You Will Show Me Everything Ch. 03

I check my phone as soon as I wake up, but there isn't a message from him. Neither has he posted anything on the forums, and that pressure descends on me again. It's like waiting for the storm, but I'm waiting for him to post his first picture of me. I've sent him two photos now. He must know the agony I'm enduring, surely?

I drag myself out of bed, and I'm naked still. I don't know why I didn't slip into my pyjamas afterwards, last night. I shudder. Yes, afterwards, after sending a stranger a picture of my naked body. I get into the shower and begin my morning routine.

He's given me precise instructions for what he expects me to do today, and as I rinse through the tangle of curls between my legs, I'm having second thoughts. Not about doing what he told me to, no: I'll still remove them, but buying a waxing kit and doing it tonight. I turn off the water and step out of the shower, toweling myself dry. No, it's time to test the boundaries a little, see how he responds. Still wrapped in my towel, I pick up my phone and open the chat app. I'm going to initiate the conversation this time.

- I've been thinking. I know you told me to wax myself and show you tonight. I'm not going to. I want to do something different

I send the message and drop the phone onto the bed quickly, turning for my wardrobe to select my clothing for the day. Then the phone pings and I freeze. I wasn't expecting such a quick response. Timidly, I return to the bed and flip the phone over. There's a message. I tap it and my blood goes cold.

He's sent a picture. It's me in the car park, but cropped, removing some of the extraneous background to focus all the attention on my naked body. It's subtly done, but I'm there on the screen, staring out with that lost look on my face, my mouth slightly open, eyes wide and slightly vacant. All at once, I remember what I was feeling: stunned, helpless, confused. But he's edited my photo, paring away the edges until it's a version of me that I didn't know was there. He looked at the photo I sent him and discovered something even I didn't see.

The woman in the photo is naked, open, stripped in a basement carpark because someone told her to do it and she complied. She isn't an in-control professional with a good career and a high-paying job. The woman on screen is a mindless bimbo, waiting for her next command. I feel butterflies in my stomach.

- Call?

I stare at his message, then hit the call button. He answers immediately.

"Like it?" he asks.

"I... I don't know what to say. I look like... you made me look like...."

"Like what?"

"A bimbo."

I hate myself for saying it, and I bite my lip. There is silence on the line. It drags on, and I'm staring at my face on the screen. I need to know.

"Are you going to post that?" I ask, breaking the silence at last.

"That's up to you."

"How is it up to me? You've got the photo."

"If you want to be done, then we can be done. As I said, I post that and we're done."

It takes me a few seconds for my brain to process what he's trying to tell me.

"Wait, no. Is this... do you mean the message I sent? I need to explain."

"Go on."

There's amusement in his voice and I imagine him smiling. Somehow it kindles a little fire inside me: he's somewhere, looking at a picture of my naked body, listening to the stress in my voice and smiling. I wonder where he is, and what he looks like.

"I meant I don't want to just get a kit. Do you understand? I've never done this before, any of it. I want to go to a salon and have the treatment there. I want it to look right."

I'm babbling, and I bite my lip again, horrified at that last little confession. There's silence again, but this time I am determined not to be the one who fills the void.

"You do understand, don't you?" he replies. "You do what I say or we're done. I post that picture of you to the forums and you're exposed to the world, and then I move on to someone more interesting."

The words cut through me. It's not the veiled threat that gets to me. No, it's the idea that I'm not interesting enough to bother with. Once again, my mind is reeling. I don't know what to say.

"Wait, hold on. I meant...."

"I know what you meant. I've heard what you're saying. I understand."

"Do you?" I shoot back at him, relieved.

"You're right. I see some terrible jobs, pimply, spotty. Especially if you haven't gone bare before. Your body isn't used to it. Tell me what you're offering instead."

I grin, even though he can't see it. The anxiety lifts.

"I'm going to make a booking for the weekend. It's going to be full-body, professionally done."

"To make it look good, you said."

"Yes."

"Because you understand what happens next."

"Yes."

"Tell me."

His tone is firm, and I feel his calm authority over the line. I hesitate. I need to get this right.

"You're going to ask me to send some more pictures. I'll take them. They're going to show what I've done."

Silence again. I wait, not daring to breathe. I have just confessed that I'm going to send him intimate pictures of my bare crotch. I'm going to send someone I don't know a picture of my....

"You're going to send me explicit pictures of your pussy," he interjects into my thoughts. "You're going to display yourself for me until I'm satisfied I have material that's worth publishing. Then I'm going to show everyone what your body looks like. How does that make you feel?"

"I... I don't know."

"You do. Say it."

I bite my lip again, pressing my knees together under the towel. I can feel the heat between my legs.

"Turned on," I confess.

"You said bimbo, earlier. When you looked at the picture I sent, is that what you saw?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to need more than just a yes."

It comes out of me all at once and I can't stop the words. My brain has turned to mush and my pussy is sopping and he's asking me to confess and I can't help myself.

