Moving Her On Pt. 02

She thinks she will die. Those men last night were strangers. The staff had gone home after dinner, before the outrage began. She's known them for months --- He's not stuffy --- first name terms all round --- and so she feels as if she knows the two women who will be in the kitchen almost as friends. The idea of walking in on them like this is unimaginable; for a few seconds after she has taken off her bra, after arranging the dress so that it supports but does not cover her breasts, she simply cannot move, frozen by the social impossibility of walking through the connecting door with everything on show.

He is apparently uninterested, reading the financial papers as he does every morning.

Time dilates.

She must go --- must! But I can't, she wails, inside her head --- I'll die of shame!

It is the sound of footsteps in the hallway that breaks the stasis --- one of the guests is arriving for breakfast. There is something completely different from last night about the idea of one of them walking in on her like this, in the broad sunlit morning, just standing here, dithering, tits out, pussy on display, and rather than experience that, she turns without thinking to open the door to the short service hallway, from which the kitchen door stands open --- and where Norah, the housekeeper, is walking directly toward her, carrying His dish of eggs.

Chloe freezes, a deep blush burning her cheeks and the flesh of her chest; her knees go weak. She can't face Norah, but at the same time she cannot bear not to know what expression is on the older woman's face --- so prim and proper as it always is, and so she keeps her head up, eyes round and soft, wet with unshed tears, her lips trembling, feeling as if she must faint if she feels any hotter.

Norah smiles; a tight smile, grudgingly approving, and says something, apparently to herself;

"About time, too."

This utterance astonishes Chloe, until, thinking it through later, she understands --- Norah has seen this before, with at least one --- maybe more than one --- other girl. He's done this to other women. And Norah has been expecting this for --- for how long? The realisation is yet another link in the chain of inevitability which seems to Chloe to bind her to her fate.

Norah's eyes unabashedly track down to take in Chloe's exposed sex, then up to linger at her breasts, which rising and fall noticeably with Chloe's gusty, panic stricken breathing.

"They used you harshly, girl. That's good. Might as well understand straight away what it means. I'll come to you later and see what we can do for that swelling --- it'll be worse by then. Take these, now. Hurry!"

And she holds out the eggs.

Utterly unable to process, her mind a jumble, Chloe is pathetically grateful to be told what to do, and turns to deliver the eggs to Him.

Within a few weeks, Norah will provoke Chloe into a rage with her curt, direct and increasingly demeaning orders. He will ordain punishment, to be delivered by Norah, with a whip. After this, Chloe will spend several hours each day at cleaning tasks, wearing a ridiculously skimpy and very expensive french maid get-up that consists of a very solid and excruciatingly tight-laced bustier corset, stockings, heels and frothy lace invocations of a skirt and a blouse that do nothing to conceal, but everything to invite attention to her breasts, sex and buttocks. Sturdy leather wrist cuffs and collar also sport lacy frills, as well as stout steel D rings. Chloe will hate this part of her day more than any other. If guests are staying, she will use the titillating getup in any way she can to invite sexual use, even from those she finds repellent or knows to be horribly cruel --- anything is better than humiliating menial labour in that demeaning outfit, her performance judged by Norah against the woman's impossibly high standards, with failings bringing correction with the whip.

Once back in the morning room, it hits her, hard. To be dressed (undressed) so, in front of a stranger! Never mind that that stranger last night wielded his doubled over belt across her poor breasts, and had his cock in all three of her soft holes, this is different; not a torrid, late night, transgressive orgy, but a domestic day-time scene of mundanity --- and yet her tits are out, and her pussy and ass are on show --- clearly exposed as an invitation. Her knees buckle and again the heat of her shame threatens to overset her. Only the fact that having a purpose even as weak as 'delivering the breakfast' is infinitely better than standing still to be stared at gets her moving.

Another impossible quandary presents. If it were just Him and her, now, she would deliberately and lingeringly brush His cheek with her breast as she bends to position his plate, would take any opportunity to have Him feel the silk of her thigh against His arm or hand, hoping for sex of some kind before His work routine kicks in (He works only four hours most days, but with an intensity and decisiveness that means He pays her little attention until after lunch).

