Down and Down She Goes Ch. 04

Gertrude Stinker

Ashamed, I sat alone in my car and examined the freshly produced documents. Everything had arrived from the firm that morning, and finding it in the mailbox, I felt obliged to open the manilla envelope.

On each and every piece of identification, from my driver's license to my social security card, the name Gertrude Stinker was brazenly embossed. It was official, and the humiliation of it seemed more real, suddenly.

I sighed, slipped the envelope into my brief, and exited the car. No, it wasn't my Bentley, which I'd been so proud to drive until recently. It was a sensible choice for a legal assistant, the green Toyota Yaris would sit diminutively in the space next to the Bentley when it was there. As promised, Vanessa had taken the luxury car from me, and I had signed it over willingly.

So, as I made my way up the stairs, I knew that today was the day that Vanessa would also be taking ownership of the townhouse. I could never afford such an extravagance now, and I supposed I was grateful that she was willing to take it off my hands.

Even though I owed a further ten payments on the mortgage, she was willing to take the property at par, with no monies exchanged. Deep down, I knew I was basically giving the place to her, as I had my car. She had so completely dominated my life by then, I felt I had no other option.

I would be allowed to stay there, as her live-in servant, in exchange for my compliance, and that was more than I deserved. Of course, I would no longer be staying in the bedrooms of the house. Vanessa had made arrangements for a carpenter to make some alterations to the basement, and that would be where I would reside.

It would be some time before my superior would be home, so I made my way down to my living quarters. They were humble, as would be expected of a woman of my standing. A bedroom and a bath, and that was all. The furnishings were cheaply made and well-used, giving the room a run-down appearance.

My clothing too had been replaced with bargains from Penny's and Walmart, and even though my work clothes had the look of a professional they were far from what I had been used to for so many years. While at home, I would shed them anyway, as Vanessa insisted that I remain naked at all times there.

That of course included my wig, which I was surprised she had allowed me to keep. Apparently, the other partners scoffed at the idea of a bald woman running around the office, regardless of her station. I knew that they all knew then, but how much else had they assumed?

I slipped the wig from my smooth head and onto the wig stand, perched too proudly on the old dresser which was missing some of its hardware. Running a hand over my head, an electric thrill coursed through my sex as I contemplated the permanence of it.

Of course, Vanessa had insisted that I use my own money to pay for the electrolysis treatments. It had been six months, and well over ten thousand dollars' worth of treatments, but I was well and truly bald.

Vanessa seemed to revel in the notion that I had paid for it from my own limited resources. She would often muse, 'See what you're doing to yourself, Stinker? Why, if you keep this up, you'll be bald as a coot.' Then she would run her hand over it, with a disgusted sneer on her face, calling me a pig or whatever other demeaning title she would endow me with.

I quickly showered and dried, checking myself thoroughly as I stood in the full-length mirror mounted on the back of the bathroom door. My new tattoo was fully healed now, an addition to my 'lil stinker' adorning my hairless cunt. I think when Vanessa discovered I would never be allowed to go without my wig at the firm, she felt the need to make up for the loss.

I turned my head, attempting to read the entire script, but the crown of letters encircled my skull perfectly, Property of Vanessa Worth. Fortunately, the tattoo was well concealed by my wig, and not nearly as demeaning as the skunk. Still, when I first saw it, I was more than a little shocked.

In a way, the tattoo was quite endearing, at least I liked to think so. Was I truly her property? In every way but on paper. I supposed I was. I was certainly treated as her property, not only at home, but at the office as well; although when there, her lewd behavior toward me was more restricted.

With practice, I had become her toilet and she rarely used the bathroom to urinate. I was grateful that she found the notion of scat distasteful. Did she ever worry that no one ever saw her use her bathroom? I supposed as it was private, she didn't worry. I had quickly learned not to spill any of her nectar, or I'd be wearing it the balance of the day.

Vanessa would call me to her office a few times during the day and simply point to her feet. "Toilet, Ms. Stinker." Once there, I would seal my mouth over her sex and accept her water as I might drink from a tap. The revulsion of the act long since worn away, I considered it just another of my duties as her legal assistant.

