Boris's Whore

He kept me waiting all morning, wondering what my punishment would be before he called me in. He lectured me at length. He said he was fed up that one of his girls (me I guess) thought too much of herself and he was going to make sure I remembered what I was.

He grabbing me roughly by the arm and led me to his car. I was terrified as we drove off.

He stopped outside a tattoo parlour and bundled me in. He told me to undress and lay face down on the treatment table. He'd brought the riding crop and told me he would use it if I moved an inch.

The tattooist worked for ages on my lower back and when he had finished I was allowed to look in the mirror. There were beautifully formed letters on my back, and seeing it reversed in the mirror it took me a moment to work out what they said. But now I have the word "SLUT" on my lower back, visible whenever there is a gap between under my top.

I think that was when I realised I had to get away. Obviously Eric wouldn't just let me leave, he'd paid too much for me to allow that to happen, but I began to plan. I kept most of the money I earned. Most of the girls frittered their money away or spent it on drugs or in the betting shop.

I had my chance when Eric told us that the next day we were all going to a big party to entertain some foreign visitors. That night I made sure I had a really wild night and next morning stayed in bed saying I was really ill. Eric eventually appeared in my room demanding I get up and ready for the party. He wouldn't hear any excuses.

I appeared with the other girls in my party clothes but as we were getting into the minibus I told Eric I felt really ill and when he tried to throw me into the taxi I told him I was about to throw up.

Angrily he told me to f off to bed then, and he'd deal with me in the morning.

Anyway I was left behind on my own. I packed a few of my precious belongs into a rucksack. I debated for ages about taking my big vibrator but it was now my only lover so in the bag it went. I didn't know what to do about that hated riding crop still hanging over my bed. Every time I looked at the thing I shuddered, but I also couldn't forget how, despite myself it could aroused me so much. Lying in bed at night I would gaze at it in the light coming through the curtains and it would make my juices flow and I'd start to masturbate with it. So in the bag it went, I couldn't bear to leave it behind.

I slipped out quietly, nobody saw me leave and I walked for ages before I hailed a cab to take me to Kings Cross station. I caught the overnight train and by early morning was back in the Yorkshire town where I was brought up.

I had not been a dutiful daughter but my parents welcomed me like the return of the prodigal daughter. They were thrilled to see me, as was I seeing them. They only have a small retirement flat with no spare room, but they let me sleep on the couch, telling me I could stay as long as I wanted to. I felt relaxed and free for the first time in ages.

I had money, quiet a lot of money and I soon managed to rent a flat, above a coffee bar, and yes, the owner of the coffee bar was pleased to offer me a job.

The riding crop is back over my bed. I really don't understand why, it was I guess just so much of my life at the time. If I take it down and feel it I get horny and start masturbating with it. It has so much power over me, I will probably never be able to throw it away and it will be with me always.

Anita, the coffee bar owner and I have become good friends, very good friends. It wasn't long before I realised she was watching me far more than was necessary.

Last weekend she asked me out to a pub for a meal. She sat along side me and put her hand on mine on the table, and when I turned my hand over to hold hers, she took it as a good sign.

Soon her hand was under the tablecloth and on my inner thigh, under my skirt. She slid it high enough that I could feel her cool fingers on the bare flesh above my stockings, tantalisingly close to my pussy.

I did open my legs slightly to encourage her but she seems determined to move at her own pace. She walked me home and I invited her in for coffee, but she said perhaps next time.

She did kiss me goodnight tenderly and that night it was Anita I thought about as I lay in bed and reached into the bedside drawer for my vibrator.

It's nice to be wanted again, it's nice to be being slowly seduced. I don't know what the outcome will be with Anita, but whatever it is, I'm once again looking forward to the future.

If Anita ever makes it as far as my bedroom, I wonder what she will make of the riding crop hanging there? Lying in bed at night I think about that, and in my fantasies she uses it on me.

Oh, I have had a new tattoo on my back. It's an elaborate design that totally incorporates and hides the horrid original one.

*

AUTHOR'S NOTE

This is based on a true story. The story of Staci. Sadly Staci's story so far has a bitter sad ending. After she was sold to Eric she rebelled. She stopped looking after herself, began to look scruffy and she upset several of Eric's clients by refusing some of their demands. It was inevitable that one of the other girls introduced her to drugs.

Eric tried punishing her, mostly with a riding crop but he did have the "SLUT" tattoo put on her back. Unfortunately she couldn't be trusted with his best customers, and Eric now has her walking the streets and working a trucker's stop.

The latest thing I have heard about Staci is that one of her customers, a trucker, took a liking to her and took her away with him. He wanted to get her off the drugs but Staci took his money and left him. She lived it up for a couple of weeks until the money ran out, then she was back on Eric's doorstep begging to be taken back, she had nowhere else to go. I don't know how Eric punished her for running away.

The episode about John is purely from my imagination. Staci wouldn't have dared defy Boris, and, until she was sold, truly had kept her ass for him. Of course it's now used by anybody who cares to buy it.

If you read this Staci darling, do try and make my ending yours. You can get away!

Copyright Sarah 2009