Story: The Bonuses, Part 15

Previous chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen

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There was a bonus waiting for Reagan at the club, the night after she had lezzed off nude on the beach with Alexia in full public view.

It was straight to the point:

“Walk around the club nude and offer each male patron the chance to do whatever he likes with your tits, as long as it doesn’t permanently harm them.  $800.”

She stared at it for a long time.

Reagan’s co-worker Bunny came up and looked at the scrap of paper over her shoulder.

“You should turn it down,” she whispered in Regan’s ear, as she pressed her large tits against Reagan’s back.

Reagan turned, surprised.

“What?  Why?” she said.  “Because they’ll hurt me?”

Bunny laughed.  “Oh, honey,” she said, “I don’t know what you let your Mr Riggs do to you, but we don’t let anything like that happen here.  The most they’ll give your boobs is a hard squeeze and a firm slap.  Any more than that and they’ll be out on the street.”

“Then why?” asked Reagan.

Bunny shook her head.  “Because it’s not enough,” she said.  “A sex worker of your age and beauty could charge way more than that to let even one guy go wild on her boobs, let alone a whole room.”

“But…” said Reagan.  She struggled to put her objection into words.  She felt a little like turning down the bonus would be what a *baby* would do.  It was a scary bonus, sure – more than Reagan had done at the club in the past, even if the patrons weren’t really going to hurt her.  But Reagan was a big girl now, and she took the big girl bonuses.

And besides – and more importantly – she had the feeling that Mr Riggs, her Master, would *want* her to take the bonus.  He wanted her to be a sex toy, a slut, a piece of property.  Property didn’t get to say no.  Property did what men wanted.  And she desperately wanted to please Mr Riggs.

Bunny looked at her.  “You want to do it, don’t you?” she said.

Reagan nodded.

“So do it,” said Bunny.  “I’m not your mother.”

Reagan blushed deeper.  It wasn’t as simple as that.  “But…” she began again.

“But you’re scared?” said Bunny.  “You *want* to do it, but you’re having trouble saying yes?”

Reagan nodded, embarrassed.

Bunny sighed.  “Let me help,” she said.

And with that, she picked up Reagan bodily and sat her on the edge of a table.  She spread Reagan’s legs, and then grabbed the piece of Reagan’s bunny costume that ran across Reagan’s crotch and pulled it to the side, exposing Reagan’s cunt.

“Hold this,” she said, offering her grip on the fabric to Reagan.  “Keep it out of the way.”

Reagan did as she was told, blushing, and then Bunny knelt between Reagan’s legs, leaned, in, and began to lick Reagan’s pussy.

Reagan felt like a complete slut.  She was sitting in the changing room of the club, having her cunt licked.  Other girls who worked at the club came in and out as Bunny licked her.  Some ignored her.  Some gave her curious looks.  A couple stopped to watch, with approving smiles on their faces.

She also felt a little guilty.  Was she cheating on her girlfriend, Alexia?  No, Alexia knew about Bunny, and hadn’t shown signs of jealousy.  And besides, it wasn’t Alexia’s choice who Reagan fucked, and more than the choice belonged to Reagan herself.  It was her Master, Mr Riggs, who decided who Reagan fucked, and he had expressed only one desire about her promiscuity – that she save her first heterosexual intercourse for his cock.

Bunny licked and licked, and just when Reagan thought she was going to orgasm right here in the change room in front of an audience, Bunny suddenly pulled away.

Reagan’s hand immediately went to play with her cunt, to bring her to the orgasm she desired, but Bunny slapped her hand away.

“You wanted it to be easy to do the bonus?” she said.  “Now it is.  They’re always easier when you’re thinking with your cunt.  Don’t touch your pussy other than to keep yourself on the edge, and it will fly by.  Now get out there and make the patrons happy.”

Reagan moaned.  She wanted Bunny to keep licking her.  She wanted to cum against her busty co-worker’s face.  But she understood what Bunny was saying, and agreed with the logic.

