Trip to the Mall Ch. 01

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Futher acceptance for Slut.
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ttocs68
ttocs68
20 Followers

Why does Sir make me do these things, why does Sir continue to take me places so he can show me off, or degrade me, or humiliate me? Why does Sir make me debase myself in public just for his amusement? Why do I continue to allow Sir this control, this surrender of my morale upbringing?

Why does Sir use me and abuse me like I am just some common whore he has paid for? Why do I allow Sir these degrading tasks?

Tonight is a perfect example. Sir told me to be ready at 6 and that we were going shopping to the mall. He told me what to wear.

I am wearing my black dress. The dress is a short slip like dress with spaghetti straps and low in the back. I have on black heels with black thigh-high's and no bra. I have on bright red lipstick and a black choker collar.

Tonight Sir has allowed me panties but, as usual because Sir insists, they are two sizes too small. As I wait for Sir I can feel my pussy throb and my nipples harden.

My mind is filled with thoughts of what he will make me do tonight. How far will he push me, what act I will perform, how will Sir humiliate me. Before I met him I was content to live the peaceful mellow existence my life was. Go to work, come home make dinner, watch TV, go to sleep. Occasionally I would meet friends out for dinner or at a club. I was content living in my world. Then I met Sir and my life, as I knew it, was over. He has shown me what I always knew about myself but could never accept.

My phone rings and its Sir.

"Hello slut, are you ready to trust me and do as I say?"

"Yes Sir, whatever you want."

He tells me to pinch my nipples before I come out and make sure they are hard and visible. I take my nipples and pull them hard like I know Sir wants. The pain go's right to my pussy and I can feel a gush wet my panties. I give my nipples a twist as well just to make sure they are showing and the thought flashes through my mind what Sir knows about me. He knows exactly what I am; he knows exactly what I want. He knows exactly how to show me the truth about myself.

I am blushing as I walk out of my door and approach his car. My nipples are rock hard and my panties are wet. I am afraid my neighbors will see my but Sir knows that my fear and humiliation turns me on.

Sir comes out of his car and opens the door for me.

"You look beautiful slut. I am sure that whoever gets to see you perform tonight will not soon forget what they have seen."

At the word "perform" I feel my cunt throb. Yes, cunt. A word I never used before I met Sir. Now at times like this I can't imagine any using any other word. It's just so right. I can't help but think of my need and the throb I feel and what this makes me. It makes me feel like a dirty girl who wants nothing more than to have her "cunt" on display so her cunt can be used and abused.

"Ohhhh, Sir. I am so wet, my cunt is throbbing."

Talking like this with Sir has become second nature to me. It's who I am with him. It's who I really am. I am finally that wanton slut who aches to surrender. I am that slut who wants to be told what to do, how to dress. I am that slut that needs to submit to whatever Sir wants.

We pull into traffic and we talk about our weeks and what's happening in our life. I trust Sir. I know he loves me and would never hurt me. Well the truth is he does hurt me but that's only because he has allowed me to surrender to my need for pain. He tells me to spread my legs, raise my skirt and stroke my pussy over my panties.

I do as he says and that feeling comes over me. The feelings that tell me this is what I am and this is what I need. I have always had these feelings, for as long as I can remember, but I have never surrendered to them. I am breathing heavy and moaning.

Sir tells me we are going to the mall that's close to the office where I work. I am torn, one half wants to experience the rush of humiliation with people I know. The humiliation would be so much greater. The other half can't handle any part of this.

"Sir, please. I will do anything you ask, please not there."

"Slut, you will do anything I ask no matter what. You are mine to do with as I please, aren't you?"

"Yes, yes Sir."

"Do you trust me?"

"OMG, yes Sir, I trust you."

Sir reaches over and gently takes my hand in his. He tells me he loves me and he will always take care of me. He tells me he will never put me in a position that would hurt me or would jeopardize my career. He tells me he knows me, he knows what I am, he knows what I need, he knows exactly what I will and will not do. He tells me this and I know that Sir knows me better than I know myself.

He lets go of my hand and tells me finger myself. I slide my panties aside and begin to finger my cunt.

"Ohhh.....omgomg.....oh Sir."

I am getting close and Sir knows this. He knows me so well. Before I can cum he tells me to stop and take my fingers and lick them clean, but first wipe my cunt juice over my lips and lower face so any one that comes close to me will smell me.

"Wipe that juice on your lips and under your nose so you will smell yourself and be reminded of what a dirty slut you are."

ttocs68
ttocs68
20 Followers
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4 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousalmost 8 years ago
Repitition

You repeat often. Remove them and there is little more than a Paragraph left.

AnonymousAnonymousalmost 8 years ago

Your prose in support of her participation is a bit heavy handed. You could tone down her dramatic thoughts. The do you trust me push is also overdone. Anytime characters start that I want to yell "No, no you dont!" He's challenging her on several levels, but the location kinda puts to a lie his assertion he would never endanger her job. So far, you dom is giving me the heebie jeebies. Perhaps he will improve.

You are going to account for mall security intervening when the hordes of unsupervised teenagers all pull out their phones to video and live stream?

ttocs68ttocs68almost 8 years agoAuthor
Anonymous

Right, an anonymous comment....nothing new here

AnonymousAnonymousalmost 8 years ago
Nothing New Here

Dozens of stories that say the same thing. It's like a computer churns them out. Some imagination, please.

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