The Cucquean's Contract

I'm drenched in sweat and a married man's cum is still leaking out of my pussy. Gina Walgren insists I can't go home until I've had a shower, and because she's just as sweaty as I am, it's a convenient excuse for her to share the shower with me.

I'm relieved that the shower doesn't have enough room for Steven Walgren to join us, so there won't be another threesome today. We leave him in the bedroom to wait for us while Gina tests the temperature of the water before stepping inside, effectively dragging me in with her.

When she closes the shower door, I suddenly feel trapped. I turn around and face the corner of the shower, hugging my chest for comfort while the lukewarm water pours down on my back.

"No need to be shy after that performance," Gina taunts me and forces me to turn around.

Mrs. Walgren has no qualms about being naked in front of me, and looking at her body I can see why. She looks like a statue of Venus with her beautifully curved hips and snatched waist. Her breasts are plump and at least a full cup-size larger than mine, and her crotch is crowned with a neatly trimmed bush the same color as her flowing chestnut hair.

In addition to nervous and vulnerable, I actually feel envious.

"Did you have fun today?" Gina grabs some body lotion and squirts it all over her chest, as if deliberately showing off how her bust is so much bigger than mine.

"It was...fine," I answer hesitantly.

"Steven's great in bed, isn't he?" As Gina lathers the lotion over her body, I get the sense that she's bragging about being married to such a man. If so, she's welcome to keep him.

"I prefer the gentleman I met in the hotel bar."

"Fair enough."

Gina continues lathering the lotion all over her gorgeously toned body while I just stand there. Her presence is intimidating and I'm still burning with shame about what I've signed up for so much that I can't bring myself even to fully soak my hair.

Without warning, Gina unhooks the showerhead and sprays me with it.

"Ah! What the fuck?!" I swat the showerhead away so that it hits the shower wall with a clang.

"Are you're really gonna just stand there until I turn the water off?" Gina's smirking at me as she squats down to pick the showerhead up again.

"What the hell was that for?!"

"Didn't you shower with other girls when you were in high school?" Gina asks as she puts the showerhead back in its holder, "you were so fiery a few minutes ago, and now you're suddenly bashful about being naked with another woman."

There's no point in arguing with her about how awkward this is, so I relent and position myself under the showerhead, soaking my hair while trying to keep the water away from my face. I only use waterproof products, but I still don't want to risk causing my makeup to run.

It's impossible to ignore Gina watching me wash myself since she's standing just a few inches away, and I try to avoid making eye contact with her. But she's right in front of me and standing closer than strictly necessary, almost as if she likes forcing me to share my personal space with her. My gaze ends up flitting between the shower wall and her toned stomach.

Every time I look at her body, my eyes go even lower to her neatly trimmed bush. It occurs to me that she might want her husband to share me with her. That possibility makes my heart race as I wonder if she's going to assault me in the shower.

Then again, there might be a clause in the contract saying she can do exactly that.

Gina suddenly closes the distance until her busty chest is touching mine and there's nowhere else in the shower to back away from her. I freeze up and stare at her wide-eyed with fear while making a futile attempt to cover my naked body with my hands.

"I am so looking forward to having you back here next Saturday," Gina coos to me, her mouth next to my ear as she speaks in an almost sensual whisper, "and there's really no need for you to be so afraid. There are certain lines Steven's agreed not to cross."

"Like what?" I ask with a fearful gulp.

Gina snorts with laughter and pulls away from me. "You should read the terms of the contract if you want to find out. But don't worry, he's not gonna be

too

rough with you."

"Do you seriously enjoy watching your husband fuck other women?" I ask suddenly.

"I do!" Gina sounds delighted to share this with me, "Although, even if I didn't, he'd fuck other women anyway. Successful men feel entitled to whatever they want, especially when it comes to pretty things like you. It just so happens that getting to watch turns me on."

I start scrubbing myself a lot more vigorously. The sooner I'm clean, the sooner I can get out of the shower, get my clothes back on, and get the fuck away from here.

***

When we're both finished in the shower, Mr. Walgren watches the two of us rub ourselves dry and get dressed. Since he's already put his hands all over my naked body, maintaining some semblance of privacy is pointless. Despite washing and scrubbing myself thoroughly all over, I still feel kind of dirty, and I can still feel his cum leaking out of me.

