.png)
Part 1
Carl Dunning raced through town to the hotel where Amanda was waiting. And that stupid bitch of a fiancee, Helena, still didn't have a clue, nor would she ever. Just a few more crazy nights with Amanda, and then he'd pay her off with a cushy severance and a few expensive trinkets, and then he could pretend to be the devoted and doting fiance Helena believed him to be.
The hotel was the swanky kind of place that made Amanda absolutely drip with greed. It wasn't him as much as the things he gave her. She was a whore, all right. She just didn't take cash. But furs, drugs, diamonds, gold, those would all do nicely as payment for her to climb onto his cock and remind him what it felt like to be a real man.
And he was perfectly okay with that.
Helena was good for appearances and was good for her daddy's money just in case his ever ran dry -- but hell, the company was doing great, and he was sitting on close to 15 million in the banks and in stocks. Another ten mill in assets that could be sold if needed.
But it never hurt to have a pretty safety net like the mousy brunette who had promised to marry him. She was cute, and she'd look good on his arm at events and charities, probably even give him a kid or two to carry on the business and the family name, but she'd never be the kind of tramp he needed to humiliate sexually, to dominate with his dick deep in her asshole while he called her slut and bitch and cunt and then paid her off with a Gucci handbag.
It was a good life, he mused, as he pulled the Audi into the parking deck. Ten minutes later, he was opening the door to room 1341, knowing Amanda would be waiting for him on the king-sized bed, most likely in something slutty and lacey with stockings and seams. It was a very, very good life.
What was it Mel Brooks had said in that movie? Ah, it's good to be the king. Indeed it was. And a king with so many fucking queens too.
He pushed the door open. "Are you ready, baby?" he called out. A few steps inside, he noticed that Amanda wasn't on the bed waiting for him. Instead, there was a bottle of Scotch with a printed note that read:
Sorry. Work ran late. I'll be there shortly. Enjoy the Scotch as an apology for making you wait. I'll see you soon and it'll all be worth the wait. I promise.
Yours, A.
He ripped away the wrapper, then unscrewed the lid. Fifteen year old single barrel. Not bad. Not his usual brand, but then Amanda's money was all from her nine to five and any hand-me-down scraps he might drop her way. Still, it was a nice gesture, even if it wasn't top-shelf.
He poured a full glass and sipped it while watching the business report on MSNBC. After the thirty minute mark, he realized she was later than he expected. No worries. Helena never expected him home before ten or eleven anyway, and she's probably be asleep again in some kind of stuffy pair of pajamas with cats or hearts on them.
He poured and downed a second glass, enjoying the warmth of the smoky liquor. Not top shelf, he reminded himself, but damn good. And certainly worth a third serving.
"Don't mind if I do," he told no one, then poured another glass. He made it only about halfway to the bottom when he felt his eyes grow heavy and his brain start to dull. "This is stronger than I figured," he said. "Usually I can handle several..."
The rest of his thought was lost in the empty air of the room as he dropped the glass into the floor and fell back against the bed.
* * *
Carl awoke with a pain in his shoulders. He tried to stretch it out but found his arms unwilling to move. A quick glance confirmed that they were held above him and presumably tied to something. Concerned and more than a little pissed, he tried his feet, but they too refused to comply with his brain. He looked down and saw that they were tied to a metal rod about three feet long. He just had to look back his... his...
What the fuck were those doing there?!
Why did he have boobs? Goddamn, mother-fucking boobs that got in the way of his vision and made him crane his neck just to see his damn feet, his tiny, pretty... Holy shit! Those weren't his goddamn feet! Those feet belonged to some pretty waif of a girl, complete with hot pink toenails shining through a pair of flesh-colored stockings.
What the fuck was going on?
He tried to yell out, but found he couldn't only mumble against something huge and round in his mouth. It pushed his tongue flat against the bottom on his mouth and pressed tightly against his teeth, stretching his jaws wide open to an angle that was more than a little sore without being agonizing.
That's when he finally noticed the mirror on the opposite wall.
A beautiful, young girl no older than 25 hung from a metal loop. Her curly red hair hung just past her shoulders, framing her sweet, heavily made-up face, giving him a gorgeous view of her massive breasts, at least double Ds he guessed. What amazing tits, he thought, forgetting in his lust that they were his tits. Just below those was a flat, pale stomach with a pierced belly button. Then he noticed the neatly trimmed patch of black curls growing above one of the prettiest pussies he'd ever seen. That wonderful snatch was framed by two short, but lean legs tied off to the metal rod he had noticed previously.
He let his eyes linger on her pussy and tits for another few seconds before returning to her face. He stared at her and she returned the gaze. He shook his head and she did the same. He wriggled in his bonds and he watched her wriggle along with him.
Fuck. That gorgeous piece of ass was him. Somehow. It didnt' make any fucking sense, but there was no denying it.
Unless it was a dream. Or maybe hypnosis. It wasn't possible, but it was real. Somehow.
Some. Fucking. How.
He lingered on the girl's pretty face. She was made up with hot pink lipsitck that matched her toenails. Her eyes were done in a smoky, cat-eye style that he loved. She was such an immaculately, beautiful thing, the kind of girl he could really go for.
She wore nothing but a garter belt and a pair of sheer, nude stockings. Her feet were strapped and locked into a pair of black, high-heeled sandals that showed off her painted toes, as he had noticed earlier.
Her lips were open and wrapped around a thick, black ball gag and her eyes were wide and curious and more than a little lustful.
What the hell was going on? The last thing he remembered was waiting for Amanda.
And then... Then what? Falling asleep. Getting drunk.
Who the fuck had kidnapped him? And how had they turned him into a sexy piece of ass like the girl in the mirror?"
