Bound by Debt: A Rough BDSM Tale of Submission, Humiliation, and Public Shame

by Harley Jane Meadows

  I scream then, for Master. I scream for him out loud, and I feel something deep and wet spill out of my lips.

  “Jesus, woman! You’re a squirter!”

  My own fluid dribbles down my thigh, and I squirm on my feet, not wanting it to stop, and feeling intense shame at the same time. This man, this monster who I haven’t spoken to in half a decade, has his hand inside me, making me come.

  Words go away. I can’t think, for a bit. I shut my eyes and live in it, that intense, sweet pleasure behind my eyes. It’s wondrous.

  I come back to myself, bent over the sofa, my own fluids in a puddle between my feet. I stand up. Thankfully, none of it has hit the sofa.

  Master comes to me with a hot towel, just a bit damp. I wipe my face, my thighs, my sex. I wipe the floor, and collect my panties. I pull my skirt down, and sit on the sofa. I clear my throat.

  “Was that… good?”

  Master comes and caresses my cheek. “That was amazing, Holly. Just amazing.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  School Daze

  That night, I go home and take the longest, hottest shower of my life. I feel so dirty I want to scream. And not in a bad way.

  The following day, a package arrives. In it are several items: a blouse, a pencil skirt, a vibrator, and an envelope with a roman numeral II.

  I break the seal on the envelope, and pull out a note from Marco. From Master…

  Dear Holly,

  You’re to be commended for your first night’s work as my whore. You still have a long way to go, however, if you want me to forgive your entire debt.

  You will wear the outfit I’ve sent you, today. You will take photographs of yourself at your school. You will not wear any underwear. No bra, no panties, nothing.

  At lunch, you will put the vibrator inside your pussy— or should I say, the pussy that belongs to me— and leave it inside you for the rest of your day. You will take photos, and send them to my phone. When I’m satisfied that you’ve done as I asked, you will get your next assignment.

  Succeed in doing this today, and I will forgive one quarter of your outstanding debt. Fail me in anyway, and my lawyers will eat you alive.

  XX,

  Master

  I re-read the letter, and look over the things Marco’s sent me. I hold up the blouse. It’s too big for me, too low-cut, and the material is almost sheer. He wants me to wear this in public??

  I try on the pencil skirt, it hugs my hips. The blouse is another matter. It’s loose. It’s billowy, soft, and too close to transparent for my taste. I never leave the house without a bra on. My breasts, they’re too big for my body. And no panties??

  I stand in front of the mirror, looking at myself. The blouse hangs open, in the front. The neckline dips as a ‘v’ so there’s way too much exposed skin for my comfort. But again… that’s the point. He wants my dignity. He wants me to feel exposed. He wants me to feel shame. I feel a tingle inside, just thinking about it.

  I’ve let my hair down; it’s a long, wavy brown. Maybe if I wear it down, I can cover my chest with it like Lady Godiva? I take a photo in the mirror, and send it to Marco. To Master.

  Will this do? Will this be enough?

  He texts back a single sentence. Put your hair up. Hell.

  I do as Master says, and put my hair up in a french curl. The blouse material brushes against my body, it tickles my nipples. I love and hate it. And he wants me to go to work dressed like this. Well. I already cover my chest with my arms, habitually. Maybe it won’t be so bad.

  I take another photo, and send it to him. Better. Don’t be late to work.

