Decent To Beauty: Part 5 free porn video

Decent to Beauty: Part 5 By latexslut Chapter 17 henry was tired and hungry and thirsty and disoriented and tight and uncomfortable and afraid and confused. And horny. His thoughts relative to wearing women's clothes had always in large part been rather passive. He had enjoyed the thought of woman's panties and nylons and over time found a way to allow himself to wear them here and there when he was feeling randy. They were much more comfortable than a man's clothes and there was something about then that seemed to feel right on him. And he had read the magazines, with small fantasies in his mind of someone, even Desiree, making him wear them, or a skirt or low heels or even a bra. But after he had pumped himself to orgasm, he has always changed, and put them in his secret place. Then he had generally forgot about his private kink, the one that his wife hadn't known about, for a few days, gone to work and gotten on with things. But as Desiree became more unhappy, and distant, he had thought about it more, and had even thought about telling her, but he knew it would ruin the marriage, even though, after seven years, it was already basically broken. What had kept them together was a combination of wealth, social circles, expectations from his dad, and well, he thought apathy. And now it was nightmarish, overboard, extreme. He had felt, at first, when he was hanging his head and tied to the wall four days ago, that he was somehow, in part, responsible. He could have been a better husband. He could have hidden his kinks better or shared them just a little. Maybe. Now he was beginning to feel that it was all his fault. Everybody told him that: Mistress Desiree, Governess Chantel, and now his new other Mistress, Dianna. Somewhere deep down, there were two things that were frustrating him tremendously. One was that, in his fantasy, his minds eye Mistress loved him and was doing this for his own good. But now, his three Mistresses seemed furious with him, despising him and hating him, except maybe Governess Chantel, though she was the fiercest and scariest of them all. He knew that She was the ringleader. It hurt his feelings and ego deeply. The other thing that bothered him was that despite being dressed in truly wild feminine clothing, he couldn't feel any of the good parts, not really, and only the bad parts. His legs were shaved and encased in stockings, but they were like tights, and his gloved hand could barely feel the nylon. His penis was tight and hidden, and he wasn't even allowed to touch it. He couldn't even feel his breasts, because they were covered by his new fake breasts and brassiere. It was terribly frustrating to him to be looking at himself, looking as hot as he did, as he had back at Glams, and not be able to touch himself or get himself off, but just to keep getting hornier. henry had tried wearing a plug once, a tiny baby thing, because that's what they did in some of the stories he had read, but it had been uncomfortable and he had taken it out almost immediately. He'd bought others, thinking, when he was horny, that he would really wear one, but he never had. And then everything had gone bad, and gone to worse, and was getting worse by the moment, taking a little fantasy, sixteen steps and off a cliff, further than he had thought was possible. Nothing he had read had even prepared his mind for this: Getting caught, the true plugging and embarrassment, the nightmare in the mall, the corseting, the boots that were really beginning to hurt his toes, and his new nightmare sex room. And finding that Mistress Dianna was going to be yet another Mistress of his. And on top of all that of that, he felt he really was beginning to lose his identity. He hadn't slept well. The videos were different tonight, all of them of him. Walking, mincing, having his makeover at Glam's, pleasing Chantel and Desiree on his knees at their bed, while they practically ignored him. Licking their shoes, whether they were on or off. Just licking shoes and boots, because Governess Chantel told him to, while Mistress Desiree smirked and laughed. Finally, through the noise of his closet room, curled on his hard plastic covered mattress, henry... slut had slept for what seemed like all of three seconds, and then Governess Chantel had entered and yanked her-him out of bed, smacked him upside the head, and told him she-he was late to meet Mistress Dianna with breakfast. He had tottered, wobbly, still unsure of his 4.5" heels, very unsure towards the kitchen. He almost fell down the stairs, once or twice, but had grabbed himself on the banister. Clumsily he made some scrambled eggs, toast, bacon and coffee for his new Mistress Dianna, and wearily reflected. He spilled some egg yolk on his uniform and wiped it off with his glove. That was bad, he knew, but there was nothing for it: He'd forgotten to put on an apron. When he was done, he saw that the eggs were rubber hard, the bacon very rare, and the toast burnt. The coffee was okay though, but he spilled most of that on the tray as he tottered back towards Mistress Dianna's room. And then a whole new stage of his nightmare began. He had hoped that Mistress Dianna would still be the kind and docile and pretty stupid maid who had seduced him one night so long ago. It was five nights ago, he thought. To him, Dianna, Mistress Dianna, he corrected himself, was probably the most beautiful woman he had ever seen for real in his life. Somebody that maybe he could convince to loosen his corset and let him rest, maybe even in her arms. Clearly, Mistress Desiree wouldn't be allowing that