Maing of a Slut

Fran’s breath came in short sharp gasps, as she brought herself to climax. Her free hand gripping the side of the tub, turning her knuckles white. She had lain in the bath for over an hour now, reminiscing the afternoon’s events. The water, which was piping hot to begin with, was now tepid. She shivered, her skin rising in goose bumps, reminding her of Chicken skin as she pulled out the plug. Glancing at the clock, she had one hour to go.

She thought of phoning her friend Viv, but decided against it. Viv wouldn’t understand…she hardly understood it herself. Was she doing the right thing she mused? After all she had a decent job, was well respected and had the complete trust of all the children’s parents. Was it worth risking it all to become nothing more than a simple whore, a sex slave, and slut, call it what you will. The feeling emanating from deep between her legs told her that it was. She had dreamed of this moment for years.

Fran selected a short black pencil skirt and white blouse. Then rejected the choice just as quickly. ‘I look like a bloody waitress’ she tutted. The skirt was ok, but she didn’t have a decent top. Rooting through her cupboards she pulled out a white Lycra cat –suit and held it in front of her. The one-piece was left over from her teenage years when she was quite adept at tap and modern dancing. Although a bit on the small size, Fran with a bit of difficulty, and half a can of Johnson’s Baby Talc, managed to still squeeze into it.

The suit’s material was stretched to its limit, way beyond the manufactures recommended tolerances. Although not see through, every goose bump on her body was outlined and could be observed through the thin Lycra. The shoulder straps were pulled up tight, too tight for any real comfort, forcing the gusset to entrench itself deep between her legs. Her labia lips were both pulled apart cruelly by the unyielding material, and outlined in perfect unison.

Fran gazed at her self in the mirror, shocked at her own provocative-ness. Her nipples stood proud, like two sentries on point duty. Glancing down, her pussy lips seemed to smile, even the feint outline of her swollen clitoris, bulged against the tight Lycra covering. If not for the whiteness of the suit, to all intent and purpose’s she looked completely naked. Slipping on a pale blue Bolero jacket, and matching shoes, Fran vacated the apartment clutching a small night bag. She was now ready for her date with destiny.

The streets outside were still quite busy, as the many commuters returned home from a hard days work. Fran felt vulnerable as she walked the few blocks towards the pier entrance. Ok she was more covered up than she had been that afternoon, but her nakedness wasn’t on show like it was now. At least that afternoon all her asset’s had been discretely hidden from view. Now they were blatant even to the most casual of observers.

Fran arrived at the pier entrance a few minutes early. Leaning against an old billboard that was advertising local events, she nervously glanced around. A group of teenage boys approached her on mountain bikes, and dismounted only feet away from her. One of the boys, the oldest looking, whispered something to his friends and then casually sauntered across to her.

“Waiting for someone?” he asked courteously, eyeing her up from head to toe in one swift assessment. “Perhaps we can wait together.”

Fran bit her lower lip, a habit she had when nervous. “I don’t think so,” she replied, “I’m waiting to meet someone.”

“You’re the dirty Bitch from the boat,” he suddenly blurted out. “I thought I recognized you!”

Fran’s stomach jumped involuntary, her pulse racing. Had the boy been watching? “I don’t know what you mean,” she replied, trying to play it cool.

“Yes you do…don’t bother to deny it. We all saw you. You had no knickers on,” he persisted.

Fran just wanted to curl up and die. Oh why had she been so stupid? She slowly turned to the young boy, whom she judged to be about seventeen or so and smiled sarcastically. The boy ignored the look, and continued staring at her crotch. Fran could feel herself being surgically stripped by this youngster’s eyes. She silently wished that the gusset hadn’t bitten so deeply.

“Your not wearing any now…are you?” Barraged the youth. “I can see your fanny!”

Fran was suddenly saved from further embarrassment as a large cream coloured car drew up at the curbside in front of her. As the passenger door opened, she saw the fisherman leaning across the seat beckoning for her to get in. Without taking her eyes of the teenage boys, she slid into the front seat, and quickly slammed the door shut.

