That there’s a whore at her core is a well-kept secret. For she’s been scarred too many times. Certainly fuckable, the thinking went, but, stripped to her emotional core, was she then lovable?

The morning sun crept through Rosie’s apartment window. Flickering across her porcelain skin, the rays reclaimed ever-changing patches of her taut physique from the shadows. Highlighting the genetic lapidary which had sculptured delicate beauty from granite, but not bright enough to reach the heart she’d encased in that stone.

Rosie’s cuteness meant a filthy mind often overlooked. Maybe, only Simon, the tatty teddy, who, suckling-like, spent every night crushed against Rosie’s breast, knew all about the kinks she’d interred.

Until that is, I penetrated that veil, by telling her about Mikey. The one I’d exchanged wedding bands with, after he’d promised, “I’ll always love you for who you are. I don’t need to make you into someone you’re not.”

And my husband knew exactly who I was; my life’s journey travelled orgasm-addict class. No surprise to him that lust consumed me the day I met Rosie. But she had to discover I was slutty and discover I was loved, before she allowed me to unpeel the layers she was tightly wrapped in.

The sun, laser-like, highlighted her pink collar, illuminating the faded gold lettering, ‘Annie’s.’ I’d tightened it around her neck months ago and she refuses to ever take that collar off.

My finger traced the fiery-red, bruised teeth marks tattooed onto the nape of my girlfriend’s neck. Always ritually refreshed before I, her Miss, use her. My fluttering abdomen interrupted my caresses; who needs another reminder to pee?

Sliding from sheets still damp with pussy-goo, I winced. Having stepped onto my purple Feeldoe, biting my lip, I just managed to swallow the now verboten, F-word. Last night, consumed by need, I’d tossed the doe, and ridden Rosie’s pretty face into the bed until I came hard. Now discovering where my toy ended up, I left it on the bed, certain I’d be needing it soon.

Creeping, church-mouse like, into her apartment’s bathroom, peeing wasn’t a total relief. I recalled my girl’s recent confession, that she always wanted to be my potty of choice.

Showering with Mikey, I’ve indulged pee play; it’s just clean, dirty fun weeing on each other’s legs. But for Rosie it’s different. Last birthday, she shyly suggested christening. It felt so right; if the woman I loved was coming out as a piss-whore, how could I, her Miss, refuse her pee’s benediction.

Though we’d not thought that first time through. With my golden stream splattering onto Rosie’s mouth, much was swallowed but more splashed over her face and matted her hair. Most of that piss seeped into the mattress.

The next day, holding my hand, Rosie blushed beetroot red when the cute sales woman realized why she was asking about waterproof mattresses. I’ve rarely seen my husband laugh so much, which eventually had Rosie and the sales woman giggling too. Though, we’ve never found out how Mikey got rid of Rosie’s piss-soaked mattress.

Tip-toeing back to bed, Rosie was wrapped in the stained sheet; my attempt at stealth peeing obviously an epic failure. Hearing a giggle, I peeked under the covers finding her lasciviously sucking the doe, lollipop like.

“Morning Miss,” she shyly said, “The Bump wake you?”

“Yeah. Abusing my bladder.”

“Takes after you then; the abuse I put up with. Though …”

I took the bait. “Though?”

“My poor arse. Left out last night.” With playful censure, she tapped my nose with the drool-sticky doe.

“I’m Miss Mean to anal-whores nowadays!”

Rosie smirked. Clambering into bed, cocooning her in my arms, we snuggled for ages. Until my tits distracted her and she traced my areola with the doe.

“Oh look. You’re leaking,”

“Yeah, colostrum kicking in.”

Her tongue swirled across my stiffening nipple, foremilk sticking to her lips. “It’s like butter milk.”

“Saltier, less sweet, Mikey says.”

“Heaven if he’s into lactophilia? Can I try getting into breast milk, Miss?”

“Probably not. As I said to Mikey, ‘Come September, the baby owns my tits.’”

Melancholy flashed across my girlfriend’s face.

“Hey, Rosie, it’s okay.”

“I know. It’s just no other lover mines my pain and humiliation craving like you do.”

“Yeah, you’ll see less of me. But I’m not burying our love beside the placenta.”

Rosie smiled wanly, her melancholy tugging on my heartstrings. So, I kissed her tenderly, our tongues swirling lazily, while my mind buzzed until my thoughts clarified.

Clambering out of bed, I foraged through the toybox for my lead and red patent leather heels. Heels when pregnant, that always means love!

One of the first things I’d discovered about Rosie was her liking for shoes, they trigger her submissiveness like nothing else. Sitting on the bed, I clipped the lead into her collar. Taking it from me, she knelt on the carpet, her eyes downcast to my heels. Holding out her hands she offered me the looped leather handle, asking, “I’m a good girl, Miss?”