"I see a bimbo asking to be exposed. I see a dumb slut who can't help herself, who is too horny to stop herself."

"And what should happen?"

"She should be made to display herself. She should be put on show for everyone to see. She should be made to feel people's eyes on her body as she poses naked for their entertainment until she's finally allowed to stop."

"And after?"

"She's made to touch herself, she's...."

"Are there people watching while she touches herself?" he interjects.

It unleashes a torrent inside me. My voice is husky as I'm forced to reveal my most secret fantasies.

"Yes," I groan. "She's forced to stand in front of them while she brings herself to orgasm."

"Their eyes are on her body, watching her fingers as they plunge into her pussy."

"Oh God, yes... they see everything. They see her rubbing her clit as she fucks herself on her own fingers. They stare at her body as she shudders. They see her breasts, they see her face."

"And what are they saying?"

"That she's such a dumb slut. They're telling her that she can't help herself, that she's fucking herself in public because she's a mindless bimbo whore and...."

I orgasm. It's a shock.

My hand is under my towel and my fingers are inside me, and my moisture is trickling down the insides of my thighs. For a few seconds, I can't think.

"Did you cum?"

It takes me a while to formulate the words. I'm stunned by what I just did, masturbating on the phone in a call with a man I don't know. What's happening to me?

"Uh huh."

It's all I can manage.

"I'll give you a moment," he continues, "but then I need you to listen. I'm going to let you suggest the change, but you will do something for me in return."

"In return? I don't... I don't understand. I'm already going to...."

"Beyond the body treatment. If I give you until the weekend, you will do something extra."

I swallow hard. "What?" I croak.

"First, go to video call."

I hesitate, and he senses it.

"I already know what you look like," he says.

He's right. I'm not giving him anything new. I switch to video mode, but the screen remains blank.

"Just you," he tells me. "You don't get to see me. Now listen closely. This is what you'll do."

I stare at the blank screen, then I realise that he can see my face now, and I feel vulnerable. I nod.

"Good. I think we need to dress you for the day. Let's see what we have to wear. Underwear, please."

"Wait, hold on. I work in an office. I'm a professional. I can't just...."

"You're a bimbo slut who's too dumb to make her own wardrobe choices and needs to be dressed by someone else. Now, underwear."

His tone is stern, and I find myself complying. I go over to the top drawer and open it.

"Show me."

I turn the camera towards the piles of underwear and hold up a pair of panties.

"No."

I release them.

"No, pick them up and drop them on the floor. Come on."

I do as he says, discarding item after item as I work through my underwear collection. I have a few nice pairs, but a lot of it is for my own comfort rather than for show. He isn't satisfied with any of it. Gradually, as the drawer is emptied, I catch sight of a strip of black lace tucked in the back. So does he.

"What's that?"

I pull out the lacy black g-string from my only set of lingerie. I know what's going to happen next. I should refuse, but I know I'm not going to. I'm a bimbo slut and I need someone else's help to pick my underwear for me.

"Is there anything else matching it?"

I extract the basque with its little straps hanging down to clip stockings onto. The stockings are there too, rolled up in a tight ball. All I can think of is Jake's face when I last wore them. It's been years. I don't know if the lingerie even fits me anymore.

"So, you had this hidden away out of sight. Am I seeing a new side of you?"

"Dunno."

"Wardrobe. Let's see what else you have."

Reluctantly, I go over to my wardrobe and open the doors to show him. I pull out each item only to have it dismissed, until I show him a dress. It's nothing very fancy. It would work in an office situation, and it's just like a few of the others I've already shown him.

"This one."

"Why?" I ask.

I hold it up, looking at it, trying to see what he sees in it. It's plain, with a row of buttons down the front from neck to hemline. Then I understand: the buttons. I imagine a world of possibilities with those buttons.

"Here is what you're going to do," he says. "First, yes, we'll do the salon. Second, you're going to wear what I've chosen for you. Third, you're only going to wear what I've chosen for you until you send me the picture of you after your waxing."

"But, but that's a week away."

"See if they have an earlier booking."

"I'm going to wear lingerie to work all week," I protest. "And the same dress. People will notice. Turning up in stockings."

"Let me help you out. This is the maximum you're allowed to wear. If you decide to go without the lingerie, that's your choice, if you want to mix it up a little bit."

I stare at the blank phone screen open-mouthed.

"Put the rest of your underwear in the bin. You're not going to wear any of it again. You're going to have to rebuild your collection from scratch."

The call ends and I'm left standing in the middle of the bedroom. I see the clock and realise I'm going to be late for work. I should... I need to....

I go back into the bathroom and run the shower again, to wash off after my orgasm. I don't have a choice about what I'm wearing, so I just need to get on with it. I've made my bargain. He knows that I'll do what he says. He knows that I'll dress how he told me.

He knows I'm a bimbo slut who needs to be told what to do.

---

[Next chapter: The booking is made but a mysterious stranger appears with information.

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