The moment of truth had arrived. I whimpered, very quietly. If you say yes, that rational part of my brain told me, he will do it. He will make you degrade yourself in obscene ways for the enjoyment of all his friends. He will tell you to expose yourself to them and who knows what else. Time to make a decision.

"No," I told myself silently. "I've already made that decision."

I looked directly into the camera's hard round lens. "Yes," I said. "If you told me to do something kinky and sexual, I would do it."

Show me.
Touch your breasts.

I took a deep breath. Hesitantly, I brought my hands up the front of the dress, moved them over my breasts, up to my shoulders, back down again. I squeezed and fondled gently, felt my nipples harden. Somewhere deep inside, my emotions startled roiling.

I would say that qualifies as sexual, wouldn't you?

"Yes." My hands roamed freely over my breasts. I pinched my nipples lightly and sighed.

There is some debate over here as to whether or not it is kinky and sexual, though.
A few people seem to feel that you still have not demonstrated that you will do any kinky sexual thing you are told.

"Being ordered to touch myself in front of a camera for people I don't know isn't kinky?"

You make a good point.
I'll see what they think.

A minute passed. I tweaked my nipples, toyed with my breasts.

The vote is nine to two, with Ranbir and I abstaining.
They don't think that playing with your tits counts as "kinky."

I did the math, and felt my face grow hot.

We still need to convince them you will do whatever kinky sexual thing I tell you to do.

I glanced around at the arrangement of sex toys. "I have no doubt you'll find a way to do that," I said dryly. I continued fondling my breasts, sliding my hands down under them. Truth be told, I was beginning to enjoy it, in spite of my unseen audience. My nipples, made exquisitely sensitive by constant teasing over the past couple of days, sent little electric shocks through my body at every touch. I pressed the palms of my hands flat against them and moaned.

Now what do you suppose would qualify as "kinky?"

"That's not really the right question, is it? The right-oh!" I cupped my hands under my breasts and pressed my thumbs into my nipples; the sensation sent shivers through my body. Between my legs, I twitched and grew wet. As my excitement rose, so did my desire for him to tell me to do very dirty things to myself, the most obscene things he could imagine, to let me show him what I was capable of, to remove all doubt from the people watching. "The right question is, what do they think is kinky?"

Again, you make an excellent point.
I have one vote for "show us your tits," but I don't really think that's very kinky, in all honesty.
The consensus here is that everyone will know kinky when they see it.
Are you enjoying fondling yourself?

"I am," I said truthfully.

I think we will need to address this issue systematically.
I will tell you to do things.
After you do them, we will vote on whether or not they count as kinky, dirty, sexual things.
We will see how long it takes to find something that everyone agrees is kinky.
What do you think?

"I think the voting will be rigged and this will take quite a while." My own cheekiness surprised me; I almost felt like I was goading him, daring him to do his worst. My image on the television wore an expression part worried, part haughty defiance; I wondered if Robin could tell what I was feeling.

Get down on your hands and knees.

On the screen, I saw my face turn red; a small detached part of my mind observed that my shame was more transparent than I thought it was. I knelt carefully on the hard wooden floor, and leaned over on all fours. From this position, I noticed, I was precisely at eye level with the Webcam built into Robin's laptop.

Crawl around the chair. Wag your ass.

I looked up at myself on the screen. The camera peered down my dress, making it amply clear I was not wearing a bra. Slowly, I crawled on my hands and knees in a loose circle around the chair. I swayed my hips back and forth for the camera, letting my audience see me from all sides as I made the circuit. My breasts hung and bobbed, dragging my nipples across the inside of the dress, making me hiss. By the time I finished the path, they were screaming, begging to be pinched. I couldn't remember a time when they'd been so deliciously sensitive.

That is so hot.
You have no idea.
Now crawl over to the dildo on the floor.

I crawled slowly, exaggerating the emphasizing of my hips, crouching down to let the camera gaze deeper into my cleavage. That wild, irrational defiance drove me; I was determined to beat him at this game by driving myself farther than he thought I would go. Whatever he asked, I would do, better and more fully than he thought; if he wished to humiliate me in front of this audience, I would find every shameful, degrading part of it and exaggerate it, welcome it, allow the humiliation to consume me.