anytime soon. He knew that to be true after last night. Instead he had come upon a lioness, still dumb, to be sure, but he could see a raging light of anger in her beautiful eyes that terrified him. She knocked the tray out of his hands, kicked him, kneed him, made him kiss her toes and then kicked him in the face. And she looked beautiful. He couldn't help but notice it. The maid's dress was gone, but Dianna, Mistress Dianna had changed. The narrow waist, leather dress, dramatic makeup, and raven hair black and straight and gleaming. slut didn't even notice the height or shape of Mistress Dianna's shoes until they hit him in the face. Mistress Dianna began speaking nonsense then, while dragging him towards her bathroom, where she started to take off his clothes. About insulting her, using her and so many other things, like a mercy blowjob. Where did that come from, slut-henry wondered vaguely: It was the only one he had ever had in his life, and he had felt guilty then, because, he had thought, it was selfish. He felt a momentary relief, when Dianna, Mistress Dianna, he had to keep correcting himself, removed his plug. The joy of it not being there, of having something not be where it really didn't belong skated away, when she made him clean it and insulted him again, and she-he knew trouble was brewing. And then he was being filled with an enema over her knees. At first, he felt just weird, exposed and embarrassed, but then he began to panic a little. The water was hot, and there was a lot of it, and corseted as he was, there really wasn't room for it. He felt his butt muscle clench and reclench, trying to hold it in, and then he was getting spanked. He didn't know what it was for, nor why, but he knew he should have been prepared for it. He had had to repeat his list of activities to Governess Chantel repeatedly last night, but somehow he had forgot, tiredness maybe, and not with an enema in him. The blows rained down, harder and faster and then faster still. It was all he could do to keep his hands at his sides. Somewhere in a dim fog, he heard Governess Chantel speak, but there were no words for him, just sound. Hold and bear it. Or worse would come. Finally, the spanking stopped, and Mistress Dianna told him to enjoy a moment of privacy. She even patted her-his head. The joy of his relief was immaculate. He expelled with a sigh, as his taut confined tummy thinned, and finally he was finished, feeling a mixture of total embarrassment, with his tear stained face, and a bit of pride. slut-henry almost smiled. I did it. He was over Mistress Dianna's knees again, and now out of sight line he saw a different plug. Glistening and dripping with KY. A monster, and Mistress Dianna was saying, take it, take it. And somewhere, Governess, like an angel over a loudspeaker saying he will adjust. And Dianna was saying it's your fuckhole, take it. Something pushed, and he wondered briefly, as the bathroom went red to his eyes, how it must feel to give birth, because surely there was no tearing, no ripping like this. It didn't last long, the going in, but it didn't stop either, because there was no closing around it, and he could tell that it went deep and wide and she-he was weeping again. "Mistress!" "Whose Mistress?" someone asked. And he screamed, "My Mistress!" "Name them!" "Mistress Desir. Govnes Bhamfell. Bistress ianna." It was all blubber. In the red, Mistress Dianna stood up, and slut fell to the floor off her knees. "Stand up, slut." henry thought and started to say, "I can't." But he couldn't say that, so he grabbed the basin with his elbows and pulled himself up, with his latex panty-girdle at his knees, his little wiener tiny, shrunken and naked. Mistress Dianna began to laugh when she saw it, and that only made it smaller, because now henry knew that he-she wasn't only not pretty, the he-she looking in the mirror was ugly too. The makeup, so many layers, had smeared awfully. He was looking at something like a beaten used whore. slut-henry's morning got worse. Mistress Dianna assisted slut-henry with undressing most everything. The stockings she left on, and later she pulled slut's latex panty-girdle up, only because the plug kept trying to come out. The maids dress came off, and finally, to henry's breathing relief, the corset. He hadn't known what a corset could do. A girdle he had tried on a couple of times, and it's confinement had felt comforting for a while, until he came. But the corset didn't stretch. It didn't bend. He looked at his boots. Mistress Dianna clearly saw the look, and for a moment, there was kindness in her voice, "slut, you should take off those boots for a while." Happily, he bent, unzipped, and took them off. They had been swelling inside the leather for three days. His feet felt like they had been caste in pain and now, even taking them off, hurt. And smelt bad, too, he noticed. He wanted to ask for a shower or a bath, but it wasn't even close to being in his vocabulary. Mistress Dianna had left the bathroom and now called slut out to the bedroom, where she held a completely different kind of corset. "First put these on, slut. They used to be mine. It is my gift to you. Though I am petite, they might fit you, in time." "These" were a set of a spandex panty-girdle, pink with little flowers, which would go right over her-his latex ones. He struggled them on, bit-by-bit and even Mistress Dianna had to struggle to pull the twelve hooks on the side of them together. They crushed him, his balls and pushed the plug even deeper. She attached his torn stockings to them, carefully, to all eight garter tabs. The first corset had had ten