Talent Scout Ch. 09

Clarissa returned to her room after the morning session with her sun lotion application volunteer. He had done his duty, as had she, capping his excellent tasks with a whimsical final blowjob. She checked her boobs in the mirror; the tanlines were fading into a smooth expanse of rich golden tone. She was satisfied with her better look and hoped Mr. Manfredi approved.

The computer's message light was blinking and she discovered she was booked out two weeks in advance for various encounters with other voyeuristic gentlemen who had ogled her at the sunbathing pool deck.

Unbeknownst to her, it was a progression of the bidders from the volunteer assistant auction, highest to lowest. Over the next few weeks of the Recreational department assignment, she was a very busy girl involved in daily and nightly 'gender studies'.

And, over the following months, Clarissa learned to adapt to the patrons' needs, as she rotated through the various departments.

During her first tenure in Food Services, she was assigned to pool refreshment waitressing. Her uniform was the standard heels and green bikini bottoms. She kept her hair pinned up in a head top bundle and, of course, wore her day-tone sunscreen makeup. That protective toning, as well as subtle but seductive makeup, made her a display of female perfection.

As she had settled into her roles on staff, the other girls taught her those makeup tricks that increased her allure. 'As if she needed any more', she thought, considering the almost constant requests for encounters by the male guests. But her staff-mates assured her that there were men of all minds and the safety protocols weeded out the extremes but not the harsh. Her chances of avoiding those were better if she attracted the more gentlemanly ones first.

Renee Rousseau and Pierre Jerome were soaking in the sun's rays and the eyefuls of beautiful pool deck femininity, enjoying a great week at this elite resort, guests through the courtesy of their business consultant, Damien Deville, a VIP member. It seemed no request, sexual or otherwise, could be denied.

Clarissa was stepping gingerly amongst the lounges and side tables delivering the patrons' orders. Her tray held the cocktails ordered by that boisterous trio of middle-aged pudgy men in Speedos. They were bragging 'war stories' of last night's bedroom conquests; although considering the willingness of all female staff to please the clients, those conquests hadn't been much more difficult than ordering drinks at this pool.

On her final approach, something caught Clarissa's toe and she stumbled forward. The tray crashed onto the table, spraying alcoholic juices and ice cubes across the top. A wave of cold liquid fell into the lap of the man sitting on the far side. Her peripheral vision caught sight of an extended foot being withdrawn to a nearby guest's seat.

"Hah, Damien! Gotcha'! That should cool off that overheated cock of yours."

Clarissa expounded apologies and pledged to return soon with a reorder of the drinks after she found a free towel and helped the seated gentleman clean his soiled crotch. While bent over to daub his lap, a hand caressed and then spanked her ass. There was nothing to be done about it, just part of her duties to please. She left to retrieve replacement beverages.

"Wow! That's a fine pair of tits and a nice spankable ass. I wonder if she's available for me tonight."

Maybe..." said Damien thoughtfully.

Clarissa continued her waitressing through the day. As afternoon turned to evening, she returned to her quarters. Her computer was signaling a new message. There was a change in her schedule.

She was to fulfill a request for a romantic dinner date. Her clothes and jewelry were laid out and ready. She should bathe and preen and be ready at 7 for her bellhop escort.

The clothes were modest, not an exotic or erotic get-up. A knee-length pleated cotton skirt, a button-down blouse, and sensible heels. Most times something short and sheer was in order but this dress request was quite unusual; it included lingerie.

The full-cut panties were loose, with lacy frills. The bra was bronze-toned silk with elastic shoulder and back straps. The full cups were sheer, her nipples visible through the cloudy fabric. That, at least, was a subtle tease to romance and sweet arousal for her impending gentleman. She left her hair loose: no bun or ponytail.

Clarissa was date-worthy-ready at 7. The door buzzed and her bellhop entered unbidden. It was his privileged access and she recognized him from one of his allowed once-weekly trysts when he had selected her. He had not been brutal but had been stern and forceful.

He told her she had one more detail before she was completely ready. He found the braided gold choker and cuffs with the inset rings in her dresser drawer. She thought it odd for a romantic meeting but didn't resist as he attached the jewelry with its hidden screw clasps. and then the leash.

All set, he led her to her assignment.

