From alt.sex.stories.tg Mon Apr 29 19:40:51 1996
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From: Eve <eve@aol.com>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.tg
Subject: 1425.txt
Date: Sun, 28 Apr 1996 20:11:04 -0700
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~Subject: Story - 1425.txt 

"You SLUT!" you screamed, "How could you do this to me after all we've meant to
each other?"
SMACK!
I fall back as another blow across the cheek sends me towards the far corner of
the room.
It was an ugly scene.  You walking in to the secluded restaurant, finding me
sitting at a table not alone as you anticipated, but with him. It was nothing
really, he had just approached and asked about the possibility of a date, but
his aggressive nature and my desire not to have him stop fondling my legs made
the scene more convincing to you.  You have always been the jealous type and
this was just your way of venting your rage.
I knew what was coming next. Revenge. Always your style; sometimes, though not
often, my pleasure.
"Get up," you ordered. "Get up and get showered. And when you get out of the
shower, I want you to put on the sluttiest outfit in your wardrobe.  If you
want to act like a whore, let's see if you can make your living as one."
The threat was crystal clear.
As I slumped in the shower, I began to convince myself that it was not a real
threat, but another of your humiliating games.  Or at least I hoped it was.  I
decided to play along, after all, "The Whore" was one of our favorite fantasy
games.
I turned off the gushing water and emerged from the shower. I quickly dressed
in my sexiest red and black corset and bright red fishnet stockings. I put on a
pair of sexy bikini panties - bright red with black lace trim.  Into the
bathroom, and I began to paint my face with deep red tones. To this I added
evil looking black eyeshade that extended way beyond the outer ends of my
lashes in a hauting exaggeration.  Black eyeliner was used to frame the
farcical facade.  I decided to get even more stereotypically whorish and used
black for my eyebrows rather than my usual blond.  I then turned my lips into
the brightest red beacons. So bright they would blind a casual passerby. So
bright they would light up the world of a blind beggar. So bright, Santa would
make a special trip to see me on the next foggy Christmas.  Another fantasy.
Nails. I had broken one in the physical argument that followed our encounter in
the restaurant. "Oh well, they weren't that long." I thought.  Out came the
nail kit. From scratch I applied 3" bases and followed up with two coats of
bright red polish to match my lips.
Out my closet I took out my most daring skirt. The infamous black leather mini
with the metallic zippers on the sides. "How far up should I let the zipper go?
" I mused. I decided to only extend the zippers to the bottom of my hips, only
1 inch past the bottom of my crotch.  "It will be easier for her to take me
when the game is over." I assured myself.
As I finished with a bright red deep v-neck silk blouse, lots of gold chains
and bracelets, and two pairs of big gold hoop earrings, I proceeded to slip
into my 4" high black heels. I added the chain you had given me for my birthday
(inscribed "Heaven's above") to my ankle.  I looked into the mirror. "Wow, "I
thought. But I still had one last touch. Out of the closet I retrieved my
long blond wig.  As I donned it, I though to myself, "Lady Godiva has nothing
on this one." As I moved to the full length mirror, I could see that I had now
become the most desireable slut on the west side of LA. I felt confident that
you would get so hot that we wouldn't even make it to the living room.
I laid down on the bed and awaited your return.
After a considerable wait, I became curious about why you hadn't returned. I
walked out into the kitchen only to find you on the phone. You quickly said
goodbye to who ever it was on the other end of the connection,  stood up and
walked around me, checking out my appearance in every detail.  You had also
changed, and were now wearing your black leather jumpsuit, chained belts and
spiked heels.
 SMACK!  Your hand impacted my buns through the leather skirt and sent a
painful thrill through my groin.  "It will have to do," you sarcastically
announced. "Okay, out into the car."
"Where are we going?" I inquired. SMACK!  Again on the buns. I guess you didn't
want to ruin my outrageous makeup.
"Don't speak for the rest of the day or night.  We will go where I want, do
what I want, and I don't want to hear another peep out of you. No protests, no
complaints. Whatever I say goes, and you will have no questions. If you do,
I'll have your voicebox surgically removed and your lips sewn shut. DO I MAKE
MYSELF CLEAR?"
"Yes madam."  SMACK!  My behind was starting to glow and I wished we would just
go back to the bedroom and have our ways with each other.
"I said not another word."
I started to move towards the garage to get into the car as you had ordered.
"No, I don't think I want you do go out this way," you said. "You go out the
front door and wait on the sidewalk.  I'll lock the door behind you and pull
the car out of the garage."
Since the garage opened up on the alley behind the house, I knew that I would
have a wait for you to come around.  We had never used the front door before.