or twelve stays to keep it rigid, and hadn't been all that long, ending at just above the hip. And it had been pretty, pink and flowered. This corset wasn't like that. It was black, and long, and looked to be almost made of stays. It had shoulder straps with a built in bra. slut-henry quailed at it, went quietly; after the spanking and the enema and his lack of sleep and everything, there was nothing else he could do. Not after the plugging. Dimly, he thought, slut should have known this comfort wouldn't continue. slut is being forced femmed, and it won't stop now, until it stops. slut's ass is torn. Mistress Dianna caringly pulled the straps over his shoulders and fitted his fake breasts into their spaces as she clasped the front busks. She flattened everything against her-his skin and began to pull the laces. Governess Chantel's voice came over the speakers, and slut noticed that the voice and speakers were set by or under cameras. It got tighter. The corset went down to just below his crotch, and pushed his legs together. It compressed his stomach until, despite an empty stomach, he felt full. And still, Mistress Dianna pulled at the laces, still he was groaning and graying out and wondering if his ribs were going to break. "slut, this corset will reduce your rib cage, your waist, and your manliness. But there will always be room for your growing breasts. Thank Mistress Dianna." Greyly, he said, "Thank you, Mistress Dianna." "Almost done, you slut," Mistress Dianna gave a final tug, and then began wrapping the laces around her-him. Twice they went, and then they were tied off in a knot. "Too much work by me for a slut like you." slut vaguely realized that he couldn't sit in this, not comfortably, let alone bend. There were too many rigid stays. Not like the stories, he thought. Except maybe in science fiction where someone is cast in neo fabric of thin concrete. Then Mistress Dianna was pouring a mixture of something from a large into elbow length clear latex gloves. First one glove came on, and then the other. The mixture was slippery. "Soft skin." She commented absently. Then, Mistress Dianna, put a thin nozzle on the container and slipped it in through the crack between the corset busk and searched it down, studiously, to the latex panty-girdle. "Mistress Chantel thought you should be tempted. And your skin much softer there. But she also said, no coming, you fucking asshole." Suddenly, there was liquid pouring into his latex panty-girdle. Lots of it. And it was very slippery. It surrounded his penis, and went anywhere there was room inside. A little over flowed. It smelt flowery. The spandex gloves, just higher than the latex ones were, came next, from the previously discarded pile of clothes. "Back in your uniform, slut. Except for the boots. I hope you like six inch heels." slut-henry felt the slippery in his loins, and despite everything, thought, I could come now. I could I could. If only I weren't supervised. In spite of Mistress Dianna's dumb watchful eye, he put his gloved fingers between his legs. They were swatted away, fiercely by Mistress Dianna, and she slapped him. "Now the boots, and then you get dressed, again. And slut, you need a lot more perfume." "Yes, Mistress Dianna." She slapped him. "slut, I want some more sucuberance, or something like that! I want you to sound happy! Mistress Chantel said you would be, and if you weren't, I should punish you better. Do you want another spanking?" "Yes, Mistress Dianna," he said, not wanting another spanking at all. Not at all, but there was nothing she-he could say. "Really?" "Yes! Mistress Dianna," slut said as close to sarcasm as he could, hoping that Mistress Dianna would notice. He almost wept with relief when he saw her look at her palma. "Oh! I get it. Well, my arms tired now, and we both have a schedule to keep. Mistress Desiree is waiting. But you just better sound a whole lot happier." "Yes, Mistress Dianna," slut said happily, meaning it. Dianna led henry towards the stool in the center of the room and plopped him painfully upon it. She-he watched as Mistress Dianna, knelt in from of her-him, crinkled her nose and lifted one of her-his new boots towards his foot and tried to fit it into its confines. slut remembered vaguely buying these, but they hadn't seemed so scary then, but now, when he was already hot and sweaty and tired, they did. They were black and polyurethane, stretch PVCs and long, with a wicked pointed toe, high arch, and a six-inch narrow spiked heel that looked almost like a weapon. Mistress Dianna slid his foot halfway into the right boot, but then it stuck, in spite of the stockings. "Stand up," Mistress Dianna commanded, as she continued to try to cram it his toes towards their pointed destination. She-he did. "Now stand only on this foot. Put your hands on my shoulders. Then do baby hops. Not high, but just enough. That's how I get my feet into good boots," Mistress Dianna commented. slut did, and the steepness of the heel, combined with his weight, almost folded his foot into the tip of the boot. The bones of his feet felt like they were being ground together, and slut, I'm not even moving yet, if I can. Mistress Dianna forced the heel down, and then pulled up the zipper, dragging it past his ankle, calf, knee, and up his thigh, tightening the stretch material, until the boot ended just over the pink spandex panty-girdle and two inches below his crotch, tightly. "It's a good thing they have reinforced ankles, or you'd break them, and then what use would you be. Gosh." She repeated the steps with the second boot and then left to get his uniform. slut-henry