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It was the middle of the afternoon, and my master had ordered me to meet him in a café. As I arrived, I saw that he was already there, seated, and waiting for me. I walked up to him, and sat on the chair opposite, careful to let my skirt ride so that my buttocks were directly on the seat. That had ever been my master’s order, and I understood why all the more after I had read the Story of O. My pussy should never be covered, always available and stimulated. Any contact was good for it, and so as usual, I let out a small gasp sitting down. It seemed arousal came faster and faster these days.We shared a quiet cup of coffee, chatting idly about the day we had spent. After a while, though, he said:
— Take the scarf off.
I did, knowing that without it everybody could see my collar. But nobody much seemed to pay attention to us. My master then pushed a light travel bag towards me, on the floor.
— Go to the restroom, and put these on. Leaving the door open, of course.
I took hold of the bag and got up. Went downstairs to the restroom. There were only two stalls, one for men, the other for women, opening on the landing. Anyone coming down would see me. Hoping there would be no scandal, I stripped then opened the bag. “Slut”-printed stockings, a leather garter belt, and a small tank top that stopped just underneath my breasts, saying “Soldes” (meaning “On sale”). I had been with my master when he had obtained that – from a store mannequin, on the last day of the summer sales. We had walked into the store, he had asked for the shirts, and made me put one on right there. Then he took out a felt-tip and wrote down my mobile phone number.
We strolled all afternoon, and I couldn’t tell if people were looking at me for the shirt, or for my nipples underneath the flimsy fabric – after all, it had never been intended for wearing. But it got me a few calls. Anyway, once dressed back, I put my boots and my coat back on. The coat had a low neckline, and showed the T readily, plus a bit of navel. Luckily for me, the boots and the long coat covered the print on the stockings, except for a glimpse of my knee and lower thigh when I walked. I went back up. My master seemed pleased by what he saw. He got up, took the bag back, got hold of my collar’s ring and whispered in my ear:
— Good girl. Good naked slut.
I knew I was in for something, and the anticipation and submission were already getting me hot. We went to a clothes store. He chose two items on the racks, and we went for the booths. When I was about to enter, he said:
— Ask for my help when you’ve taken your coat and t-shirt off, and sit with your knees apart.
I did, of course. My master opened the curtain wide, came in and closed it again. He had something in his hand.
— Stand up, turn around, and put your hands on the bench, bitch.
Once I was in position, I felt a soft prod on my shoulders, then something dragging by short strokes.The touch slowly went across my back, and again a little lower. When it stopped, my master told me to get up again and look my back in the mirror. I did. He had written on me, in block letters: “If you want to fuck me again, please leave a number, my master will contact you.” Then, on my lower back: “Two-hole slave” I flushed vividly and felt my pussy spasm. I was curious, eager…
— Well, nothing fits, said my master aloud. Let’s go. (And, lower:) Put only the coat back, take the t-shirt in your hand, and leave it outside, on the first bench you find.
He got out and left the curtain open. I scrambled to put my coat back on, trying to keep my back away both from the mirrors and the entrance. The look I saw on another customer’s face told me I hadn’t quite succeeded – either that, or it was my stockings, or me wearing a collar and nothing else under my coat… Back outside, we walked for a while, and my master gave me the felt-tip pen and some change. I left the t-shirt when I could, and I knew that I would have to give myself to whoever would call.
— Around next corner, you have the entrance to the Sorbonne university. Get inside, go through the courtyard, and get in the mains. Find the nearest restroom, go into the men’s, into a stall, and hang your coat there. Buy condoms, then go back inside the stall, bend over and put one condom on your ass. And wait. Come back out when you have eight phone numbers on your back. You may call guys to you, talk to them, do whatever is necessary to get fucked. Oh, and tie this around something, in evidence.
He got my chain-link leash out of the back and fastened it around my collar.
— Going in, you may keep it inside your coat. Going out, I want to see it hanging loose. Collect the condoms. I’ll find you.
I nodded, said “Yes master”, and took a deep breath. Left for my assignment. I went into the Sorbonne. The year had only started again, and it was bustling. Students alone or in small groups, going this way and that, in between classes or just waiting for the next. Once inside, I walked about and tried to find restrooms. I knew there were several, of course, and would have liked a spot not too busy, but I knew if I came out without the requested numbers, my master would be displeased. The one I found was next to the vending machines. A row of five or six, coffe machines and snack machines together, then two doors facing each other. One marked men, the other women. I entered the men’s without pausing. There was one man at the urinals. He turned his head, probably intrigued by my heels clicking on the tiles. He saw we, made eye-contact. I smiled.
