Humiliated

Chapter 04

Tracy is swopped for a painting

As soon as Tracy awoke she realised where she was, and recalled the dreadful acts she had committed yesterday. She felt sick with disgust over the despicable sexual performances. Her onetime friend had witnessed the first dreadful act, and she felt so guilty over it she thought it fitting to be punished.

The punishment involved being humiliated, leading her into a spiral of degradation until she submitted to Irene's games. The so called games had gone too far to escaping Irene. The woman had trapped her through blackmail, and reinforced the entrapment with constant domination.

Irene was now her mistress, treating her with disdain, moulding her into a submissive maid. Humiliation, guilt, and a round of constant bullying browbeat her into capitulating to the harridan.

"Quickly, maid! Get my breakfast, we have a busy day ahead of us," Irene commanded.

"Yes Mistress, sorry Mistress," Tracy timidly answered.

Tracy was naked until Irene decided what clothes she was to wear; yet another humiliation heaped upon everything else. Thankfully the chauffer and other staff were nowhere to be seen. With the utmost care Tracy cleaned the kitchen, afraid of being spanked if she upset her mistress.

Tracy entered the living room to stand before Irene with head bowed.

"Have you completed your chores, maid?" Irene demanded.

"Yes, Mistress," Tracy humbly answered.

"Then I'll find you some clothes. You're a nasty little slut, but I don't want you running around in my home naked. There is an overall in the maid's room, go fetch it. I'll be in the games room," Irene haughtily informed her.

Running breathlessly back to her mistress, she suddenly halted in trepidation on seeing a look of anger on the woman's face.

"I didn't give you permission to wear it, maid," Irene shouted at her.

"Sorry, Mistress," Tracy whined, and quickly stripped the cheap nylon garment off.

"Bend over that chair!" she demanded.

"Oh! Please Mistress," Tracy began to protest. She saw the paddle in Irene's hand and quailed in fright.

"Bend over, now!" she forcefully said.

"Yes, Mistress, your maid is so sorry Mistress. I won't disobey orders again mistress, I promise!" Tracy whimpered.

"Learn to obey your Mistress, or it will be difficult and painful for you, maid," Irene threatened, and whacked her with the hard paddle.

"Ouch!" Tracy yelped, and covered her bottom with both hands.

"Owww!" she wailed, from the pain in her knuckles, when the paddle swiped them. She soon learnt to take the punishment on her bare bottom.

All day Tracy ran around at her mistress's shouted orders. She didn't have time to wonder over how easily she had fallen into such a humble roll. At times, when washing up, or standing by, waiting for the next instruction, she wished the weekend would quickly finish, so she could go home.

The dreadful punishment almost felt justified, after what she had done in that awful run-down garage. Letting herself be taken by that young lad had started all this, and she wondered if she would ever be free of guilt.

She had promised to play Irene's game in exchange for her silence over the matter. She expected to be punished for what she had done, which would help assuage her guilt. It hadn't occurred to her that a friend would punish her so severely. Irene's dominant side brought out her submissive personality, more than she could have imagined.

Dressed in a stretchy one piece bodysuit, a short skirt, and a skimpy blouse, wasn't too bad. She hadn't been given underwear, and the bodysuit was split at the crotch. It was convenient for the bathroom, and for anyone who put their hands up the tiny skirt. Normally that wouldn't be an issue, though here it certainly was.

A friend of her mistress arrived, to be served drinks and snacks. She stood behind them, feeling so very small and pathetic. Only a couple of days ago they had been on equal standing among friends. Now she was just a humble maid, being treated without the slightest respect her age and position in society demanded.

"I think I recognise her from somewhere," Maurice mused, while she bent over him refilling to his glass. He appreciated the cleavage on show; amused at how embarrassed she was from the red glow on her face.

"It's just a pathetic little bimbo, nothing of consequence," Irene casually commented.

"She's not the usual waif and stray you take on," he commented.

"It can be trained to perform, though it's too stupid to understand complicated instructions," Irene added

Irene knew Tracy in college, where she had been a swot, and passed exams with ease. It had always amused her to tease Tracy. Knowing she had married well, and that her husband held a responsible position in an international corporation, made it all the more amusing to humiliate her.

