by Pat Powers
Cindy started moaning softly under this assault, which only increased the vigor of Jack's attentions. She constantly had to fight the impulse to wrap her arms around Jack and pull him to her. But she had learned that no amount of short-term relief equaled the intense pleasure she got from submission.
Jack rolled off the weight bench and crushed Cindy beneath him.
"Hands over head, legs spreadeagled," he ordered, and Cindy was finally able to release her wrists from behind her back, where they were being pretty thoroughly smushed under Jack's weight, only to have to stretch them above her, once again unable to use them. Still, as she stretched her legs wide apart, she felt a deep thrill. She loved being so open, so exposed, so helpless before Jack. Over the last few months she had become so intensely attuned to him that she responded to any cue of mastery from him with a slightly faster heartbeat, an intensified sense of his presence and of her body responding sexually to him.
She moaned softly as Jack rolled off her, then knelt beside her and kissed her breasts while rubbing his hand deeply into her exposed pussy, sliding the soft, silky fabric of her thong against her pussy and labia.
Her moans became deep and heartfelt, and Jack casually clapped a big, meaty hand over her small mouth as he continued to lick and kiss her breast and fondle her.
"She-sleen," Jack said.
"Mmm-hmmm," Cindy said, half moaning the words. Like most people who enjoyed bondage games, they used a lot of terms invented by the Goreans, followers of John Norman who'd worked out a pretty good vocabulary for a lot of the things bondage and dominance players did when they played.
To assume the "modality of the she-sleen," which was what Jack was referring to, Cindy rolled over on her stomach, then hiked her butt into the air, her head still pressed into the carpet, her arms stretched out before her. She spread her knees wide apart. The point of this pose was to leave her ready for use from the rear. But it was also a very good waiting posture, because it impressed her vulnerability and accessibility very powerfully on her mind, kneeling there like that with her nether regions hiked in the air and exposed.
Jack got up and left the room.
Cindy was left alone and in that ridiculous pose. Anyone who flew up to the house and walked up to the picture window that fronted their workout room could look in and see her kneeling with her ass so exposed. Of course there would be a certain amount of hiking the mountaintop their home was perched on to do that, so she wasn't really worried about the prospect. But it was nice to think about.
Cindy could easily have gotten up and walked around the room, or lain down in a more comfortable position, but she did not. It wasn't fear of Jack returning that kept her lying there. She knew he was going to get some toys to use in playing with her, and that it would take a little time for him to do so. It was safe for her to move around while he was gone, and even if he caught her out of position when he got back, all he'd do was come up with some deliciously nasty "punishment" for her that would be deeply satisfying, sexually speaking.
No, the reason Cindy remained in position while Jack was gone was that she wanted to. At one level she knew this -- that everything she did as Jack's sex slave was something she did because and only because she wanted to do it. On another level, it made a real difference to her that Jack had ordered her to do it. Something deep inside her responded to that order.
Kneeling there, Cindy began to reminisce...
The weird thing was, in her public life Cindy was anything but a slavegirl. Like Jack, she had come up by her bootstraps -- in her case, starting from a small town near Tampa, Florida. She had been an ordinary-looking girl growing up. Not that she was ugly or anything, she was just another mousy brunette who liked to read and watch movies too much. Cindy had a sharp mind and it had not escaped her notice that all her friends in high school were heading into long and boring careers lives of living on Basic and having babies.
There was one contingent of girls who were an obvious exception to this fate, other than the ones whose daddies were rich or who were academically golden or otherwise gifted. And that was the trashy girls who had great figures and pretty faces and who talked openly of their intentions of going out to the Golden Pussycat Lounge or the Beach Babe Haven and dancing nekkid just as soon as they turned 18.
A couple of seniors had turned 18 and were dancing at the Golden Pussycat, and they bragged about the money and the men and what fun they were having. When she learned they could bring in several hundred dollars in a single night, a little light went off in Cindy's head.
Cindy was not really all that attracted to the bright lights and glamour of dancing naked in strip clubs. She was smart enough to figure that it would probably get tiresome very quickly.
But all that money! They were Basic Plus girls, they had all their needs for food, shelter and such taken care of by Basic and those hundreds they made went to vacations and meals in expensive restaurants and such. Her family was pure Basic now. Money was a big problem for them, putting limits on what they could do and what they could hope for in their lives all the time. For example, prior to Basic, if she wanted to go to college, there would be no pile of scholarship money for her to use. Now of course she could go to community college for free and if she had the grades for it, she could get a grant to go to a four year college. But back then.
Prior to Basis, her father had worked for the county public works department, maintaining roads and building new ones. The benefits her family got from the job kept them all healthy, but the wages weren't that great. Cindy's mom worked as an administrative assistant at a large data processing firm outside Tampa. Here health benefits weren't great, and her salary was miniscule. Their combined income was kind on the puny side for a family of four (Cindy had a little brother about a year younger than her.)
So the one thing Cindy knew she wanted to do was make some money. She wanted to live a life that was more than Basic. Basic had made her whole family more wealthy, had taken the worry out of retirement for parents and the sting of unemployment out of their children's lives.