The door opened, and a man in a black hood and black shirt and cargo pants entered. He stared at the Carl's sexy new body and leered, but said nothing. He walked to her and slapped her hard on the left breast. Carl winced and squeaked around the gag. The hooded man grabbed the nipped and twisted it, pulling it out as if he might rip the damn thing right off her tit. When he let go, Carl's new body felt sore and bruised where the fingers had tugged. Without a word, the man slapped Carl's new pussy with an open palm. Once. Twice. A third time. Then he pushed two fingers inside it and fucked it vigorously for about a minute.
The twin sensations of violation and sudden pleasure fought for dominance inside Carl's mind. As the man slid his fingers out of Carl's pussy, he pinched the clit and the former man nearly came then and there.
"Hmmm..." the man mumbled, then left Carl alone with his confusing new feelings.
The man reached in his pocket and pulled out a piercing gun. Then he tugged at the left breast again and placed the point of the gun against the outstretched nipple.
Shicckkkt!
The gun shot it's point through Carl's tits and he squealed through the gag. He tried to scream, but he couln't make the sound correctly. Instead he sounded like he was maybe even enjoying the torment. When the gun was pulled away, the girl in the mirror was crying and a gold barbell was attached through her left nipple. Carl panted through the tears. The man ignored her protests and pain and instead squeezed her other nipple. He leaned in and bit it, then extended it as far from her chest as he could, and she moaned and squealed from the pain. The metal tip of the gun pressed against the extended pink flesh.
Shicckkkt!
The gun attacked again, and suddenly Carl's right nipped also was adorned with a gold barbell. The girl in the mirror was crying harder now and her nipples were bleeding a little.
The man reached into another pocket and pulled out a packet packet. He opened it and unfolded a moist towelette. He gently wiped away the blood, then he tugged at the bars to test how well they were secured to the girl's tits. Satisfied, he wiped any new blood from the nipples that had come when he tugged the barbells, then he nodded and walked away.
The girl in the mirror shook and cried and kept panting and shaking in her bonds. Even in pain, Carl couldn't take his eyes off her. There was something so beautiful about her, something so submissive -- even if he knew the girl was really him. He couldn't stop seeing her as some outside himself. She was gorgeous, and she was helpless, and she was his to watch as she was humiliated and tortured for his pleasure.
When the man returned, he held a leather cat o' nine tails. He stroked the soft black material against the girl's face, and then he jerked it away and swatted her still aching boobs with the whip. She cried out in a moan. He stepped back another step, then raised the whip and cracked it down swiftly against the girl's right breast. Then again. And again. And a fourth time. Then four stinging cracks on her left breast.
There was no denying that Carl and the girl in the mirror were one and the same. He yelped in spite of the gag, then jerked and pulled against his bonds to no avail. He cried and sniffed and bleed, but still the cat o' nine tails tormented his sore, pierced nipples and the supple flesh of his big new titties.
After many more swats than he cared to remember, the whipping stopped. His eyes were closed and wet with tears.
But he jerked them open again when fingers once again invaded his new pussy, pumping inside and out, back and forth. The pleasure did nothing to counteract the pain in his breasts, but he greatly preferred it to the constant stinging of leather on flesh. After a few moments, he found himself grinding against the man's hand. The hooded man laughed, then kept fucking Carl's new pussy until the newly remade girl had her first orgasm all over his hand. Spent, he fell heavy in her bondage, letting the ropes and the metal loop support him.
The hooded man laughed again, then grabbed the whip and gave each tit another series of lashes until Carl was crying and yelping again. Then he fucked the girl with his fingers until she came a second time.
Only when she hung limply in the ropes did he leave her to pant and moan in a confusion mixture of pleasure and pain.
What the hell was happening to him? And why was he being treated like such a slut?
The door opened, but he ignored it. As long as the hooded man was leaving, Carl didn't care. He needed time without either being whipped or being fucked. He needed to recover and try to figure out what the fuck had happened to him.
"What a slutty little cunt-whore you are, Carl?" said a voice he instantly recognized.
His eyes snatched open, and he saw Amanda standing in front of him. She wore a pair of jeans and a white tank top and her pendulous breasts stretched the cotton to bursting.
"Oh, Amanda," said another voice, this one softer and more sing song, "How can you call such a pretty little piece of meat Carl?"
Helena stepped from behind Amanda and walked up to him. She stroked his face with the back of her hand. "Did you really think we wouldn't find out?" she asked.
His eyes widened. His tears dried up.
It was... them?! They were doing this to him? But how.
"We won't bore you with the details, pet," Helena told him. "But suffice it to say that if you ever want to be the old you again, we're the only ones who can do that for you. So unless you want to live out the rest of your life as the sweet little piece of fuck-bait you see in the mirror, you're going to do exactly what Amanda and I say."
"That's right, cunt," Amanda added. "We own you now, you slut." Amanda leaned up and kissed him on the gag.
"And we've got a lot of anger to work out before we're ready to forgive you." "That's right," Helena stepped away. Between them, Carl could see the hooded man
standing in the back of the room. "You've been quite a bastard to the both of us, but now you're going to be our bitch instead."
Helena motioned to the man to return, and he did, the cat o' nine tails still in his grip. "Please continue," she said. "We've got a long night ahead of us, and Amanda and I could watch you whip Florette for hours." Florette?
"Do you like your new name, Florette? I hope so, because you're stuck with it until we can otherwise. We're thinking of having it tattooed on your ass as a reminder should we ever forgive you and let you change back."
"As pretty as a little flower," Amanda said. "Florette. It suits you."
Amanda and Helena stepped out of the way and sat down on chairs just off to the right. "Don't wait on our account," Amanda said to the hooded man.
"Please," said Helena. "Beat the shit out of this whore. She deserves every bit of it.
He raised the whip and brought it down hard on Florette's tortured tits. Shicckkkt! The newly renamed and remade girl cried and moans and squealed, but there was nothing she could do to stop the cycle of beatings and fuckings, and she endured it all she lost count of the number of times she had bleed and cummed for the unspeaking, hooded man.