"Here, girl, try this out for size!" Irene demanded.

Tracy stood before them, with the nasty thing in her hand, wearing a bemused look. Surely she wasn't expected to use it!

"Inside your cunt! Now! Unless you want to be put over my knee," Irene told her, with a red fingernail pointing at her crotch.

Like a performing animal, she obeyed. Bowing her legs, she rubbed the nasty looking phallus over her pussy lips. Told to hurry up, she pushed, easing the vibrator in. At first it seemed too big to fit. As she loosened up, trying hard to relax the taught muscles, it felt as though it was filling her entire body.

"Here, try it out. You can keep her on her toes with it," Irene smirked. She handed Maurice an innocent looking control, much like a television remote.

He pressed a button, and received a satisfying moan from the girl. He started to press buttons, studying her reactions.

Tracy felt the damn thing squirm inside her vagina. It vibrated, shook, then seemed to crawl up inside her body. She couldn't help squealing, and rising up on tiptoe. She held her legs inelegantly apart, attempting to make room for the horrid thing, rather than have it tight inside, where every movement was felt in the walls of her vagina.

She wanted to shout at them both, but dare not. The terrible torture seemed to go on forever, alternating with slow and fast vibrations. It wriggled inside her with varied intensity, changing from just the touch of a button. She was brought to the edge of an orgasm, only to have the movement change before the needed climax.

It was a dire humiliation to have her pussy stimulated by a stranger. The embarrassment of just holding it had heated her up. With this man doing such despicable things to her she lost control, and was ready to orgasm.

They laughed as the vibrator fell out of her pussy, knowing she had become so wet and open. There was going to be no escape from the awful torture. Licking it clean she handed it to Irene's guest. She was laid over a low coffee table, with legs spread, waiting for it to be inserted. He took his time, teasing her lips and clit, while it vibrated. The intensity of sensations coupled with the humiliation nearly set her off again.

"Try this one too," Irene suggested.

He pushed the vibrator deep inside. She felt some relief from the feeling of being full. It wasn't on an energetic setting, not enough to push her all the way. She felt another being inserted into her asshole. He used the wetness of her thighs to lubricate it, and eased it in.

She watched him pressing buttons, feeling both of them working her up. This time he built the rhythm up slowly, pushing her toward an inevitable climax. Spread out before them the orgasm arched her back, and she yelped as though in pain. She didn't want to, but put on an impressive show for the two of them.

"Get up little pathetic maid," Irene firmly ordered. "Refill the glasses," she demanded.

"She's certainly a sexy slut. Does she always have such an impressive orgasm?" he asked.

"She gets so worked up on humiliation, she desperately needs fucking," Irene explained.

Tracy heard the comment and almost cried. It was true! It seemed the woman knew her better than she knew herself. Had she always been like this? Had Irene uncovered a nasty side of her mind that had been suppressed all these years?

Walking with stiff legs, Tracy wondered when they would bother to remove the dreadful devices. They seemed to have forgotten her existence, even when she poured the wine. Her lowly existence beat her into a deeper compliance, heightening the overpowering feeling of submission.

"I was thinking about that painting, the one you showed me last week," Irene said.

"The one by Billy? He's a new talent, not someone who will shine then fade away. A good investment," Maurice advised.

"What about a swap? The girl for the painting?" Irene enquired.

Tracy heard the statement, not believing what had been suggested. Was she just an object, a commodity to be traded. Being swapped for a painting, or anything else, was outrageous. Surely Irene was teasing her. After all she had been put through, more than anything previously suffered, this pushed her even further down the pecking order.

She listened intently for the answer.

"What can she do? How could I use her in the studio?" he mused.

My god! He was considering the offer.

"Anything you like. The stupid slut will carry out your instructions, whatever they are. Dress her up in a business suit, to greet your guests, or have her naked as a work of art," Irene suggested.

"So you were listening to me last week. I've been designing a live sculpture, and she might do," he smiled.

"I was listening when you showed me the sketches. It all looks very interesting," Irene laughed. It would be interesting to see this woman displayed in his gallery. Especially after seeing his ideas.

"Remove the skirt and top, girl," Irene demanded.

