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Master had left me alone, locked in a motel room for the night. I was glad I didn’t have to share the bed with him and grateful for the opportunity to contact my wife and mistress. She was also away from home for two nights, but more than glad to share her bed with her lover. I didn’t know if I was allowed to contact her but had to try.
‘I hope you’re enjoying the hotel and your company, Mistress. I’m thinking about you. Xxx’
After half an hour waiting for the message-read indicator to appear I supposed Mistress was too busy to check her phone. That was a happy thought.
I wanted to have a shower but knew it would destroy my fading make up and remove the ‘sex doll’ transfer from my lower abdomen. Mistress had warned me I would have to stay dirty if I wanted to keep the slutty icing she had applied to her Barbie.
I stripped naked and removed my blonde hair then ran a shallow bath. I knelt up in it and used a flannel to carefully wash everywhere without wetting the tattoo or my face.
I felt reasonably refreshed and enjoyed the faux satin nightie slipping over my skin.
It was lucky I set an alarm before getting in bed because the moment my head hit the pillow I was out.
It was 6:30am when I switched off the alarm and got out of bed. I really wanted a shower to wake me up but made do with another wash.
Master had said he was bringing me breakfast before he went to work and I knew I should be nicely presented.
I put on a pair of black. vintage nylon stockings and a corset to attach them to, pulling a pair of scarlet panties over the suspenders. I covered the ensemble with a very short dress, tight to my hips and loose below. Black heels and blonde hair completed my look and soon after I’d finished checking myself in the mirror the lock whirred.
“Morning, Bimbo.”
“Hi Master.”
“All ready for your first client?”
“Yes Master.”
“Good girl. Here’s your breakfast.”
“Thank you Master.”
I was hungry so the second-rate pain au chocolate tasted good. The bottle of water was also very welcome.
“Much as I’d like to leave my whore with cum dripping out of her, I have to get going. I’ll be back later.”
“Yes Master.”
“Remember your clients have paid for the works so don’t disappoint.”
“I’ll do my best, Master.”
“Good little Bimbo. I know you will. I’ll leave you a key in case of emergency but I don’t want you leaving the room. Understand?”
“Yes Master.”
Master patted the top of my wig, tossed a card onto the desk and went about his day.
My first client was due at 10am. I had two hours to kill. Not worth even switching on the brainwash box. There hasn’t been anything interesting on that for years. I took my phone off charge.
As had been the case for many weeks, the first thing I saw when I unlocked the device was a photo of my wife’s lover’s dripping cock. An instant reminder I was a cuckslave, always giving me a little thrill.
I could see Mistress had read my last message but there was no reply. Her lover was taking her undivided attention, thoughts of which soon had my dick fizzing in my panties. Perhaps she was having morning sex at that moment, a quickie before breakfast to remind her how much she loved Dave’s cock.
Or maybe they were saving themselves to enjoy getting frisky in the spa.
Either way I felt very jealous and lucky to be married to such a wonderful minx.
I couldn’t resist sending another message, or hoping for a reply.
‘Waiting for my first client, Mistress. Thinking about you with your boyfriend. Very jealous! Hope you’re having a good time and looking forward to the spa. Love you xxx.’
I was pleased to see Mistress read the text immediately. Several minutes later a reply arrived.
“Having a wonderful time. Dave really knows how to please a girl! Just ordered breakfast and looking forward to a day in my bikini, enjoying the spa. Hope your first night of slavery went well. I look forward to hearing all about your appointments, my dirty little Bimbo whore. Love you too xxx’
It was warming and sexy but much as I wanted to, I thought better of intruding with more words that might oblige a reply so sent a string of hearts.
I did the best I could to tidy my make up with a damp tissue. Now Master had ordered makeup whenever I was on duty, I knew I would need to get cosmetics of my own, and lessons from Mistress on how to apply them. I had a lipstick so put some on.
I spent about an hour watching porn, my interest drifting in and out as I wondered how whores should behave. Should I just do as I’m told or am I supposed to instigate?
And what about the clients? I’d spoken with one of them, Jock, and he seemed normal enough for a bloke who uses transvestite whores. He didn’t appear to be gross.
But the other two could be anything. Sweaty stinkers, morbidly obese lumberers, ancient bags of bones or just total sleazeballs. I knew they were at the club the previous night and I didn’t recall seeing anyone who needed a crane or zimmer frame to gemlik escort move so I tried to convince myself I was worrying about nothing.
