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A bonus for Mr Riggs.
The thought was stuck in Reagan’s head as she worked her next shift. The words went around and around.
A bonus for Mr Riggs.
Why was he so special to her? She knew his first name – Trevor – but she didn’t use it, even inside her own mind. He was “Mister” – and that felt right. Not just because he was her high school guidance counsellor – although he was, and she knew that was weird, and maybe wrong, but she didn’t care – but because he was above her.
Above her? No, that wasn’t quite right. He was just a person – just a man – and yet, Reagan and Mr Riggs were not at the same level. She didn’t *want* them to be at the same level.
She wanted to be below him. Subservient to him. She wanted him to tell her what to do, and she wanted to please him by doing it. She yearned for his approval. She had never wanted anything – no expensive dress, no fine jewellery – so much as she wanted Mr Riggs to be pleased with her.
These thoughts occupied so much of Reagan’s mind that she hardly noticed she was making mistakes in customer orders. It wasn’t yet time for the babies to go home and the bonuses to begin, and until that hour came, Reagan was physically present, but mentally detached.
Mr Riggs had introduced Reagan to the Grand Lodge of Pan – the club where she now worked – and although Bunny had initially found it humiliating, it had awakened something in her that she may have never otherwise discovered. He had shown her a whole new side of herself – a side that distressed and embarrassed her, yes, a side that made her feel like a slut – but also a side that brought her pleasure, and…. something else. Satisfaction, in a way that she had never been satisfied before.
She had wanted to dance, but not known how, and Mr Riggs had arranged for her to be taught. He had helped make her a better and more skilled person – for her own pleasure, but also for his. And when she had seen him looking up at her cunt as she had danced nude, she should have been mortified and humiliated – but instead, it had been one of the best moments of her life, and when she thought about it now she got so wet she was afraid she might soak through her panties and drip on the floor.
It was thinking about that moment, instead of watching where she was going, that led her to trip and spill a tray containing two full drinks.
Bunny heard the crash and came hurrying out onto the club floor with cleaning supplies.
“I’m so sorry,” Reagan muttered to Bunny, as she desperately tried to mop up her mess. “I’m so clumsy. I’m so sorry.”
Bunny just laughed, and took the mop away from Reagan.
“We both know why you’re so distracted, Kisses,” she said. “It’s okay.”
That just made Reagan blush more. Bunny knew. Reagan could hardly keep her desire a secret.
How had she become this silly, desperate slut, so eager to offer herself as a fucktoy for the pleasure of an older man? Had it always been inside her?
She thought that it had, and that her experience at the club was only bringing out the person she had been destined to become all of her life..
She saw Mr Riggs come into the club, about half an hour before the 6 pm shift cutoff. She wanted to go to him, to ask him what he wanted from her, to tell him that she’d do anything. (Was that right? Would she truly do *anything*? She did have limits, no matter how far they may have been stretched in the past month. But also she felt that whatever Mr Riggs asked for *would* be within her limits – that he would know exactly how far to push her – and that feeling of deep, pathetic, irrational trust made her even more aroused.)
She didn’t approach him, though. It wasn’t time yet. But it would be. Soon.
And then, finally, it was 6 pm. Reagan waited impatiently for the “babies” – the girls who didn’t work bonuses – to go home. And then she went to Bunny.
“All right,” she said, breathless with eagerness. “What is it? What’s the bonus?”
Bunny smiled wickedly. She held up two items – a blindfold, and a leather collar with a leash.
“Take off your top and expose your tits,” she said. “And then put these on. And I’ll lead you over to your client so you can hear the rest from him.”
Being topless wasn’t such a big deal for Reagan now. She had danced nude on stage, and displayed her pussy to every man who had been in the room. It was a little embarrassing to have her tits on display – but not a *lot*. After all, the men *liked* her tits. They liked her better when she wore less clothes. She would pleasing men by being topless, and earning their approval – and Reagan had come to deeply desire the approval of men.
The collar was new,and she gasped a little as Bunny buckled it around her neck. She was choosing to accept this collar – but at the same time, it felt like something being *done* to her, marking her as less than human, as an object, as property. As the buckle drew tight she felt that she was becoming Bunny’s toy, Bunny’s pet – a helpless gift that Bunny would offer up to Mr Riggs.
