Zippers

PART 23

 

Later that day, after being given quarter of an hour to dress, I stood in front of my Mistress once more. Lisa had left the flat, I had no idea why, and I was all alone with Vivienne. I was quaking and was so glad that she was smiling.

 

 

When she had arrived we had sat down together at my table and ‘talked’ about my afternoon of research. Out of everything that she had done to me, I could see that she got the most pleasure from systematically teasing my distastes, fears and weaknesses from me so that she could toy with me, before making me do the same, awful things. I would even have rather spent the whole afternoon wracking my body, pleasing the machine, than being made to slowly but deliberately hammer nails into my own future.

 

To start with, after she had instantly rendered me fully obedient, I had shown her a video of a girl walking. I had found it after having been horrifyingly, and consequently irresistibly, drawn to the title. I hated the way that the loop had been set up inside me. I would scan my way down a list or look at some pictures or films. The ones that I were most afraid of, most scared about being made to do and the most appropriate for a ‘slut’ would be obvious. I would then be compelled to examine them. The walk had been one such instance. The girl from ‘Desperate Cum Sluts’ had me whimpering with shame. Her walk, the things she did and the things she said; and how she said them. I had never seen a woman behave in such a disgraceful way before; so explicitly wantonly, she had not a shred of dignity about her. That accursed film would lead to a wealth of misery and despondent humiliation for me.

 

The girl on the screen was dressed scarily similar to how I had been; she wore white heels and a pink dress and even large gold earrings. She approached the camera with a walk that would have been described as ‘sultry’ if it was about a tenth as extreme. The way it was, it could only have been described as utterly depraved. It was not the sexy, business-summoning walk of a whore; it was the wanton, debauched walk of a nymphomaniac, overcome and peeking with raw lust. The look on her face was one of obsession and deep, basal need; you could see that she longed for a cock in her, anywhere. I looked away in shame but Vivienne grabbed my face and shoved it back towards the screen. I watched her again; sullen and resigned.

 

As I watched her slowly writhe forward, offering herself to the viewer, I looked at Vivienne, watching the screen herself with a wide, satisfied grin on her face.

 

 

She had me emulating the walk in my own living room. She made me get the face right in my mirror and then practice the walk, watching myself. It wasn’t hard to do, physically at least, although the thought of anyone seeing me putting on such a display was just too much and I had to keep pushing the anxiety from my mind.

 

That wasn’t the worst of it by far though.

 

I had clammed up when Vivienne had asked me what else I had found. She had smiled knowingly at me and I had tried to shrink away; like a puppy, knowing she was going to the kennels. She had then looked very pleased and snapped her fingers, pointing to the floor next to her chair. I had quickly got up and knelt right next to her, on the floor. She put her hand in my head, scratching at me with her long nails and took a grasp of my hair, bending my head upwards to face her.

 

‘I’ll let you show your Mistress from down here’ she grinned down at me.

 

I was starting to cry as I reached up and moved the film on to a bookmark that I had set earlier.

 

As the film played I could only see my Mistress’s face. I watched as a wicked smile formed and her lips separated into an evil grin.

 

‘Oh yes slut, I definitely approve’

 

I sank my head onto her leg and wept,

 

‘Yes Mistress’ I said.

 

The film had shown the same girl, the ‘heroine’, the ‘desperate cum slut’ herself, finally getting her satisfaction. She had sucked her co-star’s huge cock with a gusto that suggested it was essential to her survival, like it contained some sort of antidote. Then, just before his climax, he had pulled out of her mouth and while she had left it wide open for him, he had unloaded spoonfuls of thick white semen onto her face and into her mouth. I found the whole thing quite repulsive but it was the part that followed that I was showing my Mistress.

 

The girl looked like her most incredible dream had just come true as she relished the cum in her mouth. It was the look on her face, there was no mistaking what she was. Then, slowly and carefully she wiped up some more of the cum on her face and slowly, savouringly, put her finger in her mouth sucking on the precious juice. She closed her eyes in ecstasy as she, one by one, licked he fingers clean, savouring every drop of the delicious cum. The show that she was making was the most humiliating sex act I could have thought of at that time. It had me quivering in my Mistress’s lap. I had tasted a tiny amount of cum before and I had hated it.

 

‘Go and get a yoghurt from the fridge, slut. We are going to have you practice doing that in front of the mirror, you have three minutes and then you will give me a show’

 

I rushed out tearfully, another nightmare coming true. I was soon pretending that I was the same sperm-crazed whore. I lustfully and slowly licked my fingers clean, scooping the yoghurt from my face and licking at it like it was the most joyous delicacy. I kept my eyes focused on myself in the mirror and tried as hard as I could not to start crying.

