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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
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Copyright 1998 by EzRiter. May be reposted to free
archives only unless written permission of copyright
owner is received.
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Hannah's Humiliation
by EzRiter (ezriter@hotmail.com)
***
I opened the smaller envelope, removing a single eight
by ten black and white glossy photograph. The instant I
looked at it, I felt the sweat break out on my face, the
tingling in my limbs, the bile rising in my stomach. I
knew I was going to faint... (M+/F, nc, blkmail, exh,
huml)
***
Most men consider me very attractive. I have a lovely
face with a great and easy smile, shoulder length brown
hair and hazel eyes. At thirty-one, I am still 34B - 26
- 35, carrying 135 pounds on a five four frame. But,
women... all women... are afraid of losing their looks,
particularly single women like me who are fighting a war
with a lot of younger competitors for the available men
out there. So, I spend a lot on clothes and makeup.
Really, I should spend more time in the gym, but, who
has time. As an attorney struggling to make partner in a
major firm, I barely have time to date.
The last guy I really dated was Warren Parker, an
attorney who left my firm to go into industry. Warren
and I were a hot, hot item a year ago. I did things with
him I thought I would never do with a man. Worse than
that, I let him take some photos of me. Well, I did not
let him take the first ones. They were of me bound.
After those, which he took without my permission, I let
him take the ones of us together, using a delay timer on
his Nikon.
I got them all back when we spilt up. I thought.
It had been a hell of a week. Many longs hours, many
pointless meetings, even a court date in which the judge
ate me out big time. By Friday at four, when I trudged
back into my office to wrap up a bad week, I was
exhausted and ready for a hot bath and cold cocktail. I
found a large manila envelope in my chair. It was sealed
with "personal" written in red and underlined.
Examination of the envelope showed it was hand delivered
and did not come through the company mail route.
Standing, I zipped it open with my letter opener.
There was a typed letter and another, smaller envelope
inside. The letter read:
"Hannah: Projected recipients of the enclosed envelope
are (it listed the five name partners of my firm, the
men who would make, or break, my future). Think about
it."
I opened the smaller envelope, removing a single eight
by ten black and white glossy photograph. The instant I
looked at it, I felt the sweat break out on my face, the
tingling in my limbs, the bile rising in my stomach. I
knew I was going to faint. I fell to my knees behind my
desk... gasping for air... struggling to breath... my
chest tight, like someone had a band around me. I
reached for the waste basket and puked my guts out.
The rancid, acid taste filled my mouth and nose as I
puked again, green bile dribbling down my chin into the
waste basket. I put my head between my knees to keep
from fainting.
I wanted to scream, NO! WHO IS DOING THIS TO ME? But,
the only noise was the wheezing as my breath returned.
Finally able to sit up without fear of fainting, I
reached for the picture.
The photograph was of me. I was naked and on my knees
with my arms pulled back severely, bound behind me at
the wrist and elbows, arching my back and thrusting my
breasts out. A rope bound my ankles to my thighs,
keeping me kneeling on frog-style legs. The end of a
black dildo was visible sticking out of my pussy. A gag
was in my mouth. I was looking directly into the camera
with a slutty, happy expression, telling everyone I was
enjoying this immensely.
I puked again.
It was a long, sleepless night. Not even five Scotches
eased the anxiety as I paced and wondered. I knew the
pictures had to come from those Warren took of me but,
dammit, I trusted him. And, I still did. I did not think
he was the one responsible. Not Warren. He broke up with
me and we parted on very good terms. But, if not him,
who? Who in the hell was it?
Saturday, I was exhausted, sleepless and still in shock.
Listlessly, I puttered around the house, doing a
cleaning job worse than I care to admit. At eleven the
mail came. There was another envelope. I started to
shake just from seeing it. I checked it throughly: no
return address; no indication of who sent it.
I looked at the photo first. It was me again, of course.
I was on my hands and knees with an unidentifiable man
fucking me doggy style. I remember when Warren made that
one. He sat the camera so I facing right into the
lenses. I was in obvious ecstacy.
The letter read: "Hannah: My, my. You are a horny little
slut, aren't you? Like those big cocks in your sweet
wetness, Hannah. What a lovely picture you take, too.
