Nancy Mitchell's Other Life Ch. 04

Everyone in this story is over 18, including the fantasy people described in the story.

"When you want them to use 'reply all' they never do. When you don't want them to use 'reply all,' they won't stop." Nancy Mitchell deleted a chain of email messages that had nothing to do with her, forwarded two more, minimized her email and went back to typing up a report on the newest way someone found to commit credit card fraud in the city. She clicked away mindlessly, summarizing and cross-referencing with criminal statutes and relevant case law, keeping the clock on her computer desktop in the corner of her eye until it finally ticked over to 2:00 PM.

She bit her lower lip and stretched elaborately, then poked her head up over her cubicle wall and looked around the office to make sure no one was coming to talk to her or lingering nearby. Seeing no one around she spun her chair so she was facing the entrance to her cubicle, and took out her personal phone. She entered her PIN, opened the photo gallery, scrolled down and clicked on a thumbnail. A picture expanded to fill the screen. The picture. The picture of her standing outside her apartment door, her arms at her side and the girls (what little there was of them) right out there and on display. A forced smile was on her face, and you could see tension in the muscles of her shoulders. The top of her head was out of frame, but you could clearly see her face even though the focus of the camera was obviously on her chest. On her nipples, stiff and hard, swollen from the cold rain and the erotic rush of shame she was feeling. They stuck out like the proverbial pencil erasers of every fictional horny exposed internet shame slut, dark pink and swollen and tight against her pale skin.

Her sad little mosquito bites were still wet and shining from the camera flash, uncovered, exposed, on display for anyone who might have walked by and looked. But mostly on display for Chris, because she so desperately wanted to be a pathetic little slut for the taller, big-breasted blond woman. To be taken under her control and publicly humiliated for the two bumps that were conspiring with her brain and the hole between her legs to push her into living out her deepest, darkest, most shameful and until recently anonymous fantasies: for people to see her naked, laugh at her tiny breasts, and feed her desire for humiliation and self-degradation until it chewed up, swallowed, and digested her entire life.

Nancy had memorized every curve and line of the picture, but still couldn't stop looking at it. It wasn't a picture of someone gleefully or even drunkenly flashing her chest to titillate the viewer or get their approval. It was something else. The closest Nancy could come to describing it was like a picture of a mother who had just given birth after an especially difficult labor. Still in the hospital bed, sweating and exhausted with a crumpled white sheet half covering them so they could pretend they still cared about their modesty. A picture of a person who had just been through an ordeal they had longed to experience for quite some time, and knowing they would describe the experience as joyous later, but in that exact moment there was still some part of them that wondered if it was worth it as the endorphins and adrenaline faded. If given the choice would they do it again, take it all back, or go even further? And if they did choose to do it again how much time would they spend thinking about the price they paid for going through that door and would now have to continue to pay? Once the orgasms faded and the kink became routine how would they feel now that their life had been changed forever?

She sat in her office chair surrounded by her co-workers and staring at the picture while pondering these questions, and inevitably thought of what would happen if she lost her phone, or it got hacked, or if someone accidentally saw the picture, and pangs of worry amplified the feelings of lust deep in her gut. After one marathon jackoff session when she had gotten herself off until her pussy was sore, red, and aching she had even gone into the picture's settings and removed all the properties and personal information. She told herself that made it less likely to be traced back to her, gave her plausible deniability, and even made it safe. If someone saw it she could shrug and say, "Nope, sorry, not me just a Photoshop a girlfriend sent me as a gag one time."

For a second she even thought about going further and deleting the picture, but couldn't make herself totally destroy the proof of her shameful display. The possibility of discovery was one of the consequences of being a shame slut with pancake tits and she had to accept that possibility, even if she still fought desperately to indulge her perversions while keeping them from destroying her life. A life that, so far, was still safely separated from the perverted things she did the night the picture was taken. And the next morning.

