Bmoc: the Shopping Trip

This is a stroke story. It's ridiculous and unrealistic. No one is worried about STDs, sizes are exaggerated, everyone is bi (or at least the women are) and people can fuck for hours without chafing. This chapter has (consensual) emotional abuse and public humiliation. Caveat reader.

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Dr. Anne Carrington, my anthropology professor was making me breakfast—eggs, bacon, and waffles. She was standing in front of her stove wearing only an apron. The apron didn't cover her tits entirely, and her back and ass were completely uncovered. I was sitting at her kitchen table with a cup of coffee and using her laptop to check my e-mail and do a few other little things. I was also naked, and I was sitting with my legs splayed open and my flaccid cock hanging off the edge of the chair.

I yawned and stretched after answering an e-mail from one of my other fuck-buddies. She wanted me to come over, but I told her I was busy. Dr. Carrington finished making breakfast and brought two plates over to the table. I raised an eyebrow as she served me and then sat down with a plate of your own. She started to eat, but noticed my expression and froze, a forkful of scrambled eggs midway to her mouth. "Did I tell you to make yourself breakfast?" I asked.

Dr. Carrington's lower lip started to quiver. She started to answer me "I assumed..." I slapped the fork from her hand, sending eggs flying across the room.

"I said to make me breakfast. I'll take care of yours. Now clean up the mess and toss your food in the trash." She obeyed, but she was clearly puzzled. Dr. Carrington took a paper towel and gathered up the bits of egg that had been scattered around the kitchen. Then she went over to the trash can and dumped her otherwise untouched plate of food into the garbage. She came back to the table and sat down, looking at me expectantly. I ignored her for a while as I checked a few websites, and then I looked back at her. "Do you want something?" I asked.

Dr. Carrington hesitated before answering, as if she was unsure of my response. "Wh... what will I eat, sir?" I raised an eyebrow and clucked my tongue, then looked significantly at my cock, which was still hanging limply over the edge of my chair.

To her credit, Dr. Carrington immediately figured out what I meant. She dropped to her hands and knees and crawled around the table to kneel by my side. She paused there, perhaps expecting me to turn toward her. I just looked down my nose at her. "Under the table, slut. Why would you think I want to look at you now?" She wasn't happy about it, but my professor crawled under her kitchen table and started sucking my cock. "Today, the only thing you'll be eating is my sperm. If you want breakfast, you'd better get me off. I figure it'll take me about fifteen minutes to eat breakfast and finish up what I'm doing with your computer. If you haven't gotten a load from me by then, you'll just have to go hungry until I decide to give you another chance."

That got her attention. She had started out slow, as if she was trying to please me without being obtrusive. But once I told her the plan, she practically attacked my cock. Dr. Carrington swallowed me whole, taking in my limp cock and letting it slide down the back of her throat. I started to stiffen in her mouth, stretching out her slim neck. When she pulled back, I was almost at full-mast, and she had covered my cock in a thick layer of throat slime.

She plunged back down on my shaft, hard enough that I feared she might give herself a nosebleed from banging her face against my groin. When she reached the base, her tongue slipped out from between her stretched lips to tickle the base of my shaft and the top of my balls. This set her pattern—she'd inhale my cock, burying it in her throat, and hold herself there as long as possible while her throat massaged my cock and her tongue lapped at my balls. When she couldn't sustain it any longer, she withdrew just long enough to take another deep breath, then she'd plunge back down, swallowing my length easily. I was impressed; it wasn't that long ago that I'd had to practically rape her face to get myself down her throat, and now she was deepthroating like a pro.

I told her as much while my cock was deep in her throat. "I'm proud of you, little slut. You've been practicing, haven't you?" She managed to nod. "Very good. That shows initiative and dedication. I'll give you a reward later, and you are permitted to remind me if I forget." I'm pretty sure that made her happy, because she started sucking on me like a vacuum. I swear, it's like she wanted to extract my balls through my cock. I shifted forward, giving her a better angle, and she started bobbing her head rapidly up and down. All the while, her hands were giving my balls gentle squeezes and tugs.

