Unnamed – Act 4, Scene 6
Introduction:
This is the last of the first batch; everything else I’m going to have to write from scratch.
She jumps a little as the engine roars back to life, the car carefully maneuvering around her as she starts to weep, her worst fears coming true. She stands unconsolably, struggling to maintain her Mistress’ posture in the vain hope of currying favor as they drive slowly off, feeling the prying eyes of the world on her filthy naked body, harsh sunlight glistening off her sweat-soaked breasts, the smooth curve of her hips, and her red, aching pussy. She whimpers as they leave her alone, silently begging for one more chance to please them, to redeem herself at any cost…
—
“A little slower,” the Mistress murmers to her partner. “Just a liiiiiittle slower….damn, she isn’t getting it. Alright, pop the trunk.”
—
She looks up in disbelief as she sees the trunk open not 30 feet from her, a set of clothes laid carefully out atop one of her Mistress’ infamous bags of tricks. She hesitates just a moment before sprinting after the slow-moving car, leaping at the chance as though granted by divine grace, a broad smile brightening her beautiful face. “They haven’t given up on me after all!” she thinks, heart singing with hope as she closes the distance, bare feet aching as they slap the pavement, face burning with humiliation as she draws yet more attention to herself, reaching with her entire being desperately for the lip of the trunk, salvation almost within her grasp, almost…
“Alright, goose it a Little.” The car leaps forward another 10 feet from the desperate slave, then continues crawling towards the front of the parking lot, her nude body a spectacle to all gathered at the crowded mall as her muscles glide smoothly below her skin, bunching and unwinding, tears of frustration, humiliation and relief alike pouring from her eyes as she finally tags the trunk. The car rolls to a stop as she seizes up her clothes, and she cowers behind it as she hastily covers herself.
The passenger window rolls down, her Mistress leaning out. “Did I say you could dress?”
She instantly and obediently straightens, dropping the clothes and presenting herself. “No Mistress.”
The crop reaches out, lifting her chin firmly. “No. I did not. Tsk, what Am I to do with you?” She steps out of the car, stepping towards their slave until their breasts collide softly and deliciously, her breath hot on their Slave’s face. “What am I to do with you?”
Their Slave whimpers miserably, knees wobbling with fear at once again being left out in the parking lot wearing nothing but a collar that gives her consent to whoever claims her.
The Mistress gazes coldly at their frightened slave, then a mischevious smile slowly spreads across her own soft, luscious lips. “Pick it up.”
Their Slave hurriedly crouches down, scooping up the button-up shirt, the pleated skirt, knee-high socks and wedge-heeled shoes, desperately straightening and dusting them off before offering them up to her Mistress, eyes downcast reverentially.
“Good. Place them on the roof, and stand in front of the car.”
She obediently does what she is told, scurrying in front of the parked car, engine ticking quietly as it cools.
Her Mistress walks quietly behind her, the rythmic slapping of the crop in her hand menacing her wickedly as she paces back and forth. The slapping stops for a moment, then a hand lifts her hair all the way up to her neck, gathering it up in a fist, lifting her onto her toes. She whimpers in surrender, and then she is pulled to the left and her foot kicked out to one side., then the right and it repeats, until her legs are splayed painfully before the roasting radiator, the heat between her legs nearly unbearable. “Hands behind your neck” her Mistress growls, barely giving her time to comply before bending her double over the hood, crushing her breasts to the hot metal, the insulated surface really only barely warmer than the asphault but Feeling hot enough to burn the flesh from her bones.
She stifles a shocked scream, thrashing madly beneath her Mistress’ single restraining hand before she realizes she’s in no real danger, slowly calming down, her breath still coming in frantic gasps as the whipping begins. She looks up lovingly into the intense eyes of her Master, watching her impassively from the driver’s seat; he nods to acknowledge her but does not intercede as she is brutally humiliated in front of everyone.
Her Mistress draws back for another stinging rebuke when she feels a hand on her shoulder. She whirls to find a couple lumbering jocks standing uncertainly to either side of her, each clearly expecting the other to say something first. “Well?” she demands, preempting them. When one of them looks like he’s about to have a thought she interrupts him again, “What? Do you have a problem with this? You think girls should only be beaten by their drunken boyfriends in private, never by their Mistresses in public?” She gives him a moment to try and find a response and cuts him off again with “Or do you want a turn too? Sorry, I don’t do requests, you’ll have to try the yellow pages. Now beat it.”
