A Whore is Born Ch. 05

"Oh really, was it at Royal Ascot a few months ago, I am always busy there? Or was it at Wimbledon…" Debbie was relieved, she thought the conversation had moved on from her outfit. Hopefully she could quickly end the conversation and talk to her uncle.

"No, it was when you were tied up in Jack's dungeon. You remember, when you were whipped like a whore?"

Debbie froze with earth shattering fear. At first she thought it was a joke, some sort of sick joke that this man was playing on her. Surely she could not be so unfortunate, not to mention hideously unlucky, as to be sitting next to the man who was one of the witnesses to her debauched punishment? Surely God would not be that cruel to her, not here, not now, not with her husband sitting opposite.

Naturally her immediate instinct was to deny everything, dismiss what he had to say with that stiff, upper lip sort of disdain that the British seemed to excel in. So, with a measure tone and look of shock, so as to not alert anyone else and bring them into the conversation, she replied, "Excuse me! I have no idea what you are talking about. And I would appreciate it if you would not use that kind of language with me. I am a lady and…"

"Oh you are indeed quite a lady, Debbie! Quite a lady!" As he spoke, the Ambassador put his hand under the table and, without alerting any of the other guests as to what was going on, calmly placed it on Debbie's knee. Of course she instinctively tried to remove his hand. This was getting out of hand, she thought. He can't have been there. He can't know what happened. She knew that somehow she had to end this with the minimal of fuss. But since the Ambassador was on to something, she could not risk making a scene and drawing other guests, in particular her husband, into the Ambassador's conversation. That risked discovery. And that was to be avoided. At all costs.

"Please, what do you think you are doing?" She said quietly. Desperately hoping that this would all end. "I have no idea what you are talking about…"

"Don't be so shy with me, young lady. I saw everything. I saw the way you were tied up that day, the way you allowed Felicity and Penelope to caress you. And then the way you allowed Jack to whip your little behind. Have the scars healed yet, my dear? Does your husband know about them? Does he know that you like to dress up like a slave and then get whipped in front of men you don't know? Do you want me to ask him now, you naughty bitch?"

"Oh p-please, I-I don't know what you are talking about. P-please stop touching me…"

"I bet you were disappointed that Jack didn't fuck you afterwards. Did you know that he was ordered not to in order that I could be the first to fuck your tight pussy?"

"P-please, take your hand off my leg. You must be confused with someone else. It was not me, I assure you. I am happily married…"

"Of course you are… Look enough of this bullshiit. Do you see those two men standing over there, by the entrance to my house?"

Using his other hand, the one not caressing her leg, the Ambassador pointed towards two men who were standing on either side of a doorway. They were both huge black men, must have been around 6ft 6, wore identical black suits, dark navy blue tie, had on black sunglasses, were both bald and quite ugly and also seemed to be incredibly well muscular. Not men you messed with. They had their hands clasped in front of them and one of them, the one standing on the right, held a plain brown envelope.

"Those men are my bodyguards. And you see the one on the right, the one holding the brown envelope?" The Ambassador must have indicated something to him because at that moment, the man held up the envelope in order for Penelope to get a better look. "Well, his name is Bem, and do you know what is inside that envelope?" Debbie said nothing and instead just shook her head. She was now too terrified to speak. "Well, inside are some nice clear pictures of you getting whipped. You were secretly recorded in the basement and I took the liberty of printing out some pictures.

"I must say, you do look wonderful in your tight black outfit, the way your tits hang out. All rather splendid, I think. Now, unless you agree to do everything I say, Bem over there is going to walk over to your husband and hand him that envelope. When your husband takes a look, well I fear he will not be happy. What do you think?"

"No! No, it wasn't me. Please. Please don't do this to me. Please…"

"Debbie, you are being ridiculous and I am sorry, I really don't have time for this." The Ambassador then nodded his head towards Bem and immediately Bem set off towards the dinner table. Debbie looked on with utter fear, incredulous that her life was taking this dark turn.