was dismayed. He couldn't walk in these. There was no way! There really was no way. Just to stand in them, like he was now, sticking his ass out two feet and his head and chest leaning forward a foot. He wobbled, and inside his boots, his feet were already killing him. How long, he asked himself, vaguely. But then there was, for her-him, almost a time of mercy. Mistress Dianne came back with his uniform. The silk high neck blouse, the long sleeved maids dress. And all the bangles. As she assisted him with his dressing, buttoning up the back of the blouse and dress, he realized again with frustration, that he couldn't feel himself. She-he was coated in latex, and PVCs and satin and spandex and nylon, and all that was free was her-his face, thought that too was covered in far too much makeup. And that had got bad too, what with all his tears, and sweat and time, and new makeup. He almost stamped his foot, like a baby, or a girl, with frustration. ***" Mistress Dianna supported slut down the stairs, and across the living room and out into the sunny day towards the pool. "I hate you slut, but I don't want you to break your neck. Not today, anyways. Do you like your new boots?" slut-henry could tell now that Mistress Dianna was being nasty on purpose. "Yes, Mistress," he said happily, though he didn't like them at all. Already they felt hot, sticky, and tight, and very dangerous. The heat hit him like a wave. He hadn't been outside in days, and now it felt melting. He clacked across the pavement, with his eyes squinted, the gleaming blue water of the pool reflecting in the sunlight. It looked so cool and comforting and he remembered the times when he had jumped in that pool and felt the caress of water taking off the heat of the day. At first he couldn't see her, but slowly his eyes adjusted. His wife, Mistress Desiree, was floating on a floater chair in the middle of the pool, with a drink in one hand, and a book or something in the other. She was wearing a one piece red swimsuit like the ones he'd once upon long ago drooled on when some actress named Pamela had been on Baywatch. Slowly, she-he approached, tottering, his-her feet screaming and now her-his arches were really beginning to hurt. Even his-her thighs and buttocks. slut approached, bent as much as he-she could, like an old woman, almost, hanging for dear life onto Mistress Dianna. He-she knew that Mistress Dianna was smirking. He-her could hear the laughing. Vainly, his-her eyes searched for Governess Chantel, but there was no sign of Her. Mistress Desiree lowered Her book, and raised her head, and slut could feel the look despite her sunglasses. Now, when he-she was only twenty feet away, Mistress Dianna let go of him. He tottered, and danced, bent as best as he could in his corset, tottering and almost did a circling dance as he tried to get his balance. I hate you, he thought, Mistress Desiree, and he felt almost sick with the emotion of the thought. In the end, he couldn't keep his balance, no matter how much he tried, and fell down in front of Her, Mistress Desiree. His knees scuffed, and his head almost hit the heated cement, but didn't. He raised his head and looked at his wife, angry and terrified. She lowered her sunglasses. Mistress Desiree looked happy, and sadly to him, beautiful again. But she studied him closely. "slut, I want to tell you something. Are you listening?" "Yes, Mistress Desiree." "Chantel, she opened my eyes. And now I see. I hate you, slut. I have always hated you. Dianna hates you. Chantel hates you. Your partner Mike, hates you, though we might change that, just like we're changing you, now. Do you follow?" "Yes Mistress Desiree." "Happily now, slut," Desiree said with venom. "Do you know that everyone hates you, slut?" "Yes, Mistress Desiree," slut said happily. "Get up, you filthy whore slut. Your makeup is a mess, and I can smell you from here, no matter how much perfume your lovely Mistress Dianna has put on you." "Yes, Mistress Desiree," slut said happily. But when he tried to get up, he realized he couldn't. The corset wouldn't bend enough, and the heels were too high. Every time he tried, he fell over again. The sun beat down on his black outfit, and he sweat so much that the made up mixed with his tears. Mistress Desiree began to laugh, and Mistress Dianna joined in, and soon that were cracking up at her. "Get up slut, get up! Right now, or you will be punished!" Over and over again. She continued to try to get up, she had to, and once she almost did, but she couldn't, and fell again. slut began to cry again. Somewhere, she thought, how many tears do I have left? "slut. Chantel told me that the best thing for you now, is to begin rebuilding your esteem. So we've decided that you will be a whore. You'll need another year of training, but you can begin practicing with Mike, your partner at work. He will be here tonight. And you know what, slut?" "Yes, Mistress Desiree!" slut said happily, still trying to get up, but unable to. "No, you don't, but I understand, you moron," Mistress Desiree said. "You can charge him a whole twenty dollars for a blowjob. And you will, as I sell the company you built. Do you like that?" He had worked so hard to build up that company. The hours, the frustrations, the joy. The whole concept of selling him hit him like a punch in a bad bruise. And slut threw up onto the patio by the porch, just before passing out. *** Chantel watched the goings on from what she called her multiplex. She was beige today, and rather dowdy, in her mind. Spikes, and a gossamer skirt and nothing more. Her makeup was minimal, because she wanted the