Depraved
by Jennifer Harrison
Part 2

Author’s comment: this is result of a collaborative effort between me and mrhungry.

Janes looked over Amanda’s feedback report from her taster session with great interest. He knew he got much more honest responses from his clients when they were answering questions posed dispassionately by a computer, where it all seemed so anonymous, rather than in a face-to-face conversation. This worked particularly well with someone like Amanda, who had enough difficulty admitting her true feelings to herself, let alone anyone else.

Obviously he knew about her paranoia about being discovered ‘in flagrente’. What had surprised him was that the underlying subtext of her answers indicated that she also found this a huge turn-on. When Carla, posing as a maid, had first brought Amanda to orgasm, then made the client lick her out, Amanda had felt that she had been forced to do something she really wasn’t comfortable with because it might prevent her public exposure. She was controlled, not only by her bondage and the other woman, but also by her fears. She indicated that it had heightened her responses and, from what Carla had told him, Janes believed it.

This was very interesting, and possibly something he could exploit. Certainly, her new request gave him virtual carte blanche to do with her as he pleased. He was slightly surprised that the woman would be so brave as to request the services she had, but she had certainly not rushed in requesting her next session. Most clients with Amanda’s wealth were eager to repeat the experience right away. That this woman took her time was encouraging. Yes, he was very interested in Miss Amanda Beale, whose amateurish disguise he had seen through very quickly. Her choice of ‘Charlotte Burton’ as a pseudonym had, ironically, aided him in ascertaining her true identity.

Janes leaned back in his chair and thought about his new client. Something about her – her beauty, her vulnerability, her desire to debase herself – forced his thoughts to a place he did not want to go, to an earlier time, to another woman, one who had reveled in her slavery and torment at his hand. Amanda had… potential, even if she didn’t realise it yet. He decided he needed to explore her limits, and started to plan her next session with some care.

- o O o -

Amanda noticed her hand was trembling as she lifted her coffee cup to her lips. She looked out of the window of the Starbucks coffee shop at the shoppers going about their business, unaware and uncaring of her concerns. She was worried to be in such a crowded place – okay, it wasn’t London, but Bristol city centre on a Saturday morning was pretty busy, and there was always a risk that she would be recognised, despite the dark wig and the dark glasses. But she was far more worried about what might be about to happen to her.

She had changed her mind about Janes and the ‘special services’ he provided many times since her taster session. Initially, on a post-orgasmic high, she had thought her experiences that night were so good that she should repeat the whole thing immediately. In the cold light of the days after, she had realised just how mad this whole thing was – her public profile surely meant she had to maintain more control over her life, not give it up to some stranger. Amazing though it was, she had to resist this hedonistic urge, and renounce the pleasures of the flesh. And yet, and yet…

When she thought about her life, she realised just how empty it was. Her parents had both died a few years previously – natural causes, nothing sinister – and she had no siblings, no close family at all. Her marriage to Piers and sudden celebrity had left behind her old friends from school and university, and replaced them with nothing more than fair-weather friends, who deserted her as soon as Piers divorced her. She had never worked, except for some charity work, and the people there were nice, but they treated her like what she was – a rich girl playing at work. Now, she had no need to work – the divorce settlement saw to that – and no qualifications either, having dropped out of university to go skiing in Klosters and sunbathing in St Tropez.

With her isolation from the world, and following her debacle with the News of the Screws (as the News of the World paper was known before it closed), she had not had a date for a year, and not even met anyone who she would want to go out with. Not until Janes, that is.

He had never told her his first name, so she thought of him as Mr Janes, and she thought of him often. Her first impression had been of a still power, like he was a hunter, staying quiet and unmoving around a nervous faun. She had only met him twice, and on the second occasion she had been naked, while he was well-dressed on both occasions. But when she was with him, she felt safe from the world, he would fend off all attackers. It was ridiculous, she knew – he had already organised for her to suffer more pain and humiliation than she had encountered in her life. But he had also orchestrated the most intense pleasure she had ever felt. She was conflicted, to say the least.

