You will want to have read the earlier episodes of this story.
It ate into her, the mundane humiliation of shuffling on her knees— not able to crawl with her elbows bound behind her; that this of everything should be what made it hard was ridiculous, she knew, but that was how it was. Being sent, naked and bound, into her MonSeñor’s room to suckle on his cock as a wake-up service was, honestly, lovely in its simplicity. To be wanted, for there to be a place for her, a job for her, a service which only she could deliver, a sexual service, was powerfully affirming.
But to be physically humiliated, rendered pathetic, clumsy, powerless, was a bodily experience, not a psychological one, and it added to the still unfolding implications of the beautifully cruel nail heels. Being MonSeñor’s sex-toy was not just about sex, not just about training her mind to become cunt, not just about her body being marked as cunt, but about her complete physical subjugation, imposing ridiculousness upon her, disempowering her that way, too.
It overwhelmed her for a moment, and she stopped, just knelt there, on the floor, in the darkness, letting the shame and the hurt and the fear have their way with her, as Maria had said she must; letting the grim awfulness of accepted diminishment wash through her, letting it all be true, that she would live with the knowledge of what she had allowed to be done to her for every second of her life to come. Not fighting it. Letting herself be destroyed by it all over again, doing nothing but hold on to the presentation of her body while a destructive emotional storm raged inside her. As she steadfastly resisted all the internal demands that she protect her future wellbeing; as she voluntarily imposed cruel petty humiliation upon herself. As she knowingly did the work of her own degradation.
For a second, she felt she was actually over the edge, had fallen into the abyss, thought she was about to start screaming and flailing and scratching at herself, for having inflicted such harm on herself. But she held on somehow, a little mantra going round in her head; Offer pussy, legs spread, shoulders back, tits out, mouth a little open, tongue tip on bottom lip, belly tucked in, hands limp, face smooth, wet pussy … Offer pussy, legs spread, shoulders back, tits out, mouth a little open, tongue tip…, just kept saying it, even though she was failing at so much of it, and after an eternity that in reality had lasted less than a minute or two, she was back.
She was back, but smaller, weaker, more frightened, less like Prilly (less of a person), more like cunt, the belief much stronger in her that she was nothing but cunt, that she didn’t deserve to be anything more, couldn’t manage to be anything more, a growing certainty that she was weak and helpless and stupid, that being on the way to have cock inside her was all that mattered, despite the voices still in the back of her mind.
Maria was strong and controlling and saved Prilly from having to take responsibility for herself, and that was truly welcome, but to physically serve her owner was the only thing that could make any real sense out of the insane position she was in, and she shuffled forward then, fanning the little flame of belief in her that his cock in her mouth would help, would reignite the good part of being cunt— the part about the constant focus on her pussy, on sexual intensity, on being used, fucked, raped.
And it worked, just enough, and she was able to reset, do her mantra for real;
Offer pussy, legs spread, shoulders back, tits out, mouth a little open, tongue tip on bottom lip, belly tucked in, hands limp, face smooth, wet pussy …
It was work, constant work, to get herself into the place where she could actually be cunt, and it was necessary work, enforced, really, since in any other state of mind she soon began to unravel, and this work had to be done, even if at the same time she knew that she was gaslighting herself into losing her mind, losing her grip of any reality but this reality, the reality of a degraded sex-toy.
But yes; yes, I must. Nothing else works, madness or not.
And it flipped, then, and she felt good; weak was good, her pussy getting wet at the thought of being raped was good, being close to him was very good, MonSeñor’s cock in her mouth would be wonderful, and the pain and swinging weight of the heavy metal ring at the base of her sex which made her status visible for all was so fucking good, having her elbows tied was so good, the nail heels were so good, the awful aching bruises at knees and ankles were good because they all reminded her, every second, that she was ruined, already fatally degraded, that she could aspire to nothing, nothing but what MonSeñor permitted her to be, nothing but a thing to be fucked and that that was everything she needed.
