The Consort Contract

It was Friday night and once again I was in a hotel room in a big bed on my back, nude, legs drawn up with ankles chained to the top bedposts, and though blindfolded judging by the sting of the recent strikes someone *was* flogging my exposed wet pussy.

It was a Stranger, of course.

And I would never know their name, or likely ever encounter them again. Well, unless they requested it. It would be solely up to them. Well, and my pimp -- I would have no say in the matter.

Yes, I had a Pimp, my dear readers. Of sorts. But first let me establish the following:

I had once been a typical, loyal & conservative wife from American suburbia though now I had a different life entirely.

Why?

Well, it was all the fault of a certain man I met. A man who ended up changing my course entirely. A man who, perhaps, even changed me -- in some deep and indelible way. A man who unlocked me -- the *real* me, deep down -- even as he sometimes put me in cages or chains or inflicted upon me the most exquisite of pain or humiliation, and shame.

For they say that Woman above all wants to Feel and this man made me feel Everything. He became an addiction. Him and the new life he created for me. And I would never wish to leave it.

And how did it happen?

It started simple enough. As many a Golden Path to Paradise appears to be.

I had agreed to a Deal.

A deal with The New Man I met -- a lover on the side, outside my marriage. For my own husband had proven to be an awful monster with *zero* interest in making his loving wife happy.

Not long after the wedding he grew into a selfish bore and uncaring louse and this new version of him had been in place now for years despite my best efforts to change him. And yet for various complicated reasons a mutual exit via divorce was simply unfeasible.

Therefore I had begun to fuck around -- mostly one night stands -- and I have no doubt that my hubby did too.

The Deal

I had dated a certain interesting man for a few months, it was going great, and I had begun to wonder if it might be becoming serious. We were still in that initial stage where everything was exciting and new and heck perhaps even with both of us still on our best behavior.

Then he presented me with a surprise. Not a ring, my dear readers. And though that would have been romantic you could imagine how much the prospect would terrify me too -- having once already been bitten by a Lover's Vow gone wrong.

Thankfully his surprise was very different: he proposed an... arrangement. Between us. Really, just a modification upon what we had going on before. The new arrangement would have terms to please both sides, of course.

A deal, essentially, and a kind of contract. Not unlike marriage though what *he* had in mind was much more simple, and very specific, and frankly, more wicked if not totally depraved, sexually. And a kind of erotic fantasy made real. If we both *chose* to make it real, together, anyway.

His own personal term for it was a Consort Contract. Within the bounds of its wording on paper it would be me, the woman, and your Narrator here, who would serve the role of The Consort.

The terms of the contract were easy enough to understand. And part of their appeal.

First, that I (as The Consort) did anything that he (The Client) wanted and, in return, he... well, he paid me money. That's it. Though of some fixed and agreed upon sums and at a fixed rate of ongoing payout.

The whole "til death do we part" thing?

*NO.*

Yeah, right!

Instead, either party could end this contract and exit it at any time, immediately, and with no further obligations, and no clawback provisions.

And both its execution, enforcement and termination would all be kept secret and private and plausibly deniable. The better to be discreet as well as fit in more sustainably with whatever other parts of our vanilla lives which might be going on. Also, to stay the hell *off* the radar of prudes and bureaucrats the world over.

The "do anything" part of my obligations might sound too open ended, sure, or too potentially extreme or dangerous. Sometimes the requests or predicaments shocked me or pushed me a little too far for my tastes.

OTOH the money *was* good and I needed it. Especially if I were to ever get away and become independent from my awful husband, the sole bread winner before. And it was quite a lot. And he was reliable with payouts.

It helped that I was a bit of a risk taker, at heart -- if long repressed previously due to my marriage -- and I did like adventure.

And yes it helped that I was a horny girl (well, a young-ish-still woman: age 35, and legally adult for all matters involving nudity or sex -- of course, duh -- though I still liked to use the term girl or be called one, in affection) and a hedonist at heart -- however prim and proper I *might* have seemed out in public or in my ordinary day-to-day life.

It helped that this man was *so* goddamn good looking: muscular, fun, intelligent, educated, passionate, articulate, perverted *and* a wicked way with words.

But back to the hotel room!

With me on the bed, naked, blindfolded, legs back, knees near my head and with my ankles chained to the bed posts.

