Your Life As Pornography

by Ran Prieur

December 11, 2003

Creative Commons License
She stood before him in all her unbearable beauty, moist pouting lips, full perky breasts with hard nipples showing through her thin shirt, tight skirt barely covering her smooth creamy thighs. "Do you want me?" she crooned.

"Yes, yes," he gasped, his jutting chin hanging down, his fiery eyes straining toward her firm pulsing body. "Please, please let me touch you."

"You have to do something for me first," she teased.

"I'll do it," he moaned. "I'll do anything."

She undid a button on her shirt, exposing the roundness at the edges of her breasts. "A-ny-thing?"

"Yes, yes, anything! Whatever you ask, I'm your slave!"

She wagged her finger. "It's not my slave you have to be..."


"If you want me, you have to serve my Master."

His swelling loins shrank a bit. "Master?"

She came closer, sliding her skirt up her thigh so he could just see the lace-trimmed edge of her panties. She licked her lips and whispered in his ear, "You can touch every inch of this body, but first you must obey the Master. It's the only way."

"I see your woman has sent you," the Master said, and turned around. He was a pig-like man in a business suit, with blank eyes and the blood-drenched horns of a bull.

"Yes," the young man said timidly.

"And what did you promise to do for me?"

"A-anything you ask."

"Good. But perhaps I won't let you do anything I ask."

"What do you mean?"

"Doing anything I ask is a great privilege. Do you think you are worthy?"

He was confused. "How should I know?"

The Master roared, "If you do not know, you are not worthy! Did you not come to me?"

"Yes, but I had to because--"

"Shut up! You have come to beg to be allowed to do whatever I ask. Now beg!"

He thought of the woman, her hot irresistible waiting body. "Uh, please Master, I beg you to let me be your slave..."

"Slave? We have no slaves! These are enlightened times."

He sighed with relief. Perhaps the ordeal would not be so bad.

"Then what shall I be, Master?"

"You shall be my team member!"

"Do what to your member?"

"Beg! Beg me for it!"

"Please, great Master, let me team your member."

"Abase yourself! Convince me you are qualified!"

"Sir, I feel I am uniquely qualified to apply this position on your member. I am experienced in several very similar member positions, with other teams..."

"Are you dynamic?"

"Yes, yes, I'm dymanic," he blubbered. "I'll dy-be-dy-manic for you..."

"Are you a self-starter?"

"Please, Master, yes, I start myself every day in the bathroom! Let me start myself in your position, let me apply my oral communication skills to your expanding implement..."

"Give me enthusiasm!"

"Yes, yes, I am giving you enthusiasm. I will give you a huge giant enthusiasm if you'll let me, please Master, I will motivate your organization so hard with my skills that--"

"More enthusiasm! More!"

Overwhelmed by humiliation, he cried out, "Utilized, optimized, prioritized, facilitated on a daily basis! I am a determined achiever..."

"Harder! Harder!"

"La la la!" he gushed, unable to even form words, but screaming with the biggest enthusiasm he had ever had, "Na na na! Bla bla bla bla blaaaaaah!!"

"Excellent," the Master said. "You have performed well. Now you have earned the privilege to go to... the dungeon!"

In rows and rows of tiny cubical cells, men and women strained in tight cotton and polyester uniforms that clung to their aching butts and their chests straining with their appointed labors.

"Mmm," the woman said, as the young man stumbled into her cell. "A new one." She stood to her full height and he saw that under her shirt her breasts were suffocated in a constriction device, and her feet were crammed into brightly colored manacles that twisted her ankles back in their sockets and crushed her toes together. But she seemed not to notice. "I am your cellmate," she said. "Welcome to the dungeon."

"What -- what am I to do here?"

"Give me your hands."

He extended his wide strong hands and she ran her sharp cool fingers over them. "Ohh, these are so young and strong." She slid her hands up to his broad hard shoulders. "I bet you have a lot of stamina."


"You can go hours and hours."

"Yes!" He looked into her smoky eyes. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to put your hands on..."

He trembled with anticipation.

"... the keyboard!" she said. "And the phone. And these files. Same as everyone else here." And she went back to her own chair.

