I’d been on pins and needles all day, anticipating the moment when Abby would allow me to have an orgasm at her whim. She’d promised, and I was fairly certain that, as long as I didn’t mess anything up too badly, she’d keep her promise. I was so focused on that potential moment that my mom actually asked if everything was alright with me. I think that my reaction, blushing and mumbling nonsensically, gave her the impression that I was hung up on some boy, a notion I did nothing to discourage preferring that to the truth; that the woman who paid me to babysit for her kids had turned me into her pet slut, a role I’d, apparently, been born to play.“Where are you off too today, Shannon?” she’d asked as I hurried out the door shortly after breakfast.“The mall,” I told her truthfully, pressing my lips together to keep from giggling nervously at the thought that followed. So I can buy something slutty to wear for my Mistress.“Oh, and I’m going to meet a friend later, around 3. I won’t be out too late, promise.”She gave me a look that had me blushing again, her thoughts suddenly transparent.“A girl friend, mom. School stuff.”Not exactly the truth, but not exactly a lie either. With that, I fled the scene of the crime and forgot all about it, the money Abby had paid me to be her whore stashed inside my pocket book. Thankfully, my parents were out with friends when I returned home, giving me breathing room to try on my new outfits in anticipation my evening in Mrs. Vandermeer’s ‘care’.I arrived precisely at 3pm. Actually, I rang the doorbell at 3pm after sitting on the porch for ten minutes, nervously watching the cars go by, wondering if any of them noticed me. Every time one went past I held my breath, praying that it wouldn’t slow down to get a better look at me, a thought which both horrified and aroused me at the same time. Not that they could see much, unless they’d had x-ray vision. Although my knock off Burberry trench coat looked slightly out of place on such a pleasant day, I would have stood out even more had I not worn it. Of course, I shed it moments before pressing the buzzer. Mrs. Vandermeer had requested a slut, after all…Hot Topic had been my first destination, knowing that I could easily get away with buying some risqué outfits there without raising any eyebrows. I knew, from experience, that Mrs V enjoyed my status as ‘teenage slut’ so I ended up buying more than what I’d needed for today’s date, knowing that I’d get a chance to wear it sometime in the, hopefully, near future. In fact, nothing I’d bought there had made the cut, instead, I’d found something better at a local fetish store that I’d been eyeing online (and yes, I ended up spending far more than the 300 that Mrs. Vandermeer had paid me for ‘my services’, once I added the pair of pumps to the bill. In my defense, they were perfect; Crimson, 4 inch heels. And, the clincher, they had ankle straps that locked. Of course I bought padlocks and of course I hung the keys on a charm bracelet round my left wrist).As for the dress, it was red. Very red and semi sheer and incredibly short. If I’d been wearing panties, they’d have been visible if I’d so much as leaned forward. The only other item I’d accessorized myself in were a pair of fishnet stockings held up by a simple black garter belt.After a short pause, the door opened for me and a dark haired woman wearing round framed sunglasses greeted me coolly. I was surprised at first, unable to speak, and I barely recognized Mrs. almanbahis Vandermeer, disguised as she was. Then, it made perfect sense. She didn’t want to be seen letting in a girl looking like I did. After all, she had her reputation and her position to think about.“On time. Very good. Come in, Miss Spencer,” she commanded me, her words clipped and brisk.Stifling a nervous giggle, I reminded myself that I was barely recognizable myself. I wasn’t Shannon Spencer, all-American high school girl and secret lesbian whose heart was pounding like a jack hammer as the door closed behind me. Today, I was Shannon Spencer, Mrs. Vandermeer’s teenage whore. I kind of liked the sound of it, enough that I wanted to share.“Your whore,” I let out in a rush, swallowing hard as she removed her glasses and turned her steely blue gaze on me, one eyebrow raised inscrutably as if seeing me for the first time.“I hope it pleases you,” I whispered, suddenly feeling shy as I lowered my gaze to the floor and clasped my hands behind my back. I knew exactly what I looked like. After all, I’d put a great deal of thought into it.Then came the moment I’d been dreading as her gaze bored through me, her eyes focusing on my unadorned throat.