Chapter 15
JOB INTERVIEW
On Saturday morning there was an email from Laura’s blackmailer.
She found it early in the morning. She’d gotten up early, and Erica was still asleep in bed, sprawled nude across the sheets, recovering from the raping Laura had given her last night. Laura had crept out of the bedroom, gone to the computer room, bared her tits to the computer’s camera, and then checked her email.
To: Pink-Haired Fucktoy
From: You Know Who
—
Good little slut! We are very pleased with your progress at the Mayim Clinic. You are being a very obedient little lezzy pet and we are happy. We have enjoyed watching you rape the cute little fuckpuppet you liive with every night. Thank you for that.
Thank you also for the $1,000 you deposited last night. Good little slutkitten. We won’t need to cut any parts off you this week.
This weekend we have some very special rules for you to follow. They apply from right now until you wake up on Monday morning.
1) You are not to touch your own panties for any reason this weekend, including touching them with an item you are holding. You will probably need your slut lezbo girlfriend’s help to put them on this morning and take them off tonight.
2) You are only to refer to those giant whore tits you have as “fuckhandles”, “sex-balloons”, “milkbags” or “rapemelons” for the rest of the weekend. Use all four terms; cycle through them and don’t leave any out. You are not to indicate your tits in any way other way, including using other words for them, pointing at them, referring to them as “they”, “them”, or “those”, or using non-verbal noises such as coughing.
3) You are to answer any questions about your breasts, your chest area, or any clothes covering your breasts fulsomely and honestly.
4) Instead of a regular bra, you are to wear the special bra that has been delivered to your house. You will find it on your doorstep, along with instructions for wearing it. If you are ever required to explain why you are wearing it, you are to indicate that you like it and that you feel it suits you.
—
Laura looked at the instructions. Not touching her own panties was strange, but Laura couldn’t immediately see a difficulty with it. Having to call her breasts…. those names was obscene. If she understood the instructions, she wasn’t allowed to avoid talking about her breasts if it was otherwise appropriate to do so. But having to describe them using those words was beyond humiliating.
Honestly, though, how often did Laura talk about her breasts? Hardly ever, right? She could go a whole day without mentioning them, easy.
The instructions would have been completely trivial except that Laura needed to go looking for work today. She needed an extra job to meet the repayments to her blackmailer. She didn’t have time to send off resumes and wait for replies so she was going to have to go directly to businesses and hope they would hire her on the spot.
The fourth requirement worried Laura. She snuck out of the computer room to the front door, and opened it slightly, covering her still-bare tits with one arm. There was a box sitting there, which Laura pulled inside before closing the door again. There was no sign of who had sent the box but it had clearly come by post, not hand delivery, which Laura was grateful for.
Inside, her heart sank to see the bra. It was nothing but a short length of chain, with each end terminating in a metal clamp. The only other thing included was a photo of a big-titted blonde slut. The slut had clipped the chain to one nipple, passed it around the back of her neck, before bringing it down and fastening it to her other tit.
Laura had to take a deep breath. The “bra” was not only humiiliating, but it looked painful. The clamps at each end were of cruel ridged metal. Tentatively, Laura eased one onto her left nipple, and was unable to stop herself squealing in pain. She had to jam her fist in her mouth to stop herself from waking up Erica.
She looked down at the chain in distress. It was hanging heavily from her left nipple, pulling agonisingly on the soft flesh of her boob. Should she take it off? But she had to wear this this weekend or the blackmailer would… hurt her. Hurt her worse than a clamp on her nipple. Laura tried to calm down and ignore the pain. She lifted the chain, slung it around the back of her neck, and pulled it down towards her right breast.
The chain was too short. It stopped a good four centimetres above her right nipple.
Laura wanted to cry in frustration. It didn’t fit. What was she supposed to do? Tell her blackmailer she couldn’t do it? Would he even reply, or would he just punish her immediately? She pulled on the chain, willing it to reach her nipple, whimpering as it pulled her other funbag upwards.
And it almost did reach. Laura’s left breast was tugged obscenely upwards by the chain, but it almost reached her right. Maybe if Laura lifted her right boob a little…
With a squeak of triumph, she released the second clamp onto her right nipple. Pain shot through her fuckbags but the chain was in place. Cupping her boobs tenderly in her hands, she went to look at herself in the bathroom mirror.
