Your Tormentor Ch 01

You're walking down the main street of your hometown, heading to the mall. You're thinking about dropping by the lingerie store, maybe picking up some cute new panties for your next skype session, or maybe a sexy new pair of stockings. Either way, you know you'll be going home with something nice and slutty to show to the men you've met online.

You walk without paying attention to your surroundings; tuning out the traffic to focus on the images in your head. You can feel your pussy starting to get a little wet at the thought of the reactions you'll be getting later, and it puts a smile on your face. An older gentleman walking by smiles back at you, and you can't help but grin. Your long blonde hair and big blue eyes are probably giving him the impression that you're some young innocent girl, but your thoughts couldn't be further from innocent if you tried.

The sun is beating down on you, and you stop for a moment to pull a pair of sunglasses out of your bag.

A man walking behind you doesn't quite stop fast enough, and bumps into you.

"Oh my gosh," you say, turning around at once. "Are you ok? I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine," he says, rubbing his shoulder. "Totally my - hang on..." He drifts off mid-sentence, and you raise your eyebrow at him. "Sorry if I'm totally off-base," he continues, "but... you don't happen to go by SweetKitten online, do you?"

You freeze. A moment ago the heat was all you could think about, but now the day seems frigid.

"Um," you choke out.

A grin spreads over his face. "It *is* you," he exclaims. "Your hair is so distinctive," he adds softly, reaching out a hand to stroke it. "I've always wanted to touch it."

You get the feeling that that's not all he's wanted to do to you. Since you first started posting videos and pictures of yourself online, you've been wondering if this would happen. The idea of being found in real life by one of the men you whore yourself out for online has always been one that both terrified and titillated you - more than one fantasy has started like this. But this isn't a late-night secret between you and your favourite vibrator, this is real life.

"Look," you force out, shakily. "I don't know what you're talking about, okay? Whoever you're looking for, that's not me."

His only response is to grip your hair tighter. "Of course it is," he says, smile fading until only one side of his mouth is curled in a small smirk. "You wouldn't react like this if it wasn't you. Let me guess, you're scared I'll tell people?"

You can't help but flinch. He laughs.

"I *could* follow you home and tell your friends and family how much of a *slut* you are," he says. His voice is soft and considering, but his eyes are intent on your face, cataloguing your every reaction. He must like what he sees, because he continues. "Would you like that, kitten? Would you like your friends to see what you really are? Maybe they'd be disgusted...or maybe they'd want you to service *them*, too."

You stare at the ground between the two of you, your eyes filling with tears.

"Don't cry, kitten," he says. "I didn't say I *would* do that, did I?" He lets go of your hair, and reaches out. You cringe away from his touch, and then from the look in his eye. "Don't do that," he snaps. "I was going to be nice and wipe away your tears, but now I don't think you deserve it. Kitten, clean yourself up."

With a sniffle, you gently wipe your own tears away.

"I'll do whatever you want," you say. "Just please don't tell anyone. We can have a private skype session tonight and I'll do anything you ask, I promise."

He laughs again. "Kitten," he says, admonishingly. "You already do whatever any man asks, because you're a worthless slut. But you're also a fucking *tease*, because you only do it online. You know how much we all want to fuck you, and you *love* that our cocks can't reach you, don't you? All that "I wish you were here right now to fuck my throat", that's all bullshit. If any one of us showed up at your door, you'd react like - well, like this."

You raise your head to glare at him properly. "I'm not a slut," you say, "and I'm not a *tease*! I always mean what I say!"

"So you *do* wish I would fuck your throat? You want me to hold you down and cum in your hair?"

You go scarlet. "Stop *saying* these things in public," you hiss, "People walking by can probably hear us!"

"Good," he smirks at you. "I don't live here, I'm never going to see them again. But they'll see you again, and they'll remember what a whore you are."

You can feel the tears start to well up again. "Please," you beg again, "What do you want? Money? Please just leave me alone."

"I have plenty of money," he says. "And honestly, isn't it obvious? Or are you just as stupid as you look?"

You don't say anything, and he reaches out to stroke your cheek. "Say it, whore." He says.

"You want to fuck me," you mumble, almost inaudible.

His shark grin never wavers. "Say it louder, bitch."

"You want to fuck me," you say again, fighting the humiliation of having to say it in public, with his hand firm on your cheek. An elderly lady walking past hears you, and gives you a hard look. You look at the ground again, cheeks burning.

"Good slut," he purrs. "Was that so hard?"

"This is so embarrassing," you whisper to the ground. After a moment, you rally your courage and look up at him again. You're taken aback at the hunger in his eyes. "This is it, though," you say, trying to be strong. "I let you, you know, once. And then you're gone forever, and you don't say anything about this, or me, to anyone. Got it?"

"It's cute how you think you're in charge here," is his only response. "Now come along. My hotel's not far."

