This post is in the CRUELTIES category. Don’t read it.
I have not written anything as harsh as this before. If you don’t think you’ll like it, please, don’t read it. If you do read it, remember, this is all outrageous fantasy.
It’s worth saying perhaps, that that this is THW’s limit. No detailed gruesomeness beyond what you get here.
While Jenkins and the slave contractor joked, voices from the three teenagers on the other side of the road cut into me;
“Fucking incredible! What a juicy fucking slut!” One of the boys.
“That’ll be you soon Suzy, you reckon?” the other boy’s voice, Pizza Face, the one who had just raped my back passage, teasing her;
“Reckon I’d pay a chunky entrance fee to watch you fuck a machine like that. No questions asked.”
“Suze?” That must be the brother, but his voice sounded weird, almost panicky, a rising tone to it.
I was distracted then, by the contractor, attaching a snapshackle to my collar, then yanking me to my feet with a very ordinary chain, rough and rust-streaked, and I suddenly saw, in that chain, just how ordinary, how mundane, how grey and dirty the actual experience of slavery was going to be; in contrast with the moments in the TV shows, most of life my was going to be spent chained up, uncomfortable, despairing, waiting until I was wanted.
The boy’s voice cut through my despair, turned my head;
“HEY! Suzy! What the fuck?”
“Suze, what are you doing?”
Then footsteps, fast; the girl was crossing the road, shrugging off her brother’s outstretched hand. She walked directly up to Jenkins, her face flushed pink, and her voice, when she spoke, was shaky, but in the shocked silence that had fallen over all of us, she was clear enough, and we all heard what she said;
“The guy … The … the man that lives here; he’s that trillionaire, isn’t he? Runs all those high tech firms?”
“You are correct, Miss.”
Jenkins was smiling, very friendly, if a wolf could be friendly. A powerful tension was in the air; we could see the way this was going, but couldn’t believe it was happening.
Her brother rushed across the road, then, urgent, in the grip of strong emotion, and made to grab at the girl. But Jenkins took him by the shoulder, gripped him, stopped him dead, arm straight. It was as if the boy had run into a wall.
Jenkins’ face was friendly, but his voice was uncompromising, no matter that the words were polite;
“This is private property, son. You will leave; immediately. Please.”
And the boy, intimidated and obviously cowed by J’s certainty and power, lost all his urgency; his shoulders slumped, and he retreated, muttering, as Jenkins turned back to the girl.
She was very pretty; blond, with a lovely open face, just a few freckles and an upturned perky nose; she was slim but curvaceous, with noticeably generous breasts thrusting from her chest in the white school uniform blouse.
As do many girls at her age, forced to wear an unflattering uniform, she had made considerable efforts, within the broad outline of the rules, to make herself sexually obvious. she had made an excellent job of it, while managing not to look like a slut.
She was trembling, but clearly determined to follow through with her plan;
“He … does … does he have many slavegirls?”
She was flushed, her cheeks a hot pink, and I could not take my eyes from her, even though I had already adopted the slavegirl trick of looking through my lashes.
The contractor had hooked my wrists and my collar to cleats set into the side of his trick, my neck low, so that I was bent forward, into a crouch, almost immediately uncomfortable, and very soon painful. I needed to kneel, to relieve the stress in my back and thighs, but could not go lower without dislocating my shoulders, or so it felt, at least.
He was not intending to miss the scene, so he’d parked me.
Only after a long, slow, insultingly deliberate look at her body did Jenkins answer her;
“Quite a few, yes, pretty.”
‘Pretty’ is what men will call a slavegirl whose name or number they don’t know— unless they call her ‘cunt’. J was telling her he thought of her as a slavegirl, a grave insult to a free woman, but she didn’t protest, only dropped her eyes, blushing again. She was still determined, it seemed, for a few seconds later she looked up again;
“And do … do you work for him … Sir?”
“Yes, I am his valet and chauffeur. My name is Jenkins. Pleased to meet you, pretty.”
She flinched, a little, at the emphasis, but was determined not to be put off, it seemed;
“Will … Sir , do … do you think … wou … would he take me?“— then, after a pause and a little lift of Jenkins’ eyebrow, she apparently felt she had to make it clear, although the poor girl almost could not say the words;
“Take me as … as … oh … as a s-s … slave g-girl?”
