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Aircnd: The Cottage

Fully Booked

Tracy was angry with her new secretary's incompetence. The stupid girl had put off making her travel arrangements for the conference until the last minute, and now all the good hotels were booked. Fucking management should have known better than to schedule the conference during some goddamned, national gathering for a bunch of perverts, anyway, but it was still the stupid girl's fault for waiting so long to book Tracy's accommodations. She poked at the trembling girl with a painted nail, dressing her down in front of the office, while her co-workers watched, disgusted by yet another tirade from their overbearing manager.

"Find me a place!" Tracy shouted, stabbing her finger at the poor girl, "A fucking nice one. I'm not staying in some shithole Motel 8! Do you understand me? And keep me as far away from all those… perverts… as possible."

"Yes, ma'am!" the girl said, choking back her sobs of humiliation.

Tracy stormed away on her high heels and slammed the door to her office in disgust. Quietly, her co-workers went back to work. Ross, who had a particular hatred of Tracy, made his way over to the secretary and handed her a tissue.

"Hey," he said, kindly, "It'll be alright. She blows up and goes full bitch-mode for a while, but then she'll forget about it and move on to her next target. Probably me."

He gave her a comforting grin. The girl took the tissue and dabbed at her eyes.

"Thank you," she said, "I don't know how she expected me to get her a place to stay so quickly. Her last secretary should have done that. I've only been here a week."

Ross nodded, understanding. Tracy didn't care that the girl was new and still trying to get a handle on her boss' busy schedule and particular needs.

"You know," Ross said, "If you're having trouble getting a hotel, you might consider one of those rental places, like Airbnb. You might get lucky and find a really nice place that's less money than a hotel."

The secretary brightened and said, "That's a great idea!"

"Just hang in there," Ross said and gave the girl a winning smile, "I'm Ross," he extended his hand.

"Tricia," she said, shaking it.


Aircnd

Tracy drove her rental car from the airport to her accommodation. She'd heard of these Airbnb things before but hadn't ever considered one. The idea of staying in some stranger's house or apartment just seemed weird. Unfortunately, she hadn't had much choice. Her previous secretary, she knew, should have arranged her hotel months ago. That was one reason she'd fired the bitch, though. She was lazy. Tracy had had higher hopes for her replacement, but it seemed like she'd managed to hire in another dumb one. She stewed in the driver's seat as she pulled up a long drive. At the end of the drive, Tracy brightened.

She veered off of the main drive, where she could see a large, elegant manor-style house, and pulled up to a charming little guest cottage, secluded in a copse of trees. The little place was so cute! The cottage was like some storybook dream, covered in little ivy trellises, with adorable shutters and a little pond out front. Small, pretty flowers were planted outside, obviously meticulously cared for. She extracted her bag from the trunk, then walked to the door, punched in the code provided in her email confirmation from AirCnD (clearly some offshoot brand looking to capitalize on the name), and let herself in. Okay, she thought, the girl had done good on this one. The cottage was an open design, with a large flat screen TV on one wall, a working fireplace, large bed, and a little kitchenette. There wouldn't be room service, but she also wouldn't be bothered by any other guests. It was quiet. It was cute. She dropped her bag on the bed and cocked her head curiously.

On the bed was a padded package, along with a welcome card from the host. She took up the card and read it.


Thank you for choosing us as your Aircnd host! Per your contract requirements, please wear this belt throughout the duration of your stay. Due to a string of violations against the rules, we have made this a requirement for all guests. Your host will provide a key for any necessaries at your request, and release will be provided at the end of your stay. Thank you for complying with this requirement. If you choose, at any time, not to follow this rule, you will be asked to leave the premises immediately.


What the fuck was this? Tracy took up the package, which was heavier than it looked, and tore open the sanitary wraps. She pulled out an odd contraption consisting of thin, but sturdy, metal, padded on the inside. It looked like… a fucking chastity belt! Someone was playing a joke, clearly. This was probably some kind of hilarious prank, because of the goddamn Friendly Uninhibited Consensual Kink conference that had managed to book up the hotels in town. She put the weird thing into the trash and went to the kitchenette, where the host had graciously left a stock of snacks, teas, and coffees.

Tracy helped herself to some of the tea, a brand called Happy Cat. The box had a picture of a sleepy kitten, lying on its back, purring happily as its owner stroked its belly. While it steeped, she flicked on the TV and changed into a pair of soft lounge pants and a t-shirt. The tea whistled as Tracy flicked through the available channels, but she frowned. All of the channels were porn.

"Fucking perverts!" she cursed.

Again, she railed silently at management for their oversight. Whose goddamn idea was it to schedule the conference during another conference with an acronym like FUCK? It was probably that misogynist dickhead, Carlton, she thought. She flicked off the TV, poured her tea, then went out to the front of the cottage and sat in silence on the bench, next to the little pond, listening to the birds and the insects in the woods. It really was peaceful, she thought. It was such a shame about the TV, though.

While she sipped tea, she noted an older woman shuffling down the drive toward the cottage. The host, she presumed. Tracy sighed and stood. She supposed she'd have to encounter the people at some point. It was best, she decided, to get it out of the way now, so that she could make it clear that she wanted to be left alone while she was staying here. The woman approached.

Tracy noted that she was not, really, old. She was more mature, but sprightly and it was obvious that she took care of herself.

"Hello," she said, raising a hand in greeting, "I'm Leah, your host. Forgive the intrusion. I'll just be a moment and then we'll stay out of your way, so you can have your privacy."

"Nice to meet you," Tracy said, politely.

"Is everything satisfactory?" Leah asked, "Anything you need?"

"I'm okay," Tracy said, but then she thought of the TV, "But I don't think the TV is working right. It seems like it only has a few channels.

Leah nodded and said, "It's the conference in town. Our provider is sponsored by the FUCK people," Tracy blinked at the woman's casual use of the word, "and they switch all the programming over to dirty movies, temporarily."

"That seems crazy," Tracy said, "What about families that have children?"

Leah shrugged and said, "I guess they just watch streaming services. I'm sorry, but we don't have any of those, so for now it's either porno or nothing."

Tracy blushed.

"Anything else you need?" Leah asked.

"No, thank you."

"Did you put it on?" Leah asked.

"Put it on?" Tracy asked back.

"The belt. Did you put on the belt."

"I… what?"

Leah's expression changed to one of disapproval and she said, "It's explicit in the rules, honey. Either you abide by the contract or we're going to have to ask you to leave."

"You can't be serious," Tracy said.

She felt as though she should be angry and shout. Normally, she would have, but instead she felt quite subdued and relaxed.

"Very serious," Leah said, "Now which will it be? Put the belt on and be a good girl, or do I have to ask you to seek other accommodation?"

