Harry's App Ch. 02: Out of Lockdown

The door was opened, not by Harry but by a young, pretty woman with long, dark hair. She wore a suit with a skirt that looked indecently short, and her shoes...

The shoes were very sexy, with high stiletto heels and thick platforms, and Jane had a sudden, yearning desire to wear something similar - which was ridiculous, of course, and she stamped down on the desire. She was a professional. A professor, even. She didn't need to dress up like a stripper. (Why did the idea of spinning around a pole excite her so much?)

The young woman frowned. "You don't look like a stripper."

"I'm not!" Jane protested, and felt herself blushing inexplicably. "I'm Harry's professor. Does Harry live here?"

"I'm his mother," the woman said, though Jane didn't believe it for a second. "And I'm late for work. Harry said you'd give me a lift?"

Jane suppressed a cry of frustration. "Is he here?"

"He's asleep. Like always. But he said a stripper would be here at eight to give me a lift. Jane, isn't it?"

Jane nodded reluctantly. Being called a stripper was a professional outrage, but also a secret thrill. Just that morning she had studied herself in the mirror, admiring how perfectly in shape she had managed to keep herself.

"Well, whatever you are, Jane, I need a lift."

Jane nodded agreement, and looked down at those sexy sexy shoes again. "What size are your feet?"

*

I wave goodbye to Jane in her fancy car. She says she's Harry's professor, but she looked so happy when I gave her one of my new pairs of shoes that Harry bought for me. She could be a stripper, I suppose. Certainly has the body for it.

The gust of cool, conditioned air as I enter the building... "Fuck," I mutter. I've forgotten again. How is it possible to forget twice?

The pussy plug that Mr Richards gave me yesterday is in my handbag, and I have a feeling I'll be wearing it home again tonight. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

*

All through the day, the shoes held an almost magnetic attraction for Jane. When her attention drifted during the faculty meeting, in the quiet relief after her lecture, during lunch, her thoughts drifted to those stunning blue shoes with their deadly looking heels and thick, transparent platforms.

The thought of wearing them, of dancing in them, of being seen in them, all sent a subtle thrill racing through her. Not at work, of course. She had to be completely serious at work. But maybe...

Maybe after work, somewhere far away from work, where no one would know her, where no one would say, "Oh, look, it's Professor Halley, showing her tits and pussy!"

What was wrong with her! Where had this sudden obsession come from? She liked her life the way it was, and the way it was going too. She didn't have the time for fantasies of stripping, let alone the freedom to make the fantasies come true. It would be best to get rid of the shoes - or return them, at least. As long as they were in her possession, they would just distract her.

She didn't, though. Jane took them home, and as soon as she was alone with no one to see her, she yielded to their awful, erotic temptation. She stripped naked and slipped her feet into the sexy shoes. She had worn stiletto heels before, but never such high ones, never with such thick platforms. She felt perched upon them, as if they were stilts, and the way they stretched her muscles was both painful and fascinating. The sight of herself in the long mirror, seductively naked, her legs long and undeniably beautiful, ignited such a heat in her that there was no resisting the urge to finger herself, and indeed to watch as she fingered herself.

She watched herself in the mirror as she massaged her breasts with one hand, pinching her swollen nipples until they hurt; and with the other hand she fingered her cunt, brushing her clit with her thumb. Her pussy was incredibly wet, her natural lubrication dripping down onto her thighs, and she felt the need for something more than fingers, more than the little vibrator that she kept in her bedside drawer. She needed a hard cock, or something.

Jane snatched up her hairbrush, the one she had used before for this same purpose, its handle smooth and thick. She hastily laid a towel on the bed, still unmade after the morning's fountain of cum, and lay on top, thrusting the handle into her cunt, fucking herself with it while continuing to work her clit with now feverish intensity. Her sharp heels dug into the bare mattress as her hips thrust back against the brush.

It still wasn't enough. She snatched up her phone and went to the porn site she sometimes - very rarely - visited. She searched for stilettos, and selected one that looked possibly interesting. A young secretary getting railed by her boss. It reminded her for some reason of Harry's impossibly young mum.

It wasn't romantic. The secretary was bent over her boss's desk, panting and gasping loudly as the camera zoomed in on her cunt and the cock pounding into it. Then back out to her face. "Oh yes," she cried out softly, then again, louder. "Oh yes! Oh yes!" Her whole body shaking from the impact of the cock. His tits bouncing wildly beneath her. "Oh yes!"