They passed through hallways to an area she had not yet visited. The last hallway became less lit as they walked, almost like entering a cave or cavern. It was almost dark at the last door.

The bellhop made one last examination, fluffing the blouse collars and tugging the skirt hem to straighten the lay across her ass. Satisfied, he gave two knocks, heard a muffled reply from inside, and opened the door. Clarissa put on a cheery smile for her date's first impression. The bellhop unclipped the leash and motioned her to step through.

The smoky odor struck her first. The firelight dancing on the rough wood walls alluded to the source. There was little light other than the fire glow. Three bare-chested men were seated in upholstered chairs and sofas surrounding an open space. The walls were hung with various whips and switches; slack chains hung from ceiling hooks; their ends connected to floor bolts.

Clarissa remembered the last thing that Mr Jackson had said: "This is the beginning of a wondrous journey for you. It may seem difficult at times, but you will be safe here and not be hurt... well, not much anyway, and not unnecessarily."

How much was not much and when was it not unnecessarily?

One man rose and dismissed the bellhop.

"We'll take it from here."

The other men twisted in their seats to scan the woman that had entered their lair. The approaching man was dressed bizarrely. Dressed may have been an over-description but bizarre was spot on. He wore black spandex short-shorts; his furry cock and balls were freely exposed through the large round hole cut out at the crotch. There was a stark difference between her fine fashion and his rough brazen sexuality. Apparently 'Romance' was loosely defined by this fantasy resort.

Clarissa stood stunned but recovered her senses as a resort female staffer was obliged to do. These guests, whatever their fantasies or pretensions, were hers to satisfy. A voice came from the circle.

"Hey, Pierre. Don't be selfish. Share her with the rest of us. This isn't just your date."

Pierre, the poolside fanny whacker, gripped her bicep and force-marched her to the center space in front of the surrounding seats. Beside her, he quipped his introduction.

"So, this is the tart that can't even deliver our drinks without an accident."

She now recognized that man as the one who had covertly tripped her. Another man chimed in.

"You certainly didn't help, Renee. I saw you make it happen."

Renee laughed and turned to the third.

"Well, Damien, as the aggrieved party, you should go first."

The man she recognized as the one who got a lap full of cold fluids rose slowly from his chair. He was tall and fit; his close haircut showed his middle age with the grey at the temples. The space was small and he needn't step forward to reach her.

At the pool, he had on his swimsuit and even though it was a Speedo, it had served to cover his genitals. That was in the past as he also wore the crotch cut-out spandex shorts, just like Pierre. His cock was sizeable and his large balls hung in a hairy loose sack. She remembered his package under the Speedo had seemed large and she could see now he was at least bigger than Pierre.

He tossed her a pair of strappy red stiletto heels.

"Put these on. You have beautiful legs and they will look even better in these.

She squatted, placing one knee on the carpet while switching out her low heel for the tall, fashionable-looking one. She switched knees, performing the task on the other foot. She stood again, testing her balance, spinning one foot on its toe sideways to look down and admire her new shoes.

Then she spied the dressmaker shears in Damien's hand and stepped back. Pierre jumped up and gripped her biceps from behind. Held steady, she looked down as Damien pulled her top button away from her body and snipped the threads sewing it to the blouse. The lapels eased open a little. Then the next button was cut, and then the remaining six. The blouse hung open from collar to waist. Her belly button and the brownish bra cup connector were visible between the blouse fabrics still covering her breasts.

Damien passed the shears to Renee while Pierre continued to hold her in place. He had been her nemesis, triggering the chain of events that led her here and presumably beyond. By appearance, his exposed genitals were the least of the three and she figured his childish antics were a lifelong sublimation to make up for that fact.

Renee took a grip on her skirt waistband, inserted the scissors against her belly, and snipped the first few inches of the skirt. He set the cutters aside, gripped both sides of the slice, and violently ripped the skirt open from waist to hem. It fell away as one piece of cloth and he tossed it outside the circle of chairs.

"I guess it's your turn now, Pierre."

Pierre released his grip on her upper arms.

"I think these jewelry style collar, and cuffs aren't going to be strong enough. Let's switch them out."