The leash was made of chain, and it jingled as it moved. Bunny allowed it to brush across Reagan’s exposed breasts, and she jerked and shivered as the cold metal touched her nipple.
And then the blindfold. It was no cheap hen’s night toy, but rather a luxurious premium product, that settled over her eyes as if it were made for them, sculpting itself to the ridges and hollows of her forehead, her nose, and her eyesockets. It was comfortable, and Reagan was struck by how *good* it felt to have her vision taken away from her. It was one less thing to think about, one less thing to be stressed about. Bunny would be in charge of that for her now, and after Bunny, it would be Mr Riggs.
She jumped as something brushed her lips. It was Bunny, giving her the lightest of kisses, and Reagan strained to respond, wanting to push her tongue into her pretty friend’s mouth. But Bunny had pulled away, giggling.
“Just teasing, Kisses,” Bunny said. “It’s your client who gets the enjoyment of you tonight, not me.”
Reagan gasped with frustration. She was aware now of how aroused she was. Her nipples tingled and her pussy throbbed. Her face was flushed, she knew, and she craved stimulation. She wanted something to *penetrate* her – and if she cousin’t have that, then she wanted to hump against something like an animal until she found her release.
But those were not options available to Reagan. Bunny tugged on her leash, and Reagan had no choice but to follow, out onto the club floor, in front of everyone.
Being blindfolded while naked could have been easier for Reagan, she supposed. But instead it heightened her embarrassment. She knew, now, what it was like to have a roomful of men staring at her with lust, objectifying her with their eyes, fantasising about violently fucking her, and now as she crossed the club floor with her tits out and her eyes covered, the only thing she could imagine was every eye staring at her – a roomful of men imagining what it would be like to penetrate her with their cocks.
Probably they weren’t all looking. Probably many were gazing at the other girls, or engaged with their friends, or their drinks. Probably.
“Stop,” said Bunny suddenly, and Reagan came to an awkward halt.
“Hello, Kisses,” said a voice – and Reagan felt herself melt.
It was Mr Riggs.
“Hello, sir,” said Reagan, and her voice, nervous, was almost a whisper.
“You can pass me her leash now, Bunny,” said Mr Riggs, and Reagan heard the rattle of chain as Bunny obeyed.
She felt a thrill go through her. Mr Riggs was holding her leash. It was only a symbol, really, but even symbolically it thrilled her to be controlled – to be *owned* – by her guidance counsellor.
“Do you require anything else?” asked Bunny.
“No, thank you,” said Mr Riggs. “You may go.”
And Reagan heard Bunny leave.
“You look very beautiful like that, Kisses,” said Mr Riggs. “It suits you to be bare-titted and collared.”
Reagan blushed.
“Thank you, sir,” she mumbled.
“Kneel,” said Mr Riggs, sharply, and Reagan felt herself obeying before she’d even fully registered the command, sinking eagerly to her knees on the plush carpet of the club.
“Did Bunny tell you what I wanted, Kisses?” asked Mr Riggs.
Reagan shook her head. “No, sir,” she said.
Mr Riggs chuckled. “That’s good – but it’s also a difficulty. Because the fiction is that these bonuses are your idea, isn’t it? So it’s not sex work. And you don’t even know how much I’m… donating to the club in relation to this.”
Reagan panicked a moment, because he was right. How could she initiate this if she didn’t even know what it was?
But it didn’t matter, really.
“I want to please you, sir,” she said. “In any way you want to be pleased. Money doesn’t matter.”
It was embarrassing to be so honest and direct. If she was doing this for free – or at least, without caring about the price tag – was she more of a slut, or less? But she didn’t care. It was the truth.
There was silence for a moment. Had she shocked Mr Riggs with what she had said? Or pleased him? She felt nervous. What if her answer wasn’t good enough? What if he rejected her?
She needn’t have feared.
“That’s very good, Kisses,” said Mr Riggs, his voice suddenly husky. “I want you to please me too. Do you know where you are, right now?”
She tried to think. What path had Bunny followed to bring her here? She was blind, but she tried to focus on her other senses. She heard the murmur of chatter, the clink of glasses, the gentle swish of ties against shirts, of suit pants against chairs. She inhaled, and smelled Mr Riggs’ distinctive cologne, and alcohol. Were there other men near her? She thought there might be.