But now, with the stranger looking on --- she can feel his interested and leering attention as he pours coffee over by the sideboard where the rolls and fruit are laid out --- and with this new strangeness, this 'same but different' condition to her relationship with Him, she is once again lost, and freezes as she bends toward Him, only to give a little shriek when, tired of waiting, He tugs sharply at a pinch of her pubic curls;

"Wake up, Chloe! We have guests to please; go and tell Jake what's on offer; beyond what he can see, of course --- it may be that all he wants is your mouth but do let him know what the kitchen can do."

And that's how the morning goes: Chloe, half-naked to begin with and rather soon completely so, mind a fog, all certainty, all confidence lost to her, is sent from pillar to post, from one casual, teasing tormentor to another, them grinning at her confusion, grasping at her body, shaming her, entertaining themselves by having her trot in the high heels 'Hurry, girl, hurry!' as she is sent on one errand after another.

Only twice is she actually used for sex --- it seems, from their banter, as if many of the men are as sore as she is --- so provoked into sexual excess have they been by the chance to use a lovely young woman without restraint.

Both times, though, are intensely distressing for Chloe. The lustful, insane fog of orgy that had made things easier for her the previous night is gone, and today there is nothing but the knowledge of being used, of being abused, humiliated and demeaned.

Still, no matter how blackly soul-destroying it seems at moments, she finds it impossible not to obey, not to at least attempt a smile in response to a request, a demand, however hard it is to accept.

Being made to crawl beneath the table and take the tall, bony black guy's long, thin cock into her mouth while he discussed oil prices and shipping risk with her man in his aristocratic drawl (he is apparently the son of an African diplomat) was a long-drawn out torment, as he seemed more interested in having her serve him, in testing how deeply she can take him, than he was in climaxing --- only doing so after her jaw was on fire with an ache worse than toothache, and her mascara was destroyed --- charcoal tear tracks covering her cheeks. The proximity to her man --- His apparent indifference to the thorough and degrading way in which she was being used, right next to Him, added to the torment.

Going back to the kitchen after that was unbearable. Facing Norah and Tabby (the cook), naked but for the high-heels, now, her face marked with mascara and gobs of come, she sobbed bitterly in front of them both and fell to her knees, whereupon Tabby took pity on her and wiped her face with a warm, damp cloth, telling her how pretty she was, how lucky the men were to have her, how her breasts were even lovelier than Tabby had imagined them to be, how jealous she was (Tabby was homely, a little overweight, no longer young, a worshipper of Him, knowing that He would never see her as more than a treasure of a cook, and sweetly heartbroken by that --- Chloe had pitied her until yesterday, but was now infinitely grateful to be looked after). Rather soon, though, Tabby said;

"Off you go now pretty Chloe --- you've a job to do, entertaining His guests --- you mustn't let him down!" and shooed her back to the morning room to clear dishes away.

In time, Tabby, too, will be sanctioned by Him to discipline Chloe, and her jealousy will make Chloe fear her spite as much as she finds herself able to dissolve into the woman's tender care at other times. Eventually, Tabby works up the nerve to ask Him if she may command Chloe to service her with her mouth, at which He laughs out loud; 'Tabby, that's hilarious! The slut Chloe servicing my dumpling of a wonder-chef! But if course, feel free --- whenever she's not needed. Have a blast!'. Both Chloe and Tabby shed many tears as a result of His amusement --- Tabby because his words once again crush her hopeless worship of the man --- and Chloe because Tabby's spite increases the viciousness of her punishments.

Collecting dishes is, of course, just one more opportunity for her arse to be slapped and for her to be detained by one man after another wanting to put his fingers in her pussy and hear her low cries and moans as he hurts or attempts to pleasure her (for Chloe, it is mostly hard to be sure which is intended).

The last of these --- the small, quiet man who had remained somewhat on the sidelines the night before, asked her to take him to the gym, where he proceeded to act out some private fantasy, trapping her ankles and wrists with dumbbells and other weights while he fucked her. Whatever his fantasy was, he was unsatisfied with how it translated into practical reality, so that he became angry and mean, and bit her breasts savagely as he gave up on his botched fantasy and simply rutted himself into her.