The bodysuit was sheer, like a pair of tights, revealing her entire body for his inspection. Both vibrators stuck out of her holes, looking lewd and disgusting. They laughed at her, only then remembering she still wore them.

"You can remove them, maid. I told you she's a stupid little slut," Irene laughed.

"These are video's of her performing in a garage, and here, over the last couple of days. Just show them to her if she attempts to refuse anything you want ," Irene said.

Tracy quickly put on the short skirt and little top. She hoped her mistress was goading her into rebelling, which she dare not do. The thought of anyone finding out about the vile things she had been up to had her jumping to obey.

The man was walking to his car, and she was expected to join him.

"Please mistress, please keep me here. I'll do anything you want, I promise. However nasty and depraved, I don't care what you do to me. Please don't give me away to a stranger," Tracy begged.

"I know you'll do anything you're told, because your nothing but a dirty little slut. Be a good little maid and do as you're told," Irene patronisingly told her, as a parting order.

Tracy hung her head in shame. They were the same age, and were as wealthy as each other, if she counted her husband's income. In just two days she'd been reduced to feeling like a worthless slut. It occurred to her this man might not be as demanding as Irene, so she walked to his car as commanded.

She dare not look at him. What must he think of her? As far as he was concerned he owned her, as an object to be used. They had toyed with her sex and bottom, and she hadn't dared to complain, so he must think she was a vile young woman, ready to comply to anything he cared to inflict upon her.

***

Tracy stood in the middle of a workshop, while Maurice was adjusting what looked like a stool. Feeling pathetic from being sold to this man for a painting, she just stood with head down, waiting for the next humiliating situation to befall her. She was an owned object, and would have to accept anything he put her through.

Maurice lifted her head with a finger under her chin. "You're a cute little thing, what's your name?" he asked.

"Tracy, sir," she whispered.

"Well Tracey, you are going to become a work of art. I sell the usual paintings and sculptures, and in addition some more exotic works. My own designs are created for me, and you are going to try them out. Come over here," he said, and walked to a work bench.

Tracy was somewhat relieved. If she was going to help him out with art objects, she had guessed right about it being easier than staying with Irene.

"Climb into this, here let me help. It's a bit awkward, let me adjust the padding. There, not too uncomfortable?" he asked.

Tracy tried to reply, only her mouth was held open by a wire cage. She was perched in a metal frame, with arms, legs, and head, held in place. She watched him clamber onto the seat, which had been a regular soda fountain stool, with the addition of the frame which held her.

"Can you guess what it is yet?" he smiled at her.

She tried to nod her head, and found it was too difficult, so resorted to the one word reply. It sounded as though she were gargling. His crotch was in front of her mouth, which was held open, so of course it was obvious what it was for.

He unzipped the jeans to pull his cock free. She wanted to close her eyes tight. Instead she watched with morbid fascination as he aimed his cock at her, then felt it rub her lips. There was no way she could refuse him, even if she had been allowed to. He didn't need to truss her up like this, for he owned her, and could do anything he liked with her.

"Imagine this is a party, and you're at the bar in this seat. The guests can sit waiting for a drink, and help themselves to a blow job. Like so!" he explained, and shoved his cock into her mouth. A few demonstration strokes was all he needed to confirm it was adjusted correctly.

"The subjects body can be adjusted, up or down, to position the head correctly. Perhaps a counter weight might be needed to stop the stool toppling with a heavier occupant. Anyway, the adjustments work for whoever is in the frame. I'll try it out at the next show, with you as the model, unless I can get a volunteer," he enthused.

He released her, making comments about how easy it was to secure someone in the frame. "It could be used in a game of forfeit. The loser has to spend the evening in this. They wouldn't be able to say no to anyone, once locked in it," he laughed.

Tracy looked at the bizarre gadget, thinking it was torturous rather than entertaining. She could imagine Irene using it at one of her parties, and nearly suggested it. She remained quiet, even resisting asking how long he was going to keep her. She dare not ask, in case it was for the whole weekend.

"What's next? This is an interesting piece. Not very original, though a distinct improvement on the usual tatty affair," he stated.

Tracy realised he was looking for compliments for his inventions. What could she say? It was better to keep quiet, and suffer in silence.

"You'll have to remove those things for this one," he told her.

