The strains of Mozart, badly-played on my neighbour's piano, drifted through the open window. I recognised the piece, one I used to play myself - a sonata of relative simplicity. When the telephone rang, the harsh notes cutting through the air, it startled me, even though I was expecting the call. It was him, just as I knew it would be. His instructions were specific, precise - with no preparatory smalltalk.
'Put on the outfit you received this morning. Take the bus to the city square. Flash at least two men while you're on the bus. I'll see you there at two.'
My heart thumped as he hung up, my cunt melting with anticipation. I'd unwrapped the box that had come by courier and in trepidation had revealed the shiny black PVC skirt, the black lace plunge-front top, the long black lace gloves, the black lace-topped stockings (I'd spotted the theme here) and the shiny high-heeled shoes with straps that wrapped and buckled around my ankles. No bra, I'd noticed. The lace top was sheer and stretchy - in the box, it looked about six inches wide. I trusted that it would stretch to accommodate me and hoped that its tightness would lend much-needed support.
I went through to my bedroom to dress, stripping off my commonplace t-shirt and skirt and dressing myself in these whorish clothes. The gloves lent an air of rakish elegance to what was otherwise standard hooker gear. The skirt was little more than a large and elaborate belt and the zips that ran up the front were open. I knew better than to close them. Looking at myself in the mirror I could see the wide trenches of pale thigh displayed through the slits. The tops of my stockings showed beneath the hem in any case. If I took long steps my cunt was revealed, complete with the piercings he'd insisted I have done soon after we'd met. But in the shoes he'd provided it was all I could do to balance. There wouldn't be any danger of flashing unless I intended to - which of course, obedient to his will, I would.
My breasts were given a little lift by the top, but it opened low down and the lace was distinctly flimsy in appearance, showing my nipples clearly through the gossamer black threads. As I looked at myself they puckered and stiffened, standing out like cherries through the thin material. Unconsciously I stroked my clit, feeling the wetness that oozed between my fingers. I gave myself a shake and reminded myself I didn't have long and pleasuring myself was not on the agenda - at least not until later and then only if he demanded it. I got out my make-up and painted on a sluttish red mouth, heavily outlined my eyes in black and completed my image of total whore by backcombing my hair into a wild mane of tangled curls and spraying it liberally with lacquer. Despite the cool of the early autumn day I left the house wearing only the outfit he'd provided, my nipples growing even harder in the fresh air. I looked straight ahead, hoping no-one who knew me would see me but thinking that they wouldn't recognise me if they did.
I made for the bus-stop, feeling more than a tad incongruous, dressed as I was for the night, and a hot night at that. And did tarts travel by bus? Surely he should have provided me with a golden limousine... Standing at my local bus stop was torture, feeling myself the focus of every disapproving eye and sure that at any moment someone I knew would come along and I would have a hell of a lot of explaining to do. But luck was with me and we didn't have to wait long. I boarded the bus and went to the upper deck, swaying precariously in my heels as the bus lurched down the road. I hovered on the spiral stair, in case anyone below happened to be looking up and getting an eyeful of my cunt.
But sitting upstairs I knew I had to flash two men and at this time of day not many men traveled on buses. In fact generally buses were more the mode of transport of women and children. And of the people on the upper deck, one was unmistakably a nun, even if she was evidently a nun from a 'modern' order, wearing dowdy navy clothes but a headdress all the same. I reflected on the spread of female humanity on that bus as I looked around and decided who was going to get to see my cunt. Downstairs was packed with harassed young mothers juggling shopping, babies and buggies, plus a fair smattering of elderly women of varying degrees of sprightliness. Up here there was the nun, whose thoughts probably rarely turned to matters sexual, and me, a complete and utter whore whose mind rarely turned to anything else. I hadn't always been like this but in recent years, since I had become his slut, he filled my waking mind with his commands and desires and my nights with dreams of deeds done and deeds still to come. He only had one use for me, as a toy to be fucked, used and abused. And that was fine by me. I'd had plenty of years when I'd lived as chastely as the nun... I gave a little shudder. God, whatever else happened, I didn't want those years back again.