Stay home this afternoon and get ready to go out. DO NOT
call Warren. I am not kidding, slut!"
I could not even eat lunch and I could not stop
sweating. I drank gallons of water, afraid I would
dehydrate. The phone rang at two twelve.
"Hi, slut! Ready for your pictures to be distributed!"
"Who are you! What do you want from me!" I guess it was
my legal training. As anxious as I was, I was extremely
intent, trying to get every clue. It was a woman's
voice. It was voice I had heard before.
"I will tell you that tonight! You are to do exactly as
I tell you or the pictures go in the mail. Listen! Go to
the store and buy a Wonder-bra that maximizes what
little tits you have. I want your nipples to show! Buy
thong panties in hot pink and black thigh high
stockings. Wear them with that super short black skirt;
you know, the one you wore for the Christmas party in
'96."
"It is too small. I have put on some weight."
"I know. I want your big ass to wiggle in that skirt
like ten pounds of mud in a five pound sack. Wear the
white see through blouse, the one Warren gave you for
your birthday. Lastly, wear those black pumps with the
six inch heels. What did you call them: 'My fuck me
pumps.' Use red lipstick... bright red. I want your
finger and toe nails painted the same bright color. Your
hair should be loose on your shoulders. Understand?"
"Please... please... why are..."
"Shut up, slut! Be at Cody's in the Village at eight.
Plan to stay out all night. See ya!"
She disconnected.
From deep inside me, a sob floated up. I began to cry: a
deep, gut wrenching, soul emptying cry.
The crying jag ruined my time frame, and now, I was
speeding through traffic because I was afraid I was
going to be late. It was eight o two when I opened the
doors to Cody's. Cody's is a hot pickup bar for the "to
twenty-five" age, swinging, modern, very liberal, set.
The women there are good looking young professionals.
I was not the oldest person I saw. But, I was the oldest
woman. My fear of being compared unfavorable in looks
and age offset my fear of being exposed by my
blackmailer. I felt the bile rise again and struggled to
keep it down. Looking around for a familiar face, I saw
one of the younger attorneys and a paralegal we had just
hired. I did not know anyone else.
Then, I felt a hand on my arm.
"Hi, Hannah. Remember me?"
"Sara Parker. Are you...?"
"Come on. Let's sit down. We have a table over here."
As I followed her across the room, the pieces fell in
place. Sara was Warren's younger sister. Only twenty-
two, she was a professional model, with a tall, lean
body and a face that appeared in print and TV ads all
the time. I always felt inadequate next to her. And,
what women wouldn't. She was perfect.
But, why did she want... Wait! Sara had seen me kissing
another man at a party one night. It happened while I
was still dating Warren. Sara worshiped her big brother
and I remember the angry, hurt look on her face when she
saw me. Was this pay back for that perceived infidelity?
Sara guided me to the large table in back where six
women and five men sat, all her friends out for a good
time. They were all professional models... beautiful,
lean, young. She introduced me as her aunt... Aunt
Hannah... and, asked everyone to call me that. I felt
like a maiden aunt... an old, unattractive, maiden
aunt... Aunt Hannah. Sara was mean, a real bitch.
Men cannot understand what I am mean by this. Women will
know immediately. To be the oldest, least attractive
women in a group is very humiliating. I looked at them:
those lean, perfect bodies, narrow but cute bottoms,
high, firm breasts. How could I compete? Sara might be
mean but she was smart. She knew exactly how to
humiliate me the worst.
Sara took me aside. "Now, here are the rules. You will
relax and have fun, or, act like it anyway. You will
dance with every man or woman who asks you. Dance close!
Rub against them! Act like the slut you are! No
drinking, but, I want you to order and eat three deserts
tonight, the most caloric ones they offer. Can't let
those chubby thighs get thin, can we? If anyone takes
any sexual liberties with you, you are to happily accept
them and encourage further ones. I mean any liberties,
Aunt Hannah! Am I clear?"
"Sara, why...?"
"Answer me!"
"Yes, Sara. Very clear."
"That is a good, old, fat, slut!" she said
patronizingly, giving my cheek a pat with every word.
It was the most miserable evening of my life.
