A couple hundred yards or so from the building, away from the lagoon and facing the open water, was a spot Melissa liked to retreat to. It was a small sandy stretch of beach with mangrove trees on either side. It felt private, a kind of privacy she did not experience any other time. In fact, her experience was generally the exact opposite of private. Her time was not her own. Others controlled everything she did for days at a time. Even her own body was not private. Here she was prone to reflection, mostly about what her life had become and how to make sense of what it was looking like.
Which was just what she was doing now, once more, after the most recent experience the had had with Monique and Ron just the day before. She had engaged in lesbian sex with a stranger, something she could not have conceived of even a week ago. She did not want to, but felt she had no choice. At the same time, it was not as disgusting as she thought it would be. Part of what she was struggling with at the moment was how, looking back, she could see that she had really gotten into it. She had licked another woman's clitoris while Ron had fucked her, much like Lisel had done to Melissa while Mr. Thantos fucked her. Except Lisel had done that while Mr. Thantos had fucked Melisa in the ass and not the vagina. She thought about the woman Lisel and her wild, enthusiastic sexuality. Had she always been like that? What had happened to make her that way?
More important, though, was what was happening to Melissa? In just over a month, she had gone from being a normal young woman trying to find a job to a "sexual plaything" who could be played with by all comers. She laughed at the pun, but was sobered by the fact that apparently meant women as well as men. More sobering, in a way, was the fact that it did not bother her as much as she thought it would. Or perhaps as much as she thought it should. Every new experience, every boundary she was pushed past, seemed to lead to an acceptance. Some guilt, because she never thought she should or would do these things, but not so much shame or regret. After she had done them, each seemed like much less of a big deal than it had before she had done so. In fact, she would be lying to say that she did not enjoy much of it. She did not like all of it, but even the parts she did not enjoy also satisfied her in some ways.
She thought of having Ron's formidable cock up her ass, balls deep. That hurt. It especially hurt when she was first trying to stretch enough to accommodate him. However, feeling him so deep inside her, feeling helpless while he controlled and invaded her so, feeling like she could do nothing but accept him, these things all did excite her. She did not understand it all, but she knew it was so. Even being forced to go down on a woman, while something she had no interest in, much less any desire to do, felt strangely okay once she realized she did not really have a choice. When she surrendered, she experienced a relaxation and peace that she did not at all know how to think about. Surrender was the word, though. Relinquishing control. Giving in.
And, it felt good to make someone else feel good. She liked that part. As it turned out, the approval and appreciation she received was pretty rewarding to her. Even with Monique, she had felt good about her approval even while doing something she did not want to do. She recognized that she had never received much approval, even as a child, and certainly not from Roger. At least not after the first months after she moved in with him. Even if people were appreciating her for her sexually pleasuring them, they were still appreciating her. And she was trying to pleasure them. She tried to do a good job. Was it just because of that approval? Or perhaps the money? Was the sex a motivator for her as well?
Ron had kept her informed, from time to time, what the balance in her account looked like, and it was growing faster than she had imagined it would. However, it seemed quite unreal to her as well, since she had no need for money where she was. There simply was no place to spend it nor anything she needed. Mostly, it was just a number to her. The here and now was about her service, her being sexually available and satisfying to others. And, truth be told, satisfying to herself as well.
She had never had a strong desire for sex. It was something she did because Roger wanted her to. She did climax sometimes, but even then it was not that satisfying to her. She did not know that it should be.
Now, being naked all day and night, being used sexually on an ongoing basis, the rings through her nipples jiggling as she walked, and those damn bells whose vibrations every time she moved stimulated her clit, all combined to create the opposite of disinterest. She thought about sex nearly all the time. She was aroused nearly all the time.
She found that she looked forward to her next encounters with her next visitors. Some of that was based on her curiosity, for sure, but part of it was anticipation of being used sexually. She was unclear about how much of that had to do with sexual satisfaction and how much had to do with being used, however. Those two seemed to blur together for her.
