Story by All These Roadworks (2023).

 

 

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She should never have gone to that special presentation for the Slutwear clothing line.  She had thought it would be funny, and that she would laugh at all the terrible clothes.  But it had been addictive.  She’d bought two outfits that very night - ones she would never have worn before, ones that didn’t even properly cover her tits or cunt - and then she’d gone home and thrown out every item of clothing she owned, and sat there wearing her new Slutwear outfits, and masturbated.

 

The next day she’d been totally humiliated to leave the house in her whorish new clothes, but she knew she needed more Slutwear, so she went to work, endured everyone’s stares and wolf whistles, and on the way home she visited the Slutwear store and picked out six more outfits.  The store had changing rooms but for some reason she felt the need to change into them right out in the middle of the store where everyone could see her.  It was all right - there were other girls doing the same thing, all as confused and humiliated by their behaviour as she was.  But the strange white noise the store played over its speakers made it all okay, and filled her with the urge to buy even more Slutwear.

 

She went back to that store every day that week, buying more and more daring clothes - ones that were barely clothes at all, ones that humiliated her, ones that had little clamps inside to clip painfully to her nipples or clitoris, ones with butt plugs or dildos that went inside her, ones that wrapped tightly around the base of her tits and made them bulge.  She bought whorishly high heels, and dog collars, and little cat ears.  She bought panties with slits to allow access to her pussy, and T-shirts that said “Property of men” or “Rape me” or “100% slut” (all of which turned see-thru at the slightest application of water). 

 

Every time she bought clothes the salespeople would make a point of humiliating her, saying, “I bet you’ll look like a cheap whore in that”, or “If you wear these, you deserve to be raped,” and she would blush deep crimson, and then wear them out of the store anyway, the wetness of her pussy already leaking down her thighs.

 

There was no way her salary at work could keep up with her purchases, and she was probably going to be fired soon anyway for the way she dressed, so she had begun making plans to prostitute herself at night to get more money for Slutwear.  If she let men rape her all night she could afford so many more fucktoy clothes... she almost orgasmed at the thought...

 

(END)