Don't read this is you want a story with any redeeming features or happy endings. The themes here are bestiality, cruelty and rape. That's what happens. It also touches on BDSM, torture themes, younger characters (all 18+, of course) and implied incest. Obviously this is a fantasy. Do not do horribly evil things in real life, etc, etc.
Felicity was a prostitute. She was not a whore, and she was most certainly not an ‘escort’, a term that she loathed. She was under no illusions about what her work entailed, but she had boundaries, and standards, and a healthy measure of self-respect. She reserved the right to say no to any prospective client, and took payment only after saying yes to them. The price of asking was no more than a dinner date, although she made it known that her answer could be swayed by a suitably expensive and tasteful gift, which was a hint that most of her prospective clients were smart enough to act on. Her profession allowed her to live a very comfortable lifestyle, so she could afford to play things very safe. As such, it was out of character for her to find herself in a situation as uncomfortable as the one she now faced.
The gentleman sitting across the table from her was handsome, and charming enough, but something about him rang alarm bells. The problem was that she wasn’t sure if the problem was any more than her own discomfort. Their potential arrangement was a little different to what she usually offered, but he had been quite open about what he wanted, making a point of sounding her out before their meeting. In their email correspondence he had explained that he wanted their agreement to involve an element of bondage. Specifically, if she agreed to go home with him, he would expect her to allow herself to be ‘strapped into a custom-built harness to render her helpless, prior to being fucked’. Felicity preferred to avoid vulgar language, but many of her clients liked it, so she tolerated it. She even used it when it seemed to fit the mood. She also did not generally engage in BDSM, but her new client had offered her a very large pay packet, so she had agreed to meet him and consider his offer.
She wasn’t stupid. She’d agreed a safe word in advance. She’d told a friend where she was going, making sure that the friend in question was aware of her concerns.
Maybe it was his clothes that were making her feel uncomfortable. Felicity put a lot of effort into her own appearance, and she was used to judging her prospective clients by theirs. Judging a book by its cover was a sensible thing to do. A book’s cover was designed to advertise its contents. People spent a lot of time thinking about what their books should look like. By the same token, a person’s appearance told you what they wanted to advertise about themselves, as well as how much they cared to invest in such adverting.
Felicity’s appearance struck a very careful balance, contriving to make clients want her without reducing her to an exclusively sexual object. They had to see her as a beautiful, self-possessed, classy woman; only after that first impression did she want them to be overwhelmed with desire. They had to be able to convince themselves that they were attracted to the austere surface impression, not the subliminal message beneath.
Her blonde hair was tightly styled, but it appeared that a few stray, messy curls had escaped. In fact, these ‘messy’ touches took a great deal more time and effort to achieve than the parts of her look that were neat and tidy.
Her impossibly expensive, bespoke-tailored bra pushed her modest breasts up and together just enough to form the suggestion of a cleavage, while the neckline of her elegant, cream dress was only low enough to reveal the very top of that subtle effect. Her make-up was mostly minimalist and natural in style, but her lipstick was a shade darker than that would suggest and her blusher was just a little exaggerated, creating the impression of arousal.
By contrast, her client’s clothes were perfectly… adequate. His suit was obviously bespoke – it fit him well – but it was also terribly ordinary, the stock in trade of any good tailor. His square, silver cufflinks were plain - not a deliberately minimalist way, but rather in a way that spoke of a complete lack of personality. Everything about him was like that: expensive, tasteful in a purely technical sense, and utterly bland. The restaurant he had chosen was the same. It was the second best in town, on course for a Michelin star next year, and well-reviewed in all the sources that counted. It was also as ordinary and safe as it possibly could be while sporting those achievements. She’d had a slightly better version of every course it served elsewhere.
Annoyingly, he had ordered for her. A lot of clients did this, and while she sometimes took them to bed anyway it was definitely a point against them. He’d opted for light, low-calorie options, which was often a red flag (clients who thought they were buying more than a pleasant night tried to control her weight), but he’d ordered the same for himself. Hence they were both picking unenthusiastically at fans of baby carrots and pathetic little fish pies served with a truffle foam. He didn’t seem any more enthusiastic about the food he’d ordered than she did.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I must confess that the fine dining elements of these kinds of meetings are not my strong suit, but perhaps I can make up for it. I know a gift is something you expect, but I want you to know that I love gift-giving. Please believe me that this is something I picked out with a lot of care, and I’d have wanted you to have it anyway.”
His smile was genuine and warm as he proffered her a plain black box, and she found herself feeling a little guilty. Maybe his explanation accounted for everything. He just wasn’t good at playing the games she played. He was doing his best. She found that her thanks were sincere as she took the box. Opening it revealed a silver pendant in the shape of a horse. She could tell that it was an expensive item picked out by someone with their own particular taste. There were no jewels in it, but the craftsmanship was exquisite. A lot of money had gone into making sure that this was the most carefully and realistically rendered silver horse one could possibly hope for. She hated it. She never wore figurative jewellery and she had no connection to horses. She wouldn’t be caught dead wearing it.
