After the Party

“Honey, that’s the door.”

A full-figured twenty-something answered the doorbell, her fiery ginger hair set off by the rosewood gown that floated over her curves. The youngster, barely a woman, who stood on the doorstep was a complete contrast, thin and dark-haired, her one piece of clothing so insubstantial you could see the dark triangle snuggled in the apex of her legs.

The redhead looked a little taken aback by her visitor, so it was the teenager who spoke first, remembering to keep her hands clasped in front of her and what chest she had pushed out.

“Hi there. Are you Mrs Ainsworth?”

“Yes. Are you the pain-slut?” the older woman replied, uncertainly in her voice. “You’re much younger than we were expecting.”

“That’s probably because this is my first job. I’m Lisa from Unlimited Abuse, your body for the evening.”

“I suppose you’d better come in.” answered Mrs Ainsworth, sounding not too happy. “I hope you know what to do. We’ve been looking forward to this for ages now. We had hoped for someone with more experience.”

“Don’t worry.” Lisa tried to reassure her customer, as she followed the richly coloured skirts wafting down the hall. “Nobody is sent out by the company until they’ve passed all the training.”

Despite her endorsement of the strict training regime, Lisa wasn’t as happy as she’d hoped. First there’d been a suggestion she wasn’t up to it. Now she was worried about what she didn’t see. Neither the hall or the living room they’d just entered appeared to contain anything more damaging than a cushion or a framed print of some art-deco flowers. Even at home there’d been the odd whip or pair of handcuffs lying around and, of course, a baseball bat mounted in pride of place over the mantelpiece. Her class had only finished the course a week ago, but already Becky had returned from a job with missing teeth and a broken arm, while Trudi hadn’t returned at all. They’d been a competitive group, and she could only too easily imagine the comments if she went back a reject.

Now Lisa stood in the middle of the airy suburban sitting-room, dressed, as ordered, in the simple thin shift, even her feet bare. One of her tits was already throbbing, something that at least the woman sitting on the sofa in front of her knew, even if her rather older husband was in the dark. The wife had rung up earlier that day to ask if the pain-slut could be delivered with a chilli-smeared skewer already embedded in the meat of her left breast.

The less than welcoming reception had left Lisa feeling left far more nervous than she’d hoped. None of her dreams about life as a pain-slut had included being rejected and she was visualising the shame of being sent back with her body unblemished. What a waste the hot ache in her chest would be then. Fortunately, after a moment of silence, the months of training came to her aid and she started to deliver her opening lines.

“Thank you for ordering me from Unlimited Abuse. My body is yours to do as you want for the evening. Feel free to beat, mutilate, or even snuff it, whatever gives you pleasure…”

Lisa got no further. As she doubled up, breathless, she smiled with relief.

This story is a fantasy, set in another place, with only the slightest passing nod to our reality as it’s glimpsed on a distant horizon. If this isn’t immediately apparent to you, I strongly suggest you seek urgent psychiatric care.