And my aroused pussy being struck, repeatedly, by a kinky man who rarely spoke.

By my customer. Our customer -- of my pimp and I. And I did aim for *total* customer satisfication by then. My pimp had trained *that* into me well, and over the course of the prior, first few months so far into our Deal.

"I like the fact that her cunt's wet."

It must have been the man beating my pussy. It wasn't my pimp's voice. The latter I believed was sitting on a chair against a far wall of our hotel room. Both to protect me and perhaps make me feel safe and, I am equally sure, also to get his own jollies off as a voyeur.

"She can't get enough of it. Trust me. Don't hold back."

That, my dear readers, were the words of my pimp. The unique man who led me down this path into the world of The Whore. He was also my Lover and boyfriend, still, in a way. Though he didn't mind sharing me with others. Especially if he knew about it and got to watch or join in. It turned him on to watch other men stick their cocks in me and fuck me. Or to watch me service a stranger's big cock in my mouth. It all made his own dick harder. Sometimes he even played with himself as he watched me with others.

While it was an unusual relationship the two of us had by then it was also far far better than what I had in my marriage, before. I even made a point of continuing to wear my wedding ring even as I did my whore's work. It turned *me* on more, the thrill of The Forbidden.

And I believe it also turned on many of our customers too. To know that the cunt they were fucking or the bare ass they were spanking was that of a married woman -- someone *else's* wife, of some poor cuckold somewhere, though surely a louse who had deserved it! Men always came more intensely when they knew what they did was an Obscenity.

"I expect to fuck her, of course, before I leave. You can watch."

"That is fine."

"I didn't bring a condom."

"She takes bareback."

The reader may note that there were *not* three parties to this conversation: there were two negotiators, only. Ever. And that was part of The Deal.

I had come to prefer it too. This wicked Deal.

My lack of control also meant a lack of responsibility. And no burden of planning or weighing the alternate consequences. Or risk of guilt over making a pervy but selfish choice in the near-term. For the near-term -- the now and present moment -- was all there *ever* was. With *this* man in control of my sex life. With this man in charge of my pussy. It was a life that made me feel... free. Honestly, it kept me more often wet.

The customer flogged my pussy a dozen more times or so before seeming to want something new.

"I'm going to do an experiment. If she remains obedient there may be more paying work in the future. You understand?"

"Of course," responded my pimp.

The customer approached the bed and got onto it, I could tell. I believe be leaned down next because I could feel his breath on my pussy. His hands grabbed my buttocks and thighs, as if to brace himself for his next wicked act.

I felt his lips on my vulva.

He rubbed his mouth around all over my vulva and along my slit especially, up and down and back again, just sliding his closed mouth's lips along my own vulnerable and most private feminine flesh. My pussy was wet so it surely slicked up his own lips and face as well.

And then... he bit.

He took one of my labia folds between his greedy lips and then his hard teeth, gently, almost as if simply because he could. Because as his whore then he *did* have that right. He had that sheer *power* over me and right then he wished to exercise it. Just as he had been whipping the same cunt a few minutes before.

His bite did not hurt, but it drew my focus down there. My total focus. And then he released it and took a different piece of flesh between his teeth: my clit. As best he could.

And that hurt. But also felt good. Though too intense. It was in that rare region of sensation which was both pleasure and pain at the same time.

And then he bit down harder.

I yelped. I could not help it. Though I was careful to not say anything else. I did not exactly beg him to stop. In my new life I was becoming more used to pain. In a way I had been coming to enjoy it too, more often. Especially when it involved my most sensitive flesh. My nips or clit, my vag or even sometimes my asshole. I was a bad girl growing up, in secret anyway, and I had been turning, finally, into a rather nasty woman.

"Thank you, sir. But harder?"

He let go of my clit. With one hand he reached up, pulled it back a little, I assume, as if to aim carefully and then--

*SMACK!*

He hit my face.

Smacking the left side of my face, with his palm flat, open handed. To my cheek.

It hurt sharply and shocked me, and might even have made a mark. But I had certainly taken harder. I revelled in his deed, regardless, and in that feeling. The role of the victim to His sheer violence and force, to his display of masculine Dominance over a willful bitch who perhaps crossed a line. I was the bitch in this scenario. More importantly, the whore. His whore, then. I knew my place.