sun and its tan. But she didn't have time to tan today. Just observe and edit and record. She had left just after she had seen Dianna dumbshit plug slut with his new and extra "happy!" plug. She didn't disagree with that, at all. In fact, she knew that that was good for him, but what she had started she wouldn't be a part of. Not yet at least. It almost bothered her, how extreme everything had to become. But it turned her on too. Still though, she didn't want Henry broken to insanity, as he was getting to be already. I thought he was stronger. I guess I misdiagnosed. Shit happens. But now Chantel was watching, and beginning to see everything come to play. She had whispered to Desiree. She had taught Dianna. She had licked and 69'd with Desiree and Dianna together. Or was it some sort of 369 triad? She didn't know or care. What mattered was that Desiree, that cold bitch loved her, and Dianna did to. Or at least respected her. 'God, Dianna is a fox!' she thought for a moment. I could even love her, except that I've found rocks smarter than her. It had taken her almost a whole day to realize that, for some idiot reason, she loved Henry. Not as he was, for he was willful, to be sure, all full of that man stuff crap, but as the slut she would rescue him from. Tonight. It was all about tonight and tomorrow night. If only Desiree would do as taught. Sell slut to Mike, and then sell slut to all those people that slut had met while they were shopping three days ago. On tape. Chantel had been editing and editing. And during those crucial moments, she had not been there, nowhere that all the cameras that she had placed, using Desiree's credit card, would see her. She was safe. She ran the accusations in her mind... the lawsuits against that bitch. Selling a male prostitute for money. Enforced kidnapping, illegal confinement of your husband, and so on. Desiree, did you know that you made your husband sad? Did you know that know that you chose to be sad? All because you chose to be blind? Find out in jail, bitch. Chantel sipped her wine, as she watched slut fall again onto the hot cement of the pool. But first, hon, she thought, we'll have you declared insane. And with your wife in jail, and your partner, ex-partner corroborating, and your father even, if necessary, agreeing, I will become your guardian. And then, hon, we'll have some fun. And you know, slut, I think I'll even buy you some flowers. But after I own the 6 million dollar estate. Chapter 18 Desiree looked across the waters of the pool at her broken husband lying in the sweltering heat. She felt delighted that she had broken him so thoroughly, amazed too. And she felt loathing, for she had just recently realized that she hated her husband and had hated him for a long time, almost from the beginning, when they were married those many years ago. When they had married, she had been a poor uneducated girl whose only assets were her beauty and her sex. Henry had just finished college and was a rich spoiled playboy. He had been more muscular then and with a full head of long hippy hair that didn't hurt the sharp way he looked in his expensive suits. She had made him fall in love with her then, with the intention of, though she hadn't known the word existed and hadn't been able to admit it, pussywhipping him into place. But time had passed and he had shown that he was an outstanding businessman who made friends easily and played extremely well in any sport he tried. Tennis was his specialty, where he was especially adept, and he used the club to seal deals and court investment money. In the meantime, as he spent less time with her, most of the things she had tried to start seemed to fail, though none of it was her fault, she was sure. The beauty salon hadn't worked because of bad location. The makeup line hadn't worked because of bad marketing. And the promotional business hadn't worked because she just plain had lousy employees who wouldn't do what they were told. It had infuriated her when all six of them simply stopped showing up one day and wouldn't return her calls. She had responded to this by giving Henry less sex, hoping to draw him by lust, but all it had done was cut her off, for he seemed to busy to notice. Or if he did, it didn't seem like he would do it on her terms. Now the time was passing. There was gray in her hair, though she colored that of course, and her body didn't have the perkiness it once had, so that she had to wear a panty-girdle to keep her butt tight, and a pushup bra to keep her full breasts supported and high the way they once were. And it was all Henry's fault. She had given him everything, including her beauty, and he hadn't been grateful. The final insult had been the magazines. To her, it was like he was going into a private room and having an affair right behind her back. Being happy without her. She had wanted to tell her friends about it, and ask their advice, but she had realized, and again, this was Henry's fault, that she didn't have any. Chantel was the first close friend she really had, and Chantel made her feel so extremely envious that Desiree really didn't like her either. She was too happy, too in charge of things, and too sexy. But now she was happy. Happier than she could remember being in a long, long time. And she was going to put slut through her paces, oh yes indeed, and drive her three steps beyond insane. "Wake her up, Dianna," Desiree said. "She's sleeping on the job." "Yes, Mistress," the "maid" responded, and began prodding at slut with a heel. "Get up, you meanie slut." She prodded harder, and then crouched down and began paddling her. slut groaned and