 

A snap of the fingers from Vivienne followed and she knelt me down below her again. She took the spoon and gleefully flicked a blob onto my cheek. I then gave her the same show, fixing her eyes with my own and trying to look as depraved as possible. I hated what I was being made to do from the absolute depth of my soul, but the alternative was just not an option. I visualised myself as the girl from the film as I slowly lowered another fingertip of white yoghurt onto my wanting tongue. My heart felt like it was breaking as she smiled down at me and after a while, flicked another glob onto me saying,

 

‘Good slut! I think this will be your little party trick. You will do it after every cum, what do you think?’

 

‘Yes Mistress’ I submitted and then, sobbing, I tried to squeeze the words out, there was a little more, something from my own twisted mind.

 

 ‘Mistress…….I think…….that I should say that………I just love cum so much’

 

As a further idea formed my sobbing intensified

 

‘Good girl, that’s it, let it all out’ she stroked my head

 

‘Maybe I should scoop some cum out of me, if that’s where it is, and do the same sometimes…..Oh please Mistress…don’t make me do that!’

 

I collapsed into a fit of sobbing. She slapped me hard round the face but was smiling at me

 

‘You know better than to say that, but since you feel that way, we can have you do that as well’

 

She smiled down at me and stroked my head as I wept into her lap. She was so cruel to me that there was nothing else that I could do. I no longer had any hope of mercy from her; it just felt better to cry on someone, even if that person was the complete cause of all my misery. She let me cry in her lap for a good long time, I’m sure she must have enjoyed it. It was after that that she sent me off to shower. She told me to wash myself thoroughly and return to her only in what I needed to walk with.

 

 

When I returned, after our ‘little sit down’, Vivienne had further enjoyed herself at my expense. I had tensed and squirmed a she had opened a large medical bag onto the table and she had told me to sit down next to her and to thrust my breasts out at her.

 

I started to tremble as I saw her take out some medical gloves and a bottle of antiseptic. I squeezed my hands tight trying to stay still even though I was almost paralysed with fear. I wondered how much it was possible for one person to take as I saw her take out two huge syringes, each filled with a clear liquid. I looked at her in terror as her face took on its demonic smile once more.

 

‘Please’ my eyes begged her ‘I can’t take much more’

 

She reached over and took hold of my left breast. I almost screamed with fear as she touched me lightly. My obvious discomfort made her laugh loudly. She told me to keep still or she would fist me again. She lifted my breast and examined the suture line. Then she did the same to the other one. I just wished that I was dead. I seriously considered her offer of spending the rest of my life paralysed, being institutionally abused.

 

‘These are healing beautifully Anita. The stitches will already be starting to dissolve and your scars look very neat; tiny in fact, but good and strong; certainly ready to be…..tested, just a little’

 

As she ran her finger along the scar lines, I shivered at the unsettling touch. It was a mix of hypersensitive, healing, inflamed breast-skin and numb, nerveless scar-tissue. I shook at the occasional shooting bursts of electric, burning pain as she rubbed firmly against the severed nerves along each incision, causing them to fire-off, randomly. She was in no hurry to stop playing with me, I was like a pet to her, a toy and she was starting to really upset me.

 

‘He is such an excellent surgeon’ she mused, turning to her medical instruments ‘he always gets such good results. And oh my God!...Very fuckable too, didn’t you think’

 

She put on the sterile latex gloves and started to soak some gauze. I could smell the clinical scent of the antiseptic as she lifted the dripping gauze with some forceps and turned towards me. I was frozen. She grabbed my left breast firmly and started to swab the cold, flowing liquid around my nipple. I broke a cold sweat. Thin lines of pink fluid ran down, over my breasts and down my belly, as she rubbed and worked my nipple and the area around it. I could feel the copious, spilling antiseptic, cold, and seeping down to my thighs. I watched her, trembling, as she took a second gauze and did the same to my other breast.

 

A memory from the day at the café came back to me. Under Vivienne’s wicked spell of such brutal self-betraying honesty, she had had to stop me when I had gotten onto the subject of having my body pierced. Getting carried away with my own hideous self-‘slut’ concept, I had envisaged, amongst other things, a pair of thick nipple rings. I had been relieved when she had prevented me from telling her about them, but now my fears had not only returned but were boiling over as my nipples stood, erect and chilled as the cleaning solution evaporated off them. I was terrified that another of my nightmares would now be realised.

 

I snatched a look at her tray as she took further things from her bag. She was screwing long points onto the two syringes that she had. There was a plastic sheath on each, but inside those, I could see two thick needles. I spluttered out a sob at their sight. Why was I being made to suffer so? What had I ever done to deserve this?

 

Vivienne looked up from her tray. She let out a chilling, callous cackle. She so loved to see me scared, trembling in anticipation, not knowing what was going to happen to me.

 

‘I love it when we get to spend some quality time together you know?’ she said, lifting one of the syringes so that it stood vertically, tip upwards. She gave the plunger the slightest test and I could see a tiny droplet form within the plastic needle sheath.

 

‘Now slut. I know that you do so love your new tits but I wonder if they are still just way too small for you’

 

My lip trembled out a sob as she asked,

 

‘What do you think slut?’

 

She looked at me, hard; she would only accept one answer.

