How Are You Not Being Neglected Chapter 9 The total four chapters
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Cameraslut (Chapter 1) free porn video
Camera Slut
By Ache2Serve
Mrrrpgh... ooohhh...I'm dreaming... good dream... mmmph. Calling. I
hear... calling. Uh. Hard. Calling from under the bed... good dream.
Good to follow the... Hard. Hrmmm... wet. Good... wet... hard...
calling....Something under here. Box. Remember something... something
inside. Smooth. Red. Oh. Shiny. Kiss. Lick... remember. Hard.
Come.Come. Calling............
Illuminated dimly by the streetlights, the boy walked. Purposefully,
straight and true, he walked, like he was being led. He was nude. His
bare feet padded silently on the cold asphalt. He carried something in
his hand, dangling by his fingertips. Red leather flashing in the dark.
He came to her door, knocked, waited, the shoes held reverently.
Dorothy clicked her heels together, her shiny red heels, and went
home...
She opened the door slowly. The light from inside spilled out onto the
naked boy. He stood, blank, waiting. She smiled. Her robe swished
around her, flashing garter. Her dark stockings whispered secrets. She
towered over him on gleaming black leather. She beckoned him inside,
and he followed. The door closed behind him, taking the light with it.
"I'm going to brainwash you." She sat demurely on a sofa, one
shimmering leg crossed over the other, mirror-black pump dangling.
The boy sat on a reclining leather chair, only slightly focused. He was
so hard. It was so hard to think...
"I've already gotten a hook in your mind. Now I will break it down,
reshape it to my will. The process is quite long. Will anybody miss
you?"
"Nn..nnno." The boy throbbed. "You mmmay... b..brainwash me...
please..."
She smiled. "Yes. It will be wonderful. Now lie back." She re-shoed her
benyloned foot and stood. The boy lay back in the chair, sank into its
comforting embrace. She slowly wound the straps around his limbs, then
placed a silken blindfold over his glazed and glassy eyes. She slipped
a pair of headphones over his ears, and a leather pouch over his
manhood. When all was set right, she adjusted a few knobs on a black
device adjacent to the chair, dimmed the lights and sashayed towards
door. She stopped, picking up the red ankle-strap pumps the boy had
brought back to her. She sniffed the inside, then licked. Salty,
sticky. She grinned. Then, hips swaying, heels gleaming, she left to
her own devices, as the naked boy in her brainwashing chair slowly
faded away.
From nothing, he awoke. He could not see. He stood upright. He felt
tight, confined, held. He could not move.
"Forward." Her voice came out of the darkness. Slowly he went forwards.
He heard the clicking of heels on concrete, felt his arches tighten and
his calves stretch, felt his toes curl. He felt silken whispers on his
legs, strange tickles on the back of his neck and his ears. His hips
rocked and rolled. His mind was gone. His will was gone. He went
forward.
"Stop."
He did. The clicking of heels stopped. My heels he thought, be he
remembered he could not think, and it was gone. He could not see. He
would see when he was told he could see.
"Who are you?"
"Your slut." His mind softened, began to drip down his spine towards
his... "I am your slut."
"You may see now."
He was in front of her, standing at attention. The room was dimly lit,
she was in silhouette on a throne, raised up to his shins. He could not
see what she was wearing... tiny sparkles that flashed in the darkness
when she moved.
"Tell me again."
"Your slut."
"Good."
He quivered. "Part your skirt."His hands moved on their own, he had no
will to move them himself. Short silken curtains parted, revealing an
engorged member. Not mine. Nothing is mine, especially my... will... He
quivered slightly again. Out of the shadow came her feet, the
entrancing black stilettos homing in on their target. They found their
place against hot flesh, and began to run up and down... very slowly.
"Tell me what my slut does for me."
The smooth leather went up and down...
"I dress up for you... I am what you want me to be, when you want me to
be it... I have no will... I have no mind..."
Up and down. The heels did their work.
"Go on."
"Uhhhmnn... you use me. You take... ohhh... pictures of me...for..."Up
and down. Faster.
"For my pleasure?"
"Oooooh, yes."
"And when I take your picture, what happens?"
