Zippers

 

 

PART 25

 

 

It was a crisp, icy day but very bright. Having been stuck indoors all day, I had to squint as the sun glared into my face. I shuddered as I stood outside, in the open; anyone could see me now. I had to keep my mind on the task, on the job, otherwise it would implode. I corrected my posture, took a deep breath and then started walking. Not the ‘exhibition’ from the video, but my ‘normal’ slut’s gait. I strutted and moved like I was cruising for business. I had to take small steps but I took them quickly as I knew Vivienne would soon be behind me, ready to be my voyeur; as if the phone transmitting from my bag wasn’t bad enough.

 

I saw a figure starting to round the corner ahead of me. My heart started to pound, I couldn’t believe I was going to be seen, in cold daylight, looking like I was. I reaffirmed my resolution to avoid the pain; I would have to be able to deal with this.

 

As we neared each other, I could see that he was behaving strangely. He was trying to snatch glances at me without making it obvious. His obvious discomfort actually made me feel a little better, like I was not so severely disadvantaged. He ignored me as we passed each other and I breathed a sigh of relief. I could do this, hopefully.

 

The second figure around the corner was a woman; then a second woman appeared, walking with her. My hope disappeared. They were about my age and fashionably dressed, in dark coats. They both wore stylish leather boots with heels and had ‘designer’ looking handbags. One was blonde, with a long ponytail, the other had an angular, fashionable ‘bob’ haircut. As one of them noticed me, I saw her hand go to her mouth. She was talking behind it. The other girl then looked for me. When she caught me, she visibly sniggered. I wanted to scream! I wanted to scream at the top of my voice; to scream my lungs out. I was fully exposed, helpless in front of them.

 

The intertwined ticking of our heels gradually merged as we neared each other. I could see that they were stifling their amusement; trying to hold straight faces. I did the only thing I could, I smiled. The girls stared, with eyes like the heads of nails. Their looks, although evasive, were of contempt; contempt for being a slut. I saw the disbelief in their faces as they noticed, when they were close enough; how extreme my earrings were; the little ring through my fingernail; my swollen, surgical lips and my ‘tits’; begging for attention. It was all I could do to just keep moving and not turn around to run back inside. When they were behind me, I did not turn round, I didn’t want to see them looking back and laughing at me. I filled up with a deep, shameful crimson. My throat felt tight. I reached up and touched it, trying to loosen a tight blouse that wasn’t there. I felt my ‘Anita’ necklace nestling above and between the heads of my collarbones. My God, what did I look like!?

 

To stop the mentally downward spiral towards collapse, I ran through my checklist again; as a distraction. I brought myself back to the job at hand. I had to remember everything; the walk, the face, the moves Cara had taught me and worst of all, the thing that Vivienne kept calling my ‘party trick’. Glancing behind me, I saw Vivienne emerging from my block of flats; I knew I had to get on with it. I took a deep breath and as I heard the clicking from my Mistress’s spike-heels, gradually getting louder, I set off, around the corner.

 

The noise from pneumatic drilling immediately hit me. I had been so absorbed in my shame that I had not really noticed it. There were half a dozen men working on the road, all wearing hard-hats and fluorescent yellow over-vests. I couldn’t believe the situation I was in, it was just unreal. I tried to imagine that I was in a trance as I found my target amongst the workforce. With one further thought about the punishment, to drive me, I started to strut. I went through my confidence routine, like the previous night. I tried to feel like I was Julia Roberts again. Fuck it, I tried to imagine that I was the whore from ‘Desperate Cum Sluts’. I tried to tap her well of shamelessness. Amongst the noise, I somehow made out the sound of high heels behind me. I wished it was Cara. I would have felt a little better if it was her who was with me. It would have been harder doing it alone, but it was worst doing it for the amusement of Vivienne.

