Rachel & Friends (Fiction)

[LilAngel]

THIS STORY IS IN FACT, PART OF MY PREVIOUS STORY, ‘THAT SPECIAL SOMEONE’. I have never gotten to finish it, however I have used that as an introduction, and here are mini stories, of Rachel and her friends. You can read these by themselves, or after you’ve read ‘That Special Someone’. (And if you haven’t read that yet, I’d suggest you read this one first ) The ‘Previously’ Section is just so that these stories can actually be ‘mini’. Some of these stories might not even have one.

Pain and Judgement

Previously: She had earned herself a punishment, by not trusting him earlier in the day, during a public breakfast humiliation scene.

I stared out the crowd of people on sidewalk. The sky was starting to slowly dim, and street lights would be turned on soon. I knew I had to hurry, because I can’t draw attention to myself. I just can’t. I turned around and stared at him. He wanted me to do it. He had explained everything already, but somehow, he has not managed to reveal anything. All I knew... was that this would be painfully good.

I opened the car door. A fresh breeze of air hit me, my nipples going hard, and I could feel my pussy already moistening. As I started walking, I turned back to him, one last time. He was still in the car, where I had expected him to be. Warm and safe. Ushering me to keep going.

I sighed and turned my head back to the restaurant. La RÈGALADE. I felt incredibly sexy, walking down this street, in such a fashion. Halfway down to the restaurant, I found out his plan. A couple of women were in the corner, dressed in similarly... to me. One was bent over a window of a car, talking to the driver.

“Oh my God. Hookers. I’m on a street frequented by hookers, dressed like a hooker.” I was horrified. Humiliation crawled up to my face, until my cheeks were hot and tears were in my eyes. I didn’t know why I was so strongly affected by it. There was something inherently different about being mistaken as a prostitute from being thought of as an easy woman, or a slut.

As I walked into the restaurant, I noticed one thing for sure. It was one of those restaurants that women don’t enter a second time. I had just increased the number of women to one. A sign on the door said ‘No Tricks’. Every face turned and stared as I walked, while a waiter led me to my table. If there were any customers who weren’t trying to undress me with their eyes, I couldn’t spot them.

A man with a darker shade suit pointed at the sign on the door without a word. That was a confirmation of everyone’s assumptions. I could feel tears in my eyes again, threatening to run freely and add to my embarrassment. I could not let myself cry again.

Without realising, the waiter had led me to a dark corner of the restaurant, a look of sympathy on his face. I thanked him quickly and let out a small smile. A breath later, the man with the darker suit walked over. I figured he would be probably be the manager.

“I haven’t seen you here before, miss. A quick rundown of our rules. If you are not eating or drinking, you are out. If you do any tricks, you are out. You got that?”

“I’m not...”

A large hand slapped down onto the table.

“Don’t go there... Do you understand?”

I felt a tear roll down my cheek. “Yes...” I heard myself whisper meekly, as he walked away.

I quickly walked to the lady’s room, and cleaned up my makeup, before walking out again. I felt a chill down my spine, as a breath of hot oppressive aura of cigarette smoke condensed against my neck.

“So missy... you up for a little fun?”

I almost felt a sense of relief, as a promise I made him, came to the front of my mind. I had agreed to claim to be a lesbian. A bucket of humiliation had washed over me then, but I was glad now.

“I’m sorry, my girlfriend wouldn’t approve,” I said with a smile.

“What? You mean you’re a l-.”

A hand seemingly appearing out of nowhere wrapped around the jerk’s wrist and squeezed hard. A second later, the waiter’s head popped up from behind the man’s body.

His eyes filled with tears, “Oweee. Okay, Paul. God damn, let go. I’m going now.”

And with that, he slowly stumbled away.

“Sorry about that, miss.”


----------NOW IN THIRD PERSON-------------


She took this opportunity to go to the lady’s room, as the area around her cleared off, to clean up her makeup, and maybe stir up a bit of arousal, to make this public appearance less frightening. As she fingered her pussy lips, she produced lubricant again, the aroma of her sex filling her nose. Now when she imagined him bending her over a table and taking her from behind, it had the desired effect. Her nipples hardened and her breath came in shorter gasps. Her cunt demanded filling, a need she left unfulfilled. After a few minutes, she stopped, feeling very wet and desperate. She washed her hands and flushed one of the toilets again.

As she sat back down at her table, she saw him walk in. Not alone, but with a woman, and holding a crop in his hands.

“How are you doing, Rachel?”

“Not too well. I really want to go now.”

“Not yet, Rachel. What’s bothering you?”

“They all think I’m a..... hooker. It’s so humiliating.”

The woman’s look was one of disgust. “And what’s wrong with being a hooker?”

Rachel looked at him... “I...I...”

“Answer the woman, Rachel. What is wrong with being a hooker?”

