Just Do It! Pt. 02

I heard the bathroom door. Bare feet approached the bed.

"Hmm ..." Stella's husband murmured his approval.

I couldn't see much but I could detect movement and see just enough. I sniffed a cocktail of male and female scents. Suddenly his erection banged my nose. Then Stella shifted and he penetrated her.

"Mmmm." They both exhaled.

I understood my role. I was merely ancillary to a couple's lovemaking. A husband and wife - my Mistress and girlfriend with her spouse and stud. He began moving backwards and forwards, in and out.

"Lick!" she muttered, urgency in her voice.

I stuck my tongue out as far as I could, making contact with her skin and his veined shaft simultaneously. The tip of my nose brushed her anus.

"Ssss ... yesss." She hissed.

I was lying there naked on the bed, my knees raised forming a V, my own thick bush ignored, irrelevant. His hands were gripping Stella's hips. Her arms were braced against his fierce thrusts.

I don't know how long it took them. My mind wandered, lonely as a cloud. I guess about five minutes. He changed pace, slowed a few times, then accelerated again. They got louder, more frenetic, panting.

"Yess ....."

"Yess ...."

They climaxed together, a millisecond apart. I felt them enjoy their 'little deaths' at the same time, their bodies joined and their fluids intermingling.

Then he pulled out of her and grunted down at me.

"Clean."

I completed that task first before he retreated and Stella lowered her mound onto my lips.

"Clean that too."

***

I can't deny that regularly assisting during their lovemaking became humiliating and frustrating, especially when they dismissed me without any thanks or permission to touch myself. But as well as humiliating, it was ... enjoyable. I felt valued, involved. I knew that, deep down, they treated me this way because they knew it was what I wanted.

I was an addict. They were my supplier.

But one morning, Stella summoned me into her office. An older woman was sitting there with her. They both stared at me coolly.

"Good morning, Nike. This is Meg."

I was wearing my maid's uniform. I curtseyed.

The woman was older. I would soon discover that Meg was 58yrs old. She had an unkind, uncouth face, with short curly hair, more than a hint of a moustache, and jowls. Despite her loose-fitting dress, I could tell she was overweight.

"Meg will be staying with us for a few days. I've told her you will attend to her every need while she's with us. Yes?"

I blinked in shock. I looked again and I could see something else. The woman was looking at me like I was her lunch.

"I ... I ..."

"I've told her that you like women, Nike. Is that not true?"

I was like a deer trapped in headlights. I couldn't deny the truth. But I couldn't offend this woman either.

"Y ... yes ..."

Stella chuckled. "Well Meg is a woman. And I've told her how well you worship pussy ... and arse. Isn't that so?"

Meg nodded, with a slight snort. The sound was almost a masculine grunt.

"I look forward to it."

"Show Meg up to her room. She's in the Green Room. Jenkins has already taken her bags up."

I escorted the woman upstairs to the main guest room. She followed slowly behind me, wheezing slightly. I opened her door and ushered her in. She looked around, seemingly unimpressed.

"This will do." She said, slumping into an armchair.

I hovered by the door, ready to leave.

"Unpack my bags."

I unzipped her suitcase first. It was full of several weeks' worth of folded clothes for Winter; big woollen dresses, thick knitwear, shirts, functional underwear, a washbag and a cosmetics bag.

Then I opened her heavy, secondary grip. It contained books, magazines, electronics and several sex toys. I made out two vibrators, a hood, blindfold, a gag, handcuffs and a leather crop.

"Bring me that."

She took the crop from me without the slightest hint of embarrassment.

"I am NOT a friend of Stella's." she revealed, tapping the crop against the side of the chair. "I'm a professional Dominatrix. I have over 25 years of experience with both male and female submissives. I'm semi-retired now but Stella sought me out to give you some advanced training."

I couldn't speak. I just looked at her with my mouth open like a goldfish.

She gave me a thin smile. "Of course, you don't HAVE to do anything I say. You can leave any time. Stella wants you to know that. But she's going away on tour with her husband and his band for at least a month. If you choose to leave here before her return, you'll never see her again. I repeat. Never."

I felt weak at the knees. I couldn't breathe. I gasped.

"I ... under ...stand."

"I understand, MA'AM!"

"I understand, M ... Ma'am." I repeated.

She pointed the crop at me.

"Strip."

Her eyes never left me as I removed every piece of my uniform. I felt her gaze appraising my body.

