300 Dollar Hooker 3 - Hooker Fucking

Of course the bank’s ultra-secure Internet site had a back door . . . just

as everything and everybody had a back door. Mistress herself had

inadvertently given him a clue. “Dominance, in all its variations and

permutations, holds the key to my heart,” she had said. The endorsement

on the canceled check supplied the additional information Vic needed.

It wasn’t terribly difficult. The very first thing he tried was the

permutations of “dominance” — its anagrams. The longest of these

anagrams, “comedian,” turned to be the password for the account. From

there, it was a straightforward technical exercise to jump one step

up into the supervisory level. Vic now had access to *all* the bank’s

client accounts.

Interesting. Rooting through the allegedly sacrosanct financial records

of the bank led to an even bigger plum than the House of Dominance –

an outfit by the name of Pietro Associates. Now *that* account was worth

*billions*. Digging deeper revealed some shadowy entities behind that

company. There were Saudi oil interests involved. Pietro = Petro(leum).

Fuck the House of Dominance! He had much bigger fish to fry. Real soon

now, he’d be rolling in Pietrodollars.

It was child’s play for an old-time hacker like Vic to subvert the

bank’s accounting system. He inserted into the software a stealth-trojan

that triggered whenever the final digit of a credit or debit from *any*

bank customer ended in 7. That would initiate a cloaked fund transfer

of *a single penny* from the Pietro account to his own. It would never

be noticed by human auditors, and over a period of weeks would add up

to millions of dollars. This meant the end of any lingering monetary

problems for him.

Even before this latest escapade, Vic’s finances had improved dramatically.

Having his special needs taken care of by Mistress had apparently

unleashed his creative potential. He was constantly bubbling over with

ideas. His problem solving abilities became legendary, and he scored off

the scale on a couple of IQ tests. He had received a large performance

bonus at work and was a candidate for promotion to regional manager. He

had pulled off a nice little coup on the stock market by short-selling

the Barbary Pirate Group, a sleazy little outfit that generated income

primarily through extortion and lawsuits. He had written and sold

eighteen erotic stories and was awaiting the checks in the mail. He had

been selected as a quiz show host on a local radio station. All in all,

fortune was smiling on him, and he attributed it all to Mistress Domina’s

ministrations.

Vic was forty-five minutes early this time. Anticipation was half the

fun. Sitting and idly leafing through a magazine, he wondered if he were

man enough to splurge and go for a double session this time?

Once more Mistress personally greeted him in the waiting room. And why

not? Not only was he a good client, he was also helping her make money

from *other* clients. But he no longer harbored any resentment over

that. After all, he benefited from it, too.

Vic hardly noticed the three cleansing enemas, so preoccupied was he with

what awaited him next. Mistress had promised to fist him *all the way up*.

Imagine being totally impaled upon her strong arm, utterly in her power.

“Mr. Victor.” Mistress interrupted his reverie. “We have a special

entertainment prepared for you. Rather than using the Dilation Chair

for your ’stretching exercises,’ permit me to introduce you to the

Impalement Stool.”

It was an ordinary-looking armless chair, but with what looked like a

thick, blunt-ended tapered shaft sticking straight up from the middle

of the seat.

“In answer to your unasked question, the dilation cone measures fully

fifteen inches high. It is one inch in diameter at its rounded tip, and

three and three-quarters inches at the base. With a bit of help from my

assistants, you will be seated there, impaled directly upon it. Now kindly

bend over and I will inject lubricant into your body cavity. Remember –

total acceptance and relaxation are the keys to painless enlargement.”

Three burly men had entered the room. While excess lubricant was still

dripping from his anus, two of them bodily lifted him by the arms, while

the third held him at the ankles. Slowly they lowered him in seated

position onto the cone. His weight pulled him down, and it wedged him

open and pushed up into him as he sank down upon it.

His buttocks rested flat on the seat and his trembling legs barely reached

the floor. The dilation cone was embedded high up within his rectum and it

froze him in a rigid posture.

Mistress smiled. “There are more embellishments.”

The men fastened cuffs to his wrists. They linked cables to eyelets on

each cuff, then looped the cables over a low-hanging beam overhead. The

cable ends hooked to the back of the chair. The net effect was to hold

his arms rigidly extended nearly vertically in the air.

“That will hold you in place,” Mistress said. “To prevent you from

ejaculating without our permission, we will employ an additional

measure.” She held an elastic snap-lock ring in front of him. “This

clamps around the base of your testicles, Mr. Victor. It should be a

most interesting experience.”

It was.

After sitting immobile and impaled for some minutes, Vic was starting to

feel a moderate degree of discomfort. It was also just plain boring. How

much longer would he have to endure it?

The door opened.

A masked woman entered. She walked over to Vic, and coolly appraised his

naked body as if he were a piece of livestock. Apparently satisfied,

she turned around, flipped up her skirt, flounced her bare ass at him

. . . and, facing away from him, fastidiously lowered herself upon his

involuntary erection. Vic admired the elaborate butterfly tattoo on her

back as she leaned forward and braced her hands on his thighs. Bobbing

up and down, she rode his cock until, with a gasp and a shudder, she

received her full measure of release. She stood up, smoothed the wrinkles

out of her skirt, and planted a wet kiss on his sweaty forehead. The

door closed behind her.

The door opened.

A masked woman entered. She repeated the performance of the first, but

with considerably more vigor and accompanying groans, squeals, and a

fart or two. The air in the room began to get stale. Woman Number Two

tousled his hair and pinched his cheeks before leaving.

What was going on was obvious. These were more of Mistress Domina’s

clients. He was still making money for the house, it seemed.