She sucked me until I was almost finished eating and surfing the web. Then I put on hand under the table and pulled her head into my crotch. "Get ready for your breakfast," I said, as I got ready to unload directly down her throat. Dr. Carrington had given me a masterful throat-job, and the load I gave her was commensurately big. I must have held her head down on me for almost a minute as my cock pumped streams of semen straight into her stomach, and she didn't try to pull away even once. When I finished shooting, I let her pull away slowly, then patted her gently on the head.

She crawled back out and sat at my side. "Are you still hungry?" I asked. She shook her head. "That was very good. I think you can shower with me before we go out. You earned it." Dr. Carrington looked up at me, almost pathetically happy about my praise. She sat there patiently as I polished off the last of my breakfast (which had been delicious—the woman could make waffles like nobody's business). I put my plate in the sink, then I turned to her. "Let's get ourselves cleaned up." I strode off toward her bathroom. Dr. Carrington trailed behind, crawling the whole way. I had to suppress a grin at that; she was becoming an active participant in her own degradation, which was the whole point of the day I had planned (though she didn't know it yet).

We didn't do anything in the shower, though I did have Dr. Carrington wash me by covering herself with soap and acting as a sponge. It had felt great when I had Alyssa and Melanie do it, and it was just as pleasant when Dr. Carrington did it. Having the second girl meant there was more coverage, but Dr. Carrington's slavish need to please me made her very enthusiastic. Once I was clean, I ordered her to clean herself while I watched. Then I turned off the shower and had her dry me, and then herself. Again, I watched her intently as she did. Finally, we went to get dressed. I put on the clothes I wore the night before—jeans and a t-shirt, pretty standard. Dr. Carrington initially took out the sort of clothes she wore to teach—a white blouse, a skirt, and a matching jacket. It was all very classy and elegant and completely wrong for my plans for the day.

So I had her put on a mini-fashion show. I told her to get her trashiest, sluttiest clothes and bring them out. While she searched, I went through her wardrobe as well, taking note of sizes and seeing what she liked. She presented me with a couple outfits and I had her try them on, getting dressed and undressed in front of my watchful gaze. Dr. Carrington didn't have much in her wardrobe that impressed me. Eventually, I took a pair of jeans that were tight enough to look painted on and used my knife to cut them short, turning them into cut-offs that barely covered her ass. The strip of fabric covering her cunt was about as wide as two of my fingers. Of course, I didn't let her wear panties with the cut-offs, so the rough material would rub against her as she walked and if she got wet enough it would be obvious to everyone.

I made similar adjustments to her top. It started as a figure-hugging, cleavage-baring white t-shirt. When I was done her midriff was bare and her tits were practically spilling out of the top. If she raised her arms, jumped around, or leaned over too far, she'd probably end up flashing people. Of course, I didn't allow her a bra. If her shirt got wet, it would become practically transparent. I also had her put on more makeup than she normally wore, including dark red lipstick that accentuated her naturally pouty lips.

Finally, I made her wear a pair of red strappy stiletto heels that drew the eye to her calves, added a lovely sway to her walk, and made her tits bounce around under her shirt. All in all, I was pleased with my work. There were probably parts of the US where she'd be arrested for going out in public dressed like that, and she'd be mortified if anyone she knew saw her out and about.

Once she was dressed, I took Dr. Carrington's car keys, ID, and credit cards and slipped them into my pocket. "We're going to spend all day together. If you're going to be my slut, you need to look the part. So we're going shopping, and we'll be making a few other stops as well. Now get in your car." Dr. Carrington drove a sporty little coupe, a two-seater convertible of some kind. I'm not a car guy. I got in the driver's seat, and she took the passenger seat. Her seatbelt dug into the space between her breasts and forced her shirt to stretch even more to cover them—and revealing that her nipples were erect. She was excited at the prospect of spending a day with me, looking like a two-dollar whore.

I put the top down and pulled out of her garage. We got on the road and headed toward the interstate. My school is in a small college town in the South. It has a few thousand students, and there are about the same number of townspeople living near campus. Like most college towns, it's got a bunch of businesses that cater to students and faculty. If I took her out in town, someone would definitely see us, and word would get around. I didn't mind too much if that happened, but the fact that it would be all but certain would let Dr. Carrington get used to the possibility. So instead, I decided we'd go into the city. This way, there was a chance she'd be found out (students regularly made trips to the city), but it was far from guaranteed. It was enough to make her jumpy and nervous without turning her into a wreck. And it also meant a half-hour drive, on a gorgeous fall day, with the top down and a hot woman giving me road head.

