Brooe's New Ordeal

Brooke managed to get up in time to see her son off to school. Thinking about how to prepare for her morning date, her phone buzzed. When she answered, the caller began with, "Good morning, Princess." She immediately knew who it was. "Listen," he continued, "your date today has requested that whatever you choose to wear should include some buttons, straps, or whatever. He would like to undress you and would like for that to be a fairly elaborate procedure Oh, and he would prefer that you not be wearing a bra. Just passing that along. See you tonight at the usual time. And," he added ominously, "remember what we talked about last night."

With a sigh, Brooke thumbed through her closet. She found a top that had small buttons down the front and loops over the shoulders that connected in the back. She pulled out a skirt that buttoned up the side. It was fairly tight-fitting and shorter than what she would have preferred. But she had tried the more conservative appearance yesterday with Kurt, and that had obviously not worked.

She was in the kitchen having coffee when the door bell rang. She was apprehensive as she opened the door, never knowing what she would be dealing with on the other side. She encountered a somewhat younger man, probably in his thirties. He was holding a bouquet of flowers.

"These are for you, Princess," he said as he offered them to her. "I figured when I saw you at the club that you liked flowers, so I brought you some." (That's right, Brooke thought to herself. Her costume there included a flower behind one ear. Well, her husband gave her flowers three times every year--Valentine's Day, Mother's Day and her birthday. But no "date" had ever done that. Maybe that was a good sign.)

She had never become comfortable with the "Princess" moniker. "Call me Brooke," she requested. "And thank you for the flowers. That is so sweet. Come on in."

As he strode inside, she told him, "Just let me find something to put these in and I will be right with you. Make yourself comfortable," she suggested, pointing toward the living room. After finding a container for the flowers in the kitchen, she joined him on the couch. "Well," she asked flirtatiously, "what is your name?"

Putting his arm around her and lightly stroking her hair, he answered, "I'm John." (Of course you are, Brooke thought.) "You may laugh at this," he continued. "But I just thought that you were so, um, cute."

Gazing up into his eyes, she assured him, "No, John, I am flattered."

His other hand caressed her knee. "You just seemed somehow different than other girls there. I could not really put my finger on it." Slowly siding his hand up her leg, he whispered, "Maybe I could put my finger in it." The hand that had been stroking her hair moved down and loosened first one of her shoulder straps and then the other. Bringing it around to the front, the hand began to slowly undo the buttons on her top. After the first two, the hand reached inside and tenderly caressed her bare breasts. (She had remembered his request to not wear a bra.) He was not in any hurry about it. But eventually her shirt was totally open and he helped her out of it.

Leaning over, he kissed her--hard. The hand that had been fondling her knee moved out and began to undo the buttons on her skirt. Still kissing, he stood and brought her to her feet. With her skirt unbuttoned, he dropped to his knees in front of her and pulled it down to her feet. Taking her panties in both hands, he slowly pulled them down. Leaning in, he tenderly kissed and licked her. Brooke arched her back and moaned. "OHHHHH!!!" Standing again, he passionately kissed her.

"John, the bedroom is up here," she informed him as she took his hand and led him upstairs.

When they reached her room, John told her, "Brooke, I want you to undress me." She unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands across his hairy chest. Dropping to her knees, she loosened his belt. Unzipping his pants, she pushed her hand inside and fondled him. Pulling his pants below his knees, she lightly kissed the now visible bulge in his crotch. Pulling down his underwear, she slid her mouth onto his erection. Taking it in all the way, she pushed herself forward and back, onto him. Like a deep sea diver that could learn to stay underwater for extended periods, she could do this without coming up for air. This was a skill she had first mastered while working for her owner at "The Doll House." "OHHHH!! GOD in heaven!!! DAMN!!!" John exploded in her mouth and she took it all in,

With Brooke still on her knees, he asked her, "Honey, where did you learn to do that?"