Her nights became filled with images of him as the hunter, strong and silent, her as the prey, naked and vulnerable. Every fantasy now involved him, tying her, gagging her, whipping her, fucking her. They all ended with her bringing herself to a desperate climax – with a dildo, with the neck of a bottle, or just with her fingers.

Each night for the last three weeks, she had sat in front of that damn questionnaire program of his and looked at the options – types of sexual experience she wanted, types of punishment she wanted, scenarios she wanted to play out, the list seemed endless. Every time she viewed the dry list, with its little sliders for intensity (mild to extreme) and duration (one hour to weeks), the checkboxes for participants (single male to multiple mixed), her imagination went into overdrive and she found herself masturbating as she thought of Janes and her, doing all those things…

Each time, she bottled out and cancelled her selections before going to bed, sad, lonely, and frustrated. Finally, one night, she had got very, very drunk and, when she woke up in the morning slumped over the computer with the mother of all hangovers, she realised she had hit ‘send’. She couldn’t remember what she had selected, and she decided she didn’t want to find out – Fate, or Mr Janes, would have his way with her.

- o O o -

“Hello, slut.” Amanda jumped as the familiar voice startled her out of her daydream. She looked up into the leering face of Mr Angry, and the sudden rush of fear and excitement made her giddy. He pulled up a chair and sat uncomfortably close to her.

“Ready for Round Two?” he smirked, his voice low and menacing. “You got off lightly before, but I’m really gonna make you suffer this time, you dirty little slut!”

He reached up and grabbed her hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her head towards him, easily overpowering her resistance. His lips clamped onto hers and his tongue forced its way into her mouth, while his other hand grabbed her breast and groped it crudely. Amanda was stunned by the abruptness of his actions and tried to break away, tried to stop him squeezing her breasts so hard, but she couldn’t get him off her.

At last he let her go, and she tried to regain her composure. She could feel the eyes of the people around her glaring at them, and her face reddened in embarrassment.

“Here,” he said, sliding an envelope to her, “your instructions. I’ll catch you later, sugar-tits.” With that, he got up and walked out of the coffee shop, leaving Amanda in a state of shock at the contempt with which she had just been treated. She opened the envelope, which had the word ‘SLUT’ on the front, and took out a slip of paper with a single hand-written sentence on it:

Go to the changing rooms in Debenhams, take off all your clothes and await further instructions.

Amanda felt sick. She was affronted at being ordered around in such a peremptory way – she was the client here, shouldn’t they be a little more… but, then she thought about how this session had been requested and felt her body respond. Not remembering what she had actually selected was driving her insane with lust! She knew how she got when she sat at her computer and pictured Mr. Janes abusing her in ways that were described on the computer program. She knew how she would push each little toggle switch to maximum and think about the pain and humiliation she would be subjected to. What she didn’t know was... at what setting were those little toggles when she had drunkenly hit the send button?! Surely they were not at maximum! Even drunk, she wouldn’t do anything like that.

There was no doubt in her mind that she had asked to be dominated, and that meant being ordered around, but did it mean treating her like dirt? She thought back to how she had been manhandled and abused in that hotel room, and felt her pussy becoming warm…

The note had been written by Him, she recognised the handwriting. He was the one ordering her around. What did He have in store for her? God, she had to find out! She hurried out of the shop, feeling eyes looking at her as she went past, sure they could see into her soul, see her depraved yearnings, her pussy making a wet patch on her panties…

Debenhams is a prosaic, boring department store, and the women’s wear department staid and dull. But not for Amanda that day. That day it was the most exciting place in the world, because He had ordered her to go there. She found an empty cubicle and went inside, pulling the curtain across – a flimsy barrier between her and the outside world. Her hands were shaking – could she really go through with this and get naked in this very public place? She was so scared by the idea, realising that this was the last chance she would have to back out. Who knew what she would be forced to do if she continued. But that was the point, wasn’t it? To give up control to another? She told herself had no choice, because He had ordered it.

One by one, her clothes were added to the pile forming on the chair beside her. Coat, blouse, skirt, shoes, stockings, suspender belt, bra, panties. She was naked, hugging herself, covering her breasts and cunt. What happens now, she wondered, nervous and excited, what has He got planned for me?

