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déjà-vu of a nightmare - Alan23 and Sandy)

He falls in behind her, not acknowledging he knows her, carefully preserving the secret of his dominance over her. Even among the street noises he can hear the occasional loud sob that escapes from her, see her clenched fists that show her total mortification.

The new skirt she has bought sits just below her knees, but clings to her posterior. Everyone can see that she has no panties on underneath it, and though she has now moved from the section where the people saw her wet herself, passers-by are now staring at her for an obviously different reason. A few whistles are heard from guys, and expressions of disapproval from women. This skirt, that clings in such a manner, is not the kind that should be worn with no underwear! Her buttocks wobble seductively as she walks, and she keeps tugging at it, to try and stop it clinging in quite so revealing a manner, but the more she tries to adjust it, the more it clings, and all she is doing is to call even more attention to her indecency.

He can see that even the back of her neck is flushed, from her utter embarrassment.

When she reaches the car, he opens the door, and, as usual, makes her wait until he has got in and settled himself. When she does so, she tries to smooth down the skirt, but he orders her to pull it right up into a band around her waist, so that any passing truck driver can see her. He amuses himself by making a few remarks about her unshaven vagina, commenting on how obvious it is that she's had children, even putting his finger into it to illustrate his point. As they drive, two truck drivers pass, and both sound their air-horns in delight, causing her even greater mortification.

Since she has given him so much entertainment, he allows her a brief concession, giving her permission to pull onto the hard shoulder and wipe her tears and fix her make up. He even allows her to pull her skirt down, but makes her remove her blouse and then put the jacket back on. She tries to make it sit to reveal as little of her breasts as possible, but it gapes at the neckline, and when she gets out in public again, any passer-by will be able to see right down it.

"Not that there's much to see," he says, cruelly, "given that your tits droop so much, but at least you won't be able to hide the horrible things."

After more driving, he makes her pull up at a very dingy part of town.

"Now, I've decided that someone with such ugly tits as yours can't have much of a social life," he says, as if he's doing her a favor. "So here's what I've decided. We're going to go the the mall, and find some girls who are hanging out. Then you're going to go up to them, and beg them to feel your tits up. If they refuse, you have to go down on your knees and beg harder. And don't forget to apologize for having such saggy ones."

He takes her purse from the jacket pocket and counts the money. He retains a fifty (about half the contents) for himself and gives her back the rest.

"And if they still refuse, offer them all the money in here to do it."

After a few minutes, they come across a group of girls, lounging around, speaking into their cell phones and generally hanging out. The girls all wear tight jeans, crop-tops, heavy make up. The sort, he knows, that a snooty girl like Sandy will usually avoid.

"OK, here you go. And make sure it's good - or back under the influence you go!"
 
i look at him, look at them, and then down at myself. though my breasts are basically covered by the jacket, the cleavage goes deep enough to make it obvious that i am not wearing anything underneath. i walk a few steps towards the girls. they are all younger, i would guess between 19 and 23, and they look pretty much like sluts. jim has once said that in high school and college, the boys had a name for girls like that "funomas" which means "fuck'em, not marry'em" and when i look at them now, i see what he meant.

i really do want to avoid another hypno block, but when they start noticing me and look up from their cell phones, all my courage is gone, and i turn back. there is just no way i can ask those girls to touch me. my tormentor frowns at me and is gesturing to try again, but i shake my head and whisper "i can't, i really can't"

he shrugs, his face still in a major frown, but his eyes sparkle amused. he walks towards a small phone store, and i have no choice and follow him. behind a big advertising sign, out of view of those girls, he touches his shoulder again and right away he is in total control again. because i refused to obey before, he adds a little extra to punish me, which instantly brings tears to my eyes, but he doesn't like that, not this time. "you will not cry!" he orders, and, to my surprise, my tears stop instantly. i always thought that crying was an uncontrollable emotion, but apparently hypnosis can stop that too.

"you will however know exactly what you are doing and saying" he adds with a vicious grin "and you will be aware the humiliation and shame."

unable to fight it, i approach the girls again. while 3 of them are still talking into their cells, 4 others are leisurely chatting now and notice me right away. just like i was ordered, i stop a few feet from them, forcing me to speak up loud enough so they can all hear me.

