If you haven’t read the prologue to this story, check it out [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/iq2p73/everyone_has_a_price_mf_teaser_dubcon_cheating/) before you start on this one.
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**Chapter 1: Saffron Sucks!**
One of the things that I’ve come to learn only some time after my gift was imparted to me is that it feels much better to make someone do something they already want to do, but just can’t admit to wanting to. I mean, sure – it was also fun to see attractive women have their lips wrapped around my cock because they had no choice but to do so, but it’s a different feeling altogether to get someone to admit to their shameful, basest desires. It’s the kind of feeling that you’d get when you mix the wholesome feeling of charity with the dark pleasures of domination. It’s something that I didn’t even realise was so intoxicating when I first got Saffron to admit that she *wanted* to suck my cock; that she *wanted* to be called a good girl; that she *wanted* to be my slut. But I get ahead of myself. First, I need to tell you a bit about Saffron.
From the moment I laid eyes on her, Saffron was the kind of girl that I knew I *wanted*. She was petite: not too tall and not too short, tits that were not too big and not too small, and an ass that was just the right size for you to comfortably smack. There she was in the middle of that large university lecture hall; wearing that red shirt that doesn’t quite scream slutty, but that lets you *almost* get a glimpse of her tits if she bends down just enough; and those shorts that hugged her ass so tightly that they *almost* bounced with every step she took. She was the centre of everyone’s attention, and she knew it. When she asked you for help with those big puppy-dog eyes of hers, she knows that you’re not going to say no. And if she thinks that maybe you might not be so willing, that’s when she leans across the table from you and bends down ever-so-slightly, just enough for you to think that you’re going to see some cleavage. But of course, she wouldn’t actually show anyone anything at all, lest anyone think she be some common slut or whore – she wouldn’t have that, no sir. She would have nothing less than being the very picture of elegance, refinement, and intelligence; yet with just the right amount of “won’t you please help me mister?” to make everyone putty in her hands. Besides, she had a boyfriend! A boyfriend whom she was rumoured to be cheating on every now and then at the club – but even then, just whispers. No one would dare say to her face (or to her boyfriend’s face) that they heard rumours of her grinding up against random strangers and letting them grope her, but you can be sure that any hot-blooded male definitely thought about it a lot – especially when she would come to ask them to help her with this and that; or better still for a shoulder to cry on.
I was no exception to that rule. When she came crying to me one day (back when I didn’t know that I was one of a million guys she would come crying to) when we were working on a project together, I reacted like any other guy would – patiently listen, comfort, touch, and maybe hope to get in her pants. But she knew never to let anyone she knew to get that far, lest we think any less of her. Not even close! She would draw the boundaries clearly – drink with you, sure. Cuddle with you? Almost definitely not. She was faithful, “exclusive” to her boyfriend, as far as anyone knew. In any case, I respected that she didn’t want to play around, and that contrary to the rumours that I’d heard, that she was actually shaping up to be a good friend to have. And friends we indeed became (or so I thought!), spending long hours on that project and a few more after. Being her friend, I was always happy to help her out – giving her a ride home, helping her with her parts when she told me she was lost, and so on. It came as quite the rude shock to me, therefore, when she eventually just decided to cut me out of her life completely – after months of ranting about her boyfriend, sharing about her hopes and dreams, and going on long dinner “dates”. Not that I expected to be anything more than a friend, but it still hurt when someone you thought you shared a friendship with suddenly decides to have nothing to do with you anymore, and without a word.
It was only later that I found out why: it was something I said, something I didn’t even remember, that she claims to have been offended by. A hypocrite, she called me (not that I’m *not* a hypocrite, as you may come to see the more you read about my adventures), and she would have nothing to do with hypocrites. But the more people I talked to about this, the more I realised the beginnings of a pattern: that all her friendships (male and female alike) seemed to end after a nice few months, when it would blow up into something apparently irreparable. That’s when I realised – we weren’t friends. Maybe she doesn’t even have friends; only tools. Now that, I thought, was the pinnacle of hypocrisy.
So when my gift was imparted to me, she was the first person I thought of. I wanted to get in her head, to find out what actually made her tick, to find out why she’d left these people behind (myself included) and what her deal really was. I won’t go into the details of just how exactly I got my gift and how it works just yet – but all you need to know for now is that it helped me to learn what someone’s price for doing *anything* is: from the mundane things like helping you to do something within their skillset (to write your essay?) to less mundane things like taking your cock in her mouth and calling you daddy.
But it came as a great surprise to me that her “price” for doing just that was shockingly low – she wouldn’t need to be paid any money or even be coerced into doing it. I learnt the truth that she couldn’t admit to others, and even to herself – was that she wanted to be a complete slut to the people that she ended up creating and breaking friendships with. It wasn’t that she was using us, not at all. To the contrary, she wanted us to **use her**, and to **use her** in the most depraved ways that she would never even hint at admitting to. It turned out that she had been nursing a porn addiction from right before puberty to this very day, consuming copious amounts of gangbang & cuckold porn (amongst other less depraved genres) and always imagining herself being in the position of the female pornstar. She would read erotic story after erotic story, masturbating herself to orgasm before she slept. But when she thought that we would come close to learning her secret – her secret that she wouldn’t even admit to herself; when her urge to tell us that she really, really wanted us to cum all over her face became too much for her to bear; that was when she would cook up some excuse to cut us out of her life completely.