Sara and one of her friends, Lucinda, kept making catty
little remarks about my shape and age. Of course, by the
end of the evening, everyone in Cody's knew me as Aunt
Hannah. Women can be such bitches! I had cute, young
things come ask me questions: girls I had never met,
asking advice as if my age gave me experience and
wisdom. And, the way they asked, implying I was so much
older, did I remember when...
There were giggles all around as I ate the three deserts
as ordered. Since that was all I had eaten all day, by
the end of the evening I was bloated, making me appear
even fatter.
I was asked to dance a lot but not as much as the other
women at the table, who seemed to take particular
pleasure at refusing a dance request but pointing me out
as an alternative. I could see the disappointment in the
men's faces. But, they danced with me.
Sara had told me to accept liberties. I did. And, many
liberties were taken. If was not the men's fault,
really. In these clubs, men always as a girl to dance.
They make a move on her, maybe just a hand in the small
of her back holding her tightly. If they do not receive
a discouraging sign... resistance or a comment... they
make the next move. Then, the next. That is the way it
is done. The women's responsibility is to send the stop
signs. My blackmailer had told me not to send stop
signs. So, the men got progressively bolder with me.
The crowd had started to thin out. A man who had been
after me all evening asked me to dance. I had already
endured his hands all over me when we danced previously.
He guided me to the darkest part of the dance floor,
whispering nasty things in my ear. Look, I am not a
prude. Under the right circumstances and with the right
man, I would have been enjoying this. But, he was
horrible! I could not help it. When I felt his hand
under my skirt sliding between my legs, I froze.
I felt Sara's hand on my arm. I almost wet myself,
afraid she had seen my resistance. She had. "We need to
go, Aunt Hannah. Offer your friend a blow job in the
parking lot on the way out."
The man heard Sara order me to perform oral sex on him.
Most men would have jumped at this opportunity and I
knew it. I was waiting for him to pull me outside. But,
his eyes burned into me, then flitted from Sara to me.
He knew something was strange. He gave me a quick kiss
on the cheek and walked away, saving me another
humiliation and a mouth full of cum. I followed Sara to
her condo.
There were only Sara and two other women and three guys
there. Sara ordered me to act as waitress, telling me to
call everyone "ma'am" or "sir". She gave me a small,
white lace apron to wear over my skirt. I was hustling
drinks when Mark came into the kitchen with Sara. Mark
was twenty-one and an underwear model, meaning he had
the hard body that could take the camera's eye. He also
was Sara's boyfriend and an arrogant shit.
"Mark and I have a bet," she said. They could tell I was
afraid. They could smell my fear. She had a mean grin as
she stared at me until I had to look away.
"Mark bet you are getting off on this, Aunt Hannah. Are
you? Are you wet between your legs from being
humiliated? Well?"
"Oh, god, please, no. I am begging, Sara. Don't...
please, don't!"
"Pull up your skirt so we can check, Aunt Hannah. Now!"
"No... no... I won't do it!"
"How many people do you want to see your pictures, Aunt
Hannah? Everyone you know? Should I post the pictures
and your address on the Internet? How about to the Bar
Association? Do as you are told! NOW!"
I began to sob but I did it. My arms were like lead, my
fingers stone, as I slowly wiggled and tugged until the
too tight mini skirt was around my waist and my tiny
pink thong was in clear sight.
"Which of us do you want to check, Aunt Hannah? You need
to ask politely. Whose finger do you want between your
chubby legs?"
I could not speak. I could only shake.
"I will count to three. If you have not asked one of us,
I will call everyone in here and let them all check.
One..."
"Mark."
"Ask him nicely."
"Mark, please check me," I sobbed.
"Stupid, slut! Say 'Mark, please finger my slutty pussy
to see if I am wet from being humiliated'."
I shook my head no.
"Two."
"Mark... oh, god... Mark, (sob) please finger my (sob)
slutty pussy to see... to see if I am (sob) wet from
being humiliated (giant sob)."
What a shit eating grin he had as he slipped his finger
between my legs. He was not content to rub my labia
through the thin sheen of the panties. He pushed the
panties aside and entered me, pushing his finger all the
way in to the palm. I could not look at them. My skin
was hot... prickly... beet red for my humiliation of
standing in front of this bitchy, blackmailing woman and
having her boyfriend's finger up me, buried to the hilt.
