28 Days to a New You

You'd kept your relationship with Mistress secret. After all, you'd never done anything like that before, and you had a job to protect. As much as you loved the idea of playing in those waters, you'd built yourself a good life on dry land.

The first time you met Mistress in person, she looked you over silently for several minutes as you fidgeted under her gaze. She asked you a few innocuous questions, and scheduled to meet with you in person 4 weeks later. In the meantime, you only had one rule: you could cum whenever and however you wanted, but first you had to go to the truckstop, suck someone off, and take a good picture of it.

You had expected something else: a cage... a plug... some sort of edging routine. But she had put none of that in place, and you wondered if you had chosen poorly.

It wasn't until the 7th night that you went to the truckstop for the first time. Beyond a cursory glance, you didn't even look at the picture before you sent it to her. You felt little beyond relief at having scratched the itch that had built up over a week.

You didn't go back until the 11th night, and everything about it was easier the 2nd time. You knew how to pick your mark, you were ready for all the stuff they would do while they fucked your face, you knew how to get a good picture right as the first blast of jizz splattered onto your face, and it was easy to find a secluded stall and fuck yourself silly while cum still dripped down your smeared face.

You went back on the 14th night, again on the 16th, and every night through the rest of week 3. Somewhere around the 19th, you stopped bothering with your dildo and started asking your new friends to fuck you to orgasm.

In the 4th week, each night had blurred into 1 long session of getting fucked from both ends until you were drenched from head to toe with your makeup smeared, your hair pulled, your skin red from being slapped, and everything sore. Each morning, you would marvel at number of pictures you were sending, each with a face full of a different cock. You were pretty sure you sent more than 30 over just those last 7 days, and... you didn't understand how any of that had even been possible. How had that person had so many orgasms? How had that person let herself be treated like that? How was that person YOU?!?!?

On the 29th night, you returned to the restaurant to meet with Mistress again.

The two of you ate in near silence, sliding through appetizers, entrees, and desserts. When the all of the plates had been brought, cleared, and taken away, she pulled out a large envelope and slid it over to you.

Hands shaking, you opened the envelope and took out dozens of glossy, 8×11, professionally printed pictures. You knew what it would be the moment you saw the envelope; it was each of the pictures you had taken over the proceeding weeks.

Under the weight of her expectation, you quickly and absently flipped through them.

Mistress spoke. "Tell me about the woman in those pictures"

You fidgeted, neither looking at her nor the pictures, for several minutes before finally muttering "she's a whore".

"Why do you say that?" Mistress asked, as if what you had said was self-evidently ridiculous.

When you answered, the words were at first halting and uncertain. "Because of how she lets herself be treated." As you spoke, your words picked up passion and conviction. "Because of how she wants to be treated!" Your voice found a righteous fervor. "Because she doesn't care about her work, her friends, or her reputation... just whether she has a cock down her throat and up her ass!"

Mistress paused and then replied, "and you consider that contemptible???"

Of course you did, and you were livid that this so-called Mistress couldn't understand that. She waited a full minute for your answer, but you were silently shaking with rage the whole time. Finally, she spoke again.

"What else can you tell me about that woman?"

Your anger fell away like a souffle collapsing under its own weight. Against your own will, you answered calmly and honestly. "She looks happy"

"She does", the woman answered. It was your turn to speak again, and you were powerless not to.

"She looks content." It was true; the woman in those pictures had no worries or thoughts beyond the moment she was in. For her, there was no 8AM meeting, no Rouche account, and no TPC forms... your thoughts tailed off.

The woman spoke, "You can understand why some people might want to be like her..."

You nodded. You did understand, even if you didn't actually want it.

"You can understand why some people would be afraid to be like her."

Again, you nodded. You didn't think that you were the person who would covet that even in the face of the obvious fear it induced, but... you could understand the impulse.

With that, she paid the bill, put the photographs away, and led you out of the restaurant. Moments later, the two of you were standing at her car with you unsure as to what would happen next.

She placed something on the roof of her car and positioned you suddenly with your hands over the closed door. In a flash, your skirt was lifted to your waist, your panties were pushed down to your knees, and her massive lubed cock was sliding up and down between your sweaty ass-cheeks. Her hands were clamped onto your hips, though you had no desire to be released.

"Now", she said, "we come to a decision. Do you want to go home as if tonight and none of the last month happened, or do you want me to fuck you right here in this parking lot like the whore in those pictures?"

Your body knew what it wanted, and it screamed at you to beg her to do it. You wobbled on shaking legs, fully aware that what she would do to you would make those truck stop cocks seem utterly inconsequential. The slippery friction between her body and yours managed to tease every sensitive spot between your balls and your tailbone.

Finally, you let yourself say it "Please... please fuck me. Please be my mistress..."

She leaned over and whispered in your ear, her hot breath caressing your cheek "Of course. But first, I need you to take the phone in front of you and push the 'upload' button. When you do, all of those pictures will be uploaded to a few hundred websites, and I will give you what you need."

You didn't let yourself think about it. You pushed the button and immediately howled in pleasure as she impaled you on her cock. That thread in your mind of dignity, responsibility, and respectability that had grown so frayed and tender... you finally allowed it to snap.

She fucked you until you came, came again, and came a third time. By that point, you were like a ragdoll, only being held up by her grip, but still begging to be fucked more. She fucked you through 2 more orgasms until you had slipped into a warm and blissful detached state. Finally, she blessed your body with her seed.

She held you gently in her arms as the last spasms of your orgasms fled your body. She softly brushed the hair away from your sweaty face and set you in the backseat of her car.

Even in that euphoric state, you knew what that night meant: you would never return to your old, safe, comfortable life. Your every step henceforth would be into the new, the unfamiliar, the terrifying, the once-unimaginable.

But Mistress would guide and protect you.