"excuse me ladies" i start and immediately have their attention. i bet not many people have ever called them ladies before. "i wonder if you could help me with a problem. where you ladies have beautiful, firm, round breasts, i have nothing but saggy, empty skin bags dangling from my chest. if you could just have a look, maybe feel them up and give me some pointers, i would really appreciate this. i know it is a lot to ask for, but i am desperate, and really do need help."

for a long, very long, humiliating moment they all stare at me. even those who were on their phones are completely silent now. then one of them starts to laugh hysterically, and soon they all join in. i feel my blood rush into my face, but i am unable to run, or even just turn away from them, so i stand there, my eyes blinking rapidly, but not a single tear appears. finally, after what feels like hours, one of them stands up and says ...

"yer askin' me, us, to have a look at yer sorry udders, feel them up and tell ya wot we'd do if the gawds wouldave punished us with sumthin' ugly like dat? do i get this right, bitch?"

"y...yes please" is all i can reply and another one of them takes over quickly

"why bitch? i betcha all ya want is sumone to feel ya up. bet them tits haven't been touched by anyone but you 'n thata way ya wanna git a good feel outa it, uh?"

they all laugh again, and i can only pray that a black hole will appear out of nowhere and swallow me. but nothing like that happens, so i just stand there, my face flushed, my head feeling like it will explode any second now. two of them are getting up now and coming closer to me, one almost looks sympathetic.

"wellllllll bitch," the one says "i dunno 'bout feelin' yer tits, but yer welcome to show'em to me."

unable to refuse my orders, i unbutton my jacket, and push it aside, both my breasts in full view now. a new wave of laughter hitting me and some of them call out ...

"yeah bitch, saaaaaaaaaaggy!"

"gawd them udders are ugly"

"no way anyone but a surgeon can't safe those"

but not all of them laugh, and not all of them comment. i can see that three of the girls are holding back now, and the one who has come closer even says ...

"they aint that bad. kinda nice even. i mean, yeah, they sag big time, but believe me, sum guys like dat. if i were you, i'd wear a good push-up, 'n if sum idiot doesn't like wot he sees, tell'im to git lost 'n git yerself 'nother beau."

suddenly the mood changes, and others agree with her. to my total surprise they start to curse men in general for being unsensitive and assholes in general. while some state that they are saving up for plastic surgery, if and when their boobs will start to droop, some others say that a natural sag can be very appealing. i am really surprised how this turned out. sure, i am still standing in the middle of a mall, presenting my breasts, but it is not half as humiliating as i had expected it to be.

not being allowed to close my jacket again before at least one of them touches my breasts, i gather all my courage and ask the girl who spoke up in my favour first.

"could you please show me how a push-up would make them look, please? maybe the others could look and judge, so i will know what kind of bra i will have to look for."

she pauses for a moment, after all, a complete stranger has just asked her to touch her boobs in front of all her friends. but she really wants to help, so she walks behind me, hesitantly cups my breasts and pushes them up. the others giggle, but then start to tell her what to do.

"higher"

"push'em closer together"

"don'tcha squeeze 'em so hard"

then they agree, the bra i should buy should hold my breasts in place just like her hands are doing right at that moment. one of them snaps a picture with her cell and sends it to my phone.

"print dat, 'n take it wif ya when yer tryin' on bras sweety" she smiles "when ya find one dat holds yer boobies jist like dat, buy a dozen."

they all laugh, but there is no menace in it any more, just good humor. i thank them all, especially the one who held my breasts. gratefully i button my jacket again and offer to buy them a drink, which they refuse.

" 'tis ok, sistah" one of them says "inna few years or so, we might all have yer problems. wellll, not me o'course, but babs here prolly will." she points at the girl next to her and they all laugh again when babs blushes and protests.

my face is still flushed when i return to my tormentor, but i don't feel so bad anymore, even though i half expect him to be not satisfied with the way it turned out, and he might find something a lot worse for me before the day will be over.
 
Eavesdropping on the conversation between Sandy and the mall-ratettes, Young Master is fuming. This has not turned out anyway he wanted. He has expected them to mock her, make fun of her. Too late, he remembers that he failed to take into account the natural sympathy one woman has for another. When Sandy, following her prearranged orders, gets back into the car and starts the engine, her face is still crimson, but he notices a slight tinge of satisfaction that it hasn't worn before. As if she has won a victory, against all the odds. He has to pretend that he planned it exactly that way, making remarks like "Well, I hope you enjoyed that little treat I set up for you - see, I can be kind when you're a good girl," but short of hypnotizing her and making her believe it, he knows he isn't fooling her.