Chloe felt her heart must break as this sordid, pleasureless scene played itself out (so angry at himself is the man that he seems to find the thing as difficult as Chloe, so that she cannot even tell herself she is serving his pleasure), but still found herself without the slightest will to resist, weakly repeating back to him the shameful and ridiculous phrases he wants to hear from her lips, as she licks his cock clean afterward, wondering how she will be able to live with the shame of this, sure that He must reject her after this morning's degradations.

A little later, Norah comes to find her, and without the slightest sympathy, nevertheless commands her calmly enough so that Chloe manages to rein in the weeping fit which had overtaken her once he had left her, still trapped by heavy weights. It had taken her several efforts at last to escape from these, while the tears ran down her face and her heart grew cold inside her.

The idealised, abstract version of Chloe --- the whore and slut of this morning's reverie --- hard as that had been to contemplate, was turning out to be infinitely less troubling than the messy reality of being used by ordinary mortals, rather than her man. Her world seems grey and cold as Norah lays out a pretty, white skimpy cotton sundress and suede wedge bootees for her while Chloe showers, and then efficiently takes over the application of make-up --- announcing that from now on Chloe will be dressed, made-up, coiffured by others --- so that her appearance will always be in accordance with His wishes. Chloe finds herself accepting this without question --- as when earlier today He had laid down rules about underwear, it makes immediate sense --- pointless even to debate, almost an announcement to be grateful for --- however shocked her girlfriends would be to hear of such a thing.

She is led downstairs to stand beside Him as he takes leave of his guests, finding her spirits lifting just to be at his side, a stupidly glorious little burst of happiness exploding in her chest as He puts his hand up --- inside the short skirts of the dress --- to land proprietorially onto her ass cheek, cupping and grasping. A month previously, even, she would have found Him doing this in front of strangers completely unacceptable --- would have been outraged; now she finds herself eager to have the others notice that, despite the way He has whored her to them, He still wants to possess her, claim her --- as if this casual and intimate handling of her was a sacrament, a blessing.

When He tells them that he wants Chloe to thank each of them for 'breaking her in', as He puts it, she is painfully embarrassed, feels the humiliation eat into her like acid, but also rejoices in the way He claims her as His possession --- He still wants her!

He has her kneel for each of them, kiss their shoes.

Then she is to stand and ask them if she may take their hands, one of which she places onto her sex, the other onto her breast, then, her hands clasped behind her, their hands on her body, foraging as each chooses, she offers;

"I hope I was able to please you, Sir, and I would be grateful if you would judge how satisfactory I was on a scale of ten. If.. if it pleases you, I'd.. I'd be grateful if you would kiss me while you're judging me?"

Kissing these nasty, cruel men is the last thing she wants to do --- and with this rating obviously having some significance, she knows she will be expected to make the kiss pleasing and sexual. Still less is it comfortable with Him watching (for what could put a man off a girl more than seeing her kiss another man intimately --- sexually and submissively?).

But there is no escape that will not let Him down, and so for each she leans in, offers her open lips, takes their tongues, their cigar-smoke flavour --- takes what they push into her (fingers in her sex, tongues, spittle and in one case teeth in her mouth), works at being pleasing, seeking to discover just what each wants and give it to them.

She kisses them as sweetly, as sexily, as intimately as she can bring herself to, wanting a good score. Trying hard, shamefully, to remind them of how it had been to fuck her.

It's devastating, and tears keep coming, keep having to be blinked and brushed away --- although she is careful to make herself smile sweetly at each of them as they release her to give her their rating. Rating her for how much pleasure she has been able to give them in her role as a helpless, submissive, frightened rape doll.

