Author's note: Please read the first chapter first. Obviously this is fiction. Please comment with suggestions about where you want this to go, and tell me your thoughts. I love getting feedback from readers. Thanks for reading.
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For the next several days after the party, I experienced a constant up and down in my mind. For long periods, usually during the day, I would feel horrified at myself. Christy had gone from a shy virgin who had barely done more than kiss someone to a girl who had spread her legs for six different guys, and none of it was with her real consent (or recollection, even). Six was a number that might even be considered somewhat promiscuous for an eighteen year old like her, and here Christy had done it in a few weeks, and over half of that was directly my fault. By day these thoughts would horrify and worry me, but by night the very same would inspire two plus back to back masturbation sessions, every night. The thought of her becoming a slut was suddenly completely intoxicating to me, for some reason, and it was only heightened by the fact that she would have no say in it.
Even though I knew it was a terrible and extremely risky thing, I also knew I had to continue it. That night at the party confirmed it. The rush was like an addiction; I had to replicate it. I wanted to make her be a slut. I knew it was a dangerous road I was treading. Her life (and by extension, mine, should I be caught) could be ruined, but I think this sense of danger only increased the thrill. It would be safer if everyone who ended up fucking her used a condom, but that would mean I'd have to force them to, which obviously wasn't an option. I couldn't be seen to be complicit. Plus, her getting fucked bareback was so much hotter. I worried that the new videos of her getting fucked by the guys at the party would surface and the game would be up, but I kept my eyes peeled for weeks and didn't see anything pop up on the internet. We were still good.
I got her a morning after pill the day after the party, and by the next week had secretly arranged a doctor's appointment for her to get regular birth control. I sweated the whole time she was there, both worried that the doctors would catch on to my shadiness and questioning if I was mad for actually planning this out to this extent. Nothing came of my worries. She got the pills and we left.
I decided to test my abilities to order her around, by replicating the last scenario in more or less controlled situations. Over the course of the next month I got her fucked by four more guys - two on two different occasions. I plotted these acts rather carefully, paranoid that I would be found to be orchestrating or even aware of what was happening. In the end neither turned out to be too difficult - both happened at parties on the other end of town where people were less likely to know either of us. I would simply instruct her to invite a couple guys up to a bedroom where I would be hiding in a closet, and both times she did it without asking any questions. Her condition made it to where she would do basically anything she was told. It wasn't her real personality in control. She barely displayed a personality at all. The best part was that the next day she was always a clean slate. Nothing remembered. Her brain just didn't record long term memories. I was going to miss this desperately once the doctors performed the procedure to make her fully recover. I knew there was still several months left before it was safe for them to do that though, and I would make the most of that time.
So after that month I was more confident in my ability to manipulate her actions, having been bolstered by my continued successes. The most recent time the guys had taken yet another series of videos and pictures of her fucking them. I knew it was only a matter of time before these popped up somewhere, but I was increasingly managing to push that out of my mind. We'd cross that bridge when we came to it. And weirdly, that extra risk and thrill turned me on even more. It was just another thing on her growing list of consequences.
I tried to think of where I wanted to take this next, and how. Watching her get fucked by these dudes who didn't know or care about her had been great, a thrilling power trip, but I felt myself already getting bored with this vanilla approach. I knew it was a dangerous road I was treading, but it was going to take more and more to satisfy me.
I know it sounds strange, but around this point I began keeping a secret spreadsheet of her sexual partners. If this was going to escalate, I wanted to have documentation of exactly how depraved it got. She was up to ten guys now, counting me. I'd write their name, if I knew it, next to their number, along with a brief description of what all they'd done with her (oral, vaginal, etc.). Next to number six was my name. Just pulling up this document and perusing it briefly was enough to drive me to masturbate. Ten different names. I thought about how Christy would have surely considered any person having a "number" above 3 (or even less) to be shameful, and it only made me harder as I looked at the list. My heart raced as I thought about how much longer it might get. Each fuck that raised her tally was irreversible: her number could only go up, never down. She could only become more and more corrupted.
It was around guy number ten that my insane lust started making me want to ratchet the situation up. I was becoming a demon to my newfound passions, the power and imposed shame of it all. As I typed that tenth name into her spreadsheet, her tenth vaginal partner, I decided that I had to introduce some new element to it. Some new thrill. I decided what it would be rather quickly.
I took Christy to a clothing store and got her to buy the sluttiest clothes I could think of. I wanted a variety of options so I made her get a few loose, super low cut blouses, some tiny crop tops, some super short shorts and skirts, and finally a couple pairs of five-inch fuck-me pumps, one pair open toe and one closed. Having her fuck a few dudes in private wasn't fully getting the job done for me anymore. I wanted members of the public to find her trashy.
I gave her new uniform a test run the next day. I picked her up at her parents' house, telling them we were going to go see a movie. I drove to the mall and parked far out in the parking lot. I grabbed a pile of the clothes from the backseat.
"Put these on," I told her.
She looked confused for a moment but quickly obeyed. She slipped her tshirt over her head, but before she could put on the blouse I had picked out for her I reached over and unhooked her bra.
"Won't be needing that," I smiled at her.
Without even seeming to notice what I'd done she just blankly smiled back and pulled the new top on.
When we got out of the car I looked at my handiwork. She looked incredibly sexy and slutty, yet still with that cute, innocent face. It was a very incongruous image. Her long, wavy amber hair flowed down over a black, loose top with a plunging neckline that went down to just a few inches above her belly button. Her modest little bra-less tits did not do much to fill it out, so if she moved just the right way the fabric sometimes moved and revealed a sideways glimpse of her nipple. If she were to bend forward you would be able to see absolutely everything.