"Be assured," she continued, "Stella cares about you. This is for your own good. She's paying me good money to turn you into HER perfect slave ... IF that's what you want to become. Do you?"

Did I? I stood there naked, exposed, and slowly nodded.

"Hands on your head. Feet apart."

I obeyed, spreading my legs. She stared up and down, eyeing my pale tummy, hirsute bush, my hairy armpits and several spots with distaste.

"Are you proud of your appearance? Answer me!"

I couldn't help glancing down.

"N ... not really ... Ma'am."

She nodded, underlining I'd given the correct answer.

"You have good reason not to be. Stella is beautiful. You are ... ordinary. Your figure, face, hair, acne, lack of grooming, all underline that point. To teach you humility. Stella has done a good job so far. But I will go further. Much further. Say yes if you accept that."

"I ... accept, Ma'am."

"We will be making some special modifications to please your owners. Mr. Ravage has requested larger breasts."

She cocked her eyebrow at me.

I remembered what his first words on meeting me had been. I think we'll make those bigger, he'd said. Stella had replied it was up to him. Not up to me. Or even to her.

To him.

I nodded my acceptance.

"And Mrs. Ravage wants those labia pierced so that cunt can be padlocked from now on. She knows you're trustworthy but that's not the point. A true Mistress needs certainty. Especially as you will be going for even longer periods without relief."

Again, I nodded my head. My brain was reeling.

"You will sport some nipple jewellery with their initials. And you'll be decorated with some permanent tattoos. Any objections?"

I heard my throat make a parched gulping sound. I couldn't have spoken if I'd wanted to. I shook my head.

"Come closer."

I walked over to her chair and stood in front of her with my feet apart. She ran the tip of the crop up the insides of my legs to my hairy mound.

"You believe that you prefer women, yes?"

I nodded. "Yes ... I'm lesbi ..."

"No." she interrupted. "You're a slave and a slut. THAT is your sexuality. You may have sexual preferences but that's all they are. Inclinations. There's absolutely nothing wrong with you preferring women. Your Mistress has no intention of trying to convert you, to turn you straight, any of that nonsense. On the contrary, she's pleased that you'll always desire young, attractive ladies, like her."

She paused and tapped the crop lightly against my inner thighs.

"You see, this means that it's a sign of greater submission to her, greater obedience, when you overcome your preference for women by serving the partners that SHE chooses for you instead. I repeat. Your sexuality is slavery. Therefore everything else is up to your Owner. Yes?"

This time she hit me a little more crisply, twice. "Yes?"

"Ow ... y ... yesss, Ma'am." I hissed.

"On Mrs Ravage's behalf, I will spend some time exploring your preferences. I have some contacts who will help us do that. You have fucked and sucked Mr. Ravage, correct?"

"Y ... yes ... once ... and a few t ... times ..."

"And he is your only male partner so far? Ever?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She snorted, eyeing me intently. "Mr. Ravage is a very handsome man. Even rather pretty. And fit. He's far from a true test of obedience."

I winced as she prodded the tip of the crop into my abdomen.

"Turn round."

I rotated 180 degrees, so I had my back to her.

"Bend over and pull those cheeks apart."

I winced as the tip of her crop probed my anus.

"Well, don't worry. Your Mistress wishes to keep your lesbian cunt locked up anyway. So it will be reserved for rare occasions and ... special guests. However, this rear entrance is another matter. You consider yourself gay, you said. Correct?"

I hesitated, unsure what she wanted to hear. "Yes, Ma'am."

Her crop slashed my right buttock.

"Well, gays have anal sex. Lots of it. And so will you. We will train this arsehole to be readily available to Mr Ravage once they return. You see, your Mistress has made it clear that she has no intention herself of ever having anal sex. She regards the idea as unhygienic and uncomfortable and not a turn-on for her. But she's generously willing to let her husband fuck this hole when he's in the mood."

This time she hit my left buttock for emphasis.

"Ssss ... yes ... Ma'am."

"However, she doesn't want him to think this hole is anything special. So my job is to ensure that, before he gets a first crack at it, a decent number of gentlemen have already sampled it and loosened it up. He will not be taking your anal cherry. What do you think of that?"

"Hmff ... sss." I whimpered.

I heard her snort in reply.

"I know gentlemen who'll be only too happy to help us. You might even learn to enjoy it but, remember, a slave's sole purpose is to give rather than receive pleasure. Turn round."

I turned and faced her. She was sniffing the tip of her crop.