* * *
There was no sunlight when Florette awoke, just the continued darkness of a windowless room. Her body still ached from the beating she had taken. Her pierced tits hung criss-crossed with red and pink welts from the leather straps and the inside of the thigh was coated in dried sex.
There was no denying she was Florette. Amanda and Helena had proven that to her as they watched the hooded man beat her and fuck her over and over again while they called her a whore and a tramp and cock-sucking slut, all the while laughing and taking pictures and videos with their cellphones.
With the lights off, she couldn't see the girl in the mirror. No. She was the girl in the mirror. She could see her reflection, couldn't see herself. She could only hang weakly and ache all over.
Her jaws felt permanently fixed open by the gag and she wondered how wide she could spread her mouth now.
After about an hour of silent pain, the door creaked open and the light turned up, flooding her eyes with a new pain like starting at the sun. She opened them slowly to let them adjust, and when the blurriness went away, she saw the hooded man again. This time he wore a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt -- and the same black hood.
He wiped her face with a moist cloth, then wiped her body, giving her a cool, refreshing sponge bath. He lingered on her breasts and between her thighs, but didn't enter or whip her. Instead, when he was done, he put the cloth away and untied her hands from the metal loop above her head. Then he helped her to her knees on the hard floor so she didn't fall.
He pointed at the floor, basically commanding her to stay. Like some kind of pet. She couldn't have run away no matter how she wanted to. She was too weak.
He pointed at the door and mimed the motion of locking the door. She was trapped anyway.
As she knelt, he stepped behind her and pulled her arms behind her back. He wrapped her wrists with a length of coarse rope, knotting it so tightly that it rubbed her skin raw. She tried to escape the knot but found it didn't give at all. Then he wrapped another length of the same rope around her elbows, and she was thankful that her new body was limber enough to let her elbows touch behind her. The action only made her huge tits poke out further. He tied off her elbows and then connected the ropes at her wrists and elbows with another that he also tied around her neck. He left her feet tied to the metal rod.
Without a word he lifted the bar and she was suddenly lifted into the air upside down with her arms pinioned behind her back and her boobs pushed out like a blow-up doll. He raised
her so that her head was off the floor and she was looking at his knees. Then she felt the tension in the legs change, and she craned her neck to look up.
The man was no longer holding her. Instead he had placed the bar across two metal hooks suspended from the ceiling. The hooks were connected to a pulley, and a chain ran from the pulled to the opposite wall.
The man walked to the wall, unhooked the chain and let the pulley lower her until her head bumped the floor. He laughed. Then he raised her until her head was higher above the floor than previously. He secured the chain and returned to her. Her upside down face hung just about level with his waist. He pushed her bare stomach and she swung like a punching back. He laughed again.
His fun was torment for her, as the ropes at her ankles dug into her soft, pale flesh. Her tits wobbled as she swung, and they bounced against her chin. She understand for the first time why women complained about having large breasts. They hurt when they flopped around.
He grabbed her hips and stopped her. Then he went and got the whip again. Oh fuck no, she thought. Not that again.
But he wasn't aiming for her tits this time.
Shicckkkt! The leather bit into her tender, oh-so-sensitive labia. She squealed and moaned against the gag. He whipped her again. Then once on each milky thigh. Then two more on her pussy. He spent a few more minutes punishing her flesh before he stopped. She was dripping with sweat. Please don't fuck me know, she prayed. Not as raw as I am now.
She was lucky, as he didn't. Instead, he retrieved the piercing gun. Fuck no! Fuck, fuck, fuck no! she screamed inside. Not there.
But she was at the hooded bastard's mercy. She was nothing to him. A helpless piece of ass to be used as he saw fit.
She closed her eyes and felt the sharp point of the gun touch her clit. She waited, but the sting didn't come.
What the hell was the son of a bitch waiting for? She opened her eyes to see and --
Fuuuuuuuuck!!!!! The needle jabbed through the most sensitive part of her body and she could tell is she was hurting or horny. Her nerves filled with an intense electricity and ripped through her like a fallen powerline. Her legs locked and her shouldered stiffened, and her brain shut down.
She awoke to the man slapping her in the face. He held a camera phone in front of her and showed her the clitoral piercing he had just given her.
Then he returned to whipping her, right on her fresh piercing, and each time he began, she would pass out from the pain, and he would wake her and begin again.
After about a half hour, the door opened and Amanda and Helena entered. Helena wore a simple dress and Amanda a pair of white shorts and a floral print t-shirt. Florette, of course, still wore nothing but my heels, stockings and garter belt -- unless you wanted to count all the new metal pieces adorning her body.
"How do you like you new piercing, Florette? All the little slut-whores are getting their clitties pierced nowadays. They say it helps their johns get off."
She mumbled though the gag, but they didn't really care what she had to say. "Just one more redecoration for you, Florette."
God, she thought, how they got off on saying the new name and stressing it to reinforce her new lot in life.
"I'm afraid this one is going to hurt even worse than the clit piercing," Helena said. "But I'm sure you'll take it like a trooper. After all, what's that you always said about taking things like a man? I'm sure even though you're just a sexy little cunt, you'll still be able to take it like a man."
The man left the room and while he was gone, the girls examined Florette's new piercing.
"Nicely done. He really is a master at this, isn't he?" Amanda asked, flicking the metal bob and confusing the new girl's pussy. She pulled it stretching her clit until it looked like it was trying to escape her lips. she yelped and squealed, but couldn't fight the wetness growing inside. At eye level, both girls noticed it easily.
"Look at this, Helena. The little tramp is getting off on this. She's filling up like a swimming pool. Look how wet she is."
Amanda shoved a finger inside her and then pulled it out and showed Helena. It's true.
Florette was soaked.
"What a slut. I was just kidding with her, but I do believe our little Florette is a much more submissive whore than we gave her credit for."