Looking up at him, she replied, "When you have sucked as many cocks as I have, you get good at it. Practice makes perfect." He helped her back to her feet. Together, they rolled back the covers on the bed. She crawled into bed on one side. John took the other side.

Quickly, John rolled on top of her Caressing her cheek, he leaned over and kissed her. Rising back up, he whispered, "You really are so beautiful."

"Thank you," she replied.

Moving down, his hands caressed her breasts as he kissed and licked her nipples. One hand moved down and massaged between her legs. Brooke gasped and moaned. "That feels sooo good," she encouraged him. "Don't stop. AWWWW!!" Sliding his body further down, he slid his cock into her. But the sensation, for Brooke, was not like it had been with Kurt. This one actually cared about her. They came--together.

John rolled back over and locked his hands behind his neck to relax. Brooke reached over and gave him a peck on the cheek, "That was so nice," she cooed.

Momentarily there was an awkward silence. Brooke was startled when the phone rang. They still had a traditional land line phone on the nightstand by the bed. Reflexively, she answered it. "Hello," she began.

"Hi, honey. It's me." Brooke's heart skipped a beat. It was her husband. "Listen, honey. I tried calling the last few nights but never got any answer. Where were you?"

Brooke was frantic. She could not tell him the truth. She could not tell her husband that she was being blackmailed into working at a strip club. Fumbling for an explanation, she stammered, "Well, uh, I just have not been feeling very good. I ended up taking some sleeping pills and getting to bed really early."

Concerned, he asked, "That is too bad. Do you think you need to see a doctor?"

"No," she assured him. "I just needed to take it easy and get plenty of rest."

"Well," he continued. "I just wanted to let you know that things are wrapping up here. I will be home tomorrow. And listen, honey. Assuming you are feeling up to it, why don't you arrange for a babysitter? I will take you out to dinner."

Brooke mumbled, "Okay."

He finished, "Good. Well, I am glad that I finally got you. I was getting worried. I will see you tomorrow. Good bye."

Replacing the receiver, she buried her face in her hands and said, "Oh, my God. What am I going to do now?"

John, next to her, could see something was obviously wrong. Putting his arm around her, he asked, 'Brooke, what is wrong?" She tried to tell him it was nothing. He would have none of that. "No, something is wrong. Tell me."

She really needed to unburden herself to someone. But Brooke felt that there was literally no one that she could talk to. So when this stranger that she was naked and in bed with volunteered to be a sounding board, her pent up emotions just came tumbling out.

Wiping away tears, she told him how she was being blackmailed to work at the club. Years earlier, she had been kidnapped. While there, she had been made to work at a strip club and she also agreed to very explicit photos and videos. Now, these two men show up at her door and produce this material. She first is told she will have to work for them in their clubs. That quickly expands to "entertaining" men during the day at her home.

Leaning over and crying on this stranger's shoulder, Brooke goes on. "That was my husband on the phone. He is coming back tomorrow. He wants to take me out to dinner tomorrow evening. I am supposed to work at the club then. How am I going to do this?"

This encounter was certainly not developing as John expected. But he genuinely felt sorry for her. And he felt guilty about what he had done with her. True, he did not know her story at the time. But still. He probed to find out more about her personal situation. He learned that she worked for my firm but had taken time off. He learned her husband, Bob, was an FBI agent. He learned about her son's school and where they went to church. She was becoming a person he actually cared deeply about.

As she laid there, crying with her head on his shoulder, she inched her hand down and began to rub his cock. She raised her head from his shoulder and kissed him. "Thank you for listening," she told him. "I am sorry. But I just had to tell someone." He wanted to tell her that she did not have to do this. That they could just lay in bed together and talk. But the sensation of this sexy woman rubbing her hand along his cock was just so pleasurable that he could not bring himself to say the words. "OHHHHH, YEAH!!! DAMN!!!" But when she was through, he resolved he was going to do something to help her.