Chloe and the Agency Pt. 04

The phrase gives her a delicious rush of sensation, as if someone has stroked her neck with a feather - quickly followed by a hot flush at her sex and vivid recollections of the many moments at which her willingness to please had been taken such thorough advantage of.

Now for the white dress. The one she must choose if she wishes to stay.

It's a pretty dress, the bodice tight, in a surprisingly heavy cotton, a matt ivory white, obviously tightly fitted. Strapless, there's a rib-knit bandeau, almost like a shawl, that covers her breasts at the top - the tight cotton will push them up, but not hold them. The short skirt is pleated and flippy. There are five large buttons only, from the top of the bodice to the top of her pubic mound. Obviously, she'll have to step into the skirts and pull it up before buttoning. The bandeau is entirely separate, held in place only by the top button.

It's a lovely and classy looking dress, beautifully designed and detailed - overtly sexy, yes, but not in the least slutty, but with her experience of last night clear in her mind, the ease with which opening a few buttons would render her naked sets off powerful alarms. For there is no underwear - nothing. All that remains on the stand is a slinky mesh bag with white semi-opaque thigh high stockings that have lacy hold-up tops, a pair of white high heel strappy shoes with ankle cuffs and a pretty pearl choker with three strands and matching bracelets, plus a little make-up kit.

Chloe is in love with the dress, wants it, wants to wear it, wants M to see her in it, wants to thank her for the chance to wear it, wants M to remove the bandeau, put her hand under the flippy skirts and...

She feels dizzy. Yes, yes she wants the dress, wants these things even, but .. but at what cost?

If she stays here, then she is inviting - accepting, surely - more of what happened last night, more ..

Violation! It was a violation, she tells herself. Whatever they had said to her beforehand, whatever she had offered them, what actually happened was way, way beyond that, far beyond anything anyone might have imagined when consenting - even consenting to anal sex with a stranger (blushing furiously, but forcing herself to remind herself that she had in truth done this).

No. No, she must not stay. She must get out while she can, get out with the money, go back, back home. Maybe she will masturbate about last night for the rest of her life, but she cannot live her life like that!

She stands quivering, staring, for the longest while, until she cries.

Soft, soft, only a few tears, no sobs, just trembling lips, a sideways glance at her own clothes, so safe, so solid, so predictable, so decent.

And then she wipes away the tears, breathes deeply, calm, slow, and her mouth sets, serious. This is real; she steps forward, reaching out.

She's going to put on the pretty, sexy dress, understanding that she will be naked underneath, and go down and see M. And she just stops thinking about anything else that might happen.

The make-up kit has red, red lipstick, pale blue eye-shadow, a hair clip and earrings to match the choker, and she does her best to do what she thinks M wants.

She wants, and does not want, to see herself, but is unable to resist the large, bathroom mirror. What she sees is a Barbie doll version of herself - her legs in the high heels seem longer than possible, the clever cut of the dress emphasises her waist, the swell of her breasts (it fits her so tightly, so perfectly, the stiff cotton holding her almost like a corset), the flippy skirt juts out above her buttocks, inviting attention to the tops of her thighs in a way that she both appreciates and understands now, but would have instantly rejected 24 hours ago. The pearl choker is definitely a collar - she understands this, accepts it - the bracelets and ankle cuffs of the shoes are elegant, but also speak of restraints, and she knows this too. She will be restrained, used while restrained, in these. It's obvious, after last night, what these are. She catches her breath, and finds herself doing a few little wiggles, watching herself, entranced by the girl in the mirror, keen now to show herself to M.

Of course, M receives edited highlights of all her girls on a daily basis, and sends select edits to valued customers; Lord K sees this and several other excerpts the next day, and pulls the head of his favourite in the Swiss villa, Vēci, into his crotch, forcing the Tamil girl to take him deep into her throat, put her breathing on hold, desperately doing what she can to massage his cock with the convulsions in her throat in the hope of bringing him off sooner. Damn those women for continually finding girls he cannot resist, and for bringing them to such a fine state of helpless, eager vulnerability; they're costing him a fortune. But he's grinning broadly, and then grunting as he empties himself deep into the lovely, dark-skinned woman - herself an Agency girl whom he bought from them at an eye-watering price a year ago - a purchase he has never regretted, he reminds himself, as she busies herself cleaning him with her soft and clever tongue, smiling sweetly at him, though her eyes are still wet with tears brought on by his careless and greedy usage.

