Mom Auditions as a Submissive Slut

This tale centers on Nousha -- a 5'4" curvy Persian mother working in an office -- known around the workplace for her bubbly, friendly nature and innocent charm. Even though she comes off as confident and a bit bossy, deep down she's riddled with insecurity and craves attention from men. She idolizes rich men and, in her private fantasies, dreams of being a total whore -- especially enjoying the attention from black men. Though she remained a virgin until marriage and has only ever been with her husband, her long-suppressed desires are suddenly awakening, and she secretly yearns to be dominated and even gangbanged. Desperate for money and eager to explore these hidden fantasies, she finds herself longing to don more revealing, slutty outfits like latex dresses, stilettos, and stockings -- all while keeping these cravings hidden from her family.

The room is dimly lit, with long shadows stretching over a dominating black leather couch that fills the space. The air feels thick with anticipation; Nousha stands in the doorway, heart pounding and palms slick with nervous sweat. Her tight, shiny latex dress clings to her curvy hips and plump breasts, leaving barely anything to the imagination. She had spent hours debating over what to wear for this moment -- not really sure whether to go all bold or stick with her usual demure look -- but eventually, she settled on an outfit that forced her to confront her fantasies head-on.

"This is it," she thinks, throat tightening, knowing there's no turning back now.

Suddenly, a deep, commanding voice cuts through her thoughts. "You're Nousha, right?" Pascal asks. His tone is casual but carries an edge of authority that sends shivers down her spine. She nods, biting her lower lip while her eyes flick to him as he approaches. He's everything she expected: tall, rugged, with an air of control that both terrifies and excites her. Behind him, a silent camera operator watches, adding to the charged atmosphere.

"Why don't you come over here?" Pascal says, motioning toward the couch, his gaze locked on hers the entire time.

Slowly, Nousha walks forward in her sky-high stilettos -- each step a reminder of how the latex hugs her body. She can feel herself reacting; there's a wet heat pooling between her legs as her fantasies start to blur with reality. She's always imagined herself in scenarios like this -- dominated, controlled, used purely for pleasure. Now, here she is, standing right before someone who might make all those wild dreams come true.

Pascal's eyes rove over her body, his gaze slicing through her. "You nervous?" he asks.

She hesitates before nodding, voice dropping to a near-whisper. "A little..."

His lips curl into a smirk. "Good. Being nervous is normal." With a more forceful gesture toward the couch, he orders, "Sit."

Nousha complies, her hands trembling as she perches on the edge of the leather couch, the cool material sending a shiver up her spine. The vulnerability of this moment is both terrifying and thrilling. She knows why she's here and what she wants, but the reality of finally submitting, of being watched, judged, and used, makes her pulse quicken.

"Tell me why you're here," Pascal says as he leans against the armrest, watching her with an intensity that makes her shift in her seat. "What do you want, Nousha?"

Her mouth goes dry and she swallows hard, struggling for her voice. "I... I want to feel desired. I want to be used. To give up control. I want to be... dominated."

Her words hang heavily in the air, loaded with meaning. Her heart pounds as she speaks them aloud, a flush of heat rising to her cheeks. It's hard to believe she's admitted this long-hidden, dark secret -- that fantasy of being a submissive slut, craved and controlled by powerful men, now teetering on the edge of becoming real.

Pascal moves closer, crouching in front of her so that his face is mere inches from her knees. His overwhelming presence makes her breathing quicken as his eyes bore into hers.

"You've only ever been with your husband, haven't you?" he teases in a low, playful tone.

"Yes..." she whispers, feeling utterly exposed, as though he can see right through her. She already knows where this is heading, and that thought makes her legs squeeze together as she tries to control the growing heat inside.

With a smirk that shows he's enjoying her reaction, Pascal continues, "And now you want more. You want to be taken. To be a slut for men you barely know. Isn't that right?"

Her body betrays her as she nods slowly, the need gnawing at her. "Yes," she breathes, voice barely audible.

Abruptly, he stands, his commanding presence demanding all her attention. "Stand up. Let me see what you've got."

Her heart skips a beat as she rises, knees trembling. Slowly, she turns so he can take in her full figure -- the latex hugging every curve, the way her plump breasts strain against the material, and that round, juicy ass that seems to hold his gaze a moment too long.

"Take off the dress," Pascal instructs simply.

Her hands shake as they move to the zipper at the back of her dress. This is the moment she's fantasized about for so long, but now that it's here, the weight of it almost overwhelms her. Slowly, she unzips the dress; the sound echoing in the quiet room until the latex slips off her shoulders and pools at her feet. Now, she's left wearing nothing but a pair of black lace panties and matching stockings, her nipples hard in the cool air, visible through the thin fabric of her bra.

