Every woman wants to feel attractive. There isn't a point in a woman's life from the moment she first realizes she's not a boy to the moment she's lowered into the ground that she doesn't want to feel desired. They want to be told with words and with actions. Its true of every woman on the planet and a lot of men fail to really understand that it needs to be constant. Just because you've wrapped two months salary around her finger in the form of metal and transparent rock isn't the same as her feeling your eyes creeping hungrily over her flesh. Three decades and as many children isn't the same as bringing home a single flower, even a dandelion from the front yard and stumbling through a sonnet and failing horribly to find a word that rhymes with hazel.
It was all those reasons and dozens more primal that had Debi staring into her mirror putting the finishing touches on her make up. It was the first time she was going to meet him in real life. Today would be the first time he stopped being words on a screen. So it was even more important that she make a good first impression. He made her feel alive like she hadn't in years.
She'd only spoken to him twice, she'd called his cell phone from a pay phone. It was too risky otherwise. They couldn't risk regular phone calls. It wouldn't be safe for either of them. She had her family, two sons and a daughter, the youngest of whom was six months two weeks and three days older than her new lover. Then there was the chance that her husband would answer the phone and the last thing she wanted to do was explain why an eighteen year old who'd only graduated high school the week before was asking for Debi. The same problem would happen if she called him though. He had two siblings, both younger who would wonder why a teacher was calling their brother. Either that or his mother, a woman four years younger than Debi would answer the phone and then immediately alert the police to the cradle robber's intentions with her innocent son. The phone calls they had managed were from pay phones to cell phones on days when entire families had other arrangements and even they'd been short.
Debi paused once more to stare into the mirror making sure that she'd followed his instructions to the letter. He had made it very clear that he wasn't going to be patient with her. If she wanted to be his Fuckpig she had to prove that she deserved it and the proof would start before she even left the house. In fact it started with a pair of transparent green high heels he'd bought her and shipped to her office so her husband both wouldn't find out and would get credit from her peers as being a thoughtful man. It was one of those rare situations where everybody won. He'd ordered her to wear them around the house whenever her family was away and she'd obeyed. If she hadn't he would have known, she was a suburban wife who worked part time at Wal-Mart. It had probably been teen years since the last time she wore heels, and they'd been modest two maybe three inch heels. The platforms on these shoes were two inches thick and the heel added another three inches raising her up onto the tips of her toes.
The first few times she'd worn the heels she's been uncomfortable teetering on the unwieldy shoes. She'd been certain she'd snap her ankle or at least end up flat on her ass if she did anything more drastic than slide her feet forward fractions of an inch at a time, like those geisha girls with the tiny dresses that clung around their ankles. That wasn't going to be good enough for him though. He was expecting her to dance for him, to strip for him and that would mean a lot more than just shuffling her feet back and forth like a boy at prom. Every day when her family was at work she'd walk around the house in them and at night she'd quietly sneak out into the garage and practice dancing in them. He hadn't given her any direction on how she was to dance other than she was going to start off with more clothing that she finished with. So she'd started watching her husband's porn so she could mimic what the girls on it did.
Her husband's porn collection was one of the most hypocritical parts of their relationship. Debi hated that he watched porn. He was married to her, she'd given him children, she cleaned his dishes and she never turned him down. In fact in the recent years sex was at her request if she was lucky. So it infuriated her that he had to keep dozens of DVDs with young girls with perfect perky tits and cute names. For years she'd screamed and threw fits whenever she found his stash, which had ruined more than one Christmas since that time of year led to her spelunking through the house to hide gifts. Eventually she'd stopped screaming, she'd found his stash and let it alone. She didn't break them or throw them at him. She watched them and she masturbated. Debi masturbated to the most disgusting, degrading porn he owned.
Now was her chance to live out those fantasies and it started with a pair of obscene heels. He had commanded she paint her fingers and toes to match and she'd obeyed. Debi had sent him pictures of all of her clothing and nothing had met his satisfaction. In the end he made her raid her daughter's closest and borrow a black tress. Both sides of the dress were completely cut off replaced with crisscrossed lace to hold it all in place. When her daughter had worn it had been part of an outfit that included a half coat and a pair of spandex shorts. Debi wasn't even going to be permitted a bra or panties.
She consciously wriggled hoping that everything was covered up. Her full figure was straining the dress in every possible way. The plunging neckline threatened to loose her breasts if her heart beat any harder than it was. The bottom of the dress felt like it ended less than half way down her ass. The combination of low cut top and a high hem had Debi playing tug-o-war for several minutes until she got the dress to cover both her nipples and her shaven cunt.
That was what he demanded she call her womanhood. It was a cunt, it was his cunt to be more specific. Debi's fingers slipped beneath the dress gliding over his cunt and whimpered. She'd trimmed her pubic hair before but she'd never shaved it bare before. It was surreal to be running fingers over something of his but that was exactly what she was doing as her fingers glided over his cunt. She'd shaved it bare, spending half the afternoon in her oversized step down bathtub meticulously shaving every single hair from her body. Debi had peeled her cunt open making certain go get the hair hiding there and even found some closer to her asshole. Closer to his asshole, he owned her body and today he was planning to inspect her and she had to impress him.
Her dark green lipstick closely matched the rest of her outfit. In fact there was only one thing she was wearing that wasn't green. It was also the only thing that wasn't his yet. A bright red dog collar fastened snugly around her throat. A pair of dog tags hung from the front. The first read 'Property of Sean' and the second read 'Fuckpig'. It was the first thing she'd ever given him. Everything else he'd had taken from her. She was happy that he had her pride, that he was going to be in charge of her life from now on but she hadn't given him those things. He'd just taken them from her and she'd let him have them. This collar was her gift to him.
Her shrill beeping warned her that she needed to be on the road soon if she wanted to be on time. She doubted he was going to be forgiving if she was late. Debi checked her hair one last time. He'd told her he wanted her to look glamourous, he could make her trashy whenever he wanted. So she'd gone the day before gotten herself a soft perm that had a curtain of hair partially veiling her left eye, The rest of the golden curls cascaded down around her shoulders. "Okay okay." She sighed conceding with her beeping cell phone that it was time for her to go.
Debi walked up to the door quickly looking around to see if anybody was watching her and it seemed like the coast was clear. At just before noon everybody was either at school or at work so it wasn't surprising but she still didn't want anybody to see her, not even a neighbor who might innocently ask where she'd gone. She quickly scampered out to her faded white caravan and slid into the driver's seat. It wasn't wasted on Debi that she was dressed like an expensive whore in a soccer mom car.
"Oh god what if he looks at me just sees a fifty year old lady?" Every doubt possible was racing through Debi's mind as she followed the instructions he'd given her. She wasn't even sure where she was going. He'd only given her directions from her house and a time. There wasn't even an address. "What if he laughs at me?" She asked.
