Thank you chg and grendel. You both know how much comments are appreciated. This chapter is more languid and detailed, but I enjoy the slow build it allows. Hope you enjoy.
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Chapter 15 – My Audition
I lay like I always did between their training sessions, on my side curled into a ball, staring sightlessly at the wall. Only images from the past few days flashing in front of my eyes, like I was losing my mind. I found it hard to recall anything from before the cycles of exhaustion, pain and abuse, mixed in with forced arousal and induced cooperation.
I’d realised that I was not as brave as I thought I was. Courage was a great idea in abstract, without having to face real fear or intense pain at the hands of men who didn’t play by the rules, or at least society’s rules. They had their own strict rules that revolved around me doing what I was told, unhesitatingly and enthusiastically.
I am a coward. There, I’ve said it. There is a certain quiet relief in admitting that, because it frees one from the guilt of not resisting, of complying with whatever is demanded. Anything to avoid being hurt, or at least any more than they planned for their own entertainment. Because obedience doesn’t imply no pain, just no unnecessary extra punishment.
I felt very alone. I wished my parents were alive, then maybe I wouldn’t have come here, to this city, to this job. And I wouldn’t be here. It was my fault, my ambition, a desire to be someone and do important things. But they were turning me into something else, someone I didn’t want to be. Despite how certain they were that this was what I was meant to be. And to my dismay, their confidence had started rubbing off on me… at times I started wondering whether they were right, and this is all I could amount to…
The door opened, casting bright passage light into my dimly lit room. The stark bed in the one corner and a dresser in the other. An open bathroom made up the remainder of the small white painted cube. The Club Manager stood in the doorway.
I’d got to know him well over the previous few days, intimately in fact. Because he and ‘Coach’, were the ones that supervised all of my ‘tutoring’. He was average height, slightly overweight with a round face, beads of sweat perpetually on his upper lip and forehead but taking over his entire face when he exerted effort to fuck me. He had cold emotionless eyes and an impassive severity, speaking with a melodic ambiguous Southern European accent, that belied his cruel domineering streak. Even though has wasn’t tall, it felt like he towered over me and looked at me like I was an irksome bit of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
I leapt to my feet, as I had been trained, feet shoulder width apart, hands cupped in the small of my back, chest out and eyes downcast. At attention, waiting for instructions. Still not believing that I did this automatically now, embarrassed at my nakedness, but having learned that any attempt to conceal myself from his gaze brought… it was not worth the pain, given that we all knew I would obey eventually.
“Whore111, we believe you are ready for your audition.” He smirked at me as he walked over, casually reaching out and cupping my breast, before twisting a nipple hard. I gritted my teeth, not wanting to cry out, my silly little attempt at dignity in the face of overwhelming odds. “This is your script and here is your outfit.” He handed me a folded piece of paper tucked into the box he was carrying, like one might get from a high-end boutique. “Be dressed and ready in half an hour. I expect you to be perfect.”
I responded “Yes, Sir” to his retreating back, having been taught here that all men are referred to as Sir and I should verbally respond to each instruction with alacrity…
But I collapsed into a heap on the bed once the door closed, consoling myself that it could have been worse. My heart sank as I read the instructions on the paper and opened the box. At the top of the page was a picture of me from my registration photoshoot, spreading my vagina and smiling for the camera. But what was more chilling was the circle and crosshairs of a rifle sight over my body centred on my exposed chest, the threat dramatically obvious if somewhat crude. Below that was the script for a scene they wanted me to play. I sat there, depression flooding over me, wondering how and why my life had come to this.
Not much later, I was staring back at myself, sitting in front of the mirror as countless women have done for generations. I felt an almost subdued detachment, the face gazing back at me, almost unrecognisable to the normal me. A painted image, like they had instructed. Too bright red lipstick, too dark eyeliner, too much mascara, too heavy base, all contributing to the face of… A courtesan? An entertainer? No, a cheap whore… just what they wanted. Completed by rouge on my nipples and a hint of Dior Pure Poison on my neck, according to their lavish requirements.
