The Consort Contract Pt. 02

Literotic asexstories – The Consort Contract Pt. 02 by AnneOfVienna,AnneOfVienna
The man I had come to call The Professor now led me by hand while walking into the woods with him, alone.

One could be excused for thinking the scene was romantic: afterall, that peaceful summer Sunday afternoon was beautiful and I was, like many American women, looking for adventure and excitement in the hands of a strong man capable of protecting us as much as plundering our bodies. And that certainly applied here.

However, there were a few more critical elements at play: one, that I was a *married* woman and this man was *not* my husband; two, I was a bondage prostitute — oh and my pimp (and main Lover anymore) was *also* not my husband; three, this man was indeed a customer — vetted somewhat but one still riddled with mysteries; four, he was also a sadist, though an admitted one and seemed so far to be sane.

This lattermost fact — his kinky sadism — was something I accepted about him because I myself could — at times anyway and only somewhat — enjoy pain. And because while I liked to be “taken” and plundered and used and thrilled all the while I did love making money *even* more. If a lady hasn’t earned cash literally *with* her cunt, even once, has she ever truly lived?

Anyway… this is what ended up happening with that sadistic (but well-paying!) man. Alone with him in the woods that day…

…

We had walked perhaps a few minutes deep into the dense growth of trees — neither speaking all the while — before reaching a small clearing — a space on the ground with perhaps only a dozen feet between the nearest trunks — and there we came to a stop.

He let go of my hand and then lowered the picnic basket onto the ground.

He got to business fast:

“Turn around and face away from me.”

I did.

“Bring your hands behind you, wrists crossed.”

I complied.

I heard a sound like rattling chains and then I felt him grab my forearms one by one, and clamped what felt like cold metal handcuffs around both my wrists  It was done fast, with little time for me to complain. He ratcheted them both down, tight. I assumed he had the keys to release me later.

“There now… That makes it a little easier to control a slut. In my experience anyway.”

Apparently I was the slut in this scenario. Not that I denied it.

He also took the opportunity to fondle my ass a little from behind, giving each of my buttocks a firm squeeze or two. Seemingly just because he could.

Speaking of my ass and his fondling thereof it could be a good time to reveal what I wore that day. Heck: what I even looked like, for the whole picture, for context?

First, I am white and was then around 35. I’m a bit shorter than average with a petite build and small perky breasts — and a trim figure from diet and exercise though certainly no athlete — all of which perhaps contributed to me looking younger than otherwise, I assume.

Black hair, kept short for convenience — though my new lover/pimp preferred it long so I had started to grow it out.

Green eyes.

Narrow waist. And men have described me as having a kind of “perfect, heart-shaped” butt and nether regions. And sometimes even gave the compliment of “quite spankable!” which that at least I *could* confirm.

And next… what I wore that afternoon, when meeting this customer, The Professor?

A kind of red knit shawl over top a white blouse — itself about half-way buttoned up. Beneath the blouse? Nothing, no bra — I didn’t really need one anyway and the thin white fabric of the blouse made it easier for men to see my nipples and dark areola.

Black micro-skirt made out of some cheap fake leather — de rigueur for street hookers, of course, though I was not exactly that. Not yet?

Cheap thin white cotton panties. That way if I lost them or they got ruined or taken as trophy it wouldn’t matter. And if I did get aroused and wet or even spotted blood then either way it could help to see it.

My vulva was hairless — kept that way by shaving each week. And my labia were small, almost non-existent — hard to hang clamps from but not impossible. Also, I had never bore children and though I was no longer a virgin I had men tell me I was incredibly “tight” down there — something I may or may not have been proud of, by the way.

Also while I had showered thoroughly and even perfumed myself here and there before dressing I had also given special attention to my ass — before leaving for this “date” and at my customer’s request. He had asked that my butt be clean, both inside and out, and we knew what that implied. Therefore my ass had taken an enema or two and gotten washed out as best I could — it was a little gross and awkward to do but OTOH the sheer humiliation and the feeling of “smallness” and submission also turned me on to a major degree.

But anyway, to help “cap off” that area my lover also helped me to lube up my ass — better to get it ready for anal intercourse, in case the customer wanted it, a reasonable bet.