“No, I-“
She whirls, crop raised, making him cringe. He steps back, nearly falling over a sleepy-eyed old man in a faded guard’s uniform. Thinking quickly she preempts him as well. “Public performance art. It’s protected by the first ammendment.”
“That’s as maybe,” he drawls, “But I don’t think the young lady’s enjoying herself there.”
“Of course she is. Aren’t you Slave?”
“Yes Mistress!” she cries out quickly and joyfully.
“You enjoy being beaten and humiliated in front of everyone, don’t you?”
“Yes Mistress!”
“Would you like this kind security guard to take you away from me?”
“No Mistress! Please Mistress, more!”
The old guard slowly takes his hat off, scratches his head, and shrugs resignedly. “Well, never mind me then. All the same though, I will have to ask your friend there to put some clothes on.”
“If you insist,” the Mistress growls, pulling her nearly delerious Slave up by the hair. “Thank the nice guard, Slave.” When she feels her moving to her knees she stops her, pulling her up by the hair. “With. Your. Words.” she growls in irritation.
“Oh. OH! Thank you, nice guard.” As her hair is released she curtsies gracefully despite her stiff and aching muscles. She turns to her Mistress, who smoothly pulls the shirt over her shoulders, buttoning it up deftly as she writhes with lingering arrousal, her exposed pussy tingling with excitement as her Mistress pulls the silky cloth swiftly across her nipples, the sensation maddeningly brief. She fights to stand at attention, keeping her posture perfect as her Mistress wraps the skirt around her hips, grinding her thigh against the girl’s clenching pussy playfully, the coarse cloth unbearably rough on her trembling clit, the skirt sticking for only a moment before gravity takes hold, leaving no evidence that she’s going entirely without undergarments.
Her Mistress straightens, coming in close for a kiss but stopping just short, licking her slaves eager lips playfully. “You can put your socks and shoes on yourself,” she purrs, going back to the trunk for her bag of tricks. She stands behind and watches the girl bend low at the waist as she ties her shoes, the swollen red lips of her abused pussy showing under her skirt, absolutely immodest and absolutely obedient. “Good,” she says as she locks the leash to her choker, “You Are learning after all.”
—
“A little slower,” the Mistress murmers to her partner. “Just a liiiiiittle slower….damn, she isn’t getting it. Alright, pop the trunk.”
—
She looks up in disbelief as she sees the trunk open not 30 feet from her, a set of clothes laid carefully out atop one of her Mistress’ infamous bags of tricks. She hesitates just a moment before sprinting after the slow-moving car, leaping at the chance as though granted by divine grace, a broad smile brightening her beautiful face. “They haven’t given up on me after all!” she thinks, heart singing with hope as she closes the distance, bare feet aching as they slap the pavement, face burning with humiliation as she draws yet more attention to herself, reaching with her entire being desperately for the lip of the trunk, salvation almost within her grasp, almost…
“Alright, goose it a Little.” The car leaps forward another 10 feet from the desperate slave, then continues crawling towards the front of the parking lot, her nude body a spectacle to all gathered at the crowded mall as her muscles glide smoothly below her skin, bunching and unwinding, tears of frustration, humiliation and relief alike pouring from her eyes as she finally tags the trunk. The car rolls to a stop as she seizes up her clothes, and she cowers behind it as she hastily covers herself.
The passenger window rolls down, her Mistress leaning out. “Did I say you could dress?”
She instantly and obediently straightens, dropping the clothes and presenting herself. “No Mistress.”
The crop reaches out, lifting her chin firmly. “No. I did not. Tsk, what Am I to do with you?” She steps out of the car, stepping towards their slave until their breasts collide softly and deliciously, her breath hot on their Slave’s face. “What am I to do with you?”
Their Slave whimpers miserably, knees wobbling with fear at once again being left out in the parking lot wearing nothing but a collar that gives her consent to whoever claims her.
The Mistress gazes coldly at their frightened slave, then a mischevious smile slowly spreads across her own soft, luscious lips. “Pick it up.”