You balk immediately. "I'm not going to a hotel," you say. "You could be a murderer!"

"You have two choices," he says firmly. "You can come to my hotel and do everything I say, like the good little slut that you want to be, or you can bend over this bench right here, and lift your skirt and drop your panties, and I can spank you in public."

You stare at him, outraged. "I'm not letting you spank me! In public, or anywhere!"

"Then you're coming to my hotel, kitten. Maybe I'll even drop a few coins on you after we're done so you can feel like a productive little whore. Would you like that?"

His voice is like dark velvet, but his words make you so embarrassed. You've never been so aware of how much you blush, and you know he's enjoying your reactions. You're also suddenly aware of your already-damp panties. You know that you're not getting off on this, but will he? He'll probably think all this taunting has made you wet, and you know how entertained he'll be by that.

Up until now, you've just been freaked out and humiliated. But now the flush on your cheeks isn't just from how embarrassed you are, and your pussy is starting to get wet again. Like when you mess around online, it isn't the events that are turning you on, it's his reaction.

"No," you grit out, but even you can hear the slight breathlessness of your voice.

He smirks at you. "The bitch *would* like to be treated like a two dollar whore, alright. I can work with that."

You want to tell him he's wrong, but you know he'd make you tell him the cause of your sudden reaction. You don't want to admit that the pleasure he's getting out of humiliating and debasing you is turning you on, you know exactly where that would lead.

You swallow your words, and step closer to him instead. "Which hotel are you staying at?"

*

The hotel is close, only a few blocks away. He spends the walk with his arm around you, hand slowly drifting down from your shoulder to your ass, until he's basically just holding your ass while you walk. You want to say something, but you don't know what he'd do instead if you complained. You decide that this is probably the lesser of two evils, and just focus on not making eye contact with anyone else on the street. Maybe you just look like a regular girl with a possessive, older boyfriend. Maybe you look like a whore. Right now, you can't tell.

When you reach the hotel, he opens the door for you. It's one of the fancier hotels in town, and the lobby is plush and gleaming. As you glance around, taking it all in, he grips you firmly around the waist and hauls you along to the elevator. Apparently he has no patience for sight-seeing.

You barely notice the elevator's decor, since as soon as the door closes on the empty box, he has one hand around your throat, and the other down your shirt, buttons slipping free to give him more access. His cool hands feel amazing on your flushed skin, and you can't help but moan softly at his touch.

You try to move closer to him, but the hand around your throat is firm and unyielding, and you're trapped, pressed against the wall. He knows how he wants to touch you, *tease* you, and he clearly doesn't want you interfering. The hand inside your shirt caresses first one bra-covered breast, and then the other, before sliding under the lace edge of your bra to pinch your left nipple. You moan again; your nipples have always been so sensitive, and through the haze of sensation you can see him smirk widely at you.

"Enjoying yourself, whore?" he asks.

Before you can gather enough composure to answer, the elevator stops at a floor. Not *his* floor. He pulls away from you as the door opens, leaving you slumped against the wall, a wreck.

Two men walk into the elevator, chatting. When they notice you, red marks around your neck, shirt unbuttoned and bra revealed, even pulled down a little on one side, they slowly stop talking. One grins at you, predatory.

"You can touch the slut," your tormentor says, "If you want. At least until we reach our floor."

They waste no time in complying. As the door closes, they close in on you. One grips your hair in one hand and pulls it back, before leaving a series of stinging bites along your jaw. The other goes straight for your breasts, pulling them all the way out of your bra and letting them bounce freely for a moment before leaning down to start sucking on your right nipple. The taller man, with his hand in your hair, reaches down to maul your left breast.

You feel like a piece of meat, being handled roughly by these men who know what they want and don't care how you feel about it. Your tormentor grins at you, clearly enjoying the show, and you can feel how soaked your panties are. God help you, you're loving this too.

"Please," you whine, overwhelmed under the assault of four hands and two mouths. You don't know what you're begging for, but you know you need it.

"Can I fuck this bitch?" one man asks, pulling his mouth away from your nipple. He replaces his mouth with his hand, twisting and tormenting your sensitive flesh. You moan.

"She's gagging for it," the other man laughs.

Before your tormentor can reply, the elevator stops.

"Maybe another time," he says. "This is our floor."

The men reluctantly hand you over to him. You feel weak and helpless, over-stimulated. You almost trip as he drags you out of the elevator.

You regain some of your steadiness as you stagger down the hall, and with it comes a cooler head. What were you just *doing*? Those men groped you, and you were *okay* with it. More than okay, it soaked your panties.

After a moment, you realise that your bra has been tugged down, and your shirt is unbuttoned. You slide your bra back into place to cover your breasts, and feel a familiar blush rise in your cheeks.

He notices, and laughs. "Feeling embarrassed?" he asks. "That was nothing. By the time I let you go home, you'll be a true slut."

The worst part is, you believe him.