And then he pushed a small green-jeweled smooth metal (surgical steel) buttplug into my asshole to finish the look. It looked perverted and erotic as hell but it had a more practical benefit: it helped to keep my little butthole and its sphincter muscle ring “open” and therefore more ready for penetration by cocks.

The plug, the lube and the enema beforehand in combination all seemed like sensible preparation steps for any anal whore who was serious about delivering the best experience for her lovers and certainly for maximum customer satisfaction — in my opinion, anyway. I know *I* was serious.

Sensible athletic shoes. Normally I’d wear high heels when I expected to go somewhere to fuck men for money. But since grass and bare earth were on the agenda I ruled those out.

Big hoop earrings. I just felt like they made me look more slutty. They made me feel that way for some reason. I even chewed cherry pink bubble gum as I had approached the picnic table to meet this customer (after my pimp and I arrived at the park, in his car, about 15 minutes prior) the better to complete the vibe.

Glossy red lipstick.

Purple eye shadow.

And finally, the only *other* jewelry I had on — other than my hoop earrings and my buttplug — was perhaps the most important one of them all: my *wedding* ring. And yes I *was* a whore now despite being married, and my husband neither *knew* of this fact nor did *I* care if he approved — we had reached that point. However, it turned *me* on to still wear it as I fucked and fucked innumerable strangers. And I believe it turned on some of those horny, kinky men too, as a bonus.

But back to my ass and The Professor’s fondling of it…

He lifted my micro-skirt up in the back with one hand, and with the other he slipped his fingers under the waistband of my panties, without asking, and quickly yanked them down to my thighs.

I made a kind of surprised “Oh!” sound in reaction. It was not a bad surprise. I was horny before but between the tight-handcuffs-behind-my-back and this panties-yanked-down-in-the-woods The Professor here now had this little whore *quite* wet, and, increasingly needy.

He then seemed to just *stare* at my bare ass a while, at close range like that. He had seen it before — my butt, just a few nights prior — but never before from this perspective and angle. And so he seemed to be savoring it. Like a perv! And you will note I did not complain.

He had fondled my butt before, through my panties, and now he resumed it — this time with my fully bared butt — his hands directly upon my skin. He slid and rubbed his hands and fingers all around and along both of my broad curved feminine buttocks and haunches, from my waist and hips down along my thighs and back up again. Though he never *quite* approached my metal-plugged asshole or slicked cunny — despite those being technically “fair game” and within his rights to do with as he wished. An awareness which might have turned *me* on even *more* than him, frankly.

Why?

Because I *love* the feeling of being owned, and the feeling of being “taken” as prize and thus now at the whims of some dangerous conqueror — to be claimed by the bold and clearly lusty and utterly primal (with all the modern, prudish & cock-blocking political propaganda *bullshit* set aside for once!) — ideally by only the strongest and most determined of men and with their sharp Hunter’s eyes lusting *only* for me.

He pried my buttocks apart then leaned down as if to take a closer look.

“I like the plug. I bet you were a good girl and got clean down there. If not, well… I have ways of punishing you I am sure you will not like. And so, really, I would win either way.”

I nodded, as if to acknowledge him. I don’t *think* he wanted to hear from me. It was easier for me to stay in so-called “sub space” too, the more I remained in a state of mind without using words.

“I am going to do something now, to you, that might be… scary. I do not wish to frighten you. Not really. And so I am warning you in advance.”

I absorbed this, then nodded.

“So… I am going to cut off your panties. Their presence offends my tastes, though it is not the whore’s fault — not today. Regardless, I will use some scissors to do it, from my pocket. I tell you all this because it is important, I suspect, that you do not scream. Am I clear?”

I thought about it, and… he was not unreasonable. It did scare me. But… the man was a perv — I knew it going in and he had paid well for my time. He had not gagged me, not so far. Not drugged me or hurt me in anyway despite having plenty of opportunity. I had trusted him so far and saw no reason to hit the eject button now.

It helped that he had me *soaking.* Always a factor, I had to admit, at least when it came to sluts like me?

I nodded. Not that it mattered.