Debbie began to think quickly. Clearly this man either had been there, or had been told what had happened. He knew too much to be bluffing. But were there really pictures of her being whipped in that envelope? Either way, was she prepared to call his bluff? Was she prepared to risk her marriage and the public humiliation that would follow? For if there were pictures, in all probability not only would her husband now see them, but in the commotion that would surely follow, the other guests would get to see them too. And that included her aunt and uncle. Oh my God, then all of her family and friends would find out! That could not happen!

So trapped, believing that there were no options left open top her, as Bem came to stand behind her husband, she said "Stop! Please, stop!"

"I can stop it my dear, if you admit to me now, that you are a whore and you will do what I say."

"P-please…"

"Say it or I will give the final order. He is seconds away from handing over the envelope."

Debbie once more looked towards Bem and desperately tried to see if there could be a way out of this. Meanwhile the Ambassador, ever confident of success, moved his hand up her leg, so that it came into contact with the naked flesh above her stockings.

He knew that there was actually nothing in the envelope other than blank pieces of paper. The General and he were never going to risk showing such pictures here (they did exist). For one thing people would eventually ask how he got hold of them and neither he nor the General could risk their own sordid life being exposed. But she did not know that and the Ambassador was correctly assuming that, in her current disorientated state, she would not be able to make such a calculation and even if she did, the risk of her being exposed far outweighed any collateral damage to the Ambassador.

Debbie looked towards Bem again. Her mouth was open, but nothing came out. Briefly she thought whether she might ask her uncle for help? Sitting next to her, was he aware of what was going on? Had he seen the Ambassador place his hand on her leg? Could he see how distressed she was? She looked over at him and saw that he was engrossed in conversation with someone else. Clearly he had seen nothing. She then looked over at all the other guests, in particular her husband, to see if he or anyone else had noticed something was awry with her. But they all seemed to be having a lovely time, laughing away, enjoying the wine and the company, and no one was paying her any attention.

In any event, even if they had, what could she do? Had they asked her what was wrong, what could she feasibly say? I am being sexually harassed by the Ambassador. And what would he do and say? Deny it and proceed to reveal the pictures to everyone. There was no way out for her. She was a now a caged victim of the Club and in that split second she realised, with a due sense of fear and dread, that her only option was to concede her body to this man and serve him.

So, as Bem took a step towards her husband, she whispered, as loud she dared, "I am a whore and will do what you want."

As soon as she did, the Ambassador nodded his head towards Bem, who immediately backed off. Justin all the while had been completely unaware that he was ever behind him. Bem then made his way back to once more stand next to his colleague by the door.

"Good my dear. Good. I am glad we cleared all that nonsense up and we can proceed. I think you are going to serve me very well. Very well indeed…"

Debbie shuddered at this. She was now about to fulfil her destiny as a whore and was about to do it with a black man. A big black man. She then recalled how big this man's dick had looked in the dungeon. Although her view had been obscured, what was clear was that he possessed an abnormally large penis. And she was going to be forced to serve it. Here, now, with her husband present. Her heart beat became that bit faster as this terrible fate dawned on her.

That was perhaps understandable. What was not was the fact that her pussy, ever since the Ambassador had placed his hand on her leg, had become wet. Very wet in fact. She had not really noticed this until now, so shocked was she by the Ambassador's ambush. But she could now feel her love juices leaking out of her pussy and causing her g-string to become damp.

She desperately hoped that the Ambassador would not discover this terrible secret. To even think this, however, showed how naïve poor Debbie still was.

Meanwhile the Ambassador's hand was happily stroking the lovely flesh above the bitch's stocking. "Very nice. I take it you are wearing stockings?"

"Yes." She nervously whispered, thankful that all the action was taking place under the table, away from everyone else's attention.

"And I note you have on suspenders. Very good. Very good. Do you normally dress like this, my dear?" he asked, as he turned his head to face her, gently smiling. If anyone was looking at them now, they would have seen nothing untoward. The Ambassador could have been talking to her about the weather, rather than verbally assaulting her.

Debbie had no choice but to answer truthfully and honestly. "No, I don't normally wear these items… Well I should say not since…"

"Not since Jack introduced you to the joys of the Club?"