Once I'm fully dressed, he bids farewell to me before taking his turn in the shower while Mrs. Walgren hands me a copy of the contract, makes me exchange contact information with her, and shoos me out the front door. I strut down the gravel pathway in my high heels feeling both relieved and dirty. I came here for a job interview and I'm leaving feeling like a prostitute.

The drive back to my apartment isn't so bad. The traffic on a Saturday afternoon is almost non-existent, and the more distance I can put between myself and the Walgrens' mansion, the better. I try to concentrate on the road in front of me and not to think about what actually happened, but of course the events won't leave my head.

Once I get back to my apartment, though, all I want to do is bury my face in my pillow and try to cry, feeling used and empty; but the tears won't come. I signed an agreement to be used as a human sex toy by a rich couple in exchange for paying off my mountain of student debt.

My phone buzzes, and I extract it from my handbag. Sure enough, it's a push-notification from my banking app telling me I've received a ten-thousand-dollar wire transfer from another bank account under the name Walgren. At least they're fulfilling their side of the bargain.

They said they'd pay me ten thousand dollars per meeting, which is every Saturday, so for the rest of the year I have to spread my legs and put on a sexy show until I have enough to pay off my debt. I think they also said they'd pay me enough to cover the interest on my three-hundred-thousand-dollar student debt bill, so that implies more than thirty weeks.

The more I ruminate on the situation I've signed myself up for, the more I wonder if ultimately it isn't so bad. After all, Mr. Walgren made me cum, and as long as I don't have to do anything too degrading, I can pay off my debt in a year instead of two decades. Plus, there's no reason I can't keep looking for a regular Monday-to-Friday job to supplement my income.

I roll onto my back and sit up on my bed, pulling my knees into my chest and hugging them as I gaze around at my modest little home. I don't have a lot of decorations up, just my diploma, framed and hanging on the wall, declaring in elaborate Latin calligraphy that I have a bachelor's degree in sociology from UCLA.

Three hundred thousand dollars in student debt for a degree in sociology. After what Mr. and Mrs. Walgren forced me to do today, I officially regret not caving into my parents' pressure to study accounting instead. I could always take the LSAT and go to law school once the Walgrens release me from their sex slave contract, but that would require going into even more student debt. At this rate, I'd be better off working as a paid escort.

I keel over until I'm lying on my side, curled up in a ball of self pity as I contemplate what the future holds. I'm not sure whom I hate more: Mr. Walgren for using me or Mrs. Walgren for facilitating it, but it does remind me that I should read the contract to familiarize myself with exactly what I was stupid enough to sign up for.

I can do that later. For now, I just want to rest.

***

The week passes in a blur, and before I know it, Saturday morning has arrived and I'm back at the Walgrens' mansion at midday sharp -- just like Gina Walgren told me in her text.

Once again, she's the one to answer the door when I arrive, although this time she's wearing a navy blue dress with a plunging V-neck instead of a bathrobe. She looks me up and down like a cat appraising a mouse, noting my jeans and blouse, before ushering me inside.

"Are you hungry?" Gina asks me as I follow her upstairs.

"I can wait until lunch." I'm wondering why she told me to wear whatever I wanted when she's already dressed up. "Where's St...Mr. Walgren?"

"You can call him Steven if you want to," Gina answers good-naturedly, "and he'll be joining us for lunch when he's finished in his office, so there's plenty of time for you to get ready."

I pause near the top of the steps. "What, for lunch?" I sound puzzled as I ask, but that feeling gives way to apprehension almost immediately.

"Don't look so nervous, it's nothing too bad," Gina admonishes me with an amused smile, "and even if it were, you've already signed the contract."

I grit my teeth and follow Gina towards the master bedroom, my heart pounding and my hands trembling. Having read the contract, there are certain things which it stipulates are off limits in terms of how the Walgrens can treat me, but it's a short list.

The master bedroom is as spacious and immaculate as I remember it. It also brings back some uncomfortable memories of what happened the previous Saturday, but at least Steven Walgren isn't here. Instead, there's a black dress laid out on the bed with a pair of strappy high heels on the floor at the foot of the bed.

"That's for you," Gina informs me, pointing at the dress and heels, "I'll be waiting outside."