All I needed to focus on was serving whatever cock was presented.
It was 9:52 when I heard a knock on the door. Eight minutes early. Cheeky, but I was kind of glad to just get started and stop thinking.
“Hi. I’m Bimbo. Come in.” I said, my brain flipping through faces to place this vaguely familiar one. I’d seen him at the club with another tranny.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I can’t offer you a drink.” I said as he walked past me and into the room.
“I haven’t come for a drink you fucking slut. Dance for me like you did in Flamingos last night.”
Ok. A bit gruff but it’s his party. He wanted to be in charge.
“Yes Sir. Shall I put some music on the TV?”
“No. I want to look at you not listen to music.”
“Yes Sir.”
I began the increasingly familiar gyrations, doing my best to create feminine curves with arching back and wiggling arse, my hands roaming, lifting my hem or spreading my arse cheeks.
“You’re a dirty bitch! You love being a prick-tease, don’t you, fucking whore?”
“Yes Sir. I love making cocks want me. Am I making your cock want me, Sir?”
“Come here and find out.”
I swished over to him and undid his suit trousers, reaching inside for his already hard cock. He was wearing lace panties. I decided not to mention that and pulled out his five inches.
“It’s nice and hard for me.” I said, hiding my disappointment. It contained none of the hypnotic erotic power of the big cocks I’d been spoiled with. It was just a regular dick. “Can I please suck it, Sir.” I asked, my first experience of truly faking enthusiasm.
“I saw you on stage last night. You love sucking cock, don’t you dirty slut.”
“Yes Sir” I opened my mouth and put my tongue half out, looking up at him expectantly.
He shoved his prick in with a groan. He was so eager I had to assume his company from last night had left him frustrated.
I felt a certain amount of pride as I repeatedly took his full length with relative ease after the monsters I was used to. The insulting compliments he paid confirmed he was enjoying himself.
He had to step back a couple of times, presumably to avoid cumming, but he soon returned for more.
I enjoyed the whoreish depravity of my situation and behaving like a male slut thinks a female slut should, but I wasn’t physically aroused.
It made me understand the size of cock I served was important for my bi excitement.
And then I faced a new challenge, one I couldn’t believe I hadn’t given any thought.
“Stand up whore!”
I did and he sank to his knees, reaching for my panties.
Shit! Is he going to suck my dick!?
I didn’t want that at all! I was sure I wouldn’t get hard! But I knew I wasn’t in a position to choose. He’d paid to use a whore so I had to let him do as he liked.
He pulled my panties down to my ankles, stroking his hands up my stockings on the way to my dick. “You dirty bitch! I had to accept when your pimp offered your services.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“My date wasn’t pleased,though. Petulant little slut.
I knew it.
He started wanking me and I was relieved that my dick responded to the physical stimulation, allowing me to fake some moans of pleasure. When his mouth closed over my erection I closed my eyes and tried to imagine it was Mistress gobbling me. Obviously he wasn’t anywhere close to her level of skill, but I stayed hard enough, waiting for him to move on.
He then told me to lie on the bed and stroke myself while he watched, removing his clothes and keeping himself stiff.
“On your knees, Slut. I’m going to fuck that little pussy.”
I didn’t bother pointing out that pussies are purpose-built for receiving cock, taste better, smell better and look better. If he wanted to call my sluthole a pussy, why should I care.
“Oh yes, Sir. Please fuck me.” I said, hoping my ‘excitement’ would help him cum quicker.
The smaller cock felt surprisingly nice pumping in and out. There was none of the discomfort of being stretched, although that discomfort was always useful for making me feel like a porn slut.
I moaned and groaned, telling him how well he fucked me and a few other stock phrases. It can’t have been more than three minutes until he grunted he was going to cum in my pussy.
“Fill me with cum, Sir, please…” I faux begged, meeting his thrusts. “Fuck your bimbo whore.”
His long groan told me he was unloading inside me and I continued to milk him with my arse until he pulled out.
My heart leapt when I twisted round to collapse onto my back and saw him getting dressed, not even sitting down for a moment of recuperation. Had his climax drained all his lust? The clock on the tv told me he’d only had 25 minutes of his 60.
“You filthy fucking whore! You disgust me!” he said as he patted his jacket, checking he had everything he came with. He clearly meant he was altıparmak escort disgusted with himself. A confused man, his inability to process his desires filling him with self-loathing and self-deception. Not my fucking problem. I’m a sex slave not a shrink.
