Chapter 6: Building Suzi's Body

A few days later, Suzi got another job; this time it was a birthday party. Once again, she burst from a cake and did a slow striptease, winding up on the lap of the birthday boy, rubbing his crotch and talking dirty. "Did you get a lot of presents for your birthday, Eric?"

"Y-y-yes."

Leaning close, "Suzi would like a present." Unzipping his pants, "Won't you give Suzi a big present?"

As before, all the other men could only stare, jaws agape, as Suzi proceeded to pull his cock out, stroke it to erection, and then fuck herself on it until creamy white come oozed from her cunt. They regained their composure, though, when she made herself available to them, and fucked her cunt, mouth, and ass with wild abandon. I watched the whole three-hour party. When we got home, I fucked her several times myself.

The news that a hot stripper was available for gang-banging spread quickly by word-of-mouth. A week later, Suzi was getting jobs every night. For the most part, the men at these parties were no longer surprised at what she would do; they had hired her specifically because she would do it, although her good looks didn't hurt.

Three weeks after her first performance at the bachelor party, Suzi was consistently booked solid two weeks in advance. I raised the price from $500 a night to $750 and then to $1000. Business showed no signs of slowing. At six gigs a week (I gave her Sunday night to rest; we didn't get many offers for that night anyway.) Suzi was earning me over $5000 a week. There were some expenses; the clothes Suzi had been wearing were left at the scene of each party as a souvenir.

Between getting royally fucked at each party and my personal use of her body at home, Suzi was orgasming an average of ten times a day. Her drug-trained body kept up admirably, her pussy always getting soaked for a cock and her mouth always eager to please. Always, she talked dirty to whoever was fucking her, because she knew that was the way to get the most come.

But only when she was aroused. And that was the kicker. When she wasn't aroused, she was still Suzanne, and Suzanne was sullen and withdrawn. She was still willing to have sex, because she knew that sex would bring Suzi out, and allow her to escape the misery that was her life. And she never disobeyed me, in fear of what the consequences might be. (After all, I'd demonstrated them to her quite dramatically when she'd failed to have her ass lubricated. She knew the pain involved in a dry ass-fuck.) But in spite of her bitterness and despair, Suzanne persevered, and showed no signs of getting weaker.

I was frankly baffled by this. I'd expected the Suzanne personality to have died by now, sapped of its strength and its will to live by the continued slutty behavior of Suzi. But she hadn't. Her will to go living in this miserable existence should have long since died, crushed by the degradation she suffered daily. Somewhere she was finding the strength to go on. Something was giving her hope. What, though?

I had been this mystery for several weeks when I finally chanced upon the answer, while I was sitting in my study one Sunday evening after an after-dinner use of Suzi. I was trying to figure out exactly how much profit I'd made on her so far, which basically involved totalling up the expenses from all of our dates, including the drugs and clothes, and subtracting that number from the total income I'd made from the parties. The problem was that little expenses that I'd forgotten about popped into my mind from time to time, and I'd have to redo the whole calculation, figuring them in. Like that telescope I'd had to buy to spy on her at the very beginning. Things like that.

One such item was all the clothing catalogs I'd bought before meeting her. Scouting reports, as I thought of them, ascertaining how much exposure she'd gotten, and who I'd have to bribe to keep her from getting hired. Utterly useless now that she was mine, but they were still an expense. I glanced up to where the catalogs were collecting dust on the bookshelf...

... and noticed something was wrong. Counting them, I realized one of them was missing. I couldn't tell which one, but I knew one of them was gone.

Where? If Suzanne had taken it, where would she have put it? The sounds of a porn video were coming from Suzi's training room, so I knew she was in there studying. Quietly I walked down the hall to the bedroom and began to search Suzi's things.

It was slow going, because I was being careful not to disturb anything permanently. I wasn't sure yet whether I wanted her to know I was onto her, so I tried as best I could to leave things as I found them. An hour and a half later, after combing her closet and most of her makeup table, I finally found what I was looking for.

Hidden under the lining paper at the bottom of one of the drawers in the makeup cabinet was a catalog from a local department store from over a year ago. I picked it up and opened it. It fell open by itself to a page in the middle, clearly having been opened to this page many times before.

The page was dominated by a large photograph of a suburban kitchen. Sitting at the table was a handsome man in business clothes, wearing a tie and slacks. Two children, a boy and a girl, were running out the front door, lunchboxes in hand, waving to their mother, a strikingly beautiful woman in stylish business clothes that made her look competent and self-assured, yet very sexy. It was Suzanne.

I hadn't even realized that it was her until that moment. I'd bought the catalog because of some swimsuit modeling she'd done in another section, and never given a second look at this picture. What did this mean?

It meant she still thought she could get away. She hoped that someday she could give me the slip, and escape to the outside world, find her Romeo and live happily ever after, or something like that. Maybe continue her career as a model. But that couldn't happen, I thought... she needed the sex. She was addicted to it, and I was the only one who could give it to her.