And she bit her lip, prettily, unconsciously seductive, her chest rising and falling rapidly, betraying her state of tension.
A howl of rage and shock from her brother, almost a whoop from the other one— after which there was a scuffle.
Jenkins looked at the girl, his smile relaxed, almost gentle, then— he was the only one of us not obviously caught up in the drama of this in one way or another. You would have thought that the situation was a regular one, so casual did he seem.
“Well, that would depend on a number of factors. Firstly, how old are you, pretty little cunt?”
She flinched again, more painfully, and her brother again made his outrage clear, but she answered, nevertheless;
“Eight … eighteen … sir.”
“Only two days ago!”
Shouted her brother, almost yelping— but this only confirmed that she was telling the truth. And even one minute past an eighteenth birthday was enough. She was free to sell herself. No-one could stop her if she chose that path. That aspect of the law had been tested, many times, by anguished parents.
She held out her ID to Jenkins, then, who quickly scanned it with his ‘phone before handing it back.
“Very good, Suzy. Nice to meet you. You look as if you have a sexy little body there, and I can certainly imagine fucking that soft mouth of yours; raping your throat. Have you ever had your breasts whipped?”
To give him his due, he was giving her every chance to realise what she was getting herself into— as, I now saw, he had done with me. If I had found myself unable to go through the ordeal of being fucked by his dogs, I could still have been free woman.
It was a strange thought. Strange, and pointless, for there was no going back— ever. Not now. I was a naked, collared cunt, chained to a slavers truck, in the power of a slave contractor who had, almost absent mindedly, begin to work his fingers between my legs, pushing into my sex. I had had to force myself not to pull away, clamp my thighs together, for fear of cruel and instant punishent, and was as fascinated as I was appalled at how quickly my body had accepted the inevitable, and had begun to open for him. The HEAT was still in effect, I realised— but in reality, I could not tell where the drug ended, and my own treacherous sexuality began, as I found his casual manipulations of my sex increasingly welcome— if nothing else than as a distraction from the building pain in my thighs and lower back.
Suzy had gulped, and paled visibly, looking down again. This time, she didn’t look up, and it took her a long while, but she did answer;
“I … I know what … what slav … slavegirls have … to do.”
Jenkins laughed;
“If you say so, pretty. Better get your tits out, then.”
This was it— up until then it had all been talk. Now she was going to have to let herself be degraded.
Again, Jenkins was demanding that a free woman humble herself before being allowed to give herself over as a slave.
The boys on the other side of the road started shouting again— the brother was waving his ‘phone about, trying to communicate something, but Suzy was ignoring them, determinedly focused on Jenkins, in a way that was almost heart-stopping in its dreadful piteousness; this gorgeous young innocent, throwing herself away, having to work so hard to do it;
“Yes … yes … of course … Sir.” and she tried to smile at him.
It was obvious from the way her fingers fumbled that she was really not at ease with what she was doing, but she was steadfast, and soon, her blouse was on the floor, and she was fumbling for the catch of her bra, when Jenkins said;
“Stop— let me do that.”
He took out a large clasp knife. The girl quivered as he opened the wicked looking blade, and clearly had to work hard to make herself stay still as he cut her sensible, schoolgirl bra from her;
“After all, ” he said; “You’re not going to be needing it again, are you, pussy?”
She automatically made as if to protect her breasts with her arms as he pulled the ruined thing from her, but dropped them to her sides again at a look from him, with a frightened sounding half giggle, half sob in her throat.
She had prominent, tender nipples on breasts that were, truly, lovely; young and firm, and also lightly dusted with freckles.
She knew they were lovely, it seemed, from the way she shyly preened, but she was at the same time desperately embarrassed, her cheeks bright, her eyes downcast.
It was heartbreaking, but also terribly exciting, to see such a pretty young girl so expertly, so masterfully handled by Jenkins, who fondled her casually, then, looking into her eyes, dominating her as he grasped her breasts, his thumbs manipulating her nipples, which were stiffening in the cool morning air.
“Not bad, pretty. Not bad at all. Now then, show me your little pussy.”
Very quickly, then, she was all but naked, her hips swelling enticingly from a trim waist, honey blond curls at her pussy, with Jenkins’ fingers foraging between her legs as she blushed and squirmed, whimpering, but keeping her arms behind her back and her legs slightly parted, just as the slavegirls in the trashy dramas on TV do.
