Previous chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen
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Mr Riggs looked at his two eager teen fucktoys across the club table.
“You’re both very good girls,” he told them, and Reagan and Alexia both blushed with delight, even over the pain they still felt in their recently-tortured clits.
“Now,” he continued. “I want you to tell me, honestly – how many men have you fucked?”
Alexia spoke first. “Three,” she said. “My ex-boyfriend Preston, and Samuel before him, and… I sucked my uncle’s cock once.”
Reagan looked at her in surprise, wondering what the story of that was, but Mr Riggs was looking at her expectantly, and she had to return her gave to her master.
“Reagan?” he prompted.
“It depends,” said Reagan, blushing.
“On what?” asked Mr Riggs.
“On how you define it,” said Reagan, still blushing.
“Well, let’s not worry about blowjobs and handjobs,” said Mr Riggs. “Let’s start with how many men have had their cock inside your pussy.”
Reagan mumbled something.
“Speakup, Kisses,” demanded Mr Riggs.
“None, sir,” said Reagan, bright red.
Mr Riggs blinked.
“You’re a virgin?” he said, not really believing it.
“Well, I’ve sucked your cock,” Reagan said. “And I’ve had sex with girls…”
“You’ve seriously never had penetrative sex with another man?” Mr Riggs asked.
“No, sir.”
Mr Riggs took a deep breath. “I just assumed… you were popular and pretty… and you took to working here so quickly…”
Reagan understood. Mr Riggs had thought she was a slut. The knowledge was crushingly humiliating, because if Mr Riggs had thought she was a slut, then probably *everyone* she knew had always assumed she was a slut. But at the same time, she *wanted* to be a slut – a slut for Mr Riggs, in particular, but also she wanted to be the kind of girl that would get approval from men generally.
“Reagan,” said Mr Riggs. “I want to buy your virginity.”
Reagan gasped. She looked across at her master and shook her head vehemently.
“No, sir,” she said. “You don’t have to. I want to give it to you…”
“No, Kisses,” said Mr Riggs, “you don’t understand. I’m not training you to be my lover. I’m training you to be my property. I’m training you to be a thing that I own. And I hope that you’re going to *want* to be owned. But nevertheless I want you to feel that you are a thing, an object. And it’s important to that process that you understand, at a deep level, that every part of you is something that can be bought and sold. So I want you to remember, for the rest of your life, that your virginity is something you sold to me for money.”
Reagan processed that thought. Property. Mr Riggs’ property. Not a person, an object. It was scary… but at the same time she felt her cunt throbbing with wild, overwhelming desire.
“Yes, sir,” she breathed.
“I’m going to put a sum of $4,000 in trust with the club, Reagan,” said Mr Riggs. “I’m choosing that amount because it’s enough to be meaningful, but also low enough that you’re selling your virginity cheaply. If you ever tell anyone this story, I want you to be embarrassed by how little you got for selling your first fuck to a man. Do you understand?”
Reagan could immediately picture what she might buy with that money – but Mr Riggs was right, it was small for what it was buying. She would always know she had traded her virginity for the price of a short overseas holiday, or a couple of designer dresses.
“When I eventually fuck you, Reagan,” said Mr Riggs, “if you’re still a virgin at that time, the money is yours.”
“I will be, sir,” promised Reagan eagerly.
“A while ago I told you that I didn’t mind if you fuck other people,” said Mr Riggs. “And that still stands. There is no punishment for fucking someone else. But know that I *want* to take your virginity.”
Reagan understood the subtlety, but to her mind, Mr Riggs wanting it was as good as an iron-clad order. She knew she would permit no other man between her legs until Mr Riggs took her.
“And Reagan – this is my first step towards buying you entirely,” said Mr Riggs. “So I don’t want you to call me ‘sir’ anymore.”
Reagan felt like she had been slapped. She didn’t understand… until Mr Riggs finished his thought.
“I want you to call me ‘master’,” he said.
Reagan shivered with sudden happiness.
“Yes… Master,” she breathed. And it felt so right on her tongue that she almost said it again immediately.
Beside Reagan, Alexia was practically bouncing as she looked from Regan to Mr Riggs and back again. Finally, she burst out, “What about me, sir?”
“Well, I can hardly buy your virginity, Alexia,” he said, “because you’ve already given it away.”
Alexia’s face crumpled into an expression of shame and disappointment.
“But perhaps I can buy your sexuality in a different way,” he said. “If you’re willing.”
Alexia looked up with big puppy dog eyes, eager to serve.
“Are you still fucking any men on a regular basis, Cuddles?” Mr Riggs asked.