Suddenly, the curtain was flung back and, standing there, looking her up and down with a broad smile, was Carla. Amanda was immediately relieved that it wasn’t Mr Angry, and even more excited to see the woman who had licked her to orgasm and then made her return the favour. She was no longer dressed as a maid, but in a smart, elegant coat, buttoned up, and beneath it were stockings and four inch heels. She looked classy, and Amanda felt even more embarrassed and vulnerable at her own nakedness.

“Oh, yeah, I should’ve known it was you,” Carla said with distain on the word ‘you’. “At least you’ve done as you were told, you stupid bitch.”

She pushed a large tote bag into Amanda’s arms and spat, “Here’s what you’re to wear, and only this.” She scooped the discarded clothes into an identical tote and then stood with her hand out. “Give me the handbag, wig and glasses, now.”

“Please, Carla, don’t make me…” Amanda begged. Carla slapped her hard across the face, shocking the naked woman.

“Just shut the fuck up and do it, cunt!” Carla replied with a scowl, holding her hand out for the remaining items. Reluctantly, Amanda took off her flimsy disguise, making her feel even more naked, and handed over her bag, which contained her cards, cash, keys and phone, watching as Carla packed them away.

Without another word, the curtain was closed and Amanda was alone again. She looked in the bag, and the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach returned. She could see latex – black, shiny latex. She pulled out two small, thin items, a skirt and top, and saw that the only other clothes in the bag were shoes. She was scared – she’d never worn latex, and had only ever really seen it on porn sites. But she had no choice now, other than to stay naked, and she didn’t think that would give her the low profile she craved.

She stepped into the skirt and pulled it up over her hips with considerable difficulty. It was very tight, and when she managed to pull up the zip at the back, it hugged her close, cutting into her waist to the point that there was a tiny roll of fat above the waistband. The hem of the skirt was high up on her thigh, only just covering her buttocks and pussy. She tried to smooth down the material and lower the hem, but it remained well above mid-thigh.

The top was just as difficult to wiggle in to. It was equally snug, squeezing her tightly across her upper body. The shoulder straps were maybe two inches wide, and plunged to a low neckline. She tugged at the material, but could not get it much lower than her ribcage, leaving a gap of about nine inches between the two garments, exposing her stomach and belly button. But her main concern was the way the rubber moulded itself perfectly to her small breasts, showing the bump of her erect nipples to anyone who cared to look – and she suspected plenty would care to look.

Her breathing was already shallow as she pulled the shoes out of the bag, and saw how they perfectly matched the rest of her outfit. They were shiny and black, with two inch platforms and six inch stiletto heels – real ‘fuck-me’ heels, she thought as she slipped them on and fastened the buckles around her ankles. As she straightened up and balanced awkwardly, she saw herself in the mirror and blushed. God, she looked sexy! She wished He could see her like this, how could He resist her if he did?

At the bottom of the bag, she found a wig, appropriately black and shiny, and she pulled it on, covering her natural blonde hair. As she straightened it in the mirror, letting it cascade over her shoulders, she realised that the straight fringe across her forehead made her look like Betty Page, the infamous bondage model. Amanda suddenly felt another rush of arousal at her new image. She found a lipstick in the bag – she never wore lipstick, just lip gloss – and applied it with shaking hands. It was blood red, and as she now looked at herself in the mirror, she saw a sex bomb staring back at her. She could feel the warm glow between her legs and watched her chest rising and falling under the tight, shiny rubber. She was finding it hard to stop her hand straying under the hem of the skirt…

There was another envelope at the bottom of the bag, with the word ‘CUNT’ written across it. That was what Carla had called her, Amanda remembered. She knew they were deliberately trying to demean her with the way they referred to her, as well as how they treated her, and it was working – the insults were making her feel guilty about her desires, she really was a slut. She opened the envelope and read the instruction.

Go into the Ann Summers shop on the first floor of the shopping centre and follow the instructions you will find there.

The moment had arrived which Amanda had been dreading. The idea of going into the nearest thing to a high street sex shop that the UK allowed was pretty scary, but she had to get there first. As she walked through the department store, struggling to stay upright on the unfamiliar heels, she could imagine the eyes of shoppers and staff on her, wondering what someone dressed like that was doing in a place like this. Once she got out into the street, she didn’t have to imagine, she could see people turning and staring.