  Hell.

  ~~~

  I teach freshmen level History at a state college. I have a full day ahead of me. It’s bad enough teaching a bunch of hormonal nineteen year olds. Dressed like I am today…?

  My first class goes okay. It’s almost impossible to keep my arms crossed and write on the chalkboard at the same time, so I spend a lot of first period with my back to the class.

  I can hear them whispering. I hear them murmuring. What is she wearing? It may be in my head. I don’t know for sure. But it’s bad enough. One of my students, Jesse Wagner, comes up to me at the end of the class. I’m sitting at my desk, and try to keep my attention on my work. I don’t have time for him.

  “Um, Miss Andrews? Is everything okay?”

  I look up at him. His eyes dart away from my cleavage. He’s staring at my breasts. I sit back in my chair, and cross my arms over my chest. Jesse sneaks another peek anyway. It makes my skin crawl. And tingle, too…

  “I’m fine. Why do you ask, Jesse?”

  He tries in vain to keep his eyes off my body. “No reason.” He scratches his neck and ducks out of the room in a heartbeat. Oh god. I don’t know that I can do this.

  I lean forward, and rest my head in my hands. Pull yourself together, Holly. Remember why you’re doing this. These are my students. They shouldn’t get to— to—

  I ball my hand into a fist. I’m angry. I’m being objectified from my desk by a man that’s miles away. I’m squirming in my seat. My phone vibrates. I’ve got a message.

  Send me a picture.

  I take a calming breath. Good god. Okay. Okay. Just do what he asks. Pretend you don’t like it even a little bit, if it helps. That’s the problem. I do like it. The attention, the danger, the titillation. It’s all electrifying.

  I hold up my phone, and snap a pic of myself. A minute goes by, and I get a response. Now undo one button. Wear it like that the rest of the day.

  My eyes go wide. There aren’t that many buttons on this blouse to begin with! I bite my lip. I don’t want to do this. I text him back: This is too much. Please.

  Another year goes by. Sixty seconds later, I get a response. Do it or the deal is off, and you can spend the next thirty years paying back what your father borrowed.

  I hate that he’s got me on the hook, like this. I swallow. Do it. You can do it. It’s just one little button, so what’s the harm?

  I do as Master says, and unbutton a button. The black fabric spills open a little more, between my breasts. I break out in goosebumps. I send over another picture, proving it to Marco. To Master…

  Good. Don’t forget about lunch.

  I spend the next two classes at the desk, my arms wrapped around my chest. I’m so embarrassed. I hate feeling exposed like this. The fabric is so close to sheer. My breasts are too big. I feel dreadful, like my skin is too hot. The students can tell I’m uncomfortable, but they don’t say anything.

  Then lunch comes around. I’ve been instructed to take the vibrator and put it inside me, for the rest of the day. It’s a small thing, no bigger than a tube of lipstick. I go to the bathroom, hike up my skirt, and sit on the toilet. It’s just a little thing…

  I turn the Vibrator on. I know if I don’t, he’ll insist that I do. I slip the vibrator between my lips, inside my sex. I turned it on at its lowest setting. I’m already a little wet from all this exposure. And I think Master knows it…

  The vibrator is nestled inside my pussy. I stand up and smooth down my skirt. I make it about four steps before the first tremor hits me. Oh god. I feel dizzy. This little thing inside me, buzzing nonstop. It’s silent, but I feel the hum as it just goes on, and on. And I have to teach like this. God help me.

  I have two more classes that afternoon. Forget about standing up. Forget about writing on the chalkboard. I want to sit at my desk and just make myself as small as possible. The buzzing, the humming inside my lips is driving me crazy. It takes everything I have to keep talking, to keep going.

  My nipples are hard. Underneath this flimsy black fabric, my nipples are hard. Oh god. Do they know? Can they see? I ask a student to read at length from his textbook, while I sit and squirm in my seat.

  They’re going to find out. They’re going to find out. Oh god, it feels so good. I have tears in my eyes. I bite my lip and wring my hands. I’m going to come, at this rate. I’m going to come.

  The trickle
of heat blossoms inside my pussy. I try so hard to keep my breath steady, my voice quiet. I pray for silence. The students are looking at me. I nod and tell my student to keep reading aloud. I put my hands on my lap and squeeze them together. Please. Please. OhhhHHHHHH!!!