Their Slave hurriedly crouches down, scooping up the button-up shirt, the pleated skirt, knee-high socks and wedge-heeled shoes, desperately straightening and dusting them off before offering them up to her Mistress, eyes downcast reverentially.
“Good. Place them on the roof, and stand in front of the car.”
She obediently does what she is told, scurrying in front of the parked car, engine ticking quietly as it cools.
Her Mistress walks quietly behind her, the rythmic slapping of the crop in her hand menacing her wickedly as she paces back and forth. The slapping stops for a moment, then a hand lifts her hair all the way up to her neck, gathering it up in a fist, lifting her onto her toes. She whimpers in surrender, and then she is pulled to the left and her foot kicked out to one side., then the right and it repeats, until her legs are splayed painfully before the roasting radiator, the heat between her legs nearly unbearable. “Hands behind your neck” her Mistress growls, barely giving her time to comply before bending her double over the hood, crushing her breasts to the hot metal, the insulated surface really only barely warmer than the asphault but Feeling hot enough to burn the flesh from her bones.
She stifles a shocked scream, thrashing madly beneath her Mistress’ single restraining hand before she realizes she’s in no real danger, slowly calming down, her breath still coming in frantic gasps as the whipping begins. She looks up lovingly into the intense eyes of her Master, watching her impassively from the driver’s seat; he nods to acknowledge her but does not intercede as she is brutally humiliated in front of everyone.
Her Mistress draws back for another stinging rebuke when she feels a hand on her shoulder. She whirls to find a couple lumbering jocks standing uncertainly to either side of her, each clearly expecting the other to say something first. “Well?” she demands, preempting them. When one of them looks like he’s about to have a thought she interrupts him again, “What? Do you have a problem with this? You think girls should only be beaten by their drunken boyfriends in private, never by their Mistresses in public?” She gives him a moment to try and find a response and cuts him off again with “Or do you want a turn too? Sorry, I don’t do requests, you’ll have to try the yellow pages. Now beat it.”
“No, I-“
She whirls, crop raised, making him cringe. He steps back, nearly falling over a sleepy-eyed old man in a faded guard’s uniform. Thinking quickly she preempts him as well. “Public performance art. It’s protected by the first ammendment.”
“That’s as maybe,” he drawls, “But I don’t think the young lady’s enjoying herself there.”
“Of course she is. Aren’t you Slave?”
“Yes Mistress!” she cries out quickly and joyfully.
“You enjoy being beaten and humiliated in front of everyone, don’t you?”
“Yes Mistress!”
“Would you like this kind security guard to take you away from me?”
“No Mistress! Please Mistress, more!”
The old guard slowly takes his hat off, scratches his head, and shrugs resignedly. “Well, never mind me then. All the same though, I will have to ask your friend there to put some clothes on.”
“If you insist,” the Mistress growls, pulling her nearly delerious Slave up by the hair. “Thank the nice guard, Slave.” When she feels her moving to her knees she stops her, pulling her up by the hair. “With. Your. Words.” she growls in irritation.
“Oh. OH! Thank you, nice guard.” As her hair is released she curtsies gracefully despite her stiff and aching muscles. She turns to her Mistress, who smoothly pulls the shirt over her shoulders, buttoning it up deftly as she writhes with lingering arrousal, her exposed pussy tingling with excitement as her Mistress pulls the silky cloth swiftly across her nipples, the sensation maddeningly brief. She fights to stand at attention, keeping her posture perfect as her Mistress wraps the skirt around her hips, grinding her thigh against the girl’s clenching pussy playfully, the coarse cloth unbearably rough on her trembling clit, the skirt sticking for only a moment before gravity takes hold, leaving no evidence that she’s going entirely without undergarments.
Her Mistress straightens, coming in close for a kiss but stopping just short, licking her slaves eager lips playfully. “You can put your socks and shoes on yourself,” she purrs, going back to the trunk for her bag of tricks. She stands behind and watches the girl bend low at the waist as she ties her shoes, the swollen red lips of her abused pussy showing under her skirt, absolutely immodest and absolutely obedient. “Good,” she says as she locks the leash to her choker, “You Are learning after all.”