Was she coming? Jane couldn't tell for sure. She usually preferred erotica where she could be more certain the actresses were enjoying it. This was too male-gaze. Too brutal. But as Jane thrust her hairbrush handle into her cunt, she craved that same brutality. "Oh yes!" Jane cried out, echoing the porn star. "Oh yes! Fuck my pussy. Fuck my cunt. Come inside me."

The cock withdrew until only the head was buried in the cunt, and it pulsed as it spurted cum - and once it was done, it pulled away, and creamy cum poured out of the abandoned cunt. Jane wasn't a fan of such creampie nonsense, but she did wish that her brush was a real cock attached to a real man. A man whose passion could be felt with each hammering of his hard cock into her, a man whose fertile cum would fill her womb, a man who would make her scream in ecstasy night after night after night.

"Fuck my pussy!" she begged her nonexistent lover. "Fuck my cunt! Come inside me!" At last she achieved the elusive precipice and tumbled over into ecstatic release, convulsing blissfully, her hairbrush soaked from her gushing juices. "Oh yes," she murmured. "Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes," until there was nothing but echoes of that wonderful pleasure, sweet aftershocks that made her tremble, and she eased the brush from her cunt.

*

"I'm not wearing any underwear," I announce suddenly.

Jane was waiting to give me a lift again, which was nice of her. I complimented her on her short skirt which showed off her legs nicely, and saw she was wearing the shoes I gave her. "Are you sure you're not a stripper?" I asked, and she blushed brightly.

I wonder if she's gay. I know I'm not, but I think I could be for Jane. I have an urge to run my hand along her bare leg, to feel her skin against mine. Thinking about her underwear is what made me realise I've forgotten mine for the third day in a row.

"Oh?" she says, and looks at my skirt as if to try to see through it. I part my thighs and lift my skirt briefly, watching her eyes for reaction. It excites her. "Do you always do that?" she asks.

It's an interesting question. I certainly don't intend to leave the house without underwear, but it always seems to happen. "Yes," I say simply. "My boss says I'm a slut. He says I want him to fuck me."

"Do you?"

I shrug. "He makes me come. He makes his wife listen to me come, and then makes me listen to her come."

Jane is silent for a while, and I wonder if I've shared too much. Maybe she is gay and the last thing she wants to hear is how my boss is fucking me. "I made myself come six times last night," she says suddenly. "I have this fantasy of being a stripper. I'm in a club, dancing around a pole, removing my clothes, dozens of strangers, men, staring at my tits, staring at my pussy. Or I'm a lap dancer, my pussy inches from a stranger's face, and he can smell that I'm aroused. He grabs me and forces me onto his cock, and I come so hard I'm screaming."

I blink, lost for words. Her fantasy is as dark and intense as the fantasies I keep having about my son. It would be so fucking hot if Jane and I could share him... I know what to say. "I have the same fantasy - of you as a lap dancer. But it's not a stranger who fucks you. It's my son."

Jane moans suddenly and nearly loses control of the car. Fortunately we aren't moving fast, and she pulls over to the side of the road. "I'm so fucking horny!" she cries. "Look at me!" She pulls up her skirt to show me her white lace panties, and they're soaked through. "I'm so desperate for a hard cock inside me that I can't even think about my research."

I kiss her tenderly on the cheek. I think maybe I'm in love with her. "I can walk from here," I say. "You go and fuck Harry."

*

For the second time in the space of an hour, Jane pulled up outside Harry's house. She had stopped the car several times on the way, questioning her sanity in going to her student's house with the intention of fucking him. There was nothing romantic in her desire for him. It was purely about using his cock to satisfy her perverted craving. She was sick. She needed help.

She needed him, though. Harry. Ever since he had walked into her office and taken that photo of her, she had been consumed with unnatural desires - to be a stripper, to expose herself to baying strangers with dirty mouths and greedy hands. Since that meeting in her office, her pussy had been almost constantly wet, and her orgasms had become intense and spectacular, squirting all over the place. Gone was the quiet, romantic Jane, replaced by a woman who had loud, messy, multiple orgasms.

Harry had done this to her. She didn't know how. She needed to know how. She needed to know what his cock felt like inside her.

She rang the bell, hating herself for being manipulated, and Harry's grin when he answered was all the confirmation she needed. That and the erect cock jutting out at her from his boxers. "What have you done to me?" she demanded.