"Out you go," you commanded and pushed me out the door.  On heels, I staggered
down the front steps nearly twisting an ankle. "Click."  I started down the
sidewalk and walked to the curb.  About five minutes past before I heard the
garage open on the other side of the house and the car emerge.  Just as I
noticed the car rounding the corner, I noticed a neighbor of ours walking his
dog down the sidewalk. You must have also, because you slowed up the car and
waited for him to pass me before proceeding. I turned even redder than my
blouse from the stair of the neighbor. I wonder if he knew.
The car came along side and I opened the door.  "I should have you sit on the
hood like a hood ornament," you state as I get in.  Maybe I'll do that later,
it would be good advertising. We could paint your phone number on the side of
the car," you sneer.
After about five minutes of driving, you pull off the road into a parking lot
of a hardware store. "I need to pick up a few things here.  I want you to get
out of the car. You are to wait in the parking lot. If anyone approaches you,
you are to tell them that you locked your keys in the car and are waiting for a
friend with a spare set.  You are not to accept any rides." You kick me out the
passenger side door and lock the car behind me.
After what seemed to be an eternity, two marriage proposals, six propositions
and about a dozen copped feels of my buns, you emerge from the hardware store
carrying a large bundle of purchases. Maybe we would be going home and doing
some remodeling that we had been putting off. No. As we exit the parking lot,
I realize we are heading off in a different direction.
As we proceed through Venice down Lincoln Blvd. in Santa Monica, we turn onto
Pico and proceed until we turn right onto 2nd. Past Santa Monica and Broadway
to Wilshire, we turn right and pull up to Third. I am starting to believe you
just want to have a quite lunch on the Third Street Promenade.
You stop the car at the far curb. "Take your panties off and hand them to me"
you demand.  I comply. We have played this game before and was I hoping car sex
was in our immediate future.  Wrong again.
"I want you to get out here," you begin. "I want you to walk down the Promenade
through Colorado Place, and down to the pier.  You are to walk out to the far
end of the pier and then back to the stairs that lead to the parking lot. I
will be waiting for you in the parking lot next to the bike path.  If I drive
by and see you on any other street than Third, I will drive you back and you
will have to start over again.  If anyone propositions you, you are to tell
them only that they are to follow you. You better have at least four men in tow
when you arrive in the parking lot or you better extend your little stroll.  Do
you understand me?"
"Yes madam." SMACK! That hurt, it was on the head.
"Now get out and start walking."
I emerge from the car and begin to walk down the Promenade as I see the car
pull away. I immediately begin to walk quickly, but then remember your command
of having at least four men in tow when I arrive. I begin to troll, swing my
hips and exaggerate my buns.
The first man to approach me was a letcherous type, slightly drooling and
holding his crotch.  "How much" he asks.  I simply tell him he will have to
follow me down to the pier to find out.  "Okay." he responds.
The same scene occurs several times.  Two high school football types, a street
musician, a delivery man and two homeless types that looked as if I was going
to be their next meal. By the time I arrived at the pier, there were 12
following me. Two fishermen joined them by the time I rounded the far end of
the pier and decended the stairs.
As I see you, you are looking quite smug.
"Nice catch you have there," you sneer. "See, I told you that you are a
terrific whore, you little slut.  All you have on your mind is getting fucked.
Here, put this on." You hand me a blindfold.  I begrudgingly comply.
"How much for the bitch?" asks one of men.
"You will have to wait a little longer," you state.  I am hoping that you will
pull me into the car and we will speed away.  No such luck.
"Follow me!" you order. I stagger along side you and notice that the light
peeking in the side of the blindfold is dimmer. WE ARE GOING UNDER THE PIER!
About 50 feet later, I feel the snap of cold metal on my wrists. I begin to
open my mouth in protest, and immediately feel the silk fabric of my panties (I
think) penetrate my lips.  "Click". I feel some type of cuff left ankle.
"Spread your legs.  Wider, wider!" you order. I comply until I am spread about
four feet. The cold damp ocean air under the pier is now penetrating my bare
buns and genetial.  "CLICK!" My legs are now secured.
You jerk my left arm over. "CLICK!"  Next, my right arm. "CLICK!" I am now bent
over with my head about waist high.  Because of the spread on my legs, I cannot
balance and my arms are supporting the whole of my weight.
I have a sinking feeling that my buns are exposed. "SMACK!"  Your hand on my
bare butt confirms the feeling.
"Now gentlemen," you announce. "What is the opening bid to be the first to fuck
this fine, transvestite slut."
As the bidding begins, I have a sinking feeling you might have been serious.
(To be continued...)