She looked bizarre. Both her breasts were being pulled upwards by their nipples, giving the general impression that her tits improbably angled upwards. The pressure of the chain on the back of her neck was uncomfortable, and her breasts hurt immensely. Unless she was cupping her breasts, every step made them bounce and tug on the chain, which resulted in agonising pain in her nipples. Was she really going to wear this torture device the rest of the weekend?
Laura knew she was. The alternative was too awful.
Trying to ignore the pain in her nipples, Laura dressed herself to look for work. She put on a short pink skirt, and found a white woolen sweater that went some way to concealing the odd angle of her tits. She put on her makeup and styled her hair, and then went to wake Erica up for help with getting her panties on, just as her blackmailer had said.
Erica, of course, wanted to know what was up with Laura’s tits. Gritting her teeth, Laura said, “It’s just a chain that pulls on my nipples. I like it. It suits me.” Erica opened her mouth to ask another question; Laura spoke first. “Can we please stop talking about my… my sex-balloons? Just help me get my panties on.”
Subdued by Laura’s angry tone and fearing punishment, Erica said nothing further, even though she was clearly dying to know why Laura needed help putting on her own underwear, and why Laura was calling her breasts “sex-balloons”.
Once Laura’s panties were on, she thanked Erica with a kiss, slipped her feet into some high heels, and set out in the car to try some workplaces.
Driving felt strange. Laura couldn’t help but feel that every other driver on the road must be able to tell that she had a chain clipped to her nipples, pulling her… rapemelons upwards. She blushed the entire way into the city centre, and when she finally reached the city and parked she had to take several long deep breaths to talk herself into getting out of the car. It felt like she was exposing herself as a colossal slut to anyone who even looked at her. Who was this pink-haired whore deliberately abusing her own fuckhandles in public? But it wasn’t that bad, Laura told herself. She looked at herself in the rear view mirror of the car. You couldn’t really tell, unless you were staring straight at Laura’s bosom. In a sudden motion, committing, she opened the door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, and not one person turned to stare at her. Everyone continued about their business, oblivious to Laura and the distracting pain in her tits.
Laura spent that morning walking from shop to shop, asking about the possibility of casual vacancies on weekends and/or Wednesday nights. At each store she left a copy of her resume. But nowhere did anyone sound enthusiastic about employing her. She had concentrated mainly on clothes shops and boutique retailers. Sometimes the shopgirls that she spoke to looked at Laura’s chest disapprovingly, and Laura would blush. She didn’t know if they had some inkling of the chain pulling her fuckbags upwards, or whether they just had the same opinions about girls with big tits that Laura did, but she knew she wouldn’t be getting a call back from any of those shops. Others seemed suspicious of her pink hair, or possibly the slow, careful way Laura was walking to avoid having her breasts bounce agonisingly against the chain.
At midmorning, Laura stopped for a snack, and had a large bottle of soft-drink and a small side of chips. She then decided she would have to re-focus her efforts. Men tended to like her better than girls – a curse for a lesbian, but a reality nonetheless – so probably she should be looking for work in places staffed by men. If people were going to be giving her boobs strange looks anyway, they may as well be aroused instead of disgusted.
At first this plan didn’t seem to be working either. The various boys and men she met as she continued to hand out her resume did appear to WANT to work with the buxom pink-haired kitten in front of them, but they regretfully explained there just weren’t positions open this time of year. Laura became increasingly frustrated.
Finally her luck changed when she applied at a supermarket. The man wearing a name badge she happened to approach at the service counter turned out to be the store manager, inspecting the shop floor. He introduced himself as David, greeted her warmly and suggested she come upstairs to the offices for an interview immediately.
He led Laura up stairs – stairs which caused Laura’s tits to bounce and tug on their chain painfully – into a small waiting room-slash-break area. Here he apologised and said he just had some brief business to take care of, and asked Laura to wait for a moment.
Laura took a seat. She had just become aware of a pressure in her bladder from the soft drink earlier. She crossed her legs and tried to ignore it; she was so close to an actual interview.
David vanished into an office, and a long time passed. Laura checked her watch regularly, and soon half an hour has passed with no sign of David. She was just about to get up and leave when he finally emerged.
“Ah, Laura, was it? I’m so sorry about the delay. An important phone call came in which tied me up for a while. Would you like to come in now?”
Laura stood, trying her best to smile warmly, and followed him into his office, where she took a seat.