Finally, after some thought, he releases her from the hypnotic hold, and makes her park the car in a side street. It's time for another change of outfit again, and he explains the plan for the next stage of his "entertainment" for her.

"OK, this is simple enough," he says. "I'm going to leave you here, and drive on for a few blocks. All you have to do is meet me at the corner of Franklin Avenue and Harding Street." Obligingly he shows her the map, so she can't get lost. He sees the look of relief on her face - after wetting herself in public, how bad can simply walking a few blocks be?

"Oh, there's just one thing, though," he smiles. "It's a bit hot to be so overdressed."

He makes her remove the jacket and the skirt. The blouse is, if she pulls the hem down as far as it will go, just long enough to cover her sex.

"You can have them back when you get to the car," he smiles, shutting the door and roaring off, leaving her standing alone, looking forlorn in just a blouse and bare legs.
 
frozen in panic i pull frantically at my blouse. i have no idea if anyone has watched when he made me strip naked and even the flimsy blouse is better than that, but i know that i will have no chance of avoiding people once they spot me, so i start to run.

my soft breasts bounce madly and pull up the blouse with every step i take, but i realize that i can't use my hands to keep it in place without slowing myself down a lot, so i reluctantly let go and run as fast as i can. my bare feet start to hurt on the hot asphalt, but there is no time to lose, i need to reach the safety of my car.

when i pass a sidestreet, i see out of the corner of my eye that a group of people, probably some boys up to mischief, are cowering in an entrance. hoping against hope that they haven't seen me, i sprint on, but not a second later i know that my luck has run out.

"did'cha see that bitch runnin' by? i think she's streakin' " i heard someone yell out and soon after that i hear running feet behind me. i am not exactly out of shape and work out quite regularly, but barefoot as i am, i'm not match for young adolescent boys. within minutes they are all around me, laughing and commenting on my bare behind, my hairy pussy and most of all, about my bouncing breasts.

"cum on" one of them says "take that top off too. it ain't streakin' if ya wear a top ya know. lemme see them tits bounce."

they are having a great time and when one of them slaps my bum, the other join in. in seconds i feel my behind reddening, but just when i see my car one of them decides that slapping my bare behind is no longer good enough. his hand finds his way between my legs and grabs a handful of my pubic hair and one of his fingers parts my outer lips. i scream and almost fall when his hand slides out again, ripping quite a few of my hairs out. in panic i mobilize my last reserves and reach the car, but when i try to open the door, it is locked.
 
Young Master emerges from the shadows, where he has been watching the kids torment her. Her brief period of ascendency, when his plans with the mall-sluts went wrong, has ended. She is back where she belongs, in total submission and humiliation, and now being taunted by mere kids.

"You're not doing it right," he says to the kids, emerging from where he has been lurking. "Don't you know, it's no good just asking her to take it off."

They all fall silent, watching him, this guy who seems to know what he's talking about.

"I gotta tell you guys, there isn't much to see," he goes on, grinning. "Frankly, they're the softest, floppiest pair of sacs you'll ever see. But I'll show you if you like. You like?"

One of the boldest of the kids nods.

He stands before Sandy, his eyes boring into hers. He knows she doesn't dare to disobey.

"Arms in the air!" he snaps, and she obeys instantly. He takes the hem of the blouse and pulls it upwards, over her arms, removing it completely. She is now naked. He sees the pleading in her eyes, not to touch her breasts and make them wobble, which would drive her total humiliation to a point beyond which she has experienced, even in his past persecution of her. So - that's exactly what he does.

The kids laugh, their stomachs hurting, so comical does she look, with her sagging breasts wobbling, like condoms filled with water.

"See. Just saggy bags," he says. "OK, guys, no more to see. Not that there was a lot to see in the first place. Now fuck off."

And off they fuck.