This short and outwardly superficial episode is the most degrading, the most devastating so far. It leaves her utterly bewildered, horrified at her own complicity, at her body's response. For with each kiss, she had found herself giving. Giving; to these horrible, unattractive men --- strangers to her; giving --- and finding a part of her that wants to give --- feeling herself open her thighs for them as she kisses them --- inviting invasion of her openings, her body offering a welcome, an encouraging response, a promise, an open invitation to sex in the future --- to being fucked on their terms, without reservation. All this was in her mind as she kissed them; thoughts she could not have imagined having just hours ago. Thoughts that, from the amused and condescending comments she hears from the others, are humiliatingly evident from her body language.

She gets two sevens, an eight, a six and a four (from the small man, whose smile is bitter and whose fingers deliver pain).

And now she can no longer hold back the tears, for all she makes herself stand well, keeps a smile on her face, makes herself as pretty as she can manage (what else does she have control over now, beyond how she can hold her body for them through these ordeals?) --- but the tears flow, soft and sad. At the same time her chest rises and falls --- her breathing deep and gusty, as strong emotions possess her --- and it's impossible to deny that one of these emotions is lust --- raw and hungry lust.

She would like to be fucked. Fucked by all of them, if that's what they want, all her holes --- last night, all over again. She is ready to go to her knees and offer herself, if He should ask her to. Appalled that this can be true, feeling their eyes on her, sure that they can see just how affected she is, just how vulnerable. Praying they can't. Praying that they can. In practice, just standing there --- because who will fuck her, when, and how, is no longer up to her, is it? And He is speaking.

"Gentlemen, I make that 32 of a possible 50 --- meaning that Chloe gets 18 with the whip; neatly enough, that makes three from each of us. She'll be fitted with a jaw opener, and her mouth will be available while she takes the whip --- something of a special experience, I suggest, if the idea takes you; and of course no risk of teeth when she takes a hit!"

Laughter all round.

Chloe is helplessly, agonisingly compliant while the jaw-opener is applied (she has no ideas of her own, not one --- has become a sex doll in reality it seems, at least for the moment) --- some ugly metal contraption around her neck, with rubberised plates top and bottom between her molars on each side, that when cranked forces her jaws apart; utterly irresistible --- horrible to experience --- Chloe wants to cry but again wills herself not to. She is blindfolded, her wrists are tied behind her back, then she is spun round roughly a few times until she has no idea who is where. Abruptly, without ceremony, she is simply bent forward for a cock to be stuffed between her cranked-open lips, then straight into her throat without finesse. Her skirts are pulled up, tucked into the tie at her wrists so that they will stay up, and..

'sss-thakkK' --- she screams around the meat in her throat, bucks and jerks ineffectually, held as she is by several sets of strong hands. She wants to bite, to expel the cock, to run from the..

'sssss-thakkKK' --- from the impossible searing pain of the whip, but simply cannot, as..

'ssssss-thakkKKK' --- an even more awful blow lands, the men holding her arms and using their feet to hook her ankles apart keeping her in position while the man in her mouth spurts his come, filling her mouth her even as she is screaming, so that she begins to choke, helplessly.

No allowance at all is made for this --- they are eager now, laughing, bantering with each other; she is nothing but a vehicle for their fun as she is spun a little, a new cock in her mouth and a new hand steadying her arse for the whip (she has no idea who it might be), and, impossibly, it all happens again..

.. and then again.

She is all but unable to breathe now, so much come has been deposited into her throat, and she is full-on hysterical, writhing and bucking, so that those who are holding her need to exert real force (the bruises on her upper arms last ten days).

A bucket of water is brought and her head forced into it. At first she is eager for the chance to drink, to wash out her mouth, but then it becomes clear that there is to be no mercy --- she needs to breathe, but cannot --- her head is held beneath the waterline, and with her mouth held open, water is constantly threatening to slip into her windpipe. Horribly, then, a cock works its way into her pussy, which has tightened and clenched in response to the whip. It hurts, but whoever it is persists (she can hear him shouting --- it's hurting him as well) --- until he pulls out long enough for a spit covered set of fingers attempts to improve the situation and then the cock is rammed back, sawing into her; thankfully for only a few seconds as he comes quickly, pounding against her sore buttocks.

Only then, as she feels she must black out, is the bucket lowered and air restored. The hysterics are gone, suppressed by the fear of drowning, but there is no respite as she is spun again.