She gave up. “In the club?” she ventured.
Mr Riggs laughed again. “That’s right, but specifically we are near the back corner of the club, at my table. I’m seated in front of you. There are two other men seated at my table – friends of mine – and they are looking at you, but they won’t speak while you are here. I’m not going to tell you who they are. They might be people you know in real life, or they might be strangers. Do you understand, Kisses?”
“Yes, sir,” said Reagan.
“I want to be clear that this is only happening if you want it to happen, Kisses,” said Mr Riggs. “If you are uncomfortable at any time, you may say so, or just leave, and no one will stop you. More than that, I’ll do what is necessary to make you feel safe, and you won’t disappoint me or upset me. I will still make my donation to the club. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said Reagan again. She knew she would not be leaving, no matter what happened, but Mr Riggs’ confident care for her made her feel warm in a pleasant way.
“Beyond that,” continued Mr Riggs, “if you look at any time like you are not enjoying yourself, or unhappy in any way, I will stop this, whether you’ve said something or not. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she said for a third time.
“Very good,” said Mr Riggs. He paused for a moment, and Reagan shivered with anticipation in the silence.
“Open your mouth, Kisses,” he said finally.
Reagan immediately opened her mouth wide.
“Submitting to me means that I own your mouth, Kisses,” said Mr Riggs. “I control it, and I make decisions for it. I decide what goes into it, and what sounds come out of it. Tonight you’re going to show me that you understand that.”
With her mouth open, Reagan would only be able to make incoherent noises, so she chose to stay silent and wait.
“Things are going to be put in your mouth, Kisses,” said Mr Riggs. “And you’re going to accept them. I need to warn you that it may not be me placing them into your mouth. It may be one of my friends. You will not know who it is – but you need to know that *I* want you to accept them, and you please me by doing so.”
He paused again, and Reagan again made no noise, merely keeping her mouth open.
“Good girl,” said Mr Riggs.
She knelt, blindfolded, bare-titted, with her mouth open, and waited. She had never felt more vulnerable – or more excited.
A long moment passed, and then she felt someone move near her. A moment later, something was pressed down on her tongue – something small, and sweet.
She almost laughed. Chocolate. It was a tiny piece of chocolate.
“Good girls swallow, Kisses,” said Mr Riggs, and Reagan quickly swallowed the treat. She made a little delighted giggling sound, and then quickly opened her mouth again.
Based on where Mr Riggs’ voice was, she thought it might not have been him who put the treat in her mouth. It felt odd to think of a stranger putting things in her mouth – maybe even someone who knew her – but she trusted Mr Riggs.
There was another long pause, and then someone moved near her again, and she felt the lip of a glass pressed against her mouth. Obediently, she tilted her head back and drank from the glass.
Was it alcohol? Something else? It tasted like fruit juice, with something mixed in. She thought it was vodka and orange juice, but she was struck again by the realisation that she just didn’t know. Mr Riggs and her friends could be feeding her any manner of disgusting concoction, and she was submissively accepting it.
“Good girls swallow,” said Mr Riggs again, and this time he was close enough that she thought it might be him holding the glass. Reagan obediently swallowed the mouthful of liquid. It burned a little going down, and she felt more certain that it was vodka and juice.
Reagan opened her mouth again, and there was another pause before something new was put into it – and when it happened, Reagan jumped.
It was fingers. A man was pushing two of his fingers into her mouth. They pressed down on her tongue.
Was it Mr Riggs? Or someone else? She didn’t know. A stranger’s fingers were in her mouth, and she was letting it happen.
She blushed. What kind of girl let random strangers put their fingers in her mouth? What kind of girl knelt, topless, and allowed it to happen?
The kind that she was, clearly.
“Suck,” said Mr Riggs. And his voice was close enough that they *might* have been his fingers. Or maybe not.
Either way, Reagan obeyed. She closed her mouth, gently, and began to suck on the fingers. She aimed to please them. If they were Mr Riggs’ fingers, she wanted him to feel good. If they belonged to someone else, she wanted to please Mr Riggs with her performance. She gently suckled on the two fingers, and caressed them with her tongue. She allowed her mouth to be a hole that existed solely for the pleasure of the person violating it. She felt as though she were an object that existed solely to please a man, and the feeling made her cunt throb with desire.