Tracy struggled to think. She should be outraged. She was outraged. There was no burst of anger, though. Instead, she thought about how awful it would be to get thrown off the property. They couldn't make her put the thing on. They didn't have to let her stay, either. It was their property. They could call the police. She'd get forcibly removed for trespassing, and then have to find somewhere else to stay. There was nowhere else to stay. Even if she could find something, the company would still get charged for this place, and then for another. She'd have to explain why it had happened. She'd have to explain how she'd refused to wear a chastity belt, and she'd have to explain it to Carlton.

"Oh, honey, it's not so bad," Leah said and took Tracy's hand, leading her back toward the cabin, "I'll pour you some more tea and show you how to put it on. It's not as though a good girl like you will be tempted into sinfulness, after all, right?"

Tracy, sedately, allowed the woman to lead her back to the cabin. She did need more tea. The cup was empty, but she couldn't remember when that had happened. As Leah sat her on her bed and took her cup, Tracy felt a moment of dizziness, but it passed quickly, and then Leah was pressing another cup of hot tea into her hand. Tracy drank it gratefully. The temperature seemed just right. She kept drinking as Leah tugged on her lounge pants. Tracy found herself lifting her bottom, allowing the woman to pull off her pants. She sipped more tea. Leah retrieved the belt from the trash can and the jingle of the metal caused Tracy to look up and try to focus on the thing. She felt so relaxed. The metal belt made her uncomfortable, but she couldn't remember why.

Leah slid the straps up her legs, helped Tracy to stand, and fitted the thing around her waist. A moment later, it nestled tightly about her hips, encasing her sex, something in the crotch of the belt slipped into her pussy and she moaned quietly. The lock clicked. Tracy looked down and shook her head, trying to clear it. This wasn't right. This shouldn't be happening.

"More tea?" Leah asked, taking the empty cup from her and filling it again.

She handed it back and said, "See? That's not so bad, is it?"

Tracy felt herself shaking her head, but she couldn't decide if she was agreeing or objecting. It felt like arguing about it was too much work.

"Now, whenever you have to use the necessary," Leah said, "You just call up to the house and one of us will be right down."

The woman turned on the stereo for her, and left Tracy in the cottage, shutting the door on the way out. Tracy lay back on the bed, resting against a stack of pillows, sipping the tea, her mind drifting pleasantly. The stereo played some kind of relaxing nature sounds, underlaid by white noise that only made her mind drift even more. Tracy stared off into space, eventually setting the empty cup aside, and then staring some more, her mind blank and happy, her pussy very wet. When had she gotten wet, she wondered, but couldn't remember doing anything to become aroused. The belt began to vibrate gently, creating a pleasant hum in her pussy. The fog in her head made her feel warm and happy as the soft music played and the white noise lulled her to sleep.


The Rules for Your Stay

Tracy awoke, nude from the waist down, but for the chastity belt. Her alarm was ringing away on her phone. Groggily, she shut it off and blinked against the darkness. For a moment, she wasn't sure where she was, but then it started to come back as her hand drifted toward her very wet and aroused pussy. Her fingers met a metal shield and she began to panic. She was in some stranger's guest cottage, and she had allowed the strange woman to lock her in the belt. Why had she done that? She couldn't recall. It didn't seem like something she would agree to but, clearly, she had. She had. She remembered.

There were rules, rules she had to follow. Wearing the belt through the duration of her stay was the first rule. Phoning the main house when she needed access to her twat was another rule. Twat? Had she really just thought about her vagina as her twat? She bumbled out of bed and remembered her next rule. Coffee in the morning, tea in the evening. She didn't remember reading that rule on the card, but she must have, because she knew it was true. She started some coffee and, while it brewed, she tried to use the toilet. It was difficult, as there was something stuffed into her twat, and the belt had only a small slit that allowed her stream through it. Fortunately, it was open in the back. She tried to clean herself as best she could, then stumbled back out of the bathroom and picked up a red phone on the kitchenette counter. The phone had only one button. She pressed it. It rang. It continued to ring with no answer.

Tracy poured herself coffee as the phone rang, still with no answer. Finally, she hung it up, sipping her coffee and becoming agitated. She needed the belt off. She had to clean her twat. She had to leave for her conference. She paced, drinking the coffee, which calmed her nerves, and then dialed the phone again. No answer. Tracy started the shower running and then tried again. No answer. The belt began to vibrate gently, making Tracy jump as the pleasant feeling in her cunt made her wetter. Cunt? Had she just thought of her vagina as her cunt? She shook her head, sipped the coffee, but it was empty. She poured another cup, drank it, and got into the shower. The vibrating belt was frustrating as she washed to the best of her ability, keeping her wet cunt horny and aroused.

Once out of the shower, Tracy tried the main house again. No answer. The feeling of panic had begun to recede. The rules said she had to wear the belt for the duration of her stay. That did not necessarily mean she could remove it when she left for the conference. The rules were explicit. Wear the belt for the duration of her stay. Something about it didn't seem right, but rules were rules, and the fourth rule told her that rules needed to be obeyed. She, also, could not remember this rule being on the card, but it must have been, because she knew it was true. She finished her coffee and put her bag on the bed.

As she picked out her clothes, she was vaguely aware of the nature sounds still playing from the stereo, underlaid by the calming white noise that made her feel more relaxed, happy, wet. The red phone rang, startling her. Flushed, she quickly picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Good morning, honey," Leah's voice said, "I'm so sorry I missed your call. Some of us aren't such eager beavers in the morning, you know? I'm guessing you're ready for some help with your belt?"

"Please!" Tracy said, her hand rubbing the metal shield covering her cunt.

"Just have some more coffee and I'll be right down," Leah said.

The line went dead. Tracy hung it up, poured more coffee and waited. A moment later, Leah knocked on the door. Tracy let her in.

"Right," Leah said, "Let's get you out of that thing and cleaned up."

Blushing, Tracy allowed the woman to unlock the belt and slide it off. Leah took it into the bathroom, motioning for Tracy to follow. The woman started the shower, during which she carefully cleaned the thing, as Tracy stood bare-cunted, her mind wandering, sipping the coffee.

"In we go, now," Leah said, beckoning for Tracy to return to the shower.

"I… I think I can manage from here," Tracy said, but it didn't seem right.

Rule five said that she couldn't touch her own cunt for the duration of her stay. If she washed it herself, it would mean touching it, and that wasn't allowed. The rule must have been on the card, but for some reason she couldn't remember reading it. She must have, though, because she knew it was true. Leah was already stripping off her nightgown, revealing her toned body and stepping into the shower, motioning Tracy in. Tracy set her coffee aside, the cup empty, and made to pull off her top. She wasn't wearing a top. She'd been standing here nude this whole time. She blushed, ashamed, but rule six told her that she should always feel ashamed when her cunt was wet, and right now it was very wet, so she should feel ashamed.