I’m just a stupid little college girl from the middle of nowhere getting used to what my place in the world really is and it’s not even been twenty four hours and I’m allowed a little crisis every now and then— Maria told me it would happen— but this is good, now, this is right; naked, wet pussy, on my knees, shuffling, weak and powerless, but for a billionaire who knows just how to handle me. This is how I get raped, isn’t it?
It was evil, to do this to herself, and still some small part of her knew it, but it was so good to feel good, and she swallowed all the sensible voices up and mentally locked them in a cage and then buried it; nothing must get in the way of feeling this good, of serving MonSeñor, and she flexed her hips and felt the pulse of hotness in her groin at last and her chest caught and her pulse bumped and she cried a little at how powerful it was, when it took her like this, and she was in the flow then, and she let it take her, gratefully, let Prilly drown in it.
Softly, so softly— a small, weak, humble creature— she tunnelled under the sheets with her head from the foot of the bed, gentle, careful; going slowly to minimise any disruption to his sleep, and snaked up beside his legs, not touching him, but keeping her lips close to him, feeling his heat, smelling his body, feeding everything into her own sex drive, working on her arousal so as to be acceptable to him, feeling her heart rate bumping, remembering how it had been to have him come in her mouth, the first man ever to do it; her owner; all her earlier feelings of how gross it would be true in some ways, but missing the big point— that she was cunt, and that his come was the best, most welcome proof of his desire for her, that desire which kept her alive.
She was there. He slept naked; she could smell his cock, feel the heat of his groin, and she manoeuvred herself, trembling, until she felt confident that her mouth could softly envelop the end of his cock without moving it significantly.
It was astonishing. To be his whore, to be so servile, to be completed by it, simply holding herself so that his cock lay in the warm wetness of her mouth, her own body bent out of shape so that her service made no demands at all upon him, did not disturb him, under the bedcovers, in the dark, elbows tied, thighs spread wide apart, for no other reason than that it was his preference. Waiting. Being nothing but a warm wet place for his cock to rest, giving her whole being to that. To feel his cock pulse, just a little, for it to be like an earthquake for her, her heart bumping, her pulse racing, a swell of emotion in her as she felt him stiffen, shifted herself to accommodate him better, opened herself, trembling now, the astonishing knowledge that she was about to give her throat to a big hot cock.
Always, with him, he had been taking her, and that had been her lot, abjectly welcomed. Now, she could be a giver— prove her commitment to his service, and she was filled with happiness as he stiffened again inside her mouth, even as another part of her old self died at this deep, unforced expression of her whore-nature, as she experienced an almost overwhelming anticipation of how it was going to be to choke herself on his cock, force herself to take him deep, so that he would have no need to use his hands on her; give him everything.
He seemed to wake, or half-wake at least, his hand finding its way to the back of her head, and he half turned, pulling her onto his now seriously stiff cock, and then he was in her throat and she was serving him with tears in her eyes, her belly trembling with the enormity of it all. Somehow, that she was not being raped, this time, made it as if it were the first time she had actively whored herself, and she felt her heart breaking, another part of it, as another part was almost savagely gleeful, egging her on to serve him more selflessly, let him suffocate her with his big cock if he wanted to, sacrifice herself to his pleasure.
It was a joy to feel his hand cease pushing, just holding now, to know that he was trusting her to serve his cock with everything she had. The threat of force, the knowledge that she would be forced to comply if she failed was ever-present, but it was not why she was going as deep as possible, staying down as long as possible, using the spasms of her throat to massage his cock, accepting the racking pain, the desperate need for air, giving, giving, giving.
Madness, but it was how she felt and she melted into pure service, pure attention to the cock in her throat, the hand on her head, the body she was leaning over, giving herself completely, feeling waves of trembling emotion washing through her, fighting each other, the fallout weakening her, destabilising her more as— through it all— she kept her throat and mouth open for him, her nose buried in his pubes, her body’s need for air growing ever more insistent, her diaphragm heaving inside her, vainly sucking, and, right then, Prilly found herself, as the previous night, almost calmly offering herself up for death, should he wish to push her that far. To live as cunt would be hard, a terrifying prospect, an endless vista of degradations and diminishment, pain and disrespect. She could go now, she would let him. Prilly’s life was over already, in many senses, and this new life, as cunt, had hardly started…
There would be no real loss.