Quickly he seemed to pull something from his jacket pocket — the scissors likely, though I kept facing forward and did not confirm. I felt something hard and cool — metal — press against my skin between panty and flesh and with a deft series of motions — one SNIP and then in another few spots all around my body too I felt the panty loosen and fall apart, falling away from me — sliced apart and ruined. He then merely tugged and pulled the ragged cotton remains off of me. My feet never needed to leave the ground!

The feel of it — the entire experience — was a little frightening, of course, but also incredibly thrilling. As if in some terrifying fantasy of being abducted by some lust-mad rapist intent on capturing me and keeping me in some secret basement dungeon of his. All these little ideas and images flashed through my filthy mind, this kind of dark dirty fantasy melange. Fantasy only, of course — and yet now made real.

I shivered.

It was not a cool day but I got goosebumps. Under my blouse my nipples stiffened further. I don’t know how I could get any more wet but I’m sure my dumb pussy was now trying her damndest. I felt it drip and even felt a little arousal fluid trace a single path down the inside of my left thigh. God, I was a fucking slut!

The Professor brought my shredded panties up to his nose and sniffed them — as if he wished to judge their bouquet. I know he did this because I had turned my head around a little to look at him. I had wanted to meet the man’s eyes, to beseech this man to be done with all the damn *foreplay* already and get to the part where he FUCKED MY BRAINS OUT, STAT! I didn’t want to use my words to convey this to him, only my eyes or my facial expression. Or the state of my nipples, or my surely pink-swollen cunny. I was in “sub space” and intended to ride this train all the way to O-land. I am sure other women would understand, especially if they were in my own shoes then.

The Professor didn’t seem to notice that I had turned and was looking at him, and trying to make eye contact. Or he didn’t care. He remained focused on smelling my panties, thoroughly. The man had his priorities, which I had to respect.

“I approve!’ he then announced. Though not addressed to anyone in particular.

*Approved…* His judgment, apparently?

Then he balled the cloth up and tossed it away. It ended up in a pile of leaves and branches not far away. He didn’t exactly try to hide it, and since they were white I could tell then that they would stick out, visually, and be easy to spot. The Professor didn’t strike me as the littering type — I suspect the perv actually wanted others to see it. To find my shredded panties and pick them up and then to wonder how they got there, what *their* story was, however naughty or dark.

And so, with this man, by now, I had been getting a very good sense for just how deep the rabbit hole ran. And… it both scared me and *utterly* aroused me. A combination which might addict me. Just as my own lover-turned-pimp had become for me already: a kind of *deeply* satisfying addiction, like when the most unexpected of keys ends up perfectly fitting into the otherwise most impossible of locked boxes.

Both of these two men now seemed capable of opening up *mine.*

And I was *here* for it!

I turned back to face forward.

He began to swat my ass. Both buttocks, one at a time, with a single hand, striking hard, and going back and forth.

His swats were hard and rocked my hips forward a little with each strike  It was hard keeping my balance with my wrists cuffed behind my back, but I tried.

“Never wear panties again, in my presence. Not without prior pemission.”

I nodded, quickly.

Though I also began to tear up a little. I don’t know if it was the hard swats of my bare butt, the fact he *cut* my panties off me and tossed them away like trash, or that he handcuffed me, or that I knowingly took cash from this man to *let* him do this all to me — a man whose name I didn’t know and yet who had also already flogged my aroused cunt while I was blindfolded and even BITTEN my engorged clit while my own boyfriend watched… All of it perhaps, right then, had become overwhelming.

SWAT!

And so I cried.

SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!

“Ow!” I yelped and flinched away as he seemed to hit even harder. And by then I was openly sobbing, even bawling like a lost little girl.

SWAT! SWAT!

There were dozens of strikes and maybe even a hundred total by the time he was done — I lost count fast and didn’t care anyway.

With each strike a shock went through me and a few times I almost lost my balance completely. Though I kept my naked butt thrust out for him — offering it up for his punishment, obscenely. I did hate it, of course, but part of me also *wanted* it, deep down, however illogical this seemed. I *wanted* this man — this stranger, really — to *beat* my bare ass. And I wanted him to hurt me!

…

AUTHOR’S NOTE: TO BE… CONTINUED?