I felt drained, but glad it was over. He smiled down at me. Then he moved his right hand toward the clamps. He gave the clamp on one nipple a full turn, and we both watched the pink nipple disappear beneath the black plastic jaws. I tried to move away despite the fact that any movement caused my breasts to quiver and the clamps to bite even harder, but he used his other hand to hold me in place with the bar between my legs. His hand moved to the other nipple and did the same. Not content with inflicting pain with the clamps, the Jap put his finger slowly on the left clamp. I pleaded with soft cries when I saw him start to bend the clamp. It seemed like an eternity before he released it. The pain seemed less now, like I had adjusted. I breathed deeply, held my breath, and bit my lip when he moved to the right clamp. The pain is familiar now, without terror. I knew that I could handle it. My body spasms involuntarily when he released the second clamp.

But the time was not yet up or my ordeal over. The cameraman grabbed me by the bar, pulled me off the bed and lowered me to the floor. Now I was in a kneeling position, facing the back of the room, parallel to the bed. The bed was three feet away – I could smell this guy's *** – and my arms were still bound behind my back, my calves and thighs attached, and the bar between my legs. The bindings forced me to put my weight back so that my ass rested lightly on the bar.

I heard Randy say, "Elaine, you are getting good at this. Now it is time for his blow job. All you have to do is suck him off and swallow."

I was still gagged, still making unintelligible noises. "Let me go. Untie me. Please. Help me." Randy got the idea but not the exact words. "Elaine, I warn you. Do not bite him. Suck him and end it. GOT IT?"

The Jap reached into his bag again and brought out a thick metal chain, gold, sixteen inches or so long. I sensed it was heavy. He held it out to me like an offering. I saw small clips at each end of the chain. Then he moved it down even with my breasts. My eyes moved between the clips on the chain to tiny metal rings on the levered end of each clamp. My fear must have been evident.

Randy said, "Elaine, this is the stock and trade of a good whore. Relax." Then that laugh of his came again. "Jesus, don't pass out on us."

I heard a soft click as he hooked one end of the chain to the ring on one clamp, and then another click as the other end is attached to the other clamp. He held the chain in his hand, taking up the slack. I looked into his eyes as he smiled, opened his hand, and let the chain slowly slide from his palm. I was leaning back so it lay on my belly. I cried out with the pain, my shrieks heard around the gag. I looked down at my breasts. The weight of the chain had pulled the clamps down and with them my nipples. I struggled to catch my breath through the pain.

With that the other guy whipped the gag out of my mouth. I began to breathe deeply though my mouth. I was trembling and crying. Then I felt him at the back of my head, and everything went black. Even bound and almost immobile, I jumped. They had substituted a blindfold for a gag. The effect was disorienting; the effect like that imposed on prisoners by their interrogators.

I sensed rather than saw the man approach me. He put his feet besides my knees and used a handful of my hair to guide my face to his crotch. The desired effect was achieved – I was bound into place, the man standing over me in a position of dominance, the classic pose of a woman on her knees. When I did not respond fast enough, he grabbed my ears and twisted. When I opened my mouth to shriek, he rammed his mostly flaccid *** into my mouth. My nose was pressed against his stomach. He kept up the pressure on my ears, like training a recalcitrant dog. I heard him shout, "Suck, suck, suck!!" I was sure the camera was still running, recording in some digital format my ordeal. I could hear myself providing slurping sounds for the audio track that went with the video tape.

The pain at the tips of my breast subsided into a dull ache. I was nearly vertical now so the weight of the chain was pulled by gravity towards the floor. I could only imagine how elongated my nipples had become as the weight of the chain pulled the clamps that in turn pulled my teats.

I did what I had to do. I almost gagged on the foul taste of sweat and male secretions. He groaned with pleasure as I began to lick his cock. My cheeks hollowed with suction as I sucked on him. It began to grow, but slowly. He was not a young man and had come in me only seven minutes ago. He was trying hard – probably did not want to fail on video before his buddies. Sweat was pouring off him; I even felt it drip onto the top of my head from his face. I kept sucking; the sooner he came the better off I would be. When I put my tongue on his piss hole, his whole body shuddered. He said something in Japanese to the cameraman who laughed. I extended my tongue further and began licking faster, using the flat side of my tongue not just the tip. I wrapped my lips around the head of his ***. While moving my head up and down, I created a sucking rhythm.