“Trouble?” asked the fisherman, gunning the cars engine and speeding away.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she replied. “ I think they were just teasing.”

The incident had bothered her though. She wondered how the youth had known about her cavorting on the boat. She put it to the back of her mind, and sat in silence, glancing from time to time at the fisherman as he drove. She felt strangely excited at the mystery of it all. Glancing through the corner of her eye, she made a mental note to compliment him later on his appearance. Gone had the three days of stubble, that had adorned his face that afternoon. He looked as though he had taken meticulous care in his grooming. The raggedy look that he presented to her a few hours ago had now been replaced with a beautifully designed suit. His jet-black hair, no longer a salt stained tangle, was brushed back, shining in the approaching cars headlamps. Fran thought he looked quite ‘Dishy’.

“Where are we going?” she asked at last, more to break up the silence between them. “I’ve not been to this part of town before.”

“Nervous? Don’t worry we’re nearly there,” he chuckled.

The next ten minutes was spent in silence, as the car twisted and turned through the narrow streets. Fran had lost all sense of direction, and hadn’t the slightest clue as to where they were. At last, they pulled up outside a huge Gothic looking building set back some distance from the road. Large pine trees were abound, surrounding the grounds, making it seem like some thing from an Agatha Christie novel. “The Butler did it,” she blurted out, as the car came to a stop underneath a car porch at the front of the building.

“What was that?” enquired the fisherman, puzzled.

“Just thinking out loud,” Fran apologized.

Before Fran realized what was happening, the passenger door opened, and a large portly man was grinning down at her, inviting her to step out of the car.

“Ahh… Stuart,” interrupted the fisherman, who had already jumped out of the car, and was halfway up the stone steps leading to the front door. “Take the Lady to the guest room and make her comfortable, and tell cook there’s two for dinner.”

“Very well sir,” replied the man. “This way Madam if you care.”

Fran stepped out of the car, her head spinning in utter confusion. ‘What the hell is all this?’ she thought, as she followed the man inside.

Her first reaction was that she had been bought to a secluded hotel out in the country. This changed as soon as she entered the large hallway. ‘Good God!’ she mused, ‘I’ve stepped on the film set for Cludo’.

Clutching her small night bag, which hardly seemed appropriate for her surroundings, she followed the fat butler up the staircase. The house was deathly silent, apart from the ticking of an antique Grandfather clock against the wall. The walls of the staircase were festooned with large oil portraits, some of them looked very old. One in particular caught her eye. It was a painting of two men dressed from head to foot in black robes. Between them was a young girl, half naked and tied to a wooden post. One of the men had what appeared to be a riding crop in his hand, and from the many welts across the girl’s naked breasts, had used the thing to beat her. The other man was smiling, a huge sardonic grin, as he pushed something between the young girls legs. Fran screwed up her eyes to try and discern exactly what the object was. It was a Champaign bottle.

“This way madam,” called the butler, bringing Fran out of her stupor. She had suddenly realized exactly why she was here. She followed the butler along a dimly lit landing and into a large bedroom. The room was decorated in what Fran assumed, early Georgian. A large ornate four-poster bed, surrounded by heavy looking velvet drapes dominated the center of the room. An old chest lay at the bottom of the bed, which Fran assumed to be a bedding box. On it was a small pink envelope labeled: ‘For my little love slave’.

Fran gingerly opened the envelope and removed the note inside. The note read:

Please make yourself at home dinner will be in one hour. I presume that you are ready to comply with our agreement as per this afternoon. To this end please devoid yourself of all clothing. You will find suitable dinner attire in the chest. My man Stuart will come and escort you at the appropriate time.

Larry.

‘So that was his name’ thought Fran as she returned the note back to its envelope. “Larry…kind of cute,” she said out loud.