She followed Leah into the shower. The space was very small, not at all meant for two people. Tracy found her naked body pressed against the other woman's, their bare breasts rubbing together as Leah squirted soap into her hand and deftly lathered it between Tracy's legs.

"My, you are a wet little thing this morning, aren't you?" Leah commented, and Tracy blushed, ashamed by her wet cunt.

"It's a good thing we kept that belt on you," Leah said, "A twat this wet just begs to be played with, doesn't it?"

Tracy nodded her head. Rule seven said that her wet cunt should be played with, only rule six said that she couldn't touch it herself, so that meant that someone else would need to do it for her. Leah worked her fingers between Tracy's soaked labia. Tracy felt that she should be well cleaned by now, but apparently Leah thought differently, because she was being very thorough. Her already hot cunt became even more aroused, which made her feel ashamed and confused by the fact that she was allowing another woman to finger her twat.

Panting with arousal, Tracy didn't resist when Leah began to kiss her on the lips, pushing her tongue into Tracy's mouth as she worked her fingers in and out of her cunt. Tracy knew that this was alright, though, because the eighth rule dictated that she should never say no to a sexual advance, even if it was unwelcome. It was difficult to think through the finger-fucking and the pleasant, sedated feeling in her head, but something about following the rules didn't seem like something she should do. The rules were very odd, and in the normal course of life, she couldn't understand why she'd agreed to follow them. Her cunt was wet, though, and rule nine told her that good girls with wet cunts aren't supposed to think, which seemed like a pretty solid rule, especially in conjunction with rule ten, which stated that good girls with wet cunts are too stupid to make decisions.

Tracy's body shook as she felt an orgasm approaching, but Leah felt it too and quickly pulled her fingers out of Tracy's snatch and shut off the water. Tracy whimpered as Leah began to towel herself off. Stepping out of the shower, ignoring the pitiful whimpering, she handed Tracy a towel, too. Dried, the woman put her nightgown back on, picked up the belt, motioned Tracy to step into it. Tracy did, following the first rule, and Leah slid the thing inside the belt into her twat, then locked it back in place.

"Good girl," Leah said, and Tracy flushed happily, shamefully, because she knew that she had a wet cunt, which made her a good girl, but also very ashamed.

She wished she could touch her pussy and orgasm, but she couldn't. Only someone else could touch it. She was too stupid to make decisions, and she shouldn't try to think, because she had a shamefully wet cunt. Leah crossed the room to the stereo, pulled a CD from the rack, then returned and handed it to Tracy.

"Why don't you take this with you and play it in the car," she suggested, "It'll help you keep your nerves calm through your conference. I'm sure you've got one of those high-pressure corporate jobs, so you need all the relaxation you can get. I really want to make sure your stay with us is as pleasant as possible."

Tracy accepted the CD and placed it on the bed.

"Thank you," she said.

"Just ring the house when you get back for the day, and we'll get your twat taken care of, alright?"

Tracy nodded, blushing as she thought about her wet twat. Leah left the cottage. Tracy went back to her bag and picked through the clothes. She set aside her panties and her bra, since rule eleven told her they weren't necessary. That made sense. She couldn't really wear the panties with the belt on, anyway and, according to rule twelve, her tits were a source of shameful pride that should show how aroused her wet cunt was. By not wearing her bra, her prominent nipples would be apparent through her shirt, which would be shameful, and make her proud by showing how aroused her wet cunt was. Tracy donned her gray business skirt as the belt vibrated her twat, then slipped on a white dress shirt, through which her stiff nipples were very obvious, then finally pulled on her blazer, which she left unbuttoned. With the CD in hand, she got into her car, set the GPS for the site of her conference, and started the drive into the city.


Cunt for Brains

Tracy parked her car and shut it off, killing the sound from the stereo. The lack of the nature sounds, and the pleasant white noise, made her feel somewhat uncomfortable, like something was missing. Shaking her head, she tried to focus on her schedule. She pulled out her phone, clicked the camera app and, in accordance with rule thirteen, spread her legs, positioned the phone between them, and snapped a picture of her locked-up cunt. She stared at the photo for a moment, as the rule dictated, burning the image of her shame into her mind. Good girls with wet cunts should constantly remind themselves of their shame. Then, as rule fourteen commanded, she needed to share her source of shame with someone she disapproved of.

The first person that came to mind was Ross, the back-talking asshole that worked under her. She disapproved of his attitude and his sloppy work ethic. She attached the photo and sent it, then felt terrified for sharing her shame with someone she disapproved of. Ross would see her cunt, locked in a chastity belt. He'd judge her. He'd lose all respect for her as a professional. Why had she just done that? Then, she set the lock screen on her phone to the photo, so she could be reminded of her shame each time she used the phone. Finally, she pulled up her schedule for the conference and reviewed it. The first item on the agenda was breakfast, followed by a welcome pep talk.

Tracy made her way into the building, which was now crawling with her piers from offices across the country. Walking the halls toward the conference room, she flushed shamefully as people took in the sight of her hard nipples tenting her shirt, which made her pussy wetter as she felt ashamed by their disgusted and excited looks. Thinking about the vibrating belt, with its little protrusion stuffed into her cunt, made her wish that she could go to the toilets and masturbate, but that wasn't possible. She couldn't touch herself. The belt and the rule prevented it. She could only feel aroused by her shameful twat and her shameful tits, which she thrust forward proudly to display her shame.

"Tracy?" someone said, and when she turned toward the voice, she saw Evan from the Dallas office standing by the open conference room door.

"Good morning, Evan," Tracy said, in her usual, terse tone.

Tracy had met Evan several times, even liked him. He was competent and hard-working, smart, devilishly handsome, and she felt sure that the man had a bit of a crush on her. She couldn't really deny that the feeling was mutual. Each time she attended a conference, she somehow ended up palling around with Evan, though things had never gone further than was appropriate for their business relationship.

"Good to see you again!" Evan said, "Seems like we always end up bumping into one another at these things, huh?"

"Yeah," she said, and Evan held out his hand to shake hers.

Tracy, ignoring the hand, pressed her body against Evan, flushed in embarrassment at how unprofessional it was, then moaned whorishly as her stiff nipples brushed his chest through her shirt. She knew that it was wildly inappropriate but rule fifteen told her that men should be greeted with hugs and women with kisses. Evan made a little choking sound in his throat as Tracy hugged him, awkwardly patting her back. Tracy could feel his penis harden against her leg. Evan, flushed, gently pulled away.