The skirts of the dress are unbelievably short. She feels as good as naked as she tries to be elegant on the stairs in the high, high heels, feeling her breasts jiggle, concentrating on what is to be done next, not thinking, not thinking.

The house is beautiful, stylish, dark and rich. She feels foolish - very young and unsophisticated. Dithering at the bottom of the stairs, she is spotted by a grim faced older lady in a severe black dress, black stockings and solid, sensible shoes, hair in a bun - some sort of housekeeper, presumably.

Chloe blushes, begins to stammer something.

"In the brown sitting room, if you please."

She is politely but firmly ushered toward a half open door.

She is horribly nervous as she enters the large, expensively furnished room, with low leather sofas and tables.

There's only one occupant - someone she doesn't know, a woman of perhaps 35 years of age, intimidatingly beautiful in the style which gets called handsome, very elegant, unmistakably wealthy, confident, powerful, in an austere tailored outfit.

She smiles at Chloe, calmly;

"Ah, good! Someone to talk to, and I was just beginning to be bored. Perfect. Come and sit down, do."

Her accent is foreign, clipped, a little harsh, her voice deep, authoritative, and Chloe finds herself obeying without hesitation, lowering herself onto the little banquette opposite the stranger, who looks her over, admiringly;

"But aren't you pretty? And such a tease in that flirty little dress! Lovely to meet you. I'm Mrs Fisk, and you are ...?"

Chlo is pre-occupied, trying to find out how to sit without showing her naked sex to this stranger, and finding that nothing but primly clamped knees will do;

"Oh! .. Chloe .. ah.."

"Just Chloe?"

The woman laughs at her, then continues, not wanting an answer;

"A very pretty name. And do you work for Madame M.?"

Chloe flushes. Even if she had been trying to think what might happen next, she wouldn't have imagined this. The woman thinks she is one of M's girls!

In desperation, she stammers;

"No No, ... I mean ...maybe? I ... I don't know!"

And she stops, her breathing panicky now.

Mrs F raises her eyebrows, her face hard - Chloe is aware that she is frightened, that the woman is doing this to her on purpose, that she means Chloe no good at all. She is excited; her heart flutters. She remembers now how this feeling had preceded the best bits of the last evening. Terrified, fascinated, helpless, she gives herself up to the feeling.

"Maybe you should take a deep breath, girly, then start again. Answer my question, do."

F's voice has a little steel in it.

Chloe looks up, finds the returned look too frank and piercing, and looks demurely down again, taking a deep breath.

The idea that this woman might be thinking of using her ... She can feel her nipples stiffening, and knows this is immediately obvious through the thin bandeau.

"I .. I don't work for Madame M., at the moment. But she might ... I might ... perhaps I'll work for her soon."

Again the soft, relaxed laugh.

"So, pretty, is she waiting for you to say yes, or are you waiting for her?"

It shocks Chloe now that the answer is so obvious to her, and it is hard to say it out loud, but there is no doubt in her soft, low voice as she says;

"I, I'm hoping very much that she wants me ... to, to work for her."

That she felt it necessary to add the second part speaks volumes, and Mrs F laughs again, knowingly, as Chloe blushes, looks down, her hair falling over her face.

"So ... a girl like you; pretty, provocative, submissive - might be available to Madame F's clients; to me, in fact. Is that so?"

Desperate panic! This woman is allowing her no hiding place! She knows M's business! She might even know what C has been trying not to think about - the events of yesterday evening! And Chloe finds she needs to look up again, even though she is frightened to - needs to look at this woman, fascinated, needs to see again that she is, indeed, the sort of person to whom M might make her 'fully available'.

For a long moment they look at each other; F, glowing and glossy with power, privilege, entitled greed and lazy confidence; Chloe, quivering slightly, blushing, finding the easiest thing to do is to slip into the role set out for her - as F has described it - pretty, provocative, submissive. And then she knows what to say;

"I ... yes .. yes I suppose I would be." - and she finds herself deliberately letting this stranger see how vulnerable she is; frightened, excited, embarrassed, needy. And finding the experience of letting this be obvious even more exciting, embarrassing, frightening - and that it brings on further neediness; 'O God, O God, O God what am I doing? Why do I like this? O God don't let her, O God..."