"You take more of my mind, my will.... Unnng, I become more obedient,
more horny, more a slutty sex slave.... Oooohh..."The heels teased, did
their devil's work. Faster. The boy began to buck into them. He was
fucking them, her shiny...
"So you're my role play, dress-up submissive cameraslut?"
"Yesssssssss... your cameraslut..."
"Yes, you are. You may give yourself to me now."The heels shifted. One
shiny toe ran up the boy's shaft, the other pressed lightly at its
base, slowly coaxing out his surrender.
Click
"Ohhhhhhhhh yessssssss" It came it a huge wave. His mind was squirting
out of him, flowing onto his Mistress' mind-fucking shoes. He was...
oohhhhh...Slowly one shoe rose towards him, a drop of his surrender
beaded on the toe like morning dew."Take it."His tongue snaked out. As
it embraced the dew-drop, there was a flash and a
Click
And there was darkness
Dust. Dust. Sweep. Dust. Dust.
He moved primly from table to counter to bookshelf, carried about by
dark-nyloned legs on expertly polished spike heels. The lacy trim of
the black satin uniform danced on his thighs, black silk panties rode
high and tight upon each demure bend to eradicate an errant smudge or
speck of dirt. Dark hair pulled into a bun, lips lightly painted, eyes
unfocused, manhood throbbing at each stiletto step, he cleaned. As he
must.
Mistress' maid keeps things clean. Must scrub away the dirt. Must sweep
away the dust. A spotless house, a spotless mind...a spotless house, a
spotless mind...His tongue began to slip out of his slackening jaw and
his eyes began to dim even further as the mantra swirled and swished in
his mind, cleansing it, rinsing it. The pink feather duster whispered
away the dust from an end table, but then, clumsily, it fell from the
fingers of his lace-gloved hand and landed on the deep pile carpet. He
knelt to retrieve it, his manhood sliding superbly in the black silk,
then, he heard a
Click.
A shiver ran down his spine, a delicious current to his nether regions.
His toes curled in their patent leather prison.
"At attention, Maid. Inspection time."
"Yes, Mistress." He straightened himself and turned, slowly, to face
her. Feet together, standing up straight as pole, duster held lightly
at his breast, he awaited his appraisal. His Mistress grinned slyly,
crimson-nailed finger circling the camera flash...
Click.
"Mmmmm..." Maid teetered only slightly on his/her heels. Mistress
approached slowly, hips swaying with the confidence of the Slaver over
the Enslaved. She made one circle around her Maid, evaluating.
"Good. Uniform tidy, shoes polished, stockings straight..." She paused
in front of Maid, cast Her gaze around the room. "Very thorough job.
This room is practically spotless..." Maid's eyes glazed over at the
trigger. (S)he felt the sensation of warm oil sliding down his/her
spine, the sensation of newly melted mind heading downwards to be
drained...
"Th...thank you, Mistress."
"But..." Mistress let a silence linger while Maid squirmed in his/her
stockings. "I need to make sure there's not a stray speck or two left
somewhere." She relived Maid of the duster and slowly stalked behind
her. Maid stared straight ahead; pink tongue peeking out between red
lips. It began at Maid's feet. The duster caressed where sleek leather
met sheer nylon, wandered up to the backs of Maid's trembling thighs.
Maid's skirt was raised, the duster danced across his/her buttocks.
"Must clean it all away, my love. Must be spotless," Mistress breathed
in Maid's ear.
"Yes... spotless. Spotless house, spotless mind..." Maid sighed. It was
so right. Mistress was in front of her now, the duster twirling in one
hand, camera dangling from a strap in the other.
"Just one spot left, honey, then it'll be totally clean. All the dirt
totally scrubbed away..."
Mistress had her hand on Maid's shoulder, guiding her gently down to
his/her knees. The silver luster of Mistress' pumps beckoned Maid's
attention. "Of course, Mistress, completely spotless..." As Maid's
tongue met the gleaming leather, everything else fell away into
nothingness. There was only his/her task before her, obedience to
Mistress. She had to clean. Nothing else mattered. It didn't matter
when (s)he was interrupted so his/her panties could be stripped off. It
didn't matter when the dildo-handle of the feather duster entered
his/her exposed rear hole. All that mattered was wet tongue on smooth
leather, licking away the blemishes of thought...
