Sweet Gwendoline

As an employee of Emotional Support LLC, I get hired for all sorts of assignments. One of my most recent gigs was when Adalia Watts hired me to stage a fight with Britt Nelson at a fundraising party.

Sounds weird, doesn't it?

You see, Adalia Watts is a movie producer and Britt used to star in action movies, but that was back when Britt was much younger. She was nineteen the first time she starred in an action movie. The most recent time she starred in an action movie she was twenty-seven.

Her fight choreography, hard-eye coordination and reflexes were flawless, but she's now thirty-six years old and the male patriarchy in Hollywood believes that she's too old to kick ass like she used to. Adalia was looking for investors for an action flick called "Once bitten", but investors were hesitant to invest in the movie with Britt as the leading woman. They thought she was too old to play an action hero.

Therefore, Adalia Watts hired me to get into a fight with Britt at a party where Hollywood actors, actresses, photographers and potential investors would be able to witness the melodramatic spectacle.

"The entire fight will be staged to be as dramatic as possible," Adalia explained, "with Britt being stunningly triumphant over her opponent."

"With me being the opponent," I said. "So, you're hiring me to get my ass kicked."

"Yes, dear. You're being hired to get your ass kicked in a very public and spectacular fashion."

For the party, I'd been given a black backless cocktail dress with spaghetti straps, a deep V-neck that shamelessly showed off my boobs and a sexy split that exposed my thighs almost up to my crotch. It was comfy and looked beautiful on me. I felt it was a shame it had to get destroyed in the fight.

I glided into the party as gracefully as I could in five-inch heels and smiled charmingly at actors, actresses and photographers. I made small talk with Aya Kit, Yulia Abdrakmanova and other Hollywood celebrities. Everyone was friendly and charming. They had no idea that this polite get-together was going to soon turn into a chaotic scene.

A picked up a champagne flute from a passing server and walked past a trio of models/actresses and spotted Britt engaged in conversation with Paul Bettany. Like me, Britt was wearing a gown with a sexy thigh-high slit and a plunging neckline. The main difference in our dresses was that hers was as white as the driven snow and mine was as black as midnight. It was a deliberate attempt at symbolism. I was the bad guy, so I wore black. Britt was the good guy, so she wore white. Ms. Watts felt the optics for this stunt were important, so even our wardrobes were choreographed.

I am not by nature a violent person. Typically, I avoid conflict whenever possible, so picking a fight with somebody put me way outside my comfort zone. I tried to tell myself that it wasn't a real fight and that there wasn't any real animus between Britt and me, but I still felt nervous as hell.

With my stomach in knots and my blood pounding in my ears, I marched over to Britt, gave her an angry glare and boisterously shouted, "

YOU BITCH!"

It was my intention to grab people's attention with that angry profanity and it worked. Almost in unison several dozen people stopped what they were doing and redirected their attention towards me.

Britt and I had rehearsed our dialog in advance, so I knew what she would say next.

"Lady, I don't know what your problem is, but if you don't dial it way back you're gonna get hurt."

"The only one around here that's gonna get hurt is you," I snapped at her. "I should have been the one cast to play Karola Holt! I auditioned for the part and the casting director loved me! That role was mine, but somehow you stole it from me!"

"Stole it? I got the role because Karola Holt is supposed to be an intimidating badass, not some slutty, blonde cheerleader who flashes her boobs to get attention!"

Paul seemed to sense that the situation was only going to get uglier, and he took several steps back. I gasped, feigning outrage at Britt's remark and then I threw my drink in her face.

"Slutty?"

I screamed in the best dramatic voice I could muster. "Oh, you're going to pay for that! I'm going to knock you on your ass!"

As I was saying this, I tore those ridiculous high heels off my feet. It was bad enough I had to get into a fight in front of dozens of people, there was no way I was going to do it in five-inch heels.

I threw one of the shoes at Britt, which she deflected by slapping it out of the air. I followed up the shoe with a roundhouse kick to her face. In rehearsals, Britt used her impressive speed to dodge my roundhouse kicks, but this time she surprised me by reaching out and grabbing my ankle before my foot could hit her face.