But now to concentrate on the task in hand. There were several men up here, mostly elderly, and one or two adolescent boys skiving off school. They were looking at me and sniggering and I sat towards the aisle, my long, stocking-clad legs spread out, the zips up to my waist, my thighs on display. As they looked I deliberately hitched my skirt up still further and opened my legs so that they could see my wet, open cunt, the rings gleaming in the shadows. They snorted with suppressed excitement and embarrassment, not knowing where to look. Boys didn't count, however. It was the men I had to flash. We were almost at the city square, so I rose to my feet, tall on my high heels and turned to face the two elderly men behind me. Smiling at them as they gazed at me in what looked like appalled fascination, I reached inside my skirt as if to scratch myself or to adjust my non-existent underwear. Casually I lifted the front flap of skirt up, showing myself off to them, using my fingers to spread the folds of my labia. Then just as casually I let the skirt fall, climbed down the stairs and left the bus before they had even recovered from the sight. I felt on a huge high as I made my way to the war memorial at the centre of the square, where he would have me meet him, and sat on a bench awaiting his arrival.
He could not have chosen a more public place for my humiliating display. Whatever I was inside, dressing like this had never been something I'd have wanted or dared to do before I met him. Now it pleased him to demonstrate my sluttishness to all and sundry, to have me perform his will in public as well as in private. I knew I would have to sit there for a while before he came for me. Probably he was somewhere near already, watching me and enjoying my discomfiture. There was a streak of the voyeur in him that delighted in watching me being used by designated others, that enjoyed my shame when I was exhibited in public. Women walking past gave me disapproving glares.
Occasionally I thought I detected a glimmer of knowing amusement on a face instead of scorn and wondered if on another day, she too might be found sitting in a public place dressed like a whore. Who knows... just because the vast majority of people keep their private fantasy lives determinedly under wraps, doesn't mean they don't have fantasies as rich and strange as those of us who flaunt them in public. Men tended to slow down as they walked near me, making sure they took in every detail, the stockings, the thighs, the all-but-naked tits... I survived by not focusing on anyone in particular, not even looking for him. He'd be along in his own good time, when it suited him. I accepted that I was to be subject to public scrutiny for an unusually long time today. I was beginning to feel chilly despite the heat of my shame which burned in my face. But I kept my shoulders back and my tits thrust out. He wanted a display and I would not fail him.
At last he arrived, materialising beside me on the bench and whispering softly in my ear.
'Hello....' I replied, turning my head to face him. 'How do I look?'
He smiled. 'Like a cheap hooker... in other words, perfect. Come on, my dear, it's time for you to ply your trade...'
I rose, he offered me his arm, and led me away from the main roads that radiated from the square and into the warren of narrow lanes that ran in between. We walked for quite a while, my calf muscles screaming as they struggled to cope with the five-inch heels he'd provided for me. After so many twists and turns that I'd lost my way and found myself in a district I didn't recognise, he stopped at a shabby green door set into a blank brick wall. Taking a bunch of keys from his pocket, he unlocked the door with a curious old key that hung from the loop on a length of rusty black iron chain. Standing back, he gave me a little push.
'After you...' he said.
I peered into the shadowy interior. Just inside the doorway a flight of stone steps descended into profound gloom. Reaching around me he felt for and flicked a switch. A weak wattage bulb illuminated the interior. At the bottom of the stairs a corridor led away. Gingerly I began to descend the steps. I heard him enter and relock the door behind us from within. Feeling for the damp brick wall I continued my descent. At the bottom of the stairs, the corridor ran to both my right and left, arched and lined with brick. The atmosphere was close, musty and dank. The air had that unmistakable chill of the cellar.
'Which way?' I asked.
'To your left, slut' he responded, his voice sounding curiously muffled down here in the depths. I walked on, my footsteps tapping on the stone-flagged floor, his own sounding hollow behind me. Eventually I came to a door that was made of heavy oak planks, bound with iron hinges and with a small grille about six inches square set in at eye level. I turned to him and raised an eyebrow, my mouth curving in a smile. Somehow this seemed all too predictable, like a stage-designer's idea of a dungeon.
'Here?' I asked.
Blandly he smiled back at me. 'Here' he agreed, approaching the door and unlocking it with a black key very similar to that which had opened the outer door. I entered the dungeon, for that was evidently what it was intended to be. It was a room about eight feet square, with the same arched roof as the corridor and walls of brick that sweated damp, their surfaces covered with flaky white deposits and towards the floor, green slime. On two walls there were flaming torches for illumination, and these had been thoughtfully lit in advance. On the floor stood heavy altar candlesticks in which great fat red candles burned, giving off that delicious scent of melting wax. The other walls were fitted with various iron bands and chains and other intriguing methods of restraint, not to mention a large number of implements of correction. I walked in and examined them, curious as to how each worked. Some were obvious in their intentions, others.... well no doubt he would know. In the ceiling a narrow ventilation shaft went up to the street but no natural light was discernable through it. The bright autumn day was immaterial down here where it was never day and never night but always something in between.