Click.
Mistress' shoes disappeared. The world swirled into a whorl of colors
and shapes. A tremendous pressure... Maid was so close...
Maid was sitting now, bare buttocks on shag carpet, stocking legs
spread. (S)he felt Mistress' hands on her bare shoulders, her uniform
was gone. One white-laced glove slowly caressed her...Her what? Maid
could not think of the word. Maid could not think of any word. Maid
could not think. Mistress was whispering sweetness in Maid's ear. She
could feel warm, moist breath, the gentle massaging of Mistress' hands,
and the satin kiss of the glove on her...The sweetness became thoughts.
Of course. Maids need thoughts put in them by their Mistresses. Maid-
brains are empty. Spotless.
"You're such a good maid," the sweetness told her, "you did a fabulous
job cleaning. Why, it's so clean in here, I bet nobody would ever know
that it was ever dirty at all..."
Maid's body said, "Yes, Mistress, thank you, Mistress!"
"I think a maid should be rewarded for such thorough cleaning. What do
YOU think?"
The question struck Maid dumb. What do you think? Maids didn't think.
They wore pretty uniforms and high-heeled shoes and did whatever
Mistress said. They cleaned. They licked and kissed and moaned. None of
that needed thinking. It got in the way. Maid's body said nothing as
Maid's mind spun in circles.
"Oh my, I forgot all about that. Silly me," Mistress laughed. Maid grew
harder. "Well, I think you deserve a reward. Beyond the pleasure of
serving me, of course. You made such pretty pictures..." Maid bucked.
"Ooooooh, yes, Mistress. Thank you."
"Now listen very carefully, my sweet. Do you see that pair of pretty,
silky legs in front of you?"
Maid did, not recognizing them as her own. Maid's mind needed to be
told what was part of Maid's body.
"Yes, Mistress."
"Good. Follow them down, my pet. What do you see at the end of those
pretty legs?"
Maid's vision focused at Mistress's command. The colored swirls gave
way to...
"Feet, Mistress. A lovely pair of pretty feet in..."
"In?"
"Pretty black shoes. They're very shiny, Mistress." They were. Maid had
polished them not hours ago, though Maid had long since had that memory
sucked out of her...
"Yes, Maid, good. They're very pretty shiny black shoes. So lovely and
well-shaped. Do they have a heel, my darling?"
"I... can't see, Mistress. I don't know." Maid pouted. If only those
feet would turn, so she could see.
"Perhaps they do. Perhaps they have a lovely stiletto heel, long and
sharp. A very pretty slut heel. Wouldn't that be lovely?"
Maid agreed.
"Perhaps those pretty feet will turn and show us, hmm?"
Maid's body reacted to the command. Her ankles swivelled and pulled in,
revealing the five-inch patent leather daggers. Maid was elated.
"Oh, Mistress, they do!"
"Hmmm, yes, and how high they are, how sharp and shiny, too! They're a
perfect pair of slut heels..."
Maid began to drool. "I... want them... Mistress..."
"Of course you do. Every maid needs a pair of shiny black slut heels!
They make their legs so nice and long, make their little bottoms so
nice and taught...make them obedient."
Maid stared, and wanted.
"They're yours now, Maid, your reward. You can feel them on your
feet..."
Maid at once felt the lovely tightness, the pinch at the toes, the
taughtness of her ass and calves and...
"Become lost in them, my maid, lost in their perfect infinite
blackness. Give yourself to them... and to me."
Maid was already a million miles away, enslaved by her own feet. The
silk glove became a blur. The shoes held her. Her mind fell deeper into
them, into a perfect black shiny pool. Maid was coming. She was only
dimly aware.
So shiny and lovely and high and slut heels my slut heels make me a
good slut held held tight my slut heels obey deeper my lovely slut
heels...
Click
She was a dancer. She rolled her tongue around those words, letting
them melt, letting them seep into her brain.