 

I flicked my head high. I felt a cold splash from the dangling golden hearts at the sides of my neck; I felt like such a slut. For the first time, I tried to consciously draw power from that. I harnessed the slut’s confident abandon, that uncaring, almost oblivious regard for her shame. I channelled that feeling into my walk. I was completely conscious of my legs and breasts, perfectly displayed, as my man set down his bucket and chanced to look up. I saw him freeze, dead, like he’d seen a ghost. I swallowed and he watched, mesmerized as I started my performance. It was slightly easier to do at that distance but as soon as I saw his jaw drop I knew that I had two choices. I could either submit to the raging shame swelling inside me, or I could ride my way through this, become the slut of his dreams and seduce him.

 

There was no way I could take the horror of Vivienne’s punishment again. I blew him a kiss as I became ‘her’. I told myself I was playing a role; that it wasn’t really me. As that thought started to ease my pain, the ‘naughty slut’ smile on my face started to feel more relaxed, and as a double-edged sword, more natural. I ignored the little voice at the back of my mind; my dignity.

 

I started to think ‘I need a fuck, God I need a fuck so badly, and I want it from you!’

 

It was like a mantra, to brainwash myself. Even the swelling self hatred that was building inside me was not powerful enough to match Vivienne’s punishment. I though it over and over again as my walk became more and more depraved. My pelvis was swinging and grinding as I writhed as lustfully as I could towards him. My focus was on my mark, solely. I didn’t care about the other men, as they stopped their work. At least that’s what I told myself. The blush across my face and neck told a different story though. The drilling and clanking gradually subsided to a total halt. Against the background sound of the traffic, they could now hear the clicking of my stiletto heels on the concrete. I pressed my chest out. I would use my hated tits now; they would become an asset and would help me to get this awful job done.

 

My man was obviously flushed but had regained some control and was now walking towards me. I heard the first whistle from his mate, and then they all started. It was to a melee of wolf-whistles, calling and howling that I stopped my strutting and took a pose; my right hand on my hip, my foot turned out to the side, my bag hanging down on the left and my head turned and cocked slightly. I kept my lips parted, trying to imagine I was in the middle of my programme on the training machine, anticipating taking the cock into it. I hoped the cake of foundation I had on my face was enough to hide my utter shame.

 

‘My God, I mean…..Wow!....I mean……Wow!....Anita!......You look…….Amazing!’ he spluttered. His eyes were all over me, he didn’t know where to look. Feeling that it was the only way I could carry on, I drank in his lust and started to feel some power from it. Damn it, I started to feel in control a little, like this guy was ruled by his dick and that at the moment, I was ruling that. This had to work in my favour.

 

I slowed my walk down. I made a conscious decision to become his temptress, albeit an easily obtainable one. I wanted to drive him wild, he would need to be able to come twice, in twenty five minutes. He was paralysed as I stepped right up to him and reached up to his face.

 

I moved, tantalizingly, towards him and slowly, painfully slowly, moved to kiss him. At the last moment, as he closed his eyes, I moved to the side, to his cheek and lightly bushed my lip against it, breathing onto him. I felt him moan. I had to cash in now, I had to go in for the kill. I looked him I the eyes.

 

‘I need you inside me’ I breathed seriously ‘I need you now’

 

It was a cheesy, porn-film line but it worked. I saw him swallow. One of his mates was shouting, ‘Go on son! Give ‘er one from me!’

 

This was met with cheering and more whistling. I looked at him and smiled,

 

‘Go on, give me one’ I thought as I made my slut face for him. I tried to project that thought at him.

 

‘Come with me’ he said, looking around shiftily.

 

I took hold of his arm, becoming his girl. A sudden wave of panic hit me, was I really doing this? How was I going through with seducing this guy? Why was I not shrinking away in embarrassment? Where was my dignity?