The third woman was quite large and heavy. She had the biggest, roundest

ass he had ever seen, and without preliminaries she plopped that ass

squarely on his lap. Her hungry pussy engulfed him, and what must have

been three hundred pounds of womanhood squashed him hard into the seat

of the stool, driving the cone even deeper into his guts. Vic began

wondering if death by ecstasy was all it was cracked up to be.

Vic tried speaking to the fourth woman. She slapped his face, then

laughed and sat down on him. She pulled a compact out of her purse,

and, leaning backward against him, went through an elaborate ritual of

applying lipstick and makeup. All the while, her pussy was rhythmically

squeezing his cock.

Somewhere along the way, one of the women had greased up her anal entrance

and indulged herself in a little sodomy, courtesy of Vic’s helpless cock.

After the fifth or sixth woman (Vic had by then lost count), the male

assistants returned and released him from the stool. They removed the

testicle clamp. He ached more down there than inside his gut. His shaft

felt raw and abraded. Friction burns.

With the men supporting him, he staggered over to the padded table and

climbed up. He fell into a dreamless sleep almost immediately.

And jerked awake as Mistress grasped his shoulder. She was holding the

corkscrew Orifice Spreader in the other hand.

“This is the final time you will require spreading. We’ve almost achieved

our objective in that respect. Now, hop down and bend over the table.

Quickly now!”

Deep into him Mistress screwed it. Then deeper. Vic had passed beyond

discomfort, beyond all feelings of pain. His buttocks felt as if they

were a foot apart.

“Fifteen inches deep and four inches wide,” were the words Mistress spoke,

with what sounded like a note of triumph. “Right on target.”

She carefully unscrewed the gadget from within him.

“Ten minute break,” Mistress said, then left.

“This is an upright bondage frame,” Mistress explained. Taut cables

anchored to the wooden sides of the frame attached to restraints that

held Vic’s arms and legs immobile. He was in a standing position,

with legs held wide apart, and arms pulled overhead at about the same

angle. Spreadeagled upright and frozen in place. Naked and totally

vulnerable.

“We have invited guests. They will honor you with their presence and take

their pleasure from you. And, yes, you will entertain two at a time.”

Mistress left.

The door opened.

A man and a woman, both masked, walked into the room. The woman approached

him from the front, inspected him at some length, then grasped his penis

and began to fondle it. Meanwhile, the man was examining him from behind.

Vic felt his buttocks being parted.

The woman had bent over and flipped up her skirt backwards. She had

nothing on underneath. On all fours, she maneuvered herself awkwardly

backwards onto Vic’s hard cock, and gradually swallowed it between her

cunt lips. She was very wet inside.

In back, Vic felt erect flesh push between his cheeks, against his anus,

and slowly into him.

As the woman thrust backwards onto his cock, the man thrust forwards

higher into him. Vic was sandwiched, simultaneously double-fucked.

Waves of heat and pressure buffeted him from both front and back. Vic

would have immediately spasmed in violent orgasm if the testicle clamp

hadn’t prevented it. The man and the woman came, within seconds of each

other. Vic felt the pussy rhythmically clenching on his cock and the

cock inside him throbbing and shooting fluid high up into his gut.

The door closed behind the man and the woman. Minutes later, a second

couple entered.

All told, Vic entertained five sets of visitors.

Thank heavens for the ten minute rest period!

Mistress had her latex-gloved fist high inside him. “We’re up to the

wrist once more,” she said. “Now we move into virgin territory.”

It wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as being mechanically spread open by the

corkscrew. In fact, it felt pretty damn fine. It was releasing strange

energies within him. He felt on the verge of something tremendous and

life-changing. “Please, Mistress, deeper,” he said.

“Halfway up the forearm,” Mistress said. “Cry out if you can’t take

any more.”

“Deeper, Mistress.”

“Almost there. Just a bit more. Ah, yes, elbow depth. How does that feel,

Mr. Victor?”

“Mistress, I am a hand-puppet and you are my owner. You are my fate. Your

strong arm fills and animates me. It infuses me with life force. I am

ready for the pumping of your divine fist. Please, give me what I crave.”

“We try to provide fulfillment for our clients,” she said. She was

slowly pumping her fist forward and back inside him. The video monitor

showed her latex-gloved forearm emerging, glistening with lube, then

disappearing into him again. He felt huge surges of power rippling

through his guts. His mind ruptured the boundary between matter and

spirit, and then he was floating free, part of the great Unity that

lies beneath all illusions. His earthly flesh orgasmed, and again,

and he was utterly empty. A scream shattered the silence.

Ten minutes left in the session. Mistress emerged through the door. She

was wearing fishnet stockings, and nothing else. Her magnificently curved

body was everything Vic had imagined it to be.

“You have been such a well-behaved boy, Mister Victor, that you deserve

a most special treat. If you like, you can have *me*.”

She walked over to the table, and bent forward over it. Her pussy was

velvety and butter-soft. It was somewhat of an anticlimax for Vic after

all he had been through.

“Thank you Mistress. You are fully as sweet inside as out.”

“You are most gracious, Mr. Victor. Until next time, then.”

Vic was chuckling softly to himself on the drive home. Mistress Domina

didn’t know it yet, but he *owned* her.

The House of Dominance was a privately owned corporation, with much of its

stock in the hands of a family foundation. But even tightly-held firms can

be taken over if the price is right. Forty-eight million it had cost him.

It wasn’t as if the funds had come out of his own pocket. “Use other

people’s money,” the adage went, and that’s exactly what Vic had done.

He had used the money of a few assorted Arab oil billionaires. Pietro

Associates would never miss it. It had disappeared from petty cash.

All in all, embezzlement didn’t greatly appeal to him. Running a B&D

empire was much more his style.