Pascal steps even closer, reaching out to run a finger along the curve of her waist. His touch is light, but it sends a jolt of electricity through her, making her gasp.

"You're beautiful," he murmurs, his hand trailing lower until it rests on the swell of her hip. "But beauty isn't enough here. You're gonna have to prove you can handle this -- that you can take everything I give you."

His words hang in the air like a challenge. Nousha's body is aflame, her need intensifying with every second. She feels his fingers teasing the waistband of her panties, playing with the elastic, drawing out every bit of anticipation. Her mind spins--part of her wants to run, but the stronger, more desperate part craves total surrender.

"Are you ready?" Pascal's voice rumbles deep, and when she meets his eyes, she sees the hunger there. A hunger to break her, dominate her, and turn her into exactly what she's always dreamed of becoming.

"I'm ready," she whispers, voice trembling with both fear and raw desire.

With that, Pascal steps back and gestures toward the camera operator. "Let's begin the audition."

He lingers on her for a moment before shifting his attention to the camera operator with a quick nod. The red light on the camera flickers on, and the soft hum of the equipment fills the room, amplifying the tension. Nousha's heart pounds fiercely as she realizes there's no turning back now--not with every moment being recorded.

"Good girl," Pascal says softly, his voice low and authoritative. "Take off the rest."

Her breath catches in her throat. A part of her hesitates, clinging to the last vestige of innocence, but the darker side--buried deep inside--relishes this moment. Slowly, she reaches behind her to unhook her lacy black bra. As the straps slide down her shoulders, her breasts fall free, full and heavy, the cool air making her nipples even harder. She can feel Pascal's eyes on her, drinking her in, sending waves of heat through her body until her skin tingles.

The bra drops to the floor, joining the crumpled latex at her feet. Now topless, her hands instinctively move to cover herself, but Pascal's sharp voice cuts in.

"Don't hide. Let me see you."

Nousha lets her hands fall away, exposing herself fully. She feels naked -- not only physically, but emotionally, as if he could see right through every façade she's ever maintained. Her body trembles, yet the rush of arousal coursing through her veins is undeniable.

"Now those panties," Pascal orders, his voice calm but firm.

With shaky hands, she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her lace panties and slowly slides them down her legs, the fabric softly brushing her skin before pooling at her feet. She steps out of them, now completely exposed except for the sheer stockings clinging to her thighs. Vulnerability wraps around her like a second skin--she's never felt so raw, so alive. Every nerve in her body is on edge, her skin flushed with both arousal and anticipation.

Pascal takes a step toward her, his fingers brushing lightly along the inside of her thigh, inching close to her wetness but stopping just short. Her breath hitches as her body instinctively arches toward his touch, desperate for more, but then Pascal pulls back, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

"You're soaking wet already," he murmurs, eyes gleaming with amusement. "I haven't even touched you, and you're already so eager. You like being watched, don't you?"

A wave of shame mingles with desire in Nousha; despite the fleeting embarrassment, her body betrays her deepest, primal needs. "Yes," she whispers, voice barely audible.

Pascal raises an eyebrow. "Louder. I want to hear you say it."

"I like being watched," she repeats, her voice now stronger, even as her cheeks burn with embarrassment. Saying it out loud sends shivers down her spine, and the look in Pascal's eyes tells her this is only the start.

He moves behind her, gripping her hips and pressing his chest against her back. She can feel the heat and strength of his body, and her pulse quickens. Slowly and deliberately, Pascal leans in close, his breath hot against her ear.

"On your knees."

The command sends a jolt through her, and without hesitation, Nousha sinks to her knees, the hard floor pressing against her skin. Her heart races, the thrill of submission overtaking her nerves. She's never felt so exposed, so powerless, yet in this moment that powerlessness feels strangely liberating.

Pascal walks around her, his eyes fixed on her face as he stands before her. The camera operator shifts to the side, capturing every angle, every nuance of her expression. In that instant, her mind races -- this is the moment she's long fantasized about.

"Look at me," Pascal orders, and her eyes immediately snap up to meet his. His gaze is dark, heavy with lust and control, sending another wave of arousal surging through her.

Deliberately, he unzips his pants; the sound echoes in the room like a countdown to the moment she's been craving. Her eyes widen as he pulls himself free, hard and thick, mere inches from her face. The heat radiating from his body is nearly overwhelming, making her mouth water at the sight.

"Open your mouth."