Dr. Carrington wasn't surprised when we got out onto the interstate and I freed my cock from my jeans. I didn't even look at her; she took off her seatbelt and bent down to take me into her mouth as soon as my beast had been released. I guess she was still hungry after her morning meal. "You'll probably want to keep me pretty deep in your throat," I said, "unless you want anyone who drives by to see your pretty blonde head bobbing up and down in my lap." I couldn't see her expression, but from the way she swallowed me after I said that I figured she hadn't realized how visible she'd be with the top down.

I spent a very pleasurable half-hour driving to the city with my professor's head bobbing on my cock. I got close to cumming a few times, but held off—I might have all kinds of sexual superpowers, but that wouldn't help me survive a high-speed car crash. More than a few people honked at us as they drove by, including a couple trucks whose drivers must have had a great view. Each time she heard a car horn blaring, Dr. Carrington buried her face in my lap and held it there until she had to come up to breathe. When we turned off the interstate, she tried to pull herself of my cock and sit up, but I stopped her with gentle pressure on the back of her head. We drove through the city for about five minutes until we reached our destination. Once I pulled into a parking spot, I turned off the car, put my hands behind my head, and finally let myself cum. A thick torrent of spunk rushed out of the end of my cock, filling Dr. Carrington's mouth several times as she swallowed frantically. When I finished, she sat up. Her face was red and there was a small trickle of cum at one corner of her mouth.

"Well, slut? What do you say when someone feeds you?" I asked.

"Thank you, sir." she replied.

I stuffed my cock back into my pants and zipped up, then got out of the car. Dr. Carrington also got out of the car and looked around. We were at the mall, and she seemed perplexed. "May I ask a question, sir?" she asked.

"Other than that one? I suppose."

"Why are we here?"

"I told you. We're going shopping. You don't own enough slut-wear. You need clothes that tell the world that you're a dumb fuck-toy, put her to be ogled by everyone and used by your superiors. Nice clothes are for women who've earned them. From now on, I'll be deciding what kind of things you wear."

Dr. Carrington looked down and shuffled nervously from one foot to the other. She clearly had something to say. I debated letting her remain on the hook, but I decided against it. I sighed dramatically and rolled my eyes. "Spit it out, slut."

"I don't think I can teach in slutty clothes, sir. I don't want to get fired," she said, in a quiet voice.

"First of all," I replied, "your only desire should be to please me. If I want you to dress like a whore in the classroom, then you should want to do it too. Second, I don't want you to lose your job either. We're going to get you new work clothes and new play clothes, and the work clothes won't be enough to get you fired." Dr. Carrington seemed relieved at this. "Now come on, slut. We've got a lot to do today and if you keep asking stupid questions you'll slow us down." I turned and walked off toward the mall entrance. Dr. Carrington followed, tottering on her high heels.

We drew more than a few long looks from people as we walked through the mall. Dr. Carrington had almost ten years on me, and it's not every day you see a woman with a figure like hers wearing clothing that left so little to the imagination. Most of them men we passed stared at her with undisguised lust bordering on hunger. For the women, it was something closer to disgust—though I spotted a few women whose gaze lingered a bit too long and who couldn't quite manage to hide their desire. I made a mental note to do this again someday, using my professor to find new prey. I didn't look back at Dr. Carrington; I just walked briskly and confidently to our first stop. I occasionally caught a glimpse of her in a reflection, and I could see that she was looking down as she walked, not meeting anyone's eyes. I could also see her nipples, straining against the fabric of her shirt. Good to know, I thought—my slut is a closet exhibitionist.

The first store we went to was Hot Topic. It was filled with tight, revealing clothing that was entirely inappropriate for a woman of Dr. Carrington's age. We strolled through the store slowly as I picked up various bits and bobs. I grabbed a few tight t-shirts and a few accessories—a pair of leather wristbands and a trio of lacy chokers in various colors. I had Dr. Carrington go to the back to try everything on. The shop girl was young, probably a college student herself. She was pale and dressed in black. Her name tag read "Alice." Alice had black hair, probably dyed, with purple and blue tips that were definitely dyed. She was carrying a few extra pounds, but she did it well. Alice stared at Dr. Carrington as we went back to the changing rooms. Dr. Carrington opened the changing room door and stepped inside. I winked at Alice and stepped in behind her.