Regretfully, her face flushed and her nipples erect, Reagan undressed.  She removed the bunny leotard, to expose her tits and her cunt.  She left the high heels on, and the bunny-ear headband, and the little black collar that went around her neck.

“You need a tail,” said Bunny, looking at Reagan’s naked body.

“It’s attached to the costume,” said Reagan.  “The patron wanted me nude.”

“You can still have a tail,” said Bunny, with a wicked look in her eye.  She held up something, and it took Reagan a moment to see what it was.

It was a fluffy bunny tail… attached to a metal butt plug.

She immediately stood up straight, tightening her buttocks and clutching them with her hands.

“No!” she said, quickly.

Bunny shrugged.  “Okay,” she said.  “I just thought the patrons might like it – as well as your Mr Riggs.”

Reagan knew that Mr Riggs wasn’t in the club tonight.  He wouldn’t see her, no matter what she did.

But pleasing Mr Riggs wasn’t just for when he could see her.  It was about being the person he wanted her to be all the time.

Would Mr Riggs want her to wear a butt plug?  Did he like butt plugs?

It didn’t matter.  Wearing the butt plug would make her blush.  It would humiliate her.  It would make her feel like a slut.

And that was something Mr Riggs definitely *did* like.

“Okay,” said Reagan in a small voice.

“Bend over,” said Bunny.

Reagan obediently bent over the table, ass out.  A moment later, she felt something cold and wet drip onto the skin near her anus.

“Lube,” Bunny explained.  She reached down and rubbed the lube around Reagan’s ass crack, using a finger to push some past Reagan’s anal sphincter.  Reagan yelped.  She had never had a part of another person’s body in her anus before.

And a moment later she felt the cold metal against her asshole, and pressure.  It was uncomfortable.  It hurt.  And then – pop! – the flared head of the butt plug slipped past her sphincter and settled inside her.  It was in.

She stood, gingerly.  It felt weird to have something stuck in her butthole.  She walked carefully on her high heels to the mirror and looked at herself.  There was a cute little rabbit tail coming out of her butt.  It was kind of adorable – and at the same time, it was obvious to anyone looking exactly how the tail was anchored.  

Reagan was, apparently, the kind of slut who walked around with a plug in her butt in front of an audience.

“Good girl,” said Bunny.  “You look sexy.”  She leaned in and kissed Reagan on the lips, and Reagan kissed back.

“Go make those men happy,” said Bunny.

And with that, Reagan headed out onto the floor of the club, nude, in high heels, with a bunny-tail plug in her butt.

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It was not Reagan’s first time being nude in public, or even her first time being nude at the club.  But it always felt strange to walk out into an elegantly-furnished room filled with fully-dressed men with her tits and cunt completely bare.  

She shivered, as eyes turned to follow her – but it was at least partly a shiver of delight.  It was good to receive attention.  It was good to be *wanted* – as so many of the men staring at her clearly wanted her.  And it was good to be objectified.  In this moment she was nothing more than an object of service and decoration – a *thing*, that would bring men drinks and pleasure their cocks – and that felt so perfect and satisfying to Reagan that she was filled with a warm pleasure every time she saw someone staring at her.

Other girls may not want this, she knew.  Other girls may be repelled by it.  But Reagan was not other girls, and she had found something at the Grand Lodge of Pan that filled up a part of her soul that she had never previously known was empty.

She went to the closest patron, a man with immaculately-trimmed silver hair and beard who looked rather like a late-career Donald Sutherland, and leant forward to present her breasts.

“Would you like to play with my tits, sir?” she said.  “You can do whatever you want with them.”

The man chuckled, and reached out to grab one of her tits, his fingers circling around the base of her udder.  He rubbed a thumb over the flesh, and then pulled on it slightly, as if plucking a fruit from a branch.

“Your name is Kisses, isn’t it?” he said.  “You have very nice fuckbags.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Reagan, blushing.  She felt a pleasant heat between her legs, and knew she would be writing “you have nice fuckbags” in her approval diary when she got home.