In celebration of her taking ownership of the townhouse, she intended to take me to the club that night. Her caseload had been heavy of late, and although I did most of the legwork and wrote most of the arguments, Vanessa took all the credit. She had become the new rising star in the firm, and even though I knew it was on my shoulders, I was powerless to speak of it.

She had even gone so far as to have me tutor her on courtroom strategies, the very thing that had won me my partnership years before. She would often brag about her wins to me, disregarding the fact that I had played such a pivotal part in them. I knew she did it deliberately, and effectively as well.

As I heard the front door slam, I knew my reverie was at an end, and quickly made my way upstairs. As she walked through the house, I kneeled in my normal place in the kitchen. Without saying a word, she strolled in and lifted her skirt. I knew she had been drinking as I rarely had trouble keeping up with her flow. Even so, I didn't spill.

"It's official." She looked about, and even though the townhouse had been hers in everything but name, there was something different about the way she admired it. "You're homeless." Allowing for a little sarcasm to taint her words.

"Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress." I said, clearly, but submissively.

"Of course." She knew she had promised to allow me to stay there, but there was always that modicum of doubt. I was, in fact, homeless, save for the generosity of my superior.

"I received my... papers today, Mistress." I mewled.

"I know, Gertrude. I did send them to you myself, you know." She reminded.

"Yes, Mistress. Thank you." I offered.

"Are you ready for tonight?" I always knew when she asked that question, that she had something dastardly in mind for me.

"Yes, Mistress. I am always ready for you." It wasn't a lie, either. I had learned that the best way to approach my situation, was to accept everything as a humiliation. That was always her intention, after all. The more humiliated I was, the more aroused we both were, and that was the very essence of our unique symbiosis. Anyone not familiar with and observing our interaction, however, would see it to be blatantly parasitic.

"Punk will be there, too." She added.

"That's wonderful, Mistress." It had been some time since I had any interaction with my old assistant outside the office. She too had fallen under the spell of Vanessa Worth, although not to the extent that I had. Punk would always be superior to me, in every respect, and had even begun to exercise that privilege at the office.

Any respect that she once held for me was long gone, seeing how far I had fallen, and the depths to which I had sunk. I now addressed her "Miss Isabelle" and did her bidding on top of my duties as Vanessa's assistant. She never went so far as to use me as her toilet, although Vanessa had made it quite clear to her that I was hers to use.

Still naked, I waited by the door, as Vanessa changed into her club attire. I heard the clack of her high-heeled boots on the marble floor as she approached, and I readied myself. Although she had often threatened to do so, she had never forced me out in public naked. I knew that one day, it would happen, but most likely not in front of her new home.

"You won't be needing that." She bit, pointing to my head, and the wig that covered it.

It would be the first time I would be seen without my wig since my tattoo had healed, and I felt my heart race at the thought of being so humiliated. "Mistress, I..."

"Oh, don't whine about it, Stinker! Put it away, now." She glared. I quickly made my way down the stairs and replaced my wig on its stand, climbing back up without it. "Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" She mused, running a gloved hand over my naked skull. Tracing the tattoo with her index finger she grinned. "Remember what this says, Stinker."

"Yes, Mistress," I said, dutifully. Opening the closet, she took out my black gauzy coat and handed it to me. I knew that it was utterly transparent, and anyone looking closely enough would see my nudity through its scantily loomed weave. As we walked to the car, I was thankful that night had fallen.

As her chauffeur, I would often drive Vanessa as she relaxed in the spacious back seat. Now, I was painfully aware of my tattooed head being fully on display to anyone that looked our way. And driving a Bentley, we attracted a lot of attention.

I saw many an amused expression as we drove through the city, some smiling widely, and others laughing unabashedly over my humiliating state. I remembered one young man laughing, "Nice head!" out his window while were stopped at a light.

Vanessa laughed right along with him, reinforcing my humiliation. Of course, all during this drive of shame, I was growing more and more aroused. I was thankful that I had washed so thoroughly down below, but it was becoming more and more evident that I was excited.

"Jesus Christ, Stinker. Didn't you take a shower?" Vanessa scolded.

"Yes, Mistress. Of course, Mistress." I apologized. Fortunately, we were only a block from the club.