There was a loud

SMACK

as my ankle smacked against the palms of her hands, and then I was shocked at how strong her grip was. It was like her hands were made of iron. It was impossible for me to break free from her grasp. And then she raised her arms up and out, still holding my ankle. This caused me to lose my balance and I ended up falling on my ass, much to the delight of the engrossed spectators.

My skirt pooled around my waist, revealing my panties to the crowd. I squirmed and twisted to get my ankle free from Britt's grip, but she just held on.

"You're going to knock me on my ass, are you?" Britt asked in a mocking tone. She flashed a wicked smile down at me as I struggled to get free.

I noticed a photographer moving in closer to get a better view of the fight and I picked up my other shoe from where I'd dropped it on the ground. I hurled it at Britt, aiming for the spot right between her eyes, and she released my ankle so she could use her hands to protect her face.

I bounced back up to my feet and Britt was on me almost immediately. She tried to punch me in the gut, but I twisted out of the way, so I only took a glancing blow. Then, I lunged forward and took a swing at her.

Britt dodged it with ease. Then she grabbed me by the wrist, twisted my arm around behind my back and suddenly I was on my knees and whimpering in pain.

"Aaaahhhh!"

I screamed. I wasn't acting at that point. The pressure she was applying made it feel as if Britt was going to dislocate my shoulder.

"You think they should have cast you as Karola Hold?" Britt said mockingly. "Karola Holt is supposed to be an action hero! Not some whimpering porn star!"

"First you call me a slut! Now you call me a porn star?" I said through gritted teeth. "Once I get free from your grip, I'm gonna rip your clothes off and spank your ass until it's bright red!"

That was one of the lines that we'd rehearsed for the fight. It was a code phrase which meant Britt was supposed to release me from whatever hold she was using to make me helpless. It also meant that it was time for the melodrama to get cranked up to eleven.

"You're gonna rip on my clothes and spank me naked?" Britt said as she stood in a combat stance. "Come at me! See what happens!"

My arm was still in pain from being twisted around, but I rushed forward and tackled Britt, smashing into her midsection and driving both of us to the ground. We rolled around on the grass with my trying to come out on top. I was about the same height and weight as Britt; however, she was stronger and had experience with grappling and wrestling holds. I had no hope of winning in a fair fight against her.

She used her strength and skill to grab me, flip me around, immobilize my upper body and pin me to the ground.

At one point she had me in a half nelson with her legs wrapped around my hips, during which time she proceeded to unzip my dress and yank the spaghetti strap free from the rest of my gown.

Actors, actresses and assorted spectators gathered around to watch as Britt tore my dress to shreds and reduced me to wearing nothing but my black thong panties as I struggled vainly to break free from her wrestling holds.

"No!"

I screamed, but the show wasn't over yet.

At some point Britt got me into a full nelson and left me helpless from the waist up. I could kick and squirm my hips, but I couldn't do a damn thing to break free. Four or five photographers showed up and proceeded to take pictures of me as I struggled to break free from Britt's expert grip.

Britt pinned both of my arms above my head with one arm, and with her free hand she grabbed the waistband of my panties and yanked hard. She stretched the fabric beyond its breaking point and tore the stitching. She continued to abuse the material of the tiny garment until my panties were ripped completely from my body, rendering me completely naked.

The actors, actresses and other invited guests seemed to enjoy the spectacle of my humiliation. Adalia Watts told me that she'd specifically invited people who had the sort of tastes that would allow them to enjoy watching an attractive woman stripped naked and humiliated. Apparently, she had chosen wisely when she made out her guest list.

Everyone was enjoying my helplessness as Britt sat on my back and applied a chinlock. In this move, she pulled my head and torso backwards causing agonizing pain as she bent my spine backwards into an extreme arch. While I grunted and struggled. Aya Kit pointed out to one of her fellow actresses that the way Britt was forcing my spine to arch caused my breasts to be prominently displayed and thrust out for lucky spectators like herself.

A few seconds later Britt grabbed both of my arms and locked them tightly together. She used both arms at first, but when she had better leverage, she was able to use one arm to grip them just underneath the elbows and hold them together, immobilizing my arms and causing me to grunt and gasp in pain as she put pressure on my shoulders and forced my elbows tightly together.