He released her breast, and slapped it lightly.

“Good girl,” he said.  “You’re very well behaved.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Reagan again, and moved on to the next man, who was younger – maybe in his 30s – and quite handsome.

“Good evening, sir,” she said.  “Would you like to play with my… with my fuckbags?”  

Her tongue stumbled over the demeaning word, but she wanted to use it.  It felt right.

“Well, aren’t you the slut?” said the man.  “Of course I’d like to play with those funbags.  Bring them here.”

Reagan leaned further over, to let him reach her udders.  He reached up and immediately squeezed one hard. 

Reagan squeaked with pain.

“Do you like that, slut?” he said.

“Yes, sir,” blushed Reagan, speaking truthfully.

“Would you like me to hurt your tit again?” he said.

Reagan suppressed an urge to look for Bunny.  This wasn’t past what Bunny had said would happen – squeezing her breasts hard was within what Bunny said the club allowed – but she was momentarily scared.

Scared not just of the client – but of the fact that suddenly Reagan *wanted* him to squeeze her again.

“Yes, sir,” she said.   And then she bit her lip, and added, quietly, “Harder.”

The man’s smiled broadened, and his grip on her breast tightened painfully, and then he *yanked*.

Reagan lost her balance and sprawled over the table.  It was a good thing the man didn’t have a drink glass there, or Reagan would have knocked it to the floor.

Her breast *hurt*.  That had been a hard pull!  And yet Reagan’s face was flushed with pleasure, and her cunt was throbbing needily.

“Get up, slut,” said the man.  

“Yes, sir,” said Reagan.  “I’m sorry, sir.”

She tried to rise – but the man was still gripping her tit.  She couldn’t get up from the table.

“I said get up, slut,” said the man.  “Unless you mean I’m not allowed to play with your tits?  One word and I’ll let go.”

She had an out.  She could make him let go of her boob.

“No, sir,” she whispered.  “You can do whatever you want with my tits.”

“Then get up,” he told her.

He wanted her to pull.  He wanted her to hurt *herself* by pulling away while he still held her breast in a vice-like grip.

She tried.  She braced herself and tried to stand.  She squealed as the client simply squeezed her breast harder.  It hurt so much.

It was making her so wet.

She realised most of the room was watching her struggle, and that made her even wetter.

The client looked her in the eye.

“This is what your tits are good for, isn’t it?” he asked her.

“Yes, sir,” she agreed.  “This is what my tits are good for.”

“And how does it make you feel when I torture your tits?” he asked her.

She had no answer other than the truth.

“It makes me wet, sir,” she said.

He laughed – and released her breast.  His other hand reached out and stroked her hair.

“Good girl,” he said.  “You’ve been a very good little slut.  Is your breast alright?”

She looked down and consulted it.  It seemed undamaged.

“Yes, sir,” she said.  And also – “Thank you for hurting it, sir.”

“Any time,” he said.  “I don’t know whose bonus this is, but I might kick in a little extra for such a wonderful performance.”

Reagan blushed.  “You are too kind, sir.”

And then it was on to the next man, and the next.

One man pinched her nipples.  Another man milked her breast like she was a cow, and was disappointed when no milk issued forth.  (This made Reagan blush with shame, and briefly wonder how she might go about becoming a pleasing milker, before deciding that was a decision for her Master, Mr Riggs, and not for her.)

A third man popped her nipple in his mouth and sucked, which was very pleasant.  Another poured a little of his whiskey over her tits and then licked them clean.  The next man gave her tits ten quite painful slaps – her punishment for being a “bare-titted slut” – and the one after that grabbed her nipples and twisted them until Reagan squealed.  He told her in advance he’d stop if she asked him to, but Reagan gritted her teeth and kept silent, other than tortured, slutty moans, until he released her.

The very last man was well-muscled, clean-shaven, and attractive, and he told Reagan to kneel in front of him.

“I don’t know if you have guessed,” he said, “but this was my bonus.  And I’m a friend of your Master.”