Alexia shook her head. “I broke up with Preston, sir,” she said. “And I haven’t had sex with any men since.”
“And meanwhile you’re being a slutty little lesbian with my Reagan,” said Mr Riggs.
Reagan almost orgasmed when she heard those words – “my Reagan”.
“Yes, sir,” said Alexia, blushing.
“I think I enjoy you being a lesbian, Alexia,” said Mr Riggs. “I think I’d like you to be a lesbian for everyone except me. Would you swear off boys forever for money? Never fuck a man again unless I tell you to?”
Alexia looked at Reagan, and then at Mr Riggs. Her lips worked, but she said nothing.
They all knew what she was thinking. She liked the idea of being owned. She liked the idea of belonging to Mr Riggs, alongside Reagan. But the reality of it – making changes to her life forever – was scary, and suddenly she was nervous. She *wasn’t* a lesbian. She was bisexual, and she had always been drawn primarily to boys before meeting Reagan.
She began to open her mouth to say, “Yes, sir,” but Mr Riggs spoke first.
“No,” he said. “Stop. What you’re about to say is not enthusiastic consent. I don’t want to trick you into this, or push you into it. I don’t want it unless you want it so badly that you can’t do anything else.”
Alexia slumped with disappointment again.
“So here’s what I’m going to do, Alexia,” said Mr Riggs. “I’m going to put that same sum – $4,000 – in trust with the club for you. And the way you get that money is by getting a tattoo. I want a tattoo on your hip, where it will be visible if you wear low-riding pants. I want it in pretty, girly script. And I want it to say ‘LESBIAN CUNT’. When – if – you get that tattoo, you can claim the money. And when you get that tattoo, you have permission to call me Master. And from that day you identify as a lesbian. Because your identity is something that can be bought and sold, just like the rest of you. Do you understand?”
Everyone at the table knew right then that Alexia’s cunt was drooling with wild, slutty desire at the thought of doing this to herself, of changing herself to please Mr Riggs.
“Yes, sir,” breathed Alexia.
“Good girl,” said Mr Riggs, and smiled. “And now I’m going to give you some tasks to do over the next week. Consider them as training…”
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Their first task was the very next day – a Saturday – and it required them to drive a couple of hours out of town, to a particular beach that Mr Riggs had nominated.
They dressed in their smallest bikinis before setting out, and they brought towels and sunscreen with them, but no alternate clothes. Alexia drove, and Reagan sat in the front passenger seat.
“How do you feel about what Master told you to do?” asked Reagan as they travelled.
“It’s scary,” said Alexia. “Not long ago was I just doing… regular girl stuff. And now I’m dating you, and I want to serve Mr Riggs – the idea makes me so hot. But a tattoo is forever, and identifying as a lesbian would be so embarrassing.”
“Why?” asked Reagan.
Alexia shrugged. “Mostly because I’m not,” she said. “The whole reason I want this is so I can share you with a man. And then identifying as a lesbian while I’m obviously a sex slave for a man is even more embarrassing.”
She paused, and bit her lip. “But… the idea of doing something like that – so big, so stupid, so slutty – just so I can be a man’s property is… really hot. Really, *really* hot.”
“I know, right?” giggled Reagan. “I think you’d look hot with the tattoo, though. And you’d be so cute as Master’s lesbian cunt.”
When the girls got sufficiently far from the suburbs where they lived and went to school, they pulled down their bikinis to expose their breasts. They were only to cover their tits now if they saw police, or if they judged their safety to be in danger.
They rolled down the car windows, too, so they could hear the lewd catcalls from other cars when they stopped at lights. A car full of men ogled them at one intersection, staring openly at Alexia and Reagan’s boobs.
“Hey sluts,” called one man. “Nice fuckbags. Want to pull over and ride our dicks?”
The girls blushed and ignored them, and when the lights changed, another of the men in the car called out, “Cockteasing bitches. Stupid whore cunts!”
Reagan knew that, that evening, she would write in her book of male approval that she had nice fuckbags, and that she was a cockteasing bitch and a stupid whore cunt.
Mr Riggs had told the two girls that clothes were like a disguise they wore, and they needed to see how people treated them when they took their disguise off and showed their true selves. And that, likewise, pretending to be non-sexual beings was a lie, a mask, and they needed to show their sexuality to the world, and see how the world responded.
He had told them that they would be embarrassed, and humiliated, but that their embarrassment and humiliation brought him joy. And both girls were very eager to bring him joy.
Getting to the beach required them to turn off the regular roads and follow a short dirt track, at the end of which was a small car park. Reagan had secretly hoped they would be alone, but there were a number of other vehicles parked here.
