Paid For This

The following dark story has themes of misogyny, non-consent sex, humiliation, abuse and other dark themes. If such content offends you, please do not read. This is an erotic FICTION story not meant as any sort of gender, political or societal protest. This is purely for entertainment and never meant to happen in reality. If you have issues with such kinks, please do not read.

"What did I get myself into?" I ask out loud as I stand in front of my full-length mirror. When I look into the mirror, I see the thirty year old woman I've always seen when I look into the mirror, only now she seems...different. Sure, I'm wearing a dress I've worn hundreds of times, and my hair looks normal, but I feel different. It is almost like looking at a complete stranger.

"Are you really going to do this?" I ask the woman in the mirror as if she's a separate being. Upon asking, I see the nervousness on my face that is quickly changing to complete and utter fear. But I also see a dim glow as well. A glow that seems to radiate sexual energy as I could have the night of my life.

I feel so conflicted about this. I'm scared, nervous, fearful and a million other warning emotions. But I'm also insanely excited and aroused. My body literally trembles with anticipation as I don't ever remember feeling this aroused. It's a dark and powerful arousal too. It makes it feel like, I dunno, this is forbidden. Like I could be tapping into some new sexual energy that only a few people have felt.

What I'm about to do is something I've fantasized about for a long time. A very long time. Since one of the first times I've ever had sex if I'm being honest.

It was born the first time I was fully naked in front of a lover. The feeling of being so naked and helpless to them, where your entire body is on display and they can judge you. That started a little tiny thread in my mind which my sexuality has been tugging on ever since. It has grown and changed into what many would consider an extreme kink, but I can't help it. The heart wants what the heart wants.

Tonight I have the chance to fully live my fantasy. I have the chance to really do it. If I don't, I may never.

Finally turning from the mirror, I reach for my glass of whiskey. I'm a wine girl for sure, but not tonight. Tonight I need something strong and hard. Something to keep me grounded and not to lose my mind which I fear could easily be done. Something to give me a hell of a lot of courage.

"You've already paid him Becky. If you don't go, all that's money gone," I tell myself right before taking a large sip of my whiskey.

This is my way of convincing myself to do this. To find a reason to tell myself that I HAVE to do. Oh, how I wish I could just let go and have fun and not be so concerned, but I can't help it. I'm scared. I mean, so much could go wrong.

The timer on my cell phone goes off, making me jump as everything is so quiet. I pick it up and turn off the alarm which lets me know it's time. This is literally my last chance. He's already waiting for me and has been for a while. He did say that he would wait only fifteen minutes, and if I don't show up, he leaves and my money leaves with him.

Feeling like this is a dream, I drink the rest of my whiskey. I then rush to leave my house, not checking everything like I normally do, like that the fireplace is off, or that all doors are locked and whatnot. It leaves me with the worried feeling that I'm going too fast. That this is going to end very poorly.

I walk on the sidewalk, trying to act like I'm a normal, well-adjusted person who is just on an evening walk. Funny how I don't feel like I'm a normal person any longer. Hey, no one knows the truth of what I'm about to do, so I can at least act normal, right? But the way I feel is that if anyone looks at me, they will know the deep dark secret that I'm holding. Of what I want to be done to me.

Walking fast as I know I don't have much time, which I did to myself, I walk down the neighborhood sidewalk. I try to look like I'm just out for a normal evening walk, but I know I'm failing at it. For one thing, I'm ONLY wearing this old dress. Like, that's it. No shoes, no socks, no bra, no panties. No nothing. I'm just wearing this old flimsy thing because I don't care what happens to it.

A big reason why I stand out is because I have to cross my arms over my chest. Without a bra, my F breasts do like to move around, A LOT. They jiggle, swing, sway and bounce unless held down. Normally I have a very snug bra on, but obviously I don't at the moment due to what I am about to do. So, since I am trying to look normal, I have to basically hold my tits down as I rather not have my tits bouncing like a trampoline under my dress.

Oh, the troubles of having large breasts. Everyone thinks how great having large ones is, but they don't consider the small issues with them. Like how you bump things off your desk when you lean forward, or how they seem to stand out when in a small, crammed space like an elevator.