He has had enough fun today, allows her to drop him off a few blocks from his home, and then go her way. In four days, she is to be ready to receive him, looking as pretty as she can. He has made it plain that if she looks attractive enough, he might give her an easy time.
 
i should have known better when he asked me when i would have the house to myself and for how long. my hand trembles as i drive home. my own house, the home of my family. oh my god! jim will be on a business trip, and the children will stay with my sister. it has all been planned weeks ago, long before i knew that jim would have to be out of town. my sister and i usually have the kids sleep over to have a romatic evening with our husbands, but then this stupid business meeting came up and it was too late to postpone the sleep over.

but still, our house. i really don't want him to be here, but refusing him would not work, all he would do is hypnotize me again and he would be here anyways. and what did he mean with "make yourself pretty. the more you impress me, the easier i will make it for you"

the man who calls me a pathetic excuse of a woman wants me to pretty myself up for him? i don't even know what he likes in a woman. if i humiliate myself and wear a sexy cocktail dress, he might claim that he likes the tomboy look, if i wear make-up, he might say he likes it natural. i really can't win, but i still have to try, because even a slim chance is better than none. and i know how mean he can be. no, i will have to do everything i can to make this as easy as possible for me.

sunday comes by way to fast, but i am prepared. he is young, much younger than i am, so i have decided to put on a little make-up. nothing much, i don't want to look like i want to seduce him, god knows i don't, but a lil' eyeshadow, a hint of rouge, and a moisterizer for my lips. to counter that, i wear my hair in a pony tail, and i have decided for a simple summer dress, beige with red flowers. underneath i wear decent panties and a push-up bra, yes, i actually bought one and i blush when i think about it it. i took the nice girl's advice, the one from the mall and, even though it feels awkward, it does hold my breasts nicely.

i don't know when he will be here, nervously i check my watch way too often and can't really concentrate on anything. there is beer in the fridge, and i have a steak and fries ready if he wants to eat. all i can hope now is, that he will be impressed and happy, and leave without causing any incident. on a summer sunday, all the neighbours are home, and some of them are very nosy. i know they will talk about a young guy visiting me when jim is out of town, but i already told jim that he will be here, that i have invited the grocery delivery guy to make up for some silly misunderstandings that almost cost him his job. jim had just smiled and said "you are too good for this world" and left it with that. so, if my tormentor will not do anything real bad, there is nothing to worry about.

i almost jump when i hear a knock at the door and rush to open it. it wouldn't be good to make him wait, not for him or me, no, for the curious neighbours.
 
Despite himself, Young Master has spent the day in a constant state of erethism. Sure, he doesn't find Sandy all that attractive as a women - originally, he'd planned just to use her as an experiment to make sure his hypnotic ability worked, before trying younger and prettier game. He admits to himself that her face is pretty enough, and she has good legs, and if not for her awful boobs she'd probably be quite hot. But fuck, the woman's surely over thirty. No, it's her total submission that's turning him on, the way he can do whatever he likes to her, and her having no way to resist.

So, when he arrives at her front door at the specified time, he's as horny as hell. Not that he's going to let her know that. He's her master, not her lover or her admirer, and she'd better not get the idea that anything else is the case.

"Sorry I'm late, Mrs McAndrews," he says, very loudly, for the benefit of any neighbors that might be listening, deliberately or otherwise. He's made a promise that he won't make her look a fool in front of her neighborhood, or her employers, nor her husband, and he knows instinctively that breaking this covenant will leave her with nothing left to lose, this risking the otherwise unbreakable hold he has over her. "I was out with my girlfriend, you see," he continues. That should, he calculates, dispel any suspicions they might have, still their otherwise wagging tongues.

He can see she's rushed to open the door, for she's panting slightly. Can see that she's nervous too, as she quickly rushes him inside. He has to admit, she doesn't look too bad for an older woman. The light summer dress she wears, in that light brown color (like all straight males, he's vague about subtle shades) with the little flowers outlines her figure pretty well. And he can see she's wearing a push-up bra. There's limits to what it can achieve, of course - even with it on, her breasts are still tiny, soft, and sagging - but at least it's the best they've ever looked.

"Not bad," he admits, lifting up her dress by the hem and taking a look at her panties. They're a somewhat conservative type, high-waisted and off-white, and already they have sagged into folds around her hips. He knows that taking such liberties causes her severe embarrassment, bringing home to her that he can take whatever liberties he likes, and that she's powerless to prevent him. Doing it in her own house, her own domain, gives him an even greater sense of power. Even here, she is his total slave, unable to resist. He takes her breasts and pushes them upwards, with a "still a bit droopy, but I guess that's the best you can do with such pathetic little dugs," and the blush, which started when he examined her panties, becomes deeper and redder. "Now, pull those panties up so they aren't all wrinkled, then you can pour me a drink."