A group of lads were pointing and sniggering, there were a couple of wolf whistles, and one of them called out ‘Hello, darling! Come over here if you want some!’ An older couple were walking towards her, and Amanda could see the man’s eyes glued to her body, while the woman was scowling at her.

“Stop staring, Henry!” she said sharply, “she’s just a common tart!” Amanda blushed as she heard this said loud enough not only for her to hear, but most of the people around her. She realised that the cool air was making her nipples stand out even more prominently – it had to be that, surely, she couldn’t be getting aroused by such public humiliation, could she?

She was relieved when she reached the covered shopping precinct – the crowds were heavier and the possibility of her being isolated and approached by someone was much lower. The blast of warm air hit her as she entered, and she felt the prickle of perspiration under the wig and under the latex, making her skin uncomfortably itchy. She hurried, as best she could, towards the lift, trying to ignore the stares directed at her.

She had chosen the lift over the escalator to get up to the first floor because she could imagine what a view shoppers would get up her skirt as she ascended. However, she hadn’t quite thought it through. As she waited for the lift car to arrive, she was surrounded by other shoppers, predominantly men, who had suddenly decided they also wanted to take a ride up. When the doors eventually opened and everyone boarded, Amanda found herself being forced to the back of the car, which she now realised was glass, as this was a ‘scenic’ lift. The group of young men who had ‘admired’ her earlier had followed her into the shopping centre and were now standing outside, leering at her through the glass, making rude hand gestures. She turned away and faced into the lift, but now she was being stared at by those riding with her, who were pressing up against her as close as they could. She felt the glass against her back and bodies pressing against her front as more people forced their way into the small car.

At last the doors closed and the lift started to ascend. Now Amanda realised her mistake, as a cheer arose from the youths looking up at her from below and getting the perfect view up her skirt. The lift was infuriatingly slow, and she was flushed an even deeper red by the time it finally arrived and the doors opened. No-one seemed in a rush to exit the small car and, in danger of having to ride back down, Amanda had to push her way through the crush, feeling bodies pressing against hers.

Flushed and flustered, but relieved to be back in the open, she made her way towards her destination. But when she saw the shop, she was dismayed to find that it had closed down. There was a sign in the window saying that it would be re-opening in larger premises elsewhere in the precinct in a couple of weeks, but the window was covered by a white dust sheet and the plate-glass doors were blacked out with posters.

She stood looking at the doors dumbly, wondering what she was meant to do. Had Janes made a mistake? She looked around in confusion, hoping someone was around to give her advice – or more likely an order – but couldn’t see Carla or Mr Angry anywhere. With no other ideas forthcoming, she went up to the door and pushed against it. She was surprised when the door moved, clearly not locked. She looked around nervously, then pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing it quickly behind her. She waited there for maybe half a minute, half-expecting someone to follow and challenge her. She examined the door to see if she could lock it, but the only way to do that was with a key. Finally, she looked around the shop.

The place had been gutted, and it was largely empty, except for rubbish strewn on the floor. There was only one item of interest in the shop, a wooden carpenter’s trestle. This would hardly have been of much interest either, except that Amanda could see another tote bag alongside it and, sitting on the top, another envelope. With a rising feeling of trepidation and anticipation, she walked over to the trestle and picked up the envelope.

The word on the front this time was ‘WHORE’. Trying to ignore the insult, she ripped the envelope open with a shaking hand, and read the new instructions.

Take off the skirt and top. Put on the gag. Use the cuffs to lock yourself across the trestle, facing the window. Do it quickly.

She picked up the bag and took out the gag and four sets of steel handcuffs. She tried to come to terms with the fact that, having been made to strip, dress in provocative clothes and parade herself around town, she was now being ordered to put herself into bondage. She wasn’t sure she could do that – it was one thing to be forced into bondage, as she had been before, she expected that, even hoped for it, but to do it to herself? It felt as though she had control of what was happening, and that felt somewhat disappointing. But then the orders were coming from Janes, and for some reason she didn’t fully understand, she felt compelled to obey Him. Before she could overthink it any more, she pulled the latex top over her head and squirmed out of the skirt.