"You will learn to use douches and enemas to keep your shithole ready for use at any time. Now, open your mouth wide."

I obeyed, making a slight aah sound like she was a doctor.

"Hmm, a nice big mouth. Do you enjoy sucking Mr. Ravage's cock?"

I dropped my eyes. How should I reply?

"I ... in a way, yes."

She smirked. "And licking Mrs. Ravage's pussy? And her bottom?"

"Y ... yes."

"Of course, you do. You love her. She's beautiful. You fancy her. But what about other ladies? Less beautiful ladies? Ones you dislike? Would you do the same for them when ordered to?"

I blinked. She didn't wait for me to reply. She gave me a lewd wink.

"Of course, you would ... Ladies like me."

I'd suspected that this was coming. But, even so, it was a shock when she put it so bluntly. She was probably 30 years older than me. And not just that, she was unattractive, even for her age, physically and facially. There was something uneven about her features.

"I ..."

She smirked. "We'll start at my toes ... and work upwards."

She jiggled her feet. She was wearing lace-up leather booties. It was clear what she meant. I knelt down and untied the laces of her left boot first and tugged it and her sock off. An aroma of fetid cheese assaulted my nostrils.

I'd heard of foot fetishes. But I imagine they're for petite feet with high arches and perfect nail polish. Hers were large, gnarly with uncut yellowed nails. I peered up at her.

"Kiss it ... unless you want to fail at the first hurdle?"

I lowered my face and planted a little kiss on the centre of her foot.

"No." she said. "Suck the big toe first ... that's it."

It tasted of sour sweat. I suckled it like it was a tiny penis.

"Mmm ... this little piggy goes to market."

After about 60 seconds she twiddled her toes and said.

"Now the second one. This little piggy stays at home."

She took me down the line, each toe after the other, about a minute each, followed by the five toes of her right foot.

"And now the soles." She ordered.

Eventually, after about 15 minutes of worshipping her feet, she seemed satisfied.

"Now put my socks and boots back on."

5. THE NEXT THREE MONTHS

There is little point me trying to cover the next three months in detail. Each one of the 97 days before Stella returned is now mostly a blur. She remained on the band's tour of Latin America and the USA throughout that time. All I received were two postcards; one dated November of the famous statue of Christ, arms outstretched above Rio de Janeiro, and one dated January of the Empire State Building in New York.

On both she'd scrawled she ... 'hoped I was being good!'

Of course, initially I was expecting her only to be away for one month. The news was revealed to me a week at a time; a fifth week, a sixth, and then another. I don't think I could have stomached it had I known from the start that my ordeal would last over three months. In fact, Meg had obviously always known that her employment was to be for much longer than I than I'd been told. She seemed to delight in breaking the news to me, week by week.

My main duties were still housework. Every day, I did 12 hours of cleaning, polishing, tidying, scrubbing, ironing, just as I'd been doing before, but now with Meg hovering over me, and examining my work afterwards. Although the house was virtually empty apart from the two of us, she ensured that there was plenty for me to do. Mr Jenkins and Mrs Davis were rarely around.

Meg would walk the whole house in muddy boots, trailing dirt and dust, creating floors for me to sweep and polish. She changed her clothes and underwear twice a day so I had plenty to wash and iron. She used every bathroom in the house, leaving grime in the bathtubs and worse in the toilets. She would lean over my shoulder as I scraped her skidmarks away and demand I do a better job.

I cried with frustration and exhaustion at night but never in front of her. I was determined not to give in to her intimidation. I knew deep down that Stella was testing me. I had to win. Meg knew the same thing and she was equally determined to break me.

"Bend over and touch your toes."

She flipped up the hem of my housemaid's skirt and pulled down my thong, admiring the inevitable faded bruises remaining from a previous punishment. Her fingers toyed with my hirsute bush and labia before appraising the end of the plug inside my rectum. Each week I was graduating onto longer and longer spells with larger and thicker plugs. By now I could accommodate 7 thick inches.

"Ahh ... sss."

I hissed as she extracted the plug with one smooth tug.

"Tck ... tck ..." she tut-tutted as she examined it.

"Count as usual."

Whoosh!

I gritted my teeth as her crop lashed my buttocks.

"One ... th ... thank you ... M ... Ma'am."

She would be silent, during the first few, but then she'd start to wheeze with the effort of giving me a dozen strokes.

"Tw ... twelve ... thank you ... Ma'am."

