Janine's Journey

She shut down her work computer, when she received the now usual text from George -- and walked slowly out to the car.

They drove to the same neighbourhood where the wax-woman's shop had been, but ended up in another, small side-street.

Stopping at a shop where the windows were blinded by black, shiny, neutral film and having a sign above that was just a line of large 'X'es.

Inside a little, old man sat behind a counter in a dim, red light.

"Hello. I'm George and this is Janine. We have an appointment at 1 o'clock."

The little, old man took his wet cigarette stump out of the corner of his mouth, leafed through a large, worn binder and let his finger slide down a page. "Oh. Yes. You are in booth nine. Just down the hall on your right. Here's the key."

While speaking he had turned and took a key from a large board with keys behind him.

George took the key, grabbed her upper arm and dragged her down the hallway.

'Number nine' was a very small room. Dimly lit, dark and shabby looking like the rest of the place. George turned the light knob at the door, and a sleepy bulb in the ceiling woke up and began to cast a sharp, white light over the almost square room, two ordinary dining chairs along one wall, and a round hole about 5 inches in diameter on the other wall. Under the hole was a big, shiny, steel ring.

"Undress, bitch!" He said in a sudden harsh tone.

She gave him a long look and then proceeded to strip and fold her clothes -- leaving them in an orderly pile on one of the chairs.

"Come here. Turn around!"

He pulled a set of police cuffs out of his pocket, grabbed one of her wrists. The steel went around her wrist, and then he took the other arm and she heard the click-click-click as the cuffs went on and he pressed till they were tightly locked.

She wriggled a little, but all she got was the feeling of the steel cutting into her skin. The cuffs had been closed quite tight.

"Now kneel in front there. Facing the wall!"

She slid down on the floor.

"Move closer -- still closer. Come on!"

She moved so close that her knees were held apart by the contact with the wall.

"Spread you knees, and move even closer. Come on, Bitch! More. More."

He lifted one ankle up over the other. Pressed on her feet so that they were in a straight line from her legs, fished a short leather strap from another pocket, strapped it round her ankles efficiently making it impossible for her to pull her knees together.

A rope noose went over her head, and he tightened it round her neck. Not strangling her, but tight enough to be slightly uncomfortable.

He pulled the end of the rope through the ring on the wall. Adjusted so that her head could not move more than a few inches from the hole. Then tied the knot.

She tried to pull back, only to feel the rope tighten around her neck. She decided it was better to stay as still as possible, since moving only made her strangle herself.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him press a button on the wall by the door, and then sit down on the other, free chair behind her.

She wondered what this was all about, but not for long. A long erect penis suddenly came out through the hole, and there was just enough room for the balls to fill the lower part of the opening in the wall.

The head almost touching her face. Again, she pulled back but again the only thing she achieved was a sensation of being strangled.

"Go on. Suck it, and make a good job of it if you do not want to feel the cane later, bitch."

Was he really doing this? Did he want her to suck this anonymous, big, cock pointing at her from the opening in the wall? Apparently so.

She swallowed a few times, licked her lips and leaned forward, closing her mouth over the head. Using her tongue to caress the smooth, semi-hard and free head.

The penis reacted immediately by getting even bigger and even harder inside her mouth.

She did her best, and knew she was working against the inevitable ending of this. Especially as she began to taste the lightly salty drops of precum.

George spoke: "If you lose as much as a drop, you will be punished -- severely -- tonight, bitch. So, do you outmost if you do not want to taste the whip."

She complied. The penis, on which she was using her best skills, soon began to dance around inside her mouth and she was filled with sticky, salty cum.

It must have been a while, since this manhood had discharged its load, because it was quite a mouthful. She almost choked on it, but managed to keep it all inside -- and wait to cough after it had been withdrawn.

There had been no time to suck it dry. As soon as it had stopped giving the last small spurts of semen, it was withdrawn.

She licked her lips and tried to get as much as the taste away as possible, but still had that sticky feeling inside her mouth and on her tongue.