— Too much of a line across the hall, huh? He said with a smile.
I noticed how he had hunched his shoulders and turned his hips so as not to risk exposure. Chivalrous. I smiled back.
— They don’t have what I’m looking for there.
I went into the first stall, thinking I wouldn’t get what I needed if I hid. Took out my coat, hung it on the hook behind the door, and took the change from the pocket. Went back to the condoms vending machine. The man at the urinal was washing his hands. He froze seing me naked with my collar and stockings.
— Er, is everything… Nah, stupid question. Can I help you?
— Well… (I turned around, showing him my back.) I’m supposed to collect at least eight phone numbers. In here.
— And the guys are just supposed to… take you and leave their number?
— If they want to.
— O… kay. You do that sort of thing often?
— This particular is my first, I said blushing. But I do other things.
— Like what?
— Depends on my master’s orders.
By then, I had finished buying the condoms, and held one out to him.
— Do you want to go first?
— Er, no, that wouldn’t be right. I’m not sure my girlfriend would appreciate.
— I wouldn’t tell. It’s not cheating, you don’t know me. Just use me.
— I can’t believe I’m saying this, but no, thanks, I’ll pass.
— Too bad.
I went back into the stall, tied my leash around a piece of plumbing, bent over and put a condom on my ass. And waited. I heard the door open and close once.
— Excuse-me, I said. Can you help me out?
I heard steps coming closer. And a guy go:
— Wow! What is this?
— Exactly what it seems, sir, I said without turning around.
— What, I put the condom on, use it and leave? That it?
— And you may leave your phone number if you want to use me again.
I felt him take the condom, heard him unzip, and pause.
— Er, you’re really up for it? I mean, no one is making you do it? Two holes, no waiting, no fine print?
— My holes are yours to use.
— Well then…
And without further warning, he took my ass. Raw, hard, without waiting. I gasped, yelped and bit my lip. There were people right outside, I did not want to attract undue attention. My ass felt raw at first, dry, tight, but he soon opened me up. I had expected shyness, some insults, and of course quite a few studs eager to use a girl up, but not this. He had accepted I was a sex submissive, and did not exactly warrant any consideration.
— Oh boy you’re good, sis. Good ass, soft and tight. You’re milking me good. Oh boy, here comes.
I felt the rubber expand somewhat inside of me, filled with his cum. He kept pumping inside me until he was spent, and withdrew in one sharp motion that made me squeek.
— Good girl, sweet treat. Definitely want some more. You have a pen, girl? Oh, what’s your name?
— Nathalie, or anything you want to call me. There’s a pen in my coat pocket, next to you.
He found it, wrote on my back. And thrust the marker in my rectum after use.
— There, much handier.
He put the rubber, tied, on my back, and left. Immediately after, I heard a voice say “fuck it” and steps approach. The first guy, the one I’d talked to, came up. I held out another condom. He tore it open and penetrated my pussy. I felt a surge of pleasure rise, after being fucked in the ass without so much as a caress.
— I’m sorry, he said with a few gasps, I can’t leave my phone number, my girlfriend would kill me.
— It’s okay, I answered, just use me, I don’t ask for more, I apologize if fucking me is an inconvenience.
— No, no, just… ahhh…
He shuddered to a stop, and came in quick bursts. After that, he withdrew, but I felt the condom stick, and empty down my thigh. He thanked me with a tight voice and left. I pulled out the rubber myself, wiped my fingers against my stockings and put another condom in place. I also pulled the marker out, and put it in front of me. The waiting was the worst part. Not knowing who would come through, if they would mock, fuck, protest. Alert security – although France has that tradition of letting people live as they want when it comes to sex, with a forgiving smile, you never know. I waited, hearing people by the vending machines, right behind me – only a wall between them and my offered pussy and ass. When the door finally opened, three guys came in, chatting. They each chose a booth and… stopped. I could imagine them staring at me. My ass. Cum stains on my stockings. The rubber on my back. As a sudden encouragement, I put two more condoms out. That made them laugh. More silence. Then I heard one say:
The other two seemed to agree. The next I heard was:
— OK; paper beats rock and well, I’m going first.