Reagan was thrilled to hear a reference to her future owner.  She looked up at the man attentively.

“Now, the bonus only said I got to play with your tits,” said the man, “but I’ve got a message here from your Master on my phone, and what you do about it is up to you.”

He took his phone out and placed it against Reagan’s ear.  She could hear the unmistakable voice of Mr Riggs start to speak.

“Kisses,” said Mr Riggs, “this man is my friend, and I want you to make him cum on your face and tits, using only your breasts.  After you’ve done that, it will please me if you avoid covering your tits or cleaning yourself off until sunrise tomorrow.  It will help you to feel less like a person and more like an object to be used and owned.”

The man pulled the phone back, and looked at her to see what she would do.

Reagan blushed, leaned forward, and unzipped the man’s pants.  She reached into his underwear and pulled out his cock, which was stiff.  Then she rose up on her knees and placed her tits on either side of his dick.

“I want to make you happy, sir,” she said.

“Your tits will need lube if you’re going to do that,” the man said.

There was no lube close except for the pre-cum on the man’s dick, and that was probably not enough yet to wet her entire cleavage.

“Could you… spit on my tits, sir?” asked Reagan.

The man smiled, and did exactly that.  Reagan flinched as the gob of his spit landed on her titflesh.  It made her feel like her breasts were garbage, or like they were a toilet – but that, too, made her even wetter.  She rubbed her tits together to smear the man’s spit across them, and then began to use them to masturbate his cock.

The man reached down and stroked her hair as though she were a pet.

“God, you’re a hot little whore,” he said.

That would go in Reagan’s approval book tonight as well.

She pumped his dick with her tits, watching precum well from the tip on every pump, and hearing the man moan with pleasure.  On a couple of occasions, she daringly leaned down and flicked the tip of his cock with her tongue, savouring the salty taste of his juices.

And then, suddenly, he was cumming.  Reagan flinched as cum hit her in the eye, and splattered over her nose and mouth, and then pumped all over her titflesh, running down between her boobs and trickling over her belly towards her cunt.

“Good bitch,” sighed the man.  “Good little bitch.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Reagan.  And she was truly grateful – for being used as an object, for being privileged to receive the man’s cum, and for being given the chance to indirectly please her Master, Mr Riggs.  She was so grateful that she leaned down and sucked the man’s cock clean before tucking it back in his pants.

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When she left the club floor, Bunny looked at the cum dripping from Reagan’s face and tits and asked if Reagan would like to be cleaned up.  Bunny implied that she might be willing to do the cleaning with her tongue, but Reagan waved it away.

“I want to leave it on me,” she said.  “My Master wants me to leave it on me.  And he wants me to stay naked until I get home.”

Bunny laughed, and offered to drive Reagan home, and Reagan accepted.  Bunny could see how horny Reagan was, and gave Reagan permission to masturbate on the car ride.  Reagan accepted, despite how slutty it was.  

It wasn’t that she wasn’t ashamed.  Several times on the ride, Bunny stopped at traffic lights, and people in neighbouring cars would look in and see Reagan nude, with cum on her face and tits, openly masturbating.  And when they did, Reagan would burn with shame and humiliation at their alternately disgusted or lustful expressions.

But she knew that this was what Mr Riggs would want.  She knew this was the person he was training her to be.  And pleasing Mr Riggs made Reagan happy, no matter how humiliated she became.

When they were nearly at Reagan’s house and Bunny saw that Reagan still hadn’t orgasmed, she offered to stop the car and lick Reagan’s pussy, and Reagan agreed – but insisted that they do it on the bonnet of Bunny’s car in a public parking lot, directly under a streetlight, where (despite the late hour) anyone might see them.

And when a car of young men driving past did indeed see them, as Reagan spread her legs for the buxom Bunny to perform cunnilingus, and the men laughed, and honked their horn, and yelled insults and crude suggestions and commentary on her cunt and her tits and her lesbian habits, Reagan felt the most like the *true* version of herself that she had ever felt.

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