She serves the neat vodka as he's taught her, kneeling before him and offering it up on a tray, and she isn't silly enough to pour one for herself, since he hasn't given her permission. He makes her crouch at his feet while he sips it, then makes her bring him the cigarettes he's ordered her to get for him, and lights one up. Then he orders her to crouch at his feet. She does so, but the summer dress isn't really designed for lounging about in, and rides up showing far more leg than she's obviously comfortable with. Her fussing with the hem to preserve her modesty amuses him, though he's already seen her panties, and he allows her to do so without permission, since it kind of turns him on.

He can see her shaking, knowing how frightened she is. He deliberately prolongs the moment, lulling her into a false sense of security.
 
i know that he is up to something, but i have no idea what it might be. he didn't come over here to have me serve him a drink and watch him smoke, that much i know, but not knowing what he will do is really killing me.

it is annoying that he keeps calling my breasts "tiny". they are not big, that much is true, but c-cups are the most common size. ok, they do sag, but again that is not at all uncommon either, and as a nurse i have seen a lot worse on younger woman, some i would even have called empty. more or less just skin bags with the nipples pointing down. but then, i really shouldn't care what he says, as long as he doesn't hypnotize me to repeat those vicious lies.

sitting on the floor is not a problem, i have done that many times when we had more guests than seats, but having to sit at his feet is a silly demonstration of power, and it begins to bother me. he is definitely too young to hold such powers over anyone, but maybe that is good for me. if he would be more mature, he would probably be less obvious, but a lot more dangerous.

i force myself to breath slowly and regularly. showing him that i am annoyed and nervous will not be helpful at all. i just wish he would have asked for beer instead of vodka. if he gets drunk he will be even more erratic than before, and god knows that he has been unpredictable enough. i catch myself fussing with the hem of my dress again and know that he probably thinks that modesty is driving me on, when all there is to it is tension. i just don't know what to do with my hands while he is sitting there, sipping his vodka and smoking cigarettes. all my thoughts turn and turn around the one subject: WHAT THE HELL IS HE DOING HERE?
 
He keeps her waiting half an hour or so. Partly, this is because he is enjoying her state of tension, but mainly... mainly because he is waiting for something.

And finally, it happens. The chime of his cellphone. He removes himself, takes the call outside, and as he returns she only catches a single phrase. "... about two minutes? Sure."

Shortly after, the doorbell rings. He makes her stay on all fours in the lounge and opens it himself, carefully checking through the inbuilt spyhole to make sure it is the person who he is expecting. She hears the murmur of voices outside, then he enters, followed by two of the ugliest men she has ever seen.

"There she is," says Young Master, indicating Sandy as she crouches on the floor. One of the guys, a huge, fat, pasty-skinned creature stares at her, drooling. The other, a skeletal creature, with stick-thin arms, and so much bad acne his face looks like a pizza, turns to Young Master, back to Sandy.

"This is true?" he asks. "You're just gonna let us... "

"You needn't bother speaking to her," Young Master replies. He pulls out an expensive movie camera. "She's just a slave. You don't need her permission. Just a suggestion though, don't look too hard at her tits. They're pretty small, and saggy... "

"They don't look that small to me," says Acne-Face. Under the circumstances, he sounds almost gallant. "I think they're nice!"

"They're saggy though, Larry, you got that right," laughs Pasty-Face, groping at the tits, seeming surprised that Sandy makes no move to resist him, and then taking more liberties, cupping them, tweaking her nipples, putting his hand down her dress. He goes as if to kiss her, and stops at a rapped command from Young Master.

"NO! You can fuck her, as long as she doesn't want you to. But no kissing. That's reserved for her husband. The only person she fucks by choice is him. It's only because she doesn't want you to have her that you can go for it. I made a promise."

Pasty-Face picks up Sandy by her buttocks, carrying her over to the wall, while Young Master aligns the camera. The spread position of her legs, that he has arranged either side of his huge flabby stomach means that the hem of the dress rides up, showing all of her legs and her panties. He begins fumbling with the fly of his jeans, then looks angry realizing that he can;t fuck her through the panties - Young Master and Acne-Face laugh uproariously, as the whole thing is captured on film.