The morning after the picture was taken Nancy had woken up on the floor with stiff muscles and a slight chill. She had stretched and pulled the blanket tighter, and listened to Chris' soft breathing in the bed above her. Her bed. Her nice, soft bed with clean sheets, a heavy blanket, and a woman who seemed to have a toppy or at least sadistic streak in her sprawled out in it. Her vibrator was still there on the floor nearby, and Chris' panties along with her own destroyed shorts. She took the time to clinically note that Chris' panties were black with lace trim, and wondered if her bra matched. She couldn't smell the panties anymore, and the taste of the other woman's juices that she had licked off the vibrator had faded on her tongue. Her own cunt wasn't screaming at her anymore, the raging beast that was her libido the night before was sulking in a corner, still there and greedy but not insisting that it be fed immediately. She was back to feeling the sexual equivalent of the delicious ache of hunger right before a sumptuous meal that she loved and wanted to keep feeling deep inside of herself. Her bladder, on the other hand, didn't share or care about her love of denial and was demanding that it receive her attention very soon.

Was she allowed to get up and pee? They hadn't really discussed what would happen in the morning. Is this why she built such elaborate rules for the women in her stories? Because it meant you didn't have to be naked on your bedroom floor and wondering if the simple act of taking a leak was permitted or not? And did she want someone in control of her that way anyway? It sounded hot in a fantasy, to give up control of such a basic biological necessity, but when she thought about it more it also sounded like a pain in the butt to keep doing every day. Sometimes you just wanted to go to the bathroom and get back to doing your thing without being spanked to tears and called a pathetic flat-chested slut to earn the privilege.

Chris definitely hadn't said anything about peeing or not last night. Just not to use the vibrator if she got herself off. Last night. Yeah. Reflecting on it that had been, in a word, awesome. Nancy remembered feeling like she had slipped into a fugue state, riding the desperate need of her pussy to be stroked, fucked, and vibed and denied release until she fell asleep. It had felt good to be in that place, to give her orgasms to Chris to control and be denied, to feel her ardor fade from a screaming demand to a still unsatisfied murmur. To know that her sexual frustration (fed by her shame and humiliation) was getting someone else off. She had described those feelings in her stories many times, gotten herself off imagining readers getting off on her fantasies, and imagined herself in the sexy predicaments she wrote about, but last night had been the first time she had ever really acted out one of her fantasies. It had been the first time she really let her horny daydreams take herself out of the safety of her apartment, and experienced those feelings in reality with another person.

But what happened the morning after? Did she want Chris to further humiliate and demean her, to have her make breakfast naked and kneel beside her on display while the butch bitch ate and occasionally fed her a bite like she was a pet? To methodically go through her wardrobe and destroy clothing while she edged herself and licked her boots and thanked her and begged her to make that shirt show off even more of her barely there titty meat? The thoughts were pleasant, intriguing even, but she couldn't ignore that what she really wanted right now was just to pee. And no one had told her she couldn't! She slid out from under the blanket and stood up, then quietly walked to the bathroom, easing the door shut behind her. She sat down and peed as silently as she could, then flushed and ran her fingers through her hair to tame the worst of her bed head before opening the door and going back to her bedroom.

Chris was still there, still in her bed, on her side, still breathing softly. Even under the blankets her curves were obvious. Nancy licked her lips, thought about the cold floor, and what else she wanted right now. Having already asserted her fierce independence once by using the bathroom in her own apartment she slipped into the bed, easing the covers up and scooching under them until her body was next to her statuesque tormenter. She put one arm under her own head, and wrapped the other around Chris' stomach and held her breath as she waited to see what happened next.

Nancy felt Chris stir then push her body back against hers and giggle. "Fuck, your hands are cold!" But the blond woman took Nancy's hand and moved it from her stomach up to her chest, placing it firmly on her tit. She had slept in her bra, but Nancy still relished the feeling of the soft breast in her hand. She gently kneaded the ample tit meat with her fingers, and sighed happily. She couldn't quite bring herself to work her hand under the bra and touch the warm flesh directly, but she knew she was being rewarded for her slutty public display last night. She had obeyed, and her obedience was being reinforced. It was textbook conditioning, but Nancy didn't care. She felt good. They stayed in the classic spooning position silently for several minutes before Chris sighed. "It's probably not very dominant of me to let you be the big spoon, but this is nice."

Nancy giggled, enjoying the soft warmth of the bed and the other woman's body against her own. "I won't tell the kink police if you won't."