But Cindy wanted to lead an interesting and exciting life, which meant getting the hell out of Florida and out of Basic.
Looking at herself in the mirror one night, Cindy was struck by the fact that although she wasn't beautiful, there wasn't anything to keep her from becoming beautiful. She was about thirty pounds overweight -- enough to keep her from being considered attractive, not enough to put her into the sexual twilight zone inhabited by the grossly fat. She could lose that weight.
She had a nice face -- a little splotching here and there from adolescent skin uproar, but that could be fixed. Her nose was OK, maybe a little large, but that could be fixed. Her wardrobe and fashion sense were middling at best – but she was a good study. Her hair was brown, it could be dyed. Her breasts were of average size -- that could change!
She could have money, she could change her life. So she did.
While she was still living with her family she got a job working at one of the few local fast food franchises that hadn't gone robot. She hated it but she could save up all the money. Her family was so proud of the way she saved. She also started a regular exercise and beauty regimen. She did not really like jogging around the neighborhood, but she did it every day, rain or shine (OK, if it was the middle of a Florida drencher she stayed home -- you couldn't run if the air you were breathing was mostly water).
They loved the way she had suddenly perked up and become responsible and hard working. She had always gotten good grades, but what she was doing now was something extra, maybe that little something extra that made for success in life.
They were absolutely right.
While she worked and exercised and continued to get good grades, she studied. It had occurred to her that so long as she was going to have money and power over what happened to her in her life, she might as well do what she really wanted to do.
Like a lot of young women, what she really wanted to do was act in movies, or to put it blu
ntly, to be a star. So she read books about acting and Hollywood. It did not take her long to find out that the odds against her were very high, and the risks great, if she went about it in the wrong sort of way.
But the things she read about acting and making movies also made her think that they were enormous fun, and that she would enjoy participating in making movies even if she never experienced the peculiar good or ill luck that would make her a star.
So she joined the school drama club, and tried out for some plays, and got herself some roles. As expected, she loved acting, and not just acting, but the whole business of putting on the play. This was something she could do, and do well, and get enormous pleasure from doing. So it was what she would do, in some way, shape or form. (She was far too smart to just assume she would succeed as an actress.)
It did not hurt to be beautiful, did not hurt at all. So she started on that.
Exercise and diet and youth alone did wonderful things for her. Cindy had always assumed that she would feel more beautiful psychologically as she became more beautiful physically, but it didn't work like that. The thing that let her know she was becoming beautiful was the way other people treated her.
Boys became more attentive to her. They saw her. Noticed her. In some cases, i.e., men and boys who were total losers, they hooted at her and honked horns at her as she jogged.
Women became more cautious around her. Well, cautious was one word. Rude and jealous were two others that sometimes fit pretty well. Her friends at school started hiding their boyfriends from her. Before they hadn't minded at all if their boyfriends talked with her. Now they minded a lot.
Her mom, who had once alternated between assuring her that someday a nice young boy would take an interest in her, and warning her that their interest was sometimes limited to just having sex with her, now went entirely on the defensive, driving home the point about boys and their one track minds and their indifference to the plight of women who had given their all and paid the price, i.e., become pregnant.
When Cindy had several thousand dollars accumulated, she spent it on some nanosurgery. She had her nose tucked in and her chin de-emphasized a bit and a bit of collagen injected into her lips.
"Nature had dealt you a great hand," the surgeon said. "We want to maximize it, but we don't want to overplay it."
He was right. After a few days the nanosets that were implanted in her did their work, and suddenly her face was gorgeous.
Cindy's mother was none too pleased about the surgery. "Why isn't the face god gave you enough?" she asked. Cindy recognized that the real question was, "Why wasn't the face that you inherited from me enough?" So she was extra nice to her mother for the next few weeks and put the facial work in context, telling her mother, "Well, I inherited a fine body from you and dad, too, but I go out and exercise every day because I want it to be as good as it can be. And I feel the same way about the face I was born with. I can't improve it with exercise, but there are some tiny little things I could do with surgery, so I've done them. It's about like exercising, really."
This seemed to mollify her mother. She could hardly complain about Cindy working to improve her face when she approved so wholeheartedly about what Cindy had done to improve her body.
Cindy had wanted to go blonde after her face settled out from the surgery, but Monica down at the salon wouldn't hear of it.
"Don't do it honey, you'll have to double-process for the rest of your life if you peroxide at your age," Monica said. "Just let me do some tinting and highlighting and we can make you blonde-ish for now. It'll be just as good and won't hurt your hair so much."
Cindy was deeply suspicious of the term "It'll be just as good" because in her experience as a child and a young woman, "just as good" never was even close. But she went with Monica's advice.
Monica was correct, it turned out -- the highlighting did considerably enblonden her hair. And boys did notice. They noticed a lot. The hair seemed to be a sort of sign that pointed the way to her new beauty.