“Where’s your collar? Didn’t I make myself clear, Miss Spencer?”I’d rehearsed this moment a hundred times already, and was ready for it. Quickly, I unclasped my hands, holding them out in front of me, cupping my collar in my hands like a priceless artifact.“It didn’t feel right putting it on myself, Mistress,” I told her, my voice shaking, my words uneven.“I see,” she replied evenly, taking it from my shaking hands. “Turn around.”I complied, holding still as she buckled it around my throat and locked it into place, then ran the tips of her fingers tantalizingly along the edge where leather met flesh. I felt a warm wet trickle make its way down the inside of my thigh as she brushed my hair behind one ear and whispered a single word.“Mine.”“Yours,” I replied, meaning it with every fiber of my being. I wanted nothing more than for her to possess me at that moment.“Good girl,” she smiled as she spun me slowly around and clipped a leash to my collar. “Come.”She led and I followed, finally I got a chance to admire her. From the rear she was almost unrecognizable. Her wig hung halfway down her back, long and straight and black as a raven’s feathers. She was dressed in an expensive looking suit; a crisp looking white collared blouse with gold cuff links beneath a charcoal grey vest that fit her snuggly, as did the skirt. The outfit was completed by black seamed stockings, the seams perfectly straight, of course, and a pair of sensibly heeled patent leather pumps that probably cost as much as my entire outfit.“I thought we’d start by commemorating your visit.” Her tone was so nonchalant that she could have been discussing the weather. My eyes were drawn to the digital camera that hung from her wrist. Unable to muster the courage to speak, I simply nodded, as if my consent was even a factor anymore. We both knew that I was committed to doing as told as long as she dangled the promise of an eventual orgasm, perhaps more, before me.She led me to what could only be described as a family room at the back of the house. Thick curtains partially shielded a large picture window looking out on the backyard, giving me a partial view of a wooden deck and a well-manicured and, thankfully, fenced in yard. As with the rest of the house it was tastefully almanbahis yeni giriş furnished. A large flat screen television hung on one wall, shelves housing a stereo, CDs and DVDs, and flanked by expensive looking speakers from which ambient technobeats pulsed quietly. Facing it was a low, flat coffee table and a black leather couch. There were several framed movies posters hanging on the walls, most of which I recognized (From Russia With Love, Breakfast at Tiffanys, Pulp Fiction, The Dark Knight) and some which I didn’t (Secretary, 91/2 Weeks, Blue Velvet). To the right of the couch was a matching easy chair and ottoman. Opposite the tv was a small bar complete with stools, a dart board, and an old fashioned pinball machine. Presently, the room was well lit by the sunlight seeping in though the wide gap in the curtains.“Smile for the camera, baby,” Abby told me, the corner of her mouth quirking in the barest of smiles.Blushing, I smiled, knowing how awkward I looked playing at being an adult, my heart raced as she took my photo.“Again, this time, remember who you are,” she admonished.Taking a moment, I closed my eyes and zeroed in on the beat of the music, letting it wash over me. It was, I had to admit, somewhat sensual. I let it control my rhythm, swaying my hips as I loosened up a little while she encouraged me from time to time. Before long, I was moving slowly around the room, careful not to stumble on heels I was only somewhat used to, doing my best to make sure my ass swayed invitingly, casting what I hoped were sexy, or at least sassy, glances at the camera from time to time as she recorded my performance, one shot at a time.“Good girl. Find your inner porn star.”I couldn’t help but blush at that, giggling as she took yet another picture of me, the tip of my finger between my lips and then sucking my entire finger into my mouth, putting on a show for her. It was fun. Kind of like playing dress up in the privacy of my own room, only this time, instead of performing for the mirror, I had an appreciative audience.I paused in front of the window, facing away, clutching the edges of the curtains so that my arms were spread like a cross as I pushed my bottom out for the camera before reversing my pose, this time shaping my lips into an erotic kiss. The only sounds in the room were the stereo, the faint click of the camera, and my pounding heart. My hands trembled only slightly as I ran them over my breasts, feeling my nipples poking through the fabric of my dress, and along the curve of my waist and hips, gathering up the courage to curl them under the hem of my dress and peel it up my thighs, revealing twin black garters and my smoothly shaved, and dripping wet, cunt. Frozen like that, my gaze fixed on her face, I waited for some sign of approval, letting go of a breath I wasn’t aware of holding when I got one of her rare smiles, followed by yet another click of the camera.