“So,” David began, “You were after one of the checkout positions?”
“Yes,” Laura began, then had to take a deep breath. Her bladder was REALLY full. “Actually”, she said, “I’m sorry, but would it be all right if I took a moment to use your loo?”
“Of course!” said David. “Through there!” He gestured at a door to the side of the office – clearly he had a private bathroom. Laura gratefully went through it, almost running.
On the other side there was indeed a well appointed private bathroom – a single room containing sink, toilet and bathroom. Laura headed for the toilet, but then paused. She had been about to pull down her panties, but had just remembered – she was not allowed to touch her own underwear.
Her face coloured. How was she supposed to piss without taking off her panties? The thought was rhetorical, because she knew how her blackmailer wanted her to do it. He wanted her to wet herself – to piss in her underwear and then walk around in wet panties until she could get home and get Erica to take them off her.
Laura was in an agony of indecision. She knew she was going to have to do it – wet herself – because there was no way she could hold her bladder until she got home to Erica, and the only other option – asking someone to help her take her panties off – seemed even more humiliating. But if she did it here, she would have to go back out and sit through a whole interview with David with urine-soaked panties. If she could hold it in until the end of the interview, she could run outside afterwards and wet herself in an alleyway or something, and then phone Erica and get her to pick Laura up in the car while she hid from view.
Laura didn’t know if she could make it through the interview. She actually sat down on the toilet and thought about pissing there and then. A tiny trickle of urine emerged from her uretha and dampened the front of her panties slightly. But then she stopped – she couldn’t do it, piss herself here and then go talk to a man who would definitely notice. She got up from the toilet again, flushed it to avoid suspicion, and went back outside.
Laura’s bladder was really full now – so full it hurt. In that respect it matched the agony in her chain-bound tits. Laura found it hard to think about anything other than her painful boobs and her need to piss.
“Sorry about that,” she breathed, as she resumed her seat.
“No worries,” said David cheerfully, and began the interview
Laura used all of her effort to concentrate on David’s questions and answer them charmingly and professionally. Yes, she had worked in retail (a lie). Yes, she was good at resolving conflict. Yes, she was great with customers.
After about 15 minutes David’s questions ground to a halt. He was staring at Laura’s breasts. Laura tried to ignore it.
“I’m sorry, are your clothes all right?” he finally asked. “Your… bust appears to be at a strange angle.”
Laura flushed with embarassment. Her mind raced through potential responses. She wanted to just say, “Yes, it’s fine,” and move on, but she remembered rule 3 – she was to answer questions about her breasts fully and honestly. Surely, though, her blackmailer wouldn’t know how she answered this question?
Or would he? What had that call been that David had taken before Laura came in? Was it possible her blackmailer was checking up on her? That was paranoid, was’t it?
Laura remembered the picture of the knife. Better paranoid than dead. She would obey her rules.
So what would she say? What was full and honest? Perhaps, “My breasts are at an odd angle a bit because I’m wearing a special bra.” Except that’s not the way she’d have to phrase it.
“My…. sex-balloons…. are pointing upwards because I’m wearing a special bra,” she said. She felt like crying. It was so humiliating to describe her tits that way. And she needed to piss so badly.
David’s brow furrowed. “What kind of special bra?”
Laura closed her eyes, not wanting to look at him, trying to hold back tears. “A length of chain that loops around the back of my neck and then clips to the nipples of each of my rapemelons.”
David was baffled, horrified, and maybe a little aroused. “Isn’t that painful?”
Laura nodded, sniffling. “It’s very painful.”
David said, “Then why would you wear it?”
Laura knew the answer: “Becuase I like it, and it suits me.”
David was silent for a long a couple of long minutes. Too long. Laura couldn’t control herself any longer. Maybe if she’d been happy and confident she could have held onto her bladder but crying and humiliated, she no longer had that control. She made a quiet little moan, and then started to piss into her panties. She felt the hot piss gush from her pussy and immediately begin soaking into and through her undwear, soaking her crotch.
In the silence of the room, what she was doing was obvious, and it became more obvious as the pool of urine on her seat grew, and began to drip down onto the floor. All of her rear was soaked in it – the front and back of her panties, the back of her skirt. The skin of her ass was wet with piss. And still she couldn’t stop, could do nothing but sit and feel the hot urine gushing from her pussy into the wet cotton of her underpants.