Looking into the chest, Fran pulled out the first article of clothing that she was expected to wear. She had already made her mind up that it was going to be something really short, see-through and indecent. She got her first surprise. It was a full-length sheer silk evening gown. Fran rushed over to the mirror on the dresser and held the dress up in front of her. ‘Gosh its beautiful’ she thought, ‘must have cost a fortune’. She rushed back to the chest to see what else was waiting for her. The only other clothing was a pair of barely black stockings with a matching suspender belt, and a pair of open toed black shoes with the longest of heels.

It took Fran nearly ten minutes to wriggle out of the cat suit. The relief was tremendous as the pressure between her legs eased. Wetting her finger, she slid it between the swollen lips of her labia, and slowly massaged herself. Noticing that she was wet, she picked up the discarded suit, and examined the inside of the crotch, and it was soaking. So much was happening, so fast, that she hadn’t realized just how horny she was.

Slipping on the dress, Fran wondered how he had guessed her size. It fitted like a glove, although the bust was a bit on the small size. She found that the extra tightness both lifted and squeezed her breasts together, giving her the most magnificent cleaverage. Which was just as well, as the neckline was a bit lower than she was normally accustomed to. The dress reached her full length with inches to spare. Now she knew why he had provided such long heels on the shoes. The dress nipped in slightly at the waist, and was split down the front from hem to naval. Two tiny black buttons, almost like beads, had been sewn onto the front of the dress, and sat on her hipbone. Fran couldn’t quite figure out why. Her first clue came when she slid her legs into the stockings and was fastening the suspender buttons. At about mid thigh, the dress had two tiny, almost invisible buttonholes. Each was positioned, either side of the split. This puzzled Fran, so she chose to ignore it for the time being.

Now dressed and with only a few moments to relax before she was escorted to dinner, she made her final inspection in front of the mirror. She had to admit that the dress was sensational. She had never looked so lady-like in her entire life. The split down the center of the dress had opened up a little, revealing a glimpse of her stocking tops. She practiced walking, watching her own reflection as she did so. With each step, the split opened and then closed again, revealing her long shapely legs. Sitting down was an entirely different story. As soon as her bottom lowered itself onto a seat, the dress would divide almost up to her naval. The smoothness of the silk material against the nylon stockings, made it impossible to keep in place. As soon as she tried to cover up one leg, then the material would just as quickly glide off the other. ‘Mmm’ she thought, ‘Larry is certainly making sure he gets a flash off me tonight’

Her thoughts, were disturbed by a knock on the paneled door, it was Stuart. “Dinner is served Madam…I’m to escort you to the dining room, please follow me if you will.”

Fran sucked in a large breath. ‘God I could do with a drink’ she thought. Her knees started trembling, her pulse raced as the beating of her heart quickened. She wondered what delicious pleasures awaited her downstairs. ‘Here I am’ she thought, ‘dressed like a Lady…about to become a Slut’

“Lead the way Stuart, I’m famished.” She said at last.

“There’s just one more thing Madam,” he hesitated, “I’m to give you these.” He handed her two chrome balls, each about the size of a Golf ball, and held together with a short piece of string. They vibrated in her hand as she examined them. Fran knew exactly what they were, and there purpose.

“Love eggs?” she asked puzzled, “He wants me to wear Love eggs?”

“Indeed Madam,” came the response, “and he has given me the honour of inserting them for you Madam.”

That last statement took Fran aback. She could feel her face turning bright red with embarrassment. The very thought of this man, this servant seeing her most intimate parts excited her.

“Very well,” she agreed. With that she parted her legs and held her dress open. Stuart, who was now sweating profusely, held the two balls in his trembling fingers. Fran let out a shudder as she felt his fingers creeping up the inside of her thighs towards her open crotch.

Stuart knelt down in front of her, his face only inches away from her gaping pussy lips. He noted how wet she was, how erect her sweet little button was, as it stood proud, like a new bud on a rose. He reached up and touched her, watching her shudder as he held open those sweet lips. The balls slipped inside relatively easy. Stuart was a little disappointed; he liked to see them squirm a little. He poked his finger deeply into her vagina, causing her to gasp. ‘That’s better my beauty’ he thought, ‘Master Larry is going to have fun with you…lots of fun…believe me!”