Her lips part, and a rush of adrenaline mixed with raw desire surges through her. She's never done this for anyone but her husband, and the thought of doing it here, now, with Pascal -- and being filmed while she does it -- sends her arousal spiraling.

Pascal grips the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair, guiding her closer. She can feel his heat against her lips, and without thinking, her tongue flicks out, tasting him for the first time. A low growl escapes him as she wraps her lips around him, taking him inch by inch.

"That's it," he murmurs, voice thick with pleasure. "Good girl. Show me how much you want this."

Nousha's hands instinctively grip his thighs, steadying herself as she begins to suck him deeper, her mouth working in a rhythmic, desperate dance. The sounds of her slurping and occasional gagging mix with Pascal's approving groans. His hand tightens in her hair, directing her movements, while the sensation of being dominated sends another rush of wet heat between her legs.

Lost in the moment, she focuses solely on pleasing him, the shame and fear melting away into pure, unfiltered desire. Even the camera operator's shifting presence, capturing every raw moment, only intensifies her arousal. Being watched, performing, and fulfilling her fantasy of being a slut for someone else's pleasure--it's almost too much to bear.

Pascal's grip on the back of her head tightens, his fingers threading through her thick, dark hair. With each thrust, her lips stretch wider as her mouth works diligently to take him deeper. Her breathing becomes ragged, caught between arousal and the effort to keep up with his increasing pace. The sensation of being completely controlled, of giving up all power, sends an electric heat coursing through her entire body.

The wet sounds of her gagging echo in the room with each deeper thrust, pushing the limits of her throat. Her eyes water as she tries to keep pace, but there's no stopping now--no turning back. She's too far in, completely consumed by the pleasure of surrendering to something she's long desired but never dared to act on.

"This is who I am now," she thinks in a fog of lust -- a woman who craves this... a woman who wants to be used.

Her hands slide from his thighs to the floor, bracing herself as she willingly submits to his every move. The camera's red light flickers in her peripheral vision, a constant reminder that this moment is being captured forever. The thought of strangers watching her, seeing her like this, sends another surge of heat through her core, her thighs trembling with the urge to touch herself, to ease the aching need building inside her.

But she doesn't dare -- this moment is about pleasing Pascal, about proving to him just how far she's willing to go.

"You like this, don't you?" Pascal growls again, his voice rougher now, his breathing heavy with lust. "You like being my little slut."

Her stomach tightens at the degrading thrill, and she moans around him. She pulls back slightly--just enough to speak--with a breathless, needy tone. "Yes... I love it... I love being your slut."

The words feel foreign on her tongue yet strangely freeing. Admitting them aloud only deepens her submission. Her mouth wraps around him once more, taking him eagerly as he begins to thrust harder, faster--each movement building tension between them like an unspoken pact. She feels her body respond uncontrollably; the slick wetness between her thighs drips onto the floor beneath her, soaking through her stockings. Her exposed, hardened nipples ache for touch, though she knows she must wait.

Pascal's grunts grow louder, more primal, as his hips snap forward with a sharpness that takes her breath away. She chokes and gags slightly when he hits the back of her throat again, but she doesn't pull away--instead, she lets him take her as roughly as he wants, savoring the overwhelming loss of control. Tears well in her eyes, not from pain, but from the sheer intensity of the moment.

Suddenly, Pascal pulls out of her mouth, his hand gripping her chin firmly as he tilts her head up to face him. Her lips are swollen and slick, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tries to catch her breath. A thin string of saliva connects her lips to the head of his cock, and she sees a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes as he watches her.

"You're a good little slut," he murmurs, his voice softening briefly though the dominance remains. "But we're not done yet."

Nousha's heart races in anticipation, her entire body quivering with a mix of nerves and excitement. She can feel her arousal dripping down her thighs, her need nearly unbearable. Her mind is consumed with a desire for more--for everything. She craves being taken completely, to experience what it means to give herself over fully to both pleasure and degradation.

Pascal steps back to admire her, his eyes traveling over her flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and the rhythm of her ragged breaths. He looks pleased--but not yet satisfied.

"Stand up," he commands, his voice sharp. "Turn around."

Her legs shake as she rises from the floor. The cool air hits her exposed skin, making every inch of her feel vulnerable and aroused. Slowly, she turns, presenting her round, juicy ass to him. The stockings cling to her thighs, emphasizing her curves, and she hears Pascal let out a low, appreciative groan behind her.

"Bend over," he orders in a husky tone.

