The Path to the Whore. Part 3

The day of the meeting arrived. He had asked me not to wear panties and to put on a short skirt. Today, I wore a thin lace bustier, a white top over it, stockings with a garter belt, and a tight blue skirt that barely covered the lace of the stockings. I applied light makeup but accentuated my eyes with eyeliner, styled my hair in curls, threw a white blazer on top, and, of course, classic white high heels.

He picked me up at 8 PM and asked me to sit in the back. As soon as I sat down, he moved to the back seat. He was dressed as last time, in a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and trousers, but today the trousers were gray.

— Get on all fours and lift your skirt!

I lifted my skirt right

away and got on all fours.

— Good girl, you slut!

He took something out. I felt something cold touch my anus, he pressed, and it was already inside me—it was a plug.

— Now move to the front!

I lowered my skirt and flitted to the front seat. We drove off. He put his hand between my legs and occasionally touched my clitoris. The plug in my ass and his touches were arousing; my nipples hardened and became noticeable through the top.

— Suck me off!

I knelt on the seat, unzipped his trousers, took out his cock, and wrapped my lips around it. We drove for about 15 minutes, and all that time I was caressing his cock.

We stopped. He pulled me off his cock and zipped up his trousers.

— Turn your back to me!

I quickly turned around. He tied a silk scarf over my eyes. He got out of the car, opened my door, and we walked. I stepped carefully, afraid, but he guided me without incident.

We entered a room; the door slammed shut and the lock clicked. He took off my blazer, skirt, and top, leaving me only in the bustier and stockings, and led me forward.

— Get on your knees!

I knelt down, blindfolded. All my senses were heightened; I listened to every sound and smell, but I liked it.

— Your appearance needs some finishing touches!

He took off the bustier too, came up behind me, moved my hair to one side, and put something around my neck—I assumed it was a collar. He squeezed my breasts, and a moan escaped me. Something began to tighten my nipples, and a cold chain touched my stomach. I felt a rush in my lower abdomen.

— Hands behind your back!

I put my hands behind my back and felt handcuffs on my wrists. Something clipped onto the collar and tugged, pulling me toward him. On my knees, I crawled to him.

— Are you still not a whore?

Thoughts immediately raced through my head: "A whore again..." I stayed silent.

He pulled me up. I stood on my feet, and he led me. We approached something; he laid me on my stomach and chest—my nipples ached immediately. If it weren't for the fact that it was soft yet cold, I would have thought it was a table. He fastened a belt around my waist, spread my legs, and fastened them too. He lifted my hands up and secured them so I couldn't lower them.

— Not a whore?

I stayed silent. He walked away somewhere and returned, stroked my buttocks, and slapped me with his palm. The blow echoed with a burning pain.

— I'll stop when you become a whore!

I tried to move, but I couldn't. Another blow, on the other buttock—the pain arched my back. Another blow, and I broke into a scream. Another blow, tears streamed down my face, and he continued slapping me with his palm.

— Who are you?

I stayed silent. He stopped slapping. I relaxed a little, but then a blow landed on both buttocks at once, in a narrow strip. It arched me, and I screamed.

He approached my face.

— Still haven't decided who you are?

I stayed silent. It was hard for me to admit to myself that I was a whore. I was raised as a good girl, excelled in my studies, everyone knew me as a good person, and here I had to admit that I was a whore—a word I associated with filth.

Another blow, followed by another. I screamed; the blindfold was wet from tears, my ass was burning. Again and again, I don't know how many more there were until I admitted to myself that I was a whore.

After another blow, I forced out:

— I'm a whore.

The blows stopped.

— Whose whore are you?

— Yours.

— So who are you? Say it loudly!

— I'm your whore!

— Good!

He approached my face again and began rubbing his cock against my lips. I opened my mouth.

— Stick out your tongue!

I stuck out my tongue. He began slapping my tongue with his cock, then inserted it into my mouth and started fucking my mouth, going deep and lingering inside me. And then he went deep into my throat, held my head, pinched my nose—I couldn't breathe. I started thrashing for him to let go, but he didn't. I felt myself starting to black out; thoughts raced through my head: "This is it." He pulled out his cock, and I began gulping air.

— Good whore!

He approached my ass and started stroking it—apparently, there were abrasions from the belt, and my ass was burning. But I began to get used to it and relaxed, went limp. He abruptly pulled the plug out of me—pain again—I squealed, and he was already inserting his cock and fucking my ass, squeezing my buttocks. My moans and squeals turned into whimpers. His cock began to pulsate, and he came in my ass. He approached my face.

— Lick my cock clean!

I began running my tongue all over it.

— Enough, time to take care of your pussy!

He began unfastening me—hands, legs, waist. He pulled the leash, and I stood up. He took off the handcuffs and blindfold.

— On all fours!

I got on all fours, and he pulled me by the leash. He led me to a bed surrounded by mirrors.

— Lie down!

I lay on my back. He turned me so I could see in the mirrors what he was doing. He squeezed lube onto my clitoris and began stroking and spreading it over my pussy.

— Does the whore want to come?

— Yes.

— Then don't you dare move!

He began penetrating me with his fingers—first two, then a third slid in, a fourth. He fucked me with four fingers while pressing his thumb on my clitoris. Then he added his thumb and went in up to the knuckles; his hand wouldn't go further. It hurt; I started screaming and squeezing my legs. He took my throat in his hand and squeezed.

— What did I tell the whore? Or should I punish the whore?

— No, I won't do it again.

I relaxed my legs, spread them. He pulled out his hand and slapped my pussy. I shuddered and bit my lip. He squeezed out more lube and began pushing his hand into me. It wouldn't go in; he screwed it into me, and finally, it entered. He stayed inside, letting me get used to it, then began moving slowly. I howled in pain, then the pain turned to pleasure, and the howling turned into sweet moans. He started moving faster, even faster, then abruptly pulled out his hand, and an orgasm washed over me—a stream gushed out, and I began shaking. And he entered with his hand again, made a few quick thrusts, and pulled out again—another stream, a new wave of orgasm. He kept doing this until I blacked out from another orgasm.

I came to, lying in a puddle beneath me. I tried to get up, but my body wouldn't listen; my legs were shaking, and I fell to my knees.

— Already awake?

— Yes.

My lower abdomen ached; my nipples ached, the clamps still on them. He came over, took the chain, and started pulling it. My nipples stretched, and the first clamp came off—pain shot through me, and I screamed. He immediately yanked off the second clamp; my scream turned into a new one, but this pain seemed to sober me up.

He helped me up, took me to the shower, washed me, and helped me get dressed. Only because my legs were shaking, I couldn't stand in the heels; he carried me to the car in his arms.

While we drove, he asked how I felt, whether I liked it, whether I would wait for the next meeting...

— Of course I will, I'm your whore now!

I said this already in the parking lot near my home. I got out and went home, to wait for the next meeting and only guess what awaited me then...