“I hope so,” I said, lifting one foot and pressing my shoe onto her sternum. And grabbing the leather handle from her hands so it tugged on her collar, reminding her to whom she belonged.

She whimpered. “May I, Miss?”

“Such a good girl.”

Rosie reverently cupped my shoe in her hands and slid her tongue along the sole. Licking. Savouring. Cleaning. Then she flicked her tongue around the heel, coating it with saliva before salaciously slurping it into her mouth.

“What do good girls do for their Miss?” I asked, patting her head while pressing the toe of my other shoe into the soft folds of her oozing pussy.

Rosie let the shoe slip from her mouth, a strand of drool connecting it and her lips. “Anything and everything, Miss.”

Rosie beamed the joy of serving written over her pretty face. As she then lasciviously fellated the heel, I ground the toe of my other shoe against her clit. Rewarding her for the care she was lavishing on my shoe.

“Heel-whore,” I whispered.

Rosie blushed, and focused on the shoe’s toe, sucking it, wetting it with saliva, embracing both the taste of leather and the humiliation of such a menial task.

“Shoe-slut,” I whispered. Those words a frisson, goosebumps formed on her skin. Rosie almost purred.

As I started tapping my shoe on her clit, she focused on slowly, lovingly, tongue-massaging her spit all over my patent leather shoe. Deliberately I was bringing her to the edge.

“May I cum, Miss?”

“No.” Her interaction with the mattress sales-woman had me thinking a lot more about my whore’s core.

“As you wish, Miss,” Rosie said, her tone needy and surprised.

Yanking on her lead, I had her crawl, pet-like, to the toybox where I fossicked for handcuffs and a spreader bar. Rosie’s eyes clouded, her desire laced with puzzlement, but she knew better than to ask.

On the balcony, her first time naked there, I fixed bondage cuffs to her wrists. Ordering her to spread her arms, I locked her wrists onto the wooden railing. With arms wide, she naturally leant forward, her tits and the lead hanging over the railing while her arse turned up invitingly.

From the second-floor balcony, we saw early birds, dressed in rainbow colours, Pride Parade bound. “They look up; they’ll see!” I whispered.

“Oh, God.” Rosie whimpered, a blush spreading over her chest.

Tapping her calves with my instep, I had her step wider and attached the spreader bar to her ankles. Given the balcony was glass, those on the street could now look straight into her weeping pussy.

“I love you,” I said, my fingers roughly twisting her nipples.

Rosie moaned, nervously glancing at the street. “Thank you, Miss.”

Leaving Rosie exposed, I boiled the jug and made peppermint tea. Sitting on the couch, my mug balanced on the Bump, I contemplated my girlfriend’s peachy arse. Its paleness screamed, ‘defile me.’ Of course, I’d regularly done that. But, never in public before.

Whimpering, my little whore wiggled her butt, the dew on her smooth pussy coalescing and dripping onto the balcony floor. Seeing Rosie fidgeting with anticipation, had me taking my time; another hour’s slut-squirming for my girl.

“Miss?” she eventually pleaded.

Now motivated, doe and nipple clamps in hand, I stepped onto the balcony. Rosie whimpered again, totally anticipation’s bitch.

“Anyone look up, Rosie?”

“No Miss.”

“You want them to, don’t you?”

Her blush deepened. “How the fuck did you know?”

“Because I love you.” I clamped one nipple and then the other. Letting go of the chain linking the nipple-clamps, I watched as her nipples were tugged. She moaned, embracing the pain she craved, before sucking on her bottom lip.

“Did anyone hear?” I asked, peering over the balcony, “Seems not. Not yet at any rate.”

Rosie shuddered anxiously. Watching her face hawk-like, I tightened the clamps, testing her limits not brutalizing her. As I ratcheted up the pressure, Rosie sucked harder on her bottom lip, scanning the street below, desperate not to scream.

With the clamps eye-wateringly tight, I paused, inhaling the scent of her pussy, liquefied, as always, by her love of intense pain.

“It hurts, Miss.”

With her nipples burning, I traced my crop across her mouth. Rosie adores the sensual feel of leather on skin and the way I control how that sensuality interacts with other toys’ pain. Sliding the crop between her pussy lips, the leather softly caressed her sodden folds.

“No one hurts you as I do,” I intoned.

“No one loves me as you do,” Rosie chanted back.

I knew, from the drool oozing from the corner of her mouth, just how exquisite she found leather pussy-kisses when combined with her intensely throbbing nipples. So, I upped the intensity, the crop rhymically slapping against her clit.

She tried to swallow her moans, knowing, the slaps were a signal. Her Miss was demanding an audience with her orgasm. An immediate public audience. Nervously, she scanned the street.