After a few moments, the fingers withdrew, and Reagan opened her mouth again.
“You are doing very well, Kisses,” said Mr Riggs, and Reagan felt herself glow with pleasure at the approval.
“From now on,” Mr Riggs went on, “when I snap my fingers, you will swallow. When I clap once, you will lick. And when I clap twice, you will suck. Do you understand?”
Reagan nodded.
“Good girl,” said Mr Riggs.
There was another pause, and then something was placed on her tongue again. It was soft, and sweet. Was it a piece of banana, perhaps?
She waited, with it balanced on her tongue, until she heard Mr Riggs snap his fingers.
Like a good pet, she swallowed.
Next came another sip from a drink. She thought this one was lemonade. She held it in her mouth until, once again, Mr Riggs snapped his fingers.
She swallowed.
Someone moved nearby her, and she thought that someone was kneeling or sitting on the floor beside her. It wasn’t Mr Riggs – it wasn’t his cologne. Then whoever-it-was leaned forward – and she felt a strange man’s mouth pressing against hers.
Someone was kissing her. She didn’t know what to do. She kept her mouth open, which made for an awkward kiss, but she hadn’t been told to kiss back.
The strange man had a moustache and beard. It tickled. And then she felt him push his tongue into her mouth.
Mr Riggs clapped, twice.
For a moment, she almost forgot what two claps meant. Then it came to her – suck. Blushing, she brought her lips together and began to suck gently on the stranger’s tongue. It felt weird and obscene – and the weirdness just made her wetter.
She hoped she was pleasing Mr Riggs. She hoped it brought him pleasure to see her kissing his friend, and sucking on his friend’s tongue.
After a moment, the man pulled back, withdrawing his tongue, and she felt him stand and resume his seat.
Then something new was in her mouth, and Reagan almost gagged. It was big, and tasted of leather, and it had dirt or grit on it…
It was a shoe. It was someone’s shoe. Someone was pressing the toe of their shoe into her mouth.
Mr Riggs clapped, once, and without allowing herself to think, Reagan began to lick the shoe. It wasn’t pleasant for her – she tasted dirt on her tongue – but somehow the complete debasement just made her wetter. She was surrendering her dignity and humanity to clean a man’s shoe – and that man might even be a stranger – and her only reason for doing so was because Mr Riggs wanted her to. Her entire identity was subsumed to Mr Riggs’ pleasure – and it made her so wet it was difficult to avoid the temptation to frantically rub her pussy right here and now.
After a few moments, the foot withdrew. Reagan was rewarded with another sip of drink, to clear her mouth, and Mr Riggs snapped his fingers she swallowed.
Next a hand was placed in front of her mouth, palm facing her lips, and someone clapped. Was it Mr Riggs? She didn’t think it could be, because she thought the palm belonged to him, and he couldn’t clap with only one hand. But in any case she licked, like an eager kitten, her tongue running over his palm, until eventually the hand pulled away.
When the hand was gone there was another long pause. She sensed movement, and the rustling of clothing. Someone came to stand very near to her, and she could no longer tell whether it was Mr Riggs. She was horny and confused and it now felt like Mr Riggs’ cologne was on her, in her nose, preventing her from telling who was near her.
She felt something move in front of her open mouth, and then she heard Mr Riggs clap once.
She extended her tongue to lick, and encountered something warm and soft – something cylindrical – something….
Oh, god. It was a cock. She was licking a cock. Her tongue ran up its shaft, and encountered its tip, and she tasted pre-cum.
She panicked. Whose cock was it? Did it belong to Mr Riggs, or someone else? Who was standing in front of her? Mr Riggs had said it might be someone she knew. Was she licking the cock of someone who *knew* her?
For a moment she thought about stopping, and then she panicked again. If she didn’t look like she was enjoying this, Mr Riggs would make it stop. And for all that she was having a sudden moment of doubt, she knew that she didn’t want it to stop.
It didn’t matter whose cock this was. All that mattered was that Mr Riggs wanted her to lick it.