The gag was a simple ring with a chin strap, and she put it in her mouth and strapped it on without any fuss – although it was the first time she’d worn a ring gag, it seemed like a perfectly natural thing to do which, when she thought about it, surprised her a little. She picked up the cuffs and considered what to do. It was clear that she was meant to put one set of cuffs around each wrist and ankle, then lie face down on the trestle and cuff herself to its legs, so that is what she did.

Amanda stood at one end, spread her feet, and passed the open bracelet of the cuffs on her left ankle through a metal ring she saw at the bottom of the left leg of the trestle, before ratcheting it closed, and then repeated the process with the cuffs around her right ankle.

She glanced nervously towards the door and then bent over the trestle, lying with the top of it pressed against her body from her venus mound to her neck, with her breasts either side of the narrow wooden platform. Attaching the cuffs on her wrists to the rings at the bottom of the legs was pretty difficult, as she had to stretch to reach them and hook the bracelets through, but she finally managed to get them closed. She had done as she had been told and was locked in place.

As she looked up, the enormity of what she had done hit her. She was in front of the plate glass window, covered by a sheet. But, whereas from the outside she had seen nothing in the dark shop, from her position now, with the bright lights outside, she could quite clearly see the outline of people walking by outside, just a few feet away. And, she remembered, the door was unlocked – any of those shoppers could, if the fancy took them, walk in and see her stretched out, open and available to be fucked in any of her orifices. The thought was incredibly arousing but, held as she was, there was nothing she could do about it. For the first time, her lust overcame her paranoia, and she longed for someone, anyone, to come in and take her.

She didn’t have too long to wait, although the ten minutes seemed to last forever. At last, the door opened, and she saw that it was Mr Angry. Her lustful yearnings turned to fear – she remembered his earlier threat to make her suffer, and knew he would carry it out. She didn’t want to be hurt right now, she wanted to cum! But, she knew only too well, she had no control…

“Well, what a fucking whore you are!” Mr Angry said, with undisguised contempt, as he locked the door and strolled over to where Amanda was straddling the wooden trestle.

“What’s really funny is, you’re such a worthless whore, you have to pay me to fuck you!”

He dropped the holdall he was carrying and unzipped it. He took out a butt plug, made of clear plastic, and held it up to Amanda’s face.

“First thing we need to do is get that tight little arse of yours stretched out so it can take my dick,” he said, making it clear he was going to enjoy this. Amanda stared at the plug in fear, having no experience of such devices, and never having had anything at all put into her anus. It was much thicker than she thought feasible to go into her and, unlike pictures she’d seen on the Internet, it had no slender neck around which her sphincter could contract – once open, it was going to stay open. She didn’t bother shaking her head, though, she knew it would be pointless, she just moaned in fearful anticipation.

“Hmm, I guess this could be a little painful, and we don’t want you attracting too much attention.” Amanda watched him take a soft rubber dildo from the bag and push it into her mouth through the ring gag. His hand began to squeeze a rubber ball attached to the dildo and Amanda felt the dildo begin to expand inside her mouth. She tried to push against it with her tongue, to push it out of her mouth, but her tongue was soon trapped beneath it, reducing her moans to muffled whimpers.

Mr. Angry stood in front of Amanda so that she could see him coat the butt plug with lubricant. He was watching her face intently as he worked, enjoying the look of panic in her eyes. When he began to press the plug against her anus, Amanda struggled in pain as it slowly slid into her to its full extent, stretching her anus further than she ever thought possible. She cried out as she was opened up, her moans becoming cries and eventually screams as she felt like she was being torn apart. The cuffs rattled against the trestle as she frantically pulled at them in a vain attempt to get free and stop the torture, but it was no use, the monster was going in whether she liked it or not. Tears were now rolling down her cheeks, but there was no sign of mercy or even empathy for her plight – if anything her tormentor seemed to be revelling in her torment.