The blindfold was not a trivial affair. It had some type of padding that fit over the eyes. I had no light entering at all. My reaction was submission. I kept trying to do what I thought he wanted. I was helpless and knew it. The image in my mind was that I was a prostitute in a Jamaican whorehouse, on my knees, naked, degraded, and vulnerable. What was worse, I knew that I had to continue to *** my way out of the mess I created by allowing myself to be blackmailed.

He began to respond to my treatment. He began to thrust into my mouth as I sucked. He let go of my ears and put both hands on top of my head like I was an obedient pet. I opened my mouth wider to encompass his now erect ***, like cramming a cucumber into your mouth. As his thrusts became more pronounced, his *** head entered my throat. I gagged violently but he continued thrusting, now locking my head in place with his hands. I had almost no time to breathe between his strokes. I made gagging sounds but he did not care, my piteous whimpering affected not one iota of concern for my obvious suffering.

As he pulled back for one last big stroke, his cock began spitting out thick ropes of *** into my mouth. I tried to avoid swallowing but to no avail. The man was a virtual reservoir of sperm. His sticky hot spend floated over my tongue and bulged my cheeks. I had to abandon my plan to hold the dreadful substance in my mouth and then run to the john and spit it out. He simply had too much of it. My mouth was full to capacity and still his ballooning contemptible person was pumping it to me. It was either swallow or drown,

so, feeling horribly misused, I swallowed some and used my tongue to push the rest out of my mouth and onto my lips and chin from where it dripped onto my breasts. The sharp acridity of his sticky hot come imparting a burning sensation to the lining of her throat as it skidded down in big slippery oyster like globs that seemed to thud into my churning, nauseated stomach.

*** ran out on my chin and down my throat. Finally, he pulled out, and, while I gasped for breath with a wide-open mouth, he pumped increasingly smaller dollops of *** all over my face and into my mouth. He was shouting – the words unintelligible but the tone conveyed success like a football team that scores a touchdown in the last minute of a big game. Ropes of sperm shot onto my lips, nose, and lower face below the blindfold.

Once I had seen a porn movie at a college frat house, and a sorority sister pointed out that a "*** shot' proved that the man ejaculated and provided amusement for the onlookers at the frat house who cheered and jeered. Likewise, when this movie was shown in Japan, the *** on my face would prove to the john's colleagues that indeed he had ejaculated. I sensed, but could still not see, the cameraman moving in to get a lingering close up of the *** on my face and on my breasts. The john touched my lips and ran his finger along the bottom lip. I got the idea and obligingly licked his *** off my lips to the delight of the jabbering cameraman. Nothing in my life – upbringing, education, employment, or family – had prepared me for how low I had fallen and would have to continue to fall if I wanted to come back and join my family.

The Jap stepped away. I was back on my haunches, blind with *** on my face and pain in my nipples. Another man stepped up and I heard Randy's voice. "My turn now, Elaine. Open wide and no teeth."

I felt him reach for the chain and pull up on it. I knew but could not see him hold it up in the air, now pulling my nipples up when before the weight had pulled them down. The chain with its connection to my breasts now formed an upward arch under which he stepped forward and rubbed his *** against my cheek. "Open up...or do you want me to drop the chain and watch your nipples fall off."

I opened wide and stuck out my tongue. He slide his dick in, using my tongue as a chute. "Come on. Hurry up. I need to get back downstairs."

I clamped down on him, like a baby on a teat. I used my tongue to swirl around the uncircumcised end of his ***. Frantic to end it quickly, I bobbed my head in small quick jerks, locking my lips on the glans of his cock and the big ridge right behind it. I sucked hard trying to bring him off. I concentrated on pleasing this man, this near-stranger, with all my soul, using my tongue and lips as best I knew how. The soft, sucking sounds that came from my mouth were painfully humiliating to me. But I was too afraid of this man to complain. I knew that the sight of me slavishly sucking his cock was a big turn on to Randy. At home, my only contact with someone like him would be to toss him the keys to the car and ask him to valet park it. He wrapped his fingers in my hair and began using my face as if it were my ***. His thrusts rapidly picked up speed while I gagged helplessly.