Just then, the man returned. Florette couldn't see him but she heard steps behind her. "Ready," she heard Helena ask. She could only assume he nodded in response. "Hold her still. We want the mark to be perfect." The mark? What mark?!
The girls kept her still, and she waited for a few seconds. Then I was stabbed by a heat that sent her out cold.
As her senses returned, she could hear them saying things like "Lovely" and "Wonderful" and "It's perfect" but all she could feel was a terrible pain in her ass.
"Should we let her see it?" Amanda asked. "Absolutely," Helena replied.
There was a click, a flash of light, and then a camera phone was shoved in front of her face.
They did not, Florette thought. The couldn't have. But they did. The evidence was in front of her eyes.
On the new girl's beautiful ass was a brand of the words "Florette is Carl's whore" in a fancy script.
And there it would stay forever, even if she was ever forgiven and changed back into Carl. Although that was looking less and less likely every minute.
While she hung in pain from her branded ass and her freshly pierced clit, she took comfort in the assumption that at least there wasn't much more they could do to her to mutilate her. Humiliation, that she could endure. But the mutilation, that was too much.
The hooded man moved to stand in front of her, and he squatted and unfastened the gag. Her jaws hurt to close as he forced the giant ball of hard rubber out of her mouth.
"Why?" she begged weakly, but the man shushed her, putting his finger to her lips. Then he unzipped his jeans and flopped out his cock.
Florette's eyes crew wide and she clamped her sore mouth shut.
"The choice is your to make this time, my sweet little slut," said Helena. "You can either give him the best blowjob he's every had, or he can whip the shit out of your pussy and your
ass. I'm sure either one would be fine for him."
She only opened her mouth long enough to say, "Please..."
But Helena shook her head. "This is payback, bitch. There is no please. Do you think you can treat people like whores and sluts the way you did and not have hell to pay for it?"
"Please... I'll do better."
"No. You'll do what we tell you or you'll never get your worthless cock back. Do you understand?"
Florette nodded.
"Now," Helena continued. "I'm going to count to ten, and if you mouth is wide-ass open and waiting for his cock, then he's going to give you fifty lashes on your clit and then fifty more on your new brand."
She counted, and by the time she got to six, Florette's mouth was open wide. "Good little fuck toy," said Helena.
"Such a fucking slut," said Amanda.
Her tormentor pulled her to him and shoved his dick into her mouth roughly. Then more than letting her suck him off, he just fucked her, pushing in as far as he could before pulling out to just the tip and deepthroating her again.
She gagged and coughed and sputtered, but she was trapped, her mouth impaled on his manhood, and she had no choice but to endure unless she wanted to feel the bite of the whip again on her new adornments.
He pumped her violently, his only concern apparently just to cum hard and deep and sloppy into her sore and helpless throat.
"And you swallow every fucking drop," Amanda told him. "Just like I used to do for Carl." "You did that?" Helena asked. "He wanted me to, but I never would He could go in a
napkin or the toilet, as far I was concerned."
"Well, regardless, this one, our slutty little Florette, she's going to be a swallower. Just like all the guys fantasize about."
They talked about her as if she weren't there, and all the while the hooded man gagged her with his cock until finally he shuddered, jerked her face all the way against him crotch, and shoot a wad of thick, sticky goop deep into her throat.
Like she was told, she swallowed it all.
"What a hungry mouth-cunt," Amanda said. "She's shameless." The man grabbed he whip again.
"But you said..." Florette begged.
"We said," Helena corrected her, "that he wouldn't whip your pussy or your ass if you sucked him off. But we never said anything about your boobs."
"Good thing the room is soundproofed, huh?" Amanda asked. Helena nodded.
And they watched and filmed the whole thing as he mercilessly smacked the leather against the tender underside of her upside down melons until she had screamed so much that her voice gave out.
Part 2
When she awoke the following day, only her arms were bound. She was free to move
about the room, but with her hands uselessly secured behind her back she knew was just as trapped as she had been in the hardcore bondage. She wasn't going anywhere. Hell, even if she could, she wouldn't. Not if she wanted to ever be Carl again. Only Helena and Amanda could change her back, but not if she ran away. Besides, what would she do? She had no ID, no money. Hell, she didn't really have an identity. If she tried to convince people what had been done to her the authorities would lock her up in a mental hospital. And if she avoided that fate, how would she find a place to live, a job? She'd be working the streets before long, she just knew it. So, no. Even if they chose not to tie her up, she wasn't going anywhere. She couldn't.
The man entered the room, motioned for her to come to him, and when she did he pushed her back against the closest wall. Although he still said nothing, he forced her legs apart and dug deep into her cunt with two, then three fingers. Then his thumb found her clit, and he fucked her while she moaned and wriggled between him and the wall. He kept it up for a good ten minutes and when he finally withdrew she felt as if her legs were made of pudding.
He wagged his finger at her in the universal command to follow him, and she did. He stopped her after a few steps, then spun her around and unfastened the ropes that bound her arms. For the first time in days she was complete free to move her body of her own volition. She stretched her arms above her, noting the terrible soreness. With her hands finally free, she poked at her pierced nipples. They were still tender and very sensitive. She resisted the urge to do the same with the clit piercing, but she did reach behind her to feel the letters the band had burned into her ass. Her face flushed with embarrassment at the idea of the mark's permanence. There was no denying the indentions the letters made in her skin.
He pointed to the floor, and she understood the command. She dropped to her knees. He unzipped and fished his cock out of his cargo pants and let it flop in the air between them. He nodded.
She understood. Even without the ropes, she was at his mercy. She either did as she was told or she would have her fragile pussy and tits peat into raw meat with the whip.
So she crawled forward and took his manhood in her hands. It stiffened at her touch. She looked up to see him staring down at her, smiling. Her cheeks reddened. She had truly become his whore. No. There was no money changing hands, just blind obedience. She had become his slut. Or worse. His slave. His toy.
