Helpless
Chapter 8

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Consensual, Blackmail, Mind Control, Lesbian, BiSexual, Heterosexual, BDSM, DomSub, MaleDom, FemaleDom, Spanking, Light Bond, Humiliation, Interracial, White Male, White Female, First, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Sex Toys, Squirting, Cream Pie, Exhibitionism, Slow, Transformation,

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 8 - 29-year old Traci is trying to dig herself out of a string of awful luck--a recent divorce, some credit problems, and general feeling of despair. A random meeting with a mysterious, attractive couple becomes a turning point in her life, where a lot more than just her outlook gets turned around.



Every day was becoming a new adventure in my new life of servitude, but I could never have prepared myself for what happened on that very rainy and very bizarre Thursday night.

It had been a week since Mistress had whipped me for my eavesdropping, and for three days it had been painful to sit. I could have packed my things and left that night. I could walk out of this subservient existence any time I pleased. But the thought never crossed my mind. With each hour of cleaning on my hands and knees, with each order I carried out, each greeting of a customer in my sexy little outfit, and yes, with each strike of her crop, I felt more needed, more wanted, and more of value. Mistress' sexual dominance of me so dissolved my stiff, conservative upbringing, and so melted the taboos I had learned, that my sex would tingle with excitement almost every time I knelt before her, eager to carry out her wishes.

Total, unquestioning obedience had released me from responsibility. Complete submission leaves no room for choice-making, no need for indecision, and, no stress. Enslavement is freedom.

I knew that I had at this point come to love Mistress. I loved her because she had rescued me, both literally and figuratively. I loved her because she had guided me on this path, to this point, to my new freedom. I was taken care of. I did not have reason to think she would ever let anything happen to me.

This odd, rainy night would prove just that.

Just as the heavy raindrops were starting to fall that evening, I ran from the car to the grocery store. Mistress had sent me out for a few items. My cell phone rang just as I got inside. When I flipped it open, the name, "Mistress" appeared on my caller ID.

"Yes, Mistress?" I answered as I shook the water from my raincoat outside the store.

"Traci, a client called unexpectedly and changed his appointment to now. So by the time you get back, I might still be in session with him. Just wanted you to know."

She kept me informed, and that helped me serve her better. I did the shopping and headed back home into what was now a pretty fierce storm. When I got to the house, a blue Toyota 4 Runner was parked outside, and just as I was about to push my key into the lock, the door came open and a heavyset man with a dark raincoat draped over his head hurried out, saying, "'Scuse me."

Something swirled in the air just then, the way déjà vu does before it makes your brain start searching for what is real and what isn't.

The man made a quick look back at Mistress, who stood in the doorway, and said, "Thanks again, Mistress... damn this fuckin' weather!"

What... what was it about him?, I wondered. Then, as he trotted clumsily towards his car, I heard it.

"... 'scuse my French..."

My heart leapt into my throat. I turned around and watched the man trot to the car in the downpour, and then remembered George's car. I had seen him drive a 4 Runner to work more than once. Mistress closed the door behind me. Oh, yes, it was him, without a doubt. George. George! I couldn't believe it, so I peeked out the window in time to see him climb in the SUV and back out.

Mistress closed the door behind me and looked at me. "What is it, girl? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Mistress, this man... please forgive me for asking, but this is the client you just had a session with?"

"Yes, why?"

And I told her who it was. She stood there, nodding quietly. Then she went to the sofa and sat back, putting her feet up on the armrest. "Bring me a glass of iced tea, Traci."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Aren't you lucky," Mistress said as I handed her the tea and knelt next to the sofa, "that he didn't see you?"

"Yes, Ma'am," I said, my mind racing. I couldn't imagine George, being dominated by Mistress Dana. I almost laughed out loud to myself.

"Very simple," my Mistress said. "When he comes here, you simply be out of sight."

I nodded. "As you wish, Mistress." But now, thoughts of the store, and of my cashiers, were swirling in my head. Maybe he will know, in time. I looked at Mistress Dana, and my loins tingled. She looked so beautiful, stretched out there, and it felt so right to be kneeling at her feet. Please, Mistress, I thought, order me to service you tonight. My body trembled as I thought of nestling my face into her fragrant pussy.

"Rub my feet, Traci." That's a nice start, I thought.

"Yes, Mistress." I shuffled over by her bare feet and began gently massaging and kneading them. I wanted so badly to kiss and suck her toes, and I wondered what would happen if I did, without her asking.

Then, the enormity of what had just happened minutes ago swept back into view, like one of those films showing a desert sunrise at high speed. George comes here. George, I thought, is an asshole, who is abusing the employees at the store. And he comes here, and pays Mistress Dana to do who-knows-what to him.

My fingers were working, but my mind was at the grocery store. Before I knew it, I had bent my face down and gently taken one of Mistress' toes in my mouth, sucking as if it were a nipple.

"Mmmm... very nice, girl, keep it up," Mistress murmured.

Joy to my heart! She liked it. I decided that maybe, after my whipping, I was doing well. Maybe even on a roll.

George, I thought, might be ripe for a surprise.


It was about six o'clock in the evening when I strolled into the store for my first day of training the new assistant manager, whose name, I discovered, was Tiffany Morin. George was wolfing down a bagel in his office when I walked in.

He stopped chewing, and with his mouth full of bagel and cream cheese, he said, "What, you don't knock anymore? Geez..."

"No, I don't."

He put down the bagel. "Traci, you've only got three hours here tonight. How about getting out there and training Tiffany?"

"We'll get to that. But first we need to talk about doing this fairly."

He squinted at me. "What the fuck you talking about?"

I walked over and sat on his desk. "Will you get off the fuckin--"

"Shuttup, George."

"Traci, I don't know what the hell has gotten into you, but I can make it so that your hours are cut back way more than you asked, like maybe down to fuckin' ZERO! Hear me??"

"Okay, consider it done. Bye." I got up and started walking off.

"Goddamit... no! I mean, stay at least until you've trained this girl."

I stopped and turned. My game plan was on, and my secret weapon was about to be unleashed. I tingled all over. "I'm doing this out of the goodness of my heart," I told him.

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