"I made you mine," he said, and she knew it was true. He led her into the house, into the living room, and she lacked the will to fight him. "Strip for me," Harry said. "You can keep the shoes on."

The TV was on some music channel, and Jane found herself moving along with it, as if dancing as she removed her shirt and vest, her skirt, her white lace bra, and finally her soaked panties. She vaguely remembered being disturbed by the way he looked at her, but now the hot lust in his eyes excited her. He stroked his cock teasingly as she danced for him, and she wished impatiently that he would use it on her.

"You have lovely tits," Harry said, "but I would like them bigger." He picked up his tablet and adjusted something she couldn't see. She felt the effect though, a sudden pressure in her breasts, and she grabbed at them in an effort to ease the discomfort. He adjusted something else, and she felt her lips burn. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll give you the ability to hide these changes for a few hours at a time, but this will be your true form from now on. Look!"

Jane stared at herself in the mirror he pointed to. Her breasts were several cup sizes up, and very perky; her nipples had increased likewise; and her lips were bee-stung and pouting. Combined with the high heels, she looked like a horny, naked bimbo, not a university professor. She wanted to hate it, but the truth was that she loved the way she looked. She looked like a dancer in need of a pole.

"Will you fuck me now?" she asked him, stroking her clit idly with one fingertip.

"I am going to fuck you every day, and in every way I can imagine, but right now I am going to sit and relax, and if you feel like fucking yourself on my cock, I certainly won't stop you."

Harry pushed his boxers off and reclined on the sofa, his cock standing erect. Jane practically leapt onto him, straddling him where he sat and guiding her pussy down. She cried out in joy as her cunt swallowed his beautiful, perfect cock. She quickly found a rhythm, lifting up and thrusting down, and her huge breasts bounced wildly in time, sometimes smacking into his cheeks as he looked up happily into her eyes.

She knew she belonged to him and that there was nothing she could do about it, but all that really mattered to her right then was how absolutely fucking good his cock felt inside her, stretching her exquisitely and to the perfect depth. "I love your fucking cock!" she shouted, uncaring that neighbours might hear. "It's so fucking perfect!"

"Beg me to fuck your ass," Harry said.

If anyone else had asked that, she would have shot them down. But she belonged to Harry. She wanted him to use her in every way he wanted. "Fuck my ass, Harry. Fuck my ass, please. I want your cum in my ass."

Harry laughed. "Tomorrow."

Jane laughed with him. "Then suck my tit, Master," she said and pushed a nipple between his lips. For a brilliant few minutes, she fucked herself on his cock as he alternated between her tits, sucking on her nipples and kissing around them. Then he guided her down onto the floor so that she was on her back beneath him, her ankles thrown over his shoulders, and he pounded his cock into her with deep, hard thrusts.

She squeezed her nipples and tugged at them, amazed by how big her breasts were and how much she loved them. Seeing her feet in their gorgeous stilettos either side of his head was a thrill too. But best of all was how hard his cock felt inside her, how powerful his thrusts were, how passionate his lust for her was.

She could feel she was close. "Wait," she said. "Phone your mother for me, please, Master."

Harry paused his fucking with a puzzled expression, but reached over for his phone. Five seconds later he said, "Hi, Mum. Jane wants you."

Harry rolled her over onto hands and knees, and took her from behind, skin slapping loudly against skin. Jane positioned the phone beneath her mouth, and said, "Fuck me, Master. I want your mother to hear you make me come. I want her to know how much I fucking love your fucking cock."

She stopped talking, and focussed instead on the rhythmic pounding of Harry's cock into her cunt. Her huge breasts bounced and swung beneath her as each impact against her rear forced her forwards. Doggy style was killing her wrists. "Fuck me, Master," she said, not that he needed encouragement. "I want your cum in me."

She was close. Very close. "So close," she whispered. "So close. Fuck me, Master."

And then she was there, and so was he, his wonderful cock kicking powerfully inside her, his cum tickling her insides, and she screamed in ecstasy, her cunt contracting fiercely about his gorgeously pulsing cock as he emptied himself into her. "Yes!" she cried. "Yes! Thank you, Master! Thank you!"

She wanted it to continue forever, this blissful union, but the waves of pleasure diminished in time, and Harry's cock slipped free of her, leaving her feeling profoundly empty for a moment. Exhausted, she curled up on the floor, and listened to the distant sound of Harry's mother gasping in self-inflicted pleasure.

