I take a deep breath, barely believing what I’m about to do. The car is still running and I consider leaving, but know that I won’t. I came this far. I’m here to stay. I grab the plastic bag in the passenger seat and look at the contents. It’s a thin blue thong bathing suit. Not a man’s thong (which somehow would make this better), but a bathing suit bottom for a girl.
My cock twitches. I feel hot shame in my face. I turn off the car and start walking briskly to Mr. Denver’s house before I can change my mind.
Mr. Denver greets me at the door and ushers me inside. He’s wearing a robe with slippers. The robe is open slightly so I can see his hairy chest. His stomach protrudes through the robe and his jowls move while he smiles.
“Bitch boy, here right on time,” he says.
I shudder. “Do you have to call me that?” I ask.
“Well, I could deduct some of your pay,” he says.
“No, what?” he says.
He smiles again. The smile is sickening. He tells me to go get dressed and meet him at the pool.
I stare at my naked body in bathroom mirror. I’m lathered in oil, the way he wanted. The thong straps are high on my hips. I can feel the thin string pulling against my ass.
“You’re doing this?” I ask the mirror. I know the answer is yes. I tell myself that it’s not gay, that it’s just for money. It’s the same thing Mr. Denver had said when he first proposed our arrangement.
Mr. Denver was a regular at my gym. He never did much, just walked on the treadmill and benched every now and then. He was an older, successful man however, so, as an 18 year old who wasn’t sure what to do with life, I was fascinated.
I was confused about life, about what to after high school, about why adulthood seemed so crushingly difficult. I had done a semester at college. I was also working part time. The world had suddenly gone from a place of carefree fun to a place of overwhelming responsibility.
“I can make it carefree and fun again,” Mr. Denver had said.
He offered 500 dollars a week to come to his house on Saturdays. “I want a cute bitch boi around the place. You’ll wear a thong, lounge around the pool, serve me drinks, light my cigars. That’s 2000 dollars a month for forty hours of work.”
So here I was, oiled up and wearing a thong, getting ready for my first Saturday as Mr. Denver’s bitch boi.
It’s far more degrading than I imagined. I feel exposed and violated by his eyes. The thong is not just for his viewing pleasure, but also to break my spirit. I strut around the backyard, my hips swinging, and my tanned oiled ass glistening in the sun. He keeps a stack of dollar bills on a side table next to his chair. When I come over to refill his glass, or to bahis siteleri light a cigar, he tugs at the thong strap and places a few bills against my thigh. Then he snaps the thong against my flesh.
“Good boy,” he says.
All my instincts tell me to reject this treatment, but something else in me falls under the spell. I’m degraded, dehumanized into a sexualized object. Yet I’m free. I want to slap his hand away, but why? Is pleasing this man (gross as he is) any worse than whatever other jobs I might have?
I lay by the pool, mostly on my stomach so he can see my ass, but occasionally he tells me to rotate to my sides so he can get a different view. He doesn’t comment on my rock hard erection, and I do my best to pretend that being eye-candy for this older man isn’t making me hard.
This our routine for weeks, with every Saturday growing a bit more degrading. First there were the light taps on the ass. I would bring him a drink and after stuffing my g-string with dollars, Mr. Denver would slap my ass. I didn’t say anything, I just took the money and let myself endure the humiliating defilement.
Then came the posing. First, he would just tell me to stand somewhere and pose like an IG model. I hid my face, embarrassed that every time I stuck out my ass or pulled the thong straps higher, I was desperate to hear those simple words of approval.
I’m not sure when he started calling me bitch, but by the time I was on all fours, arching my back with his hands caressing my ass, bitch had become my name.
He gives my ass a hard slap and says, “I want to up you to 300 dollars a weekend.”
And that’s how I ended up here, right now, grinding my hips into his crotch in time with a Nicki Minaj song. I’m wearing makeup, because that was part of his orders. I’m also wearing heels because, again, Mr. Denver said so. I give the middle aged man a lap dance, feeling the enormous girth of his cock press against the thin strap that serves as the only separation between his manhood and my hole.
“Bend forward and pump that ass,” he says. I do as I’m told and am rewarded with a hard slap to the ass.
“You like being my bitch?” he asks.
“Yes daddy,” I moan. And it’s true. Despite the shame. Despite the constant humiliation, being his bitch is better than any life I could’ve hoped for. My responsibilities and worries have been reduced to being the best slut I can be to serve Mr. Denver, and I know then that I’ll do anything to continue this life.
It doesn’t take long until my owner has turned me into his personal porn slut. I lick under his balls, running my tongue along his sweaty skin while his large, cum filled sack rests on my nose. He smells of sweat and musk and cigar smoke.
“Good canlı bahis siteleri bitch,” he says. His left hand smacks my exposed ass, then slips under the metallic pink g-string. He pulls the thong strap further up, then lands another hard smack across both cheeks. “That’s it bitch. Clean daddy’s nuts.”