Her breath catches in her throat as her heart pounds with both fear and excitement. She places her hands on the arm of the leather couch, bending over just as he instructed, her ass lifted high in the air. The position is humiliating--exposing every intimate part--but instead of shame, she feels a surge of arousal. The thrill of being so vulnerable, so open, makes her head spin.

Pascal steps forward, his large hands gripping her hips firmly as he pulls her closer. She gasps and closes her eyes briefly when she feels his fingers slide between her legs, parting her wet, swollen folds. A low moan escapes her lips as his touch teases her; his fingers graze her clit ever so lightly, driving her wild with need.

"You're dripping," he murmurs with dark amusement. "So eager to be fucked."

She bites her lip, unable to hold back the moan that slips out as his fingers press harder against her, drawing slow circles around her sensitive spot. Her body shudders with pleasure, barely able to hold itself up as her legs tremble with desire.

"Please..." she whispers, voice shaking. "Please... I need it."

Pascal chuckles, clearly reveling in her desperation. "You'll get it when I'm ready to give it to you," he replies, his fingers sliding lower to tease her entrance. "But first, I want to hear you beg for it."

Her face flushes deeper, pride warring with overwhelming need. In this moment, however, there's no room for pride. She wants this--needs this--more than anything.

"Please, Pascal," she begs in a breathy, raw tone. "Please... fuck me. Use me. I'll do anything."

A low growl of approval escapes him, and without warning, he plunges two fingers deep inside her. Nousha cries out, her body arching back as the sudden intrusion sends a wave of pleasure crashing through her. His fingers pump in and out, curling perfectly to hit the spot that makes her see stars. Her body reacts instantly, grinding back against his hand, desperate for more--anything he's willing to give.

"That's it," Pascal murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "Take it. Show me how badly you want it."

Her moans grow louder, her mind spinning as she loses herself in the sensation. She can feel herself nearing the edge, trembling under the build-up of overwhelming pleasure. But just as she's about to cross over, Pascal withdraws his fingers, leaving her gasping, desperate, and aching for release.

"Not yet," he says with a wicked grin, stepping back. "You don't come until I say so."

Nousha whimpers, her body aching with need, yet she dares not argue. She remains bent over, her breath coming in shallow gasps, as she hears the rustle of clothing behind her--a sign of what's coming next. Her heart races and her body trembles in anticipation.

Pascal steps up behind her, gripping her hip tightly as he positions himself at her entrance. She feels his heat, the tip of his cock teasing her wet folds, making her wait just a little longer.

Then, with one hard thrust, he buries himself inside her.

His thrust is deep and deliberate, filling her completely in one swift motion. Nousha's gasp transforms into a strangled moan as her body arches against him, every inch alive with raw intensity. The overwhelming sensation--he's thicker, harder than she ever expected, and the stretch makes her head spin with both pleasure and a hint of pain--only fuels the fire between her thighs.

Pascal gives her no time to adjust. His hands grip her hips tightly as he starts moving immediately, setting a rough, unrelenting pace with each thrust driving deeper into her, making her whole body jolt with each impact. The sound of skin slapping against skin, mingled with her breathless moans and his low, satisfied grunts, fills the room. She feels utterly at his mercy--her body trembling under his control, her mind blanked by the sheer intensity of it all.

"God, you're tight," he growls, his fingers digging into her flesh as he pounds into her harder, faster. "You were made for this, weren't you? For taking cock like a good little slut."

The words send a shockwave of arousal through her, her walls tightening involuntarily around him. It's everything she's ever fantasized about--being used, dominated, treated like nothing more than an object for pleasure--and now it's happening. She clutches the arm of the couch so hard her knuckles turn white, pushing back against him with a desperate need for more.

"Yes," she gasps, her voice breaking as the pleasure builds inside her. "Yes... I'm your slut... I was made for this."

Pascal lets out a low, feral groan of approval. His pace quickens as he drives into her even harder, each forceful thrust making her legs tremble. The camera whirs nearby, capturing every sound and movement--and knowing she's being watched, being filmed, only makes her wetter, her arousal dripping down her thighs. She's never felt so filthy, so exposed, and yet so vividly alive.

She's losing herself completely, her body a slave to the rhythm he sets; the pleasure mounts with every thrust and every filthy word he growls in her ear. She can feel herself teetering on the edge, the pressure inside her building to an almost unbearable level. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, her vision blurring as she chases that final, shattering moment of release.

"You're close, aren't you?" Pascal's voice cuts through her haze, dark and teasing. "I can feel it. You're desperate to come."

Nousha nods frantically, her moans turning into whimpers of raw need. "Please," she begs, her voice barely audible and choked with arousal. "Please... let me come."