She liked it when a man climaxed. She did not like the taste of it, particularly, but she liked the pulsing of his cock as he swelled and discharged. She liked feeling the spurts of his semen in her mouth. Even when it was in her throat, she could feel the throbbing member as it discharged his load. She liked to feel it in her vagina as well, and even liked what it felt like when that pulsing tool was shooting it's contents into her ass. Both orifices were so tight that she could feel every twitch, jerk and pulse, and she liked that part. She also liked the sounds that men made when they discharged. It often sounded like a roar of sorts, and it thrilled her. It was then that she felt a rare feeling of power, or something, and that felt good to her. Often the combination of all these was enough to push her over the edge to her own orgasm, and she liked that as well. She had had more climaxes in the last five or six weeks than she had all together in her life before that.
Melissa walked back to the building, nothing resolved, but a bit more at peace with where she was right now. She had a visitor, or client as she was beginning to think of them, coming later that day and she wanted to be ready. Whatever that meant. She had no idea that so many of the things she had been thinking about would very shortly become the script for something of an interview.
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When Melissa was waiting for a new visitor she would be told how to wait. Of course, sometimes she was to be bound and presented, which required nothing from her. Other times, however, Ron would tell her how to present herself. She was told where to wait and in what position she should do so. Often it was a position sitting on her heels with her knees wide and her hands locked behind her neck. Her eyes were to be downcast. This is how she was told to present when Monique had arrived. Other times, she would be on her knees, but leaned forward with one side of her face on the floor so that her behind was up and again, her knees parted. In this position, her hands were to grip her ankles, arching her back and accentuating the presentation of her behind. This displayed, most lewdly, her nether regions to anyone approaching from the rear.
Other times, like today, she was to stand with her legs parted only slightly, her back straight, her head up but her eyes down with her hands locked behind her head. Her breasts jutted out proudly, though they quivered a bit as she moved slightly, trying to find a way to be comfortable. She had been standing in this position for some 40 minutes or so. She was tired and had a hard time standing still. She would fidget a little, making slight movements to ease the physical strain. Her breasts jiggled a bit every time she moved. She knew her visitor had arrived; she could hear Ron talking to someone, though they were far enough away that she could not make out anything they were saying. She was tired of waiting as well. Whatever was to come next, she wanted it to start soon.
Waiting also had begun to wear on her a little emotionally. She was a little anxious any time a new person or group came, but standing and waiting seemed to accentuate that for her. When she finally heard steps approaching, she felt more relief than anything.
She did keep her eyes down, mostly, but as usual she did steal a glimpse of her guest in what she hoped was a surreptitious glance. Unlike the other men she had seen here, he did not have on beach attire. He was dressed in a pair of black slacks, black leather shoes, and a white shirt. The shoes were obviously expensive. The shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and the sleeves were rolled up onto his forearms. He looked to be about his late 40's. It was hard to tell. He was quite handsome. His hair was dark and he was tall. She could only get a glance at him, but he carried himself with confidence that was hard to miss.
He was silent. He walked over to her, clearly studying her, and then walked around her examining her from all sides. She felt far more self-conscious under such scrutiny than she usually did when men just approached her and stuck their penises in her mouth. She felt judged, evaluated. And she was concerned that somehow she would not measure up, though to what exactly, she could not say.
He arrived in front of her, having walked around her twice, and reached out and felt her left breast. He put his hand under it, and hefted it as though weighing it before stroking it a little.
"You have very pretty breasts," he said. His voice was a rich baritone.
She almost said "thank you," but held her tongue.
He pinched her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, gently at first, and then increasing the pressure until she gasped at the pain. She felt a corresponding sensation in her clitoris, just for a second. It was like there was some kind of electrical signal that began in her breast and went down to her nether regions. It surprised her almost as much as his pinching her had.
"Very sensitive, too." She found his voice almost melodious.
He walked around behind her, and reached down to stroke her bottom. He made a low "hmm" sound but did not say anything.
He then walked around in front again, this time putting his hand beneath her chin. He lifted her head so that he could look down into her eyes. He was nearly a foot taller than she, probably around 6'2" to her 5'4". His eyes were a striking steel grey. When he looked into her eyes, she felt like he was looking deep into her somehow. She wanted more than anything to look away, and did break eye contact for a moment before making herself look back at him again.
Still he said nothing, then stepped back a little, still holding her face up, and looked at her whole face, not just her eyes. That was not quite as intimidating, but by this point she was quite rattled. This man scared her.
He dropped her chin, and she immediately looked down again.
"What are you doing here?"
His question surprised her. "I . . . I work here," she stammered.
"What is your job?"