"Stand her up, Frankie," Young Master laughs. "Sandyslave. Take your panties off. NOW!"

He watches her face, enjoying the humiliation as she is forced to remove her panties, stepping out of them. All the boys know how angry she is, but that she can't disobey. "Hey, she wears undies like my mom," laughs Pasty-Face, trying to recover his dominance. "And you're right, her cunt's so hairy."

"Yeah, thought you'd like that," says Young Master. "It's as dry as a desert, though. You'll have to force it in."

The boys all laugh at Sandy's expression, as Pasty-Face climbs on top of her. "Now, remember," laughs Young Master. "If she enjoys it you have to stop. That would be cheating on her husband. That's against the rules."

"Let me try the camera," says Acne-Face, and Young Master hands it to him. The other boy fiddles with the controls. Sandy notices, though the other two don't, that the red "record" light goes out. There is a slight whirr from the device, that sounds like it is recording - but in fact is the noise it makes when it wipes a file.

"You fuckwit!" screams Young Master. "You wiped it. All we recorded."

"Sorry. Hey, well it don't matter," says Acne-Face. "Like you said, we can record it any time. It isn't like you need a record to keep her in line, is it. You were saying that you had total control."

"Yeah, that's true," admits Young Master, who can't contradict what Acne-Face has said without admitting his control isn't as firm as he'd said. "Get on with it, Frankie."

Frankie goes about his task with no ceremony. Sandy is a thing to be used, and he knows it. He straddles her and forces himself into her. This is not making love, not even sex. It's an appetite he's discharging, with about as much passion as if he were eating a hamburger or drinking a coke. He pumps a few times, to the delighted applause of Young Master. He ignores the quiet, defeated sobs coming from Sandy, pumping away mechanically, and eventually grunts, and discharges into her. Then he climbs off, wipes his dick, and sheathes it back into his jeans. "Your turn, Mick."

Mick looks at the other two boys in turn. There is a set, determined expression on his face.

"Nah," he says. "You know, I don't think I wanna do this."

"Hey, you agreed," screams Pasty-Face. "You chicken? You said - "

Acne-Face meets Pasty-Face's piggy eyes. The fat, white boy looks shamefaced. Thin as Acne-Face is, there's a look in him that the others won't cross.

"It isn't right," continues the pimply kid. "Sure, having a fuck, that's jake. Not this. Using her like meat. Sick."

The other two watch as he leaves, nonchalantly, even favoring Sandy with a small smile.

Young Master makes Sandy kneel on all fours, while Pasty-Face plays with his dick, getting it semi-hard. Then, at Young Master's command, she begins to perform fellatio on the fat boy, a task that takes a while before he gives one of his trademark grunts and cums into her mouth.

"Fucking Mick," growls the fat boy. "I'm gonna kill him, when I see him."

"No you ain't," grins Young Master. "You know he can beat the crap outta you, and he's quick with a blade. Just be thankful you got his share." he turns to Sandy. "Bitch. We want feeding, and drinks, and smokes. Get moving!"
 
my carefully applied eyeshadow smeared all over my tearstained face, the slimy taste of fat boys discharge in my mouth, and much more of it dripping out of my aching vagina, i stand up, unable to refuse his hypnotic block and walk to the kitchen. my dress somewhat tangled, but thankfully not bad enough to show them that i'm no longer wearing panties. while preparing sandwiches, i hear them talk and laugh in MY living room.

"damn" says fat boy "that was the tightest cunt i ever fucked"

"yeah right" laughs my tormentor "like you ever fucked any cunt before in your life. and don't even argue, your left hand doesn't count"

fat boy grumbles but when my tormentor reminds him that he would never get to abuse me again if he keeps bragging like that, he caves in and mumbles something like "but i almost did that drunk chick, you know, at that freshman party."

i would have loved to stay in the kitchen, but the moment i finish the sandwiches, i put them on a plate, add that to a tray, grab two bottles of beer and, against everything i want, return to them. fat boy immediately grabs a sandwich in one, and a beer in his other hand before i can even put the tray down, my tormentor on the other hand waits and then orders me to hand feed him. unable to fight, i have to do that.