The realization hit me suddenly. I wasn't the only one! God, I'd been so stupid. At first, sure, when I'd been using the orgasm drug and only fucking her myself, sure, then I had been the only one who could give her what she needed. But since then, I'd trained her to enjoy having sex with other men, any men, and without the drug. Now, if she left me, she could easily find someone else to give her the regular fucking she needed. Sure, she had this thing about talking dirty during sex, but most men would like that. (After all, that was why I'd taught her to do it.) And she'd be in pain trying to walk without heels, but some physical therapy could take care of that. I'd turned her into a genuine slut, and had thus made myself vulnerable.

Maybe none of this had occurred to her. Maybe she'd stolen the catalog for some other, more trivial reason. But I had no way of knowing, short of confronting her, and I didn't want to do that. I had to assume the worst, that she was planning to escape, waiting for her chance.

The thing to do, then, was cut off her escape route. Trap her in her new life as a slut, with nowhere else to run to. And I knew just how to do it. It would involve doing certain things earlier than I'd originally planned, but nothing I hadn't already planned on doing and budgeted for. It was quite simple, really. Up until now, Suzi and Suzanne had been fighting for control of Suzanne's body.

It was time to build a body for Suzi. The body of a slut.

The next morning, after giving Suzi her usual after-breakfast fucking, I announced that we were going to visit the doctor. Suzi was curious as to why. (Since I'd just fucked her, it actually was eager, slutty Suzi I was talking to, not depressed, unhappy, Suzanne.) I told her that I'd tell her in the car, and to hurry up and get dressed.

I'd laid out a new set of clothes for her, some that I'd bought late the night before. The amazing thing about them was that they were perfectly ordinary women's clothes, of the sort that a young, middle-class wife might wear on the weekend, when going shopping. Aside from the extreme length of the heels on the pumps, there was nothing at all unusual about them.

Suzi came out of the bedroom wearing them, looking quite confused. She hadn't worn clothes like these in months! I ushered her out the door to the car, giving her clitoris a quick rub to keep her excitement up. It was important that the eager, cooperative Suzi be in charge this morning.

As we drove, I had Suzi take periodic sips from a flask of water I had in the car. The water had been treated with the aphrodisiac. I had her drink it slowly over the course of the ride because I would need to have Suzi available for quite awhile.

"Now, then, slut," I explained, "you want to know where we're going?"

"Yes, Master, please. Suzi wants to know why she's going to see the doctor. Will Suzi get to fuck the doctor?"

I laughed. "If you're a good little slut. You want to be a good little slut, don't you?"

"Oh, yes, master! Suzi tries hard to be the best slut she can be!"

I fought to keep from getting turned on. Every time I heard that eager, peppy voice talk about how much she craved sex, I got an urge to nail her. Which was generally what she wanted. But I couldn't do it this morning. We had an appointment to keep. "You've been watching those other sluts on the videos I got, haven't you?"

"Oh, yes. They get fucked a lot. Suzi wants to be as slutty as them." She ended the sentence on a dejected note, unhappy with her lack of success. "Suzi tries as hard as she can, but she still doesn't get as much come as they do."

She was damn-well wrong about that, but I didn't point it out to her. It was useful for her to think that. "Well, you are trying very hard, slave, but trying hard can only get you so far."

She looked at me questioningly. It occurred to me that Suzi was substantially less intelligent than Suzanne. An unexpected effect, but certainly one I welcomed. Suzanne would've figured out what was going on by now.

I went on. "Some of those sluts in the videos have advantages over you - things that really aren't your fault."

She frowned, looking sad, but curious. "Are they prettier than Suzi?"

"No, they really aren't. You're a lot prettier than they are." Which was true. Most porn actresses couldn't hold a candle to Suzi in the looks department, and only a few were even close to being as pretty as she was. "It's something else. It's your tits."

Her face took on a hurt look. "Suzi's tits are too small?" She looked down at her boobs, pushing at the fabric of her dress, and caressed them curiously.

"Yes, my pretty little slut, but we can do something about it."

She thought for a moment, then suddenly perked up. "Is that why we're going to the doctor? To get Suzi bigger tits?" She looked at me, her face begging me to say it was so.

"Yes, Suzi, we're going to get you bigger tits."

"Oh, goody!" she squealed. "Suzi wants bigger tits so that she can squeeze them around her master's cock and get lots of hot, sticky jism all over her face."

"You'll get it, Suzi, but today we're just going to talk to the doctor. And there are certain rules you need to follow..."

After most of an hour's drive, we arrived at a suburban office building. As we went inside, I whispered to Suzi, "Now, remember, agree to everything I say."

"Yes, master," she whispered, excited.

We took the elevator up to the office of a Dr. J. P. Green, plastic surgeon. I'd done some careful research on this guy. Green had given boob jobs to several popular porn actresses. I'd picked up as many videos featuring these women as I could find, from both before and after their operations. So far as I could tell, he'd done an excellent job every time.

I checked us in with the receptionist and we sat down to wait. I leafed through a advertising brochure full of "before" and "after" pictures. Suzi sat quietly next to me, smiling to herself and occasionally rubbing one of her nipples through her dress.

After about ten minutes, the doctor came out, greeted us, and showed us into his office. "What can I do for you two this morning?"