Looking up from the pendant, she saw him looking at her with an earnest, hopeful, almost needy expression. “Do you like it?” he asked.
She swallowed and glanced down. The pendant would be easy to sell on. Gems were a more reliable source of cash-value, but the craftsmanship was undeniable and she knew good dealers. “Yes, thank you,” she replied. “It’s beautiful”
“I’m so happy,” he responded. “Here, let me.”
He took the pendant from the box in her hands and reached forward to clip it around her neck. Moments like this one were all in a day’s work for Felicity, but it was an intimate gesture, and she suddenly felt duplicitous. There was no getting around it though. She’d called the pendant beautiful. She had to let him put it on her. His hands fumbled briefly behind her neck and then he sat back down as the ugly little thing fell into place on her décolletage.
“Oh, it’s almost as beautiful as you,” he said with a shy smile. “Erm. I not really enjoying this meal. Have you thought more about my offer? Would you like to come home with me? I’ve got a driver waiting outside.”
And just like that, Felicity was on the spot. This guy seemed genuine, but she hadn’t forgotten what going home with him was supposed to involve: being ‘strapped into a custom built harness that would render her helpless, prior to being fucked’. The contrast between his nervous manner and what he wanted didn’t surprise her. She had friends in the business who catered to BDSM tastes and apparently a lot of wannabe doms were actually quite unassuming. It made sense when you thought about it: people fantasised about being different to how they actually were.
She made a snap decision. “OK,” she said. “I’m willing to proceed with the arrangement we discussed. Just let me visit the bathroom very briefly and then we can go”.
She didn’t like to admit it to herself, but she was a little panicked. She usually prided herself on her cautious, safety-first approach, but this guy seemed to have cornered her entirely by accident. She was going to allow herself to be physically restrained for what was basically a pity fuck. She shocked herself by thinking of it in those terms, but it was basically true. At least she was going to be paid a huge amount of money for it.
In the toilet, she texted her friend. “I’m going to the Driers Estate to do this BDSM thing.” she wrote. “If I don’t get back to you tomorrow he’s a kidnapper or a serial killer. Please alert the authorities.” Her friend texted back with a thumbs up emoji and a light-hearted joke Felicity hardly registered. Returning to the restaurant, she found the bill had already been settled, and before she knew it her newest client was escorting her to his Bentley. A beautiful woman got out of the driver’s seat and opened the door back for them to get in.
Felicity wasn’t used to feeling threatened by other women; she thought of herself as being above that. But she’d agreed to be physically restrained by her new client based on an impression that he was socially naïve, which that made encountering his driver a jolt. It was hard to imagine that this woman’s boss needed a sympathy fuck.
Felicity found herself comparing herself to the driver. The differences were obvious. Where Felicity was blonde, the driver had long raven hair. Where Felicity was slight, the driver was curvy and solid, with ample breasts. Felicity’s appearance was calculated to make her respectable on the surface with an undercurrent of sexuality, while the driver’s appearance was the reverse. Everything about her was overtly sexual, from her tight trousers, to the plunging neckline of her top, to her smoky eye make-up and crisp, 1930s-style, bright red lipstick. At the same time, myriad subtle cues – austere jewellery, severe tailoring, heavy boots – communicated that this was a powerful individual. She slowly and respectfully nodded at her boss, Felicity’s client. “Sir,” she said.
“Jessica,” Felicity’s client acknowledged his driver. “Take us home please.”
Before Felicity knew it, the door of the Bentley closed behind her and they were driving.
“I’m so glad you’ve decided to come and entertain me this evening,” he said. “Let’s begin with some simple kissing, shall we? You have beautiful lips”
He leaned across to her in the back seat. The moment before their lips touched, she happened to glance up and see the driver’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, watching them. Then his hand was on the back of her head and their tongues were gently caressing each other. He kissed her for a long time, his hands gently but insistently holding her in place. Supressing her growing anxiety, she leaned into his embrace and held him in return. She was overthinking things. This was all in a day’s work. He was just another client, who’d paid for some additional services and who happened to have an attractive driver. It turned out he was also a passable kisser, which went a long way with her.
There was a rattle of gravel as the car turned into a long driveway and drew to a halt outside a large stone mansion. Felicity’s client finally broke their kiss as the driver got out and opened the door for them. “Here we are,” he said, taking her hand to help her out of the car. “Follow me”. Still holding her hand, he led her inside, not quite dragging her, but not giving her a lot of options other than to follow.