"Yes."

"And you have worn them ever since?"

"Yes."

"Why, is that Debbie, why are you choosing to dress more like a slut?"

Debbie was humiliated by this line of questioning. The cruel Ambassador was quizzing her in such a controlled cold manner that you could not help but be impressed by his confidence. And as this man molested her legs, Debbie looked over at her husband, who was happily chatting away to another one of the guests, blissfully unaware what was happening to his poor wife.

"P-please. Stop this. My husband is just sitting over there. P-please, have some mercy on me…"

"Your husband!" The Ambassador then let out a chuckle. Then, calmly picking a glass of white wine, he drank away as he looked at Justin. "Your husband, well, you didn't give him much of a thought when you agrees to be photographed naked, or when you allowed Jack to cum all over your face, or indeed when you agreed to be tied up and whipped like a wanton whore, did you?"

"Oh, p-please…"

"Now, be a good girl, and answer my question." The Ambassador calmly took another sip of white wine, looked at her husband and said: "Or I will have no choice but to direct Bem to show your husband those delightful pictures of you being whipped."

"Oh, you are being so cruel... Yes, I have chosen to dress this way because I want to feel more like a slut."

"Good! Good. Now, my dear, I let you off there for not answering me immediately, but you will not be permitted to ever disobey one of my orders again. You saw what happened to poor Felicity who broke the rules, and your punishment would seem minor in comparison. So please, for you and your husband's sake, you will answer all of my questions and do exactly what I say. Do I make myself clear?"

Debbie, knowing exactly what the Ambassador was implying, realised she was well and truly trapped. Looking at her husband, she replied to the Ambassador: "Yes, will do exactly what you say."

"Excellent, now tell me why you want to feel more like a slut?"

"Because I want to be dominated by men. By men who want to treat me badly."

"You mean treat you like a whore, Debbie?"

"Yes, like a whore."

"And you want to become a whore, don't you Debbie? Spread your legs for me."

Debbie immediately spread her legs allowing the evil Ambassador to place a hand on the inside of her thigh.

It was clear that Debbie was no longer in control of her destiny. The Ambassador was. To save her marriage, it had become quickly apparent to her that she would have no choice but to obey him, unconditionally and regardless of how lewd his requests were.

And despite Debbie telling herself that she was not enjoying being forced to behave like a whore, her pussy told a different story.

The Ambassador's hand then gradually moved up Debbie's inner thigh making its way towards her pussy. It was now inevitable that, in a matter of a few seconds, the Ambassador would discover the truth about Debbie, the fact that she liked to be dominated, humiliated and generally treated like a bitch whore in heat.

"Spread your legs a little more, I want to touch your married white pussy. And I asked you a question, you want to become a whore, don't you?"

As Debbie spread her legs, she replied: "I want to become a whore because, ooh, because I think I want to know what it feels like to be dominated and abused at the hands of a man who possesses a big cock. Ooh, p-please…" The Ambassador's hand had finally made contact with the wet g-string and Debbie's body was responding accordingly.

"Oh, my dear Debbie, after all your protests it seems that you body is responding like a true whore's would. Not like some reluctant, good little housewife.

"I take it that is a g-string that you are wearing?"

"Yes."

"And are you wearing a bra?"

"Yes."

The Ambassador them looked intently at Debbie, who looked back, and replied, in hushed tones and in a business like manner: "Well, whilst I am a big fan of the g-string, the bra is completely unnecessary. You should never wear one. I have seen your lovely big tits and they are so pert and supple, it is a crime to ever wear one. As such, before the starter arrives, I want you to visit the bathroom and remove the bra. And whilst you are at it, take the g-string off, you no longer require it. Your pussy will certainly need to be made available to me during the course of the day so you might as well take that off too.

"Put the bra in the bin, but when you return, give me the g-string. Do I make myself clear?"

Debbie froze and was once more stunned into silence. So much of importance had been said to her in such a short space of time that she could not quite take it all in. Firstly, he was asking her to remove her most intimate items of clothing during this dinner party. And, if that wasn't bad enough, secondly he had then gone on to tell her that her "pussy will certainly need to be made available to me during the course of the day". That could only mean one thing: this big black man was going to fuck her. And no doubt would fuck her hard.