  I come, sitting at my desk. I come, and my heart pounds in my chest like cannon fire. The orgasm slices through me like lightning, up to my brain, and it hits me, no matter how hard I want it to stop.

  I swallow a moan, and struggle to regain my composure. It’s almost impossible, but I manage. I come.

  I wipe a tear from my eye, and cover my chest with my arms, and sit back. I don’t move for the rest of the class. The buzzing just goes on…

  After my last class of the day, I run to the bathroom and draw out the vibrator. I shut it off, and collapse on the toilet seat. I’ve been sweating for twenty minutes. I’ve been on a plateau of dizzy pleasure for twice that long. It’s all I can do to catch my breath. I came in public. I came in front of my students. It’s surreal. Yes, they’re all legal adults, but it’s not the point. No one’s been exposed to, to anything. Nobody but me.

  I text Marco: I hope you’re happy. I came right at my desk. I’ve never been so humiliated in my life.

  It takes him no time at all to respond: Good. See you tonight. My place. 8 o’clock. Don’t change clothes.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Dinner with Master

  I return to Master’s penthouse suite, and wait in the lobby for eight o’clock. I don’t want to arrive early, nor late. I have to be precisely on time, if this is going to work.

  The same brick of muscle escorts me up to the elevator. For all his strength, he’s not half as intimidating as Marco… Not after the things he’s made me do. The things I’ve enjoyed doing.

  I ride up in the elevator. Once again, I scarcely recognize the woman standing in my reflection. Her hair is coming out of its twist. There’s red in her cheeks after the vibrator marathon, all afternoon. There’s a smile there, too. I enjoyed it. I can lie to myself all I want, but I enjoyed it. God help me, I got off on it.

  The elevator doors slide open, and Master is there, waiting for me. He hands me a drink, and escorts me across the floor. Waiting at the table are two plates, under silver lids. He pulls it back. There’s a pan-seared steak on each plate, with blue cheese, and a dollop of mashed potatoes on the side.

  “Hungry?”

  “Starving.” He gives me a severe look. I dip my head an inch. “Yes, Master.”

  He smiles, and kisses me on the temple again. “Good. Sit. Eat. Tell me about your day.”

  I sit, and dig into the meal. The steak has been cooked to perfection. It pairs well with the scotch, if I’m honest. Master makes me recount the entire day, every embarrassing minute of it.

  “Sit up.”

  I sit a little higher in my seat. Master is looking at my body, through this damned sheer blouse he insisted I wear. I can feel his eyes on my breasts, my flat stomach. It’s almost too much. Almost.

  I finish the meal, with blush in my cheeks, and a now-familiar warm wetness on my pussy lips. Just talking about my shame has gotten me excited.

  “You’ve been a very good little whore,” he says, dabbing the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “Now unbutton your blouse.”

  The bottom falls out of my stomach. How did I know he’d want to see more of me? See everything? “… Do I have to? I’m so tired, Master.”

  He slams his fist down on the table, and I jump. “Good little girls get the rewards they were promised. Disobedient little whores get punished with more debt.”

  I swallow. My heart skipped a beat when his fist hit the table. Is ti wrong that this turns me on, too?

  I nod. “Yes, Master. I understand.”

  I unbutton another button on my blouse. There’s only two left, now. The fabric is like water, it spills open the second the button lets go. I make fists of my hands to stop them shaking. Don’t cover up. He hates when you cover up.

  “You’re getting a fair deal here, whore. Alllll your debts erased… in exchange for your precious dignity.”

  I nod. I can’t bring myself to speak, just now.

  “Now take it off.”

  I close my eyes. I’ve always been self conscious about my body, especially my breasts. I used to hate the attention they brought me, but now… the tingling in my pussy tells me otherwise.

  I undo another button, then the last. The blouse is still tucked into my skirt, but it hangs open. My breasts threaten to spill out of it, any time.

  “Stand up, and take it off.”

  I do as Master says. I stand up, and slowly tug the blouse free of my skirt. The cool air hits my skin. I look at Master. He gives me a look that says ‘Well, we’re waiting!’

  I peel the fabric off. It slips off my shoulders like water. The blouse hits the floor in a whisper. I cross my arms across my chest.