That's how I got into this, isn't it? My tits. Why do they have to be so large? Why couldn't I have been like so many other nerds that have a small chest, or even normal sized boobs? But no. I had to get huge freaking ones, making me stand out. Who heard of a nerd having such large breasts? I mean, I could understand if I was super overweight, but I'm not.

Believe it or not, I'm a really reserved and shy person. A "nerd's nerd" to use a phrase an old boyfriend once called me. I'm Not the freak that I surely seem like I am at the moment. To be honest, I'm super boring. I mean, I've never even used my breasts to seduce anyone. Since I have always been studious and timid, I never flaunted them or even wore clothing to accent them.

Not that it mattered to others. So many other women have accused me of doing just that, using my "assets" to get what I want, even if it was a lie. Come to think of it, I bet a lot of men thought the same thing but were too scared to accuse me of it out loud.

Well, if I am being completely honest about all this, it was other women making fun of my bust size that made the thread of this kink grow. Oh, how they made me feel so strange during my college days. Standing there in gym, in just my underwear as they looked at me and made comment after comment. Those insults filled me with a weird humiliation that I enjoyed for some reason. That feeling in my stomach when they would start in on me, making me feel bad, but also warm and aroused. And the feeling is always stronger when there is a group of people, or if it occurred in public.

I admit, no one really makes fun of me bust any longer. They haven't since college. But what they did was plant a seed inside me, which grew and grew. Where I would replay some of the interactions that I had, only I would fantasize about how it should have gone, which was normally with me naked and helpless somewhere and all of them looking and laughing.

Oh, how could I have reached this point? What is wrong with me? I mean, I've fantasized about all this for so long that I'm actually paying someone to fulfill my ultimate fantasy. Paying someone to do all the things I've always wanted done because I was too scared to find a partner or friend that would do it. Then again, how would you even approach that? There is some sort of message board where you can put an ad that you want a normal, not crazy partner to, well, you know.

My body starts to tremble much harder as I spot the "For Sale" sign that is in the yard of a house down the street. Seeing it makes me stop as this just became even more real. It even makes me gulp as I causally take a few steps into the street to try and see if HE'S there.

"Oh shit," I say to myself as I see the man leaning against on the porch of that For Sale house. I can barely see anything about him as he stands in the dark, with the streetlamp barely reaching him. But there is a man there...and he's waiting for me.

I'm taken back by how cool and calm the guy looks. To look at him, you just know he belongs there. He would belong anywhere. There wouldn't be a situation where he isn't at ease. Not a situation where everyone would think he's cool. For all anyone knows, he's the owner of that house instead of the guy I've paid to be here.

"Remember the money Becky, remember the money," I say to myself, forcing myself to have courage to go through with this.

I paid a lot of money I paid. Again, this isn't the best reason to go through with this, but it's the only one that strikes a cord in me. To throw away that much money would prove how truly stupid I am, which is something I would never do. For that much, I need to get something.

The thought of losing the money works as I resume my walk and go back on the sidewalk. This time my head is lowered as for some reason I can't look towards him if I know he's looking at me. So I walk with my arms crossed, feeling like a timid little mouse instead of the stern woman that I have become.

"

Becky

," the man says when I'm still two houses away. It's not a question, but a statement. He's saying that he knows it's me.

This makes me shudder because of how loud he just said my name. Anyone outside on the street would have heard him. He's supposed to be, you know, discrete. This is all supposed to be done in secret where no one is really to know what we are doing.

"I...I...I'm sorry I'm late. It's just...I'm n-nervous, you know?" I try to explain my lateness as I walk slowly towards him. My walk is slow and unsteady, like I had 20 drinks instead of the couple of whiskey's I had.

The man doesn't say anything more as I get closer. In the corner of my eye I can see he keeps standing in his cool position, with his arms crossed, showing off his muscles. The entire time I feel his eyes on me, like a lion would to an injured prey.

I finally stop as I reach the sidewalk in front of the For Sale house. There I look up and at him, finding he looks a hell of a lot more intimidating than I thought he would. But I force my bare foot to walk into the yard and towards him, approaching the man as if he is a friend, which technically he is. I think. Our relationship is, well, unique.

