Whore Pt. 01

Still, she made sure to tell me what I was missing. "You really can't even wait a moment, can you, whore? I just pull this seat out, and already you're licking at your lips as if they were a cunt. Mistress is right, you know. You're a fucking whore. Like, the whoriest of whores."

While she spoke, Susi loosed the chains holding my wrists - and thus, me - upright. As if on cue, as she gave me this newest title - Whoriest of Whores, a ludicrous but effective thing - I nearly fell forward as my wrists were released, only to catch myself on the maid's shoulders. With my head still bowed and my lips parted in a soft gasp, she kissed me. It was quick, deep, and fleeting - a sudden press of those hot pink lips, an invasion of pink tongue, and gone all in an instant.

Then she had my hair in her hand, and I was on my knees. With her free hand, Susi deftly removed that thin strip of latex that served as a collar around my neck and tossed it carelessly aside. "Oh, right! I forgot to mention, Whore: Mistress has a brand new collar for you." Where she produced it from, I had no idea, but there it was in front of me, held in Susi's dainty hand: W-H-O-R-E. The letters were spelled in shining silver, stylized and bold.

"So, like, beg and stuff. You have to earn being her Whore. It's not something just any slut can be, you know. It takes, like, more than just a wet pussy and stuff." For a long moment, I was speechless. Her Whore. The words rattled around in my mind again and again, with all the life changing implications that the words meant. She had mentioned the possibility before, my Mistress, but had never quite taken the step toward offering that fantasy to me. Before now, our dates had been just that: dates, sessions, all-too-brief moments in time which we spent together. But after each, I had always gone home and back to my other life, the life in which I was Clair the secretary and not Whore; I had gone back to my more normal makeup, my cotton and denim and clothes, and my nights spent sitting on a couch and watching Netflix.

If I accepted this collar and all that came with it, I would not go back to that - ever. I would live here, with my Mistress and with Susi; I would never return to work and would instead be given a new job altogether - and not, actually, one that revolved solely around my Mistress's sexual satisfactions. But that would come later, after a time spent with my Mistress's satisfactions in all things as my only task, my only goal, my entire raison d'etre.

I must have taken too long, staring at the collar and thinking, because the sudden slap of Susi's palm against my cheek not only stung but startled me out of my reverie. I tore my eyes away from the collar and looked up at the maid, swallowing and licking at lips that had gone dry, while she continued to berate me in the fashion only she could manage. " . . . If you're going to go all spacey and wide-eyed, you're totally not worth this, and I'm totally going to go tell her. God, I told her already that you'd be a terrible Whore. But does she listen? Of course not. So, you know, choose already: be her Whore, or go back to being all boring and stuff. Either way, you're totally going to be the worst Whore."

Finally, I found my voice. I lifted my head as well as my eyes, baring my neck, and reached back with one hand to draw my hair aside as well. "I will be her Whore." Even speaking the words aloud was somehow life-altering, and my voice itself noted as much. My words were sultry, reverential, and I knew then that I would worship my Mistress like others worshipped idols; the difference was that the target of my worship was living.