“Thank you, Sir,” I replied.
And that was my first client done. Out the door in half his paid for time. I felt pleased with my performance and relieved to have a third of the appointments done already.
Considering no fluids had splashed me and I hadn’t got sweaty, I decided to stay in the same outfit for my second client which meant I had over two hours to fill.
I daydreamed about Mistress for some of it, knowing she’d be in the spa by then, her bikini struggling to contain her big tits and leaving most of her derrière exposed. Her boyfriend would be taking every opportunity to touch her, just as I had on our visits. I hoped she’d tell me all about it when we reclaimed each other.
As it neared midday my stomach rumbles became almost constant. It wasn’t a sound compatible with eroticism so I knew I had to address it.
I phoned reception and asked if I could have anything sent up. She probably wanted to say ‘this isn’t Claridges’ but politely informed me that although food couldn’t be brought to my room I could get a snack in the bar.
With no civilian clothes with me I wasn’t keen on parading through the motel, upsetting children and dogs. I was flooded with relief when I thought I could cover myself with a bathrobe, relief that drained away when a quick search confirmed no such amenity was provided.
For a few minutes I resolved to live with the rumbles until there was one so loud and prolonged I knew I had no choice. I couldn’t suck cock with that going on.
My next idea was to minimise my impact by removing my wig and heels and pad down to the bar in bare feet, shrouded beneath Mistress’s pvc coat.
But, with the makeup still evident, I looked too weird so I decided to go down in full costume, the coat hiding my stocking tops and tiny dress.
It was an embarrassing few minutes but I saw only two other guests and three staff, all of whom were probably more embarrassed than I was. Nevertheless I was delighted to get back to my room.
My hunger ensured the ham and cheese panini was delicious, and my stomach paused its aria.
It was a minute after 1pm when the second client knocked.
It was Jock, the guy who was chatting me up in the club.
“Hullo Bimbo. I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
His big hands reached for my waist and he pulled me closer.
“Give me a kiss, Bimbo.”
Oh no! Literally the last thing I wanted to do. Although I was expected to please the client my brain rapidly sought an excuse.
“Sorry Sir. My mistress doesn’t allow me to kiss. It’s the one act she insists I reserve for her.” I was pleased with my plausible bullshit.
He could’ve insisted, or even used his size and strength to take what he wanted, but he was evidently a decent guy and accepted the limitation.
“You’ll have to kiss this then.” he said, dropping his jeans to let his cock spring free. I was relieved to see a shaved, rapidly growing, girthy 7 inches and kissed my way along it until it was fully hard.
“You have a nice cock, Sir.” I said, feeling the liberty that accompanies truth.
“Give it a good suck then, Bimbo. I saw how much you enjoyed a mouthful of cock last night.”
“Did you like watching me?” I asked, fishing for compliments.
“Yes Bimbo, you’re a sexy slut.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
I licked round the top of the lollipop and then down to his balls, lapping them for a bit before dragging my flattest tongue back up the solid shaft and sucking him into my mouth. As my head began bobbing back and forth Jock said he was very jealous of Master for owning such a good slave.
With the swell in my pride I gave the sluttiest blow job I could visualise Mistress performing.
“You’re not bringing me off yet, Bimbo,” he said after pulling his throbbing meat from my hungry mouth with lots of saliva and a groan. “You’re going to drop your panties and show me how you play with your favourite dildo. I presume you’ve got it with you?”
“Yes Sir” A nice big dildo is mandatory content for any slut’s travel bag.
I pushed out my arse and peeled my panties down, keeping my legs straight until stepping out of the tiny garment. Then I gave a show of licking the silicone shaft before taking my time to lube it, my long, pink nails glinting.
“Looks like I’m going to enjoy you lubing me, Bimbo.”
“I hope you do, Sir. I love making big cocks like yours shiny, ready to slide into my sluthole.”
“You really are a nympho slut, aren’t you Bimbo.”
“Yes Sir.”
I stuck the toy cock on the wooden arm of the chair then put one heel on the seat with the other on the floor. My dress was so short I didn’t need to hitch it up. I sank my arse against the phallus and with hammed up innocence osmangazi escort asked sir if I should put it inside me.
“You want it in you, don’t you cock slut.”
“Yes Sir.”
I reached between my legs to steady the replica dong until the large tip was securely inside then held the back of the chair to begin working my way down. When my nuts came to rest on their rubbery counterparts I looked over my shoulder to ask Jock if my bum looked nice stuffed with cock. He groaned affirmatively which encouraged me to ride with long, slow movements, feeling every inch of penetration along my chute.