I have to admit that I was sad. I was sad for her, that she couldn’t even admit this to herself. I was sad that our friendship had to have ended this way. I was sad that so many of her other friendships – even the female ones, had to have ended the way they did. But I also have to admit that I was very, very excited. Contrary to my expectations of having to buy, blackmail, and brute-force my way into my fantasy sexual liaisons, it turned out that the girl I wanted to have first, was also going to be the easiest.
My plan was simple, and it went off without a hitch. I called her to apologise and asked her if she wanted to grab some coffee to maybe try to repair our friendship. From her reaction, I gather that my apology really shocked her; I must have been the first to apologise for the bullshit reasons that she came up with. I’m sure she felt guilty, and almost definitely very horny, which is why she agreed to meet me that very same afternoon.
It didn’t take much work on my end after I met her at the Starbucks near her place. She was dressed in her usual, perfected mix of slutty and innocent – except this time, I thought to myself, I was going to see what she looked like without those clothes. All I had to do was to tell her, sweetly, and with a smile on my face, that I knew her secret – and that she could stop me anytime if what I was saying wasn’t true. I told her, sparing no detail, that I knew that she wanted me to use her; that she wanted all her friends to use her; that she wanted to be passed around from friend to friend like the village bicycle until she passed out from her orgasms. I told her exactly what she thought about me; that she wished that the nights we had spent together could have been punctuated with blowjobs and mind-blowing sex; that she wished that the alcohol would have taken just enough inhibition out of her that she would kiss me and get on her knees and beg for my cock; that she wanted to be my slut.
As I told her these things, I watched her grow redder, yet never asking me to stop. I watched her shift uncomfortably in her seat, her hands moving towards the centre of her shorts, yet stopping just short of it. I watched her look of guilt and arousal turn into a look of pure arousal when I told her that I’d booked a room at the Hilton where we could go right now, and I’d do to the her the nasty things that she wanted to me to.
And what a night it became – yes, you read night correctly because we spent the next five hours in that hotel room exploring each other’s bodies and bringing each other to the best orgasms we’d had that year so far. I wish I had the words to describe my feeling of pure arousal and ecstasy when she finally stripped for me, her face burning with embarrassment and arousal as I told her bend over and spread her ass; when she moaned in pleasure as my fingers gently – then increasingly aggressively thrusted in and out of her pussy; when she shivered ever-so-slightly after I told her to turn around, get on her knees, and beg for permission to suck my cock – then did exactly as I told her to, and more. In many ways, that night she showed me that she was every bit the girl that I *wanted*; the girl who was just as depraved as I was; the girl who called me her slut before bobbing her head up and down my cock; the girl whom I fucked to the brink of orgasm countless times before I would suddenly stop and only continue when she begged me to do so; the girl who – for that night – no longer cared about restraining herself and only cared about fulfilling her fantasies and mine. It was love in a manner so twisted that I’m not sure I can even call it love: it was simply the mutual acknowledgement of our repressed sexual desires for one another, base and animalistic.
After I finally called her out on her deepest desires, she finally gave in to them – not only that night, but many, many nights after. She wasn’t about to give up her external image of being prim, proper, and the picture of elegance, and she didn’t. But she wasn’t about to give up the newfound ecstasy that she experienced when she gave in to her darkest desires. So I helped her facilitate that, and I found like-minded individuals who were more than willing to keep their mouths shut in exchange for finally being able to fuck Saffron as part of her weekly Gangbang Entourage (and fuck them she did – they filled her every hole and her every desire). In exchange for my discretion and facilitation, she promised to fulfil every fantasy of mine that she could; which is, as you will come to see, not really that many fantasies – she’s just one girl. But be that as it may, I never liked her boyfriend. He was always insufferable about having every guy’s dream fuck as his girlfriend (not that he was really good in bed, but he was rich, well-connected, and I’ll give it to him – relatively talented), but she was mine now (relatively speaking – she was everybody’s now), and I wanted him to know.
So I took her up on her offer. We continued our frequent sexual liaisons, of course, and it always brought me pleasure to hear her call herself a slut while I slammed her pussy. But what really brought me to new heights of pleasure was when I made her call her boyfriend while I was slamming her pussy and talk to him about basically nothing at all. I just wanted him to hear her occassionally stumble in her replies and struggle to catch her breath. I wanted him to wonder if she was cheating on him (“no of course not honey, I’m just at the gym but I really missed you!”). I wanted him to wonder if those slurping sounds he heard was really just her taking a water break, all while she was taking my aggressive thrusts down her throat.
It’s one thing to dominate someone – it’s another to dominate them when they don’t even know they’re being dominated. He did, of course, eventually find out – and he wouldn’t be the last to experience that. But that, and those other stories, I’ll save for another day. For now, this is the story of how I went from thinking that Saffron really sucks, to finding out that she really sucks cock, really well.
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As always, any and all comments or suggestions are welcome. Please upvote if you enjoyed it!
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/irbg7s/everybody_has_a_price_chapter_1_saffron_sucks