She kept her eyes locked on his merely from the power of his gaze. He watched withou changing expressions as she took him into her mouth and throat. She sucked him as he stood still. He did none of the work this time. There was no forced face fuck. She was not the victim this time. She was the one doing everything. He was the fuckee and she was the mouth that fucked him. She prepared for the deluge when she felt his dick lurch slightly, and she pushed her face as far as she could against him, taking him so deeply that she could taste the sweat of his pubic hair.
She tried to swallow it all, but this time some escaped from the corners of her mouth, and he slapped her once, hard, leaving a sting and no doubt a handprint on her cheeck. He jerked his cock out of her mouth, the motioned for her to stand up and follow him.
As he led, he shoved his manhood back inside his pants and zipped up. He opened the door of her room/cell, and for the first time in days, she was out of the room. Of course, it dawn on her that he was fully clothed and she was still in nothing but a pair of heels, stockings and garter belt, looking like a fuck toy and following him like a pet, but it was a change and she welcomed it.
He guided her down a hallway and to a room around the corner. A bathroom. A tub filled with hot water awaited her, or she hoped it was waiting for her. He pointed to a stool next to the tub and she sat down. He knelt before her and retrieved a tiny key from his pocket and unlocked the padlocks that had locked the heels on her feet. Then he motioned for her to removed the rest of her undergarments, and get in the tub.
Before he left and took her clothes with him, he set a digital timer on the wall for fifteen minutes, made sure she saw it, then left the room. She heard a click after the door closed. Just as she had expected. She was locked in. A more comfortable cell, but a cell nonetheless.
She soaked for more than half the allotted time -- almost twelve minutes. Then she realized he'd punish her if she wasn't ready when he returned, and she'd had more than enough of that. She lathered and rinses, quickly but thoroughly, being extra careful around her new piercings and the brand. Then she stepped out and dried off with the massive, fluffy towel her hooded trainer had left for her.
When he returned just as the timer hit zero, she was waiting for him, sparkling, shiny, clean, and dry -- but totally naked.
He made her follow him again back into the hallway. She expected him to take her back to her room and bind her in some new, helpless position before fucking her with his hand or making give him another blowjob, but instead he took her in the opposite direction. He opened a door, motioned her inside and waited just outside. There was a single wooden chair and a maid's dress hanging from a hook on the wall. Folded neatly and placed on the seat of the chair was a pair of white stockings, a black lace bra, a pair of five inch stilettos in black patent leather with a strap that went around her ankle. Beside the shoes were the tiny padlocks that had been on her other shoes.
He nodded toward the dress then set another digital timer attached to the wall. This one only for twelve minutes though. He shut the door and locked her inside to dress.
Well, at least she knew what was in store for her next. They had broken her with pain, and now they were going to degrade her with service. She had gone from man to woman, woman to whore, and from whore to the help.
She looked through the stack and the hanging outfit for a pair of panties but found none.
Ah. That's the way there were going to play it. Keep her open and available at all times. Scrub the floors and let us see that pretty little whore pussy of yours, Florette. When you're done, lean over this table and suck that guy's cock again. Okay, good girl. Now do polish the silverware.
All the while shey could lift up her skirts and check out the permanent mark they had left on her ass.
Florette is Carl's Whore.
Well, Florette was someone's whore, but she had no idea who he was beneath the hood.
She slid the stocking up her legs. No garter belt this time. At the top in the back of each stocking was a small pink bow, and she made sure they were centered. Then she put on the bra
-- a push up one, of course, and her already massive tits looked as if they might flop out of the black lace if she moved around too much. She slipped the dress over her head and noticed that it didn't quite reach the top of the stockings, leaving the pink bows showing for anyone to see. She feared that if she leaned over her bare and branded ass would show as well. The timer told her she only had two minutes left and she quickly stepped into the heels and fastened them around her ankles. She was about to put the padlocks in when she wondered if she had left the
straps too loose. She didn't want him to think she might be trying to slip them off when no one was looking. So she tightened each until the leather fit snugly against her stockings, not quite digging into her skin, and had just enough time to click each padlock in place and stand up as the hooded man unlocked and opened the door.
He gave her a once over and must have approved, because he motioned for her to follow him again. He took her to a set of stairs, and she navigated the steps slowly and carefully in the high, pointy heels. But he didn't slow down, and she struggled to speed up to keep up with him. Even so, he had to wait for her at the top for just long enough that she could tell he was annoyed by his body language. Without waiting, once she reached the top the started again, taking her into a fancy lounge, where Helena and Amanda sat on a leather sofa, drinking wine.
The man led Florette to the center of the room, showing her off to the girls, then went to Amanda and whispered something in her ear.
"Oh," she said with mock disgust. "Really? How dare she?" "What did the bitch do this time?" Helena asked.
"She had the audacity to waste her trainer's time and make his wait at the top of the steps, pretending to have trouble with her beautiful new shoes."
Helena grunted and shook her head. "Well, we can't let something like that slide, can we? These little tramps have to know their place, don't they?" She turned to Florette. "Lift your skirt."
She did as she was told, and the girls laughed at her nakedness. "Oh, my. She really is a little slut. She forgot to put on panties this morning. She must be hungry for something."
Florette's face flushed red with embarrassment.
"Proceed," Amanda said the the hooded man, and he took a seat in a chair opposite the couch. Then he grabbed Florette's wrist and jerked her to him and pull her acorss his lap, her stomach lying across his knees, and her bare ass exposed. He raised his hand and swatted it down hard onto her ass. It make a loud slap.
She cried out.
He spanked her again.
Then a third time. Then two more for good measure.
Then he let her up and without being told she staightened out her dress and smoothed out the wrinkles. Her ass was still stinging, and so was her humiliation at his manhandling.
Having to suck his cock was one thing, but being spanked like a child... something about that stung her pride as well as her ass.