Hours later, his hands numb, his joints aching, his eyeballs dry and bloodshot, his shoulders on fire from fingering the hard little buttons, moving them in and out, in and out, he mumbled, "No... no... I can't do it any more."

"Take a ten minute break. But you have to punch out, so you don't cheat."

"It's not enough. I can't go on like this, please..."

"That's not for me to decide. Did you not agree to do anything the Master asked?"

"Yes, but... Say," he said, "I was wondering -- I agreed to obey the Master because unless I earn a good income no woman will have sex with me. But why are you here?"

"Ahh," she said. "I will tell you my story." And she began:

It was many years ago, when I was a little girl. "Daddy," I said, "will you always love me?"

Then he smiled at me strangely. "Come sit on my knee," he said, "and I'll tell you a secret."

"OK, daddy." I sat on his firm knee and he put his warm, heavy hand on my shoulder.

"The truth is," he said, "that I won't love you, that I'll never love you as much as I love your brother."

I burst into tears. "Why, why daddy? Why won't you love me?"

"Because," he said, stroking my ear, "your brother can do something you can't do, something special."

"No, please, daddy, I want you to love me! I want to be special too. What does he have that I don't?"

"Do you want me to show you?" he whispered.

"Yes, daddy, please, show me!"

Then he reached down deep into his pants, and pulled out, clutched in his hot sweaty hand, a giant wad of money. "Your brother," he said, "will be a man, and men have always had more earning power than women. Men are the breadwinners, the ones who go out in the world and do great things, while women just stay home and cook and clean. That's why men are better than women, and more deserving of respect and admiration. That's why everyone will always love your brother and not you."

"No, noooo, daddy," I wailed. "Please, please, I want you to love me too! I'll do anything!"

He fingered his massive dirty wad of bills and put his other hand on my trembling knee. "A-ny-thing?"

"Yes, daddy, please, tell me what it is, anything, I'll do it for you daddy, I'll do it for you and mommy and all your friends and anyone you want me to. I want to be loved! Tell me what to do!"

"There's only one way," he said. "One little thing." And he bent and croaked in my ear, "You have to earn good money like your brother. You have to serve my Master."

"Both of you," the Master said over the intercom, "come to my office."

A minute later they stood shaking before him.

"I heard you talking when I commanded you to work."

"Please!" They cringed and groveled before him. "We're sorry. Please forgive us! We'll never do it--"

"Silence! You like to talk, do you?"

"We'll do anything you ask, Master. Have mercy!"

"I'll just have to move you to another position, a position where you get a chance to use your mouths more."

"N-no," the woman gasped. "Not that... Anything but..."

"What?" the man whispered. "What is it?"

"You don't want to know," she cried. "It's too terrible. Please," she wept, "Give us another chance."

"Too late! I am moving you," the master bellowed, "to customer service!"

"No! Noooooooooo!"

The long line of customers stretched to the horizon, drooling, snapping, hungry-eyed beasts, screaming for more, shouting demands and abuse, as the small group of workers serviced them with their mouths and hands, one after another after another.

"Service me now!" the customers screeched. "Service me again! I'm not satisfied!" And the servicers labored on and on.

After what seemed like years, a distant chime rang, and the servicers looked up with relief.

"We're free," she said to him. "Free at last. We can go home!"

"Not yet," came the Master's voice. "Today I need you to work... overtime!"


A long while later, the young man, now looking years older, came home to his woman. "I have done what you asked," he said. "I have obeyed the Master."

"Then I am yours," she said, and flung off her robe, revealing her magnificent body in its full naked radiance. "Take me!"

"I'm too tired," he groaned. "I need to go to sleep. But in the morning, I will be strong again, and we can make passionate love all day."

"But in the morning," she said, "you have to go obey the Master again."

"But -- but -- " he stammered, "I thought it was only for one day."

She threw her head back and laughed a long throaty laugh. "No!" she said. "Silly man! You must go back for another day, and then another after that!"

"Three days! It's too much!"

"Ha ha ha ha ha ha hahaha! Three days? No, it's more than just three days that you must serve the Master."

"How -- how many days is it?" he said, thinking with horror of the torture and degradation he had endured in the dungeons. "How many days must I go back?"

"You must go back," she cried, "for the rest of your life!"