All Change for Amy

The scene that greeted her was something from a nightmare and a fantasy combined. Sitting in a circle around a large card table were two men and a woman. The men were dressed in black shirts and leather trousers, their physiques powerful and imposing. The lady was completely naked, except for a slender collar around her neck. They all wore masks that covered most of their faces, giving them an anonymous, predatory air.

Geraldine introduced her, her voice loud and clear. "This is my slut. She will be serving drinks during the night." Amy's arms were released from the cuffs, and she was made to serve them, her movements clumsy in the towering heels. She poured whiskey and wine, her hands shaking, trying not to spill, her body acutely aware of the masked eyes that followed her every move. The game was intense, the stakes apparently high, the conversation low and guttural. She was an object, a piece of living furniture, and the humiliation was a potent, intoxicating drug.

After what felt like an eternity, the winner was announced. One of the men, a tall figure with a deep, resonant voice, swept the chips towards him with a gloved hand. "And the prize," Geraldine announced, "is the slut."

Amy's heart hammered against her ribs. She was led to the table, her hands re-cuffed behind her back. She was bent over the green felt surface, her cheek pressed against the cool fabric, her bottom presented to the room. The winner stood up and unzipped his trousers. He entered her from behind with a single, brutal thrust, fucking her with a relentless, impersonal rhythm while Geraldine filmed the entire scene on her phone. Amy's mind disconnected, her body a vessel for their pleasure, the shame and the dark excitement warring within her.

When he was finished, he simply zipped up and sat back down. But her ordeal wasn't over. "The caning," Geraldine said.

The naked girl stood up. In her hand was a thin, whippy cane. She was told to give ten hard strokes. The first one landed like a line of fire across Amy's buttocks, and she screamed into the felt of the table. The girl was methodical, laying each stroke parallel to the last, a perfect ladder of agony. By the tenth, Amy was sobbing, her body a canvas of pain.

She was released and sent on her way, her clothes thrown at her. She arrived back home thirty minutes before Jack was due home. She rushed to shower, the hot water stinging the fresh welts on her skin, and change into her pajamas before he came in. She had even more marks to hide. She slipped into bed and pretended to be asleep as he slid in beside her. She felt him kiss her lightly on the neck, a gesture of tired affection. And then she felt his hard cock against her backside, a rare, unfamiliar pressure. He pushed it once, a single, unconscious thrust, then turned over and fell asleep.