We started off as online friends having met on a kinky subreddit. It was a causal friendship, just posting comments on his comments and what not. He would do the same to me until the day we actually started messaging each other.

It wasn't freaky or anything like that. We were just two like minded people that enjoyed a lot of the same things, sexually. Plus he wasn't gross like so many guys are on those sites. You know what I mean, where they send you a dick pic immediately after you say "hello." He seemed like an adult, a professional and that he had a brain.

We talked a lot, with me sharing many of my fantasies with him. Most of the time he would ask me questions about what I liked, what I didn't like and what I would do in certain situations. It was nice because I could be honest with him. He didn't call me a freak or ask, "why in the world do you like that?" He mainly just listened.

Then I found out why. I learned what he did for a living. He sent me his website, or should I say the website of his business. I won't go into too much detail, but his tagline is "Personal Fantasies fulfilled."

I still can't believe I agreed to take part in this. Or as he put, "enter into this

agreement

." Where I even had to sign paperwork agreeing to the price and conditions. Since then, everything about our relationship changed.

As I walk over the yard, I consider that we have had so many conversations about what's to happen that surely he considers us friends, right? Sure, those conversations were about sex and kinks and limits, but it means I shouldn't be so scared or nervous, right? It's not like he's going to do anything...damaging to me.

"It's just, I'm really nervous, ok?" I tell him, on purpose not saying his name as that's part of his conditions. Strange that he is able to say my real name, yet I'm not allowed to even give him a name for this.

Being this close lets me see just how much larger he is than I am. He had described himself before, but those words don't do his physical frame justice. He freaking towers over me and I bet he could lift me with a single arm. Hell, does he work out every day or something?

"I don't give a shit. Get over here, now," the man I know as Marcus demands, his voice cold. His tone makes my fear and excitement go through the roof as it isn't the voice that I had pictured. I pictured he would be happy and bright, reassuring me that everything would be ok. The tone I hear from him brings conflicting feelings to where I damn near turn and run.

"O-O-Ok," I say, trembling as I walk up to him even more. I stop once I'm about four feet away as it gives me the feeling that I could still turn and run if needed. This is quite funny as I'm sure he could just reach out and grab me and there would be nothing I could do about it.

"Get your hands behind your head. Stand like the big titted idiot you are," Marcus grunts, sounding like he wants nothing more than to hurt me.

His words play in my head over and over again, each time hitting hard like a punch to the gut. They are just so cold and mean, like he really does hate me. It sends intense arousal over me while filling me with extreme dread. It causes me to feel like I did back in college, there in the corner of the locker room, trying to change but being surrounded by bitches making fun of me.

After his command, I bite my lip and look around. I mean, we are out in the open. Not inside the house, not in the shadows, but right on the sidewalk. And it's only 9 pm. Someone could still be taking a walk or something and see us if we do this out here.

We had talked about this. Sure, I did say I like "public" as a kink, but it had to be discrete and safe. Not in the middle of a middle class house's yard. Not where people would no doubt see what we are doing and call the police.

"A-A-Aren't we supposed to go to the-" I begin to ask, but am slapped across the face.

The clap sound echoes as I grab the side of my face, not expecting the blow at all. It was so fast and sudden. He didn't show any signs that he was about to do it either.

The hit stuns me, making my entire body trembles as my face stings with heat. It wasn't a hard hit, but it was shocking. I'm sure he could hit me so hard that he could knock me out if he wanted, but something about the blow was powerful. I quickly find it was powerful because it means he doesn't mind hurting me. In fact, I have a feeling that's what he wants to do.

My hands then quickly move behind my head. Knowing how I'm supposed to be as we had discussed it many times, I interlock my fingers once they are behind my head. On purpose I don't push my elbows out but keep them somewhat close to my face as I'm scared he'll hit me again.

"I t-t-think-" I say softly, wanting to tell him that I think it's best if we don't do this. This has started on a bad start, and it isn't the sexy fun time I thought it would be. It's actually quite terrifying.