After a couple of minutes impaling and moaning I was told to turn around and continue.
Jock was stroking his hardness, enjoying his private porn show, and as I sank back onto the dildo he said “You’re a fucking hot girl, Bimbo!”
“Thank you Sir.”
It wasn’t a comfortable position and one of my legs quickly started to ache but I concentrated on my job, pumping myself up and down the slippery shaft, my semi flopping in all directions.
My client got off the bed and knelt in front of me. “I want this cock hard, Bimbo.” he said before leaning forward and closing his mouth over my bulb. Closing my eyes and remembering Mistress doing the same thing, sucking me as I bounced on the same dildo, I got hard and Jock went back to watching.
“You’re a proper little slut, aren’t you Bimbo.”
“Yes Sir.”
“Come and lube me.”
“Yes Sir.”
I squeezed some gel onto the ends of my fingers and slowly smeared it over Jock’s twitching cock, making it very hard. It probably didn’t need lube, my hole having just dismounted a well-oiled thick dildo, but the thick shaft under my slippery fingers made me feel like a true slave. My own dick was staying erect.
“Are you going to stick this in me, Sir? I asked, looking up at him, his cock beside my face, my fingers squeezing the base so it looked even bigger.
“You’re too hot to be Ed’s slave, Bimbo. I’m going to recommend you to a better Master.”
“But Master has the biggest cock I’ve ever served, Sir. I wouldn’t be able to serve a smaller Master. I obey the biggest cock, Sir.”
“Sexy slut! Your new Master will be pleased to hear that.”
My heart pounded at the prospect of Jock knowing a Master with more right to own me than my current one. Would Mistress allow it?
“Please fuck me, Sir. I need to be used.”
“Get on the bed, Bimbo. Arse up.”
I crawled onto the bed and got on my elbows and knees, arching my back to push my used sluthole as high as I could.
“Hot little bitch!” said Jock as he lined up his swollen tip with my entrance.
He wasn’t as girthy as the dildo and slipped all the way inside with one slow push, his groan confirming my stretched hole still felt good. He filled me without discomfort and I was soon humping back against his thrusts, whimpering pleas to be fucked harder. At one point he held my suspender straps and told me I was a perfect slut, making me moan with sissy pleasure.
“On your back, Bimbo.”
I did as I was told and Jock pushed my stockinged knees almost to my shoulders. His stiffness re-found my hole unguided, sinking back in with another single shove. I didn’t want to look at him so closed my eyes like it was my natural, girly response to ecstasy, moaning to emphasise the illusion.
He really pounded me for what seemed like a long time until I started searching for something that might tip him over the edge.
“Do you think I’d look good with a big pair of tits, Sir?”
“Yes, Bimbo. You’d look great.” he replied, pumping a bit faster.
“Huge tits that make me over balance on my heels, Sir?”
“Bimbos should have big ones.”
I wondered what Mistress’s big ones would be doing at that moment; bobbing up and down in the pool? filling her boyfriend’s hands in the sauna? captivating attention in the hot tub?
Tit-talk didn’t work so I reverted to time honoured classics; “I need your cum in me, Sir! Please! Fill me with your hot cream! Fuck my greedy hole with your thick meat!”
It worked. His cock was so fucking hard for those final few thrusts I almost opened my eyes to check it wasn’t Master stretching me. I felt a genuine thrill knowing I was taking my second DNA sample of the day, like all good sluts should.
With his balls drained Jock’s whole demeanour changed and he couldn’t get out quick enough. Quarter of an hour remaining. That was fine by me.
In the next interval I came to the conclusion that I was more tuned on by the idea of being a whore than actually being one. I enjoyed the depravity and humiliation of serving clients for my Master, so ultimately my Mistress,but I wasn’t getting much physical pleasure or mental excitement from the actual sex.
With my last John due in about 90 minutes I put the soul-searching on ice and tried to reinvigorate myself with a change of outfit.
I decided on a lacy bodysuit that fastened with poppers between my legs. It was easy enough to open if the trick wanted unfettered access but it could be pulled to one side.
A new pair of vaguely black hold ups looked suitably slutty with my pink heels which I accentuated with matching opera gloves.
It was fortunate I had got ready in plenty of time because half an hour before my last appointment I was startled to hear the lock whirr.
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