opened her eyes blearily, slowly regaining focus. Desiree waited until Dianna had pulled slut into sitting position, coolly sipping her drink. "You look hot, Henry." She used his name intentionally. "And I don't mean that in a good way." "Yes, Mistress Desiree." "On the other hand, you're dressed rather nicely. That maid's dress looks great on you. And those curves. Maybe if you took better care of yourself, you might get to start looking more like sex on a stick and less like a whore ready for a hit of crack." "Yes, Mistress," slut said blearily. "Did you know that on a nice day like today, my, it must be almost 90 degrees out, without a trace of wind, not that you'd notice," Desiree chuckled, "there's nothing better than sitting in the pool with a nice cold drink." "Yes, Mistress Desiree," slut said again. "Diana, did you know that slut hasn't eaten anything in four days? He's had a glass of water, but each morning, but that's it. How do you think he could find way to desecrate my patio with his vomit?" "Mistress, I don't know. But I will be sure to punish her for it and make sure she cleans it up." "With her tongue, Dianna. With her tongue. But now slut needs some exercise. All that sitting around isn't good for her." Dianna looked mortified, grossed out even. I hate the mean meanie, she thought, but that's disgusting. I can't make him do that. But she said. "Yes, Mistress. I will. What kind of exercise?" Desiree sighed wistfully, as if thinking, then said. "Fifty laps around the pool, for starters. You follow her, and paddle her if she slows." "Yes, Mistress, I will. But Desiree, it really is hot out here, and I think I'm overdressed. Black leather isn't the right thing to wear in this heat, yes?" "Hmmm. You're right, Dianna, but on the other hand, you put it on and you work for me. So just do as I say. Now slut, this is how you will move from now on. Unless you are carrying something, you will run, and I want your wrists limp and held at the same height as your breasts. No walking, no sauntering, just many, many little fast baby steps. Help her up, Dianna." "Yes, Mistress Desiree," slut said, crying again and looking weak. She saw Dianna shoot her an angry look, but was pleased when Dianna said nothing and got slut to her feet. She watched slut take his first mincing steps. Her knees were bent, butt sticking out, waist straight, and head held way back, with her hands close to her chest. At first, it didn't seem like her husband was going to keep his balance, but step by step, she started. She started laughing, for each step wasn't more than an inch or two ahead of the last. She was still laughing, when slut finally reached the first corner of the pool, twenty feet later. It had taken her at least a hundred steps and ten minutes. Sluts face was a mask of concentration that looked almost comical. She could see beads of sweat drip from her. "slut," she called. "If you think you're dressed now, just wait. I'm going to give you everything you thought you wanted and then some. More and more and more. Tomorrow, when you do your laps, you might be wearing a latex female mask. What do you think about that?" She laughed, cackled, even when she saw slut stumble and almost fall and say weakly, "Thank you, Mistress." Chapter 19 slut was having hallucinations. She hadn't slept in days. Not really. Noise blaring, strobe lights glaring, the videos retelling her all that she had done over the last few days. And what she saw herself doing, terrified her in the dimness of her cognizant reality. And her reality seemed to be closing in from all sides. The days were slipping into each other, and into the nightmares and waking brought no more relief than sleeping. Sleeping brought no relief from being awake. It was becoming all the same. And her ability to remember different events was slipping, slipping, slipping. Dimly, she remembered walking round and round and round the pool, while Mistress Desiree, her Wife, laughed at him when she fell. Taunting her. And she fell many times, each time lifted up by Mistress Dianna who spanked her and forced her on. And she was so tired. She remembered, being made to eat some drying liquid by the pool, lapping it up like a dog, and she had been so ravenous, that she hadn't quite noticed just how awful it tasted. Only Mistress Desiree's laughter and cackling that thundered in her ears. Bright in her mind, she remembered eating a breakfast she remembered trying to serve Mistress Dianna, before something happened, she couldn't recall. It had been on the floor, and much of it had been stepped on, but it was toast and eggs and bacon and hashbrowns, and she couldn't remember eating a better meal before in her life. And then her mind started to fade a bit, the memories at least. She remembered giving her partner Michael, ex-partner, she was told later by someone, a blowjob. She knew she had brushed her teeth, and even eaten a mint or two, for they had been delicious. Even the toothpaste had been and she had tried to eat that too, but Mistress Dianna had slapped it away. She had taken his money and stuffed it into her stocking and proceeding to take him, sucking hungrily, because somewhere in her head she knew that sperm had protein, and she was dying. But he had withdrawn at the last moment and sent his come looping towards her face and hair and Mistress Desiree had insisted that it would be in her makeup and shampoo. Sometime later, her plug had started up. It didn't vibrate, but a small ring under the rubber began to roll in and out of her, and it made her want to scream, but she had no energy. And somehow it made her horny, but she