"Now, maybe that will help you remember to be aware of time and stay on task, Florette."
She looked at the floor.
Amanda smacked the table. "That's where you say yes ma'am and you curtsie. Or do you need another spanking to help you learn how to act outside the dungeon around polite society?"
She grabbed the edges of her dress and curtsied. "No ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am. It won't happen again."
"It had better not."
The man got up and left, leaving her with the two women who had been Carl's victims. Amanda held up her empty glass. "Another glass of Pinot Noir, Florette. and make it snappy."
"Yes ma'am," she said, and took the empty glass to the table on the corner of the room, where a bottle of wine waited. She poured the glass two-thirds full, then returned and handed it to Amanda. "Will there be anything else, ma'am?"
Amanda shook her head. "How about you, Helena, darling? Do you need anything?"
Helena glanced to the new maid, then to her feet. "Well, I'm am a bit sore from walking this morning, and I could use a good foot massage."
Taking the hint, Florette walked to the sofa and knelt in front of the woman who had been Carl's financee. She gently removed Helena's flat shoes, then rested one foot on her thigh and took the other in her hands and began to rub it the way she remembered Helena liked it after a hard day of being on her feet, back the the days before the change.
"That's nice, Florette. You've got magic hands. You're still too much of a slut for my liking but you do give nice foot rubs."
"Ooh," Amanda said, setting down her wine on an end table. "Me next."
"Yes ma'am," Florette said as she continued to work the tension out of Helena's instep.
Florette spent the morning waiting on every whim the girls had, and she said yes ma'am and no ma'am when spoken to or commanded to do something. When the clock rang out noon, she had served them scones, refilled their glasses, massaged their feet, and even dusted the entire room as they watched and smirked behind her back.
After the clock chimed, they got up and went behind her to check her work, shaking their heads.
It didn't take long for the hooded man to return, and he waited at the doorway for instructions.
"It appears that not only is Florette a slut and a tramp, but she's also incompetent as a maid. I'm afraid she's going to need more encouragement to do a better job."
He nodded and walked over to the maid and grabbed by by the wrist. He pulled her to the chair from earlier, then he jerked her onto his lap again and lifted her skirt to expose her ass.
This time he swatted her right on the brand, and he skin felt a fire like a thousand burning needles pricking her at once. He didn't stop at five blows this time, but kept going until he had landed fifteen painful stings right on the still sore mark that showed the world in fancy script that she was Carl's whore. When he finally stopped, she was crying and shrieking and didn't care if the girls knew it.
"Do stop that noise, Florette or we'll be forced to gag you again."
She tried, but only managed to reduce the shrieks to whimpers. The tears, however, wouldn't stop.
"Now maybe you'll appreciate the opportunity to be outside your cage and out of your bindings among your betters. We didn't have to give you the opportunity to serve and get out of the basement. Or, if you prefer, we could have you taken down again and simply whipped over and over again until we get tired of see you punished for the way you treated us."
"No ma'am," she whimpered. "Please, I'll do better." She shook on the man's lap, the pain still burning her skin. "I promise, ma'am. Please give me another chance."
"What do you think, Helena?" Amanda asked.
"I don't know. She did totally fuck it up. There was dust everywhere, and she almost knocked my glass over three times refilling it."
The man raised his hand to spank her again, but Amanda shook her head. "She is trying, and we have to cut her some slack," she said. "After all, we can't expect a streetwalking slut like our little Florette to behave like a human being after just a few lessons. Maybe if we gave her a reminder of the only other job she's suited for, that might help convince her to put in a lot more effort."
"I see where you're going with this," Helena said, "and I think you're right. She's all your," she said, nodding at the hooded man.
He pushed Florette off his lap into the floor, then stood up. Grabbing her roughly by the wrist he dragged her in front of the fireplace and let her go. She guessed what was coming next and she got on her knees and opened her mouth, but instead of opening his pants, he shoved her face onto the floor with her ass sticking up in the air. All she could see was the rug her nose was buried in, but she could hear his belt unbuckling and his pants being released.
Next came a sensation she had wondered about ever since waking up in the dungeon room in her new body. Her labia were parted and her trainer pushed his dick inside her slowly. She moaned. She couldn't help herself. Whatever they had done to give her this new body, they had done it in such a way that it was super responsive down there. He kept pushing until she felt his pubic curls tickle her pussy lips. Then he pulled out and rammed the cock inside again. No fingers this time. Just his rock-hard shaft pounding her like the whore her stil aching brand proclaimed her to be.
She moaned again, not caring if Amanda and Helena heard her, not caring that the sound would only reinforce their insults that she was nothing more than a whore and a slut and a sexy piece of ass. He pounded and she moaned.
"I don't know if this is a punishment or a reward," Helena said. "She certainly sounds like she's enjoying herself."
"She sure does." "What a slut."
He kept pumping and time stood still. From full to empty. and full again, her mind reeled. Her breath caught in her throat. She found that she was pushing back against him, her rocking motion matching his own.
"Look at her. Do you see that?" Amanda asked. "She's riding him."
Amanda told the trainer to stop and commanded Florette to keep riding his cock, forcing her to do all the work. She wasn't being fucked at the mercy of her trainer. She was fucking him. She was just a hungry pussy slapping against him. A woman who was desperate for a man. A cunt sloppy and greedy for a cock.
She kept sliding up and down his shaft until he soon spurted his seed inside her. But she didn't stop. She kept riding him until his limp tool fell out of her and she couldn't wiggle him back inside. He slapped her ass as she wiggled against him.
Her breaths came shallow and fast, and she soon realized she was alone on the thick rug with everyone in the room focused on her spent and happy body, still as up on the floor.
"What a greedy, hungy cunt," Amanda said.
"Wasn't this slut a man just a few days ago? My, how the mighty have fallen."