"Deal." Chris let herself enjoy the feeling of being in bed with someone on a weekend morning for a few more minutes, then pushed the last of the morning sleep out of her mind and sketched together a quick agenda. She was still working a case, she reminded herself, even if it was enjoyable work. She composed herself, then rolled over and smiled at Nancy. "While we're negotiating, why don't you take a hot shower while I make breakfast? Sleeping on the floor is sexy but it isn't very comfortable."

Nancy reluctantly let Chris' breast slip away from her hand, but smiled and nuzzled the skin where Chris' neck met her shoulder. As much as she wanted to taste her pussy, to be humiliated and degraded again and recapture that feeling from last night, a hot shower sounded just fucking wonderful. "You drive a hard bargain, but it's a deal. Top drawer to the left of the sink is where I keep the cooking things I use most often."

Nancy scooted out of bed and headed back to the bathroom and Chris let herself take a few seconds to admire the brunette woman's cute little ass. She was actually quite attractive, just insecure about her chest and lacked self-confidence. With the right coaching, a change in her wardrobe and maybe a haircut, she could turn a lot of heads. All necessary traits for what Chris had planned for her. The blond then got up, pulled her panties and dress on, and headed for the kitchen. Chris flipped through cupboards, found a box of pancake mix and some sausage links in the freezer, started the coffee maker, and began preparing a simple breakfast for two. The smell of hot food and fresh coffee filled the room again, and the sausages were heating up in the microwave and the edges of the pancakes turning crisp on the griddle when Nancy emerged from the bathroom barefoot with damp hair and a large fluffy green towel wrapped around her torso.

Nancy licked her lips and stood in front of Chris, then stammered out a sentence. "I wasn't sure, I, I wasn't sure if I should get dressed. Or not get dressed. You know, because..." Nancy's inner narrator rolled her eyes. Nice work Nancy, very seductive, much erotic. Chris had probably waited her whole life for an indecisive chick who could barely string a sentence together. Nancy had come out here with a fantasy of being told to eat naked off the floor, but suddenly that fantasy and her stories of women doing it seemed silly and even embarrassing. She had tried it a couple of times out of curiosity and found that by yourself it wasn't erotic to eat without your hands off the floor and a vibe in your cunt, just messy and inefficient. Thoughts of Chris laughing at her inexperience and her stupid, silly little fantasies she tried to make reality flooded her mind. She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks, and wished she had just thrown on a robe or a t-shirt and shorts without comment. Anything but this clumsy and obvious attempt at seduction. She sighed and silently willed herself to fall through the floor until she reached the center of the Earth.

Then Chris was taking the last pancake off the griddle and smiling at her. "Hm... good question." Chris set the plates on the table next to two steaming cups of coffee, and walked over to Nancy. She looked her up and down, frankly and obviously appraising her body. Nancy trembled, but made herself stand still. She wasn't mousy little Nancy Mitchell in her kitchen, she was a sorority pledge being "sold at a slave auction" for charity, but what she didn't know was that all the sorority sisters secretly hated her, and when the auctioneer pulled the towel away they were all going to laugh at her and make fun of her flat chest and no one was going to bid on her until she crawled on all fours and kissed their feet and begged and pleaded and promised them she would do the most obscene, degrading, humiliating things for whoever bought her. Then they'd put a collar on her neck and a leash and sell her for a nickel to a horrible girl from her old home town who hated her and knew all her old friends and even her family and she was taking her cell phone out and pulling her panties to the side and smiling down at pathetic crying flat-chested Nancy Mitchell on her knees before her...

No. No, that wasn't right. She was finally really doing this and she wasn't going to run away from it and hide in a fantasy. She was Nancy Mitchell, and she was in her apartment on a Saturday morning with breakfast cooking, and she was with this potential new girlfriend she thought she was really starting to like and knew her nastiest kinks and was here anyway, and it was going to be okay. She might have fucked up but Chris was going to make it be okay, no Chris and Nancy were going to make it okay, so she just took a deep breath and stood still and relaxed her muscles and waited and told her anxiety to sit down and shut the fuck up.