And she would be serving him till the last, letting her throat be a cunt for him, and there were tears of sadness on her cheeks, but they flowed without any bitterness.
It was all, terribly, terribly sad, that Prilly had lost herself, been found wanting, had willingly given way in favour of this shameful existence as cunt, but ending it now would be no special tragedy … a glory, in fact, if she could only have his come be what finished her off …
He fisted his hand in her hair, then; dragged her up unceremoniously— not violent, but at the same time utterly uninterested in her dignity, she gasping, eyes streaming with tears, thick mucous from deep in her throat hanging from her lips, trembling all over, lost in the wonder of being nothing but that which served him, but then, seeing him (though she could not look him in the face), being so close to him as himself, not just a body, a cock, she lost herself, overcome by fear, initially; for this was the man who hurt her, hurt her and shamed her and raped her so cruelly, again and again and she was naked and so, so very weak, and her elbows were tied and she had to— had to— offer him her breasts and her poor pussy and …
… and she lost herself, lost everything, as the depth of her ruin crushed her once again.
For to be naked, scrabbling to present herself properly, thighs spread, tits out, utterly subservient, utterly vulnerable, for this terrible, cruel god who is so close, whose power annihilates her… to be so totally exposed, for him to know so well just how far he can go with her … it could not be held together, and she felt herself snivelling in fear and apprehension, quivering and shaking.
He’d hurt her so much, shamed her so gravely, invaded her so ruthlessly, so violently, and all of it, all of it was both wonderful and terrifying, and she was so much weaker and smaller after last night and this morning, and more uncertain of anything , so terribly diminished; his power over her increased in equal measure; she felt, inside her, just how much she now depended upon him; he who is so unpredictable, save in that he will ask for more, each time she has given him something, something impossibly more, that she always ends up giving.
And her heart broke as she forced herself to present herself to him, in spite of the fear, and the shame, and the presentiment of hurt and degradation; forces herself to smile at him, pulls her shoulders back…
Offer pussy, legs spread, shoulders back, tits out, mouth a little open, tongue tip on bottom lip, belly tucked in, hands limp, face smooth, wet pussy …
He watched her for a minute, as she felt she could die of the shame, him seeing all her little efforts in turn, seeing just how servile she was, how frightened, how crushed, how vulnerable, how hard she was working to degrade herself, to be cunt for him, in the hope that he would rape her and it was too much, too much for her battered psyche … except that she had held on— just— held onto her sanity, because— because he had the power to deny her any more time here, and she did not know what might become of her if she was rejected, save that she would seek death, rather than to have suffered all this, and be rejected, found uninteresting.
“It is hard, I know, pretty Prilly. Hard to have been degraded so brutally, so fast. It’s lovely to watch you suffer so, watch you trying so hard, thrusting your poor bruised pussy for me so obviously, showing me your breasts with those terrible weals— they really do enhance my pleasure in looking at you, sweet girl, they really do, remembering how it was that you held yourself for me to hurt you so cruelly. "
“It was good to wake up with your hot throat suckling on my cock. Maria once again excels, and now here you are, so gorgeous, so destroyed, so despairing; it’s really very entertaining— can you imagine? Yesterday morning I didn’t know you existed, and now you’re mine to rape or torture at will, and you’re the one doing all the work to make it so. Here, let me …”
And he leaned forward, to put three fingers directly into her slick pussy, and three into her wet mouth.
“Make my fingers come, pretty; move for me, do your best— your absolute sex toy best, pretty, slow and sexy, give me everything”
And bizarrely, this was what calmed her. It took a while, though, before she could accept the intruders on both her mouths, struggle though she did to do so; the despair, the shame just too large, it seemed, for her to serve him, except … except that she had made herself notice, just what his fingers between her legs actually felt like, to discover that, shaming and dirty and frightening as it definitely was to have a man unceremoniously shove his hand into her pussy, it was undeniable that her pussy had welcomed him, was moving for him, eagerly now … without ‘permission’ from her mind— and then she was away.