 

‘Yes Mistress’ my voice broke in quivering tones as I tried hard not to cry.

 

She fixed me with an ice cold stare and said simply,

 

‘Beg’

 

 I started to cry properly now. Vivienne’s image blurred as I wept,

 

‘Please Mistress; I’d love to have big tits…….’

 

I sobbed to myself; it was one of the things that she had done to me that I loathed the most. I hated the large breasts that I was now made to wear and I was mortified when I had been made to wear clothes that revealed and even emphasised them.

 

I felt her latex clad hand on my face, wiping at my tears.

 

‘I’m not convinced that you want them slut. One more chance or maybe we’ll think about some punishment for you’

 

‘Please Mistress’ I begged, I looked her in the eyes and tried to look sincere ‘I want to have big sluttish tits’

 

She looked at me

 

‘…..I want to have huge tits and I want to show them off, I want men to come on my huge bimbo tits’

 

I was desperate to please her. As I saw her mouth break a smile I breathed more easily.

 

She laughed and then picked up one of the syringes.

 

‘Please!’ I whispered.

 

She grabbed my breast and I watched in absolute horror as she pulled the cap off the needle and turned to point it towards me.

 

‘No!’ I whispered, frozen with fear as she pushed the tip to the skin just below my nipple and then plunged the needle into my held bosom. I wept hysterically but kept still and obedient as she pushed the needle in to its hilt. I watched as she started to press the plunger.

 

‘Now. Let’s watch you become even more of a whore as they…….grow’

 

As she slowly depressed the plunger and the huge vial of liquid began to disappear I watched as my breast slowly started to swell. My sobbing took on a frantic high pitch as Vivienne laughed loudly. I thought that I would pass out as she pulled the needle out and gave my tit a squeeze. It was visibly and palpably taut again, like it had been the week before, when the implants had been fresh. I sobbed myself hoarse as she took the second needle and did the same.

 

As she depressed the second plunger, at her instruction I repeated,

 

‘Please make my tits bigger Mistress, I so want my whore tits big’

 

As I wept the phrase out, she pushed the fluid into me and I watched in revulsion as my other breast bulged and grew. When she took the second needle out I broke down crying. She stood up and dragged me by my hair to the bedroom. She thrust me in front of my dressing mirror and held my head so I had to look at myself; at my chest. I saw her smile of satisfaction as my sobbing was renewed afresh at the sight of my newly stretched breasts.

 

‘We’ll be doing that little and often Anita, till you look……remarkable’

 

With me still weeping uncontrollably, she sent me away to dress, telling me that I would be subject to her inspection. She told me to make myself look like the kind of big titted slut who would walk the way I had shown her and dream of gobbling down as much cum as she could. As soon as I was in my bedroom I fell to the floor and pounded it with sheer frustration. My life was so horrible! I did this, but just for a few seconds as I dared not displease my Mistress and risk being late or poorly dressed.

 

 

 

 

I stood in the pink dress with the open sides and the elastic strips. My smooth crotch was bare to the world below the tiny skirt that was snapped about the tops of my upper thighs. I had fretted about my hair and make-up and had made sure that they were exactly as I had been instructed; I looked like the proper porn-shoot bimbo that I was supposed to. My freshly sore tits bulged dramatically against the stretched fabric and pushed up and out of the cups in the dress. They presented an immense cleavage between the zip-edges of my dark blue leather-look jacket.

 

There was no way that the jacket could close around me. I so wanted to hide myself away in shame, to cover myself in a huge smock. I couldn’t look at my chest or I would immediately start crying. I looked straight ahead.

 

My look was completed by the white bag on the gold chain and another pair of my new shoes.

 

Again I had to concentrate as I teetered on high, five-inch stiletto heels; but this time I wore shoes rather than the ankle boots. These were also patent white. Vivienne had told me at the time that the white stilettos that so perfectly humiliated me would become a constant feature of my outfits, like a trademark. My heart had sunk as I had tottered around the sex shop in them, so perfectly degraded. She had made the further point that they suited my virginal inexperience for the time being but, in my case, they would soon form a delicious incongruity with the depraved slut that I was to become. I had stared at her sullenly, like a bitch about to be punished, like a little girl being forced to wear her mother’s choice of new shoes; that she hated. Vivienne had stood there and smiled cooing over my new shoes.

 

They were slightly pointed white pumps with a thin strap that closed with a delicate gold buckle around my ankle. At the side of my heels there were several little triangles and other shapes cut out, so the pink flesh of my foot was visible and contrasted against the shiny white of the plastic. They unequivocally shouted ‘trailer-trash’ and I had sulked to myself as I had deliberately selected them, today, for my Mistress and reluctantly fastened them on. I so longed to go back to being ‘boring Anita’ again; to dress in dull, flat, brown shoes. I wished that I could go back in time, burn that advert in the paper and spend the rest of my days dressed like a woman twice my age; as a frump.

 

‘Walk for me slut’ she purred.