"Thank you, sir. I should not have asked that. Not my place, sir."

"That is correct," the man replied, our customer.

He was not unresponsive to my own stated requests, however. And I think I grew to like him more then.

He adjusted and took my engorged clit carefully between his front teeth again. He paused for a few seconds. As if to give me time to prepare. Or induce some anticipation in me.

"Hold on!"

It was my pimp. The customer continued his little pause. The pimp -- my Lover -- came over and took something out of his pocket. It was a rubber ball gag. Quickly he put it on me, gagging my mouth with it and sinching its straps down tight.

"Yell something, whore."

I did as my pimp asked. As a test, I imagine. I yelled. Tried to anyway. And yes the gag stifled much of it. He made one more adjustment.

"Its ok now. Proceed."

We were in a hotel, of course, with hundreds of others in all the rooms and hallways around us. We didn't want them to hear a woman screaming. Even if it were done under conditions of consent like this.

The customer gave a slight nod, though while keeping my clit between his teeth the entire time. I could *feel* him do his little head nod, anyway -- if I could see it I imagine he would have even looked super cute as he--

*AGONY!*

Sheer agony. My world was ending. In blackness if not the reddest of blood?!

I screamed! Without thinking. Could not help it. And without holding back.

If it wasn't for the gag and the wise precautions of my pimp/lover I am sure it could have alarmed people nearby in the hotel. As it was the ball gag had muffled my scream. Dampened and distorted it, lowering the final volume of the sounds which did escape. It sounded pathetic, instead, even to my own ears.

I did struggle and tried to bring my pussy away from the villain chewing on my clit then, but from that too there was no escape. And my struggle only made it worse -- my flinching only caused more tugs of my flesh and in that tug-of-war the man's cruel teeth and their strong, terrible grip had been winning so far.

I did begin to cry though. Even sob. I hoped I had not been ruined. Logically I knew that my protector would *never* allow such a thing -- NO permanent harm was one of his own intimate promises made to me, and moreover a formal term of our contract. But agony itself was possible, and sometimes even required.

I was certainly brought to agony then, in that hotel room, with my clit between this strangers teeth. I could have passed out from the pain alone, if he had continued. However--

He let go. Got up.

"She may bruise but she will survive. This is not my first rodeo, of course."

It was the customer: as if he were merely sharing his impartial assessment of the night's results.

"I understand. And agree."

And that was my lover/pimp.

The customer continued, though now he spoke as if had prepared this particular speech in advance. And so it came off more as impersonal lecture than a casual request. He was a Dominant, clearly. The kind that always made my panties damp. And drop. Especially when they were willing to hurt me, too.

"There is a park on the east side of the city, near the woods. Jackson Pond is its name. On Sunday afternoon at 2 pm I will be there. I will be sitting at one of their picnic tables. Enjoying a lunch in the sun. If you wish then you are invited to bring this woman there too. Ensure that her ass has been well cleaned prior, both inside and out. On the picnic table at which I'll be sitting there will be many objects spread out before me, as one might expect, including my food and perhaps some choices in reading. Below one of the books, however, and hidden, one might find five hundred dollars cash. I will have no idea how it got there. The woman should reap half of it, at least. I will lead her by hand past the tree line nearby, to a place you will not be able to see -- though I'm confident will be in screaming distance, out of basic curtesy. An hour later I shall return with her. Intact. You are to remain at the table the entire time. If the whore behaves well enough, when she's with me alone, then I may have further requests of you in the future."

"I understand."

"Excellent. And I don't expect any commitment now. Perhaps we never see each other again -- who knows?"

"Yes. I have a similar philosophy."

At this point I imagine the two men shook hands. I knew it was how my pimp liked to operate, based on past experience.

The customer left. I  heard the hotel room's door close. And then the click of the bolt being re-locked from the inside.

My pimp -- now fully back in the mental frame of My Lover again, I suspect, approached the bed. I heard a sound like he he was undoing his belt buckle and belt -- whether to beat me with it or merely to fuck me was not yet clear.

Then the sound of unzipping. And the bed shifted as he got up onto it, positioning himself just in front of my raised up ass and cunny.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now, little whore. My balls were about to burst there. Damn, that was hot."

So... fucking it would be!

...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: TO BE... CONTINUED?