This choice: Let's just give him a night to remember. • Go Back...Chapter #7Let's just give him a night to remember. by: Mr. George   The world spins sickening, as you open your eyes. The walls don't wake sense, and you find yourself looking up at Mistress Faizah. Your lips smack, as you try to frame an apology.
It takes you a moment, but you work out your lying on your back, with Faizah standing over you. One leg on either side of your body.
You clear your throat, "Sorry, about last night." you squeak out. You try again, but the pitch is still wrong, still too high.
"Oh, John." she says lightly, "I think as a loyal customer you've earned the chance to see the specialist side of our business."
Already suspecting and dreading what you'll see, you look down.
It's even worse than you feared. You are blessed with mountainous breasts, and a canyon of cleavage. The like of which you've never seen, anywhere in this world. Your hands explore them, just brushing over their expansive surface to confirm it's not a trick of the light. But each one it massive. Each one bigger than your head. They can't possibly be erotic, they're surely just an inconvenience.
The questions must be plastered over your face. As you scramble to your feet, Mistress Faizah steps aside. You have trouble getting to your feet, and once up, you're intensely aware of how your bust takes a moment to catch up with the least movement.
"This is a punishment skin." she explains.
Carefully you walk to the wall, you just want the support of it. Surely, it will help you stand without constantly jiggling and shifting.
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Despite your fears, you see an insecure, smile still fixed to your face.
"It's a little extreme for a simple puker." she adds, "But if you can't hold your drink, like a man, perhaps it should be clearer to your companions."
"Ahem, I've never.. seen ...." you manage to cough, and get out.
She just preens, "These skins are reserved for the most heinous sex offenders, the violent rapists, and those who degrade women beyond the standards of civilisation."
You swallow nervously, as you try and fathom how horrific these people must be to offend in a society where women are little more than valuable property.
"If you flee, the royal guards will quickly, and quietly round you up, and hustle you off to the deepest darkest dungeon, until you beg to be a pony girl, a wet nurse, a cow girl. And they will keep you there, begging for the end."
She pauses, "Even I couldn't rescue you, or free you once the Guards have you." she clearly doesn't like that aspect of things herself.
"Please, then... why?.... Why are you doing this?" your voice sounds pitiful, weak and whiny.
"I want you to experience this. To know that outside this room." she shrugged, "and to be honest, doesn't part of you squirm at the excitement, at the precarious nature of your situation."
Shyly, demurely, submissively you find yourself nodding. Honest answers to her questions are all you can bear to contemplate.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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