And then, quite quickly, she was urgently, sweetly, eagerly giving hm everything she hoped he wanted— even as the tears rolled down her cheeks, she heard herself moaning around his fingers, in between the spasms of her throat, the pathetic sounds of a girl gagging, thrusting her hips slowly and powerfully, doing what she could with her insides to squeeze the fingers in her pussy, even as she realised how much she hurt, down there— the bruises from the whipping, every move setting the heavy medallion swinging, the two holes in her labia screaming their pain, all of it merging into the sensation of giving herself, getting back into the groove of being a thing for fucking, shutting her thoughts down, pushing the shame away, promising it can have her later, if she can serve him how, dying inside but ignoring it in favour of sensation, tragic and exalted at the same time, and when he pulled out and watched her again, she made no effort at all to hide how agitated she was, what he had done to her, how powerfully affected she had been by his invasion, how needy she was for more, how eager to please him in the smallest, smallest thing, if it will have him back at her, using her.
“I’ll be showing you off to some new arrivals later— make sure you are as responsive, as open about what you really are, what can be done with you, then.”
“And— just about before— if I should want you to be killed by my cock— and it’s an interesting idea, one which is worthy of consideration— it will be my decision, not yours; your commitment to what my cock enjoys is commendable, but for now, I am enjoying you, and so it is your duty to me to live. Do you understand me, pretty?”
He spoke softly, lightly, with patronising amusement, as if to a child, explaining, and she trembled, and blushed, and nodded, unable to speak, and he watched her, a small lazy smile on his lips, a smile which she was inexpressibly happy, truly happy to see, since it seemed to be the smile which meant he was enjoying his dominion over her.
His meaning, though, hit her like sharp stones, thrown hard; she was so raw, as her whole body telegraphed her earnest ond total assent; she did understand— even if she could not speak.
I will always be this raw; since I have no defenses anymore; none, everything hits me with full force.
He took his grip on her then, gently, caressing, but with the promise of ruthless control, his right hand at her neck, cupping her head, his left high on her inner thigh where it met her crotch, and pulled her closer, she working with him, breathless with— honestly— lust; lust and fear combined, overwhelming, so powerful that she could give herself to it, taking delight in being so weak, so vulnerable, a creature of pure need, utterly in his power, the creature’s centre the pulsing slit between her legs, the place which needed to be crushed, invaded, hammered.
When he asked her, very gentle, very relaxed;
“What do you want now, lovely girl? Look at me, let me see you; be very honest; tell me truth, now … "
… she trembled to face him so close, was unsure that her throat could form words even, had to swallow, and test, and all the while her mind was whirring, what … what did he want from her? She was lost for a few seconds— long enough to begin to fear she might say something stupid, lose him, lose this incredible moment, his hand so near her pussy, his cock so hard, right there, jerking a little, a vein pulsing, fascinating, shiny with the juices of her throat, and then suddenly it was easy, and it came out clear and soft and very obviously from her soul and she made her legs somehow split wider apart than they already had been, and slowly rolled her hips, letting her pussy ask for it too, and her eyes lost focus as the blushes rose, as she realised how much of an eager whore she could be, how wonderful it was to be allowed this opportunity to be this creature, meaning every word of what she said, from the depths of her;
“Oh, I want to be raped by you, MonSeñor. Please MonSeñor, I very much want you to rape me … and … and for it to be as … as brutal as you like, as cruel. For you to … to h-hurt me, badly, if … if it pleases you.”
And then he said;
“But I did such terrible things to you last night— all through yesterday in fact— so cruel, though; I had Maria do this to you while I raped your poor little asshole;” his hand at the pussy tag then, his mark of ownership, and even though he was gentle it hurt, sharply, and she mewled with the pain of it.
“Tell, me, how it is to have been treated so, your breasts so cruelly marked, your pussy, and your ass, too, then the water tortures, and now this— this disfigurement, this mutilation of your pretty little pussy, this unmissable sign of your debasement?”