Chris thought carefully. She wanted Nancy at ease, to feel like humiliation and degradation was a kinky treat but it wasn't her whole life until she was in too deep to get out and it was her whole life. She had planned to just have breakfast and leave the slut hungry for more, but the silly repressed bitch was offering herself up on a plate. A little self-indulgence wouldn't hurt, and might even help move Nancy along. Chris reached out, and hooked her fingers under the towel. "Your life isn't a scene Nancy, and neither is mine, and that's a good thing. I don't have a billion dollars in the bank and a French chateau with sex maids we can go to and have kinky sex at twenty-four seven. Even if I did, people have to do real life stuff sometimes, or get sick, or have to work late. But..." She slowly, so slowly began to pull on the towel. "That doesn't mean we can't enjoy the opportunities we do have." The tension in the cloth suddenly gave way and the towel came off of Nancy's body, and she was naked in her apartment for the second time in two days in front of a fully clothed woman whose beautiful breasts made her own little bumps seem even more shameful and inadequate in comparison.

Chris smiled down at Nancy's nudity, openly leering at her exposed body. Letting her eyes linger on the hesitation in Nancy's eyes that didn't match her flushed chest, her boobs and hard nipples, the little bit of clit already trying to peak out from between her swelling cunt lips. Once Chris had established she was in control of the situation and Nancy was waiting for her direction she smiled brightly. "Sit down little tits, and eat up before it gets cold!" Chris gave Nancy's left nipple a playful tweak to punctuate the sentence and push the smaller woman a little more off balance.

Nancy shuddered internally with desire but sat down, naked, and began putting butter on her pancakes to keep her hands busy. Chris had barely even touched her and she could feel herself starting to slip into subspace, getting hornier and fuzzier. Chris got the sausages from the microwave and used the spatula to nudge two of them onto Nancy's plate, then the remaining three onto her own. Chris sat down and began preparing her own pancakes, enjoying the smell of sweet and savory breakfast foods and hot coffee while the nude woman across from her did the same.

Nancy took a bite of pancake and made an appreciative sound. She was naked, eating breakfast, her thighs pressed together to put some pressure on her pussy and remind herself to keep her fingers out of it, and it was somehow mundane and exotic, chaste and playfully sexy at the same time. A normal Saturday morning she experienced 52 times a year and a forbidden fantasy she had yearned for longer than she could remember all at once. Unsure what the tone was supposed to be here, after a few bites Nancy broke the silence with an attempt at small talk. "Thank you for making pancakes, these are really good!"

Chris shrugged but smiled at the compliment. "The trick, the secret trick, the very secret trick to pancakes is..." Chris paused dramatically, dragged a bite of pancake through syrup which had pooled on the plate, put it in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "You cook them then you put butter and maple syrup on them and they taste like butter and maple syrup. Works every time."

Nancy laughed, and suddenly things weren't awkward anymore. They were just two women having breakfast and one of them happened to have a slight case of nudity. It was still fun and sexy and Nancy could feel her pussy tingling and juices running down her thighs and threatening to drip on the chair, but it wasn't as intense as it had been last night. It was nice, and chill, and very hot, but she wasn't losing her mind to primal destructive urges and that was okay. The breakfast went down quickly, and they chatted over the rest of their coffee. Nancy was more relaxed, but she still couldn't figure out what to do with her hands, whether to keep them at her side or on the table, and kept taking small sips of her coffee until the cup was empty.

Chris noticed Nancy's change in mood and kept her outward demeanor cheerful and lighthearted, but found herself growing increasingly irritated. Why did Nancy have to be so, so, so fucking cute? And genuine? And even fucking nice? When Chris read Nancy's stories she expected her to be an obnoxious whiny sub who bordered on being a sex pest and constantly tried to top from the bottom. No wonder Nancy couldn't find someone to destroy her life in a series of increasingly shameful sexy scenarios, it would be like kicking a puppy. A consenting, even eager puppy, but still a puppy. Chris swallowed the last of her coffee without tasting it, and tuned out Nancy's increasingly banal chatter. She needed this, Nancy wanted what was going to happen to her anyway, she was going to fucking do it and she'd drown any feelings of guilt in a bottle of gin later. Hell, it was a matter of public safety, maybe even national security. The world owed her on this, life was a zero sum game, and what happened next was just her balancing the scales. Besides, even if Nancy regretted doing it later she'd probably regret not doing it just as much.