A Day in the Life of My Sub Slut 8
This is a work of fiction. The events described here did not necessarily happen in real life.
In the first four chapters of this story, I have taken you through a day in which Elaine gets used and humiliated in various ways by complete strangers
Chapters 5 and 6 (Training Elaine, Pts 1 & 2) are a prequel, in which I explain how Elaine came to be such a well-trained sub slut. In Chapter 7, we moved on to meet Elaine's mother -- or Bitch, as I call her -- whom I also converted to a sub slut.
Readers should be forewarned that this chapter involves BDSM, interracial sex, and incest. If those are not your thing, read other chapters. If you do decide to read this chapter, you probably should read Chapter 7 first, so that you understand Elaine's mother and my relationship with her.
Tuesday a.m.
"Hello, Jerome?"
"Yes."
"Hi. We met at the Silverama Theater a couple weeks back. You were kind enough to help my slut into the car after a hard night."
"Oh, yes... I remember!"
"Look, I have a proposition I think you might be interested in..."
Wednesday a.m.
Elaine is bent over my desk, receiving her morning fuck. She has already cum once and is beginning to breathe hard again. "Oh, god, yes... I need your cock so much! Give it to me...GIVE IT TO ME... HARD AND DEEP!! I NEED IT SO MUCH! OOOOHHHH... AAHHHHH... AH, AH, AH... AAAAHHHHHNNNNNNGGGG!!!" Her body goes rigid and shudders. Then her head falls forward onto her arms. I continue to stroke my cock slowly in her cunt. "Oh god, that was so good!! I need your cum in my mouth!!" As always, I am happy to oblige a maiden in need. I pull out and she drops to her knees, mouth wide open, begging for my cum. A few strokes of my hand and big gooey blobs of cum are splashing on her face and into her mouth.
"Enough, Cunt. You're insatiable. Here, clean yourself up before you go back to your office." I hand her a wad of tissues. "I want you to meet me at your mother's place tonight at 7. We need to think about what the two of you are going to wear to Martin and Alice's party Friday night." I can see that she is imagining the worst -- I'm probably going to dress them up like cheap whores. "Oh, don't look so worried. You're going to like this. Now, wipe the cum off your face and get back to work."
Wednesday p.m.
I arrive at Melva's house shortly before 7. She answers the door with my scotch in her hand. I take it and, without speaking, enter and settle into my favorite chair. She is wearing one of her long, flowing silky gowns with a plunging neckline that shows off her store-bought tits, with jewel-encrusted gold jewelry. This seems to be her standard outfit. She looks at me nervously, not quite knowing what to do. I had told her I was coming over, but I didn't say why. I take a sip of my scotch. Ahhh! I love a good single-malt scotch! Finally, I break the silence.
"I told you that we were going to a party Friday night at some friends' house." She nods in confirmation. "I've asked Elaine to come over so that we can decide what the two of you are going to wear." The intercom from the lobby buzzes. "That must be her now. Let her in." Melva hurries to do as she is told and in a few minutes, Elaine arrives at the door.
"Right on time. Excellent! Now, let's get down to business. This party Friday night is going to be relatively formal. Martin and Alice have a lot of rich friends and I want the two of you to fit it in. Something tasteful, but sexy -- tight-fitting, maybe show off those tits that both of you are so proud of. I'm thinking that Bitch probably has a closetful of dresses that might do. So while I enjoy my scotch, why don't the two of you go see what you can find. When you think you've got something, come back and show me." They look at each other wide-eyed -- this is going to be fun! -- and disappear into the bedroom.
Ten minutes later, as I am refreshing my scotch, they reappear. Melva is wearing a black floor-length gown with her signature plunging neckline. Rather than the flowing gowns she wears around the house, though, this one hugs her hips and thighs down to just above her knees, then flairs to the floor. She is wearing 3-inch heels and is dripping in jewelry. Elaine is in a short, tight-fitting green dress with a scoop neck that barely covers her nipples, stockings, heels, and lots of jewelry. Tit flesh bulges above the neckline and stocking tops flash when she walks.