Shame overwhelmed her as she realized that she'd been judging the prostitutes for being who they were. "Noth…nothing…ma'am."


"If there is nothing wrong with it, why is it humiliating?"


"I…No…I guess it isn't."


He sighed, "No, that's not good enough. You did find it humiliating. Explain why. We're not leaving until you explain. The longer it takes, the more severe your pain is going to be. You're close to disappointing me."


"Please, I…" the look on his face stopped her. He had no intention of letting her escape this trial. "I guess I don't want to be thought of as a…a…a whore. I'm sorry."


The hooker would not let go. "What's wrong with being thought of as a whore?"


"It's just that…I mean… "


"Rachel. I really want you to understand this. Reach down inside and be brutally honest with yourself. Don't think about your answer, just say it." He took her head and looked into her eyes. "What's wrong with being a whore?"


"It's evil and degrading and…" It hit her like a ton of bricks, the reality of what she was saying and thinking. Her composure gone, she started crying, sobs punctuating her confession, "Master, I'm so sorry. I was judging her the same way vanillas judge us. Please forgive me."


"It's not my forgiveness you need, is it?"

"No, Master. You're right." She turned to the prostitute, "Please forgive me for thinking so badly of you. I…I…I acted like you weren't a person. I was so wrong."


She took Rachel's chin in her hand and looked at her. "No, I can't forgive you. It's not my place. The person that has to forgive you is you. Can you forgive your own prejudices? This won't be the last one you'll find. Until you can recognize, change, and forgive, you'll never be free of them. You've made the first step; you've recognized your prejudice. The next two steps are the harder ones. Can you change? Will you forgive yourself?"


"I…I don't know, but I'll try."


"That's all anyone can ask."

Carlos turned her head back towards him. "Rachel, it's time for your punishment. Part of your punishment is simply that you will be punished by this whore instead of me."


"Yes, Master."


He handed the crop to the hooker. "Rach, go to the lady's room with her. Accept what punishment she gives you. She knows your safe word."


"Yes, Master."

Rachel followed the woman into the lady’s room. The streetwalker carefully wedged the door, and locked it in, preventing any regular customer from entering. (Not that there would be many women around anyway) “Before I start, I need your consent, to having your ass whipped until you’re bawling your eyes off. I will stop when I feel like it, or when you safe word.”


“You have my consent. But can I please ask you a question first?”

“Shoot.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Why am I a whore? I started hooking because there was no other way for a 16-year-old to support her invalid mom. Since she died, I've kept at it because it's easier than finding something else to do. Women generally don't turn tricks because they want to, they do it because they have to, or at least they believe they have to. That's why your attitude out there was so disgusting. You were judging a bunch of women as being less than people because they had no choice. Society is less wrong to look at you as being sick. After all, you do what you do because you do have a choice."


"I'm sorry. I was wrong."


"I know. It's a start. Not everyone is willing to admit their wrong. For you, there's hope. For most of my customers, there is none. They believe just as you do, or worse, and they have no idea how disgusting they are. Let's get this over with. Take your skirt off and hold on to the wall of the stall."

The lady bought the crop over and over her ass for more than 15 minutes, at full strength. There were immediate tears, and she could feel that she couldn’t hold on any longer. She wailed out loud, no longer caring if anyone outside could hear her. Her own opinion of herself was lower than any else could give her, she believed. The hooker stopped a few seconds afterwards, kicked the door open, and walked out, saying “Go back to your Master when you stop crying.”

She would never see her again.

It took several minutes for Rachel to dry her tears, and she redressed, cleaned up, and walked back to her Master.

“Thank you for having me punished Master. Is there anything else Master wishes of me?”

“Follow me to the car, Rachel.”

They drove in silence for 10 minutes as Carlos let Rachel, settle her thought. Her mind was in turmoil.

EPILOGUE:
She believed that the hooker was correct. Society had more justification for condemning her for choosing to live in a sexual lifestyle that many, if not most, people considered sick and perverted, than it did to look down in a similar way on prostitutes, most of whom have no choice they can see to avoid their fate. How could she, someone who chooses to defy society's norms so brazenly, treat those who have been thrown out of society's norms so callously? Yet, she didn't feel that she was sick for what she did. Who was society to judge her? Who was she to judge anyone? She thought back to the lists she had filled out for the auction and her contract. There were things on those lists that she'd been repulsed by. More, she'd thought that anyone who could do 'that' must be sick. Yet, others thought she was sick. What was sick, anyway? Who was she to condemn someone because they were aroused by being peed on? The more she thought, the more she realized that she was full of prejudices, many lurking beneath the surface, hiding themselves from her scrutiny.

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NOTE: I have purposefully NOT mentioned that it was her 'Master' before she broke down, to make it more interesting for those who hasn't read 'That Special Someone' yet.

Thank you Pingu for the kind-of awesome proofreading job.