"food" he commands and i hold it to his mouth to take a bite

"beer" and i hold the bottle for him to drink

fat boy watches and chuckles like a kid. "you rock" he says to my tormentor "you really rock, man. but you know what would be even better? if she would be naked! yeah man, that would be really cool."

with a shrug of his shoulders my tormentor bathes in the compliments of his buddy. "stop feeding sandy bitch and strip naked. show my mate that i didn't lie about your pathetic tits." he orders and then adds "and since he must be a masochist to ask to see them, you will stand in front of him, legs spread wide, hands behind your back, bend forward so they will dangle right before his face and then you will apologize for forcing such ugly, pathetic excuses for tits on him."

tears running down my face i unbutton my tangled dress and step out of it. the second i open my new bra, my soft breasts bounce out and while my tormentor laughs, fat boy just whistles and stares at them jiggling. without any control over my body i stand as close as possible in front of fat boy, my legs wide open, my hands obediently behind my back, and lean forward until my quivering breasts almost touch fat boy's nose. my voice is choked with tears as i whisper ...

"please forgive me for forcing you to look at my ugly, pathetic excuses for tits"

fat boy stares at my dangling breasts, his mouth wide open, pieces of half chewed sandwich still in there. for a long time everybody is quite, then fat boy closes his mouth again, swallows a few times and grins.

"you know" he says "saggy tits can be great too. i have seen pix in the internet, you know, like all tied up, or strapped into some cow melking machine. your bitch would look great in that"
 
"Can't do the cow milking thing," laughs Young Master. "Where we gonna get one, this time of day? Tying the pathetic cow up might work though." He swallows the last of the sandwich, drinks some more beer. "Sandyslave. Rope. Fucking quick, too, or you can guess what's gonna happen!"

The boys watch her slink out, shame oozing from every pore. Up until this moment, Pasty-Face has half thought that Sandy was one of those weird women who like being abused, that it was some consensual game between her and Young Master. Now, seeing her resentment, that she's forced to hide, but can't quite manage to, he knows different. He thinks about the humiliation the woman must be suffering. She's been fucked, forced to suck him off, had her breasts mocked enough (and even had to apologize for them) and now that they are going to tie her up, she doesn't even have the option of resisting. She is obviously shy about being naked, and the blush covers her whole body. The boys suspect that even if she had perfect tits she'd still be embarrassed, but with her floppy breasts, she feels so small, so helpless that you can actually see the mortification on her, oozing out of her like sweat.

And now that they plan to tie her up, she doesn't even have the dignity of being able to struggle. She has to go and fetch the ropes herself, and tamely submit.

They truss her up, none too gently, ignoring her cries of pain as the ropes bite. Young Master soaks the knots, so that they will get even tighter and the ropes cut in, though not enough that the marks will last more than a few hours, for he's sticking to his bargain that he won't humiliate her in front of her husband, and the robe marks mustn't show the next day.

"It's a shame she's got such droopy bags, really," Young Master remarks, in much the same way as if they were discussing a motorbike with too small an engine, or a shirt with a pattern slightly too loud. "Her legs are OK, for an older woman."

"Nah, they're OK," replied Pasty-Face. "And I think her cunt's tight enough, 'cept I've got a rash from it being so hairy. Shame we can't shave her, but you said we can't do anything that leaves a permanent change. Hey - what about a mock tattoo. One that says 'I'm an ugly slut' or something, that she can wash off after we've done?"

They sit, eating sandwiches, drinking beer with shots of vodka in it, ignoring her pleas that the ropes are hurting, discussing fresh ways to humiliate her even more, each suggestion bringing a whimper of distress from Sandy. "Shut that crap up, or we'll gag you," Young Master shouts at her, after which she is as quiet as she can be, though tears still stream down her face. Then they amuse themselves by putting a paper bag over her head and taking a few photos, being careful not to include any distinctive articles of decor in the shots, so that no-one who knows her will ever be able to identify her.

"How will we find this on a search?" asks Pasty-Face.

"Just do a search for 'saggiest tits in the whole world,' " laughs Young Master.

