The man I had come to call The Professor now led me by hand while walking into the woods with him, alone.
One could be excused for thinking the scene was romantic: afterall, that peaceful summer Sunday afternoon was beautiful and I was, like many American women, looking for adventure and excitement in the hands of a strong man capable of protecting us as much as plundering our bodies. And that certainly applied here.
However, there were a few more critical elements at play: one, that I was a *married* woman and this man was *not* my husband; two, I was a bondage prostitute -- oh and my pimp (and main Lover anymore) was *also* not my husband; three, this man was indeed a customer -- vetted somewhat but one still riddled with mysteries; four, he was also a sadist, though an admitted one and seemed so far to be sane.
This lattermost fact -- his kinky sadism -- was something I accepted about him because I myself could -- at times anyway and only somewhat -- enjoy pain. And because while I liked to be "taken" and plundered and used and thrilled all the while I did love making money *even* more. If a lady hasn't earned cash literally *with* her cunt, even once, has she ever truly lived?
Anyway... this is what ended up happening with that sadistic (but well-paying!) man. Alone with him in the woods that day...
...
We had walked perhaps a few minutes deep into the dense growth of trees -- neither speaking all the while -- before reaching a small clearing -- a space on the ground with perhaps only a dozen feet between the nearest trunks -- and there we came to a stop.
He let go of my hand and then lowered the picnic basket onto the ground.
He got to business fast:
"Turn around and face away from me."
I did.
"Bring your hands behind you, wrists crossed."
I complied.
I heard a sound like rattling chains and then I felt him grab my forearms one by one, and clamped what felt like cold metal handcuffs around both my wrists It was done fast, with little time for me to complain. He ratcheted them both down, tight. I assumed he had the keys to release me later.
"There now... That makes it a little easier to control a slut. In my experience anyway."
Apparently I was the slut in this scenario. Not that I denied it.
He also took the opportunity to fondle my ass a little from behind, giving each of my buttocks a firm squeeze or two. Seemingly just because he could.
Speaking of my ass and his fondling thereof it could be a good time to reveal what I wore that day. Heck: what I even looked like, for the whole picture, for context?
First, I am white and was then around 35. I'm a bit shorter than average with a petite build and small perky breasts -- and a trim figure from diet and exercise though certainly no athlete -- all of which perhaps contributed to me looking younger than otherwise, I assume.
Black hair, kept short for convenience -- though my new lover/pimp preferred it long so I had started to grow it out.
Green eyes.
Narrow waist. And men have described me as having a kind of "perfect, heart-shaped" butt and nether regions. And sometimes even gave the compliment of "quite spankable!" which that at least I *could* confirm.
And next... what I wore that afternoon, when meeting this customer, The Professor?
A kind of red knit shawl over top a white blouse -- itself about half-way buttoned up. Beneath the blouse? Nothing, no bra -- I didn't really need one anyway and the thin white fabric of the blouse made it easier for men to see my nipples and dark areola.
Black micro-skirt made out of some cheap fake leather -- de rigueur for street hookers, of course, though I was not exactly that. Not yet?
Cheap thin white cotton panties. That way if I lost them or they got ruined or taken as trophy it wouldn't matter. And if I did get aroused and wet or even spotted blood then either way it could help to see it.
My vulva was hairless -- kept that way by shaving each week. And my labia were small, almost non-existent -- hard to hang clamps from but not impossible. Also, I had never bore children and though I was no longer a virgin I had men tell me I was incredibly "tight" down there -- something I may or may not have been proud of, by the way.
Also while I had showered thoroughly and even perfumed myself here and there before dressing I had also given special attention to my ass -- before leaving for this "date" and at my customer's request. He had asked that my butt be clean, both inside and out, and we knew what that implied. Therefore my ass had taken an enema or two and gotten washed out as best I could -- it was a little gross and awkward to do but OTOH the sheer humiliation and the feeling of "smallness" and submission also turned me on to a major degree.
But anyway, to help "cap off" that area my lover also helped me to lube up my ass -- better to get it ready for anal intercourse, in case the customer wanted it, a reasonable bet.
And then he pushed a small green-jeweled smooth metal (surgical steel) buttplug into my asshole to finish the look. It looked perverted and erotic as hell but it had a more practical benefit: it helped to keep my little butthole and its sphincter muscle ring "open" and therefore more ready for penetration by cocks.
The plug, the lube and the enema beforehand in combination all seemed like sensible preparation steps for any anal whore who was serious about delivering the best experience for her lovers and certainly for maximum customer satisfaction -- in my opinion, anyway. I know *I* was serious.
Sensible athletic shoes. Normally I'd wear high heels when I expected to go somewhere to fuck men for money. But since grass and bare earth were on the agenda I ruled those out.
Big hoop earrings. I just felt like they made me look more slutty. They made me feel that way for some reason. I even chewed cherry pink bubble gum as I had approached the picnic table to meet this customer (after my pimp and I arrived at the park, in his car, about 15 minutes prior) the better to complete the vibe.
Glossy red lipstick.
Purple eye shadow.
And finally, the only *other* jewelry I had on -- other than my hoop earrings and my buttplug -- was perhaps the most important one of them all: my *wedding* ring. And yes I *was* a whore now despite being married, and my husband neither *knew* of this fact nor did *I* care if he approved -- we had reached that point. However, it turned *me* on to still wear it as I fucked and fucked innumerable strangers. And I believe it turned on some of those horny, kinky men too, as a bonus.
But back to my ass and The Professor's fondling of it...
He lifted my micro-skirt up in the back with one hand, and with the other he slipped his fingers under the waistband of my panties, without asking, and quickly yanked them down to my thighs.
I made a kind of surprised "Oh!" sound in reaction. It was not a bad surprise. I was horny before but between the tight-handcuffs-behind-my-back and this panties-yanked-down-in-the-woods The Professor here now had this little whore *quite* wet, and, increasingly needy.
