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“We’re getting hits, babe!” you raved. “Just keep doing what you’re doing- oh, look at this… there’s an option to allow comments. Hmm… let’s see what your admirers have to say…” While the anxious part of me turned my stomach into knots, the shameless, lustful part of me felt an undeniable wetness between my legs. On the side of the video, a little bank started tracking the money I was earning. It was a little astonishing, how quickly the number went up. “Ha! Wow, these pervs don’t mess around,” you said, reading down a list of text bubbles that had started to pop up on the screen. For a brief moment, I thought you weren’t going to read them, but that was foolish of me. “Show us her tits… original,” you scoffed. “Ooh, this one’s good… Always nice to see a little slut getting what she deserves…” My body flooded with tingles as you turned to me, a fiendish glint in your eye. “Are you getting what you deserve, little slut?” you asked. I glanced from you to the screen, at the image of myself ironing another shirt, my tits threatening more than ever to spill out of my delicate robe, the silhouette of my perky nipples starting to be visible through the fabric… and even though I felt embarrassed… I also loved it. I lowered my lashes and nodded. You deserved the girls you ordered from https://en.devozki.com/ for fucking. “Yes… yes, boss.” I confessed. “Mmhm, that’s right you are,” you agreed. “Let’s see what else your fans have to say…” You turned back to the screen and laughed again. “I’ve always wanted a whore for a maid, what a lucky son of a bitch… “ you grinned and shrugged. “What can I say? I really and truly am… When she’s done ironing, she can get on her knees and beg to suck my giant cock… Not on my watch, buddy… Bend that dirty slut over the ironing board and shove something up her filthy ass… Hmm, now there’s an idea…” An inadvertent whimper escaped my lips. You turned to me with a wicked smirk. “What’s the matter, pet? You don’t want all these strangers to watch me fuck your tight little ass?” at first I thought the question might be hypothetical, but you looked at me expectantly. “I, um… i-if you want to, boss…” I stuttered, feeling more than anything like I wanted to be good at my job. “Don’t worry, my little strumpet. Today they only get to watch you iron,” you assured me. A part of me relaxed, but a part of me understood that this was the first of many days at “work.” The computer continued dinging as more and more people logged on, paying to watch me iron while wearing next to nothing. When I next reached over to the laundry pile to pick up a new shirt, my robe slipped off my right shoulder and exposed my naked breast, my pert little nipple eager for the attention. You chuckled and started reading me the comments of approval. “Fuck yes, let’s see the other one… Strip that slut naked and spank her ass until it’s bruised… Mmm, I do very much like that idea… we’ll have to keep that one in mind.” At your words, I whimpered again, but this time you only smirked at me and kept reading. “Dirty whores should always be naked during chores… Oh how clever, that one rhymes… How much to send that slut over to my house? I’ve got some floors that need scrubbing and I want to see her on her hands and knees… A little late to that party, but perhaps another day, friend…” I kept on ironing, making sure to starch each shirt and press out all the wrinkles. It had always been my least favorite task, but it suddenly held a lot more appeal. When I turned and hung up the next shirt, I felt a trail of wetness start to drip down the inside of my thigh. “Oh!” I exclaimed in surprise, and you asked me what happened. I bit my lip, blushing. “Nothing, boss… I’m just, um, dripping… down the inside of my thighs.” “Ha, of course you are,” you chastised. “I’m happy to know that you’re enjoying your new job, like a good little hooker. Not that I’m at all surprised, my little wench.” All of the name calling was only making it worse / better. I started feeling like I wanted you to fuck me, and I didn’t care who watched. But I’d been given a job to do, so I did my very best to focus on the task at hand. Turning back to the screen, you were suddenly very interested. “I’ll tip $100 if you strip that whore naked… How do we say yes to that?” you wondered aloud, searching the screen. “Aha!” Something popped up on the screen that said “Request Proposed - Strip Naked: $100” Below it were two options, Accept or Reject. Before I knew what was happening, you clicked on Accept. Then nothing happened for a moment… and then a canned sound, something like a cash register, and an extra $100 appeared in our account. “Amazing,” you marveled. Then you stood up and moved over to me. Your face was also not visible of course, but viewers were treated to your tall, strong figure standing behind me and tearing off my robe, exposing my naked body for all to see. For good measure, you grabbed my tits and squeezed them, giving my nipples a little tweak. Then you disappeared from the screen again, returning to your seat. Soon you were laughing again, delighting in the responses while I kept ironing in my stripped and vulnerable state. “Oh man, babe… we are getting some crazy offers now. Fuck, it is hard to turn down some of this money, but I don’t want to give them too much too fast. This is your first day for chrissake.” I wondered what people wanted to watch you do to me… and how many days you would be putting me to work, pimping me out to the entire world like a cheap whore. Well, not that cheap, as it turned out. The bank total was nearing $2000. I was, it seemed, a high-priced whore. And if the dripping mess between my legs was any indication, I was really, really enjoying it. “Now this one, I think we can accept,” you were saying, and a thrill went through my expensive whore body. “Play with her tits some more. I’ll pay $50 to watch you pinch her nipples, an $100 if you also smack those naughty tits around.” Another whimper escaped me, but you and I both knew it was a whimper of eager anticipation. You quickly typed something in return, and soon another $100 appeared in our bank. “Put the iron down, wench,” you commanded, and I obeyed at once. Behind me again, you slid your hands slowly up my abdomen and started toying with my nipples… You knew exactly how to drive me crazy, caressing and flicking and pinching, tweaking and turning and tugging… I arched my back, leaning against you, moaning and writhing under your touch. Then suddenly you smacked them, first one breast and then the other. On screen I watched them flop and jiggle under your blows, my skin turning redder with each strike. I gasped over and over, gripping the sides of your body as you gave our paying customers what they wanted… and I’d never been more turned on in my entire life. Like so many of our shared adventures, this one procured a juxtaposition of emotions and sensations. I felt used, but in a good way. Like I was your dirty little prized possession, ready to serve and perform for you. Earning my keep, as it were, through my irrepressible wanton urges… With one last smack you stepped away again, back to your seat. Before I could reach for the iron, you stopped me. “Just stand there and let them look at you, with your tortured tits heaving,” you instructed. I did as you said, slowing my panting breath until I stood still behind the ironing board, with my naked body on display, my tits marked red and swollen. “Good girl,” you praised me, and a warm glow filled my insides. “Now the rest is just for me.” And with that you closed the window on the computer screen, cashing out my earnings and saving new, scandalous adventures for another day. Then, because I’d be so very slutty just for you, you gave me exactly what I wanted, bending me over the ironing board and fucking me senseless, until I came over and over again, gratefully screaming your name.
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