Sex Booth Ch. 05: Professional

"Remove the harlot's clothing," the magistrate commanded in a loud, imperious tone.

A custodian roughly tore my knickers away, leaving me entirely naked. Worse, my cunt was exposed to the watchers behind me, including - and especially - the four Directors in their luxurious chairs.

The play's director had insisted that I be shaven clean. "It is a theatrical convention to distinguish the truly immoral characters thus," she'd explained. "A good girl would never dream of baring her cunt so completely, so the lack of pubic hair is a clear, visual proof of a rotten mind."

Convention or not, act or not, my hairless cunt was now displayed to all. That my breasts, pendulous beneath my inclined chest, were marked with cum from the previous scene, the taste of it still in my mouth, the smell of it unmistakable, just added to the lewdness. Despite my nervousness about my impending punishment, I was aroused, my nipples hard, my cunt wet - visibly so.

To complete my humiliation in this moment, the two custodians together spread my labia apart with their fingertips, and I gave a completely unscripted cry of shame, as if I were a harlot in truth and not merely an act.

"Silence!" the magistrate shouted. "You are a harlot indeed, unfit for civilisation. You are corrupt, and corrupt all around you. I order your mouth and cunt to be bound in steel."

"No!" I cried. "Mercy!"

But my fate was sealed. Something hard and cold and thick and heavy pushed into my wet cunt, and I twisted around in shock to see the custodians fitting a leather and steel belt about my crotch, fastening it securely with that unseen something embedded within me. Around me the audience murmured and laughed with delight.

None of this second scene had been rehearsed. I'd only had the one line to say. "Just let what happens happen," the director had said. "And don't be afraid to cry. Tears are good. Tears show that the punishment is effective."

I didn't know if I could make myself cry. I was aroused, and fearful, and very confused, feeling less like an actor and more like an obscene toy for all these people to play with. "Most importantly," the director had said. "I need you to trust me. Trust that afterwards you will remember this night with pride and pleasure." It seemed increasingly unlikely that I would, but I forced myself to stay calm and tried to find reassurance in her words.

Finished with binding my cunt, the custodians turned to my mouth, gagging me with leather and steel. It was a musical gag too, wind pipes sounding in response to my breathing. No wonder there were no more lines for me in this scene. I was unable to move, unable to speak, something hard and heavy was stretching my cunt, and the cheeks of my ass were bare and quivering in anticipation.

The magistrate's cock was hard now, jutting up and out from his velvet robe. "Fetch my whip," he ordered, and climbed down from his high chair as a custodian entered the stage to bring it. It was a dark, leather whip that he brandished almost like a sword as he circled about me.

I shivered with instinctive fear as his hands caressed my breasts and ass, my eyes watching the whip as if it were some dangerous serpent in the wild. He was in no hurry to begin the punishment, but there was no doubt it would come. He tugged harshly on my nipples, forcing cries of pain from me that turned to dissonant chords through my gag, and I understood that screams of denial and pleas for mercy would be literal music to his ears.

And then I screamed for real, a bright, sharp pain lancing across my soft, exposed cheeks, and I barely heard the music of the pipes. All my awareness was on that terrible sensation, that agony I was in truth unprepared for. Again he struck, and again, the pain of each a distinct cruelty. A fourth on my left cheek, a fifth on my right, six and seven across my thighs instead.

And then nothing, as if he was done, as if it was enough that tears were rolling down my cheeks and dropping to the floor, as if it was enough to watch me struggling to escape my bonds, my gasping breath making the pipes sing, as if it was enough that my tortured skin was on fire.

But he wasn't done. He had merely paused to enjoy my torment, and suddenly I felt his cock pressing between my cheeks, not to seek entry but merely to caress, a fresh agony for me but a pleasure for him that ended abruptly in a pulsing eruption of cum to scattered applause from the audience. He massaged his cum into my aching cheeks as if attempting to soothe the pain, but then the whip awoke again and delivered fresh agony, three strikes across my cheeks that hurt worse than ever.

"Release the harlot," he said to the custodians, who obediently unfastened my ankles and wrists. I straightened up gingerly, my breathing still heavy and discordant, tears still streaming down my face, a fierce heat in my other cheeks. "Begone," he snarled, pointing off-stage. "And let civilisation never see your wickedness again."

Trembling in the wake of that awful punishment, I limped off in the direction he pointed, the heavy presence in my cunt shifting tauntingly with every step I took.

And just as I decided I hated my new employment and hoped never to be on stage again, the audience erupted into applause. I stared around in confusion, only to discover that they were all applauding me, as if I hadn't just been utterly humiliated in front of them.

The director appeared at my side to guide me off the stage. "You were perfect, Red '86," she said, and kissed me on the cheek. "A natural innocent. You're going to be a star."

That was all it took to turn me around completely. From utter dejection I went to elation, and even the echoing pain in my rear could not diminish my happiness. As profoundly strange as my first day as an Apprentice had proved to be, I wanted more of it. "Thank you," I said, as soon as the gag was removed and I could talk again.

I started to unfasten the belt, but the director stopped me. "Keep it on," she said. "At least until you get home. Just make sure to bring it back tomorrow."

And with another kiss on my cheek, she returned to watching the play.

*

All the way home I felt the thing shifting inside me, and I was grateful for it too. My performance had left me more aroused than I could ever remember, and that presence in my cunt was a welcome distraction.

My Professional girlfriend was waiting at home for me. "I thought you'd never get home!" she cried, catching me in an embrace and kissing me - and it was so good to surrender once again to Yellow '45's familiar touch after pretending for hours to have a male lover.

I flinched as her possessive hands squeezed my ass. "What's wrong?" she demanded.

Laughing, I undressed and turned to show her the whip marks on my bum and thighs. I unfastened the belt at long last and it fell heavily to the floor. The thing stuffing my cunt had been a steel replica cock. Yellow '45 stared at me with wide, astonished eyes.

"I need to be fucked," I told her. "Long and hard. Do you think you can do that?"

Not waiting for an answer, I sauntered through to the bedroom and assumed the pose. I wondered what would happen for real if we went too far. Would we be taken before a magistrate and whipped?

Because maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it.