didn't have energy for that either. Except for bathroom breaks and enemas, her little penis had been trapped in it's slippery latex for so long, she almost forgot it was there sometimes. But then something somehow would make it stiff and she longed to just rub in back and forth inside. The next day, or some whenever, Mistress Desiree and Mistress Dianna, had her take more men, taking money, stuffing the twenties in her stockings, sucking them off, getting none of their protein, except as makeup. And Mistress Desiree cackled. slut remembered this, but it seemed to be fading to black. And now Chantel, Governess Chantel, was standing here before her, all in shades of yellow. She seemed to wear a halo. "Henry," she said, and from far a way she could hear an urgency in Governess Chantel's voice. "Henry!" "Yes, Misthedth Thanbel," her voice was thick. "Henry, slut! Pull yourself together. I need you to be clear now! It's time." She vaguely saw Her reach into her purse and take out a tin from which she removed two tablets. She forced them into her mouth and followed with a bottle of water. slut sucked greedily on the bottle, she was so thirsty, so very thirsty. The pills went down. She swayed on her knees, watching this angel, who didn't scream at her. Didn't hurt her, unless she did something bad, and had even been so nice to her, though that memory was dimming. Glams, she thought. Glams. When I was made into a beautiful person for a day. Her eyes began to clear. They had been blurry, but now, slut could see the striking radiance of Governess Chantel. Governess Chantel's hair was still wild and flaming, but her outfit was mellow. Mellow yellow, even. Heels of white, chiffon layers of multihued yellow, no gloves, not very much makeup. No gloves. Her Governess helped slut stand and brought her to the full- length mirror. And now, through her clearer eyes, with her heartbeat smacking rapidly in her ribs, she saw something that scared her, and brought things even more into focus, even as Governess Chantel said, "Your Wife made you this way. I will rescue you." The mirror showed something from a horror movie, almost. slut could see that. Her maids dressed was tattered and torn, the boots had been ripped, the gloves were dirty and not even black anymore, and her face and hair looked nightmarish. The makeup had been smeared and sweated and reapplied and sweated again, Then come over and made up over again. When did that happen, slut thought dimly. Desperately. And the hair, her neon hair, and sticky white lines on it. She began to cry. "No tears, slut. Not now," she heard Governess say, urgently. "Now is the time to be strong. Just this once." "Yes, Governess Chantel," but slut still cried, and the corset still pinched, and the plug still rolled in and out, and the boots still hurt. "slut, I am not going to be your Governess for very much longer. I am going to be your Guardian. It you just, if you can just find the way to Stand Strong. Can you do that?" "Yes, Governess Chantel." slut didn't really understand, what Governess was saying, but it seemed good, somehow. "slut, I must go now. I will see you in an hour." And then Chantel was gone, somehow. Out of vision. And slut cried. Chapter 20 Desiree felt fine. Very fine indeed. There were twenty people here, all of whom wanted to see her husband humiliated. She knew it wasn't personal, not really, but they had heard, through the grapevine that is, that her husband, Henry, or was it ex-husband, had been brought down. Way down. In her mind, Henry had been brought down, somewhere below the gutters gutter, down to the sewage department, and this was good. All of them wanted either a blowjob, or just to come on Henry, and this was good. She and Dianna had actually bought and brought a porcelain bathtub down into the main area where they would put slut, her husband - she was beginning to not be able to tell the difference anymore - and let them come all night. She was decked to the nines. She'd chosen a leather catsuit that her and Dianna, the ditz, had bought on a shopping spree two days before. It was tight, but fit good. The boots were thigh high over this, and even if they were a bit warm over her leather, that was really just okay. She had sent Dianna in to a porno shop to buy a whip. She wanted this for elegance. She wanted this to whip the slut, if he even tried to refuse. But, she knew, slut didn't have much energy for refusing anymore. slut was hungry. The guests began to arrive, and Desiree thrived on the attention. I am the queen, she thought. They ate from her appetizers, and looked at each other and Her. I am the queen. After time, Desiree sent Mistress Dianna up to fetch slut. She'd been training Dianna too now, and Dianna didn't look quite as marvelous as before. Dianna wore black now, and without protest, for Desiree had given her one hundred centuries, like as in ten thousand dollars, to carry away, with more to come. Dianna still wore the heels, but the dress was in black, almost faded, loose and long, and hid most of her assets, which Desiree had decided she hated. I will veil her soon, Desiree thought. The guests all peered as Dianna pulled slut down the stairs and laughed and cackled when she flipped her over into the tub. Desiree delighted in this. Her husband was broken. And now, tomorrow, actually, she would file for divorce. Her husband had gone insane. For no known reason. He had become a filthy little slut, unable to bathe or eat and needed to be contained in a sanitarium. She smiled. She watched as Dianna, clearly offended by her slut husband's smell, dumped him into the bathtub. Several men