A soft, dark laugh escapes him. "Not yet," he replies, his thrusts slowing as his hips grind into her with slow, almost torturous movements. "You don't come until I say so."

Her body screams in protest, her need so intense it feels like a physical ache. She whimpers, her hips bucking back against him in desperate protest, yet Pascal's grip holds her in place, controlling every movement and keeping her perched on the edge.

"Beg me," he commands, his tone sharp and authoritative. "I want to hear you beg for it."

"Please," Nousha whimpers again, her voice broken and breathless. "Please... let me come. I'll do anything. Please..."

His pace quickens once more, his thrusts now hard and punishing as he drives deeper into her. Her moans rise into cries of pleasure, her body shuddering with every punishing stroke, yet he keeps her just on the brink of release.

"Say it," Pascal growls, voice thick with lust. "Tell me you're my slut. Tell me you belong to me."

"I'm your slut!" Nousha cries out, her voice breaking with desperation. "I belong to you! Please... just let me come... please..."

A satisfied groan escapes him as his grip on her hips tightens, driving him to push them both toward release. Nousha's body tenses, her breath catching as the crescendo of pleasure builds inside her--her entire being consumed by the need to let go completely.

"Now," Pascal growls, his voice rough and breathless, "come for me. Come like the filthy slut you are."

The command shatters the last of her control. Her body convulses as the orgasm tears through her, every muscle tightening, her walls clenching around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over her. She cries out, her voice hoarse and raw, her vision going white as she surrenders entirely.

Behind her, Pascal groans loudly, his movements growing erratic as he thrusts one last time. She feels him pulse inside her, filling her with warmth, the sensation intensifying her own climax. Her body trembles, her legs barely holding her as the aftershocks ripple through her, leaving her breathless and spent.

For a moment, all that fills the room is the sound of their ragged breathing and the steady whir of the camera capturing every intimate detail. Nousha's body feels heavy, her mind adrift somewhere between exhaustion and bliss. She can still feel Pascal inside her, But Pascal isn't done with her yet. Gripping her hips as he pulls her close again. "You think it's over?" he asks, his voice thick with desire. "Not even close."

"God, you feel incredible," Pascal growls, his breath hot against her neck. He quickens his pace, each thrust driving deeper as he chases his own release, matching the urgency of her need.

Nousha moans, the sound spilling out as she pushes back, meeting each thrust with fervor. The intensity builds between them--a raw mix of desperation and primal need that sends both spiraling toward climax. She feels her own arousal reigniting, the pressure mounting inside her once again as he pounds into her.

"Please," she gasps between moans. "I want to feel you."

Pascal's grip tightens on her hips, his pace quickening as he drives into her harder. "You will," he promises, voice strained with lust. "I'm not holding back this time."

With every thrust, they push each other closer to the edge. The room fills with the sounds of their bodies colliding, desperate moans, and the unyielding rhythm of their passion. The camera captures every intimate moment, and the knowledge of being watched only heightens the thrill.

"Yes... yes!" Nousha cries out, voice breaking as the pressure builds inside her once again. Nousha's body convulses as the orgasm explodes through her, wave after wave of pleasure pulling her completely under. She cries out, a mix of ecstasy and surrender, losing herself in the overwhelming moment.

Feeling her tighten around him sends Pascal over the edge. With a deep, guttural growl, he releases inside her, filling her completely--the warmth of his climax mingling with hers. They both shudder as the intensity of their release leaves them utterly spent, caught in that final, lingering moment of raw satisfaction.

Caught in the throes of pleasure, the world around them seems to fade away--leaving only the two of them and the electric connection they've forged in this moment.

As they ride the waves of their release, the room fills with the sound of heavy breathing and the steady pulse of two hearts beating in unison. The camera keeps rolling, capturing every trace of raw intimacy and the quiet aftermath of their shared ecstasy.

Slowly, Pascal pulls out, and Nousha lets out a soft gasp at the sudden emptiness. Breathless and still tingling from their intense connection, she stands there, recovering from the overwhelming pleasure. Looking up at Pascal with eyes wide and filled with satisfaction--and a new-found confidence--she feels transformed.

"Welcome to SubSluts," he says again, but now his tone is different--satisfied, almost reverent. "You've proven yourself."

With a lingering glance, he steps back to give her a moment to regain her composure. As she stands there, flushed and breathless, a thrill runs through her. She's crossed a line now--there's no turning back, and deep down, she knows she doesn't want to.

This is who she is now. This is what she's been craving all along.