Alison expected Ciaran to drive her directly home – but it soon became clear that wasn’t where he was going.
Instead of heading for the suburbs, Ciaran was driving her through the heart of the city.
The car stopped at a set of traffic lights. Another car was stopped next to them. Its driver, a young man in his twenties, looked casually in their direction – then did a double-take as he saw the naked Alison, and gave a leering thumbs-up as he stared at her tits.
Alison shrank in her seat, trying to hide from his gaze.
The lights changed, and they continued forward.
“Do we have to go this way?” asked Alison. “Please – my house is in the other direction.”
Ciaran slammed on the brakes, stopping them dead by the side of the road. “Get out,” he said.
Alison looked at the street. It was night, but they were directly outside a late-night pizza joint, brightly lit. People were walking past on the footpath. It was only a matter of time before someone looked in at her.
“No!” she objected. “Why? Please – you said you were going to take me home…”
“I thought I made it clear, Alison,” said Ciaran. “I am doing you a favour, and I expect cooperation and gratitude. Are you going to give me cooperation and gratitude, or are you going to get out and walk home?”
She looked at the street again. Two men at the pizza shop were staring at her, trying to make out if they were really seeing a naked slut sitting in the stopped car.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Please. Just drive.”
“Sit up straight and take your hands off your tits,” said Ciaran. “A little cooperation, right?”
She didn’t understand how exposing her tits was cooperating, but she did as she was told, hating how it made her more visible, more exposed.
She could still feel her skirt and panties stuffed lewdly inside her pussy. She wanted to pull them out. But she hadn’t been given permission, and she didn’t want to anger Ciaran further.
“And say ‘thank you, sir,’” he told her. “For anything that happens to you that maybe isn’t exactly how you’d like it in a perfect world, I don’t want to hear a complaint or a whine, I just want to hear you say ‘thank you, sir’, understand?”
She bit her lip. This was demeaning, and she knew it. But she had never been more vulnerable in her life, she was still panicking at the idea that she might be outed at work as a sex offender, and she knew that Ciaran was the only thing right now standing between her and further humiliation.
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
“Good girl,” replied Ciaran, and started the car again.
They drove for a while, through the busy streets. Ciaran made an effort to time their driving so as to stop at every traffic light, so people in nearby cars could peer in at the cringing naked slut in the passenger seat.
“When was the last time you wet yourself at work?” he asked, eventually.
“I didn’t!” said Alison. “I mean, I’ve never done that before.”
“I don’t believe that’s the case, Alison,” said Ciaran. “You were sitting in a puddle of your own urine, and when I cleaned you off, you were aroused and you orgasmed. You clearly were getting off on it, and I don’t believe this is the first time you’ve done it.”
“No!” objected Alison. “Please – I couldn’t help it. You locked me in the office…”
Ciaran stopped the car again – at a busier part of town than before – and looked at her. “I did what?”
Alison blushed. “I was locked in the office….” She paused. Ciaran still wasn’t pleased. She tried again. “I asked you to lock me in my office, sir,” she said, finally. It wasn’t the truth – but the act of choosing to say it would subtly distort her memories. Ciaran was pleased.
“Either you have a piss fetish, or a bladder control problem – or both,” said Ciaran firmly. “Which is it?”
Alison squirmed. She hated this conversation. She hated this demeaning line of questioning. But she was completely powerless – naked, in a man’s car, with no wallet or phone or ID.
“A bladder control problem, sir,” she said, quietly.
Ciaran nodded. “I’ll help you with that,” he said. “Tomorrow, I’ll set you up an appointment with a specialist doctor. I expect you to attend, and follow his recommendations.”
Alison squeaked. Seeing a doctor? About a problem she didn’t even have? But she just said, “Yes, sir.”
“And from now on I want you to send me a text whenever you urinate, telling me where you did it,” said Ciaran. “If I don’t see a regular pattern of urinating using a toilet like a good girl, I’ll have to bring this matter to the attention of management.”
Alison went bright red. Reporting to Ciaran whenever she pissed? It was so degrading. But again, she was not in a position to argue. So again, she merely said, “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl,” said Ciaran, and restarted the car. Alison flushed with pleasure at the praise, hating herself for doing so but powerless to control herself.
“Oh, and Alison,” he added, as they drove, “do you need me to book you into a sex offender treatment program?”
Alison went white. “No!” she said. “I’m not – I mean, I don’t need…”
Ciaran raised a hand. “It’s okay,” he said. “I wouldn’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. If you promise me you can get it under control, we’ll say no more about it for now.”
And despite herself, Alison felt a wave of gratitude for Ciaran – gratitude for not forcing her to undertake sex offender treatment, even though she knew at some level that she had done nothing to warrant that treatment.
Finally they left the city, and entered the suburbs, and a little later they arrived at Alison’s house. Ciaran parked in the driveway.
“Do you think you can get in by yourself?” he asked her.
It was an odd question. Of course she could – if only Ciaran gave her her house keys back.
But she would have to ask for the keys back. And it was dark. And she would have to find the right key, in the dark, while standing naked on her doorstep, her panties and skirt stuffed up her pussy.
You can’t do it, said her brain.
Of course she could. But… what if she dropped the keys? Like a dumb big-titted baby? She might never find them in the dark. If Ciaran drove off before she was inside, she’d be trapped outside, naked, in the dark, all night long.
You can’t do it. You need a man.
