George and the Debt

Pager Update : Georgina is fully sissified and submissive, Chrissy is sliding into sex addiction, and Debs has decided she's had enough. A good plan is needed. : Update Ends

Debs lay under the latest man as he continued to thrust steadily. He'd been fucking her for about an hour and a half at this point. The first rush to orgasm, the sign of a man who'd not had sex for quite a while, was now a few hours ago. They'd lay together for about forty-five minutes afterwards as he told her a lot of boring things about his life. Then he'd got on top and started again and, ninety minutes in, he'd still not cum. His lovemaking was unimaginative and Debs was trying to show interest but had stopped saying things about an hour earlier, it seemed to have little effect on the man who was happy just to thrust and occasionally kiss her tits.

It did give her time to think though. She had decided that Anton's plans had to be disrupted. The trick was how to do that without him realising what was going on. She had no doubt that he'd quickly make true his threat to sell her and Chrissy to someone in the Middle East if he suspected they were plotting against him. Time to call mother, she thought.

Fenella lived in Scotland, near Braemar, and ran a little gift shop for the tourists. She visited a couple of times a year but never at Halloween, or the run up to Christmas, when the shop was very busy. Not the gift shop of course, which was at its most popular in the mid summer tourist season, no it was the backroom that contained books and supplies for the followers of Wicca. Serious, authentic, stuff in contrast to the little felted witches on broomsticks and models of the Loch Ness monster complete with tam-o-shanter hat that were sold in the tourist shop.

Debs was confident Fenella would help her, even though her mother had written George off as hopeless many years ago.

"Uh uh uh... oh god... aaah," whispered the man in her ear as he came for the second time that night. "Oh Debs," he groaned. "You're so lovely. Can we go again soon?"

"You've got me until breakfast," she replied. "Of course we can go again. I love early morning wood as well.... er... Gavin."

She had nearly made the error of forgetting her client's name. They could forget hers, and frequently did, but it was important that they thought they were the focus of her thoughts. Gavin rolled off her and they spooned. After a minute it looked like he might have gone to sleep so her thoughts turned back to her plans.

She thought about what she had learned about Anton's empire over the last few weeks. The good thing about being a whore was that guys in their post-coital state were easy to manipulate into talking about their work. And she'd listened carefully. Anton's empire was a pyramid with him at the top and his heavies just underneath him. There was his bodyguard Geoff, his chauffeur Craig, his Brothel Master Delroy (who she had worked out was the father of Chrissy's friend Abi) and finally the enigmatic Aleksandar, Anton's enforcer. And, like most tyrants, he had eliminated anybody from his organisation who was clever or ambitious. Anyone who might challenge him for power and control. Sometimes, she'd learned, he had literally eliminated people. The people he didn't want in his set up, but also didn't want joining a rival organisation. This showed how brutal he was, but it also meant the whole organisation was vulnerable. It was full of very loyal idiots.

She'd seen a documentary about pyramids a while back. The pile of stones was crowned with a special capstone, often made out of a better quality of stone, like granite, and covered with gold. It was a good symbol for Anton and his heavies. Remove the capstone and the rest of the pyramid is just sandstone blocks. The idiots. So, if Fenella could help, the job would be to deal with just five men. Should be possible, she thought. And if, at the same time, all records of Georgina's debt could be removed then they might be able to escape their entrapment.

It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was the best she could think of. Just like Gavin. Not the perfect lover, but doing his best. Thirty minutes of rest later and he was trying again. This time with her positioned arse up and head down in the pillows. But he didn't have the stamina of his youth and struggled to get hard again. Eventually he managed to push his semi-erect dick into her and from that point on things got a little better.

After Breakfast Debs staggered back to bed. Chrissy was ready for college and Georgina was resting, getting ready for a client that evening. But, before she put her head down and got some well deserved sleep, Debs took her lipstick and wrote on her bedside mirror.

Need you mum

She wasn't sure exactly how the magic worked but, apparently, mirrors were very important to witches. And, every time she'd done this in the past it had worked. Her mum had got the message. She dropped into the bed, pulled the sheets around her, and drifted off.

The dream, when it came, was soothing. A deep forest was bathed in sunshine and alive with animals that behaved as though they were in a Disney movie. Shafts of sunlight thrusting down through the canopy made a dappled pattern on the undergrowth. And Fenella was there, standing, stroking the neck of a gigantic stag. The creature looked infinitely powerful and Debs wondered if it was not an animal but, perhaps, a symbol of something greater.