No Holds Barred

As we pulled up in front, the Valet approached and opened the door for Vanessa. I quickly got out and made my way to her side, leaving the keys in the ignition. She handed the man a twenty-dollar bill and promptly ripped the garment away from my body, leaving me utterly naked on the street. "Be a good lad and dispose of this for me."

"Yes, Ms. Worth." He smirked, amused by the sight. I tried to imagine how shocked I must have looked, but I probably missed the mark substantially. Having no choice but to follow behind her, I was forced to walk at what seemed like a snail's pace. There was the commensurate honking of horns as drivers passed by, but before I felt I may faint, we were inside.

The doorman seemed annoyed over her actions, and looked as though he might say something, but he was met with an upturned palm. "Please, it was an unfortunate accident. I'll make up for it with my next contribution." She warned. The man backed off and probably knew better than to report my public nudity to anyone of consequence.

As we rode the elevator up, Vanessa turned up her nose. "You have absolutely no self-control, do you, Stinker?"

"No Mistress." It was all I could manage, as I was still shaking off my public stripping. As the elevator opened, Mistress quickly walked away, leaving me at the mercy of the concierge.

Seeing Vanessa walk down the hall, I knew that I would only be summoned when she was ready for me, and that might be some time. I stepped to the center of the foyer and was met by two large men and the concierge.

"Well, well, Stinker. Back again?" The one man teased, lifting me off my feet by the waist and carrying me like so much luggage under his arm. I knew better than to fight, so I tried to make his task as easy as I could. In the past, they had taken turns with me, something Vanessa didn't seem to mind. She knew I had nothing but loathing for men, sexually, so I knew it was just another way to knock me down.

I was thrown into a heavy wooden chair and immediately handcuffed there. The men promptly left, closing the door behind them and leaving me completely in the dark. I would almost have preferred that they fuck me. At least I knew what to expect.

I had no idea how long I sat there, my eyes playing tricks on me. Suddenly, a lamp flashed on overhead, flooding the room with a light so intense it was almost painful. Closing my eyes, I did my best to shield them, hoping they might acclimatize. I heard the door open and close, and I did my best to see who had entered, but to no avail.

"Hello, Stinker, or should I call you Gertrude." The young voice mused, and I knew precisely who was there.

"Miss Isabelle." I managed, my eyes slowly perceiving her shape as she stood before me. As her image cleared, I noticed that she was dressed. We had always been naked together at the club, but it was obvious that, for tonight at least, she was playing the Domme.

Gone were the long, auburn locks that she had begged to keep. Vanessa had been kinder with her, than she had with me, however. The stark clippered pixie stood straight out from her scalp, dyed a bright blonde. Tonight, the cut gave her a distinctly dangerous countenance. "Mistress tells me you're homeless." She sang. "She thinks you really ought to look the part, too."

"Yes, Miss Isabelle." I really had no idea where this was going, but at that point, I would have given anything to have those guys back.

I watched, terrified, as Izzy pulled a pair of pliers out of her back pocket. She smiled at me, opening and closing them, menacingly. "Well, what says homeless better than a few missing teeth."

Realizing what she was about to do, I began struggling against the handcuffs. I could feel them cutting into my wrists as I desperately tried to escape her approach. Turning my head back and forth and feeling the sharp metal of the tool slashing across my face, I felt a set of hands latch firmly onto my hairless skull.

"Stop it, this instant!" The voice of my Mistress shouted into my ear, and I was compelled to stop fighting. "What are you doing, Punk?" Vanessa asked, holding out her hand to receive the pliers. "I told you to rough her up, not pull out her teeth, you thoughtless wench! Strip! I thought I could trust you with her here." She tossed the pliers across the room, bouncing off the wall and landing back at Izzy's feet.

"I'm sorry, Mistress." Izzy mewled, stripping out of the modestly dominant attire. "I got carried away." As her naked body was exposed, the familiar piercings and tattoos came into view, and I instantly felt safer. I ran my tongue over my teeth, thankful that Vanessa had come in when she had.

"Thank you, Mistress." I breathed, still winded from my struggles.

"You may be a worthless, stinker of a pig, but you didn't deserve that." She unlocked the cuffs, allowing me to stand. "Corner, Stinker." She pointed. I quickly pressed my nose into the corner of the room, trying to fit myself as tightly as I could into the wedge.