The full enormity of what was going to happen hit her. Her trembling hand reached over for her glass of white wine and, hand still shaking, brought the glass up to her mouth and took a big gulp. She needed something to calm her nerves.

However, despite shaking with fear, she was still able to carefully, and correctly, analyse the situation: be unfaithful and save your marriage? Or be faithful and ruin your marriage?

That was the awful dilemma for poor Debbie and there seemed to be no way out for her. The only thing she knew was that she had to try and delay the inevitable and see if there was any possibility that she could save her pussy from this terrible fate. But, for that to happen, she had to comply with the Ambassador's current lewd order.

So, without saying a word, she took another sip of wine, picked up a white napkin from the table, wiped her mouth and slowly got up. As she did, the Ambassador swiftly removed his hand from her legs and Debbie, as graceful as ever, lowered her dress in a way that meant that no one could have known that it had been lifted up.

In no time, she was making her way towards the back entrance of the house where the two huge black bodyguards were standing. As she approached them, she had no doubt that these two thugs were eyeing her up. Despite wearing black shades, the way the men moved their heads towards her and moved them up and down, it was clear to her that they were ogling her body. And as she got closer, she began to really appreciate their size. At 6ft 6, and built like a shed, they were huge and just seemed to tower over her. They were also hideously ugly. Both were bald and had various scars on their face. As she passed Bem, he gave her an enormous smile, as if to acknowledge the fact that they were blatantly appreciating her young, white married body, which was so wonderfully displayed to them in her tight outfit.

Passing such huge, intimidating thugs, who were clearly sexually aroused by her body, had a curious effect on the young wife. Sure, she felt terrified that these men found her attractive and no doubt would want to do some very nasty things to her. But at the same time her body was responding in a way that suggested perhaps being fucked by some rough blacks actually appealed to this conservative, rich white housewife. Debbie had heard about respectable middle class white women being fascinated with big rough black men. Previously, she had always dismissed this as a rather disgusting fetish, something that she herself could never contemplate. She had virtually no dealings with the black community in her day to day life and, even when being initiated into the Platinum Club, it was always at the hands of respectable, white upper class people. And even now, although the Ambassador was black, he was as upper class a man you were ever likely to meet.

However, these bodyguards were a different kettle of fish. These men were thugs. She imagined that they could have even been trained killers in their previous life, before they had been employed by the Ambassador. Furthermore, she felt that they were men who would quite happily rape her if she refused to submit to their will. That thought, more than anything else that had happened to her today, almost made her cum.

Fantasising about being raped by two black thugs – being gangraped – was this really what ultimately appealed to Debbie? At first, she refused to recognise this, but again her pussy was telling her something different.

She quickly found the bathroom, entered and locked the door. She was now panting out loud. Her pussy was releasing its juices and her nipples seemed to be ready to burst through her flimsy bra. This could not be happening to her, she told herself. She was supposed to be finding a way out of this situation, not allowing her body to get turned on by it. She told herself that she could let this happen here. Not with her husband present. She frantically ran through her options - maybe she could run away, take the risk that the Ambassador would feel pity on her and not show the pictures? Or maybe she could bargain with him, offer him her body when her husband was not present?

Briefly she thought that one of these options might work, but deep down she knew what kind of man the Ambassador ultimately was. He was not a man to make a deal with a whore, especially when much of the pleasure would come from humiliating her in front of her husband.

So, in an almost trance like state, she moved over to the wash basin and looked at herself in the mirror. She knew that by complying with the Ambassador, there would be no way back for her. She may try and convince herself that she could delay things, but it would be inevitable that the Ambassador would eventually fuck her. And if she tried to resist, he would just rape her. The alternative was to risk the end of her marriage and her standing in society since, once the story of her being tied up and whipped was revealed, none of her friends would want to have anything more to do with her. She would become a social pariah and her life, as she once knew it, would be at an end. And God only knows what her daughter, Alice would make of it all…