There was a general murmur of consensus and Pierre went about the task. He produced a pair of thick, wide leather bands with stainless steel attachment rings. He removed the decorative play restraints and buckled on the rough play accouterments. His voice was matter-of-fact, a calm tone of command that was used to being followed without question.

"Please lift your hair."

She gathered her hair above her head. Pierre twisted the covert screw and removed her gold choker. In its place, he buckled on a wide thick collar, with multiple rings embedded in the leather, evenly spaced around the throat enclosing cylinder. The contraption was tall enough to force her to hold her head erect. He removed her gold hoop earrings and replaced them with gem studs.

"Don't want to chance tearing skin in the heat of the moment."

Clarissa attempted to twist her head to ask how that could happen. When he saw her movement, he spanked a warning on her ass.

"Stand still! We're not done yet, not nearly."

Clarissa now stood in profile to the two others, who had resumed their seats. Except for her damaged draping blouse, the heels, leather bands, and lacy lingerie were probably a killer combination, a typical fetish fantasy: representing both hard and soft, rough and gentle.

That's when Pierre hauled her wrists behind her back and clipped the rings together. She wiggled her arms, wrestling with the cuffs, trying to escape. It wasn't to be. He spanked her again to remind her of her place.

"Stand STILL!"

Renee wanted the next role. Using the dress shears, he sliced the blouse sleeves from collar to cuff. When both sides were free, he wadded the cut-up top and tossed it over the chairs as well.

Now the leather-and-lace fantasy was complete. Renee passed the scissors to his colleague.

"Damien, it's your turn. Let's see the goods."

Damien accepted the offer. He stood before her, waiting for her to lock eyes with him.

"Look at me."

She did and he saw the faintest sign of fear in her eyes. 'That's good' he thought. 'Always better with a little angst involved.'

The sharp scissors approached her face, then moved to her shoulder. She was able to twist her neck only slightly, and with her peripheral vision, watched him cut the bra shoulder strap. The stretched elastic snapped apart; the back segment disappeared over her shoulder. The front piece dangled from the top of the cup and the weight of her pretty breast sagged the lacy boob holder perceptibly. Her chest globes were off balance, one lower than the other.

She took a breath of relief that it was only the bra that suffered its fate and not the hinted damage to her ear. The cut strap's flyback may have tangled in the gold hoop and torn her earlobe.

He smirked at her sigh and switched hands, continuing his eye lock. The cut was slower to arrive this time, teasing her with anticipation. The cut... the snap... the sag... both tits were now aligned.

But the cups still clung to their reason for being. Damien set aside the tool. One more job to do. He could have reached behind and unclipped the back strap. But that gentleness would be out of place in this rude serial denudement.

Damien moved his curled fingers between the cups, momentarily feeling the indent of soft boob on his closing fist. He gripped the connecting part between the cups... and yanked hard and fast. The weak pliable metal hooks and eyes of the back clasps wrenched apart and released the tension. The bra jumped off her boobs, which were pulled downward until they popped up and settled again with a sexy jiggle.

Her breasts were as they all remembered from her topless waitress duties at the pool. The globes were symmetrical, slightly tear-drop, and capped with wide brown nipples. The nubs were visible but not stiff. That would change.

Before tossing away the tit-cradling rig, he examined the size tag.

"36C" he announced.

Damien selfishly remained and took care of the piece de resistance. He gripped the forward waistband of the cute lacy panties and yanked upwards. The side seams tore apart. He dragged the silky undies over her shaven pussy lips, but the scraps dug into her pink crevasse as they traveled forward and upward.

She jumped at the suddenness but more so at the rough abrasion on her tender intimate tissues. It gave her a slight brush burn sensation that died down quickly.

She stood in place and the other men joined Damien in a circle around her. Three pairs of hands touched, probed, jostled, and pinched her body's features as they slowly shuffled around her. They fluffed, squeezed, and kneaded her tits and ass cheeks. They swept palms over her back, shoulders, belly, and thighs. Their fingers probed her cunt, noting its tightness, texture, and moistness. When one spoke, they all stepped back and stopped the manual inspection.

"Let's get her dressed."

Clarissa thought that a bizarre comment. They had spent a long time ceremonially stripping her, destroying her fine clothes and expensive lingerie. Now they wanted to dress her?

