Page 31 of Shameful Addictions

Charlotte put her hands over her breasts, felt their soft firmness. They weren’t too big and they weren’t too small. The perfect size, she had thought, enough to be womanly but not enough to be inconvenient. “But… they’re already perky,” she said, her voice faltering. She would have felt ridiculous if she wasn’t so devastated.

“I’ve seen better,” Mamba hissed. “And I never waste time on the imperfect. Either you get a boob job or I’m going to stop seeing you entirely. I’ll get a restraining order against you, prevent you from even walking on the street in front of the building. Let’s see you come in here and beg when you can’t even come inside. What will you do, stand across the road and yell? Will you have a megahorn? Can you afford one, at this point?”

Charlotte clamped her hands over her ears. His mocking voice still penetrated, drilling into her.

“I’m losing patience with you, Charlotte. You’re talking back to me. You have no right to do that.”

Her chest heaved. Still with her hands over her ears, she whimpered, “I can’t afford to get the surgery.”

“I have a friend. I’ll get you an appointment and pay for it out of my own money.”

Alarm shot through her. “I’ll be even more in debt to you!”

“You’re right.” He flashed that grin, his teeth like fangs. “It’s only fair that you do something else for me right now to reimburse me for the cost.”

“I don’t want it!”

“I’m scheduling the appointment anyway. No matter what you do, it’s going to be done. If you don’t go, you don’t get a pass for this month. If you don’t do something for me right now, I’ll have my friend charge you for his service. It’s your choice.”

None of this is my choice!she screamed internally. She didn’t want any of this. It wasn’t fair. This had to be illegal. But no one would listen to her if she came to them with a plea. Mamba was simply too powerful. He’d crush her every attempt, just like he had already done in the past.

“What do you want me to do?” The words came of their own will, belying her.

“I want you to show me your breasts.” Mamba opened a desk drawer and pulled out a phone, a high-tech model that Charlotte didn’t recognize. A prototype, or maybe the first of its kind, given to a powerful man as a favor before the product was announced to the public. “I want a ‘before’ picture so I can compare and admire the difference.”

Charlotte turned, facing the exit to his office. The door was so near, so far away. The posters and paintings of sluts and whores around her watched her with judgmental eyes. She took a step towards the door, towards freedom, her mind racing. Other people stupider and less competent than her had found ways to avoid paying the price for their crimes. She could go on the run. She could cut her hair, shave it all off, dye it a new color, wear hoods to obscure her face from cameras and passersby who could be used to identify her. If she did that, her best bet was to flee the country, cross a border to make communicating more difficult for the police. Mexico was usually where fugitives from the law went, but she didn’t see much point escaping if she was going to get herself killed soon after. If the gangs didn’t, the bad water would.

Canada was a better option. Canadian hospitality. They were a sensible people, more like the kind of person she used to be before all this started. She could find shelter there, learn how to build an igloo, and ice fish for her meals.

And make friends with a fucking moose who will crush anyone who gets too close to me.

Her shoulders slumped as the already ridiculous fantasy took a turn towards the absurd and fantastical. People did run from the law all the time and sometimes they were even successful, but none of them had ever tried to escape from Mamba.

The man had erased her from existence, for fuck’s sake. He would have no trouble at all finding her. He was that powerful. Godlike. And she was a plaything to be bent to his imagination.

Charlotte turned back to face Mamba, cheeks flushed, heart pounding. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, Sir.” She tried to meet his eyes and couldn’t. Lowering them, she mumbled. “Okay. I’m a stupid cunt and a cheeky dumb bitch and I accept your offer. I’ll… show them to you.”

“Say you’re a worthless slut or you can get out of my office right now.”

Slut. A person who engaged in casual sex with partners.

She could accept being called a cunt and a bitch, because those had no inherent sexual connotations. She could accept having the blonde hair and even getting a boob job, because she knew who she still was on the inside. Her appearance had no bearing on her manner, her deeply-held beliefs.

But calling herself a slut out loud would be admitting that she had sex, that she liked sex, that she wanted sex as often as was humanly possible. And she wasn’t so sure anymore what was true and what was not. She did have sex. She liked sex, when it was done right. But did she crave it? Did she get horny over the slightest thing and need satisfaction?

Charlotte thought of touching herself in the shower, and using a dildo on herself, and getting turned on when Mamba forced her to degrade herself.

And she thought back to the occasion that had started all of this, watching Katerina react to the vibrator buried in her pussy. Charlotte’s own pussy had twinged, and she thought it was a sympathetic pain. But it could have been arousal.

Did she wish she’d been the one to have that vibrator shaking her to an orgasm?

She didn’t know anymore. She couldn’t separate out what was the truth and what was a lie. Mamba was changing her, just like he changed all the girls that he eventually hired to work in his businesses.

Tears sprang into her eyes. “I’m a worthless slut,” she sobbed.

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