"Um, I guess I missed you, too," he said, shuffling his feet uncomfortably, "Maybe we should get inside."

Tracy nodded and followed him into the room. They went through the breakfast line, but Tracy found it very difficult to decide what she should have, so she asked Evan, "What do you think I should get?"

Evan furrowed his brows, confused by the question and said, "I guess whatever you want."

"Why don't you pick for me," she said, fidgeting adorably.

Evan shrugged, unsure what she was playing at, but decided to play along.

"Here," he said, dishing out some breakfast casserole and a couple sausage links.

Tracy beamed happily, pleased that someone had made this difficult decision for her. She followed Evan to a table, where they sat. Evan took up his utensils and began to eat, but when Tracy tried to pick hers up she felt that it was wrong. Rule sixteen dictated that real people used utensils, while good girls ate like messy animals. Evan stopped eating, then looked around in embarrassment as Tracy lowered her head and began to eat the casserole messily without the use of her hands. He looked at her in disgust and asked, "Are you alright?"

Tracy, her mouth dripping with casserole grease looked at him, puzzled, and said, "Of course. Why do you ask?"

He reached across the table and wiped at her mouth with a napkin, and then made a little cry of revulsion as Tracy suddenly, unexpectedly, whorishly, moaned and orgasmed in her seat. Evan dropped the napkin as a few of the people nearby looked at her in disbelief and began muttering amongst themselves. A few got up and left, afraid to be seen near her.

"Jesus, Tracy!" Evan hissed, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Tracy felt confused and humiliated. She couldn't believe that she'd just orgasmed, at breakfast, in a crowded room, without even touching herself. She felt tears well up in her eyes at the shame, which also made her even wetter as she proudly thrust her tits out. Her cunt was leaking slut goo into her skirt, probably leaving a wet patch on the back of it that would make people think she'd pissed herself. The vibrating thing in her cunt, though, had been keeping her head in a pleasant, confusing, constantly horny state, and when Evan had touched her, she couldn't help herself.

"I… I'm just… a disgusting slut," she said, and then clapped her hand over her mouth in horror.

She knew that rule seventeen required that she admit her shame in a way that degraded her, when questioned about her behavior. She was ashamed of it, wet because of it, proud of her tits as she thrust them forward.

"Yeah, I can see that," Evan said, pushing his plate away, obviously appalled at her behavior, "Why don't I just get you some more coffee. Can you keep from acting like a whore long enough for me to do that?"

Tracy nodded, wiping at her eyes, humiliated. She could hear people whispering around her, certain that they were discussing what an embarrassing slut she was. It was shameful, which made her cunt wetter. Proud of her shameful tits, she kept them thrust forward, her nipples poking through the shirt. She pulled out her phone, turned on the selfie cam, snapped a photo of her whorishly hard nipples, and then sent it to her secretary, who she disapproved of. Her heart sank. She couldn't unsend it. The girl might report her for harassment. Her coworkers would think that she'd sexually propositioned her secretary, like some kind of lesbian with a cunt for a brain. Why did she need to follow the rules? Rules need to be obeyed, something told her, and she knew it was true, but the rules were going to get her fired. She couldn't stop.

Evan returned with her coffee and said, "Come on. We need to get nametags. Think you can do that?"

Tracy blushed and nodded, following Evan to a nearby table, where stacks of adhesive nametags and permanent markers waited for the attendees. Tracy took up the marker, a nametag, and below the words, "Hello, my name is," she wrote Cow Tits, and stuck the nametag to her chest, in accordance with rule eighteen, which stated that when asked for her name, she would give one appropriate for a sex object. Evan's eyes bulged and he tore the nametag off of her.

"Jesus, Tracy, you can't write that! What the fuck?"

He handed her the marker and a new nametag. This time, Tracy wrote, Milk Jugs and slapped the nametag on her chest. Evan tore it off, shaking his head, and handed her another. This time, Tracy wrote, Cunt for Brains (with the S written backwards) and stuck the nametag on her chest, confused about why Evan kept making her redo it. She figured that she was very stupid, which made sense, because she had a shamefully wet cunt, which meant she was a good girl, and good girls do not think or make decisions.

Flustered, Evan allowed her to keep this name tag.

"Can you write it for me?" she asked, holding the marker in her trembling hand, pleading, her eyes wide.

"No. I think it's appropriate. If you want to be Cunt for Brains, or Cow Tits, or Milk Jugs, that's fine. Just leave me out of it. I like my job, even if you don't."

Tracy did like her job. She was well-paid and had authority. She was good at her job. The rules were to be followed, because that was the fourth rule, but she could not walk around a professional conference, filled with people that knew and respected her, wearing a nametag that read Cunt for Brains. The rules would not allow her to write Tracy, though, and rules had to be followed. There was the nineteenth rule, though, governing how she could ask for assistance in the event there was something she could not do. She, simply, had to trade her body for the assistance she needed. Even as she contemplated the rule, and before she could stop herself, Tracy knew it was going too far. She could not sexually proposition a coworker right here, surrounded by managers from across the country. Only, she did, because rules needed to be followed, and she needed assistance to write her actual name on the nametag.

"If you help me," she said, wishing she could bite her tongue off, "You can hold me by the hair and fuck my mouth in the men's restroom."

Evan took her roughly by the arm and led her from the room as some very confused people in line behind them muttered to one another in shock. Evan marched her to a secluded corner, looked both ways, and then slapped her across the face.

"What the fuck, Tracy? Are you on something?" he hissed.

Evan had questioned her behavior, again, so Tracy answered, "No! I just… I get off on cockteasing, because I think with my cunt!"

Evan shook his head, saying, "Look, I'm guessing this has something to do with that other conference of perverts that's in town. Are you on some kink thing? Jesus, I always figured you were some kind of closeted slut, but I never thought you'd stoop this low. You better get it together and leave that kinky shit at the door, or you're gonna get yourself fired. Now, dry up your cunt and start thinking like a professional woman who values her career, alright? I like you, and I don't want to see you get fired."

Tracy dabbed at her eyes, nodded, then took out her phone, snapped a selfie of her horrendous nametag and her tear-streaked eyes, then sent it to her brother, a progressive artsy type who had wasted his life (in her opinion) on stupid paintings.

Evan shook his head, outraged, and said, "That tears it. From now on, you really are Cunt for Brains."

"No!" Tracy wailed.

Evan slapped her again, then said, "Come on, Cunt for Brains. We need to get inside for the pep talk."

He pulled Tracy roughly by the arm, back down the hall, and into the conference room, depositing her in a seat at the back. He sat next to her, fuming, waiting for the presentation to start. Tracy waited, quietly, her thoughts muddled by the vibrating thing in her twat and her deep sense of humiliating desire, caused by her whorish behavior. She hated the rules and couldn't understand why she needed to follow them, only knowing, on a deep subconscious level that she did. Rules are to be obeyed. The rules made that clear.