A few minutes later another penis stuck through the hole.

She did not need any directions or encouragement from George this time, but immediately closed her mouth over it and began using her best skills.

This one seemed even more 'wanting' that the first one. It only took a few minutes before she again had a mouthful of semen to swallow.

• And again, the penis just withdrew as soon as it had emptied its load.

Another few minutes and then one more stiff penis pointed its hard, red head at her face.

She stopped counting at the 5^th or 6^th Blow Job, but felt it went on forever and ever. Every time she had finished one -- it only took a few minutes before a fresh one stuck through the hole.

Her jaws began to hurt, and her mouth was totally galvanized with cum.

George oversaw everything in silence from his position in the chair behind her.

When he had decided that she had done enough, he pressed the little button on the wall and the stiff penis'es stopped coming.

He released her and told her to get dressed, put the police cuffs, leather strap and rope into his pockets.

On the way out, the little, old man apparently wanted to pay George, but he told him to give it to his favourite charity. She believed that it would probably be his favourite liquor store as there had been an air of cheap alcohol around him all the time.

However, that was not her main concern. It was that she had just given an uncounted number of Blow Jobs to anonymous men -- and for money! Did that make her a prostitute? Or was she just obeying her Master's will since he apparently had been watching and had arranged it all? She was confused.

He drove her home in silence, and although she had a million questions in her mind, she did not say anything -- and he did not volunteer any information.

As soon as they were in the door, he said: "Get ready as usual, bitch! And do not rinse your mouth!"

She complied of course, but the delicious salad George had made tasted distinctly of cum -- and not much else.

Even though the experience had been overwhelming in itself, he now made sure that her cum covered tongue and the insides of her mouth, reminded her all through dinner.

After dinner she was allowed to wash, do her enema and plug -- and put her belt on.

She did rinse her mouth -- repeatedly, but the cum taste seemed to have become a part of her saliva. At least she still felt like her insides tasted of cum.

George inspected her -- and tightened the belt another notch. Accompanied by new ball pen markings on the straps

It made her feel like she was fainting for the next half an hour. Then she gradually became used to the new and smaller circumference of her waist.

He also wanted a Blow Job. Having seen her do this for most of the afternoon, he probably wanted to check out if she really did a good job. In spite her aching jaws and 'galvanized' mouth, she managed to get him very high, before he released his load in her obeying and swallowing mouth.

Friday morning - as she was almost out of the door -- he asked her to wait a minute, went into the kitchen and came back with the Starbucks cup with a lid. It was cold in her hand and had probably come from the fridge.

"Here. Take this. I want you to use this spoon, and every time you get coffee today, you put a spoonful of this in your cup. I want you to film of it. You start filming when you have the fresh coffee at your desk, then you keep the phone-cam running, while you scoop a spoonful of this into your coffee -- and then of the first decent sip you take. Remember to have the digi-clock in the picture at all times.

John and me will both receive the film on the usual number coded into your phone -- and we will check regularly and unexpectedly. Now go -- and have a nice day at work!"

He pushed her out of the door. The icy cold cup balancing in her right hand.

She did not dare look in the cup, but drove off. Eagerly wanting to look at the contents.

She lifted the lid as soon as she had stopped the car at the parking lot.

It was more than half full -- of cum. The whitish-yellowish substance having a consistency thicker than water. She tilted the cup back and forth as she saw the substance move in the cup -- and at the same time noticed a distinct smell of cum spreading in the car.

She put the lid back on the cup, got out of the car and walked to her office.

Coming in along the hallway -- with the Starbucks cup in one hand, she met a few colleagues that made funny remarks about her not being satisfied with the otherwise excellent -- Columbian Blend the company provided free for the employees. She let them stay in that belief, and said she needed a change now and then - even to her coffee.

When she came out for her regular morning coffee, she got more ironic remarks, but again gave the same excuse.