He worked it in and out, building up a slow rhythm, enjoying the pained grunts and cries which accompanied her repeated penetration. Amanda screwed up her face at the pain inflicted on her, but she endured it, knowing it was only going to get worse. Slowly, she realised that, somehow, the pounding of her anal passage was transmitting through and creating a sexual response in her – to her utter shock and dismay, she found herself aroused by it. Maybe her heightened arousal due to the bondage and her reaction to the whole situation helped, but against all expectations, she found herself wanting him to pump it harder, faster, deeper. It was still incredibly painful, but now her aroused state was so high that she was becoming frustrated by the slow movement which was stimulating her, but not enough.

“Okay, now you’re all warmed up, time for the real thing!” Amanda found that ‘the real thing’ was longer, thicker, harder, and rammed into her with a lot more force. The trestle started to rock, and the legs scraped on the floor as he slammed into her. She cried out, not only at the internal pain, but also because the edge of the trestle top was being driven hard against her venus mound, making the wood dig into her and scrape her skin raw.

Although she was still in a lot of pain, Amanda found herself becoming more and more aroused by the anal assault, which made her somehow ignore the pain. Suddenly, she was reaching a wholly unexpected climax, making her cry out with pain and pleasure at the same time, a very strange, and not wholly pleasant, experience.

Having forced her to orgasm, her tormentor now pulled out of her rectum and strolled around to her head. Amanda, already dazed from the pain and excitement of her anal violation, could do nothing to prevent him deflating and removing the dildo, then pushing his still-hard cock through the ring into her mouth. She retched at the smell and taste of her own shit, and choked as he forced himself to the back of her throat, but he was paying her no attention. This was not a blowjob, this was a face-fucking, and she had no choice but to take it until, finally, he shot his load into her throat, into her mouth, and into her face, leaving her coughing and spluttering, while sucking in much-needed air. When he pulled out, her head dropped, and the cum she had not swallowed slid out of her mouth, forming into a thick strand down to the floor beneath her.

Amanda felt him behind her again, and this time he entered her wetly receptive cunt, bringing a long, high-pitched whine of pleasure from her lips. She was amazed by his stamina, as he thrust into her, bringing her to orgasm once more. She felt the butt plug forced into her again, although it went in much easier now, and he worked it back and forward as he brought her to a second climax with his cock. At last he pulled out, and she felt his hot cum spraying over her thighs, between her buttocks, and across her lower back.

“Oh, hi, Carla, come to play with our little fuck toy?” she heard him say as the door was unlocked and opened. She wearily lifted her head and saw the stunningly beautiful woman come into the shop. She walked over to Amanda, pulled off the wig, grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, causing the gagged woman to grunt in discomfort.

“I’ve had a fucking awful day, Tom, and I’m going to use this little cunt for a bit of stress relief,” she spat, “whether she’d call that ‘play’, I don’t know, and frankly, I don’t give a fuck either, she can just take it.”

“I thought you were supposed to be the ‘good cop’ here?” the man asked with a smile.

“I know that’s what Janes said,” Carla replied as she took off her coat, to reveal that she was wearing a black leather corset, which cinched her waist and gave her a wonderful hourglass figure, “but I’m afraid our little cum slut is going to get bad cop, really bad cop today. Let’s get her off that frame and make her a little less comfortable.”

The two of them worked together to free Amanda from the handcuffs and place her in new bondage, while Amanda wondered at Carla’s suddenly very hostile attitude – she had looked to her to provide a contrast to the aggressive approach of Tom, who she had previously thought of as Mr Angry. She had hoped they might repeat their mutual pleasuring. But now, she was scared of what Carla might do to her.

Tom got some additional equipment from the bag as Carla unlocked the cuffs. He had a metal pole with cuffs at either end, which he extended to its maximum length and then cuffed Amanda’s wrists to it, so that her arms were held outstretched on either side of her. A leather collar attached to the middle of the pole strapped around her neck, making the pole into a yoke. He then made her sit on her heels, and tightened a leather strap around the top of each thigh and the ankle below it, so that she was held in a frog tie. He unfastened the ring gag, and Amanda worked the ache out of her stretched jaw.

When she looked up, a flash of fear ran through her as she saw Carla pick up a flogger and pass a cane to Tom.