While she waited, she blushed deeply each time someone passed by and furrowed their brows at the sight of her erect nipples tenting the front of her blouse. She watched each person's gaze linger on them, change from confusion, into disbelief, and then to revulsion as they looked at her. The rules dictated, though, that she keep displaying her embarrassing tits, and for her to feel proud of the way they made her so ashamed to be a good, wet, girl that couldn't touch her cunt. She wanted to touch her cunt. Desperately. She'd never felt so stupidly horny in her life and the idea of being stupidly horny felt right, because the rules told her that good girls with wet cunts are stupid.

A man she knew took the stage. He was one of the division managers, an all-star in the sales department. Tracy couldn't remember his name. She realized, with horror, that she'd been daydreaming of the conference ending, so that she could go back to the cottage, have Leah take the belt off of her, and then ask the woman to touch her cunt and make her cum. The room fell quiet as the man took the stage. As a hush fell over the attendees, Tracy let out a low, slutty moan and several people nearby stared at her. Some of them laughed.

Tracy pulled out her phone, put it between her legs and, as Evan watched, astonished, she took a photo of her soaking, locked-up cunt, and then sent it to Jeremy. Her ex-boyfriend. The one that had always wanted to slap her tits when they'd made love. She disapproved of that. She disapproved of him for it. She paled. Jeremy would probably think that it was an invitation to let him back into her life. She stared at the photo, reminding herself of her shame, then noticed there were two messages.

The first was from Ross, stating that he wasn't sure if she sent this photo in error, but that it was a good look and he appreciated it. He asked if he should share it around the office, and why she'd sent it to him. Her mind recoiled as her fingers responded in accordance with the seventeenth rule of her stay.

I secretly want people to see me and associate me with the image of my cunt.

She pressed send.

The next message was from her secretary, asking, like Ross, if she'd received the message in error. Then, of course, asking why there was a photo of her hard nipples.

Girls looking at my tits makes me wet.

She pressed send.

Ross replied, "I think I can help with that. Don't worry, boss. By the time you get back, everyone in the department will find your identity interchangeable with your cunt, locked in chastity. Glad you're having fun at the FUCK conference. I see this as a positive change."

A reply came from her secretary, "That's gross. You can't say things like that! I can't believe I agreed to work here. I'm taking this to HR."

Tracy sobbed quietly, not wanting to attract more attention. Why couldn't she just stop following the rules? Rules are to be obeyed. That was all the validation she needed, because she knew it was true. The man on the stage must have been giving a rousing speech, because there were murmurs of approval and a few scattered rounds of applause, but Tracy couldn't listen. She could only think about the need between her legs, the hum of the vibrating thing in her twat, and the feel of her shirt rubbing her nubs so delightfully. She squirmed in her chair, sweaty and confused, until the speech ended.

People stood up. Evan stood up and pulled Tracy up by her arm.

"Let's go to group, Cunt for Brains," and Tracy followed him out of the room, stumbling clumsily on her heels with no idea where she was supposed to be going.

Fortunately, Evan knew, because Evan wasn't stupid. Evan didn't have a cunt for a brain. They milled through the throng of people, until they came to a side room, the door to which Evan locked. Tracy looked about in confusion. There was no one here.

"Where's our group?" she asked.

Evan slapped her across the face. Tracy recoiled in alarm, but Evan took a complimentary, company t-shirt from one of the tables and stuffed it roughly into her mouth, then grabbed her arms and pushed her over a table. Tracy panicked as she heard him unzip his fly, certain that Evan was about to rape her. She couldn't resist a sexual advance, even if it was unwelcome. The rule didn't make sense. It wasn't safe. But it was true.

Evan pulled up her skirt, saw the belt, and commented, "What the fuck, Cunt for Brains? You weren't kidding about being a cocktease, were you? Whatever. I'd rather put it up your ass, anyway."

Evan pushed his hard cock into her anus. Tracy squealed into her makeshift gag as Evan rutted into her virginal asshole. After only a few strokes of his angry penis, though, Tracy moaned and then shook as she orgasmed from the unwanted buttfucking. Evan shot sticky ropes of semen into her rectum, holding her hands tightly as he used her. Once his cock had been satisfied, he jerked her up by her hair and shoved her to her knees, then yanked the shirt from her mouth and replaced it with his slimy cock.

"Hurry up and clean it, Cunt for Brains," he said demeaningly, "We've got to get to group."

Tracy stared up at him with wide, frightened eyes. Evan pulled her phone from the breast pocket of her blazer, swiped it open with a chuckle at the photo on her lock screen, then took a picture of her cock-stuffed mouth. He put the phone back in her breast pocket, after changing the lock screen to the latest photo. Seemingly satisfied by her cleaning job, he extracted his cock from her suckhole and tucked it away.

"Glad that distraction's out of the way," he said and started for the door.

Tracy, submissively, tottered to her feet and followed, still trying to process the fact that she'd just been anally violated by her co-worker, a man she'd had a little crush on for years, someone that had respected her as a valued member of the team just this morning. Now, Evan only saw her as Cunt for Brains, little more than a humiliating decoration that he could sink his penis into when it was hard. As she followed, she sent the photo to one of the managers at her previous job, the man who had insisted on calling her "Sugar" or "Baby" all the time. She had disapproved of that. She pulled off her blazer, dropped it into a trash can, and followed Evan, proudly displaying her shameful tits while her co-worker's semen ran out of her violated asshole.

Before she could enter the room, her phone rang. It was Carlton. She didn't want to answer it. She couldn't not answer it. She answered it.

"Hello?"

"Tracy! Do you have any fucking idea what a fuck-up of a morning you've given me? What in the literal fuck are you up to over there? I've got a dozen emails and two harassment complaints from HR on my desk, and I've been in the office not ten minutes! Explain your goddamn self this instant!"

Tracy paled, stammered. She didn't want to say it. She had to say it.

"I… I'm acting like a whore because I have cunt for brains."

The door to the group study room stood open. Everyone in the room had heard what she'd said and pivoted toward her in shock. The line was silent as Carlton processed the unbelievable explanation he'd just been given.

"Tracy," he said quietly, calmly, menacingly, "You're fired. I'll have HR pack your things and deliver them to your house. Jesus fucking Christ."