  Master clears his throat. He’s staring. He’s staring at my breasts. Why am I letting this happen?

  “Put your arms down.”

  I hesitate. The lights are still on. My breasts are too big. I don’t—

  “Do it.”

  I drop my arms. The air is cold on my chest. My fat, pink areola blush a bit around my hard nipples. I stand there, squirming on the spot.

  Master walks closer. This is what he’s wanted since college, I tell myself. To see me, to own me. Well he got his wish. Now what?

  Master circles around me. “I don’t know why you’re shy, little slut. You’re beautiful. Your whole body is beautiful.” He stops, behind me. His hands come up on either side of me, and cup my breasts. He fondles me, squeezes my flesh. I let out a whimper. Fear, shame and arousal flush though me in a heady cocktail.

  “You like that? Hmm? You like it when I manhandle you?”

  “Y-yes Master.”

  He lets go of my breasts, and comes around in front of me. He takes hold of my wrist and pulls me to the bedroom. I really am his whore…

  He unbuckles his belt, and slips off his pants. He takes everything off, and crawls onto the bed without a stitch. “Come here, whore. Strip.”

  Why did I agree to this? Why did I give him my power? Because you wanted to. Because deep down, you love it.

  I strip down to nothing. I stand at the edge of the bed, my hands covering my pussy. I don’t care that he’s already seen it. I don’t care that his hand has been inside my body. I just want to cover up.

  He rolls over onto his back. “Climb on top of me.”

  I do as Master says. He bids me climb higher, and higher, until I’m straddling his waist. “Come here.”

  I lean down on top of my Master, my breasts hanging over his face. He reaches up and squeezes my breast hard. He sucks on my nipple, and bites it lightly.

  “Say you like it. You like it when I suck on your tits.”

  I swallow. I’m dizzy with pleasure, and my lips are damp. “I… I like it when you suck on my tits.”

  He takes my flesh in both hands, and worships my breasts. He fondles them, kisses them, nibbles on them. He sucks on the tender flesh just under my nipples. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me down on top of him. I hear him groan, under my tits. I can feel his cock, pressing up between my thighs. He’s hard.

  I let out a sob. It feels so good! “Master. Master, please. It’s all too much. It’s too fast.”

  He pushes me to sit up on top of him. He looks up at me, and sees how overwhelmed I am. He softens, if only a little. “Is Master pushing his little slut too hard?”

  I nod. I feel like a frightened little girl, sitting there on top of him, naked and exposed. He can do anything he wants to me…

  “That’s all you needed to say.” He takes me in his hands, and lifts me off him. He has me lay down next to him on the bed.

  “Just because I’m not going to fuck you, doesn’t mean I won’t come.”

  I nod. “Yes, Master.”

  He straddles me, then. He takes my hand, and puts it on his er
ection. “Stroke it.”

  I nod, and begin stroking his cock. He’s already sticky with pre-cum. “Faster.”

  I stroke him faster, and harder. He closes his eyes. “Tell me, whore. Tell me how good I am to you.”

  I nod. “You’re so good to me, Master. You’re so generous. You’re so attentive. You’re so good to me Master, you are.”

  He nods, sucking on his lip. “Mmhmmmmm. That’s it. That’s it. I’m gonna come on your beautiful tits. Say it.”

  “C-come on my tits, Master. I want you to come on me. Come on your little slut.”

  He wraps his fingers around mine, and strokes his cock even faster. He leans down and grips the bedspread in his fist. He groans, and sits straight up again.

  “MMmmmaaaaaahHH!!” Master cries out and comes on my tits. His hot, pearly cum splashes on my breast, and spills down my chest. He comes again, and his milky white cum splashes on my neck. He groans my name, and the last of his warm cum spills onto my tits. He sits on top of me like that, catching his breath. He crawls off me, and wraps his arm around me. “Thank you, whore. You can go shower, now.”

  I nod, and say “Thank you, Master.”

  I can barely walk. My whole body is shaking. I get into Master’s shower, and let the hot water pour down on me. Master’s cum runs off my skin, and swirls down the drain.

  I bite my tongue. I’m so close. I’m so damn close. I run my fingers up and down my lips, and trace little circles around my clit. I groan out loud.

  Master didn’t say I couldn’t come. He never said that at all.

  I dip my finger inside me as the bathroom fills with steam… I press in, and in, and into myself until I burst. I cry out when I come for the second time today. I rest my head against the shower door, catching my breath.