Two bears, holding hands, whose stomachs were even more impressive than mine, ambled past. I’m tolerant, but hopefully, Mikey realizes a beer belly is a bridge too far.

“Bears have good hearing, Rosie.”

“Oh God,” she said, her blush deepening. I tugged the chain attached to her nipples and smacked the crop hard against her clit. We both knew what that meant. An order, not an invitation, to lose herself in lust’s mist, to focus on the pleasure of the escalating pain that was wracking her body. She closed her eyes, blocking out the world, accepting my will.

Smacking her clit, again and again, the crop relentlessly inflamed her craving to come. Until she folded. “Please, Miss.”

“I love you. Cum for me.”

Her arms tugged against the restraints. An orgasm crested. Her pussy gushed. Her clit spasmed. Rosie screamed, a head-turning scream. Wave after wave coursed through her, her monster orgasm as relentless as my crop.

Opening her eyes, her body quivering with aftershocks, she whimpered with embarrassment. The bears, waving a Pride flag, were cheering.

“They saw me come!”

“Hardly a shock, everyone comes. But …”

“But, what?”

“Not everyone gets used like a whore.”

“Oh, God,” Rosie said as I twisted the pony end of the doe into my oozing pussy.

When Rosie saw the thick purple toy jutting lewdly from my folds, she drooled expectantly. Then remembered where she was and conflict was writ large in her eyes. Public fuck-toy was going to be a bittersweet treat for her.

Rosie’s edginess increased when the bears pointed us out to two pretty young women with cheeks painted in Pride colours.

I waved, my doe swaying obscenely from my slick mound. They grinned, coffees now forgotten, and waved back.

“You like the thought of such pretty women being the first to see your craving for being used, sweetheart?

“Oh God. Maybe!”

Standing behind Rosie, I gripped her hips and took her hard, shoving the doe deep into her sopping pussy, stretching her and pushing her body further out from the balcony. A handful of squelching thrusts soon had the doe sticky with goo.

I spat on her pucker. She moaned, her world narrowing again, as I massaged the spit into her arsehole, my thumb teasing her open. Her reserve hadn’t crumpled, her gaze refocused on the hotties below. “Miss, they’ll know.”

“Being an anal-whore isn’t shameful, sweetheart,” I said, thrusting the toy into her arse, her anal ring stretching and burning as it slid over the sticky doe.

Then I slammed the toy repeatedly deep and hard, fucking her without restraint, my hips slapping against her butt as I filled her tight arse. Rosie groaned, embracing the pleasure of the ache flowing through her.

“I love you,” I said, releasing a nipple clamp. Her world momentarily stopped spinning, then the blood rushed into her nipple, burning her in a fire of pain. That agony cascaded through her body, wove together with the pain from her stretched arse and smashed against her throbbing clit.

Wrapping my hand in her hair, I tugged her head up, focusing her on the gobsmacked four below. “Look at them, sweetheart.”

“Your bitch, your fuck-toy,” she said; repeating, again and again, what was her mantra of comfort.

“Now show them that you’re a good girl who comes when your Miss asks,” I whispered, releasing the other clamp.

The exquisite pleasure of another wave of pain as the blood flowed into that nipple tossed her over the edge into orgasm. No resistance. She howled as her body shuddered. Her pussy gushed. Her clit spasmed. Waves of exquisite pleasure-pain flowed through her.

That triggered me. I screamed her name, a mammoth orgasm tearing through me, my pussy gushing and spasming as I impaled her arse with the doe.

Quivering with aftershocks, exhausted, our panting and whimpering were interrupted by Rosie’s embarrassed gasps when she re-focused on the cheering below.

“Oh God, so humiliated. Thank you, Miss.”

I released her from the cuffs and spreader bar, led her inside and plonked my arse on her couch. Closing my eyes, I smiled, another crack made in the granite around Rosie’s emotional core. Snoozing until the Bump stuck the boot into my bladder. Rosie, still at my feet, was engrossed in her mobile.

“I need to pee. You’ll do,” I told my toilet-slut.

“Nope. Busy texting Mikey.”

“Really. What about?

“He’s okay with you becoming my cam-whore, Miss.”

“What? He knows that’s not my kink.”

“True. But what if he said, ‘Rosie needs a video of her Miss publicly using her. Watching it will help her cope when you and I are busy with the Bump’?”

“Then I’d have to say yes. And I’d have to fuck you on the balcony again, to record it.”

Rosie blushed and shyly smiled. “I’d like that Miss. Mikey also says, ‘Raincheck, Rosie, on being Annie’s piss-whore.’”

“Really?”

“He’s impatient we’re not late. Afterall this is the Bump’s first Pride Parade, Miss.”