The Cottage

Tracy sat in her rental car as the soothing nature sounds played from the speakers. She sobbed into her hands, makeup running, wishing she could masturbate her vibrating twat. She'd just been fired. She'd told her boss that she was a whore with a cunt for a brain, and even as the reality of it seemed so unreal, she knew that it was true. She had cunt for brains. Even now, she wanted to orgasm more than she wanted to contemplate the fact that two of her co-workers had filed harassment claims against her, and she was now unemployed, wearing a chastity belt, with another co-worker's semen drying in her asshole. She was a disgusting slut. It was her fault. She was weak. For some reason, she valued following the rules of her stay more than she valued her own well-being, and that was her fault. No one else's.

She needed to cum. She needed help. She couldn't touch her own cunt. Someone else would have to do it for her. Tracy put the car in drive and left the conference behind. Like a zombie, she drove through the streets of the city, dimly aware of the crowds of FUCK conference attendees milling on the sidewalks. The eclectic crowd of strange people that had descended on the city were everywhere. They were perverts, she thought, like her. She was a pervert. She stopped at a light to allow a group of men in bondage gear to lead women, also in leather, by leashes attached to collars on their necks, to cross the street. She stopped again to allow a group of women to lead men on leashes across the street. Again, she stopped to allow a group of people in cat suits to cross, then again for a group of men holding hands with women, who tugged their husbands along by leashes attached to chastity cages on their cocks.

Finally, she was out of the city, and then pulling into the drive that would take her to the cottage. Sweaty, confused, and ridiculously horny, she let herself into the cottage and made herself some of the tea as the stereo played the relaxing nature sounds for her. She phoned the main house, waited as it rang, and then Leah answered.

"Hello, honey. Back so soon?"

Tracy cried into the phone.

"Oh, dear. What's happened?" she asked.

Tracy cried some more.

"You just sit tight and drink some tea," Leah said, "I'll be right down."

Tracy dabbed at her eyes as she sat on the bed, drinking the tea. Slowly, she became more relaxed, and the horror of her predicament started to fade. The tea tasted so good. It was so calming. All the worries she'd had about losing her job, humiliating herself, began to recede into her mind. She stared ahead at the wall, drinking the tea. Leah let herself in. Tracy glanced up, vacantly staring at the woman, who sat next to her on the bed.

"Looks like you've had a tough day, huh?" Leah asked.

Tracy nodded. It had been a tough day, but it didn't seem so bad now that she was back at the cottage, drinking the tea, listening to the stereo. She wished that she could just stay here, in the little cottage, where she didn't have to worry about anything. There were no hard decisions here. There was just the tea, the stereo, the little pocket of nature outside. She didn't even need to think.

"It's very difficult going through life with a wet and excited, cunt, isn't it?" Leah asked, brushing her hair.

Tracy nodded. It was difficult.

"I'm sure your twat is very agitated, isn't it? It's very hard to think with a wet cunt," Leah said.

Tracy nodded again. It was so very hard to think with a wet cunt, but that's what made her a good girl, and having a wet cunt meant that she didn't have to think. She just had to follow the rules.

"Would you like some help with your twat?" Leah asked.

Tracy did want some help with her twat. She couldn't touch it, but the rules said that a wet cunt should be played with, so she needed to ask for help. If she needed to ask for help, then she had to trade her body for it.

"We could trade," Leah suggested, "I'll help you with your twat if you'll help with mine."

Tracy stared at her blankly. She thought that Leah was suggesting that she should… touch another woman's cunt? Leah's cunt? It was very hard to think, because of her shameful, wet cunt. Leah began to pull off her own skirt, exposing her shaven sex to Tracy's eyes. Tracy stared at it, burning with humiliation at the idea that she was going to lick another woman's pussy in order to have her own satisfied. It didn't seem right. It was right. It was a fair trade. She needed Leah's help.

Leah pushed her back on the bed, taking her empty teacup and setting it aside. The older woman mounted Tracy's face, and then the smell of her aroused fuckhole hit Tracy's nostrils as the woman's wet labia smothered her. Tracy knew that she couldn't resist the advance, and that she needed help, so she allowed Leah to grip her hair and rub her warm, wet pussy against her face, humping it like a pillow. Tracy found it hard to breathe and made little squeals of protest as Leah fucked her cunt with Tracy's unwilling face until she orgasmed, loudly, and squirted a wash of hot girl cum across Tracy's lips. The slutty ejaculation bathed Tracy's mouth, her nose, her entire face in a sheen of wetness.

Satisfied and smiling, Leah dismounted her guest's face, leaving Tracy panting and confused about what she'd just done. On some level, she registered that she'd just been raped by another woman, raped twice in one day, but that thought wasn't pleasant to think about. It was far more pleasant to listen to the stereo and stare at the ceiling, letting her mind go blank. She felt Leah helping her to sit up, and then there was a mug of warm tea in her hands. She drank it gratefully as the vibrator in her twat hummed away, keeping her aroused and horny, but unable to cum.

Tracy sipped at the tea, barely aware that Leah was talking on the phone, but then Leah was back and stroking her hair.

"Let's get that belt off you so we can take care of your twat. What do you say?"

Tracy nodded, eager to have the belt off, eager to cum. Leah removed her skirt, her shirt, the belt, and Tracy stood nude, flushed, sipping the tea. The door creaked open again. A man stepped into the cottage. He was not an attractive man. The man had a gut that hung from the bottom of his too-small shirt, and a large, hairy beard on his face. He waddled, more than walked, through the doorway. Tracy wanted to protest, standing naked as she was, but good girls with wet cunts don't think. Good girls with wet cunts share their shame with those they disapprove of, and so she shared her shameful nudity with this gross man who did not meet with her approval. Tracy felt ill, despite the calming tea.

"This is my husband, Felix," Leah said, "and he's going to help take care of your messy twat."

Tracy looked at her confused, struggling to think. This didn't seem helpful. It seemed like a bad idea. The gross man pulled off his shirt, exposing a pair of man boobs that were nearly as large as Tracy's own. Then, he pulled down his pants and exposed his thick, hairy cock. Tracy moaned, ashamed, her nipples hard and cunt wet. She didn't object when the man pushed her back onto the bed. Leah swiped open Tracy's phone, propped it on the nightstand, and let it begin recording. Tracy knew this was alright, because she'd need to share her shame with someone else that she disapproved of, so she'd need a record of this latest shame.

Felix mauled her tits with one of his sweaty hands and pushed his tongue into Tracy's mouth. She moaned, whorishly, as Felix' knobby fingers found the entrance to her wet fuckhole and began to rub it roughly. Tracy squealed into his mouth, his scratchy beard hurting her as the man continued to plunge his squirming tongue deeper into her unresisting mouth. Her cunt was so wet. She needed Felix to help her take care of it. Felix pushed the head of his big cock into her pussy. Tracy wanted to be sick, but her head felt light and empty, foggy and confused as Felix' large penis burrowed into her. The fat man groaned as he took her and then, to Tracy's shame, she bucked, moaned, and then screamed into his mouth as she orgasmed on his cock, crying all the while at her own needy, humiliating desire to satisfy her slutty cunt.