"It's George, isn't it?" said Fenella. It was less of a question and more of a foregone conclusion.

"Er... yes Mum," Debs replied. "Actually it's Georgina, if we want to be precise."

Fenella looked puzzled and touched Debs on the forehead. Two fingers lightly pressed there for a minute. Debs felt a little woozy, as if her mind was being gently stirred, the way you might stir a yoghurt to check the ingredients.

"I see," said Fenella. "You've left it quite late to tell me what's going on. I get the feeling you have been enjoying some of this?"

Debs felt a little bit ashamed. Mum was right. She'd enjoyed it, at first. Having sex with Anton had been fantastic. Only later had it become a problem.

"Yes Mum," she replied. "I'm not proud of it. I need your help now though."

"Okay dear, I'll be with you soon. Meet me at the Damcaster Stone Circle."

As the dream faded Debs realised she'd normally put Mum up in the spare room. Georgina now slept there, but this worry faded as deep sleep took hold.

Chrissy glanced into the Damcaster College cafe looking for a friendly face. Perhaps, she realised, she was putting off what she'd come to do. Wanting to delay a little longer, hoping to meet someone who, by a look or a word, would convince her to abandon the idea. There was nobody and she didn't feel thirsty or hungry so there was no point in sitting on her own. She continued on to the Dean's office.

Today she had broken all her dress rules and was wearing a new outfit. Yesterday she'd asked her mum for some money, and visited town to 'get a few things'. And today she was wearing them. White, lacy almost non-existant, knickers and... a pure white one piece cat suit. Normally she wore baggy jeans and a loose top, bothered that her large cunt lips and prominent nipples would show. Today she had overcome that worry. The cat suit had a zip that went from the throat to below the navel and was skin tight. She had pulled it on, over the lacy knickers, and hitched it up until her prominent camel toe was showing. Then she'd zipped it up and experimented with the height of the zip until she was happy. The happy point turned out to be where her breasts could be viewed if someone looked at her in profile, but where there was still enough pressure from the stretchy cloth for the shape of her nipples to show. She'd toyed with black as the colour, and it was tempting given her Goth habits, but getting it in white was definitely a better idea. It was easier for a viewer to see the shape of her body, indeed it seemed to make things look even larger. And she wanted, today, for people to see what she'd got.

Miss Forbes was in the outer office, as usual. She glanced up as Chrissy entered and gave a thin smile.

"And what can we do for you, young lady?" she said, with a cynical look on her face, then gave that thin, humourless, smile again. "This is a new look for you, I believe."

"Er... yes," replied Chrissy. Suddenly her mode of dress was embarrasing. "Er... the Dean offered a grade improvement if I agreed to meet him, and some friends, at a hotel."

"Yes," said Miss Forbes. "That was the deal."

"Well I'd like to take him up on the offer," gulped Chrissy. Her throat had suddenly gone very dry. "And I'm prepared to dress like this. Is it possible you could organise it?"

"Did you want to see the Dean now? He's in his office."

Chrissy didn't. Seeing him in the flesh, so to speak, would remind her just what she was agreeing to. Allowing several middle-aged men to 'entertain' her overnight. Stuck in a small hotel room and obliged to let them do as they liked until breakfast. A bit like the situation her mum was in. Then, thinking of this, she had a warm feeling between her legs. OMG, she thought, I'm getting turneed on by this idea.

"No, I'm fine, no need to bother him. Unless I have to?" spluttered Chrissy, worried that if she went in to see the Dean she'd lose control completely.

"You don't have to," Miss Forbes replied. "I can organise it for you. We have your mobile on record. Let's see..." she looked something up on her computer. "... ends with 974? That right?"

"Yep," said Chrissy. "Thank you Miss Forbes."

"You're very welcome, Chrissy."

Wandering back toward the cafe Chrissy wondered just why she'd agreed to the gangbang. She was doing quite well with her studies, heading towards good grades anyway. Then, she admitted to herself, it was nothing to do with the grades. She was actually very aroused by the prospect of the event. Being the centre of attention, getting lots of cock. She was starting to like this new lifestyle that Anton had imposed on her. Dangerous as it was, it was also exciting.