"And as I understand it, Madame F's girls are all, what is the little phrase? - 'fully available'?"

A long pause, Chloe is blushing fierily. But she holds herself prettily, determined not to disappoint Ms M (even if she isn't present, not to let her down, not to prove unworthy), letting F's smiling eyes capture hers, lips parted, wanting to be desirable, to feel desirable.

Her chest rises and falls noticeably, her nipples stiff through the thin fabric, unfettered breasts moving softly, unmistakeably, as C realises that she is actively presenting herself to this stranger as a sex object, willingly co-operating with a plan devised by others, terrified of what is happening to her, knowing that this plan leads to degradation and humiliation, but drawn by the promise of that incredible intensity she had never felt before the events of the previous evening.

The sense memory of the moment when Lord D drove into her wet sex comes to her mind, and she is dizzy with the implications of it - to have felt so wonderful; stripped, whipped, chained, penetrated in front of strangers. She feels desire flood through her whole body, hot, fluttery.

She knows she is letting the other woman see too much as their eyes remain locked, showing her weakness, her need, her vulnerability. It's the same feeling she had yesterday, revelling in M and D's interest in her, even as she knows that interest is limited to a desire to use and abuse her for sexual game playing. But to C it feels like watching someone fall in love with her - it's as exciting as that, a glorious, tender, frightening, tingling sensation. At last;

"I ... I don't really know about the other girls."

A pause, a knowing, triumphant smile, a glance that slowly, lasciviously travels the length of Chloe's body, lingering insolently at crotch and cleavage, before capturing her soft, nervous eyes again, seeing there the eager hope the girl has that her charms are enticing enough, the awful fear she has that she is not sitting right, that she hasn't held her lips softly, that her breasts aren't displayed to their best - all these thoughts flit through Chloe's distracted mind;

"But you, you would like to be 'fully available' - to me - if I wanted you?"

Chloe can hardly think. Her breath is coming in shallow shudders. She knows she must speak, but can't.

Then; "Dear Livia! You are such a tease! She is lovely isn't she? Those pretty breasts! And she moves so well. But she's not available at present. Not even to you! Heavens - she's my guest!"

M! Chloe's heart seems to start beating again, a million miles a minute - my God! For a little while, she can't concentrate, hardly even hears what's being said, so disturbed is she.

When she can pay attention to the conversation, she finds they are talking about some business associate - fairly sophisticated gossip, as if she wasn't there.

It takes only a minute or two for this to become awkward, then actively distressing. Here she is, dressed for display, having allowed unbelievable, intimate atrocities to happen to her, assumed by F to be a slut for hire - all this, and they can simply ignore her! Have they lost interest in her?

Because, she is now sure, she would very much like M to make her 'fully available' to F; to be able to serve M, by putting herself in the hands of one as smoothly, powerfully exciting as F; to show M that she, Chloe, can live up to her standards.

For a fleeting minute she is cross. They continue to ignore her, and then she suddenly remembers M's lessons from the previous afternoon (already a lifetime ago..). She blushes, ashamed of herself, as she remembers, again, what was said - talking, at the time, about the fictional men who would be dazzled by her beauty, and pay her unimaginable sums just to appear at their offices each day, acting the part - except that now, the part is for real, and it is her who is dazzled, dazzled somehow by M, by D, By Lord K, by this woman F - my God, she wants to be part of their world - whatever it costs her!

She is breathing heavily, pink with embarrassment and sexual heat, as she remembers;

'... continually draw attention to your breasts, your crotch, your lips, your ass. Be still for a while, then make some small movement, eye-catching, but soft - you have suddenly remembered you didn't put the lid on your face cream this morning! You pout, open your moist lips. He looks round, catches your eye. You are embarrassed, you give a tiny shrug, smile at him, put the end of your tongue to your lips - a soft, embarrassed, almost silent giggle, just for him. A few moments later, your ankle itches, you lean forward to softly touch it with an elegant nail, your cleavage is presented. He looks up, at your breasts, then up into your eyes. You let him know you understand, that you are a little embarrassed, but really rather pleased. You drop your eyes, but the itch is still there, you make your breasts jiggle a little for him, before you slowly straighten up. A few seconds later you look up, find him staring at you, lower your gaze in confusion, letting him know that you know he is thinking of fucking you, and that you are excited by this, but also frightened at the thought that you will be unable to resist him.'