The man raised one of her legs and lay her on her side, so she faced the camera. One of his hands latched roughly onto her tit, and then he began to fuck her with vicious, deep, powerful strokes that made her free boob wobble obscenely. The camera recorded as she moaned and came again on her rapist's invading cock. Only, it wasn't really rape, because her cunt was very wet, and that meant it needed to be played with. Felix was helping her play with her cunt, because she couldn't do it herself. She orgasmed again due to his helpful penis, thrusting into her, smacking wetly between her legs as he held her leg aloft, so that the camera could clearly see the penetration of her sex.

Felix rolled her onto her front, resting his belly on her ass and crushing her beneath his weight as he continued to batter her orgasming fuckhole, while Tracy moaned into the mattress and the camera recorded her violation. Felix' thrusting cock was so helpful, giving her the orgasms that she'd been denied for so long and she felt grateful that he was giving her the help she needed. This was a fair trade. She came again.


***

Leah cuddled Tracy's naked, sweaty body in her arms, casually groping one of her breasts, while Tracy floated in a pleasant tea-induced, post-orgasmic haze, fueled by the calming sounds from the stereo. The vibrating belt was, once again, locked onto her, keeping the three large loads of Felix' semen pushed up her, still, very wet pussy. Felix had been gone for some time, but Tracy knew that he would be back.

After unloading his very full nuts into her thrice over, Tracy, in accordance with the rules for her stay, uploaded the video of her unwelcome fucking to her company's file server, because she disapproved of the way they'd fired her, when she was only following the rules that she knew to be true. The act had been deeply shameful, as she knew that employees from all over the country, including those here at the conference, visited that server every day. Over the coming hours, hundreds of people would witness her shame, which made her proud, wet, and further ashamed, before the IT people would manage to catch on and remove it from the server. The damage would, likely, already have been done. From there, she visualized the video ending up on porno websites across the globe, where millions would masturbate to the images of her pliant body being pounded into submission by a bearded stranger with a beer gut, and the further degrading horror of her reluctant orgasms, that her traitorous cunt had demanded of her.

The rules, though, had to be followed. The rules had ruined her life, and it was her own fault, she knew, and Leah reinforced that fact by telling her that her wet cunt got her into this mess. It was a tricky, vicious thing that had to be locked away, because it was always wet and needed to be played with. Leah was right. It was always wet, and she shouldn't be allowed to play with it. Only other people should play with it. It was a good rule, but a hard rule, because it was always wet and always making her feel ashamed. The delirious cycle ran through her head as Leah palmed her breast, waiting for Felix to return.

She deserved the rape. This she also knew, because she was a cocktease for having an always-wet cunt that was locked up and unable to be played with. People were unfriendly, Leah had explained, and unable to help themselves because of her incessant cockteasing. But Tracy had worth. Leah had poured her calming tea and explained it in such a way that even a good girl with an always wet cunt could understand.

"I'm so sorry that you weren't very good at your job," Leah said, consoling a confused Tracy, "But even a good girl with a wet cunt can do something right."

Tracy, drifting pleasantly in the fuck fog that filled her head, nodded along, though she wasn't sure exactly what it was that she could do right. She should be concerned for her future, she knew, but it was very hard to think, or to make decisions when one had a cunt for brains and that cunt was always wet.

"You like the cottage, don't you?" Leah had asked, as she'd locked the belt in place.

Tracy nodded, because she did like the cottage. It was very easy to let go of all her concerns when she was in the cottage, listening to the stereo, drinking the tea, and most of all, following the rules for her stay. She felt very uncertain about what she was going to do with herself when her stay ended, she no longer had to follow the rules, and she returned to her ruined life, in which everyone now knew about her wet, shameful cunt.

"You could just stay in the cottage," Leah said.

Tracy felt hopeful, but still unsure. The cottage was a rental, and even a good girl with a cunt for brains understood that you had to pay for a rental. Without a job, Tracy couldn't pay. She attempted to explain this to Leah, but it was very difficult, because Leah's tongue was in her mouth and her hand was tugging on Tracy's nipple in a most painful way. Finally, Leah pulled her tongue from Tracy's mouth and squeezed the base of her breast painfully, which made her sperm-filled pussy clench needily around the vibrator inside it.

"Felix is a notary," Leah explained, "You can just sign over your pension fund to the cottage. We'll use it to plump these up into some nice, big bimbo tits, perfect for a good girl with a wet cunt."

Tracy moaned as Leah slid her finger into Tracy's asshole and tugged her nipple.

"Then, we'll just add you to the amenities for the future cottage guests. We do great business around here, especially during the FUCK conference. Once we let everyone know that there's a good girl with a wet cunt as part of the package, there will be no end to the guests that can help you with your twat."

Some part of Tracy's mind recoiled at this horrendous idea. She'd worked for years to earn the money in her pension. She should not sign it away for a pair of fake tits and a life of being a sex decoration for the cottage guests to rape. It seemed like a terrible idea and not at all conducive to the life she'd always dreamed of. Only, she couldn't recall what that life was, what that dream had been. She had cunt for brains, and she was very wet. She was a good girl with a wet cunt that didn't need to think, and she should not make decisions. She needed help. She needed to trade her body for help, and Leah was offering her help. She should trade her body for that help, as the rules of her stay dictated.

Leah's finger pushed further into her anus, bringing back the memory of the shameful assfucking that she'd received from Evan, and suddenly the choice did not seem important, because she experienced another orgasm, Leah biting her nipple painfully as she came. The soothing nature sounds and white noise played. Tracy bucked and moaned like a slutty, good girl with a wet cunt. She didn't want to leave. She couldn't leave. The final, twentieth rule overrode all her own wishes, because it stated that she belonged to the cottage.

Felix returned with a small sheaf of papers and a stamp. Tracy had to sign her name. She couldn't sign her name. Leah signed it for her. Felix witnessed it, placing his legal notary stamp on the paperwork. Tracy felt that she should be concerned, somehow, that they had this paperwork ready with all of her details on it so quickly, but it was very hard to think with a cunt as wet as hers. Felix handed the papers to Leah, then wrapped his fist in Tracy's hair and pushed his cock into her mouth. His atrocious belly bounced against her head as he drove his stiff prick into her roughly, giving her the occasional slap, just for fun, chuckling as her repeated, "Gluk, gluk, gluk…" echoed off the walls of the cottage.