"Punk! It's your turn." Vanessa demanded. I heard the cuffs locking once more, and I knew that she had locked Izzy into the chair, taking my place. "Let's see how you like it."

I did my best not to look, but I simply had to know what was going on, as Izzy started screaming. When I turned my head enough to see, I caught the glint of steel emerging from Izzy's mouth. Having seen enough, I pressed my face even tighter into the corner, trying to stifle the screams, to no avail.

When the screaming stopped, I was unable to relax, my body as tense and stiff as iron. Vanessa's wrath had been swift and cruel, and I truly felt sorry for Izzy.

"That's enough, I think." Vanessa sighed. "Stinker, come." I turned and tried not to look at Izzy, but it was almost impossible not to. Blood dribbled over her chin and the roots of two pearly white teeth had been forced through the piercings in her nipples. "Clean her up and send her home," Vanessa ordered, as she guided me back to her lair.

I knelt there on her cold stone floor for what seemed like an eternity. Vanessa had left me there, alone, but as she had saved me from Izzy's idea of a trip to the dentist, I felt grateful. I found it difficult not to feel terrible for her, even though her intentions were probably to do much worse to me.

When I thought my knees might actually split open, the door opened behind me. "Good, at least you can obey a command, Stinker." She walked across the floor and took a seat on her throne. "I had to ensure that Punk found her way back to her car, and understood the ramifications of her intentions, tonight." I didn't dare say anything, simply nodding at her statement, and keeping my eyes down and my bald head bowed.

"Crawl to me, Gertrude." Vanessa mused, I think unsure whether I found my first or my last name more degrading. They both were awful, but the name Stinker seemed to fit me better, and as such, far more humiliating. "I need to pee." Immediately locking my lips around her manicured bush, I accepted her nectar as I had so many times before.

Even there, with the filthy stone floor beneath me, I didn't let a drop spill, swallowing every last drop, and licking her clean afterward. "You really are quite a talent, Ms. Stinker. I think that you are a far better toilet than you ever were a lawyer. Wouldn't you say so?" She asked. I knelt back, allowing my ample buttocks to rest against my heels, nodding. "You may answer, Stinker."

"Yes, Mistress," I answered, keeping my eyes staring at her boots.

"Yes, what, slave?" She asked. She rarely used that term with me, but I knew that it was exactly what I was.

"Yes, Mistress, I'm a far better toilet than I ever was a lawyer." The words burned on my tongue, but at the same time, the degradation was delicious.

"Good, then I suppose you won't be too disappointed when I tell you that there will be some further changes at the firm." I could tell that she was smiling but I wondered just how much further down the pecking order I would be forced to fall. I was already below most of the fresh recruits, being an assistant attorney.

"I believe while you were attending Harvard, you worked as a legal secretary, isn't that right?" She mused, chuckling at the end of the sentence.

"Yes, Mistress," I answered, afraid of where this was going.

"Well, as helpful as you have been to me these past weeks, I'm afraid we've hit a bit of a snag. Lick my boots while I explain." I knelt down, my arms on the floor, licking the sole of her boot, the grit, and soil coming away on my tongue. "I hadn't foreseen this, to be honest, but it is such a delicious twist."

I was almost afraid to hear, but a terrifying sense of dread washed over me as she started to speak, my tongue still busy with her boots. "When you changed your name, well, we had to make certain that your degree and the bar association were informed, so that a new certificate could be issued. Well, surprisingly, Harvard wasn't a problem. The copy of your new diploma is sitting on my desk."

I tried to imagine the fancy document with all the signatures of the deans and president of the university scrawled across the bottom, then my new name, Gertrude Stinker, printed blaringly at the center. It was almost funny, but I dared not show any amusement. I just kept licking.

"When the bar association called and said they had questions about the change, I felt obliged to answer their questions, being your immediate superior. It seems they find that your name change indicates a lack of moral compass." I knew it, this was it, this was where I would be taken all the way down. "They asked me, under oath, of course, if I had any evidence that would substantiate their assumptions. Of course, when I shared the pictures of you naked with your tattoos and your bald head, it only confirmed their suspicions."