These guys were weird but she had learned in her short tenure at the elite resort that high-powered men had their own penchants and it was her job to just play along.

Renee left the circle while the others took their seats. She took a peek at their exposed genitals. As of yet, they showed no sign of arousal. Most men got hard before she was fully undressed, just imagining the imminent sexual connection. But not here and now.

In her nudity, she anticipated a chill. But the fireplace glow maintained a comfortable warmth of the room, for her as well as her mostly naked hosts.

Renee returned, as flaccid as his friends. He carried an armload of red and black fabrics and dumped them on the floor.

He rummaged through them, finding the largest piece. Picking it up, she saw that it was a red satin corset with a mid-length pleated shirt attached below; the pleats were alternately red and black.

Renee asked Pierre for assistance and the two men stood on either side. They spread apart the corset and she saw that both it and the attached skirt opened down the front. Renee passed one edge to Pierre under her cuffed arms. They pulled it together in front and hooked it together. It covered her ribs and belly, the skirt draping from the waist-level corset bottom.

The men cooperated to lace the eyelets and drew the corset tight on her belly. Damien gave his experienced advice from his seat.

"Not too tight, fellas. She needs to breathe, probably gusting and panting at some point."

The two men finished and stepped back to examine their work. The corset topped out just below her bare breasts and ended at her hips. The skirt naturally folded closed in front, veiling her shaved pussy.

Clarissa scanned the room with her limited head movement. The attending cocks now had a semi-tumescence.

Renee retrieved the other piece of black cloth and Clarissa recognized it from many previous playtimes. The wide satin blindfold was a translucent weave, but folding it into multiple layers rendered it increasingly opaque. He folded it three times, creating a sightless cover.

"Last look for a while" he muttered.

He placed the blindfold over her eyes, a last look by the men of her beautiful eyes and her last look of the room. He tied it tight around her head, trapping her hair in the cinch.

Her stomach cramped in angst, evidence of her instinctive fear. But she remembered Mr Jackson's words when she started on this tremendous path of self-discovery:

'You are strong and can do this. Listen carefully to what you're told. Then... Obey! Go now; be a good girl.'

Clarissa settled her mind into being a good girl now and the knot of fear dissolved. She knew from experience that when blindfolded, parted lips that showed the edge of her upper row of white teeth sent men wild. She took the pose now, cooperating in this group foreplay.

Clarissa's ears took over as her primary sensory input. The chair cushions released their loads and footsteps gathered near her. Hands touched her bare skin: shoulders, back, arms, and, of course, her boobs and nipples. The latter were fluffed, finger grazed, pinched, and twisted. She didn't suppress her body jerks and groans at the near hurtful ones.

She felt a hand slip through the skirt opening and rub her labia. A single fingertip grazed up and down inside the skin folds. She twitched her hips at the sensation. The finger found her vaginal channel and tunneled in. It wiggled deep, seeking and then found the target: her G-spot. Her mouth opened wide with a puffed exhale and closed with a moan.

Even beneath the blindfold, her eyes closed tight and her pussy shuddered. She almost climaxed but the finger gave a final rub and retreated. She regretted its premature exit.

The odor of pussy came to her nose. The oily finger met her lips and entered. She tasted pussy, her own, and obediently suckled the finger clean.

"She's ready. Our turns."

Hands held her upper arms, pressing and guiding her downward to kneel on the carpet, her torso erect. The collar held her face level and expecting what was to come, she resumed the teeth-revealing parted lips pose.

Clarissa had attended regular massages as part of her physical fitness and stamina maintenance routine. She had struck up a friendship with the youngest masseuse, a petite platinum-blonde Swede named Elsa. Sharing work tales, Elsa revealed her training in pseudo-reluctant blowjobs.

Clarissa thought this a good time to try out the advanced technique.

A spongy knob bumped her parted lips. Most girls would open wide and gobble the offered cock. She held her place. The knob bumped again and finding no acceptance initiative, pressed harder.

She gave a hint of widening and cooperation. Message received, the cock wedged itself in until the coronal rim passed her lips and they closed on the wrinkled ring of circumcision. Her tongue rolled back and tip tickled his undervee. She heard the intake of breath and the exhaled moan. Elsa had been telling the truth; this was a terrific technique.