"Very wet," he said softly.
"My, my. The slut likes her humiliation. Look at me,
Aunt Slut!" My eyes leaped to her face. I felt my burn
increase, my breathing become shallow. Yes, dammit! I
was getting off on the humiliation.
"Bring her to the edge, Mark, but, don't let her cum."
Sara's voice was like the hissing of a snake: evil and
cold.
Mark slowly guided a second finger up my gooey slit. I
felt his thumb touch my clit, which was rigid and
quivering.
"NOOOOOO!!"
It was an explosion... a volcano erupting without
warning. Instantaneously, my body went rigid and my back
arched. My orgasm smashed me, knocking me to the floor.
Mark's hand never left me: his thumb rotating my clit,
his fingers sliding up and down, thrusting in and out of
my pussy.
I was writhing on the floor like a mad woman, smashed
again and again by orgasms. I could hear my screaming.
So could everyone else. Quickly, they were all in the
kitchen watching me... all seven of them watching as I
wiggled on the floor in an orgasmic fit, my legs
thrashing, my hands still clutching the hem of my skirt
at my waist.
They watched as I screamed when my body when rigid...
arching... only my heels and my shoulders touching the
floor. They were giggling and smirking as I passed out
from the greatest orgasm of my life.
When I awakened, the lights were off in the kitchen and
I was alone, still clutching the hem of my dress.
Slowly, I struggled to stand. I reeked of sex. I was
sore and tired. I stumbled to the door, opened it and
went into the living room.
There was only a single, soft, light on. Lucinda, her
boyfriend Jeremy, Mark and Sara were all naked and on
the floor. The others were gone. Sara was sucking Mark's
cock. Jeremy was between Lucinda's legs, his cock buried
in her. Sara looked up at me.
"Anybody want to use the old slut?"
"Send her away," Mark murmured. The others grunted
negatively.
"Nobody wants you, Aunt Hannah. Go home. I will call you
again when I feel like more fun and games."
How humiliating! To be available for sex and nobody even
wants you. I had to admit to myself if no one else, I
was still horny even after the multiple orgasms I
demonstrated for the crowd. I had never been this horny.
When I finally crawled into my own bed, I started
masturbating and could not stop. I awakened the next
morning with my hands between my legs and my vibrator
still buried in my pussy. I started my Sunday by
masturbating again.
Sara called at two to give me instructions, ordering me
to arrive at the club at seven. I almost panicked as I
opened the door. I had never been in a gentlemen's club
before. I knew they existed and often the male attorneys
in my firm entertained clients there. It was dark and
the rock and roll music blasted my ears as I looked for
Mark and Sara. I found them sitting with friends.
"Aunt Hannah!" Sara called out. "Glad to see you are on
time. Come on!"
I followed her through a curtain at the back. The room
was full of women... girls... teenagers! Their must have
been twenty of them in various stages of undress. I was
the oldest.
"Okay, ladies. Here are your costumes. Lockers are over
there. Hurry! We are starting now."
I took a wad of clothes from the woman who had given us
instructions.
Following Sara, I began undressing, hanging my clothes
in the locker.
"Sara, what is happening?" She had that cold, evil
snake's expression again. I knew I was beet red and
shivering.
"Wet T-shirt contest, Aunt Hannah. The winner gets a
thousand dollars. Hurry up!"
"Please, Sara. Don't! I can't stand any more
humiliation."
She laughed in my face. "We both know you get off on
humiliation, Aunt Hannah. So, just do as you are told. I
will mail the pictures if you don't obey me!"
Fighting back tears, I finished undressing and put on
the costume they gave me and my black pumps Sara had
told me to bring. The costume was a white thong bikini
bottom and a tiny, cropped white T-shirt. My nipples
were erect and very noticeable. I should have told you.
I have big nipples and when I am aroused, they are huge.
The thong showed my full ass off to perfection. Everyone
could see it and my chubby thighs. Even worse, I had not
trimmed my pubic hairs as everyone else had. I tried to
get all my hairy bush into the bikinis but I could not.
Some hair still stuck out around the bikinis edge as
Sara dragged me toward the stage.