This time he'd surprised me. We'd never been anywhere like this before and I wondered what was coming next. 'What have you got in store for me?' I asked, my voice sounding thin and uncertain - surely only the effect of the atmosphere... Despite the chill in the air, I felt excited. I hoped whatever it was wouldn't be too painful but he wasn't usually into pain. He preferred showing me off and making me do things where other people could see. I wouldn't have figured a private dungeon would be really his cup of tea.
He seemed to sense and relish my uncertainty. He pulled me towards him, pinching my nipples and then one hand slipping under my skirt to toy with my labia.
'I brought you here for a reason, my pet' he told me, his fingers circling my clit and thrusting suddenly deep into my cunt. I gasped, squeezing him as tight as I could.
'What reason?' I asked.
'A bit of business actually' he told me, unapologetically. 'There's a deal I'd dearly like to close and I'm told my opposite number - a Dutchman by the way - is fond of.... well let's say the services that you and I are particularly well-placed to offer him - you in one way and I in another.' I wasn't sure I liked the sound of this.
'What way?' I asked.
His fingers continued to play with me as my cunt spilled its juices down my thighs.
'You have a body that he will enjoy using and that body is mine to dispose of...' he told me. It was true. He'd made me his and time and again I'd told him he could do what he liked with me. Being part of a business deal hadn't happened before now but there was a first time for everything. 'His fantasy...' he went on, whispering in my ear, 'is to come across some whore being held in a dungeon for her sins and to be allowed to give her some of what she so richly deserves...'
I shivered. How much of what she deserves, I wondered, and who decides what's reasonable?
'Relax, little one, you'll probably have a lot of fun...' he told me. 'And one thing's for sure,' he continued, his fingers fucking me more vigorously now, so that I moaned and clung to him, one leg wrapped around his waist to afford him maximum access, 'I shall certainly enjoy watching you...'
His mouth closed over mine, his tongue invading my mouth. I relaxed. If he was going to watch he'd look out for me, I'd be safe. The kiss went on for quite a while, but when he released me he said hoarsely, 'Don't worry about the clothes, I've something much nicer for you to wear later, and I'll take you somewhere REALLY special as a reward, my darling.'
I smiled. I couldn't help it, the idea of being used as a sweetener in a business deal did appeal to the inveterate whore in me.
'I'll be fine' I said. 'Where are you going to put me?'
'Good girl' he said. 'That's the attitude I like. And I love the way you're already looking forward to being used by this stranger... you slut.'
I purred, his words turning me on. I loved it when he told me what a slut I was. He lifted one of my wrists and secured it to a leather cuff hanging on a thick iron chain from the ceiling. My other wrist was similarly fastened, so that both arms were raised above my head and I was left dangling in the middle of the room. I wasn't pulled off my feet, but given the height of my heels I knew this position, which was not comfortable now, would quickly become unbearable. He bent and fiddled with a loop of metal at my feet and as he stood I realised he'd threaded a narrow length of chain through the loop. Reaching under my skirt he clipped each end of the chain to one of the rings through my labia. There was a definite pull as soon as the second clip was attached and my movement was now totally restricted as any action on my part would put a very unpleasant strain on my piercings. I was tethered vertically into position. He stepped back, satisfied.
'You'll be watching, won't you...' I asked, my voice threadbare, nerves now mastering my earlier excitement. He stroked my nipples, which were taut with fear.
'I don't intend to miss a moment of this, my whore. You'll be performing for me, in whatever it is you do for him. Give him satisfaction and you will satisfy ME.' His fingers moved once more to my cunt and stroked the stretched labia, slipping inside again briefly. He removed his fingers and wiped them on my face, smearing my lipstick.
'The finishing touch' he said. 'Delightfully slutty. I'll go now, my dear. But I'll be seeing you...'