Reagan had never licked a cock before. The closest she had come was kissing Mr Rigg’s own dick through his pants. There were no pants here. Her tongue was touching skin.
She leaned forward, and began to enthusiastically lick. If this was Mr Riggs, she wanted it to be the best experience of his life. And if it was someone else, she wanted Mr Riggs to be envious. She wanted him to push his friend aside, and substitute his own dick, because of how eagerly she was licking.
She heard a gasp and a moan from the cock’s owner, and again, to her frustration, she couldn’t identify the voice. She ran her tongue over the cock’s tip, tasting the pre-cum again, and felt the whole phallus twitch against her face.
And then the man in front of her shifted, and she felt the cock push into her mouth.
Mr Riggs clapped, twice.
Obediently, Reagan began to suck.
Being ordered to suck a stranger’s cock – and by clapping, as if she were an *animal* – should have been intensely degrading – and it was, she supposed – but it was so intensely erotic that Reagan could barely think. She was moaning like a slut around the cock in her mouth, and she couldn’t make herself stop. She was nothing but a hole for men to penetrate – and she didn’t even control that hole. Mr Riggs did.
The man began to buck his hips against Reagan’s face. Reagan felt her nose crushed by his waist, and almost gagged again as his cock banged against the back of her throat, but she stayed focused on pleasing the anonymous man. All that mattered was that she was a good hole for his dick to violate.
Having nothing better to do with her hands, she caressed her own tits as she sucked, squeezing her nipples as she moaned sluttily around her mouthful of dick. It didn’t occur to her that her moans might be attracting attention from nearby tables, or that more men may now be looking at her, watching as she sucked cock like a whore.
And then, suddenly, she felt hands on her face – gentle, strong hands – and they were removing her blindfold. She blinked as light streamed in, and then looked up – into Mr Riggs’ face.
It was Mr Riggs. She was sucking his cock after all. Mr Riggs had his cock in her mouth, and it was the best feeling she could imagine.
“Good girl, Kisses,” said Mr Riggs.
And that drove Reagan mad. She began bouncing her face against her owner’s groin, madly pumping his cock with her mouth, and mere moments later she heard him gasp, and felt him shake – and then her mouth was suddenly filling with warm, salty cum.
A flush of deep pleasure ran through her at the knowledge she had made Mr Riggs cum – that she had been a pleasing hole for him to ejaculate into. She let the cum pool in her mouth, not swallowing, but not letting it escape, as she looked up at her master with adoring eyes.
When he was done, he pulled his cock free, and she opened her mouth to show the semen within.
“Good girl,” said Mr Riggs, his voice shaking. “Very good girl.”
And then he clicked his fingers.
Good girls swallow. Reagan was a good girl. She swallowed.
Casually, Mr Riggs reached out and grabbed a handful of Reagan’s hair. It didn’t hurt. It felt good, like he controlled her. He pulled her head close to his groin again, and then he wiped his cock clean on her cheek, smearing the last of his cum across her face.
“Do you like being my cum-rag, Kisses?” he asked her.
“Yes, sir,” she said. And it was true. The feel of his sperm on her face felt like a gift, a blessing.
“You make a very good cum-rag, Kisses,” Mr Riggs said. And he was smiling. “You’ve done very well tonight. You have pleased me very much. And pleased my friends too.”
Remembering the friends, Reagan looked around. The two men in the other seats had to have been in their forties, and she recognised neither of them. Who had kissed her? Who had put their shoe in her mouth? She didn’t know, and she suspected she never would.
“I’m glad to please, sir,” said Reagan.
“I’m done with you for tonight, Kisses,” said Mr Riggs. “Why don’t you go and ask your friend Bunny to lick you to orgasm?”
“Yes, sir,” said Reagan, blushing. And she rose, and hurried away, feeling Mr Riggs’ eyes on her back as she went.
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She *did* ask Bunny to lick her orgasm, that night after their shift, and Bunny eagerly obliged, and Reagan was thinking about Mr Riggs’ cock the whole time.
And when it was over, and she had reached her shuddering climax on her friend’s tongue, she got out her approval book, and she wrote a new line in it, and she drew love hearts around her, because it made her feel warm and fuzzy whenever she thought about it.
What she wrote was:
“You make a good cum rag.”
And she knew that she did.
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