Repeat Violations

Tracy loved the cottage, and the cottage loved Tracy. At times, it was a love-hate relationship. For instance, her first night, after signing the papers, Leah had cuffed Tracy's wrists and ankles to the bed. When Tracy made an attempt to question this decision, Leah put a ball gag into her mouth and clicked a button on a remote she held. This had the effect of kicking up the vibrator in the belt a notch, and then Tracy bit down on the gag and squealed as her wet and excited twat spasmed happily. Leah, then, turned on the TV and selected a channel for her. She placed earbuds in Tracy's ears, secured them with electrical tape, and then the calming sounds from the stereo, and the relaxing white noise were directly in her head, reinforcing the rules for her stay.

Tracy loved the rules, because a new rule, the twenty-first, dictated that she loved the rules. She hated being restrained on the bed, because the twenty-second rule told her that she should be ashamed of making herself vulnerable and available. Leah said something, but Tracy couldn't hear it over the sound in her earbuds, and whatever Leah had to say was not as important as the twenty-third rule for her stay, which reinforced the fact that good girls with wet cunts only orgasm from forcible anal penetration. Tracy moaned as Leah clicked the vibrator up another notch, making Tracy's cunt clench tightly as it tried to orgasm, but it just wouldn't happen. The twenty-fourth rule of her stay, which suddenly filled the empty void in her head, told her that pain in her tits made her wet.

Leah tugged painfully on one of her nipples, and sure enough, this rule proved to be true, as Tracy's already wet hole gushed cunt honey into the belt. Leah stayed with her that night, ensuring that she stayed awake to watch the long sequence of degrading, hardcore pornography on the TV. Whenever Tracy threatened to drift off, Leah would apply one of several very painful clamps to her nipples, which would, invariably, make her cunt gush and want to orgasm. Only, it couldn't, because the Twenty-third rule of her stay would not allow it. She'd need to be forcibly buttfucked if she was going to cum. Tired, desperately horny, hungry, uncomfortable and with her tits constantly in pain, Tracy watched the latest video begin to play.

By now, the long hours of anxiety and lack of sleep, being fed nothing but the calming tea, Tracy's once intelligent mind had become little more than the mess of sensations in her cunt, her ass, and her tits. Her head was filled with rules, rules for her stay, rules that needed to be followed. The rules told her that she was a good girl. She was a rape doll. She was a wet toy for the pleasure of others. Her tits were meant to be hurt. Her cunt was always wet. She was ashamed, so ashamed by what a terrible, wet and fuckable little sex doll she was.

Felix entered the cottage, undid the restraints on her ankles, and pushed her legs back to expose her open anus to his cock. Tracy bucked, tugged at the restraints on her wrists, in accordance with the thirty-seventh rule of her stay. She should be fun to rape. Leah slapped one of her tits. Her cunt twitched. Felix pushed his cock into her ass, wet with the copious girl cum that had been leaking from her pussy. Tracy squealed into the gag, saw, on the TV, her first encounter with Felix, in which she lay on her side, the man's fat cock lodged in her pussy, and a shameful "O" of surprise on her face as she orgasmed. She orgasmed again, both at the feeling of forcibly having her rectum filled with cock, and at the brainless look of the slut on the TV. The little part of her mind that wasn't filled with the rules for her stay still clung to the knowledge that the slut on the TV was her, but with each angry thrust of Felix' cock into her anus, the knowledge died a little more.

Tracy felt that knowledge slipping away as another rule, and then another filled her head, implanted by the earbuds, the tea, and she felt terrified that soon there would be no more Tracy. Soon, there would be only an empty head, a wet cunt, the rules, and a rape doll with enhanced fuckhandles that had once been Tracy. She orgasmed again, in accordance with the forty-fifth rule of her stay. It's all my fault.


Epilogue: The Getaway

Ross and Tricia drove their rental car down the long, winding, dirt drive, veering off before they reached the large manor-style house up on the hill. In the weeks since Tracy's slutty implosion at work, things had been going great at the office. Tricia had shown such initiative, taking on her absent boss' duties so ably, that Carlton had seen fit to instill her in Tracy's old position. Ross, who had discovered Tracy's last upload, showing off her shame to the world, was quick to get the video off of the company servers before anyone else had a chance to see it. His quick thinking had saved the company a major scandal. Carlton, already incensed at sweeping multiple harassment claims under the rug, had given Ross the proverbial pat on the back for his diligence. Ross received a promotion and a nice bonus, taking him out of Tricia's department and allowing them to explore the budding romance that could only come from sharing such a terrible experience between co-workers.

Now, the new lovers were on their first getaway together. Tricia had booked them in the cottage that she'd sent Tracy to, thrilled by all the outstanding reviews the place had received. While the prior reviews had been great, since Tracy's stay at the place the satisfaction ratings had all been a solid five stars, and the comments from the guests were nothing short of glowing.


-My God! The decor! This place has it all. Super hosts.

-Such a cute, little, out of the way location. The added amenities were top notch and didn't seem to mind a bit when things got a little wild.

-Five stars aren't generous enough. Leah and Felix really go all out to make a guest welcome. The tea. The coffee. The extra amenities will, absolutely, leave you feeling more relaxed than you have in years.


Now, as they pulled up in front of the cottage, Tricia noted an envelope stuck to the door. The lovely young couple pulled the envelope from the door, opened it, and out tumbled a set of silver keys and a card from the host.


Thank you for your stay at the cottage. We're here to make your visit as pleasant as possible. These are your keys to the amenities. Please ensure that the amenities are locked again after each use, and before you leave the cottage. Please feel free to arrange any furniture and decorations to your liking during your stay, and don't worry about clean-up. We'll handle that detail for you. We do have one, simple rule for your stay, and that is this: Please do not remove the earbuds. These are for the safety of the property. Enjoy your visit.


Ross and Tricia looked at each curiously, shrugged, and punched in the code for the door. It opened. They stepped inside. The cottage was very cute, open on the inside, with a flat screen TV on the wall, a working fireplace, and large well-made bed. On the bed, spread out on the comforter, was the added amenity. Her wrists and ankles were strapped to the bedposts with padded cuffs. She stared, dazedly, into space, her eyes unfocused, as though lost in a happy dream. A metal chastity belt encircled her waist, and the couple could hear the low hum of something vibrating inside of her twat. A ring gag held her mouth open, and her head lay on a plastic, sanitary sheet, which absorbed the drool leaking from her open mouth. The base of a plug protruded from her anus. In each of her ears, secured with black, electrical tape, was an earbud. Tracy acknowledged their presence with only a slight tilt of the head and a long, slutty moan.


Tricia and Ross looked at one another, their newfound love shining in their eyes, as they took one another's hands. The cottage, they knew, would be the memory of a lifetime.



 

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