I'm a dancer. My body is for the pleasure of others. Others take
pleasure from my body when I dance for them. Their pleasure is my
pleasure. To dance is to obey...
The last word sent a chill up her spine.
Obey. Obey. Obey.
She began to tremble behind the curtain, awaiting the irresistible call
to go onstage, the call to use her body, the call to dance...One
bejewelled hand slowly toyed with the stiff bulge behind her gold
sequinned bikini bottom, the other danced around the bosom of the tight
gold bustier holding her body in the classic pose of wanton desire.
I can only take pleasure from dancing. To dance is to obey. To obey is
to take pleasure...
She checked her dramatic makeup in the full-length mirror, delighting
at the way it mercilessly called attention to the true utility of her
face: to convey desire and to accept the acts of desire. The heavily
shadowed eyes framed by a glittering gilded mask obscenely topped by a
group of peacock feathers, the lightly rouged cheeks, the lips so full
and ready. It was a face that gave pleasure, that took pleasure from
giving pleasure, the face of Mistresses' dancing girl. She would dance.
She would obey. Her eyes traveled down her smooth, taught legs, down
and down to the golden shoes which sparkled her eyes and bewitched her
mind. Their five-inch spikes forced her upwards, up to where there was
no oxygen to think, only to do. No mind, all body. Dance and obey in
the stiletto stratosphere.
She could hear the crowd dimly through her heel-trance. Hushed female
voices, already dark and husky with lust and anticipation, drifted
through the curtain and into the only part of her mind left to hear it,
the part that had been mercilessly twisted and transformed into leather
and nylon, silk and satin, flesh and obedience.
I need to dance. To dance is to obey. To obey is to be mindless. To be
mindless is pleasure. To dance is pleasure...
This erotic logic sent fresh, hot blood to the throbbing organ behind
her bikini, stretching the sequinned fabric into a bulging monument to
sexual thralldom. She swayed on her heels, desperate to dance,
desperate to give pleasure. Desperate to obey.
Then, a voice, melodious, gently commanding, "It's time, my love.
Dance."
She did not hesitate even slightly. Her gilded feet took her beyond the
curtain, beyond resistance and thought. She danced. She was more liquid
than solid; a carnal liquid whose every move flowed into the next with
an erotic certainty. She took the shapes of the containers of their
desires, slithering around metal poles, puckering and prancing,
thrusting and whirling. She could not see the crowd, but she could feel
their eyes caressing her, invading her, commanding her. She wondered if
they could see the glazed look in her eyes, if they could tell that she
was simply a puppet on satin strings. But the thought lasted only a
moment, before the flash of her glittering pump in the corner of her
eye as her leg flew around the pole wiped it away. She was so aroused
by the fragility of her thoughts, so achingly hard at how easily they
could be excised by little more than the briefest glimpse of her own
body. She danced. She obeyed.
Click
It hit her like a velvet sledgehammer. She was being summoned to the
edge of the stage, to where the camera had flashed. She sashayed over,
trying desperately to convey the full magnitude of the pleasure she had
just felt. The summoners were a group of perhaps five, five shadowy
admirers breathing the hot, wet air of lust. Calling to her. Commanding
her. She obeyed. She stood before them for a moment, the tented bikini
inches from their upturned and eager faces, before she was compelled to
fall to her knees. Her hands laced themselves behind her head as she
thrusted her engorged crotch towards the holders of her mind's leash.
Out of the darkness came a hand, slender and crimson-nailed. It deftly
undid the flimsy knot holding her bikini together. As the sparkling
garment fell away, the hand slipped around the stiff, hot treasure it
had barely hidden. Dancer groaned as she thrust into the anonymous,
controlling fingers. The pleasure was stupefying. She was obeying.
Click
There was no stage. There was no crowd. There was only Dancer, kneeling
on a table, her costume garish in the dim red light. And there was
Mistress, her crimson lips, her red dress, her hand on Dancer's
pleasure throttle, slowing bringing her to the edge of sweet oblivion.
"You danced so well," she cooed, "I'm so proud of my brainless dancing
girl..."
Dancer was so close.