I reached the rubbery flesh-colored phallus and crouched over it expectantly.

Ranbir and I have described your virtues at sucking cock.
Now we'd like a demonstration.
Lick it.

My heart thudded. I slowly opened my mouth and extended my tongue, then bent down and swirled it around the wide, bulbous head of the fake rubber cock. I let my tongue explore the head, lapping and flicking until it shone with wetness. Then I ran my tongue and lips down the side of the dildo until my cheek rested on the cool floor. I remained there for a moment, face to the floor, my tongue caressing the side of the dildo, before I worked my way back up again. I kissed the head when I arrived at the top, then worked my way down the other side. By the time my other cheek touched the floor, the dildo glistened.

Suck it.

I lifted my head over the top of the thick veined toy and looked directly into the camera. Very deliberately, I licked my lips and moaned. I lowered my head until my lips lightly touched smooth round rubber, looked up into the camera from beneath my bangs, and moaned again. I parted my lips and took the head halfway into my mouth, still watching myself on the laptop screen. I drank in every detail-the way this position, kneeling on hands and knees, exposed my cleavage; the way my lips stretched around the girth of the wet pink dildo-and I pictured a group of men gathered around a television screen, exchanging crass, demeaning comments, enjoying my objectification. My cheeks grew hot, and I savored the humiliation. If they want to see me suck cock, I'll show them just how filthy a cocksucker I am.

I opened my mouth wider, took the dildo deeper, until it touched the back of my throat. I wanted to take its entire length, feel it down my throat, but it was too thick; much larger than anything I had successfully deep throated before.

I raised my head up the length of the shaft, then descended again until it pushed once more against my throat. I relaxed my throat and worked it deeper, struggling with the massive bulbous head, until I choked. Yes! that savage defiance said. Choke on it! Make yourself take it!

I bobbed my head up and down, slurping and sucking and forcing it against the back of my throat. I sputtered and coughed and gagged around the thick shaft. The thought that my discomfort might be arousing the people watching me brought on a fresh wave of humiliation, which in turn sent a trickle of warm wetness leaking from the warmth between my legs. Do you like this? I asked my audience silently. Do you like seeing a woman on her hands and knees choking herself on a dildo? Do you like seeing me make a whore of myself just to entertain you?

Then the unexpected happened. My throat opened up and the dildo slid all the way down. My nose touched the floor.

I paused there. A vivid picture appeared in my head, of how I must look, on my hands and knees on the floor, face down, mouth stretched wide around a thick rubber cock, ass in the air as if begging to be fucked. The imagery felt shockingly, breathtakingly submissive and shameful all at once. I imagined strong hands on the back of my head, holding it down, a hard cock shoving its way in my ass, mouth and anus stretched open for my lover's pleasure, heedless of my own discomfort... I held the pose and rocked my hips in the air. Without warning, my throat spasmed, and I sat up quickly, gasping, eyes watering. I panted heavily, and my chest heaved.

Wow.
I didn't know you could take something that big down your throat.
You must be really turned on.

I ran my hands over my breasts. "What about you? Did that turn you on?"

Yes.
The vote now stands at 4 people who believe what you just did is dirty and kinky, 6 who want more proof, and 1 vote for "show us your tits."

"What if I don't want to show you my tits?"

Does it matter?

"No."

Do you want to show us your tits?

"No."

Show us your tits.

I stood and turned to face the camera squarely. Without a word, I reached behind my head. My fingers found the clasp holding the dress around my neck. A quick manipulation and it was open; the front of the dress fell. I wrapped my arms around myself, ran my hands up my arms to my shoulders, crossing them in front of me, hiding them. Slowly, with an act of will, I forced myself to slide my hands down over my breasts, cupping them, and present them to the camera.

You didn't want to let these people ogle your breasts?

"No." I ran my fingers in circles around my taut nipples, coaxing them to stand out further.

Then why did you?

"Because you told me to." I drew my shoulders back proudly, thrusting my breasts forward for the camera. Silently, I said to myself, Because I love being your slut. Because I love the way it feels when you make me do humiliating things I don't want to do. Because I love giving myself to you, letting you possess me this way.

An epiphany dawned.