At her desk, she removed the lid from the Starbucks cup, stuck the spoon into the whitish goo, turned it round a few times to mix and distribute it inside the cup, and then turned on her phone. Filming as she scooped a good spoonful into her coffee, stirred till the spoon looked clean, and then took a decent sip.

The cum gave the coffee a distinct salty taste, and she thought she could smell cum -- even after she had put the lid tightly back on the Starbucks cup. She got up and opened all the windows.

A few minutes later, she got a text from George: "Hope you enjoy your coffee, bitch. I have been saving my cum for a longer period to be able to provide you with this pleasure."

So, he had been jerking off now and then. Probably when she was at work, and carefully unloaded into the cup, which he had kept in the fridge -- stashed at the back, so she would not notice.

She was happy that she did not have any showings or meetings that day -- and stayed in her office as much as possible. Each time she had had coffee, she went to the toilet and tried to rinse the taste and smell from her mouth, but like yesterday, the taste seemed to linger.

Maybe it 'stuck' in her nose as well, because she kept thinking that she could smell it.

At the end of the day, the Starbucks cup was almost empty. She got the last 'office text' from George telling her to do her last cup of coffee the other way around. That was to pour the coffee into the Starbucks cup, stir and drink that.

There was more than one spoonful left, so this last cup tasted even more of cum.

Not only had she been afraid to talk to people all day, but now she went to the toilet and did her outmost to rinse her mouth.

She attended the usual end-of-the-week office meeting, but said less than she normally would.

Her whole office day had been one long reminder of her status -- and the degradation yesterday.

Being tied in that ugly little room and sucking cum out of men, she did not know.

Having the 'pleasure' of re-living the experience as she had been drinking cum all day.

• And now it was almost time for her 3^rd weekend at John's...

Janine's Journey

by o_girl ©

Chapter thirteen

(Third weekend)

An hour before she was due at John's George made a 'reverse'. That meant he got her into her cuffs, collar, belt, plug and heels. Locked her hands to the back of her belt and tied her handbag around her waist. Then he soiled her face with his cum, swung the cape around her and pushed her out of the door.

She thought, she saw Mr. Armstrong's face in the window as she walked down their driveway. He must think it strange to see her every weekend walking down or home from John's house in a red cape. She hoped the distance to his window would not reveal the drying, milky substance on her face.

Fortunately, the side entrance to John's house was open, so she could just push and get in. Pushing it shut with her behind and getting the usual locking sound. The doors out of there were all open, so she just walked upstairs.

John laughed when he saw her: "Ah. I see George has learned something too."

He quickly relieved her of the cape and released her cuffs.

Coming into the living room, she found yet another new object there.

This time the new object was a wooden stockade. Placed in the middle of the room, and the spotlights from the two pillars by the windows already placed in order for them to focus on the person in the stockade.

"Come here, bitch! Get into position," A quick snap of his riding crop on her bottom made her jump the last feet to the stockade.

She spread her legs and moved them into the horizontal, half-circled cut-outs just above the floor. They were padded with leather and felt warm and nice against her skin.

He swung the other half of the heavy wood beam in place, and she felt the slight pressure as she heard the snapping sound of the metal bracket locking her legs in position.

She looked down and noticed that all that secured it was a metal split or spike through a ring in the bracket.

He stood up after checking the bracket was firmly in place: "Now bend over, bitch. You can see what you are supposed to do."

He tapped the horizontal beam in front of her with the crop a few times.

She bent forward, placed her head and her wrists in the leather-clad cutouts.

The hinge squeaked slightly as be swung the top half in place. Carefully lowering it and making sure her skin would not be pinched between the two pieces of wood.

Her body was now locked firmly in position, bending 90 degrees at the hips, and her legs spread.

The leather lining had a thick padding, so it pressed slightly on her wrists and ankles, and if that was not enough to keep her fixed, her wrists cuffs and collar was on the 'outside' of the beam -- as well as her ankle cuffs were under the beam below her.

The wood/leather encircling her neck was pushing on the collar and making her neck stretch. She could not bend her head backwards and was left with a view a small area of the floor immediately in front of her.