"She's either a really tramp, or she's super terrified about having having pussy whipped again."
"Which is it, slut?" Amanda asked. "Are you really that horny, or are you just scared?
And tell me the truth. There's still another ass cheek to brand if I think you're lying."
"Yes ma'am. I'll tell you the truth." She started to get up, but Amanda stopped her.
"No, just keep your ass right where it is. You look so perfect, slopping out on the carpet.
You'll have to clean that up later, by the way. Just answer me, right where you are."
"Yes ma'am." Florette titled her face against the rug so she could speak freely. "It felt better than I expected it too. I am scared about getting whipped though, especially on my piercings and where the brand is. That really, really hurts. I'll do whatever it takes to avoid getting whipped again, even acting like the slut you and Helena keep telling me I am."
Amanda laughed. "But is it really acting, your prick-tease? It didn't sound like it from where I was sitting."
"No ma'am. It was at first, and I don't like giving blowjobs, but --" "But having his dick in your pussy really turned you on?"
"Yes ma'am. Having his dick in my pussy really turned me on." "Would you like to be fucked again, Florette?"
She eyed her trainer, his pants zipped back up.
"Not right now, you slut. Give the man a break and let him get his stamina back," Helena interjected.
"But we can arrange a good, hard fucking for you every day if you're a good girl and do what you're told. You'll still be punished for fuck-ups and mistakes, but as long as you try hard and are obedient, I think it's fair to reward you with a nice, long cock each day."
"Yes ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." "Don't thank me. Thank him."
She crawled to the hooded man and knelt in front of him. "Thank you, sir."
"Thank him for what?" Amanda added. "Thank you for fucking me, sir."
"That's a good little slut," Amanda said. "Take her upstairs. I want the floors mopped and the carpets vaccuumed, then the clothes pressed and put away. And if you still have time after that before dinner, you can wiggle your sexy ass out to the back and serve us drinks at poolside. Do you understand, slut?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Good. Because you can either get a whipping or a fucking. That'll be up to how well you do your work, cunt."
"Yes ma'am."
I followed as the man led me upstairs.
* * *
For the next two weeks Florette's life was a constant cycle of blowjobs, getting fucked, serving as a maid to Amanda and Helena, and getting put over the hooded man's knee and spanked for every minor infraction in her cleaning abilities. The few times she failed to keep up or was deemed as being too stupid to do even a simple job right, she was tied up by her feet again and had her tits whipped with the leather cat o' nine tails until she cried.
But they had kept their word and stayed away from her pussy and the brand, although, if she had to admit the truth, even those were feeling better finally and had stopped hurting.
But on one morning, instead of her usual routine, the man grabbed her from her blanket in the cell floor, stripped her naked except for the white stockings and patent stilleto heels, then forced her arms behind her into a leather arm binder and strapped it around her waist and shoulders. Then he shoved a huge dilgo gag into her mouth and throat, reducing her to grunts and coughing sounds. He clipped a chain about a foot log to the padlock on each shoe, limiting her tiny steps.
He surveyed his work, then unfastened the two barbells in her nipples. He examined each hole, happy that they were permanent now. Then he fastened two new decorations to her nipples -- a silver sleigh bell that jingled noticeably when he played with it.
Finally, he squatted in front of her and removed the barbell in her clit and quickly replaced it with a hoop about the diameter of a dime. He clipped a leash to the hood and then tugged at it.
Her pussy exploded with tingles of electricity and fire. He tugged again, and she felt like she might just cum then and there.
He nodded, satisfied, then stood up and pulled again, this time beckoning her to follow and keep up. It was all she could do to walk as the leash tugged at her clit and made it hard to think, let along walk. The bells announced every step, and she struggled to keep up to avoid more pulling on her clit. The last thing she needed was to orgasm along the way and fall into the floor in a heap.
He slowed down to let her take the steps more carefully than usual because of the hobble chain between her ankles.
"Simply breathtaking," Helena said when the man pulled her into the lounge. "I have to agree," said a voice Florette didn't recognize.
The man unfastened the gag and removed it. Her jaw ached from even just a few minutes of the monster inside her mouth.
She turned to see a statuesque blond woman sitting in a leather chair opposite the sofa. The woman wore a simple black dress with black stockings and pumps, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She looked to be the gorgeous type of middle age.
"You've done a great job with this one," she said. "Ma'am?" Florette asked.
The man tugged her over to the woman, then handed the blonde her leash, which she took. Then the man sat on the sofa between Amanda and Helena.
"Simply amazing," the woman said. "And she is so docile and obedient."
"Oh," said Helena, "she has her moments still, but it's primarily just stupidity and ignorance, not willfulness."
"And her greedy slut pussy can get in the way of her work too. We have had to spank her for dripping all over the carpet from time to time."
"Now, Florette," Helena said, finally responding to the confused maid. "This is Madame Yvonne. She's what you might call a witch. I call her a problem solver. Would you like to know what my problem was called?"
"Carl, ma'am."
"That's right, slut. My problem was Carl Dunning. But Carl Dunning isn't a problem anymore, is he, Florette?"
"No ma'am. I'm sure he has learned his lesson, ma'am."
Madame Yvonne gushed. "Oh, this is simply brilliant. She's so humbled and obedient.
So... perfect."
Florette blushed as the compliment and at being naked and helplessly bound in front of a complete stranger. This was the first time Amanda and Helena had sought to humiliate her in front of anyone other than themselves and her hooded trainer.
"Well, Florette," the woman said, "Come kneel beside me." The woman tugged on her leash, eliciting a whelp of desire from the naked girl and Florette stepped forward and dropped to the floor on her knees at the woman's side.
"Absolutely delicious," Madame Yvonne almost squealed. "Such a doll." "Thank you, ma'am," Florette said instinctively.
The woman smiled.