I felt a helpless ache in my heart as I clipped the last suspender of the garter belt to the sheer nude stockings with the fine back seam. A visual cue for whoever may see me clipping along in the five-inch navy blue stiletto heels they had given me to wear. Smoothing them up my calves and thighs as I realised there were slight wrinkles around my ankles. Pulling them up and tightening the suspender straps to make sure they were flawlessly aligned, for whoever got to see them… other than me. The instructions required perfection…
As I finished with positioning the patterned dark purple lace garter and stocking ensemble, I pulled the miniscule matching thong panties up my legs, to take their awful position bisecting my buttocks. Hating while relishing the tingle it gave me as it snugly cupped my sex, the triangle of diaphanous material hiding nothing and in fact emphasising my womanhood to anyone looking. I’d never before worn a costume such as this, designed purely for the pleasure of some man for whom I was expected to perform. Loathing the idea, but knowing I’d do whatever they demanded, because I couldn’t face the alternative.
I followed the written instructions as best I could, the dress code clear. Slipping the navy skirt up over my hips, shorter than anything I’d worn before. Almost a micro miniskirt that tantalisingly revealed the lace tops of my stockings and hinted at the skin above. I was sure that if I bent over, everyone would see my garter belts and the thong of my panties riding up and cupping my crotch. The bra was delicate purple lace and so low cut that half of each nipple was exposed, while it pushed my boobs together to create an impressive cleavage. Shucking on the ivory blouse which was so tight it could hardly close and clearly showed the lingerie it was supposed to cover. With every additional item I put on, I felt a bit more of my self-worth stripped away.
The door burst open, with the manager yelling “Not ready yet?”
“Sorry… Sir…”
I hastily finished buttoning the top, quivering because I had disobeyed him… I was not dressed in time, even as I realised that he had intentionally arrived five minutes early… My last glance in the mirror confirmed my suspicions, I was dressed as a fetish version of a sexy secretary, meant to seduce her boss… Or in reality what they intended me to be, a coffee girl, available to any executive or client they demanded. Now going to a fate that was still unclear, even though the scrip detailed it’s start and tone. Nausea in the pit of my stomach, along with the churning anxiety.
I followed him meekly on his command, clip-clopping unsteadily on my heels, down deserted passages and up bare stairwells, through doors that opened automatically as we approached, out of the basement where I’d been kept for the past few days. I hurt everywhere, the result of the ordeals I’d been put through, the lessons I’d been taught, and the punishments I’d suffered. But the physical acts where only half of it, the psychological conditioning was so much worse, the truths I’d been made to acknowledge about myself, my weakness, tormented me more than my aching body. I wanted to wake up, to be back in my past life, where this would be a bad dream that I could dismiss and laugh about. But unfortunately, it was very real…
We eventually reached my assigned room and the door opened quietly without anyone touching it. For a moment, I wondered how. Was someone watching our every move? A firm shove on my shoulder told me it was time to enter, to meet my future. I knew that once I walked through that doorway, my fate was sealed. I would become what they intended, a pathetic willing participant in my own degradation, serving at their pleasure. I only hesitated for an instant and then went through, as they knew I would…
I told myself that I could act the part but keep myself intact. Hide beneath the surface, until I could escape. I would do what they wanted to survive, to avoid punishment, but they would never own me, despite their mark, my number indelibly printed on my skin. I supressed the doubt that they had planted about this being what I deserved, that being a high-class whore was all I could aspire to… and walked into the room to do just that. Pausing once I was inside with the door closing silently behind me, I looked around.
It was a large luxurious room, plush carpet merging into marble announcing a bathroom to my right. An oversized bed in the far corner, with a large, overstuffed couch and coffee table in the opposite corner. At first, I thought there was no one else in the room, the lighting soft and subtle, leaving a pool of darkness to my right. Then I realised there was a high-backed armchair and a figure reclining in the shadows.
“Hello, Lucia. I’m sure you prefer that to your new title… even though ‘one-eleven’ has a certain ring to it.” I could hear the smile in the CEO’s voice, even though I couldn’t see it. The man who had brought me here and was responsible for everything that had happened, my rapist and my boss… and now my ‘owner’.
