaves and the photo shoot, roamed through her dreams and she got little rest.
It was late when she finally rolled out of her bed. Steph had already gone off to her job, but had left a package and a note in the kitchenette. Jennifer read the note:
"This arrived for you just as I was leaving. Limo driver delivered it.????
Heard you come in late. Didn't want to wake you.
You must tell me all tonight!
Steph"
She knew instantly who had sent the package. With trembling hands she opened it and gasped. The shorts were ridiculously short. More like a thong actually. Yes, a thong with some lace material to make it into something resembling shorts. Anyone wearing them would be exposing most of her butt cheeks and hips through the lace. The top was nothing more than a strip of sheer material which passed behind her neck, crossed over her breasts and was hooked behind her back, leaving the remainder of her torso uncovered. The black platform stilettos completed the whorish outfit. Under it all lay the collar. A thin metal collar. How had they known?
The enclosed note was very specific:
"Unless you want your mom to see the pics and video, from yesterday, you will lock the collar around your neck, put on these clothes, and be ready when the limo arrives at two. Make sure to bring the metal gag with you. We'll be waiting for you. Until then rest up, you're going to need it."
Jennifer fingered the material of the shorts, then held them up against her hips. They were her size, of course, but she saw immediately that to wear them, she would have to trim her pubes to avoid having them show through the lace. Then, with a little shiver, she picked up the collar and inspected it. It was thin metal with a D ring on three sides and a locking device on the back. As she felt the cold metal, she thought of one of her favorite Gorean characters.
Elinor Britton. She was amazed that the name came to her so quickly. They had never met, of course, because Elinor was a fictional character, yet Jennifer knew her intimately. It was the first paperback she had purchased, Slavegirl of Gor. The earthgirl on the cover, kneeling, thighs spread, and a collar of steel around her neck, from which an unbreakable chain confined her to a stake in the ground.
So many nights, in the darkness of her bedroom, Jennifer had put her hands around her own neck, feeling the imaginary steel, and fingering the fantasy lock. Then one hand would slide down and gently entice her clit from its hood until finally she would reach a crescendo. She had always stuffed a pair of clean panties in her mouth, to stifle any cry that her parents might hear.
And now she was being ordered to encircle her own neck with a real collar. Could they know? Could these men be slavers from Gor? No, of course not. Gor was a fantasy, and besides, it would be a male that would collar his slave, and here, she was being asked to collar herself. Yet, undeniably, her pussy was reacting, the magma within, nearing a boiling point. Noooo, she cried to herself, they cannot see this happening to me!
It was starting to get late and she still needed to get herself ready. She would make sure this was the last meeting with Duane and his assistants. She needed to assert her authority. She quickly ate a light breakfast, and headed for the shower, grabbing her razor on the way in. With the steaming hot water peppering her skin she first lathered, then shaved herself down to a thin landing strip.
Taking the wand down, she aimed the spray directly at her crotch to rinse off. Suddenly her mind flashed to the warehouse. She was standing there, half naked in front of those men. Half naked with her hands cuffed behind her back and Jake. Jake was putting the gag in her mouth and tracing her lips and teeth with his finger. Her entire body started to jerk and shake. She pressed the shower head firmly against her crotch and groaned loudly as the orgasm washed over her.
"Oh my God." She thought as she started to recover from her cum. "What is happening to me?"
She fixed her hair and applied her make-up in the mirror. There was not much she could do with her eyes though. No make-up on earth could hide that strange haunted look which was the combined result of fear, lack of sleep, and arousal. She had to look just right, however. She knew her looks could be used as a weapon, and she was not above using it against these men.
When she put on the clothes and looked in the mirror, a total whore was looking back. Her entire butt was plainly visible through the lace, and she could see right through the top to watch her nipples harden. She had never felt so exposed or so cheap. Despite those feelings, or perhaps because of them, she felt that little tickle of arousal in the pit of her tummy. She could not go out in public like this, however, so she searched her closet and put on a light cotton wrap she usually used at the beach.
Now for the collar. She had waited until the last moment. She did not want to anger Duane, who for the moment held some damning evidence. Her fingers traced around the collar and her breathing became rapid and shallow. Examining the lock mechanism, she could see small latches, but no place for a key. She considered locking it without putting it on, making sure she could unlock it, but what if she couldn't. If she went without the collar on, Duane would ruin her life. Finally, with a sigh, she encircled her neck with the open ends in front. Looking at herself in the mirror and taking a deep breath, she pushed the ends together. CLICK. The sound of the latches connecting made her gasp.
Immediately, she tried to pull the ends apart, twisting and turning them, pushing in and out, but nothing worked. She shuddered as she realized that she was collared until Duane released her. That realization caused the little tickle to blossom into full blown arousal. She needed to get away from the mirror and calm down before the limo arrived.
Just as that thought ran through her mind, the intercom buzzed. She quickly checked the clock and saw that it was two already. She told the driver that she would be right down, grabbed her bag, checked that she had packed the gag, and without thinking about her costume, headed out the door.
"Jennifer?"
Turning, she saw Ben, an older friendly neighbor on the first floor.
"Hi Ben." She answered without turning.
"Looks like you are headed out for a wild party, girl," he laughed.
"Ha, yes, swim party. Gotta run, bye!"
Swim party, she thought. If only...
When she reached the street, the driver was standing there smiling that same smile he'd had last night. She watched his eyes as they passed up and down over her body taking in every detail, and saw the material of his slacks push out a bit as he started to harden.
"You look very fetching today Miss" he soothed as he took her hand and helped her through the door into the limo. "I took the liberty of providing a fresh bottle of champagne for you to enjoy during the trip." This as he closed the door on her little sanctuary.
"OK." She thought. "I'm sure to need my wits about me if I'm ever going to get the video and pictures back, so I'll just have one to help calm my nerves."
She ended up having two. In her exhausted condition, that was all it took to settle her nerves and allow her to doze off. Like the night before. Her dreams were flashes of Gorean fantasy mixed with the reality of yesterday's humiliation. She was so far gone, that she didn't know they had arrived until the driver was shaking her shoulder. When she awoke, she could smell the unmistakable odor of female arousal. She opened her eyes and looked down to see a little wet spot on her shorts from her leaking juices. She quickly glanced up to the driver's face and saw that his eyes were also glued to her crotch as he roused her.