The foyer was everything one expects from an opulent foyer: high ceilings, oil paintings, twin staircases. Felicity had no time to take in any of it. Her client pulled her into a room to one side, which turned out to be a sparsely furnished hall. There were a few seats around the edge of the room, as if there was to be a dance, but a single furnishing dominated everything else: a complex array of metalwork, polished wood, cushions, leather and buckles that could only be the harness she was supposed to be strapped into.
“I’m really looking forward to our evening together,” said her client, smiling warmly at her. “You look wonderful. I’m just going to go and freshen up a moment. Jessica will help you get ready.”
The driver, Jessica, had followed them. Before Felicity could say anything, her client left the room. She was alone with Jessica.
“I know it’s all a bit abrupt, but you’re doing great,” Jessica said. “Strip off and I’ll help you into the harness. The Master will be back in a moment.”
It was not lost on Felicity that her client was suddenly ‘The Master’. Everything was going very fast, and she wasn’t happy about it. Having come this far she want to make a scene, but she decided at that moment that this was a one-time deal. She’d have sex in the harness, take her big pay out, and then cut off all contact with all these freaks. In the meantime, though, she needed to reassert her boundaries.
“Before I do anything I want it to be completely clear that I have a code word for if I need to revoke my consent,” she said. “It’s ‘red’. Your master should already know that, but I’d like you to remind him when he gets back. There’s an online paper trail that documents our agreement, and there are people who know where I am. You need to do all of this properly. I am in contact with excellent lawyers who will support me should I need to take legal action.”
“Of course,” said Jessica. “You’re a professional. I understand and respect that. For now just strip to your underwear and I’ll strap you in. There’s no need to be fully exposed before the question of consent is resolved to everyone’s mutual satisfaction.”
Felicity swallowed. This was it. She wasn’t happy, but she felt like the way out of forward. She’d do the job. She’d take the money. She’d never see these people again. She was used to stripping slowly and seductively, with an appreciative audience. That seemed redundant here. She quickly shrugged out of her dress, folding it carefully and putting it on a chair at the edge of the room. Then, in her bra and panties she crossed to the harness and climbed up onto it.
Jessica helped her into place, strapping her down as she went. When they had finished, Felicity was on her hands and knees, about a meter off the ground. Her forearms and calves were strapped onto four separate cushions, the forearms higher up so that it was like she was kneeling on a slope. There was a smooth, polished wooden support under her belly and a small cushioned surface on an adjustable pole that Jessica moved upwards to support her upper chest, leaving her breasts hanging free beside the dangling silver horse pendant. There was a padded bar that Felicity could rest her chin on. As the emails from her client had said, as she had agreed to, she had been rendered helpless.
Jessica knelt down and began rummaging around. Felicity couldn’t easily see what the other woman was doing, as the bar under her chin prevented her from looking down, but she thought Jessica had opened up a door at the base of the apparatus. It occurred to Felicity that she wouldn’t be able to take off her underwear without the straps being undone. She was about to comment on this oversight when Jessica stood up beside her holding a pair of thick metal sheers. In a few efficient snips, Felicity’s expensive bespoke bra was reduced to a few scraps of fabric. Her naked breasts hung beneath her, small, dark pink nipples hardening in the cold.
“Hey!” Shouted Felicity, outraged. “That’s not what we agreed to. Red! My code word is ‘red’. I withdraw my consent! Let me down.”
Jessica ignored her, moving down to Felicity’s panties. She snipped through the fabric at each side and pulled them away in a single piece.
“Oh God!” Felicity’s voice became rose in pitch and volume as she realised her wishes were being ignored. “Stop. I don’t consent to this. Stop! Red! My code word is red!! Please don’t do this! Plea–”
Her protests were cut off by Jessica stuffing her panties into her mouth. Then Jessica produced a cord of rough, black-brown leather, pulled it between Felicity’s teeth and knotted the ends tightly behind Felicity’s head. A few efficient movements and Felicity had been effectively gagged.
“Now listen to me, you stupid fucking whore,” said Jessica. “I know you have ideas above your station, but the fact is trash like you only exist to be degraded and broken. No one gives a shit about your code word, or your silly lawyer, or your fucking consent. We’ve long since hacked you email, so the paper trail will show exactly what we want it to. Right at the moment your friend who knows where you are is being paid off. Once she’s taken the cash we’ll threaten her to make sure she keeps up her end of the bargain.
“Of course, you could have avoided all this by simply refusing to let yourself be strapped into a sex harness by a stranger. Happily for The Master and I, the promise of money is a reliable way to trap stupid, greedy, gold-digging cunts. All of this, everything that’s about to happen to you, is your own fault. Remember that, you tacky, common hooker.”
Felicity couldn’t respond. She was gagged with her own panties, tied into her mouth with a leather cord. As Jessica walked away from her, she began to cry.