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"It will be soon now, Elaine. Swallow it all and don't get any mess on my pants."

When it finally happened, I began to choke on the sheer volume of fluid that filled my mouth. I remembered what he said and frantically swallowed and used my tongue to capture any that escaped onto my chin or out the corners of his mouth. I could feel his *** burning all the way to my stomach. In a few more seconds he was done and pulled his softening *** from the grips of my lips with an audible 'plop.'

He traced a finger over my lips and chin, picking up the *** I could not swallow. Randy pushed his *** covered digit into my mouth and wiped it clean on the surface of my tongue as I knelt there submissively, too frightened to care. Then he used my hair to wipe the excess fluids off. I waited for him to drop the chain and was relieved when the reached down and unclipped the clamps from my nipples. I jerked when the blood rushed back to my nipples and sent a wave of pain through me.

"Nice job, Elaine. I think Jessie may be right. You are a natural whore."

The blindfold was whipped off me. As disconnected as I was from reality, I actually felt gratitude to the men for taking it off. I was still bound, trembling, and breathing so hard I was on the verge of hyperventilating. Randy saw my distress, and, out of a keep-the-whore-in service-motivation told me to "take deep breaths" and "relax it was over."

The cameraman went behind me and unfastened the bar that kept my legs spread. He also unhooked my thighs and calves so that I was not bound in a submissive spread position. Randy got me to my feet so that my arms could be unbound. The breasts came last – now free but still unnaturally red and distended, the nipples looked an inch high. I could barely stand so Randy eased me to the bed. I had all I could do to keep from going into a fetal position on the bed. I stared at the opposite wall like it was a thousand yard ago – the blank stare attributed to survivors of a disaster who were in shock and could not believe what had happened.

Before they left and while I was still in shock, the two showed me excerpts from the video that we had just made. I could barely focus my eyes on what it was that they were so proud of and wanted me to see. The Sony had a miniature viewer built into the camera. On that Lilliputian screen I looked and acted like a whore. They ran it at fast forward so that everything occurred at warp speed. The john looked like he was the Energizer Bunny, hammering into me like a high speed drill. Likewise, during the blow job my head was moving faster than a high end vacuum cleaner sucking up dirt. The fact I was bound and helpless only gave it an even more pornographic effect. A Wharton degree, a $200,000 income, a husband and baby, a career and it all came down to how well I could *oops, paint spill* and suck.

The Sony had a special feature. It printed color copies of video frames that the cameraman selected. Before they left they gave Randy three or four of what they considered the best. They knew better than to try to hand me something, but when I got up from the bed I saw that they had propped up two prints by the lamp. The one on the left showed a rope of come extending from the tip of his cock to my tongue. The other was a 'half-in-half-out' freeze frame of his cock, my ***, and the rope-induced distention of my breasts and nipples. I ripped them into a million pieces and flushed both down the toilet.

Randy went with them when they left. He told me to take a couple of extra minutes before returning to reception. I felt like passing out on the bed but knew that Animal and his cutting tools would show up if I opted out.

I showered and douched. I must have gargled with the strong mouth wash for ten continuous minutes, hoping to get the taste of the men out of my mouth and throat. I had been violated over and over again with sadistic thrusts. My involuntary sobs of pain and fear had been stifled by a rubber ball jammed into my mouth. Under the water from the shower my breasts and nipples returned to a more normal state, but I wondered if my mind ever would. I also scrubbed by hair and scalp to remove the ***-smell and traces of *** that had been sprayed up there.

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After I showered, I could not put back on the shorts and halter top; they just felt dirty to me. Besides, I spent more time out of the outfit than in since I reported to "work" only three hours ago. I looked in the closet and found a ruby spandex tube top and a black leather mini skirt, sort of the thing a 16 year old *** would wear. Not exactly Madison Avenue but it would do what it had to do – attract men, easy on and off, flashy but not totally exhibitionist. As now was now my custom, I did not put on any underwear. The tube top was so tight, you could count the ridges in my aureoles.

When I got back to reception, Randy was behind the bar. He had put two shot glasses of bourbon on the bar.

"You look like ***. Take these. They'll help. You got to relax. You are too up tight. Those guys did not hurt you. They were just having fun their way."