"Thank you... M...M... Mistress..." Mistress smiled in a way that made
Dancer's toes curl in their entrancing heels and her mouth wet for
supplication.
"Would my dancing girl like me to take another picture?"
The quivering mass of pleasure and subservience that Dancer had become
could only nod and moan.
"P...please...please."
Click
It could not have been any other way. She was always her Mistress'
slut. She had always worn these pretty outfits, had always walked
flawlessly in ravishing heels, had always cum on command, as hard and
as often as Mistress desired. She had always minced around every corner
half-expecting to see Mistress there, slicking up her favorite dildo
with cold, wet lube. Her cock had always yearned for the silky
confinements Mistress imposed on it. Her mind had always been soft,
malleable, controllable. Her memory had always been subject to whim.
She had always obeyed. The times in between her photo sessions were
always shrouded in a lacy haze of sexual disorientation. Moments would
fade in and out, never taking on any chronology or context.
Camerasluts' context was always the same: she was obeying Mistress. She
was following Mistress' pocketwatch with her eyes, losing herself in
Mistress' voice, undulating into Mistress' feet...
Click.
...She was having a formal dinner with Mistress, both in evening gowns
and jewels. Mistress suggested the wine. Her pet reached out a satin-
gloved hand and took the glass. She had dainty sip of the deep red
liquid. She felt the toe of Mistress' satin pump running up her
stockinged leg. She felt her mind going soft, her eyes fluttering.
Mistress insisted she finish her wine. Pet obeyed, each draught making
her feel so much sleepier. She could not resist at all as Mistress
freed her from her glamourous gown to take her pleasure...
Click
She was bound in front of Mistress' special TV screen, watching her
favorite program, "Cameraslut True and False." She loved how it beat
away her thoughts, how pretty the subliminal pictures were, how hard
and wet it made her.
"I love high heels." TRUE.
"I love Mistress." TRUE.
"I am a slave." TRUE.
"I have free will." FALSE.
"I love to play dress-up for Mistress." TRUE.
"I love the feel of nylon, latex, satin, silk, and leather." TRUE.
"I love having my cock and balls tied up in nylon stockings." TRUE.
"I want to be free." FALSE.
"I want to wear a pair of Slut Heels at all times." TRUE.
"Panties make me sleepy" TRUE.
"I can only cum when wearing pretty things." TRUE.
"I can only cum when Mistress says I can." TRUE.
"I want to see the outside world." FALSE.
"I want to suck Mistress' clit and lick her stiletto heels." TRUE.
"I love to feel Mistress' dildo in my ass and mouth." TRUE.
"I am not a totally hypnotized slut." FALSE.
"Pleasure and submission are the same thing." TRUE.
"Taking a picture of me takes away my mind." TRUE.
"My pictures make me cum." TRUE.
"Wearing five-inch heels makes me obedient." TRUE.
"The sound of high heels puts me into a trance." TRUE.
"Being a French Maid is pure bliss." TRUE.
"I can resist Mistress' advances." FALSE.
"I can think for myself when I wear high heels." FALSE.
"I want to be fucked, body, mind, and soul, by my Mistress." TRUE.
"Sex with Mistress is more important than being free." TRUE.
The video went on and on, the dull monotone female voice reciting
Truths and Falsehoods. Cameraslut would watch until a subliminal would
command her to cum into the white patent pump tied to her cock. The
smell of cum and leather and sweat would cause Cameraslut to pass out,
as the video went on...
Click
She was cleaning Mistress' shoes. She was wearing nothing but her own
high heels, a pink satin bow tie and a butt plug. She had to constantly
double back on her work, using her tongue to clean off the drops of
pre-cum that had fallen from her swollen member onto Mistress' holy
heels...
Click
The woman Whore had seduced was giving her the greatest blowjob of her
life. Whore had sidled up to her in the bar, wearing her tight purple
latex dress and matching fuck-me pumps, begging with everything but
words to be used. The woman had led her away eagerly. Now her hot red
lips were taking Whore's cock for everything it was worth. Whore
groaned and let herself be taken. She would give anything to feel this
pleasure again, anything at all. Her money, her mind, her will...How
could it have been any other way?
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