David listened to her pissing for a few seconds, a disgusted look on his face, and then stood. He walked over to where Laura sat, bent down, and pullled up her sweater to expose her tits. Laura let him; it didn’t occur to him to stop him. She was pissing herself in this man’s office – how could she say no to him? It still felt weird to have her boobs exposed in front of a man, but not nearly as much as it used to. Certainly not as strange as wetting herself in front of him. She wanted to stop, but she couldn’t. Her breasts lay there, big and round and exposed to his gaze.
David reached down and gave one of the chains on Laura’s tits an experimental tug. Laura yelped in pain. Her flow of urine was slowing now. Her piss was no longer in her bladder; it was in a deep puddle on the chair around her buttocks, and on the floor below. David leant against the edge of his desk and regarded the piss-soaked slut in front of him.
“How big are your tits, Laura?” he asked, finally.
“My fuckhandles are 32 double Ds,” said Laura. She shifted in her seat, and felt some of the warm puddle of urine slop over the side of the chair and onto the carpet.
“Fuckhandles, huh? Is that how men use them?”
Laura knew she had to be truthful. “I haven’t had a man use my milkbags that way, but my girlfriend uses my sex-balloons as fuckhandles sometimes.”
“Are you a lesbian, Laura?”
Laura nodded.
“And are your tits real?”
“My rapemelons are all natural,” Laura replied. She wasn’t sure whether she should be proud of having natural tits, or ashamed that her boobs were so sluttily big without augmentation. She felt a little of both.
“Well, obviously,” David said, “you are completely unsuitable to work at the checkout. You can’t hold your bladder and you go around torturing your tits in public.”
David’s crotch was at the same height as Laura’s face. A part of her mind recognised that she was in the perfect position for him to reach out and pull her hair until her face was right up against his dick. She squeezed her legs together eagerly.
“But I might have another job for you,” he said. “Do you want it?”
Laura felt a stab of apprehension. “What is it?”
“A girl who’s just wet herself on my new carpet doesn’t really seem to be in a position for asking questions, Laura.”
Laura blushed. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll tell you anyway,” said David. “I own the Pretty Titty Club. It’s a strip club. I want you to work there.”
“As a stripper?” Laura said. This was awful – she couldn’t be a stripper! She was acutely aware of the warm, wet puddle she was sitting in, though, and just wanted this to be over.
“No, stripping requires talent. You have to be able to dance and be reasonably fit. I’m not sure you’re good enough to be a stripper.”
Laura felt offended, but said nothing.
“I think you’d make a good drinks girl, though. You just have to wander around, ask the customers for orders, and bring them their drinks.”
Waitressing? Laura could do that. More to the point, she knew that with these piss-wet clothes she wouldn’t be looking for any more work today, and she had to get started earning more money to pay her blackmailer’s demands. This was the only job offer she’d had all day.
“I can do that,” she said, hopefully.
David looked down at her with an amused smile. “It’s topless waitressing, Laura. You’d need to keep your tits on display, just like this. And you’d need to start tonight. Can you do that?”
Laura didn’t want to. It was prostitution by degrees. It might not be as bad as stripping, but it was still selling her body to men, even if what she was selling was only the right to ogle her boobs. But… did she have any choices?
“I’d need to be able to keep wearing my…. special bra, for tonight,” said Laura hesitantly.
“I think our customers might like that even more,” said David. “Do you want the job?”
“Yes,” said Laura, defeated.
====
Erica picked Laura up after the interview, responding to a summons on Laura’s phone. She pulled up near to the supermarket, and Laura scurried out of the alleyway where she had been hiding, her skirt visibly wet with piss and piss-streaks running down her legs. She got into the car and felt her damp clothes squelch against the leather of the seat.
Erica looked at Laura, curious. “What’s wrong, baby?” she asked. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” said Laura. She was furious. Furious with herself for wetting herself in public, for going out with this painful chain on her milkbags, for agreeing to become a stripper. She hated herself and her life and was on the verge of tears.
Erica caught an edge in Laura’s voice, and they drove home in silence.
The whole drive, Laura couldn’t take her mind off her humiliation and degradation. She had never thought she could or would do these things – deliberately hurting her fuckhandles for the pleasure of an anonymous abuser; agreeing to bare her rapemelons for money, urinating in front of a stranger. It was awful. And as she looked across at Erica, and realised Erica had had a relaxing morning at home while Laura had been doing those things, she felt herself getting angry at Erica too. She stared at the pretty bitch in the driver’s seat and got more and more furious. This was Erica’s fault. If Erica would just make more money at work Laura wouldn’t need to be doing this.