They retrieved their towels and sunscreen from the boot, and, holding hands, they began to walk down a crude wooden stairway towards the beach, their tits still bare.
The beach was a relatively small strip of sand, isolated between two rocky headlands and screened from the outside world. There were maybe 30 people present, all of them adult – maybe twenty men and ten women, in various groupings. All were dressed appropriately for the beach, and appeared to be ordinary beachgoers.
Reagan felt nervous. Mr Riggs had specified this beach specifically for them. Did he know the people who used it? Was he sure they wouldn’t get in trouble here? Or had he thought the beach would be empty? She didn’t know.
Many of the beachgoers turned to look at the girls, and those who did showed no shame in openly staring at the girls’ naked tits. Reagan and Alexia both blushed.
They tried to ignore the stares as they found a spot in the middle of the beach and laid out their towels next to each other. Then – blushing even deeper – both girls removed their bathing suits entirely, until they were completely nude under the bright sunshine.
People were definitely staring at them now. They had been instructed to make no attempt to cover their bodies, but Reagan had the strongest urge to try and hide her tits and pussy with her hands. She had to actively fight to keep her hands by her sides.
Then the two girls knelt on the towels, facing each other, and began to kiss. They used the special kiss that Mr Riggs had suggested – tongues extended, lips not quite meeting. They licked at each other’s tongues, and put their hands on each other’s tits and squeezed. It was a lesbian display designed not for their own enjoyment, but for the enjoyment of those watching them. It felt deeply, inexcusably slutty.
Reagan’s cunt was already almost unbearably wet.
In some ways it was like performing at the club, in front of an audience. Reagan could feel the eyes on her naked body, burning into her tits and her pussy and her ass. But in other ways it was different. At the club, the men were there specifically to watch. They might laugh, they might make objectifying comments, but they appreciated what they were seeing.
Here there was something else. Yes, there was lust. From the corner of her eyes Reagan could see one man in tight red Speedos with a large visible erection tenting his swimwear. But there was something else. Contempt for these pathetic lust-addled lesbian sluts. Disgust at their whorish public display.
It made Reagan feel far more ashamed and humiliated than anything she had ever done at the club. Making out in the nude on a public beach was *wrong*, and she was dirty for doing it.
Which was exactly how Mr Riggs wanted her to feel, which made her even wetter.
They broke off their kiss, and Alexia moved into a position on all fours, like a dog, while Reagan took the sunscreen, squirted some on her hand, and began to rub it over Alexia’s naked flesh, massaging it into her shoulders, her back, her arms and legs, her tits, her ass cheeks. She left Alexia’s cunt alone. She would be licking that cunt soon, and she didn’t want to taste sunscreen. Alexia would just have to keep her legs closed if she didn’t want to burn her pussy.
She took care, as Mr Riggs had instructed, to give the audience on the beach a good view, deliberately pulling Alexia’s ass-cheeks apart so everyone could see her anus, and squeezing her tits to make her moan sluttily.
Then they swapped positions, and it was Alexia’s turn to slather Reagan’s body with sunscreen.
At least two men were filming them, and Reagan knew there would be more footage of her on the internet, beyond her ability to control or delete, documenting her slutty antics, and her face would be clearly visible, and anyone who knew her who saw it would never look at her the same way again.
She was taking an irrevocable step towards becoming the sex-toy Mr Riggs wanted her to be, and part of her was scared and ashamed, but the greater part of her was wild with excitement.
Alexia and Reagan fell upon each other then, in a 69. It was Mr Riggs’ favourite position for them – the position that made them seem most slaves to their own lust, unable to wait to both given and receive pleasure. Reagan was on top, crouched over Alexia’s nude body, eagerly licking her wet sticky cunt in front of everyone watching, even as she crushed her own groin against Alexia’s tongue, unable to stop herself moaning whorishly as Alexia licked her clitoris and probed her fuckhole.
Reagan still didn’t know if this beach was “safe” – for whatever safe was. Would the people watching her yell at her? Call the police? Gang rape her? They were all possibilities, and Reagan thought they were probably remote, because Mr Riggs had nominated this beach specifically, but still the uncertainty made her shiver with fear, and with raw lust.
And just like that, she was cumming against her girlfriend’s face, in front of an audience, and a moment later Alexia began to shiver too, with her own orgasm.
And when the girls finally pulled themselves apart, there was a message waiting on their phones, and Reagan realised that one of the men filming must have known Mr Riggs, and sent the footage to him…
.. because the message read, simply, “Good girls.”
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