There was nothing at all of guilt or second thoughts or regret in his manner, none, but there was sympathy and cruel enjoyment, too— he was genuinely interested to hear her, and it only made it worse— for the question had forcibly jerked her out of her flow of service and desire and back again (again!) into awareness of just how appalling her circumstances were, how unthinkable what had been done to her, what she had tolerated, asked for, been complicit with, how unbearable the future promised her, that there was no longer even the slightest hope of redemption; that everything, everything would be visited upon soft flesh, her weak mind, and she was stilled, frozen for long moments as her mind spun, unable to process anything, unwilling to relinquish her almost euphoric flow of service, until the realisation came to her— that this was as far from kindness as it could be— that he was manipulating her psyche, that this was mental torture of a devastating and subtle kind, and that she was doomed to suffer it, and let out an uncontrollable cry of pain and despair, stifled desperately, though she held her pose as beautifully as before.
For this was the heart of the cruelty— he was accepting his own immorality, not as any form of acknowledgement of harm, but in order to force her to take responsibility for having accepted it— and to prove she had accepted, she must answer these questions as a complicit whore, as his possession, as cunt. He wanted her to tell him how good it was that he had done these terrible things to her. And she had to tell the truth. So that she had to reveal to him the ways in which, earlier that morning, she had made enough sense of her complicity to have worked with Maria, completely subjugated and cooperative as she had been prepared for him as a sex-toy should be; a thing for fucking, no longer a full human being, and another tiny cry broke from, her, instantly stifled this time, accompanied by soft tears, leaking freely from her eyes, though she would not let herself sob as she found herself required to look up, look into his eyes, let him see just what he was doing to her with this, how cruel he was being, how … let him see how much I am his, that there is no question of disobedience or resistance in my silence, in my cries, just … just pain and shame and oh! OhOHoh!!
For, as she raised her head, his hand had moved from toying with the ring in her pussy to simply and directly pushing the three fingers steadily back into her slippery pussy and, as obvious as this was, the casual way he did it, how directly and deeply he pushed into her, the knowing twist to his lips as she met his eyes, as she cried out, was both glorious and terrible and she moaned for him, then, utterly uncontrolled, utterly possessed by him, feeling her weakness, hating and loving her weakness. Gods but it was incredible to be a girl who could simply be penetrated at will, without a thought, a girl who would not just hold herself open but immediately give herself body and soul to the penetration, as she had, who would bleat and hum, without a filter, giving up all the evidence of the impact being penetrated had on her, of her immediate surge of lust and eagerness to be fucked.
He has unleashed the whore in me and I will always be weak like this, now, always. Oh fuck oh fuck ohfuk that is so fuuucking nice , to … to be played with like a toy, just used, him grinning at me, laughing at me showing him how weak I am and I don’t care— no I do care; I care desperately that he is entertained by me, being abused like this, shown up like this as a whore for real; I like it, jiggling my nipples for him, showing my tongue, everything, anything, just to be fucked, fucked now, fucked hard oh fuuuuk please?’
His fingers left her as casually as they had entered her, having proved their point, leaving her hips writhing, leaving her panting and half sobbing with need, utterly lost in it, knowing she is being played with, loving that she can be played with, until he gripped her chin with his sticky fingers, the smell of her pussy in her nostrils, musky, raw, earthy, her belly spasming; but he wanted her attention, dragged her back to his question.;
“Yes, pretty girl; you have understood; I want you to turn traitor on yourself and tell me just how it is that you argued yourself into this shameful, degraded position, which should be unthinkable for a young college girl with prospects.”
It’s different now, than it had been, just a minute ago, when he had surprised her; now she was his again, deep in thrall to his control of her, and she is eager, eager to betray herself, wanting him to know just how weak she is, just what buttons she has that he can press, what vulnerabilities he can abuse, and it’s a pleasure to have been so easily, so masterfully manipulated, to be so helplessly vulnerable to such manipulation, to know that she will never, never escape him, that he is her master in so many ways, that there is nothing, nothing in prospect for her but his dominion, and it all falls out of her mouth;
“Oh MonSeñor you were so right about … about what I am, deep … deep inside. I … I don’t know how but I am the neediest, most hungry slut and all … all I want is to be fucked; fucked all the time, any way at all, just to be fucked and, and I like it and I want it to take me over, want to lose everything, be like this all the time, nothing else, nothing else but this pathetic little eager cunt to be fucked.”