I stared at him – too tired, disoriented, scared, and sick-to-heart to respond. However, I followed his advice – chugged one and lingered over the second. Half way through, Jessie came over to the bar and stood by me. She didn't look directly at me but caught my eye in the mirror behind the bar. She was wearing what only could be called lounging pajamas consisting of a burgundy velvet strapless top that ended two inches above her belly button and drawstring matching velvet pants. She looked good, given her occupation and the daily wear and tear on her body.

"Still think you are better than me?" she asked tauntingly. She smiled at in the mirror.

My response was to throw the little that was left in the shot glass in her face. I did it instinctively and without consideration of what would happen next.

Her slap hit my right cheek and spun me around. In a nano-second she was on me. I fell on my back, and she landed on my stomach, straddling me. She had the leverage, gave me two quick slaps to the face, easily dodging my ineffective attempts to block her blows.

She was screaming, "*oops, paint spill* you, Miss Pure. Stuck up female dog! female dog! female dog!"

"Get her off me," I yelled, much to the amusement of the assembled whores and johns who were shouting encouragement to liven up a dull day. I heard them yell, "***! ***! ***!" and did not understand until Jessie grabbed both my hands with her left and flipped up my halter top with her right. She then mashed my left breast, putting all her weight on it like she wanted it to come out my back.

"Oh, no., please...it hurts...stop that...AAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIEEEEE" I screamed. Her response was to lean on my breast harder and squeeze my flesh together, increasing the pain.

I tried to buck her off my stomach, but she had the leverage and the experience. It dawned on me that whores must get a lot of experience with cat fights, and that I was dumb to start this.

I saw her raise her right hand up and form a fist which she intended to use to break my nose or teeth. I screamed louder, but it was Randy who ended it. He grabbed her under the arms, pulled her up, and got her off me. I lay on the floor in utter mental and physical disarray. I felt like I had ran five kilometers. The fact that my breasts were exposed for the delight of the crowd was the least of my problems.

After Randy just about threw her across the room, he reached down and pulled me up non-too-gently. I could hear Jessie screaming, "Fuckin' female dog, this isn't over! Next time I will rip your *** off, you fuckin' cow!"

Randy echoed my own thoughts when he said, "you are a dumb female dog to start something like that. Don't pick a fight you can't win."

I said nothing because there was nothing to say. He was right, and, once again, I proved to myself that all my education and business experience was not even marginally relevant in this situation. I staggered to the bar, leaned against it, and stared into my own eyes in the bar mirror. As an afterthought, I rearranged the tank top to cover my chest.

Randy put another shot in front of me. I downed them like they were water.

Randy made the arrangements quickly. The fight with Jessie had goaded the crowd to action, and the men were quickly paying their money and going up stairs with the whore of their choice. I must have been a hot property; several men were talking to Randy and looking my way. I saw it all in the bar mirror; my head never moved.

My next "lover" was Luis from Argentina. He was on the island with his father who was a businessman. While Daddy did deals, Luis apparently went whoring. He had the appearance of a narcissistic pretty boy who could not have been more than 20 – 22 years old.

"Let's go," was all I could say. He laughed, looked me in the eyes, and rubbed his crotch with a slow exaggerated motion, I heard Jessie and some of the other whores laugh at his actions. On the way across the room and all the way up the stairs, he kept rubbing my ass. At on point he cupped my butt with his big right hand and stuck his middle finger between my legs, stroking my *** through the shorts. What was left of the crowd thought it was amusing. I was demeaned by the process, but Luis would never notice or care – he was playing to the crowd.

This was only my ninth paying trick. Was it only nine? It seemed like an endless procession of men, pendulous genitals, glandular smells, hard flesh stuck in me somewhere, leaking fluids in me and on me. God, how I hated men, greedy, greedy men.

#9 16:15-17:00; credit $300; tip $25; no photo rights; cumulative $3,795; to go $6,205.

The whole thing became absurd. He wanted to seduce me. He was not satisfied with buying me. He was trying to be teasing and lighthearted and seductive. He tried to kiss me – whores never kiss so I knew he was trying to change the ground rules, to have me buy in to the process not for my pleasure but for his ego.

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