She needed a cup of coffee. Normally she went for a medium latte in a tall glass. Today she ordered a large, which came in a bowl-like cup with two handles. She paid for the drink, and a chocolate bar, and looked around for a table. Her eyes rested on a familiar face. It was Tommy, the boy who had deflowered her a few months back in the upstairs room while the party music had pounded its heavy beat below them.

There has certainly been a lot of water under the bridge since then, she thought.

Tommy looked stunned by her costume and patted the chair next to him, looking very pleased to see her. They'd not talked since that party. Embarrassment had stopping Chrissy from meeting him. It had been a fumbling, clumsy, loss of her virginity, unplanned and without a lot of thought for the consequences.

"Hi Tommy," she greeted him. "How's things?"

"Good. Good," he replied. "Wow you look good! Fancy a movie some time?"

She could see he was trying to look at her breasts inside her costume and she leant forward slightly so that the cat suit bagged a little and she was sure he could see her nipples.

"Yeah, why not," she replied, hoping he wouldn't say a time when Anton had something planned for her. Then a very wicked thought sprang into her mind. I'll thank him for taking my virginity, she thought, and then let drop that I'm going to spend the night at a hotel with the Dean and three other tutors. The temptation to do this was very strong but she kept her mouth shut. Tommy kept staring doiwn at her camel toe, when he wasn't trying to see her breasts, and she was pleased she had him so captivated.

They chatted for another half hour and then Chrissy's phone pinged. It was Miss Forbes saying that the Dean had organised the hotel, the room, and the participants. They could do that afternoon. And a taxi would pick her up at the front of the College in half an hour.

Chrissy sent a message back. She'd expected an evening event but why not have an afternoon gangbang?

Tommy's phone pinged. He picked it up and said, "Yay! My afternoon seminar on the Brontë Sisters with Mr Thwaites has been cancelled. Something's come up. Fancy a trip to the movies this afternoon?"

Chrissy has a very good idea what part of Mr Thwaites had 'come up' to cause this cancellation. She looked at Tommy and shrugged her shoulders, "Sorry Tommy, I have to be home this afternoon. Another time perhaps?"

"Yeah, yeah," he replied.

He looked suitably disappointed. Chrissy had another wicked thought. When she'd got the Dean off her back, or off her backside more likely, she'd give Tommy an experience he'd never forget. Her and her mum at the same time. Her mum was fucking anybody these days, she thought, she'd probably go for it.

Outside she leaned against a lamp post waiting for the taxi. Some of the motorists glanced at her as they passed and she lowered the zip a little further, then a little more, until her belly button showed. Luckily there were no accidents from distracted drivers and soon a taxi arrived and the driver leaned out and shouted her name. She got in feeling it was very obvious that she was off on a naughty escapade, but the reality was that many students rang for a taxi to collect them. Nobody noticed, except Tommy, who wondered why she was using a taxi when she usually walked home.

Five minutes later Chrissy was dropped off at a anonymous chain hotel on the outskirts of Damcaster. The Dean was there to open the car door and pay the driver. As they walked towards reception they were joined by Mr Phelps, the physical education tutor. He was carrying a shopping bag that clinked as numerous bottles rattled against each other.

"I got the beer," he said, grinning. "You got the girl. Fuckling hell, she looks good. It's going to be a great afternoon."

They walked into the hotel, past the receptionist who barely looked up, and along a long corridor to the last room in the row. Chrissy saw that at the end of the corridor was a side door into the car park at the back of the hotel. In the room already was Mr Thwaites, Tommy's missing English Literature tutor, who was looking very comfortable. He'd grabbed a towel and was about to step into the shower. He nodded, expressed happiness at seeing the bag of beers and disappeared into the shower cubicle. He'd not even checked out Chrissy but, presumably, recognised the name. Or perhaps he was quite happy with any girl the Dean arranged for their parties, confident she would be good.

Chrissy sat on the edge of the bed. Someone had removed the pillows which left a large rectangular platform. A plastic bowl on one bedside table held lots of condoms. On the other was something a little more worrying, a bottle of intimate lubricant with a dispenser clearly designed to help pump it into the anus. Then the Dean's phone pinged. He glanced at it, then leaped to the door, went out into the corridor, and opened the side door. Chrissy could see that you could only come in that route if you had a code, or someone inside opened it for you. Looking very guilty Mr Sullivan, the chemistry tutor, slid into the room as quickly as he could.