“Please, Carla,” she sobbed, “I’m in so much pain already, please don’t hurt me!”

Carla strutted over and stood in front of Amanda, who was on her knees, arms strung out on either side of her, her eyes beseeching.

“I’ll give you a chance to please me,” Carla said with an evil smile, “if you do it well, I may show you mercy.” Amanda nodded her head gratefully, willing to do anything to avoid that flogger.

“Well, get over here, you useless whore!” Carla barked, flicking the leather fronds threateningly against the floor. Amanda urgently shuffled forward on her knees until she was pressed up against the stocking-clad legs. Craning her neck forward with difficulty, she poked her tongue against the other woman’s shaven mound and parted her labia, seeking out her clitoris. Once she had located her target, she set about licking and sucking it, nibbling and flicking, desperate to please. She felt Carla’s hand stroking her hair, and she stretched a little further to allow her tongue to lap at the woman’s vagina, which was already wet in anticipation.

“Why don’t you give her a little encouragement, Tom?” she heard Carla say, and a few seconds later she jumped and squealed as she felt the cane delivering short, sharp blows against her breasts, first on the sides and then, more painfully, across her nipples. She redoubled her efforts, hoping to end the nagging torture by making Carla cum. The persistent tapping transferred to her buttocks, then her stomach, and then to the tops of her thighs. Amanda squirmed under the attentions of the cane, crying out as the occasional blow was struck more firmly, stinging her flesh. The lower half of her face was covered by Carla’s juices by now, and when she felt the fingers curling into her hair and pulling her in even closer, she knew her efforts were finally producing the desired effect.

“Harder!” Carla cried out, and both Tom and Amanda assumed the command was directed at them. Amanda dug her tongue in deeper and faster, while trying to cope with the increasing pain as Tom flicked the cane against her breasts once more. At last Carla reached her climax, letting out a strangulated cry and pushing Amanda away with such force that she toppled over onto her back. She lay there like a turtle, trapped and unable to get up or turn over, prevented from doing so by the yoke on her neck and wrists.

“Well, that was pretty good!” Carla said, as she recovered her composure. “Unfortunately for you, I’m still in a bad mood, so I’m still going to give you a damn good flogging.” Amanda looked at her in dismay.

“But, Carla, you promised! You said –”

“Oh, gag her, please, Tom!” Carla cried out in exasperation. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a whining, snivelling worthless little whore like her!” Tom grabbed Amanda by the chin as she tried to turn away, forcing her jaws apart and pushing the dildo between her lips. He pumped it until her cheeks were bulging and she couldn’t spit it out.

“What a pretty sight!” Carla said as she looked down on Amanda’s supine body, her legs doubled up and held by the straps, her thighs wide apart. With a flick of the flogger, she brought the leather thongs whistling down across the woman’s lower stomach, venus mound, and glistening vaginal opening. Amanda screamed into the gag, barely able to comprehend the level of pain delivered by the vicious blow. She clamped her thighs together and turned her legs to the side, which meant that the second strike hit her at the top of her thigh and on her buttock. Tears were streaming down her face as the strands slapped down across her already marked breasts and then on her stomach. Carla stood over her and, with a hand on her right knee and a foot on the left, prised her legs apart so she could whip her pussy again, raising a desperate scream from the distraught woman. She grabbed the cane out of Tom’s hand and used it to deliver perfectly targeted blows down on Amanda’s swollen lips and wet cunt, easily resisting her frantic attempts to break free and protect herself.

Finally, Carla stood back, breathing heavily from her exertions, but also from the thrill she got from beating the helpless Amanda, who was lying still, almost out of her mind at the agony coursing through her entire body, but centred between her legs.

“Get her up on her feet,” Carla ordered. Tom released the straps on Amanda’s legs and dragged her upright, having to hold her there as she swayed groggily from side to side. She could see that Carla was digging in the bag, and she felt a thrill of fear run through her as she wondered what new means of torture the cruel woman would come up with next.

To her abject horror, it was a strap-on dildo, and one that looked even bigger than the cock she had taken in all her orifices earlier. It was double ended and, as she strapped it to herself, Carla slid one end of the dildo deep into her cunt, moaning a little as it went in. She looked at Amanda’s tear-stained face, the look of wide-eyed terror, and smiled.