'You wonder how best to encourage him - will he want you to be willing, or will he enjoy feeling that he has overpowered you - violently, or through force of personality? Do you look up at him again, meeting his eyes, showing him that you want it, need it - or do you appear flustered, nervous, always darting little glances at him? It is an art - perhaps you can learn it well.'

Chloe is so engrossed in these thoughts that she doesn't realise that she is being addressed, and M has to speak a little sharply;

"Chloe, dear, Madam F is just saying good-bye!"

Looking up, it is clear to Chloe that she is expected to rise and speak to the visitor, and she does so as elegantly as she can, blushing and mumbling an apology.

Madam F just laughs at her;

"Such a pretty innocent. I want you to promise me something - will you?" - her voice is light, teasing, but Chloe knows there is an agenda here. Nevertheless she is happy to smile, and nod;

"Ye .. yes .. m.. madam"

"Well, I want you to do all you can to convince M here that you should work for her, so that I can see just how juicy you really are. Will you do that for me?"

And C, blushing, utterly unsure of herself, takes a sideways look at M, who, smiling a little, nods. C giggles to cover the implications of what she is saying, and says;

"Yes .. yes madam" - and bobs a little curtsey, almost without thinking, just because it feels right.

"And you, M, may I ask something of you, too?" Madam F smiles, arch.

M's smile, too, is knowing; "But of course, my dear."

"I want you to give this sweetie a little sweetie, just from me - so that she knows just how much I enjoyed our little chat, and to let her know that she is perfect - just perfect.. A plum, a peach, just ripe.. Will you do that for me?"

"I will indeed; you can count on it."

Chloe's blushes are a from both pleasure at the compliments, and embarrassment at the patronising tone of the words; she smiles with gratitude, but her eyes are down, and she needs to take a deep breath and bite her lip to suppress the shame that rises in her chest.

Seconds later, C is on her own, as M ushers the visitor out. On her own, with nothing to do but attempt to process the events of the last 20 minutes.

The stranger's questions have made it clear to her that she is here because she wants to go wherever M will let her - however far into this unimaginable world of sexual use and abuse, where total strangers assume they have the right to touch her pussy, where she is whipped, roughly sodomised ... She is getting tingly again, just thinking about it - how can she turn out to be like this? She has had such a normal, ordinary life - nothing, nothing has prepared her for any of this, and she has no resistance, no idea of how to cope with these feelings, these desires, these temptations, these outrages ..

She is at the same time terrified - terrified of M, of D, of the implications for her own future - it's so far out of any imagined life she has ever had - but then she also sees that she never had any imagined life, really - she has been existing to do the next thing, living without a purpose, without a plan. And now the vision comes to her, of herself as one of those beautiful girls in Lord D's office - elegant, sexy, eager to submit to the sexual demands of her employer, subject to extreme forms of treatment - she is getting really hot now - a fact that is immediately clear to M when she returns, smiling at her new recruit knowingly.

Chloe looks back for a second, then drops her gaze, submissively, correctly certain that M sees how it is with her, knows her vulnerability - and secretly revels in this knowledge..

Her heart is thumping. She doesn't know what is going to happen to her, and she feels terribly vulnerable in the skimpy dress, in this big house that smells of power and wealth that is beyond her. But she is happy to be vulnerable, happy to be at M's mercy. She wants to be here, whatever happens.

M comes close, something small in her fingers, a lopsided, amused grin on her lips;

"A little treat for you, sweetie?" - and she holds out the little treat, close, but still a little way from Chloe's lips.

Chloe's heart is pattering suddenly, ever so light, but ever so fast; her cheeks are hot pink. Her mood shifts; a shrill but determined voice of protest rises in her; whatever's going on here, it's about sex, she gets that, control, too; more difficult, but she admits to herself that she is somehow drawn to the feeling of being controlled, excited by it; but this, this shameful business of the little treats, as if she's being trained like some dumb animal - no! She's a grown woman, she can't - she simply can not accept this demeaning, degrading business of being rewarded as if she's a chihuahua, not let it become a 'thing' - not accept it as if it is normal - it's just too much!