"Thanks, Dean," he said, breathlessly. "Maureen mustn't know about this. I would be in so much trouble."

"Not a word shall pass our lips," said Mr Thwaites, emerging from the shower with a towel around his waist. He picked up a beer bottle and removed the cap. "We all have good reason to keep quiet about these greedy girl parties."

Mr Sullivan then showered and, as he came out, Mr Phelps took his place. Because Mr Phelps was the last to shower he got the smallest towel as a result. He didn't seem to care, draping it over his lap. Chrissy was surrounded by four men, sat dressed in towels, with beers in their hands. Mr Thwaites and the Dean shared the beach seat, Mr Sullivan took the armchair, and Mr Phelps, with his tiny towel, got the swivelling office chair from under the desk. None of them approached the bed, leaving Chrissy to sit on its expanse, very alone.

"Strip and give us a show, lass," said Mr Thwaites. He was slim, around forty five and, to Chrissy's eyes, looked the most relaxed of the men in the room. Had he done this so many times he was confident he would be having a good time? His tousled hair was a light shade of brown and his hazel eyes were assessing her. Not in an unkindly way but with a degree of experience that Chrissy thought was probably only matched by Anton himself. He's going to be an interesting experience, she thought.

"Yes, frig yourself," said Mr Phelps. "I always like to see a girl do that." He was the tallest of all the men with a gym-fit chest and bulging arm muscles. His hair was cropped short and he had a tattoo on his right pectoral that showed a dagger with a snake wrapped around it. It looked a bit military. He was also the youngest of the men, maybe thirty five. He's going to give me the most energetic fuck today, Chrissy thought.

Mr Sullivan said nothing, just stared at Chrissy as if he was starving and she was a delicious roast dinner. He was overweight with a large beer belly and looked very nervously at Chrissy as if she was both desirable and intimidating at the same time. He was the oldest in the room, possibly approaching sixty, and his thinning hair looked lank and greasy. You, thought Chrissy, are the most inexperienced here, and you are going to struggle with this. Guilty thoughts about Maureen, who I presume is your wife, and poor fitness levels are going to get in the way of a good time.

It was, she thought, an interesting observation. One she wouldn't have made a few weeks ago. But here she was, looking at the men she knew were going to have sex with her, and assessing their potential. And she knew that not only could she do this gangbang, she was going to enjoy it. Even Mr Sullivan with his flabby body and rampant guilt. She was going to take them all. The frisson of excitement was addictive.

She was, as her mother had suspected, started to become as addicted to sex as her father was to gambling. Was it something in the genes? This tendency to addictive behaviour? Chrissy hadn't noticed this need for sex creeping up on her over just a few weeks, but then perhaps that is the nature of addiction. It comes upon you like a thief in the night, as the saying goes, and before you realise it, you're hooked.

The Dean smiled a wicked smile and said, quietly, "Time to earn your grades, Chrissy. I expect good things of you."

He was only slightly younger than Mr Sullivan and he also had a paunch from too much beer and too much time sitting behind his desk but Chrissy knew he was capable of getting a raging hard-on when presented with the right sort of slut. He had nearly raped her in his office and only the intervention of Miss Forbes had prevented him. And she knew, from the video he'd taken, and enjoyed watching, that he went in for a very angry style of fucking. He had things in his head that he enjoyed, but didn't necessarily tell the girl, that - if thwarted - resulted in him losing his temper. Today, she thought, I need him to be more explicit or I'm going to be bruised and battered by the end of the afternoon.

Chrissy pulled the zip of the cat suit all the way up to the top. "What sort of display would you like, gentlemen," she breathed, trying to make her voice as sluttish as possible.

Suggestions were given and she started by going to each man in turn and stroking their shoulders, chests and backs while giving them a deep French kiss. She sat on their laps, wriggled and pushed her body up against them, and found something nice to say about each man.

"I'm going to love this," she finally said. "I'd better get ready."

She pulled the zip down, very slowly, the men each watched its progress, entranced. At the very bottom the zip was far enough down so that her pubic hair showed. Then she started to shrug the cat suit off her shoulders and pull her arms out of the sleeves.