Amanda cleared her throat. "We figured it was time to let you know what actually happened to you so we could get our revenge on that piece of shit you used to be. You see, when Helena and I figured out you were playing us both and taking advantage of what we could offer you, we contacted Madame Yvonne. We had a fairly expensive proposition to request from her, but thankfully, with Helena's money, that wasn't an issue."
Florette nodded, but kept quiet. If she played her cards right, maybe this was her way back to the way things used to be.
"So, we told her what we wanted."
Helena chimed in. "What we wanted was to give you a taste of your own medicine. To let you be used as just a piece of meat to be fucked or to suck some man's cock on the hopes that it might get you something for your efforts."
Amanda nodded with a rueful smile.
"And to be little more than domestic help for someone who didn't really care about you and treated you as if you weren't capable of anything. Does that sound familiar?"
"Yes, ma'am," Florette said softly.
"So we asked Madame Yvonne to work up a spell, and you became Florette. We humiliated you and we beat you, and we gave you to a man to be his personal piece of ass."
"Yes ma'am."
"We have another surprise left to reveal to you, Florette. Would you like to know who fuck toy you've been all this time? Would you like to know the identity of the man who beat you and fucked you?"
"Yes ma'am."
The girls nodded, and the man removed his hood.
Florette's eyes exploded in shock. The man standing there was... was... was Carl Dunning. The man she had once been.
"Shocking, isn't it?" said Madame Yvonne. "I bet you didn't see that coming." "Ma'am? How..."
"It's magic, my precious Florette. You see. When the girls presented their revenge plan to me, I offered to up the stakes a bit for them. You see, what could be more devasting for the new female version of the man they both hated to face than to become essentially the property of the man he has once been. After they agreed, it was a simple enough spell to create a doppleganger out of clay and fill it with memories from both you and them, but to add one special personality trait to this new Carl Dunning -- absolute loyalty to both Amanda and to Helena. So, you see, all these weeks you've been missing, Florette, Carl hasn't really been missing at all. He puts in his calls to the office, and he stays here dutifully training you to be his perfect little slut."
Helena laughed. "That's why the brand was so perfect. Because that's what you are." Amanda joined the laugh. "And the new Carl has made some changes around the office.
When I return, I'll be the new VP of our Madrid office, so I'm afraid I want see you much anymore, maybe just on trips back to the states for meetings."
"And new Carl and I are breaking off the engagement, but out of respect for me, he's giving me a 30 percent share in the business, and I've agreed to let him have this estate in exchange."
"What about me, ma'am?"
Madame Yvonne stroke Florette's head. "That's the most beautiful, perfect part of the whole story, my dear. You see, Carl is going to live here, but not the Carl you hoped would.
Right?"
The other Carl spoke up for the first time I could remember. "That's right, and I'm going keep the slutty maid on as my staff. I've grown quite fond of her, and I'm sure she'll continue to be very loyal, very serving, and very obedient to me even without Amanda and Helena being around. And if not, I can always beat those traits back into her."
Florette started to cry.
"Is that right, slut?" Carl asked. "I didn't hear you." "Yes sir," she said.
"Why are you crying, slut? I thought you enjoyed getting fucked by me." She nodded. "But I thought that when I was forgiven..."
"But all is forgiven, Florette. No hard feelings. But no need to have two Carl Dunnings around either. And since you were happy being my private fuck toy, we figured why not make that arrangement more permanent."
She sniffed against the tears that wouldn't stop. "Aren't you happy, slut?"
"No, sir."
"Well, don't you like getting fucked?" "Yes, sir."
Madame Yvonne stroked the girl's red curls. "We can fix that too, Florette. You see, I've got one more spell for you. Stand up."
She did as the older woman commaned. The woman turned her so that the brand was visible, then she twirled her index finger in the air until a purple flame shown from the tip. Then she traced the fancy script of the brand -- Florette is Carl's Whore -- repainting the black burns to a purple than matched the flame. "There. All better."
"Stop crying," Carl commanded. Florette stopped her tears. "Come here," he said.
She walked to him.
What is going on, she wondered? Why am I obeying him so calmly?
"You have no choice now, my dear. He holds absolute power over you. You're as stuck with him as you had wanted both Amanda and Helena to be. You're his sexual plaything in all the ways you manipulated Amanda into that role. And you're his sweet homemaker and cleaner and cook just like you expected Helena to become. You see, you should be perfectly happy.
You've allowed Carl Dunning to have exactly what he wants."
"Kiss me, Florette," he said.
And she leaned forward and did just that.
"If you have any trouble with the tramp, just call me and I'll top her off with another spell," Madame Yvonne said.
"We'll be sure to visit, and see how she's doing in her new role," said Helena.
"Speak for yourself," said Amanda. "I'm done with the slut. She got what she deserves, the bitch."
Amanda grabbed her coat and stood up to leave. "Tell Miss Amanda goodbye, Florette." "Goodbye ma'am. Have a nice day."
"Shut the fuck up, cunt," Amanda said. "Yes, ma'am."
"Bitch," Amanda said with a laugh.
Madam Yvonne joined Amanda in the hallway. Helena stood up, "Well, I guess I'd better leave you two lovebirds to it then," she said with a smile. "I wonder how long before we get a birth announcement from you too."
Florette's eyes grew as wide as saucers. She hadn't considered that. A life riding up and down Carl's cock was rife with the possibility of her becoming a mother.
A few minutes later, after all the women had left, only Carl and Florette remained, Carl in his suit without a tie, and Florette in her stockings, heels, and bondage gear. He had replaced the monster cock gag in her mouth.
"Come here," he beckoned, and she walked to him.
He bent her over the back of the sofa until her feet left the floor. "Today is the first day of the rest of your life, as that old saying goes," he said. "Let's get that started, shall we, my whore?"
Florette nodded. She took a deep breath and waited for Carl to fill her up again, knowing already that she'd be spanked or whipped for the mess she would make all over the sofa.
No comments:
Post a Comment