“Please… you don’t have to do this… please let me go and I’ll leave… I won’t say anything… I’ll never come back.” I don’t know why I thought it would make any difference, but seeing him there, a connection to my old life, caused the words to gush out like water from a fire hydrant, full of pressure and intent.
He didn’t get angry at my outburst, didn’t even seem to be surprised, as if it was expected of a woman destined to sexual servitude to try and beg for her freedom.
“I thought you were more intelligent than that, Lucia.” He said patiently. “You have an opportunity to embrace your fate. Uncertainty about your future has been removed. The hand of destiny has washed your past away like a rainstorm takes away scattered debris, leaving you with a clear path forward. You may think you don’t want it, but it will be the rest of your useful life…”
I couldn’t find anything to say as I looked at him shaking my head, thinking he was mad. He’d philosophised about how I should aspire to be one of them and when he had ruthlessly yanked that dream out from under me, he had the audacity to lecture me about accepting my future as his whore…
“You will do what we want. You will be available for whoever we demand, men or women. And you will serve them eagerly, to the best of your ability.” He continued in such a sweet voice, I could hardly reconcile it with the meaning of his words. “Your dislike of pain ensures this, as we have seen. You are young and adaptable, and will accept… and from recent reports you may even learn to enjoy your new… duties.”
I felt the tears well up in my eyes, the callous way he was talking to me, the helplessness at my situation, the knowledge that I would do what he said… and might even be forced to find pleasure…
“Don’t cry, Lucia.” The smile in his voice, an almost mesmerizingly calm tone. “You are exquisite and will be one of our most valued girls. Starting today, we will change you in ways you could never have imagined. You will learn discipline and fortitude, along with many important skills. You may wonder what you did to deserve all this… You caught my eye. Your beauty and ambition, a combination I love to redirect for more entertaining purposes. All my office girls started exactly where you are right now. There is nothing I enjoy more than taking girls like you and showing you your true purpose, your real destiny, your actual value…”
“So from the start… you… you…” I couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been, manipulated and controlled with this end in mind. It was all a game of cat-and-mouse and I was the innocent prey. How he must have laughed at every step of the way, using my own drive and determination against me. Realising that this really was my own fault felt like being punched in the stomach.
“Yes, Lucia. This is your genuine value, embrace it. Don’t fight…” His voice then took a hard cold edge. “But also know that you are expendable. There are hundreds more like you and if you become a problem to us, you are disposable… I’m sure we could find a role for your friend Angelique in this club. If you weren’t up to fulfilling your duties…”
In some ways, I had accepted their threat to my safety after all I’d endured. But the threat to my friend was a step too far, it had two important consequences. Firstly, I would do whatever I must to survive and not jeopardise my friend. But more importantly, his words lit a flame in my heart. I realised that I hated this man more that I had started loathing myself.
I vowed that I would get away and somehow get revenge on this monster who had corrupted everything I believed in. Not then, but sometime, when the chance arose. In the meantime, I would have to play their awful games, do what they wanted, pretend to be broken and obedient. But keep that small flickering flame alive, hoping that I didn’t lose it or myself in the process.
“Is there anything that is not clear?” The voice from the shadows.
I shook my head mutely, overwhelmed by his arrogance and his ruthlessness.
“Answer when you’re asked a question.” He growled. “Do you understand your role and your future?”
I hesitated for a moment then mumbled dejectedly “Yes, Sir.”
“Good. You got a note?” His voice suddenly sounding much softer, almost kind, if not for the exchange that had preceded his question.
“Yes, Sir.” I replied, realising I was still standing, with my hands behind my back, chest out and one foot in front of the other, posing for him in this slutty secretary uniform, like the instructions had required. And had been for the entire time I was in the room.
“So?”
This was it. What I had been brought here for, the start of this new life. The choreography was simple, if demeaning.
“Would you like for me to dance for you, Sir.” I’m sure they knew that making me voice my actions, to seemingly willingly request to perform, made the entire ordeal even worse, even more humiliating.
“That would be nice.” He leant forward in the chair, expectantly. I could see his face as he came into the light, lecherous and amused.