She leaves and shuts the door behind her, leaving me alone and feeling surprised that she isn't going to watch me change clothes. Even so, it's nice to have some privacy for once.

As I remove my blouse and lay it on the bed next to the dress, I notice that there's also a black thong. I remember Gina sneering at the cotton panties I wore last Saturday and guess she wants me to wear something sexier this time around. There's no bra for some reason, but I'm not wearing one right now, so I probably won't need one to wear this dress.

I unbutton my jeans and tug them down my legs, grateful that I exercise regularly enough that my body looks decent. Of course, it doesn't compare to Mrs. Walgren's toned curves, and if I'm being completely honest, I'm actually envious of how good she looks in her forties.

Before long, my jeans, blouse, and underwear are lying in a neatly folded pile on the bed next to the clothes Gina's selected for me. I slip the thong on and immediately feel sexier. The dress is an off the shoulder cocktail dress which looks very low cut, and I pull it over my head and shoulders before tugging the hem down past my hips.

There's a problem. The neckline isn't just cut low, it actually exposes my breasts. I check the dress, wondering if I put it on correctly, but it's definitely on the right way. I search for the tags to see if Gina got my measurements wrong, but there aren't any tags.

Then I notice this dress doesn't have any labels or logos at all. It's not from any clothing brand that I can tell, and it looks custom-made -- and apparently designed to expose my chest.

My cheeks light up and I storm over to the door and throw it open in anger, glaring furiously at Gina who's leaning against the banister.

"What the fuck is this?!"

"It's the dress we had made especially for you," Gina responds with an innocent smile.

"Why is it designed this way?" I demand angrily, pointing to my bare boobs.

"Why do you think?" Gina struts over to me until she's almost in my face, looming over me in her high heels. "Steven wants to see your chest for lunch, so we had this dress made and tailored especially for that, hence why there's no bra."

"I don't see you being forced to expose yourself," I complain.

Gina reaches up to her own cleavage and pulls the parts of her dress covering her breasts apart to either side, casually exposing her much more buxom chest to me. Her shameless -- or perhaps confident -- self-exposure stuns me into silence.

"Does that make you feel better?"

She's mocking me, I'm sure of it. She wants to humiliate me to compensate for the fact that her husband prefers to fuck me rather than her. Why else is she doing this to me?

"Lunch is almost ready," Gina informs me as she covers herself up again, "put your heels on and meet me downstairs in five minutes; and don't forget: you signed the contract."

***

I arrive in the dining room wearing my breast-baring cocktail dress with my cheeks on fire. The dress also leaves my legs bare with the hem stopping about halfway down my thighs, and the cool air in the dining room causes an outbreak of goosebumps across my exposed skin.

The dining table is circular, and Mr. and Mrs. Walgren are already seated, the former dressed in a business suit with a silver tie. I see the corners of his mouth curl into a smile at the sight of the nervous young Asian woman with her chest exposed for his enjoyment.

"A pleasure to see you again, Ms. Park," Steven Walgren greets me.

"Likewise," I lie politely as I take my seat.

The food has already been served: Salmon lightly seasoned with salt and lemon with spinach and roast potatoes as well as a glass of red wine next to each of our plates. I'm wary of drinking given my situation, but since I'm being compelled to eat lunch partly naked, I guess it doesn't really make a difference whether my hosts ply me with alcohol.

Steven Walgren's eyes linger on my breasts before Gina taps his hand. The couple raise their glasses and I tentatively follow suit.

"To business and pleasure," Steven toasts.

"To business and pleasure," Gina repeats.

"May they respect one another's boundaries," I quip soberly.

The Walgrens snort with laughter, causing the wine in their glasses to swish dangerously.

"Preferably after enumerating them in the form of a written contract," Steven replies.

The couple tap their glasses together with a clink and they each gulp down a mouthful of wine. I take a single cautious sip from my own glass before putting it down carefully.

I almost forget that my boobs are on display as I start eating, and my hosts don't say a word as they tuck into their lunches. I notice Steven Walgren glancing at my chest every minute or so, and instead of feeling self-conscious, I feel a sense of awkward tension knowing he's going to fuck me after lunch while his wife watches.