But the housework and punishments were nothing compared with the modifications and visits to surgery clinics and tattoo parlours. I was relieved to find they were all expensive -- if alternative - establishments. Evidently no expense was to be spared in my 'redecoration'.

Meg introduced herself as my mother. She explained exactly what 'I' wanted and that she was only present for my security and to pay the fees. As I was over 18, I signed all the paperwork.

First up was a white-coated medic who put my ankles in gynaecological stirrups and tut-tutted about my pubic hair. He shaved me and then pierced a total of 12 rings in my labia, six in each. The uppermost pair were up high, close to my clitoris. He cleaned up and booked us to return in a fortnight.

Two weeks later, he was happy with the healing process and tried out a steel padlock that joined the rings together. The special padlock was something like a large safety pin with a long U-shape that formed the shackle, and a body with the locking mechanism. It felt cold against my skin. The uppermost pair of rings made my clitoris inaccessible.

Next was a clinic that specialised in boob-jobs. I'd always favoured C-cup bras for comfort but never quite filled them properly. Under Meg's orders -- no doubt from Stella -- I asked for my breasts to be augmented to a proper E-cup. The clinician looked at Meg for her approval and she nodded. Nowadays it's the reverse to how it used to be. An E-cup bra never quite contains my pendulous tits properly.

A few days later, my nipples were pierced and decorated with gold studs. They're my day-to-day jewellery. But I have a choice, ranging from small gold rings that are like delicate earrings, to heavy gold hoops that dangle down to my ribs. I even have a pair with 'S' and 'J' letters on them.

Standing for Stella and Jack.

Finally, the word SLUT was tattooed as a tramp stamp at the base of my spine, while my front was decorated between my waistline and my regrowing bush with a classic heart-shape tattoo.

Inside the heart was the name STELLA.

Once modified, my sexual training began in earnest. I was always hooded so that, as Meg put it, "I would cease to attach any importance to a person's appearance." She said I was 'free use' now and it was vital to stamp out what was my obviously sexist, ageist, racist and superior attitude to sex partners.

Lesson One was oral sex. Although I couldn't see them, I could usually tell, using my other senses, hearing, scent, touch and taste. A handful were young, college-age and the like. I detected at least two Caribbean accents, an American, and one that was obviously Asian, another who sounded Cockney, all using foul and crude misogynistic language. I could hear them chatting with Meg while I slurped on their rigid penises.

Lesson Two was anal sex. Most of my anal partners were old. I could tell by the wrinkled touch of their elderly hands and sagging flesh. That scent of mothballs and staleness that some older people exude. The aroma of cigars and whisky. A quaver in their voice or the wheezing sound of excess phlegm. Above all, their tendency to lose an erection.

For a while I tried to identify each man by a number. 'One' was a rather tender man with a cough who smelt of Polo mints. He returned several times. 'Two' was very rough but thankfully had a skinny penis. 'Three' and 'Four' were the pair of young black boys who used me several days in a row. Fortunately Meg made every visitor wear a condom. But she said only for the "benefit of my other punters". Not for my benefit. Once the condom was full, she encouraged them all to empty the contents down my throat.

Of course, by now my training had become a question of mind over matter. I'd stopped trying to identify and count different individuals when my numbers exceeded a dozen. Many revisited. Others I couldn't tell. They became a haze. Barely a day went by when I didn't 'entertain' two or three times. My best guess would be that fifty different individuals made use of me. By far the majority used my mouth or bottom or both. Some of them wanted what they called ATM. I surrendered to that too.

Christmas Day was what Meg called 'my treat'. She invited three men for lunch. I was hooded throughout, waiting while they ate turkey and trimmings. Then she unlocked my labial rings and invited all three so-called gentlemen to fuck my 'front hole'. To become my numbers 2, 3 and 4 after Stella's husband. I have no idea who they were but I know they were old and heavy and suspect they were hideous.

After they were done, I was allowed to masturbate myself while they all watched. I was still hooded and unable to see. Once I was so near the edge that I was desperate for release, Meg emptied the contents of the three condoms through the mouth-hole of my hood and down my throat. Only then was I permitted to climax.

By the end of January, my anus could easily cope physically with most real penises. None were as large as the anal-plugs and they were rarely as firm as them. Worse was simply the mental ordeal of submitting passively to not only men, but the so-called 'gentlemen' selected for me by Mistress Meg. Each time one of them finally managed to get himself off using my distended rectum, I died a little inside.