"Bitch. I love the dress!" She beams at my approval. "Too much jewelry, though. This isn't Palm Beach -- these people are old family Virginia money. So lose everything except the really expensive stuff. And ditch those hoop earrings. Some diamond drops would be nice."
"Cunt. That dress doesn't work. A, it's too small for you, and B, it needs to be longer. More like Bitch's. This is a formal party with a bunch of rich people, not a Friday night party at the office." Elaine gives me a disappointed look and turns to head back into the bedroom. Melva tags along behind. Ten minutes later, they emerge, with Elaine now decked out in a floor-length blue creation. Like the previous dress, it is low-cut and form-fitting, but this one actually fits, and while a lot of tit is revealed, the tits are actually inside the dress. Melva has toned down her jewelry and Elaine is sporting some really nice borrowed rocks.
"
Much
better. One last thing. Fairly heavy makeup is OK. Especially eye shadow -- maybe even a little glitter. It's going to be kind of dark. Now go take those things off. We're going out for a drink. Cunt, wear that green dress you just had on -- it's more appropriate for a bar than a polite society cocktail party. And Bitch, you can put that long flowing thing you were wearing earlier back on. No expensive jewelry -- we don't want to tempt the hand of fate." They both give me a puzzled look at this last comment, but turn and head back into the bedroom.
Twenty minutes later, we are in my car, headed downtown. We pass upscale nightclubs and theaters, then successively sketchier places. I finally pull up at what appears to be a run-down hole-in-the-wall bar in the black section of town. Over the door is a rusty, faded sign that says, "The Night Owl." I open the passenger door of the convertible and escort the two women to the front door, where they practically dig in their heels -- the place reeks of stale beer, tobacco, pot, urine, and sweat. I apply pressure to their elbows to urge them forward. "Come, now, ladies, it's not all that bad."
Inside, the place is dark, with a long bar along one wall and a scattering of formica-topped tables. The clientele is uniformly black and male, a mix of young men in backwards ball caps and grizzled older guys, most of them listlessly slumped over the bar or a table, nursing a beer. I escort my charges to a table and walk over to the bar.
"Can I get a couple of glasses of white wine and a Heineken's?" The barkeep wordlessly turns and grabs a beer, then pours the wine from a nondescript bottle that probably retails for under $5. I throw down a 20 in payment, then hold up another 20 in front of the bartender. "Who's the top dog in this place?" He nods his head toward a burly guy at the end of the bar and says in a low voice, "Big Joe," as he snatches the 20 from my hand. I take the wine glasses over to our table, then walk over and approach Big Joe.
"So the bartender tells me you're the top dog in this place."
"Yeah? What of it?"
"Well, first I thought we should pay our respects and make sure we aren't intruding on your territory." He looks a little surprised to hear this from an obviously well-heeled white dude, but says nothing. "And, second, I wanted to ask if you and some of your boys would like to have a little fun." A look of suspicion comes over his face.
"Yeah? What kind of fun? What are you selling, white boy?"
"Well, I'm not selling anything. But I have a lady friend who has a thing for big strong black men, and I wondered if you would be interested in helping her out..." He looks toward our table and I know I've got him. "The one in the long blue dress."
"Mmmmm... not bad! And you're not looking for money?"
"What I'm looking for is some big black cock. Are you interested? I'm thinking you and 3 or 4 or your boys could take her back into the poolroom and have a little fun with her. What do you say?"
"I say that sounds good. Just understand that if you try to trick me, my boys will beat the shit out of you and pimp out your women."
"Well, the girls might like that, but I wouldn't. So no tricks. But there are a couple of rules. First, my other lady and I come along and watch. And nobody touches her unless I say so. And finally, you can spank and slap the black-cock-loving bitch and pull her hair and fuck her as much as you want, but you can't do anything that will be permanently damaging or leave a mark. If I say stop, you have to stop. OK?"