Gina is just as quiet and composed as her husband, making the fact that they're dining with a topless guest even weirder. She glances at me every few mouthfuls and I do my utmost to avoid making eye contact with her. I also take care not to spill anything on my exposed chest.

As the minutes tick by and we scrape the last of our food off our plates, I reconsider my aversion to the wine. If I'm going to enjoy their hospitality before being used as a sex toy, I may as well avail myself of the alcohol to feel a little better about my situation.

I finish my wine one careful gulp at a time. Having eaten most of my food, the wine will take longer to affect me, but I'm already starting to feel woozy. The wine has a strong fruity taste, and the half-empty bottle sitting on the table tells me it's from the Napa Valley region.

Steven and Gina have already finished eating and are casually sipping the remaining dregs from their glasses. They exchange silent glances as if gossiping telepathically about me while I try to finish my meal. Steven's eyes keep returning to my bare breasts, but by this point I no longer care. He's welcome to leer at me like the pervert he is while his nasty wife watches.

At last, I chew and swallow the last mouthful of food, placing my cutlery together on the plate, and wiping the corner of my mouth. Then I sit there in silence, waiting for what happens next.

"That was delicious," Gina says with a beaming smile.

"It was, yes," Steven agrees, then turns to me, "it looks like you enjoyed your lunch, too."

"I did, thank you." I'm trying to be polite, but I can tell I'm going to be dessert.

"You don't prefer kimchi or noodles?" Gina asks innocently.

The reference to my Korean heritage makes my eyes narrow in anger. I'd almost forgotten that the Walgrens like their playthings to be Asian as well as young and female.

"I personally prefer Italian food," I respond courteously, "and I'm no good with chopsticks."

"That's a pity," Gina remarks with a mild sigh, "I remember the food in Seoul was delicious."

I consider telling her that I've never been to Korea and don't have any relatives that I know of there, but I decide against it. There's no point in feeding their racist fantasies.

"I think it's time for dessert," Steven announces as he stands up, "but first, those gorgeous little tits of yours are making me hungry for something else."

I barely have time to get out of my chair before Steven has moved to my side of the table and hauled me over to him. His hands are strong as he runs his fingers over my shoulders and then grabs my b-cups. I squirm as he gropes and fondles them like a teenage boy in a grown man's body while his wife crosses her legs and watches intently.

Gina seems to be loving the show as her husband's hands wander down from my chest across my waist and hips before slipping a hand under my dress. I feel his hand grope my crotch and his fingers slip under the fabric of the thong his wife made me wear, and I squirm even more.

I instinctively try to wriggle out of his grasp, but he holds me in place as he slides his fingers inside me. He can feel how wet my pussy already is, and he clearly loves it. As he tries to worm his fingers about inside me, I manage to free myself from his grasp, and he responds by slapping me. Hot anger burns my cheeks more than his palm does and I slap him back.

Time seems to freeze as the realization of what I've just done hits me harder than my host just did. Gina's eyes have widened in shock and Steven looks stunned that I dared to hit him back. His shock turns to anger and he looms over me with a menacing expression on his face.

My whole body is trembling as I confront this man who can hurt me a lot more than I can hurt him. He flexes his powerful chest, which is so strong that I can see the outline of his pectoral muscles through the fabric of his shirt, and clenches his hands into dangerous fists. I stiffen up and stand my ground, glaring right back at him even as fear paralyzes me.

"I don't care what terms are in that contract." My voice wavers as I speak, trying and failing to mask my fear with defiance. "Don't you ever fucking hit me again."

Steven bears his teeth like an angry wolf and forcibly spins me around. Then he bends me over the table and hikes up the hem of my dress, positioning himself behind me. My hair is sprawled across the dining table and my cheek is pressed against the cold wooden surface, allowing me to look directly at Gina as she pours herself another glass of wine.

"Don't worry, dear Grace," Steven assures me menacingly, pulling my hair back, "I won't slap your pretty face again. I don't need to in order to teach you how to behave like a proper guest."

He removes his jacket and hangs it on the corner of my chair. I expect to hear him undoing his belt next, but instead I hear a loud smack. The sharp sting of his palm connecting with my butt cheek makes me wince. He pauses for a few seconds before spanking me again, then pauses and does it again, over and over. I grit my teeth and bear it while trying not to look at Gina.