“Hah! You’ve had hot little daydreams about this, haven’t you, pussy?” said Jenkins, and a little gasp of shame escaped her, although she bravely tried to make it sound like a naughty, sexy giggle— she was fooling no-one though.
“You’ve made me hard, girly. Time to see what your holes feel like. On your knees now, pretty Suzy, and use that sweet mouth; make it good.”
The sight of the pretty innocent opening Jenkins’ trousers and softly, tentatively using her lips, her tongue on his cock, was deeply shocking, but undeniably rivetting; heartstopping.
Her inexperience was obvious, just as was her nervousness and her determination to please him. Tears were in my eyes on her behalf, then, as she leant in to him, opening herself for him, pushing herself, even as her whole body softly convulsed, as Jenkins forced himself into her mouth. The girl had her hands folded demurely behind her back, even though they jerked and waggled desperately; her belly jerked as she gagged, her hips winding around as she suppressed her body’s need to escape his relentless invasion of her throat.
We had all of us, all of us women, learned how to be slavegirls from the TV, it seemed. I saw; suddenly realised, how utterly it had pervaded our culture, and I knew that I was more lost than ever— it was not just me, giving myself away, stupidly, so desperately stupidly, but that all my sisters, too, were lost.
A shocking scream broke in on my despairing thoughts, then, as a woman appeared, at a half run, shouting, wildly; “Suzy! What the?! Get off her!”, and she charged at Jenkins, who, apparently no more than mildly amused, fended her off with a well timed push, sending her sprawling, crashing to the floor.
“Suzy’s mother, I would guess? Quite the little cocksucker your daughter is, may I say Ma’am, for such a young girl. Oh! yeees! Very willing too— if a little unsophisticated.”
He pulled out then, his cock quite magnificent, leaving Suzy retching, but kneeling meekly, head bowed, obviously wanting to play her part, making herself look as submissive as she could, blushing pink, not acknowledging the woman, who had presumably been summoned by her brother— that had been why he was waving his ‘phone— threatening to call his mother.
“Suzy, your mother is here— that’s right Ma’am— this side of the road is private property, and I will call the police if there is any further attempt to interfere with what is, truly, no concern of yours. Of course, you are free to watch from the public footpath— be my guest. Your daughter here is asking me for sex in the hope that my master might take her as slave pussy.”
“Suzy— will you say something to your mum? I’m afraid she’s rather upset …”
A pause, then, during which Suzy eventually shook her head, staring at the floor, her face rigid, bright red, tears dripping.
“No? Well perhaps you’ll talk to me, and try to guess where I’d like to put my big dick next?”
At this, her mother screamed and made as if to rush forward, but was restrained by her son. He was right. The police are not kind to women attempting to obstruct a voluntary enslavement. Judicial penalties of immediate enslavement for the adjudged perpetrator, without recourse to appeal, are not uncommon.
And Suzy, who would not speak to her mother, looked determinedly up at Jenkins, blinking away her tears and said, in a voice full of obviously faked seduction;
“In … in my … ass, Sir?”
“You want it there?”
A pause, then, “Yes, yes, please… Please Sir.”
“I’m going to hurt you, little girl; really hurt you. Is that what you want?”
She bit her lip, trembling visibly, her chest seeming to spasm as her breathing became loud, almost random, almost vocalising, but this didn’t last long as, with a visible effort, she calmed herself, and said, in a small, breathy voice;
“Yes … sir. Please … sir.”
Another pause, a humiliatingly humorous little twiddle of Jenkins finger, and she turned, to present herself to him; face down, ass up, knees apart. She must have been all too aware, then, of her mother, directly across from her, moaning continuously; chanting, almost, in her distress; but the girl affected to ignore her, only whimpering a little as Jenkins positioned himself, before beginning to force his thick, stiff cock into her pert rear end.
Her cries quickly became pitiful, agonised, as he remorselessly pushed at her, but her hands remained properly limp, palms up, on the ground beside her, her buttocks high, her thighs spread, and when he put his boot on her face she moaned, weakly, as he kept at her until at last, after much effort, he was balls deep in the pretty schoolgirl’s ass, and I could feel blood pounding in my forehead.