Before, her hair would have cascaded down on the sides of her face, but the new hairdo was so short that it was absolutely no issue. It was a 'boyish' bop, with a parting in one side, and short at the ears, which were left totally exposed.

She tried pulling her hands back, but the cuff acted as a securing ring round her wrists, so she could only move her arms an inch or so back and forth. The same with her legs.

The cuffs under the beam only allowed her to lift her heels a fraction off the floor. Therefore, she could not go up on her toes and make her ankles smaller. She was completely fixed in the stockade. It was as if the stockade had been tailor made just for her.

John caressed her left buttock with a soft hand. She sensed him bending down behind her, and then he said: "Wonderful. I see you have advanced to a size 7. You will soon be ready for use. Good bitch!"

He must have read the engraving on the bottom of the plug in her anus.

He pressed on the plug -- and checked that the belt and connecting chains were securely in place and tight enough.

As she felt his hand around her waist, he again expressed delight over her progress.

She felt him continue by caressing her hairless crotch -- and check her armpits. Again, she got praise from him.

The naked, hairlessness was apparently as pleasing to him as it seemed to have been to George -- and indeed as it was to herself.

Finally, John declared that she now looked like he true slut, she was.

He went over to the cupboard at the side of the room, and the little, knotted end of a black, braided, riding crop appeared in front of her face.

"Kiss it, bitch! Kiss the instrument of your submission and pain."

She pouted her lips and kissed the hard knot obediently.

"We had better celebrate your transformation. You will thank me after each stroke and you will count the strokes -- is that absolutely clear?"

She closed her eyes. Knowing what was coming and knowing she was unable to move from the position in the stockade.

"Yes, Master" She managed to say. Then clenched her lips, closed her eyes and tightened her muscles.

The first stroke hit her like a ray of pain. She felt her whole body jump as the crop struck her on the top of her buttocks.

This was definitely not going to be 'a walk in the park'!

She composed herself and uttered: "One", and then a short pause: "Thank you, Master".

She felt the hard crop slide over her buttocks -- a little below where the pain was still burning from the first stroke. Then he lifted it and gently placed it on her skin -- a few times -- before the pain again hit her with full force.

Even though she felt like her whole body released like a spring at each stroke, the stockade did not make a sound, nor did it move the slightest. It was very, very solid and held her quite firmly in place.

Feeling the fog of pain slowly lift, she managed to count 'two' and thank him. The pain now spreading as the two strokes began to merge and just be a throbbing sensation of red, burning, pure pain.

When he had almost worked his way down to the little fold between her buttocks and legs, she was screaming her pain out at each stroke -- and begged him to stop. He never answered, but waited patiently for her to pull herself enough together to count and thank him.

She got 12 strokes in all, and when he stopped, her body was involuntarily shaking and her teeth clattering in her mouth.

She could almost sense his smile as he caressed her left, shivering buttock after the last stroke, before turning and leaving her there to finish shaking.

Her tears were mixing with the dried semen on her face. Making it liquid once again and creating a mixture that ran down her cheeks and chin and dripped to the floor.

She heard the front door bell ring a few times, and heard voices, but no one came into the living room.

After a while, she deduced that a number of people had arrived and judging from the noises, they were dining in the kitchen.

She tried to figure out if the voices belonged to someone, she knew, but the only one distinctly recognizable, was John's.

She had stopped shaking and shivering and the pain was now just a slow throbbing in most of her buttocks. She knew she would have a lot of trouble sitting down later -- and probably for a lot of days to come.

John and his guests had finished their meal, and she heard the voices come closer. She could also hear people moving into the room, but as her vision was limited to the floor almost straight under her, she was at their mercy.

"Ah. Meet Janine everybody!" John came up behind her and smacked one of her sore buttocks with the flat of his hand. Even though he probably did not hit her very hard, she still gave a small scream of pain. It was like he was slapping her with a red-hot iron, when his hand hit the fresh welts.