Deborah was obsessed with reading eroticas and had built an impressive collection. Recently she began to express the desire to act the tales out, and to become a real 'slut', with such sincerity that alarmed even her closest friends. Her fiancé, a resourceful man, sought a way to cure her once and for all before their wedding took place. This led to the following incident.
On the day of Deborah's bridal portrait the weather was sublime. They had hired a photographer, who was impassive to her advances; he wouldn't get close to her, just taking long shots. Now she sat sideways throwing an angelic smile at his camera, her bright teeth showing, her white gown spreading out like a white lotus on a sea of grass. Her fiancé stood close behind, watching in a trance. Then he opened his mouth:
"Don't sit that way, Debbie. You're acting like a prude. Open your legs."
Deborah turned to him amazed. He never flirted with her like this, and in front of another man! But he sounded dead serious, so she shifted her legs and parted them under her gown. Now she sat very un-ladylike, but none of her inelegance was betrayed in the photos. Quick warm sunlight came running down her neck ivory-smooth. She heard her fiancé again:
"Your legs are lovely in stockings. Take them out of your dress."
What game were they playing? Deborah laid her hands on her gown and pulled, her cheeks reddened with arousal, and the feathery white hem receded like tide from her stilettos, her silky calves in hosiery, until the garter could be seen on her round thigh. The photographer noticed what she's doing. He came closer, his lens extended out in a phallic motion and swept up and down her body. Deborah's heart quickened; I'm sweating, she thought. As if having read her mind, her fiancé said:
"It must be hot in your gown. Pull your undies down."
Deborah felt dizzy and breathless. This was too good to be true. She stopped thinking and just followed the words. Her hands slipped to the back, went under her gown and drew her already moist underwear down to her knees. In the sun her earrings glimmered like teardrops.
She began to long for her next task with such an irresistible tension, which started to build up in her pelvic muscles. Sex. Sex. She needed it, to get used now. Not far down the hills were some nice little bush, if only they could drag her there, and do to her what always happens to an innocent young bride in the smuts...
"I think we've got every nice view in this park." She suddenly heard her fiancé say loudly to the photographer. "Nice work everyone. Now let's head to the church."
What a disappointment. Deborah closed her eyes and sighed, her cheeks still burning. Nothing exciting would ever happen on the holy ground, not with all the stale priests and witless visitors admiring her!
She was going to pull her panty back in place, but her fiancé grabbed her hands and pulled her up from the grass. "But honey, my..." "Don't worry. Just leave it there, would you?" He whispered in her ear before grabbing her ass in an excuse to clean dry leaves off her gown.
"Watch it!" Deborah slapped his hands off, pretending to be mad, but really she was thrilled. Why had he failed to be so rude and forceful with her before? Perhaps he finally accepted her for what she was; she needed attention and love all the time, the harder the better, and there's nothing wrong with that.
They were heading to the cathedral in a busier part of the city. Her fiancé was in the front, the photographer followed behind, holding Deborah's long gown. She walked with such a timidness, afraid that her panty would slip further down her legs.
Imagine the scandal if it suddenly came down to her feet during the photoshoot, while fifty tourists snapped pictures at her! She'd be trapped right where she was. If she moved a step too quick she might trip herself and fall. If she secretly kicked it free, the naughty thing would eventually emerge from under her gown for everyone to behold. Either way she'd be exposed and her reputation ruined!
Deborah felt like she had walked for a long time. They were passing through a grimy neighborhood, with empty streets and board-up houses, nothing like a place for a popular tourist attraction. She got nervous and questioned her fiancé.
"Think I can't read a map, Debbie?" He waved the map in his hand around in protest, "we're taking a shortcut. You'll see the spire in no time, I promise." She relented, but couldn't shake off a dreadful feeling that something bad was coming their way, and fast.
Just then, a black van came out of a corner and pulled up to them. Loud music boomed inside, and one of its tinted windows rolled half down. From inside a harsh voice barked: "Nice outfit, babe, now why don't you show us your titties?"
Laughters exploded in the van. Deborah ducked her head and pretended not to hear a thing. But her proud fiancé couldn't let this pass. "Get lost, losers!" He waved his fist at the van. "Don't," Deborah turned to him with worrying eyes. She looked back at the photographer, who seemed wary to get into any altercation.
The van followed them along the road with non-stop harassments. The crude language startled Deborah. She never knew a woman's body could be described in such unpoetic, 'functional' ways: no euphemism, nor sentimentality, just the raw fury of excited sex organs. She felt ashamed and sad for whoever was in that monster of a van.
Finally the lowlives seemed to get bored and started to speed up. "You'll get bent over until you can lick your own shithole!" The angst went like the wind in the blighted street. The van was turning corner and almost gone from their side, when her fiancé suddenly cursed, picked up a rock and hurled it at the van. Deborah heard the sound of the a window smashed and her blood froze. The van backed up, turned around, and came at them in full force.
"Run!" She heard the photographer yell behind her, and when she turned back he was already a block away. "Oh, what have you done!" She looked towards her lover and saw his face trembling. The next thing she knew the bad guys had them surrounded. They were scums of the earth, who wouldn't think twice to hurt them, or even make them disappear.
"You asked this for yourself, fool! When we're done with your chick you'd better find a spare for your wedding!"
Her fiancé was heavily outnumbered but put up a fight anyway. He pulled a few punches but none landed. The thugs shook their heads and laughed, and with one swing of fist the young groom was sent to the ground; his glasses landed and shattered near her feet. She screamed, tears rushing to her eyes. With her only defender passed out on the floor, Deborah was all alone now.
"God help me!" She prayed aloud, and calling to her fiancé who lied on the sidewalk unconscious. "No one's coming for you, darling! You're going with us." With a smirk a thug grabbed her arm and pushed her onto the van. The rest followed in, and the van drove to an abandoned warehouse nearby, leaving only her white panty on the ground.
The warehouse was converted into a sex dungeon, where a masked crowd had been waiting. They blindfolded Deborah with something velvety. "Stop crying now, bitch!" Someone grabbed both her shoulders and shook her hard. "Be a good girl, and I promise this will be fun for all of us." She was bond to the 'cheese wheel', her four limbs fixed with harsh leather straps.
"Let's see what she is like below the waist." They pulled up her gown and made her bite the layers of lace with her teeth, so the skirt wouldn't fall over as they scrutinized her lower body. "Such dark fat lips! You must've been touching yourself night and day!" Their accusation made her blush, for that's indeed the truth. "You'll be punished for your perversity."
Then came the first lash. Deborah screeched, her back arched outward and her nipples hardened in the bodice. She felt teased by the devil's claws down there. It's cat o' nine tails! She had only read about it in her books, when the heroine was caught by the villains, who tortured her (always clotheless) and made her confess the secret she'd sworn to keep till her death.