“What’s up, cunt?” she asked with an evil grin. “Too much for you? Do you want out?” Amanda desperately nodded her head and made muffled begging noises.

“Well, you should have thought about that before you filled in your request, shouldn’t you, you stupid bitch! I can do whatever I like and you’ve got no comeback, because you already agreed to it! Now bend over!”

Amanda backed away from the woman, still shaking her head and pleading with her, fresh tears on her face, until her back hit the wall. Carla forced her to turn around and pressed her face against what she suddenly realised was not a wall, but the plate glass window, covered by the thin sheet, and she was staring at the shapes of shoppers only a few feet away, oblivious to her plight. She suddenly wished she was out there, where it was safe – at least from the kind of assault she was suffering in here. Carla spread Amanda’s buttocks and forced the huge dildo into her sore rectum, stretching her sphincter even wider than before, reducing the woman to tears yet again. She thrust up, drawing another muffled scream, until Amanda’s feet were hardly touching the ground, then turned so that she had her own back against the glass.

“Why don’t you join me in this little slut, Tom?” Carla called over.

“Don’t mind if I do!” Tom replied, with a nasty smile, as he sauntered over and stood in front of the two women. He guided his rampant erection into Amanda’s aching cunt and sank it up to the hilt, lifting her briefly off the dildo in her rectum. They now took turns to thrust in while the other withdrew a little, so that Amanda was being fucked on both strokes, alternately front and back.

Amanda was in constant agony, but too exhausted to do anything more than moan as she was bounced up and down on the erect phalluses like a rag doll. She was bathed in sweat and almost delirious, hardly able to take in what was happening to her. She was sure she couldn’t cum again, she was too sore, too tired, and in too much pain. But she was wrong. The actions in both cunt and arse drove her to another bittersweet orgasm of pain and pleasure, before they let her down and withdrew. Hers legs collapsed under her and she fell to the floor in a heap, barely conscious.

“What do we do with her now?” Tom asked as he re-adjusted his clothes. Carla looked down at Amanda with undisguised contempt.

“Oh, just leave her, Janes will come for her eventually. Come on, I need a drink.”

Amanda managed to look up and saw them heading out of the door, leaving her sprawled out on the dirty floor, still naked, yoked, and gagged. She heard the key turn in the lock before unconsciousness finally overtook her.

When she woke up, she realised the bondage had been removed and, although she was still naked and on the floor, her head was resting on something soft. She looked up and saw Janes looking down at her, and she realised her pillow was his thigh. He held a bottle of water and allowed her to take a long pull on it.

“You okay? You look pretty exhausted.” The concern in his voice was obvious.

“I’m a bit stiff and I ache a bit,” Amanda lied – she hurt like hell – “that was a little more intense than I expected.”

“I’m sorry, maybe I should have double-checked, only your request specifically said you wanted this to be very rough.”

“That’s okay,” Amanda said, not wanting him to know she couldn’t remember what she’d asked for, “I’m just a wimp, that’s all.”

“I wouldn’t say that, after what you just put yourself through! You’re pretty tough.”

“Thanks,” Amanda smiled, appreciating the compliment.

“The thing is, did you enjoy it?” Janes asked.

Amanda thought back to all the pain she had suffered, and all the humiliation, and then she thought of all the orgasms she’d had. With a shock she realised she was still horny! She glanced surreptitiously at Janes’ groin, and wondered what lay beneath the well-tailored trousers. Her cheeks reddened at the thought, and she suddenly felt embarrassed by her nakedness. It seemed like she spent a lot of time naked in his company – did he plan it that way? She had a sudden vision of herself chained, kneeling at his feet like a slave girl, and liked what she saw.

She shook her head to try and clear it of such thoughts.

“Let’s put it this way,” she said, smiling up at him, “I will be retaining your services again in the near future, Mr Janes.”

He smiled back. “I’m glad to hear it, Miss Burton. Now, shall we get you cleaned up and dressed?”

End of part 2

Copyright© 2012 by Jennifer Harrison. All rights reserved. I welcome your comments. Email me at