Dr. Carrington didn't expect that, and she bit back a short yelp when I pressed against her in the small booth. I slid around her and sat down on the tiny bench. "Well?" I asked. "Get changed." She pulled her top off and struggled into the first of the t-shirts I had picked out. I intentionally picked out shirts that were a bit too small for her, so that she'd come to learn that displaying herself for me was more important than comfort. We spent about ten minutes in the changing room as I watched her silently while she tried on different outfits. When she was done, I simply said "that'll do" and left—but she hadn't yet gotten her original top back on. Alice the shop girl was near the door when I left, probably listening to us, and she got an eyeful of Dr. Carrington's firm, round tits. Her mouth dropped open. "Sorry about that, Alice," I said. "She's shy and doesn't like to wear new clothes in front of strangers. We'll take everything." Dr. Carrington came out of the changing room carrying the shirts and accessories, blushing down to the tops of her tits. Alice rang us up and I paid for everything with Dr. Carrington's bank card. When we were finished, Alice scrawled a phone number on the receipt before handing it over, blushing almost as deeply as Dr. Carrington. Then she scurried off.

Our next stop was Frederick's of Hollywood. I wasn't planning on buying much there—my slut wasn't going to wear underwear most of the time, and when she did, it wouldn't be a normal bra-and-panty set. I went there for a few reasons. First, I put her through another humiliating fashion show, this time by having her come out to show me each item. Over the course of half an hour, she wound up walking around the changing area in a dazzling variety of revealing underwear. I couldn't have her come out to the store proper, but the changing rooms weren't visible from most of the store or from people outside.

One set really caught my attention—a midnight-blue corset that pushed my professor's tits together and up, creating cleavage that was simply eye (and mouth) watering. The set also included garters and fishnet stockings, in the same dark blue hue, and a g-string that was almost as narrow in the front as it was in the back. Dr. Carrington tried it on and stepped hesitantly out of her booth in the changing area. She walked to the center of the eyes downcast. I was sitting down in a chair in the changing area, and I gestured for her to spin and show me the back. She complied, giving me a stunning view of her pert, well-rounded ass. I had her bend over for me and spread her ass, showing off her pink pucker and dripping slit clearly, covered only by a thin thread of dark blue fabric. "Hungry, slut?" I asked.

She nodded, still bent over. "Wait here." I got up and went out to the store. The only employee on duty was a young woman named Kelly—a statuesque brunette, with medium-sized tits and dusky skin. I had fucked her a few weeks ago, when I was planning my little shopping trip, and I knew she'd be alone in the store today. She had been begging me for attention since then, and today I gave her some. After a few words from me, she shooed out the only other customer and closed up for her lunch break. I propped her up on the counter, pushed her skirt above her hips, and slid her panties to the side.

Then I entered her in one smooth slow stroke. Kelly was already drenched; she'd been going mad with lust since I entered the store, and she took my length easily. When my balls made contact with her ass, she bucked her hips forward and wrapped her arms and legs around me, pulling herself into a tight embrace. "You're already right on the edge, aren't you?" I whispered into her ear. "I'm going to make that trashy slut in the other room taste you on my cock. Go ahead and cum." Kelly stifled a moan as she came around my cock, her juices staining my jeans. I thrust into her a few more times as she rode out her climax, her eyes closed, holding me tight and whispering her thanks. Then I gently removed myself from her embrace and put my cock back into my pants, still shiny with the signs of her orgasm. "I'll fuck you for real some other time, maybe break in your ass like you wanted, but for now you can just watch what I do to the women I own." Kelly just nodded, without opening her eyes, as I left her to recover.

I returned to the changing area and took Dr. Carrington by the hair, hauling her over toward the bench I had been sitting on. She knelt and pressed her face against my crotch, feeling my stiff cock through my jeans, nuzzling against my shaft and balls. One of her hands started to rub my cock through my pants while the other pushed aside the narrow strip of fabric covering her cunt and went to work there, two fingers slipping inside while her thumb stimulated her rapidly-stiffening clit.