And he left me, turning the key in the lock, unnecessarily, from the other side. As I heard his footsteps retreating away down the corridor, I felt a huge surge of fear, terrified suddenly that something would go wrong and I'd be left here and forgotten about. I tried to calm myself down. This was a commercial venture surely; someone somewhere knew where I was, not just my Master. And then there was the Dutchman, the man who loved punishment. He too must know where I was. Chained in the dungeon, chilly, alone, nervous, I awaited my visitor. My arms were aching already but the only way to relieve the pressure on them was to stand on tiptoe. If I tried that, however, it put more pressure on my labia. There was nothing to be done but to hang there and to hope that my client would arrive soon. There was nothing like my current physical discomfort to make me look forward to whatever was coming next. It would have to be an improvement on just waiting here, surely... The candles flickered, sending shadows dancing around the walls. I could see grossly-distorted versions of myself greyly moving on the walls. My muscles ached. But all the same, there was something about having to stay here, helplessly, for some man who would use me for his pleasure, and knowing that in reality I was being prostituted to him for the sake of a business deal that made my cunt drip...
If the Dutchman didn't come soon I was going to be faced with another problem, I realised. It was hours now since I'd had a piss and my bladder was dangerously full. I wished I'd mentioned it before allowing myself to be chained up like this. I hoped I'd be able to hold out until the man had been and gone but if he didn't come soon I wasn't going to be answerable for the consequences.
Just when I was beginning to wonder if he'd been given the address of another dungeon entirely I heard footfalls in the corridor outside. Straining to hear, I thought I could make out two men talking in low voices. And then, at last, the sound of the key turning in the lock. I saw his silhouette against the doorframe as he opened the cell door. He stood there, a massive figure of a man who had to stoop to enter. I couldn't make out his features or the expression on his face. I felt both a sudden leap of fear - this was it - and also a rush of excitement - this was IT! He ducked his head and crossed the floor to me in two swift strides. He was on me before I realised it, grabbing a handful of my hair and jerking my head painfully back.
'So, slut, someone has locked you up for your crimes?' he asked me. I thought it best to play along with him, feeding his fantasy.
'Yes... yes Sir' I answered. His hand slapped me hard on the face and I gasped as my head snapped round.
'Don't dare to look at me, you worthless piece of trash' he spat at me, his fingers pinching viciously at my nipples. I kept my face averted.
'No Sir, sorry Sir' I muttered in a subdued voice.
'I've been told the sort of behaviour you've been locked up for, you filthy whore' he went on. 'You're not safe to be allowed out on the streets with decent people. You're a depraved and corrupting influence, I'm told you'll fuck anything with a cock attached and that you're here to learn the error of your ways...'
'Yes Sir' I said. 'I hope you'll teach me to be a better person, Sir' I went on. I could really get into this. I couldn't help it, after the initial pain had subsided I was getting excited all over again. He pinched my nipples harder, pulling and twisting them so I cried out again.
'Maybe there's some hope for you, slut, if you really want to repent. The only way I've found that works is to beat the evil out of a woman like you. Enough pain and torment and you'll finally see that a life of sin simply isn't worth it any more'.
I wasn't sure I liked the sound of this but wasn't in any position to argue.
'Help me, Sir' I said, hoping I wasn't over-egging the souffle. 'Help me see the light.... make me a better woman, Sir'.
During this touching little speech he'd seized a crop from the array of instruments on the wall behind me. Now he was in front of me again and swiftly he pulled my lace top up, so that it was a mere dark band above my breasts, right under my armpits. The next thing I knew was a blinding flash that detonated behind my eyes and a white-hot bolt of pain through my naked tits as the first blow fell. Over and over he hit me and I screamed and screamed, unable to prevent the blows from falling, and unable to stop myself jerking and thrashing in my bonds despite the pain that also seared through my labia. I lost count of the blows he inflicted on my breasts and went into a trance of pain from which I only emerged when I realised, sometime later, that the blows had ceased. My tormentor was undoing the cuffs from my wrists and as the pull on them ceased I slumped to the floor. But he hadn't finished with me by any means. Having unchained my labia, taking the opportunity to slide his fingers roughly inside me and snorting with apparent disgust when his fingers emerged covered in my juices, he pulled me up onto a leather-upholstered bench where he bound me so that he could now strap my arse. This he proceeded to do with relish and although at first it wasn't as painful as the whipping of my tits had been, soon the regularity with which he directed the tawse at the same tender areas of flesh began to break me down until I was screaming and crying almost as hard as I had been before.