She shivered. She wanted to cry. She knew it should be as simple as anything to let herself into her own house – but Ciaran’s question had sparked a wave of insecurity. After all, she had done nothing right today. She had made mistake after mistake, and done embarrassing, humiliating things she would have never thought she could do.
Dumb big-titted baby, said her mind. You can’t do it. You need a man.
“Could you let me in?” she heard herself ask, in a small voice.
“Of course,” sair Ciaran. He got out and walked to her front door. Nervously, Alison left the car too, and scurried naked across her front lawn to the shelter of her porch.
When she arrived, Ciaran looked down at her – and then he kissed her.
Alison let him. What else could she do? She couldn’t cause a scene, naked, in public. She was already hoping that no one was looking out their windows at her. She just let him kiss her – and felt her cunt throb as she did. He was enjoying the kiss – and his enjoyment pleased her. She liked pleasing men.
When it was done, he looked at her sternly. “I’ve warned you before about that, Alison,” he said. “It’s inappropriate. Try and control yourself.”
Alison felt the familiar confusion. She hadn’t done anything! It was Ciaran! He had kissed her!
And yet – hadn’t she asked Ciaran over here to the doorstep? To open the door for her, even though any competent woman could have done it herself? Wasn’t she standing here, naked, tempting him? Maybe it was her fault.
Perverted little slut, said her brain.
“I’m sorry,” she said, instinctively.
“You’re forgiven,” said Ciaran. He took out her keys, unlocked her front door, and let her in.
Alison flinched. She hadn’t expected Ciaran to come into her house. And immediately, it felt strange. Ciaran moved like he knew his way around her house. It felt like this was *his* house, and Alison was just the guest. He moved ahead of her, heading for her kitchen, and Alison followed, nervously. She had wanted to go straight to the shower, pull her clothes out of her twat, and clean off the embarrassments of the day, but she couldn’t just leave Ciaran alone in her house.
“I would have expected you to have a nicer house,” said Ciaran, as he walked. “Something less… trashy.”
Alison blushed. She didn’t think her house was trashy. She replied defensively, and instinctively. “I know. I’ve been looking for something better.” That was a lie – she hadn’t been. She liked this house. But Ciaran’s criticism of it needled her.
“It doesn’t look like you’ve been maintaining it well,” said Ciaran. “Too busy for housework?”
Did he mean it was untidy? Or that it needed maintenance work? Alison didn’t know. “I’m sorry,” she said.
He reached the kitchen. “This floor is a mess,” he said. “Why don’t you clean it, while I make you a drink?”
Alison gaped. Clean it? Right now? “Actually, I just want to sleep,” she said. “Could we call it a night?”
Ciaran turned to her. He took his phone out, and pointed it at her naked body. “I’m sorry?” he asked.
Alison blushed. “Please, don’t,” she said. “It’s been a really hard day, and I just want to…” She trailed off. Ciaran was filming her. He was pointing the phone at her cunt. Her wet cunt. Her wet cunt that her clothing stuffed up it.
He looked displeased. She felt unaccountably guilty. Perverted little slut. Pleasing men feels good.
“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, finally, blushing. She got a sponge from the sink, made it wet under the tap, and got down on all fours in the kitchen, her clothes still hanging from her pussy. She began to rub at the more obviously messy spots on the kitchen floor.
“Good girl,” said Ciaran, and Alison blushed happily. The wave of pleasure was strange – she had never felt so *good* while doing chores before.
Ciaran watched her – and filmed her. She looked cute, down on all fours, her ass wiggling, her tits hanging down beneath her. The guys at the office were going to love this footage, he knew.
When she was done, she stood.
“Let’s get those clothes out of you,” said Ciaran. He stepped forward, reached down to grasp the end of the clothes hanging from her pussy – and kissed her again.
Confused and insecure, Alison kissed him back – and Ciaran began to push the skirt and panties in and out of her cunt as he kissed her. She moaned sluttily. He let his finger flick at her clitoris as he fucked her twat with her own clothes – and, sure enough, after a few minutes, he felt her shudder, and orgasm.
He pulled the clothes out of her cunt, and let them fall to the floor. As she stood there, blushing in the knowledge that she had once again orgasmed in front of a co-worker, he passed her the glass of milk he had poured her.
“Drink up,” he said.
Dazed, Alison took the glass, and drank most of the milk in a couple of large mouthfuls. She showed no awareness that the milk was mixed with the cum of Ciaran, Dave and Vijay. She just swallowed it (like a good girl).
Ciaran had no doubt she would soon be swallowing his cum by a more direct method. In fact, he was fairly sure he could rape her right then and there and get away with it. But he was enjoying her slow degradation, and he could wait longer to satisfy his cock. He just smiled, and watched her drink her co-worker’s cum.
“Good girl,” he said again, to associate the taste in her mouth with pleasure. “I’ll let you sleep now. Have a good night, and I’ll see you bright and early at the office tomorrow. And remember to report to me about your bladder.”
“Yes, sir,” said Alison, her face flushed. “Thank you, sir.” She didn’t mention her orgasm or the kiss – and she seemed grateful that Ciaran hadn’t mentioned it either.
Ciaran smiled, and left her there, exiting the house and returning to his car.
He had been driving for only five minutes when he received his first text from Alison.
“I just pissed in the toilet, sir,” it read.
Ciaran pictured the humiliation Alison must have felt in sending that message – and it aroused him so much he wished he *had* raped her.
Soon, he told himself. Soon.
And he drove on, looking forward to another productive day tomorrow.