One of Cindy's most inspired moves was to get her mother to join her in an ethnic dance class. She had been worried that what she was up to would be utterly transparent to her parents if she just started taking dance classes. But when she did a little reading on dance in preparation for taking lessons, she soon learned that ethnic dance was what was referred to as belly dancing in unenlightened circles and that the moves involved in belly dancing were very similar to some of the moves dancers in strip clubs made.
And she also read that ethnic dance classes attracted women of all ages, including mothers and daughters. So when her mother started one of her usual recitals about how she'd really like to do more with Cindy while she was still around, Cindy suggested that they go to belly dancing class together. It would be great fun and great exercise and a great surprise for dad.
After a bit of whining about how she didn't have the energy for dance classes after a hard day spent cleaning up around the house, her sole activity after losing her job to a computer, Cindy's mom caved and they went to ethnic dance classes together. It was in fact great fun and great exercise. Cindy's real motive in bringing her mom along was to disarm her suspicions about the dance classes, which also worked very well. Many of the moves in ethnic dance were clearly seductive and erotic, but because Cindy was learning them with her mom, her mom wasn't threatened by them, in fact, she wound up wholeheartedly approving of them.
Cindy's computer was an older one, it couldn't play the latest 3D games, but it was FINE for viewing the many, many videos of strippers available online So surreptitiously, she did just that.
She studied the videos and was disappointed to find that many of the women who stripped apparently knew nothing about dance, and were capable of doing little more than getting naked and clumsily wiggling their butts in the direction of whatever men were around. If this was her competition, she was already severely overqualified.
But she did pick out one bit of useful information from the videos, as a couple of them showed lap dances in progress. Lap dances, she knew from talking to her friends who danced, was the way you made most of your money in a club. Wearing only la G-string, you climbed onto a guy's lap and rubbed against his lap with your butt. Sometimes they came. Sometimes they didn't. But they always gave you lots of money. And that was the point.
Fortunately, Cindy's boyfriend Kile was an obliging sort and she could practice lap dancing on him. He didn't get the idea at first -- kept trying to grab her and take her before she'd been at it for more than a minute. But after she just got up and left a couple of times, he figured out that he wasn't supposed to grab her until she said he could, and that if he did grab her too soon, he'd wind up grabbing himself because she wouldn't be around.
Cindy had been dating boys since she was 13, but mostly nice boys who were if anything well behind her in sexual development. The first tender kisses had rapidly graduated into sweaty grappling in various locations, and by the time she was 16 Cindy was on the Pill and needed to be. She also made her lovers wear condoms. Although there were a lot of boys she loved in her youthful way, there were none she loved so much she was willing to risk getting pregnant by, or getting diseases from, no matter how much they complained about the lack of sensation from a condom. She was hot, but she wasn't stupid.
She now found that the boys who were attracted to her were a different breed than the sweaty innocents who shared the discovery of sex with her. They showed her every consideration, much more so than the younger guys, they listened carefully to what she said, they bought her meals and presents and took her wherever she liked. But there was always an element of calculation behind all they did, and that calculation was all aimed at getting her into bed with them. Whereas her "pre-beautiful" boyfriends, while less attentive, had none of that calculating air to them.
The next step in her plan was the one that Cindy knew her mom would have trouble with. So she didn't do it until she was on the verge of leaving home anyway. Shortly after graduating from high sc
hool, she moved into an apartment with some friends and had her breasts enlarged. She didn't get them SUPER enlarged, it didn't look like she had two watermelons strapped to her chest, though it felt like it for awhile at first. She went for that fine line between small enough to look like that might actually be natural, and large enough that they would have an effect on men.
Boy, did they. When she went jogging in her industrial-strength sports bra, cars honked, guys ran across heavily trafficked streets to get on her side of the street, guys followed her around asking for her name, her phone number, a date, a blowjob, anything they thought they could get if they could intimidate her or annoy her or play on her sympathies sufficiently.
Cindy started carrying pepper spray with her when she jogged because some of the men were so persistent. She never had to use it, perhaps because it was very clear that she WOULD use it if she thought she needed to. Although the best defense generally was just to tell the men she was only 17 (she was in fact 18 at the time). That got most of them thinking "Statutory" and they backpedaled very quickly.
That changed Cindy's whole attitude about sex laws. Before, they had only seemed to be archaic hindrances to true love. But now that they were protecting her from the attentions of men who clearly saw her only as a desirable piece of meat, they made a lot more sense. She'd never had the experience of being so pursued before.
Cindy made some excuses so she didn't have to see her parents for a week or two after the breast surgery. When she did, her dad, brother and sister were amused. They were very confident of her ability to take care of herself, and they saw anything she did as a hoot, and her new hooters were just another hoot to them.
Cindy's mother was quick to praise the beauty of her new breasts, but before Cindy left she hauled her into the bedroom and said, "Cindy, I know you. I've known you since you were a baby. And the one thing I've learned about you is, when you do something, you do something for a reason. I know that you are a good girl. I never had to worry about you with boys the way some of the mothers around here do. But when I see what you've done to your body now, I have to know -- what are you planning to use your new body for? Because it sure isn't just for a boyfriend. You're way past that now. The way you look now, you look like you could get -- a lot of boyfriends."