By the time they got home and parked in the driveway, Laura was choking with rage and shame. And when she got out of the car and saw that she’d left a little damp puddle of piss on the expensive leather seat, that was the last straw.
“Erica,” she said. “Come over here.”
Erica was just getting out of the car. “What’s up?” she asked, walking around to Laura’s side of the car.
Laura pointed down at the pissy seat. “Lick the seat clean, Erica,” she said.
Erica balked. “What?”
Laura slapped her across the face. Erica squeaked with pain.
“Lick the seat clean,” Laura said again.
Erica clutched her slapped face. “What…. why is it wet?”
“You made me wet myself,” said Laura. “Lick it clean.” She grabbed Erica’s hair and pulled down on it, forcing Erica to her knees. Erica started to cry, so Laura slapped her again. She wished Erica would stop making a scene: the neighbours might see.
“Lick it,” Laura hissed, and finally Erica obedeyed. Hesitantly, the pretty blonde crawled across to the car door, leaned over the seat, and began to lick at the damp seat cover. Her face crinkled up in disgust, but she kept at it, as Laura watched, until she had run her tongue across the entire seat and the only moisture left was her own saliva.
“Good girl,” said Laura. She pulled Erica to her feet again by her hair, closed and locked the car, and then led Erica inside the house. Erica was still crying, but quietly.
Inside, with the door closed, Laura led Erica to the bathroom. Here, she pulled off her sweater, revealing her chained sex-balloons, and then removed her wet skirt, letting it fall to the floor. “Take off my panties,” she said to Erica. Erica, fearing being slapped, knelt in front of Laura and pulled her soaked panties down her legs.
Once Laura had stepped out of the panties, nude now, she looked at Erica, kneeling on the ground, still holding the wet lingerie.
“Put them in your mouth,” she said.
Erica looked up at Laura, pleading with her eyes.
“Put them in your mouth,” Laura said again. And to her pleasure, her girlfriend opened her mouth and put the pissy, wet underpants into it. Laura thought about her girlfriend’s mouth filling with the sour taste of piss and felt her cunt tingle a little. God, she loved hurting Erica. And Erica was still crying. She remembered the feeling of Erica’s tears against her pussy, and how good it had been, and it prompted her to step forward and guide Erica’s face to rest against her twat.
Erica was confused – she felt like she was being asked to lick her girlfriend’s vagina, but her mouth was full of pissy underwear. She soon learned what Laura had in mind though. Laura planned to use Erica’s entire face as a masturbation toy, and to this end she began to rub her wet pussy up and down across Erica’s face, gripping Erica’s hair as makeshift handles. She smeared her cunt juices back and forth across Erica’s cheeks and forehead, savouring the feel of Erica’s nose running up and down her twat valley, between her labia, feeling the warmth of Erica’s tears on her thighs. Erica made muffled crying sounds, but Laura ignored them, because she was focusing on something else, something she very much wanted to do right now.
And there it was – her bladder wasn’t quite empty. And by relaxing as best she was able while in the throes of sexual arousal, Laura was able to let the last of her urine flow out and bathe her lover’s face. She moaned happily as she pissed onto her girlfriend’s face, even as she rubbed her pussy vigorously back and forth across the unwilling bitch’s features. This was right. This was the degradation that Laura had gone through, and now Erica was sharing in it, because that’s what girlfriends were for. She felt an orgasm building, and squealed out loud as it hit her just as the last of her bladder emptied itself.
Her knees went weak, and Laura lost her footing, falling safely but gracelessly to the bathroom floor in front of Erica. She ripped the panties from Erica’s mouth and kissed her deeply and passionately, Erica tasted like urine and cunt juices but Laura didn’t care. She kissed Erica again and again. The orgasm from abusing Erica had been amazing, and she felt deeply grateful to her girlfriend. “Good slut,” she murmured as she kissed the crying girl. “Good slut.”
Erica, confused, kissed Laura back, and the only thought in her mind was how lucky she was that Laura would kiss her even when she was soaked in piss, and even after she had made Laura so angry somehow. She felt grateful to be so loved. “Good slut,” she whispered to herself.
(To be continued…)