Waiting in the shadows as other women preceded me on
stage, I surveyed the audience. It was full of hooting
and happy men, some rooting on their wives or
girlfriends, others just enjoying the feminine flesh so
openly displayed. The women on stage strutted like sluts
or stood still like zombies depending on how they
reacted. One thing they had in common. They all squealed
and jumped around when they were sprayed with cold
water, soaking their tiny costumes which were identical
to the one I wore. The obvious result was erect nipples
and goose bumps everywhere.
I was steeling myself to go on. I had no choice. I had
watched the ones before me. Once again I was to be the
oldest, with the chubbiest thighs and biggest butt in
the contest. My breasts were exceeded in size by many of
them. Now, it was only one woman in front of me.
Sara whispered in my ear, "Did you notice Ray Winters
from the office sitting with Mark? I knew you would want
him here!"
"NO!" I barked in horror. The bile rose again and I felt
faint. Sara slapped my face, seeing my loss of color and
afraid I would faint. I sobbed as I tried to regain my
control.
Ray Winters was a new partner in my firm, thirty-two and
very good looking. He and I had been assigned to a case
together where we really got to know each other. Since
then our relationship had blossomed wonderfully, to the
point of sex, which I was sure we would consummate on
our next date.
Now, any relationship with him would be gone forever. He
would never have a meaningful relationship with a woman
who would participate in a wet T-shirt contest. I was
crushed. This was going to be the greatest humiliation
of all, prancing wet and almost naked before a hundred
men and the man I really liked... the man I would
consider marrying.
"Your turn, Aunt Hannah," Sara said softly and pushed me
up the stairs.
I stumbled into the spotlight. I froze, unable to move.
"Show us your fat ass!" Mark shouted. I felt a tear on
my cheek. Then, the ice water hit me.
I guess one never knows how one is going to react under
extreme stress.
I was shaking with humiliation and the ice water as I
looked down at myself. The T-shirt was plastered against
me, every millimeter of flesh exposed, my nipples, huge,
hard rocks clearly visible, the bikini bottoms soaked
and my pubic hair both visible through the material and
sticking out around the edges, my pussy lips obvious
under the cloth, my chubby thighs covered with goose
bumps.
It was so erotic I thought I would orgasm right then and
there.
I moaned from deep down inside me and started to bump
and grind to the music... thrusting my hips back and
forth... my hands all over my body, stroking myself. I
turned around and bent over, showed my naked ass to
everyone, wiggling in their faces. I felt my hand cup my
pussy when the music stopped and the lights went off. I
was in a daze as a woman guided me off stage.
I won the contest. It seems my hot, full body and wild
gyrations got me more votes than anyone. Sara was
royally pissed off I won, her anger very obvious to
everyone. After I redressed and collected my winnings, I
walked towards them. Sara stopped me.
"Well, you old slut, Ray and I had a long talk. He
bought all the pictures and the negatives from me. You
belong to him now. Have fun!" She stalked away. It
seemed to be the way I reacted a lot any more. I stood
like a zombie as Ray walked toward me, a little smile on
his face.
"Hannah, follow me home. We need to talk." He kissed me
gently on the cheek, took my hand and led me out of the
club.
Ray shoved me down on the couch in his living room,
handed me a highball, and sat beside me. He had a funny
little smile on his face as he watched me. I realized I
felt very secure and comfortable with him... even though
he had seen me parading like a slut and had dirty
pictures of me with another man.
"God, you were magnificent! I have never seen such a
desirable woman.
A woman so sexy, sensual. You really turn me on!"
"Oh, Ray, please forgive me. That is not the real me. I
am so sorry you saw me like that. I-I..."
"I hope it is the real you. I loved seeing you like
that, Hannah. It enhances, not damages, what we have
together. And, I know everything. Little Sara folded
like a balloon when we talked felony charges. I have all
the pictures and the negatives. I would love to see them
but I will not look at them if you don't want me to.
What do you want, Hannah?"
"I do not want to think beyond tonight. And, for tonight
I want the man I want to be in my life... you... to fuck
me until I beg for mercy."
He took me in his arms. Before the night was over, he
fucked me until neither of us could move. What started
as the worst weekend of my life, ended as the best. But,
that is another story.
END
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 68