It wasn't a harsh order like Irene's demands, but she had fallen into the habit of doing as she was told. Striping naked had become second nature, so she pulled the little top and skirt off and struggled out of the tight body-suit. She didn't even try to hide her nakedness, and he didn't ogle her naked body, so it wasn't so bad.

She stood still while he dressed her. Eventually he was satisfied with the adjustments for a perfect fit. She was now a bondage maid. It was more dreadful than when at Irene's, where she was made to feel like a pathetic maid.

Around her neck was a padded metal collar, with two bars extending to a tray. The tray was also attached to a leather belt around her waist. Her wrists were shackled to the belt, leaving her helpless to fend off wandering hands. From the belt and the tray, a clear plastic belt looped between her legs over her sex, then up between her cheeks to the belt. Soft rubber edges to the plastic would make it easier to walk, though for the moment she just stood there.

What was most uncomfortable were the two attachments to the plastic belt. One in her pussy with the other up her ass. Now she knew why Irene had put her through the humiliation with two vibrators inside her. These were simple rubber dildos, but just as humiliating, if not more so. They could be seen through the clear plastic, so whoever she served would see them.

He put a metal cup on the magnetic tray, for it to click in place.

"Be careful how you walk," Maurice advised.

Tracy didn't need telling. As directed she walked across the workshop, with small delicate steps. The large phalluses were working her vagina and anus, rubbing both walls with every step. He was using her like an artefact conjured up in this workshop. More than ever she felt like an object. Something to be used and played with.

"At the party you can wear that to serve my guests, so get used to it," he casually stated.

Tracy groaned quietly at the thought of facing strangers, and having them see what a stupid, craven slut she had become. Looking around the place she could see there were more devious devices to be tried out, and shuddered. She was getting used to this maids outfit, even beginning to enjoy the awful dildo's, despite not wanting to.

"That's enough for now," he said. "We'll try one more then call it a day," he added.

When he pulled the dildo from her ass it was a relief. When he pulled the one from her pussy it felt as though her insides were being dragged out. It seemed to go on forever, from being so deep. A wet sucking noise was embarrassing, as it revealed how juiced up she was.

"You seem to have enjoyed that," he laughed.

She was so tormented with disgrace she couldn't answer him. It was one thing to suffer the indignity, but for him to see how much her body enjoyed it, was simply dreadful.

"Irene was right, you're a horny little slut. Cute though," he chuckled. "Now get on your hands and knees. This one will be easy, you don't have to move for this one," he encouraged her.

He lifted her arms behind her back, so that she was resting on her knees, balancing on her forehead. Fortunately he put a small cushion under her head, to make it more comfortable. He cuffed her wrists, holding them back over her bottom, which was sticking up. That was uncomfortable.

"Try to relax, or you'll get cramp," he advised.

Tracy felt a round pipe pushed between her cheeks, with one end on the floor and the other sticking up. Attached to it was the inevitable dildo, which he gently pushed into her bottom. It was dreadful to feel how easily it slid in to her once virgin ass. He attached the cuffs to the tube, locking her in place. When she tried moving her arms to relieve an ache, it pulled the tube and therefore the dildo deeper up her ass.

"Flatted your hands out, upward," Maurice instructed.

She felt something hard rest upon her shoulders and hands. It pressed her down a little further into shape. She wondered what the hell this torturous position was about.

"There, that's just perfect. You make a good piece of furniture. A very decorous coffee table," he laughed.

His offhand attitude, and that he just accepted she would submit to any indignity, made her feel small and worthless. She was certainly small now, while screwed up into a ball.

Her shoulders, hands, and the metal pipe, supported a round piece of glass. She couldn't move, dare not try either, if she was to be used as a table. The feeling of being just an object for him to use struck her deeper than any of the bullying Irene had inflicted upon her.

A tear dribbled from her eye, running down a cheek, to spill upon the carpet she was resting upon. Either he didn't see it, or didn't care.

Once freed of the glass and manacles, she stretched out over the carpet. She may be free of being a humble piece of furniture, but certainly not free of being this man's object. The only way to survive the coming exhibition would be to switch off, and think of herself as nothing more than a thing to be used. She had demonstrated how submissive she was, so the die was cast. She would have to dutifully obey him.