And without a word to me, they went in, one after the other, emptying themselves with a grunt. Two wrote their numbers on my back. I thanked them both, panting from the pounding. I had four. No, three. Yes, three. I was already groggy from the situation. I was very wet, thinking of me as a disposable satisfaction machine, and my master waiting for his bitch to be properly used, in public as he liked best. I felt the humiliation and the penetrations battling inside me to arouse me more and more. One guy came in a bit later on, began talking some terrible filth at me, angry, saying that I should be ashamed, and what would people think, and that I was scum and had no dignity. I didn’t move, except to reach a little more towards him with my ass. I felt him snatch the condom, and take my ass as rough as he could, all the while continuing his verbal abuse. To my shame, I came right there, hatefucked up the ass in some public restroom, because of the humiliation. I knew I would have to confess to my master, because he had not told me wether I could come or not, but the rush and heat of it was too much. The man finished what he was doing, took out the rubber and reached out to empty it on my nose and cheeks.
— There, serves you good, tramp whore, scum…
He left, and I could still feel my asshole twitch from coming hard. More guys found me, used me, and some put their number down. One out of two, almost. At some point, I had to go buy more rubbers. The number of condoms I had left in the end told me I had been fucked by about seventeen guys when finally, Mister Eight jotted down his phone number, slapped my ass and said:
— See you soon, bucket-girl.
He had called me bucket-girl the whole time, because he said I was very wide, and he was going to fill me up. I was trying to grip him with my vagina, but I felt loose from so many people taking me. I untied the leash from the plumbing, and got up. My back hurt from being bent over and pounded, but that soon passed. Some guys had not tied their rubbers after filling them. When I had collected them, the cum had leaked on my hands and arms, when they had not spilled them on my back themselves. Three had emptied them on my hair – three friends, laughing and chatting like I was not there the whole time. Chatting about exes, mostly. I put my coat back on, let the leash hang out outside, and looked at myself. The cum on my face was dry enough, no one would notice. My hair was matted at some places, but there was no helping it. I did not know if anybodywould notice, but I thought I reeked of semen anyway. I opened the door and got out. Two girls were staring at the door when I did. One saw the leash and grabbed.
— What where you doing in there?
I was numb, and eager to return to my master. The clock above them said I had been there for next to two hours. I felt my pussy open and some juice run down my thighs.
— Getting fucked. I had to collect phone numbers.
— My master sent me here.
— You’re a hooker, right?
— Non, I’m not! I’m a slave, his slave, he orders me and I obey!
The one holrding the leash came closer, sniffed me and stepped back.
— She smells like sex. Come with us.
They took me inside the girls restrooms. The second one began opening my coat.
— What are you doing? I asked.
— I just want to see what a slut looks like naked. Apparently, she had not expected to find out so quickly. My coat fell open, and I let it slide from my shoulders. After what I had just done, two students did not impress me much. I turned around, to show them the numbers written on my back.
— See? I let them fuck me, and some want to do it again. (I put my coat back on, and fished out the remaining condoms to let them fall to the ground) Here, girls. Use those. I’m through for today.
I left them there, and got out of the place. People stared at me on the way, at the leash, at the coat I had not buttoned all the way down, and which showed more stocking than on the way in – and nothing else than stockings. I got out of the university, startled almost to see people going about their business without glacing at the girl who had been fucked seventeen times, had cum on her and phone numbers of guys who’d used her, whose faces she hadn’t seen. My master was seated at a café across the street and waved me over. I crossed the street, sat down – pulling the coat backward, and feeling my sensitive pussy twitch at the feeling of the seat.
— You have eight numbers on your back?
— Yes master.
— How many did it take?
— Seventeen, master.
— Seventeen guys took you today?
I blushed at the volume of his voice, and did not turn around to see if anyone hadheard/noticed.
— Yes master. And I came once.
— He was fucking my ass and insulting me, very angry.
— Raping you?
— No, I... I don't know, I was there to be used. But it was very humiliating. I felt really low, abased.
— Good. Then you’re forgiven. Go pay my tab.
I got up again, feeling my wetness against the seat. We walked home. At some point, my master made me take off the coat, to put on a plaid microskirt and a see-through shirt. He held my leash the whole time. From time to time, I would hear people commenting the writing on my back. My pussy got so wet on the way home...
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