lowered their trousers, excited. The door banged open. Chantel stood there, taut and angry. "This will not happen!" Desiree looked over at Chantel, very suddenly pissed. "Chantel," she said calmly. "You are fired. Dereliction of duty, lack of attendance, and overall uselessness." "I see," said Chantel. "But..." "There are no butts here, Chantel," Desiree said. This is not good. Something is off here. "Help me." slut's voice, weak and whimpery, carried through the sudden silence, the men pulled up their trousers. And stepped back. "Desiree," Chantel said, loud and strong. "You hired me to take care of Henry. And then you turned around, while I was on leave, to settle my affairs, and look at this! Are you insane!? "Chantel, you are fired. You have no references, you are intruding, and you're just beginning to piss me off!" Desiree looked around for support, and now, suddenly, she found none. She was all alone, as she had been before. She saw Dianna begin to click clack off. "Dianna, you stay here!" But Dianna kept going and slut said, "help me" again and all her guests began to withdraw. She was losing control of this situation, and the cause of it all was THAT BITCH! Then the sirens were heard. The guests, the come-sters went scrambling and Desiree felt a brick hit her stomach, or at least it felt like it. The cameras... She stood paralyzed. THAT BITCH. There were appetizers on the table behind her, and a knife, just a little one, but Desiree was sure it could kill. NO BITCH, no worries. She grabbed it. And turned. And charged. Screaming. The door banged open again, and now to black and whites, officers of the PLD police department stood there, guns drawn. "Help me." Chantel never moved. And never ducked. But her eyes blazed. "Stop." It was all she said. And Desiree thought, I'm betrayed. Then the bullet hit her in the arm. She spun, but she talked. "Henry is my slut! I made her! You bitch!" And then she went down. Epilogue Chantel showed the police the contract. She showed them the videos, expertly edited. They showed how Chantel had been hired to assist Desiree in showing Henry a way to fix his marriage. It showed that a little fashion gift here, and a little flowers there could bring it all together. It showed Chantel coaching Henry how to keep love alive, by giving, these things. It showed also, that Henry was kind, but losing it, and becoming soft in the mind. Chantel showed them this video. Where She got it, never needed to be explained. Not really. She said it was from the security cameras and She knew she was lying, and the police did too. But they also could see, vividly, as they had been professional, and witnessed that wreck of a something in the bathtub. They found his drivers license in Desiree's nightstand, scribbled over with slut, slut, slut written over. They had seen. Her leather, with a knife and him, her, or slut, whatever, saying help me. Desiree was accused of attempted murder, and soliciting her husband as a prostitute. The tapes showed that money had exchanged hands, and come had been... well, given. *** Now they were driving, slut was crazy again, because Chantel owned the road, and everything She chose to touch. But slut wasn't terrified anymore. After the whole incident, the big incident, and she still couldn't quite remember it clear. Shots and screaming and people and penises in his face and then leaving. All of it seemed freaky. Chantel had given him permission to speak. All words, questions even. "Where are we going, Ms. Chantel?" "Back to Glams, hon." "Thank you, Ms Chantel." The questions from the police had lasted forever, but after, Governess Chantel had stripped him down, and they had walked down to the Jacuzzi outside. It hurt her feet to not walk in heels and she had asked, if she could wear her heels. Chantel had smiled. "Always and forever, my little slut." "Thank you." And slut had donned her thigh high boots after the Jacuzzi, though they were dirty, but it was all she had. At the Jacuzzi, Governess Chantel had said something crazy, even as She touched her. "Dunk down, get all that stuff off your face and hair, and I will kiss you. slut did, and though it was hot, everything left, and she felt lips, and looked through the bubbling water and glimpsed her eyes, and they were not mean. And she kissed. slut kissed tentative, and her Governess kissed strong, and they rose from the water. "slut, I own you. You do know that." "Yes, Governess." "We'll make you up later, hon." "Thank you." "You will like it. Won't you? slut!" "Yes, Governess Chantel." "Want to hear a rule change?" "Yes, Governess Chantel." "From now on, say what you like. But dress as I say." "I love you," slut said. "Not quite that way...hon. I love you too, you slut, but I will always be your Governess, unless I am your wife," She said calmly, enjoying the warmth of the Jacuzzi, the lights of the stars, and the loyalty of her slut, knowing that this was true. "Then I will be Your Mistress." "Will you be mean to me," slut asked. "No hon, just firm. We need to work on your figure. After all, are you a man? Or my girl?" "I am yours, Mistress, anyway you want me, if I may say, but I..." slut paused. "Please let me eat?" They got to Glams and slut was taken very, very good care of. And walked out stunning. Chantel was almost jealous, but she insisted a tattoo be put upon slut, on the left buttock. Chantel's property. And all became well, in the life of Chantel and slut-Henrietta. finis Author's Note: Depending on the response of the readers - and I know this is a very dark story; there will be a sequel, entitled Ascent to Beauty. It's already started. slut