*

When Mr Richards summons me into his office during lunchtime, I'm surprised to see his wife sitting there. "This is my slutty secretary," Mr Richards says, making me blush.

"She's pretty," his wife says.

"My wife wanted to meet the woman whose pussy she's been tasting," he explains to me. "And I thought, maybe she could taste your pussy while I'm fucking it."

"Mmm, I'd like that," Mrs Richards murmurs.

There is something odd about her. My instincts tell me that her husband could fuck every pussy, mouth and ass in the whole building and she would sit there happily cheering him on. My instincts tell me she would be just as happy, should her husband suggest it, to have her own pussy, mouth and ass fucked by every man in the building. My instincts tell me that I too would, should her husband suggest it, allow my pussy, mouth and ass to be fucked by every man in the building.

It is a recognition both disturbing and erotic. Neither Mrs Richards nor I are in control here. We are puppets with invisible strings. Jane too, but it is my son pulling her strings. How else to explain how a lazy student who spends his life in front of the TV could have a gorgeous, sexy professor calling him 'master' and screaming down the phone in ecstasy.

Has Harry been pulling my strings too? Is that why I keep fantasising about him? About my own son? Is that why I can never remember to put on underwear? Did my own son find me this job knowing that I would be fucked like a slut every single day?

I have an abrupt memory of Harry walking into the kitchen and fucking me while I tried to prepare dinner. He called me a whore, and I loved it. Now it is Mr Richards calling me a slut every day, and I hate it but my pussy gets so wet.

I understand at last. It's still Harry controlling me, just as Mr Richards controls his wife. I belong to Harry, and he wants my boss to treat me like a slut.

"Bend over, slut," Mr Richards orders with a lustful grin. "Spread your legs."

"Yes, sir," I say, and don't resist. Maybe I'll resist later, but right now I'm too horny to care. I hold onto the desk for support, and sigh with pleasure as Mrs Richards squeezes between my legs, her tongue sweeping between my labia to seek out my clit. Her husband's hard cock thrusts into me, and the double stimulation of my clit is something new and amazing.

"Call me a slut, sir," I say. "Make me beg for your cock like the horny slut I am."

My boss laughs and grabs hold of my hair, tugging on it like it's a rein. He withdraws his cock until it slips out, into his wife's mouth. I can feel her sucking on it and neglecting me in the process.

I whine with frustration. I know I asked for it, but being suddenly denied both cock and tongue is a cruelty. "I need your cock in me, sir," I beg, thrusting my hips back uselessly. "Please, sir."

"Fuck the slut, dear," his wife says, pushing his cock back into me. He pulls on my hair, forcing my head up and back, as he drives his cock into me. A tongue sweeps across my clit.

I'm in heaven. I don't care that I'm being controlled. I love being treated like a slut. I love being a slut. Being a slut means I get to fuck my boss every lunchtime, and I don't care that everyone knows it. Being a slut means wearing a plug in my pussy to keep his cum from leaking out of me during the long, otherwise boring afternoons.

He pulls out abruptly and orders his wife onto her back on the floor. "Yes, dear," she says, but removes her skirt first, and her red lace panties. Her pussy is plugged, the wide, flat base of the silicone toy a lewd obstruction.

At his command, I drop down into sixty-nine position, my thighs straddling his wife's head, her plugged pussy beneath my mouth. I've never been this close before to someone else's pussy. "Lick it clean, slut," Mr Richards orders, and his cock thrusts into me from behind.

"Yes, sir," I half say, half moan. I pull the plug from his wife's pussy - it's slick with cum and smells of sex and silicone. I suck on it like a slut, cleaning it of cum while enjoying the thrust of cock into my cunt and the glide of tongue about my clit. There's more cum leaking from her pussy, and I capture it with my tongue. The smell of her pussy is intoxicating.

"Let me hear you beg, slut," he says.

"Harder, sir," I say. "Harder! I'm a slut and deserve to be treated like one. Show your wife how you fuck a slut."

His wife's tongue swirls about my clit as he rams his cock into me harder than ever. He pushes his finger into my ass the way he likes to, and I know it's a promise that one day he will fuck my ass properly. I know that I will like that, because I'm a slut.

"I'm a slut," I say, as the tension becomes intolerable. "A dirty slut." I come, and I come hard, convulsing in exquisite release as both cock and tongue continue their assault on me. "Yes!" I cry. "Yes! Yes! Yes!"