Eventually, they have had their fun, and untie her, after which she has to beg their forgiveness for having such sagging breasts again, and suck Pasty-Face off for a second time. By the time they leave, Sandy is a physical and emotional wreck, and has had to memorize her instructions for her next meting with her owner.
 
the sun is slowly setting and i am still lying naked on the carpet weeping like a child. i should have expected it, after all my tormentor did to me before, but somehow i didn't. and now i had happened, i have been raped. at least my breasts are back to their normal color now. they had been purple, almost black when they finally untied them and it was extremely painful when the blood started to flow back into them.

slowly i get up, my body hurts all over but worse than that is the feeling of being dirty, soiled, filthy! i walk to the bathroom straight into the shower, turn the water on hot and let it run over my body for what seems like hours. i force myself to wash, scrub every inch of my body until i feel raw. raw skin, burned skin, but still the filth is clinging to me. there is nothing i can do now, nothing that will make it all undone. i don't feel like soiling my bed as long as i am filthy like this, so i just wrap myself into a large towel and cry myself to sleep on the bathroom floor.

the morning brings no relief, i get up before dawn shower again, but not as hot as last night, and i dress in my oldest, baggiest clothes. the house needs to be cleaned, my children will come home today, happy from their sleep over. they should not see their home and their mommy like this. my dress and underwear is still were i was forced to leave it, i take it outside and burn it all, then i get on my hands and knees and scrub the carpet. nothing, absolutely nothing from them should remain in our home. the chair are next, and it is noon before i stop myself. only then i notice that i haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday. but i am not hungry, maybe i will eat when the kids are back, maybe.
 
(Three days later)

It is the time arranged for their next meeting, coinciding with Sandy's husband's next trip away. Young Master has called in sick at work, and ordered Sandy to pick him up at ten. This will give her time to drop off her children at school, go home and change, and still be on time.

His orders (via the two mobile phones that he has bought especially for giving her orders, paid for with her money of course) are complex. He remembers the positive effect her push-up bra has had on her saggy boobs, and this has given him an idea... an idea that has also been stimulated by something he's seen in a downtown boutique set aside for those of the gothic persuasion. He has sent her a photograph of the window display and ordered her to purchase the black leather corset that had pride of place. She is to wear it, under a tight slinky ball gown, with attached sheer stockings and high heels. There is a risk here, for the corset will probably make her breasts look passable and actually increase her self-esteem, but he figures that her levels of shame after the treatment he let Pasty-Face meet out to her the last time will be so high, that the small ego-boost she gets from the corset will be negligible. In any case, he's specified the size she has to buy - two sizes too small - so the discomfort she suffers will more than make up for the slight improvement in appearance.

Soon he sees the familiar car draw up at the arranged meeting place, and her scared face behind the wheel. He gets in and sits beside her, with the simple word "drive"...
 
i can hardly breath, the too small corset is very uncomfortable when standing, but sitting behind the wheel of my car is extremely distressing. wearing a shoulder free ball gown at 10 am is not really making me feel better, especially because the leather corset pushes my soft breasts up high and even though my nipples are still covered, i feel very exposed.

the dress starts out skin tight, showing not just too much of my breasts, but also clearly the outlines of the corset, and widens around my hips and goes all the way down to the floor, making it hard to drive in. not that my 5 inch heels are helping at all. twice i have missed the accelerator, and i can only hope that i will not cause a crash.

just when i left the house, the mailman had come by, and commented on my very unusal outfit. blushing i had tried to explain that i was going to an opera dress rehearsal and i can only hope that he has swallowed that.

the light in front of us turns red, and i need two tries to hit the breaks. luckily i was going slow enough and i can stop the car in time. i turn to my tormentor, and even though i had promised myself never to beg him for anything again after last sunday, i have to break my own vow.

"could you take over please. this outfit is not made for driving."

to my surprise he agrees without any humiliating comments about women driver, he probably realized that making me drive in this dress would be dangerous to his health too. we change seats but getting out, and back into the car with the too tight corset takes a while, and the light has changed to green, other cars honking behind us, before i am back inside.

if he is waiting for me to ask any questions about my outfit or where we are going, i disappoint him. not that i don't want to know, but ever since he had me raped by fat boy, i know that nothing i can say or do will make it easier on me, so i just wait for him to hypnotize me again and hope and pray that it will not be too painful or humiliating for me.
 
We (Alan and I) agreed to stop here. It was fun to play with a great imaginative roleplayer like Alan23 and I can really recommend him as a partner.

Thank you all for following our story!

Sandy
 
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