I don't get to finish my sentence as Marcus reaches over, grabs the neckline of my dress and yanks in different directions. He does this extremely violently, ripping my dress easily as if it was made of paper.

The entire movement lasted maybe half a second. There's no lingering or fighting to rip the dress. Just a single yank, to which my dress tears down the middle, nearly all the way to the hem. In a flash my dress is ripped apart.

Everything changes now. The fear and worry I felt were light emotions compared to what I'm feeling now. Hard, blocky emotions slam down over me, pumping fear instead of blood in my veins. Instead of a fun time with a friend, I've trapped myself into a session with a freak pervert bastard.

Stunned like I've never felt before, I look down at myself. My hands are still behind my head by some miracle, which is a good thing for I fear what he might have done if I moved. When I look down, I see Marcus' hands opening my ripped dress and tucking either side of it on either side of my breasts so he can see them clearly.

Looking down, I see my exposed breasts. They look so lewd and huge that I swear they look like they belong to someone else. And beyond that, I catch a glimpse of my shaved womanhood which is also fully exposed thanks to the dim light. I see my nearly naked body, in this yard that is completely out in the open.

My rational thinking mind seems to go on vacation, leaving me a dazed mess. I get so foggy that I wonder if maybe the whiskey was bad or something and that I've been poisoned. I mean, the thought of grabbing the remains of my dress, push them together and run never enters my head. Instead, I just stare down at myself as if I'm looking at someone else's body, not believing my most personal body parts are seen by this madman.

"You call

those

tits?" Marcus asks, disgusted.

Hearing those words is almost as powerful as the slap. I swear I feel a physical reaction once my brain figures what he just said. Only this time instead of horrible fear, a rather dark wave of arousal moves over me. Arousal that could only come from fear and humiliation. It's like the arousal I felt at being bullied long ago was just an appetizer compared to this.

"They look bigger than basketballs. Clearly bigger than your head. Probably more brains in them as well," Marcus insults, his tone sharp and cruel as he now holds out the remains of my dress to fully see my tits. And to add to my humiliation, I'm breathing so hard, which makes them jiggle as they heave up and down.

My nipples become rock hard, either from being exposed to the night air, or from his comments. As I feel them harden, I know one thing...that I can't do this. It's too much. It's too intense. This isn't what I signed up for and I won't be able to continue.

Something inside me knows that if I go through with this, I won't come out the other side as I am now. It'll change me, and I fear not for the better. I'm not exactly sure what will happen, but I can't find out. I've built up my life too much for it to be burned to the ground like this. If I do this, I know my life will be utterly ruined.

"We need to stop," I tell Marcus. My voice is hushed and soft, but I know he heard me. Sure, I can't look him in the eye at the moment, and I keep my hands behind my head, but that doesn't matter. He knows what I want.

Marcus' large hands reach over and grab me under my arms. I see them coming and try to take a step back, but he's too fast. I then find myself a bit dizzy...and facing the street.

I'm now looking at the house across the street with my tits and pussy showing. And all the lights in the house appear to be on, showing that not only are they home, there must be quite a few people inside. It'll take just one loud noise for them to look out a window and see me like this.

"W-W-Wait," I try to tell Marcus but he doesn't listen. He proceeds to rip the back of my dress in the same manner he did the front. Grabs the neckline and rips, turning the remains into nothing more than shreds as he tears the dress completely open.

"

NO

!" I cry out as I feel my desk being ripped, but the next thing I feel is...I'm naked. All of the dress is removed by him, torn right off. Even the arm holes are ripped open, allowing him to pull the dress off and leave me with nothing. I'm now completely naked in this strange yard, nothing to hide my body at all and far too scared to lower my hands.

"You don't have enough dignity to deserve clothes you fat titty cow," Marcus tells me, and there's real hate in his voice. There's no way to fake the way he sounds. He hates me. Finds me disgusting. No wonder he can do this with ease.

I sway as I feel so conflicted. The fear is bad, but the humiliation is intense. So much so that for a moment I think I'm actually going to orgasm like this. I'm not even sure that is possible, but it's the way I feel.