I started waying slowly, writhing on my too high heels, knowing my legs were taught and my bottom thrust out. Swaying my hips to emphasise my posture, feeling my breasts wobbling from my movements in the up-thrusting bra under my blouse. I saw him lick his lips in anticipation, his eyes glued to my chest.
A flush of shame as I performed for this man. And more debilitating, as I realised that my body had started to respond to his blatant desire. Why would I be getting moist from this humiliation? My treacherous sex, getting off on being a slut or just preparing in self-defence for what I knew was going to happen next.
The instructions had been explicit, so I sashayed over to the couch and bent over, legs straight and parted, glancing enticingly at him over my shoulder as my hands sunk into the soft upholstery. I could feel the skirt ride up on my backside, knowing the purple tabs of the garter belt suspenders must be showing against the pale skin of my upper thigh.
Another flush of embarrassment and a gush of my essence, as I wondered whether he could see my buttocks and the flimsy material hardly covering my crotch, hoping that he couldn’t see a darker spot that would betray my state, even as I felt the cold air on my skin and between my legs. His look told me he was captivated by my performance, lust and longing on his face as he swallowed hard. But he didn’t move, enjoying my submission and my disgrace.
I hesitated because the next pose was even more lewd, but I couldn’t wait for too long, the instructions had been clear… I swivelled and sat, knees pinned demurely together as I looked back at him, forcing a seductive smile only my lips, crossing them elegantly and pausing in that discrete pose with my hands smoothing the stocking on my thighs. Murmuring as per the script “Do you like what you see, Sir”.
I could delay no longer and placing my hands on my knees, I spread them wide apart, forcing the skirt to ride up to my hips and expose my transparent lingerie to his gaze. My worst fears were realised as I glanced down and saw the tell tail wet spot on the thin strip of material between my legs. I couldn’t look him in the eyes after that so stared at a point on the carpet midway between us.
“Very nice. Now look at me and open your blouse.” His unequivocal instruction indicating that he was not going to let me retain a shred of dignity.
I took a deep breath, glanced up at him, trying not to show the horror and hate I felt, and slowly moved my hands up to undo the top button, and then the second and the third. On unbuttoning the last one, my hands almost moved as if by themselves to part the fabric and reveal bra-encased mounds.
I had always felt like I was the one in control of my sexuality and my body, that was until I joined this depraved company. The feeling of control I had over the men who desired me was incredibly seductive and arousing. Now the tables were entirely turned as I sat there numbly showing off my purple bra and panties to the man who had taken ownership of my body, who controlled me. I didn’t move, posing with my blouse hanging uselessly from my shoulders, my skirt bunched up around my hips, waiting for his next order.
“Show me everything. Take it off.” Curt, entitled, blunt…
My trembling fingers pulled the fragments apart, a wave of panic coursing through my body. I wanted to run, to get away, to escape this horrible ordeal… I hated having to expose myself to a man like this, but there was no other option. I slipped the soft fabric off my shoulders, in any other place it would have felt sensual, delicious. But not there.
“Come here.”
I’m not sure how I had any revulsion left, but I did. That instruction, knowing that this was about to get physical, made my stomach turn. But regardless, I slowly stood, about to push the too short, too tight skirt down, but the shake of his head stopped me. I minced over to him, one foot in front of the other, like a lingerie model in a perverted fashion show, the heels enforcing my sultry gait.
“You like wearing sexy underwear?” His voice had a taunting edge. I pursed my lips and nodded, not looking at him, the intimate question feeling like a personal invasion, even though I was literally standing naked in front of him. “Turn around. Let me see you.”
I did, closing my eyes to shut out the shame. But even then, I felt his eyes seeming to touch me, over my back and lingering on my exposed backside, framed as they were by the garter straps and bisected by the thong.
“Spread your legs a bit and drop your panties to your knees.” His lust-laden voice, directing me… his sexualised mannequin.
I felt so exposed and helpless but slipped my hands up under the ruffled skirt and did as I was told. I had to bend over slightly to reach my knees, knowing that my labia must be pouting at him between my thighs. I could hear his breathing get heavier, telling me that he was appreciating the view.
“Stand still. Just like that.”