And if this wasn't humiliating enough, Britt proceeded to hook her legs around mine and once hers were securely in control of mine, and, once hers were securely in control of mine, she spread her legs apart, forcing my own legs to spread wide. I struggled to close my legs; however, Britt used her superior strength and/or leverage to overpower me, and my legs were helplessly forced wide apart, giving the photographers in the crowd the opportunity to take more humiliating photos.

And, while I was naked and helpless, Britt asked loudly, "So, who should have been cast as Karola Holt?"

"You!"

I shouted.

"Who's number one?" she asked as she somehow spread my legs even further apart, making me feel even more helpless and exposed.

"You are!

" I screamed. "

You're number one!"

"What's my name!" she demanded

"Britt Nelson!"

"Say Britt Nelson is number one!" she demanded as the crowd eagerly feasted their eyes on my helpless nudity.

"Britt Nelson is number one!"

I screamed.

Eventually Britt let me go, although first, she twisted my arm behind my back and spanked my ass while dozens of people watched and took photos of Britt turning my ass red.

Eventually two of Adalia Watts's employees showed up and led me away from the prurient crowds and back to Adalia's office. Once there, I was given clothes to wear and Adalia congratulated me on a job well done.

"I'm proud of you, dear," she said. "For someone with no formal acting training, you seemed very convincing. You made it all look quite real."

"The only part I had to fake was my anger towards Britt," I explained. "I didn't have to fake getting my ass kicked."

"Nevertheless, you performed admirably. I'm paying you a bonus on top of the agreed upon fee."

I graciously accepted the bonus and told Adalia I'd be happy to work for her again if she ever needed me.

* * *

Recently Tricia Steele hired me to be her emotional support companion for three hours. My hourly rate is quite expensive, so hiring me for three hours cost quite a lot.

When we were younger, I was the cool, sophisticated teenager on the block with the enviable pair of breasts. Tricia was the awkward, flat-chested, emotionally needy teenager who desperately wanted me to be her friend.

On Saturday, I drove out to Tricia's house and got there ten minutes before my scheduled appointment.

I drove out to her home, feeling an indefinable sense of dread. I'd been the submissive, naked plaything of a great many dominant women, but for somehow showing up to be used, abused and punished by Tricia felt different.

It felt awkward for me to be assigned as her naked plaything after years of her being the emotionally needy, friendless kid in the neighborhood and me being the cool, pretty one.

I arrived at her home fifteen minutes early and Tricia opened the door within seconds of me knocking.

"Gwen," Tricia said after she'd opened the door and gave me a long, appreciative look. She had the sort of enthusiastic smile on her face I usually associate with little kids on Christmas morning, I suppose that makes sense. Tricia is a lesbian, and I was a very attractive woman who would soon be getting naked for her. I was briefly hugged and kissed and invited to come inside.

It was almost noon, but as I was led into the house, I saw Tricia's mother in the kitchen sipping coffee. Tricia walked me into the kitchen and told her mother to say hello.

"Hi, Gwen," Mrs. Steele said warmly as she shook my hand, "How are you?"

My heart was racing nervously and there were butterflies in my stomach as I stood there in Mrs. Steele's kitchen and felt a growing sense of dread at the prospect of submitting to her eighteen-year-old daughter, but rather than mention any of that, I just said, "Oh, I'm fine."

"Don't let her fool you," Tricia broke in, "She's all tense and apprehensive. The idea of being my naked slave for the next three hours has her panties in a bunch. I can practically hear her heart beating from here."

"Tricia!"

I snapped at the teenager. I had assumed (that like most of my clients) that Tricia would keep the nature of my business with her confidential. "How could you tell your mother about that?"

"I paid part of your fee," Mrs. Steele explained. "There's no way Tricia could have come up with that much money on her own."

My mouth hung open. I hadn't realized that Tricia's mother was even aware of what I did for a living. Now, she knew that I was going to be stripped naked, cruelly punished and sexually abused by her daughter. I felt my face blush hot with embarrassment.

"And besides, you're very beautiful," Mrs. Steele added. "And I enjoy the curves of a young, naked woman as much as the next person. I want to watch. Considering how much I paid, I think I've earned the right."

She took another sip of her coffee and then her daughter ordered me to strip.

Both women stared at me, expectant looks in their eyes, and I felt both hot and cold at the same time. I was certain that my blush had deepened as I realized I'd have to strip not only for Tricia, but for her mother as well.