“Ohhhh, Jesus, you are a … peach … Suzy; a fuuuucking … pee … ee … ch!” he called— even the cool Jenkins obviously excited, his face red as he began to move himself inside her, then in and out, gradually easing his access to her virgin passage, her moans and cries pathetic, but lacking in any defiance.
“Aaaahhh, you … fucking … little … whore … you … fucking … dirty …little … slutty … piece … Aahhh! Oh, Jeeesus you’re so fucking soft and tight you— Dirty— Little— Cunt…”
“OK now, Suzy, where … where do you want me to come? In … in your ass, or in your pussy?”
And she answered him, ragged.
“Pussy … please please … Sir, fuck … fuck my pussy … p … Oh God!, please!”
I couldn’t tell if she was turned on or not, but suddenly realised that I was aroused myself, that I was flexing my hips in the most obvious way, humping myself on the fingers of the slavetaker, which were lazily working inside me. My god, I thought; was that all it took to have me acting like a street slut? I stopped myself, appalled, and then I found myself thinking; ‘what the hell?’ – and let it all go again. After all, I’d just been fucked by two dogs in public, and given myself over as a piece of cunt. What was the point of being shy, of pretending to have morals?
With an animal grunt, Jenkins pulled out of her puckered ass-ring, shifted his position, and then smoothly forced his whole length, direct into the girl’s tight little quim, as she shouted and moaned with the intensity of it. He began to pump almost at once, coming vigourously, deep inside her, grunting his pleasure, in control now, but being deliberately animalistic with his victim, making sure she knew she was being used, while her mother collapsed in deep hysterics, and poor Suzy twitched, helplessly; impaled, sobbing freely, but still with no trace at all of resistance, of resentment.
Jenkins stood, then, pulling Suzy up to a sitting position by her hair, and set her to licking his sticky cock clean while he grinned at her family, very pleased with himself, enjoying himself mightily.
“You raised a juicy little fuck here, mummy. She’ll be worth something, I imagine; prime cunt like her. Kneel up now Suzy; assume the position— you know, just like the TV— that’s it— lovely.”
“Now, pretty, tell me; tell me, how much do you want for yourself— for your silky throat, your so tight little asshole, your hot little cunt, those tits that were made for the dog whip? Hmm? What’s your sale price, little slut? What price your life? That’s what we’re really asking, here, huh? And who do you want us to pay, to make you nothing; to have you desperate to serve cock, serving for your life, every second, every minute from now on, to avoid the hateful, screeching, unbearable end? The end that is, in the end, inevitable? Is that really what you want, lovely girl? Hmm?”
“Think, now, pretty; Think. Is there, really, a sum of money— money you will never enjoy— a sum of money that could make it worth enduring that— make it worth becoming what this stupid, dog-fucking bitch has just become?”
“But don’t take too long over it. We all have jobs to do, and if you’re mucking us around, there may just be trouble.”
Suze had been looking directly at him since about halfway through this speech, as it became clear that he really was challenging her— that, although he had taken every advantage of her, fucking her hard and shamefully in front of her family, and enjoying himself greatly, he did not want to take a girl who was not, truly, certain about what she wanted.
Her chest rose and fell, heavily— she was having trouble controlling herself, very obviously. But controlling herself was what she was doing, and, having stared at his relaxed, smilingly amused expression as if it were a vision in the sky for a long, long moment, she submissively dropped her gaze, and went, trembling but elegant, into the kneeling position, and then, deliberately, walked her knees outward, splaying her thighs, very obviously; unmistakably adopting a slave position, her hands behind her back.
Her head twisted, then, from side to side— the motion awkward, strained; she was in deep distress, apparently, having to force herself to maintain the position, to speak, to offer herself. It was agonising, and it was horribly exciting to watch. The contractor’s hand, in my pussy, became still; evidently even a cynical slaver like him found it intense.
At length, she looked up again, and started to speak;
“A … a millio …”
And stopped again. Jenkins had raised his eyebrows, and his grin had become very large, and very lopsided. It had stopped her in her tracks.
She took a deep breath, quivered, closed her eyes, then pulled herself together, and tried again;
“Eigh … eight hundred thous …”
Again, his naked amusement stopped her. She was shaking, then, tears in her eyes. It wasn’t going as she had imagined it. A million for her family— it was such a pathetic cliche; but she wasn’t going to get it.