“There is nothing, nothing you can’t do to me and I will take it, take it all, because I am so, so, grateful to you for taking me, for being brutal with me, not stopping, not being kind, not letting me wriggle out of it because this… this is right for me, even … even though it … it hurts so much?”
She cannot contain an outbreak of sobbing then; stupidly weak and soft for a few seconds, as the terrible, shaming hurts well up in her and her mind is filled with the pain and humiliation of it all, a part of her knowing she is giving him her pain so that he can enjoy it— willingly prostituting her own despair, the desperate terrible fear at what being this … this naked, willing, degraded slut who has no dignity, no self-respect, only hunger to be fucked, what it will oh so obviously mean for her future…
“The … all the … terrible things you have done to me, that … that I asked for you to do or … or not … they … Oh I have to thank you for them, thank you sooo much, even … even though they are so hard to bear, so … so awful, that they will destroy me…”
Tears are streaming down her face now, but she is not sobbing and her voice is weirdly calm and steady, and she is feeling peace creeping up on her, and gratitude (yes gratitude) for this chance to let him see just how weak she is, just how easy it will be to take her further, to destroy her, and she knows she has given him so much and there is nothing to do but give him everything, even though it will destroy her and she smiles at him, then, through the tears, a tiny, heartbroken smile, bleak and sad; full of the knowledge of her utter defeat, of the end of her as an independent being, of her future as his property, disregarded in all respects save its utility for sexual entertainment, for sadistic cruelty.
“… you … you are right to … to be cruel with me … to … to do those … terrible things to me … I … please … do … do exactly as you want with me, no matter … no matter how … how hard it will be for me to bear. Don’t … don’t listen when I beg, and … and if I resist, you must be brutal with me, as brutal as you need to be, to get me to submit. . It … it is right that I am abused, punished, that I am cruelly treated, shamed, degraded. I … I need to be broken of so … so many stupid habits, and expectations, and assumptions, so … so that I can offer myself more openly, so that … so that I can get raped more.”
Heard out loud, the words seemed insanely melodramatic, overwrought, but it was nothing more than the urgent message in her mind, nothing was ever clearer to her than that right then, and she dared look into his eyes again, to offer her defeat to him, let him see that this was real, even as bile rose in her throat at the knowledge that she had indeed betrayed herself, signed Prilly’s death warrant, in effect; that there was now, never, to be any hope for her, save whatever little moments of flow, degrading orgasms, the peace she might find after a rape. Nothing, now, but that.
He was not smiling now, but serious, and he took the side of her head in his hand and and pulled her toward him, staring deep into her eyes and his voice was as ever, but the words he spoke were dread;
“Good. You are mine now. There is no further doubt to it. You will still beg to stay each evening, but the stakes are higher. Because now, to have ceased to entertain me means that you will go night swimming, taken out by a crew of fishermen, who will all enjoy you freely, then cut you so that you are bleeding, before they put you overboard with a bucket of chum, to have an unfortunate end, eaten by sharks; a tragic accident.”
The silence is long and hard but there is no resistance in Prilly at all. The words are almost reassuring. There are no longer any doubts; all her presentiments of death have been appropriate. She will be killed when she is no longer entertaining. It makes perfect sense, desirable, even. For what would life be for her, now, if she was not to be fucked?
“You may thank me, and get me hard again with your throat, so that I can split your ass open.”
Her thanks are calm, simple and earnest, spoken in a clear voice, her eyes lowered again, and she bends forward to take his full length straight into her throat in one steady, unhesitating motion, and she stays down, working her throat hard, licking with her tongue, giving herself utterly to his cock until he pulls her off, and roughly flips her over, yanking one knee up high before driving himself direct into her ass, with nothing but the lubricant Maria had applied half an hour earlier, and Prilly cries out in agony, but without force; cries of helplessness, of pain, of defeat, of acceptance, nothing more, his hand so tight in her hair that he pulls clumps of it away when he comes, grunting and shouting in a way which feeds Prilly’s whore soul.
Her MonSeñor has enjoyed her. All is good, even though she is drowned in pain and shame.