“Sit while I pour myself a drink.”I followed her finger, noting it pointed directly at the ottoman. Nodding to her back, I smoothed my dress back down my thighs and took a seat on the cushioned stool, positioned myself so that I could watch as she poured herself a glass of wine. She took a sip, and then, glass in hand, made her way to the thick curtains, pulling them closed, leaving the room dark for a moment until the television screen lit up, bathing the room in soft blue light, including her as she made her way to the leather chair in front of almanbahis giriş which I’d positioned myself.“Watch,” she instructed, taking another sip of her wine.Before I turned away, I noticed a remote resting on one of the arm rests. I sat watching as the screen lit with a disquieting sight; a slight blonde girl (I say girl, but she looked to be of legal drinking age, which made her much more of a woman than I was) seated on the very same footstool I currently found myself upon. Other than a red leather collar with silver rings attached at the front and each side and (I could only assume) the rear, she was completely naked.In the back ground I could see the television, giving me the impression that the video had been filmed by someone sitting where Mrs. Vandermeer now sat. I had a very uneasy feeling about where this was headed.“Hi, my name is Candy,” I must have smirked audibly at that, for Mrs. V made a shushing noise, one I took to heart, covering my mouth with my hands, my shoulders slightly hunched.“Sorry,” I murmured over the top of the rest of her introduction as she explained that she was there, or here, actually, by choice.“Candy’s not her real name. More like a pet name. Behave or I’ll give you one as well. Muffin, perhaps. Or Lemon Drop.”Biting my lip, I vowed to do anything I could to avoid being called ‘Muffin’ or worse and watched as ‘Candy’ did the same (bite her lip, I mean). Her skin was pale enough that I could see her cheeks burning with embarrassment as she spread her legs as wide as she could and started masturbating for the camera. I watched in fascination. While I’d seen porn on the internet (who hasn’t), this wasn’t the same. This wasn’t some movie. It was much more personal. Some girl, probably much like me, had sat here and touched herself, probably knowing that it was going to be seen by someone like me.Breathlessly, I watched as she teased her clit, her fingers slipped in and out of her obviously wet pussy on occasion. Candy twisted her nipples with her other hand, her sighs turned to soft moans, her eyes focused on the camera at all times. It was so sensual. Somehow she made the act of being a slut on film look so beautiful. I was mesmerized and found myself wishing I could do the same. Not put on a performance on film, certainly, but wishing that I could manage to look as sensuously sexy while masturbating for Mrs. Vandermeer.The show must have lasted fifteen minutes before I heard the distinctly male voice behind the camera speak for the first time.“You may come now.”“Oh my god,” I gasped, unable to tear my eyes from the screen as she cried out softly in ecstasy, her lashes fluttering as her head rolled slightly back, a soft squeal of release spilling from her ‘O’ shaped lips as her entire body tensed, trembled, tensed again and finally relaxed.“Oh my god,” I repeated, not daring to turn away from the screen, my heart pounding in my chest at the realization who the voice had belonged to. Abby’s husband.“Thank you, Sir,” the blonde girl managed, her voice still shaking, her legs still spread wide.I noticed that she’d left a small puddle on the leather before the screen went black and then bright blue again. Unsure of what to say or do, I simply sat there, stunned and staring, my thoughts in chaos, my mouth dry as my earlier fantasy of Mr. Vandermeer fucking me up against the hallway wall began teasing me again.Behind me, I could hear the sound of Mrs. Vandermeer taking another sip from her glass. Other than that the room was bathed in silence. I’m not sure when she’d turned the music off. Probably when the video had begun.“Now you know, Miss Spencer. I have my toy and Greg has his. Turn around for me. I want to see your pretty little face.”