I moan and he presses his meaty hand against the back of my head until I’m suffocating between his legs. My face is pressed against his wet taint. His thighs, each one the size of my torso, press onto the sides of my head. I can no longer lick or suck. I hear him laughing as he presses me against his taint. “Moan for me slut,” he says. I moan, hoping he feels the vibrations and lets me go.
He releases my face and I pull away with globs of spit connecting my face to my owner’s crotch. I feel the collar around my neck tighten as he pulls my leash so that my face looks up at him, up at my master, up at the man who has reduced me to a submissive sex toy.
He spits on my face. “Dumb bitch,” he says. The words make my dick even harder. The shame of being this man’s slut, the humiliation of being a vapid cock sucking whore for a superior man makes my dick hard.
I’m wearing makeup: thick black mascara, purple eyeshadow, foundation, and even glitter along my cheeks. My long blonde hair is tied in boxer braids. My only clothing is the tiny pink g-string and a pair of stiletto boots.
And of course my collar, bearing the name “Slut.” It’s all designed for emasculation. The clothes, the makeup, the shoes, and the leash all work to take away my masculinity, to dehumanize me into a sex object for the man who owns me.
My owner looks down at me with a grin on his face. He’s a middle-aged man, maybe almost 60, with a fat belly and grey hair all down his chest and stomach. His hair is thinning and the stubble on his chin is white.
“Open that pretty mouth, whore.” I open wide with my pierced tongue stretching out of my mouth. He grips his cock in one hand and slaps the thick rod against my tongue. He beats me across the face with his cock as it grows stiffer.
“Good girl,” he says.
I take the head of his cock in my mouth and savor the taste of his flesh. I suck up the precum, savoring the salty taste on my tongue. He pulls the leash tighter towards his body so I’m forced to take more of his cock into my mouth.
“Good girl. Get on that cock.”
My mouth drools around his thick penis. I swirl my tongue around the head as I bob up and down, worshipping his manhood. I lift my head slightly, just enough to create some separation, and unleash a glob of mucus onto his cock. With both hands I scoop up the drool and stroke it around my owner’s large, throbbing penis.
“Let me get it wet so I can take it all canlı bahis daddy.” I hear the words come from my mouth, but can’t believe I’m speaking. My life is devoted to pleasuring this ogre. I spend my days sexually satisfying a disgusting older man who treats me like a common whore.
I impale my throat on his cock. The nine inches don’t fit at first. I struggle. My back convulses, my legs kick, and my body retches in an attempt to throw the penis out of out my throat.
“Get it down, slut.”
My eyes water as I force the last three inches into my throat. The cock slips past the barrier and lodges deep in my throat. I kick the ground with my stilettos as I struggle for air. Tears drip down my face and my eyes roll into my skull as I lose oxygen. I hear my owner moaning and know what comes next. His fat hand presses onto the back of my head, pushing downward, forcing more of himself into my mouth. My nose presses against the flesh of his stomach. My eyes can’t open because I’m pressed so close. He pumps deeper into my throat. My body flails. It’s an involuntary response. I can’t breathe. I’m going to die serving his cock. My manicured nails slap against my master’s thighs. He laughs.
“A few more seconds slut.” He emphasizes his dominance with a slap to the ass.
As I start to see stars he releases my head. I fall back and eject the cock from my throat in a stream of liquid vomit. My bodily juices drip over his cock and down my chin. I fall to marble floor, crying and gasping for breath.
“Let’s go bitch, you got more than that to do,” he says. He pulls the leash and I’m back on my hands and knees between his legs.
“Gluck Gluck Gluck Gluck!” I make vile noises of degradation as my throat is fucked. My head has been turned into a hole for my owner’s pleasure.
“Gack, Gack, Gack!” The wet noise of a nine inch cock penetrating my throat fills the room. Master holds my hair tightly as he stands up. My face is a mess of tears, spit, snot, vomit, and makeup. An extra tear falls. Not from gagging and choking on cock. I start crying because I know what comes neck.
“Be a good whore,” he says. He pulls the leash tight so that I’m pulled close to his groin. Then, with no regard for me as a fellow human, he savagely fucks my throat, pounding the length of his cock in and out at a vicious pace.
I vomit. Some of the vomit escapes from the sides of my mouth, some comes out of my nose, and the rest is pushed deep down my throat by my master’s cock.
“Take it all bitch.”
He’s grunting now. I can hear that he’s close. I bury the cock in my throat. My nose is filled with pubic hair and whatever liquids have accumulated along his belly. I can’t open my eyes, their glued shut with stomach bile. My face is slick with spit. His penis descends down my throat.
“Good slut,” he yells. I stick out my tongue and start lapping at his balls with the cock wedged down my throat. He groans, yells, and deposits his cum directly into my stomach.