 

As I felt his thick, tight muscles, the realisation that I was a woman, giving myself to him consumed me. I felt so female, so female that it almost melted me. Then I remembered that I was, of all females, a pleasure girl for his amusement; a trainee whore; a slut, learning her trade. Instead of screaming, ‘No!’ as loud as I could, I squeezed his arm and looked into his eyes. As he looked longingly back, I licked my lips and said

 

‘Come on lover, I want to taste you’

 

I thought I saw his pupils dilate there and then. He quickened the pace and I had to concentrate to walk that fast in my white stilettos. As we made for a side street, we passed Vivienne. She completely blanked me but it was enough to remind me of my true purpose, my true condition. Instantly upset and struggling once more to hold it all together, I gripped hold of the man’s arm and took some comfort from the fact that not everyone wanted to see me suffering. After the treatment that I was getting used to from Vivienne, I started to warm to the idea of some company that would treat me nicely; even if it meant giving my body to them for some easy love.

 

I wanted to ask him things. As my emotions started to carry me away, I started to get upset again. I didn’t even know his name; the second man that I had ever had sexual relations with and was now about to ‘double’. I felt the pain of Vivienne’s cruelty again. She had stroked my head before I had left the flat. She had given me a couple of further rules. Next to what she had already done to me, they seemed so trifling, but now I was feeling their sting.

 

She had told me ‘No conversation outside of sex-talk’.

 

At the time, it had been the last thing on my mind. Now, as we walked, hurriedly and silently to the makeshift venue for our encounter, I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to at least know his name. I wanted to tell him that he was only my second man ever. I wanted to let him know that, so that maybe he would treat me with special care and attention. But that was my former self talking. It was ‘Slut Anita’, and her only, who was allowed or able to talk to him. The closest I could come to expressing myself was,

 

‘My! Someone’s in a hurry?!’, a desperate attempt to invite a compliment, to hear that he cared for me. As the pause lengthened, I released the tension; it wouldn’t do to have my ‘client’ feeling uncomfortable,

 

‘And it’s me baby, I want to fuck you dry’

 

As the ache weighed in my heart, I recognised the truth of how lonely I was. I would be intimate with this man yet we would remain strangers.  

 

As I thought of what I had just said, I wondered how I was thinking of these things, I really was not that kind of woman normally. I almost sobbed aloud when I remembered that the girl in the video had said exactly that!

 

I had subconsciously absorbed and assimilated it. Her behaviour was becoming mine. What was I turning into?

 

Whatever it was, regardless of my own despair at it, he was responding to it.

 

‘Oh you will! Don’t you worry, I’ve got more for you, more of what you got last night. God you were so hot, I’ve……well, I’ve never been with anyone like you before Anita, you’re just so damn……well…….Fucking hot!’

 

At that he stopped. He turned me towards him. I could see, in his eyes, he was overcome with raw desire, for me. He pulled me close, one hand between my shoulder blades, the other down, on my left cheek. I felt enveloped by him and while his embrace was driven by his rising lust, it was warm and loving too. His touch was firm but sensitive. I responded, like I knew I should, by rubbing my knee up his leg and running my shoe up his calf. When my thigh was horizontal, he hooked his forearm under it, supporting it. My God, I felt his fingers fishing under my skirt. We were still on the street, in broad daylight!

 

He pulled me in, so I was so close that I could rub myself against his leg. I heard him gasp and moan as his fingers brushed across the perfectly smooth, bare skin atop my labia. I didn’t realise that my bare skin would be so exciting for him. I made a huge moan of pleasure when he started, with a finger inside me, to gently rub around the outer part of my tunnel. It felt good. I’m ashamed to say that after all the punishment and sadistic torture that I had been forced to endure, I allowed myself to enjoy the feeling; to lose myself in the lovely sensation. While we were not able to be intimate mentally, we could be one physically. His touch, for that moment, freed me. It was the most welcome contrast to my Mistress, who wanted to cut parts out of me or burn holes in my mind. I would allow myself to be his and it was all right anyway, because that was what my Mistress wanted.