My stomach was swirling with anxiety as I was forced to take my clothes off under the intense gazes of both women. I grabbed the bottom of my t-shirt and lifted it up over my head and then Tricia ordered me to give the shirt to her mother.

Both mother and daughter watched me intently as I stripped. One by one, I removed every item of clothing and handed them over to Tricia's mother. Then, to add to my humiliation, my hands were shaking so badly I couldn't undo the fasteners on my bra, and I needed Tricia's help to take it off.

My panties were the last to go. I hesitated to remove my last vestige of modesty, but Tricia and her mother both gave me impatient looks then I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and pushed the flimsy garment off my hips and down my thighs. Per Tricia's instructions, I handed my panties over to Mrs. Steele. She gave me an assessing look and with my pubic lips indecently on display, I could feel myself blushing an even deeper shade of red.

Then I stood completely naked in front of the eighteen-year-old and her mother and fought the urge to cover myself with my hands.

Mrs. Steele's eyes took in every inch of my body, and she nodded as if in approval, and then she turned to her daughter and said, "So, now that you have a naked slave-girl, what will you do with her first?'

"Go lock her clothes up somewhere where she can't get at them," Tricia told her mother. "And I'll get started humiliating her."

Mrs. Steele walked away with my clothes and Tricia stared at me in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. The way her eyes burned holes into me made me feel more naked than naked.

"Where is she taking my clothes?" I asked, but Tricia ignored my question and said, "Hands behind your head. Spread your legs wide apart and arch your back. Stick your tits out."

I felt feverish, and I was certain that I must be blushing furiously as I assumed the lewd position, putting my pubic lips and my breasts indecently on display. Then Tricia walked forward, took my breasts in her hands and cruelly pinched my nipples.

"Aaaahhhh,"

I gasped. "Tricia, do you have to be so rough?"

"I spent years being jealous of your breasts," Tricia explained. "You need to be punished for that."

Tricia was a late bloomer. Her breasts didn't develop until sometime after I moved out of the old neighborhood. That wasn't my fault, but I was getting punished for it anyway. The unfairness of being punished for something when I was blameless made me feel a lot like I was a slave. I sighed and felt a delicious heat in my loins as I sank into the role of being Tricia's sex slave.

Tricia continued to torture my poor nipples, twisting and roughly pulling on them until tears welled up in my eyes and I was whimpering in pain.

"Stand up straight!"

Tricia barked as I began to wilt under the agonizing torment of having my nipples abused. "

Elbows back! Thrust your boobs forward!"

It took a herculean amount of self-control, but I straightened up and assumed the posture Tricia demanded. Of course, once my breasts were thrust forward and exceedingly vulnerable, Tricia spanked my left breast with the open palm of her right hand. I gasped in both shock and pain. Tricia followed up her assault on my left breasts with an even harder spank to my right breast.

"You deserve to have those breasts punished," Tricia informed me. "And today is the day they get what they deserve."

Tricia alternated between slapping my breasts and pinching my nipples. I managed to keep my elbows back and my spine arched for Tricia, however, it was a monumental struggle. The slaps and the pinches were subjecting me to a great deal of pain and my self-preservation instincts were screaming at me to defend myself.

The slapping of my poor, innocent breasts stopped when Tricia heard a knocking on the door. I assumed that Tricia would go see who it was, but instead she gave me an expectant look and she told me to see who it was instead.

"Answer the door, Gwen," Tricia said to me.

I gave her an incredulous look and said, "Tricia! I can't answer the door like this! I'm naked."

Then she smacked me on the ass and snapped,

"Answer the door slave, unless you want to go over my knee and get a scorching spanking!"

My submissive instincts kicked in and despite the utter humiliation involved, I responded to the authority in Tricia's voice and began to walk towards the front door.

I had no idea who was on the other side of that door. I was stark naked, exposed and vulnerable. I was going to feel humiliated no matter who was standing there.

Fear ran through me as I moved forward. With every step I took my feelings of panic intensified. I flushed, scarlet and hot. Panic gripped me. I was stark naked. I had no way of knowing who was on the other side of that door and I was about to expose myself to them. What if it was a

large group of people?

What if it was a nun or a priest?

What if it was somebody I knew?