I stood there, frozen awkwardly, feet shoulder width apart, with my hands holding the skimpy panties at my knees, staring at the couch from where I had come. I therefore didn’t see the slap coming, just felt it land on my backside, the shock made me jump more than the pain, his hand remained caressing my flesh as if to sooth it. But I knew he didn’t have my interests at heart, only his own desires.
“Turn around.”
As I gracelessly unshuffled around, he let his hand trail across my hip and onto my flat stomach, just under the skirt and the garter belt I still wore. I flinched but did not move, as he slipped it between my thighs and let his finger trace the plump lips of my sex, finding the humiliating hint of moisture. I blushed crimson and looked away when he smiled smugly.
“Yes, this is what you were meant to be. A needy little whore. Your body knows it. You’ll also accept it soon.”
A little chuckle escaped his lips as he grazed his finger over my clit. I shook my head in denial, even as s jolt of pleasure shot through me. He cupped my shaved pubis, his touch surprisingly gentle and explorative as he closely watched what he was doing to my pussy. A final stroke of the inside of my thigh, before his hand and gaze both rose up to my chest. He stuck his fingers under the cup and yanked my left breast out, causing the bra to distort the tender flesh upwards. His groping hand didn’t leave my precious mound, while his fingers found my erect nipple and worried at it, again causing unwanted sensations to tingle through my chest and the nub to harden even more.
“Pull down my trousers. It’s time.” He suddenly barked at me.
It felt like my knees were shaking, an involuntary response to the overwhelming emotion of what he wanted me to do and ultimately become. But I had sworn to myself that I would get through this, so acting almost mechanically, I leant over and unbuckled and unzipped his pants and pulled them halfway down his legs, as he shifted his hips to help. His cock bounced up at me. Already hard and expectant from the show I’d been made to endure.
“Keep your legs straight.” Snarled as he grabbed be by the back of the head and pulled my face down into his crotch, the head of his cock bumping my cheek. “Open.”
It smelt stale and acrid, the last thing I wanted in my mouth, but refusing was not an option. Dazed, I opened wide, wrapping my teeth in my lips and tongue to protect him, and ultimately myself from punishment. Because that’s what Coach had bashed into me as various men had thrust themselves into my face over the previous few days.
I heard his sharp intake of breath as my lips sealed around his shaft and my tongue dragged along the veined meat. It tasted and felt as awful as it smelled, but I persevered, knowing the only way to finish this was to make him cum. And hopefully avoid him raping me, again. So, I used all the skills I had learned in my life, which they said had been improved and perfected at their instruction.
At first my mouth was dry, as I tried to summon some saliva to lubricate the insistent pole driving towards my throat. It chafed the roof of my mouth, until it plugged my gullet, causing me to gag and produce some slime, which just eased his passage down my throat. My eyes watered with the invasion, as my throat became increasingly slippery. His hand continued to fondle my bosom as he bounced my head on his pulsating organ, guiding my speed and depth with his other hand wrapped in a clump of my hair.
“Oooooohh, yes. Good girl. I’ve been looking forward to using your mouth.” He grunted as he roughly used me. “You’re very talented. You will make an excellent whore.”
He released my hair, letting me thrust myself onto him and into my throat, swallowing all seven inches every time. But then I felt him pulling my skirt up even higher, I assumed to expose my upturned backside and the lacy garter belt for his visual enjoyment. I imagined what I looked like bobbing in his lap, legs straight and spread, like a giraffe at a water hole, but in this case not to quench my thirst, except with his thick salty cum.
He slapped my bottom a couple of times, my suppressed cries muffled by his organ, which only seemed to make him swell and harden as he groaned in pleasure at my suffering. After what seemed like ages, my back and throat aching with the exertion, he grabbed my head and held me down in his lap. His cock blocked my airway, not letting me breathe, but they had told me in no uncertain terms, that a whore’s oxygen is not more important than a man’s enjoyment. My spasming gullet and my writhing tongue seemed to do what he needed, because I soon felt jets of hot spunk spraying my insides. I gulped frantically to try and prevent it from overflowing, managing to get most of it into my gut.
“Hmmmm. That was fun.” He growled as I pulled off and looked at him through sad watering eyes. “Let’s go over to the bed so I can continue to get to know my newest whore.”
