Kate's mind and body raced as she walked the hotel corridor towards the noisy bar. She didn't know what she had let herself in for – that was the scary bit, and the exciting bit. Already she could hear the loud shouts of drunken men over the music. A seedy bar in Kings Cross was not a place for the faint hearted – particularly the way she was dressed. He had given strict instructions. She was to be dressed as a cheap whore – like the many that frequented this part of Sydney – one of its seediest areas. And she had done what as she had been ordered.
Her tight red top was virtually see through. The plunging neckline revealed much of her breasts....the flimsy material doing little to hide the rest....the dark circles around her nipples clearly visible even in the low light. Her flat stomach was bare all the way from just below her breasts to her hips where her low slung, very short mini struggled to cover her. Kate was proud of her body – and with good reason. She dressed like this at home on her own, or for her boyfriend and it turned her on to let her inner slut reveal itself. But this was different.
Even though it was Kings Cross she couldn't be sure she wouldn't be recognised. She knew lots of people in Sydney. Anyone could be in the bar drinking on a Friday night. For them to see respectable, conservative Kate dressed like this could ruin her. Still, her instructions were clear...Dress like a slut. Sit at the bar of this hotel at exactly 8pm. Do exactly what the first man that spoke to her told her to do.
Her mind raced as she walked. She had never met this man. Never even seen a photo and didn't know his name. He said he was Irish. "Shadow" he signed himself in the e-mails he sent after they had met in an internet chatroom. It had just been fun at first. Role-play and fantasy, she had sent him some naked photos, talked about kinky stuff. Revealed her fantasy about being raped like a cheap slut. He really appreciated the photos of her body and talked about what he'd do to her – it turned her on. The mystery of it was exciting.
Late at night as she read his emails, playing with her nipples between the fingers of one hand, she listened to his words in her mind – his Irish accent like one of those IRA terrorists in the films she had seen. Hard and cold and mean. God it made her wet just thinking about being fucked by such a brutal man.
But now was different. This was for real. He had emailed to say he was coming to Sydney. Coming to fuck her – to rape her and use her as his fuck-toy. That was the phrase he used and it had turned her on so much when she read it. But what if he didn't show. What if some other man saw her as a whore and got to her first. A total stranger might buy her and use her whatever way he wanted. It was scary – and exciting. She could feel her nipples harden and push against the cheap material. The heat grew between her legs. Fuck it. Here goes....