Equally, she seemed incapable of stepping back from the precipice. Obvious why; her family would have a hard time if it tried to take her back, after this— they might keep it a secret, but Pizza Face certainly wouldn’t.
The deck was stacked against her, now. She had given herself in public. Even if she was not slave, was legally as free as any other free woman, the assumption would be that it was only a matter of time before she was taken. Neighbourhood ‘posses’— groups of young, aggressive men who called themselves ‘morality militias’, claiming to be ‘working to protect public decency’ would gang rape her if they caught her after dusk, just to make it clear that ‘free’ women had to have purity, that sluts were not to be tolerated, that they must give themselves over to their proper status as slave cunt.
So she was trapped.
Voice shaking, she tried again;
“Fi … five, hund … hundred, thousand, S … Sir.”
That time, although still smiling, he had let her finish. She probably could have fetched a million— if she had gone to a good auction house, made a careful deal, with her father in attendance. Now she was offering herself for half that.
Jenkins nodded at her then, his grin almost friendly, and got out his ‘phone again.
A minute later he was talking to to Master;
“Sir, I have a pretty little teen here, who is offering herself to you as meat. Yes, yes she is— I just trialled her, and she’s a good fuck who’d respond well to training, I’m sure.”
He held the ‘phone out— obviously transmitting video of the pretty teen kneeling at his feet, hands behind her neck, breasts bobbing slightly as she fought to present herself well, making herself smile, needing to look pretty for Master, however she really felt.
He listened, then, for a while, and when he answered, his voice had changed, become cooler;
“Yes, Sir— Yes, I understand Sir. Of course Sir. Goodbye.”
He looked down at Suzy, who seemed to have become grey, her body writhing, minutely; the answer was ‘no’. Tragedy. Horror. Despair— all were in her poor, pretty face; even as she strove to maintain her position, to remain attractive, to present herself as sexually interesting.
Behind her, her mother wailed in despair, shame, anger, hopelessness.
“My Master reminded me— he doesn’t take girls as young as you are. Sorry, and all that.”
And then Jenkins was smiling in a way that didn’t match his words. He had known all along that Master wouldn’t take her.
He had done nothing wrong— indeed, he had tried to frighten her out of her self-destructive plan. Suzy had persisted; had as much as begged him to fuck her; but he had manipulated her shamelessly; cynically cruel— and now the girl had been destroyed. Her life lay in ruins— not even the prospect of living as the pampered sex-slave of a rich man was tenable for her, now.
Eighteen, gorgeous, free, strong willed— she was also ruined; naked, a public slut, having shamed her family, without prospects; almost certainly doomed.
She was strong; she hadn’t given up— even though there was no hope for her any more.
“Won’t … won’t take me? But! … but?”
She emitted a couple of strangled, hysterical cries, naked, on her knees, in front of her family, oozing Jenkins’ come down her thigh, blood on her ass cheeks from her ripped rear passage. Her chest heaved, moving her breasts deliciously.
“You’re free. Go home.” said Jenkins, knowing she couldn’t, knowing that she would be taken immediately by some street trash— put to the worst sort of uses— not the imagined pampered existence of mansion-cunt under Master’s ownership.
“No! no! Please! ” her eyes darted around, wild, fixed on the contractor holding me, tried to smile at him;
“Sir. Please …” she could hardly stop herself screeching her distress at this terrible turn, but she was desperate not to give in; “… please… will … will you take me?” she turned to face him, exaggerating her slave pose prettily, showing her breasts and sex to advantage, even as she blushed hotly and bit her lip to keep from screaming.
“Nope; sorry, girl. You’re a peach, like the man said, but I’m only allowed to take pre-booked cunt. Comp’ny policy.”
More repressed yelps from the ruined, desperate teen. We were all watching in fascination and horror. She had thrown her life away in a few minutes. If she wasn’t rescued by some relatively normal slave-owner in the next ten minutes, she was likely to end up in the public brothel, shackled into a box that made her holes available to three men at a time for 10 hours a day. She might last a few months at most. She was shaking, her fingers knotting and re-knotting. Suddenly, she turned back to Jenkins, looking up at him, beseechingly;
“Please … please, sir, would … would you…?”
She could hardly hold it together, while Jenkins grinned, coldly.
“You’re offering yourself to me, yes?— but as third best? Why should I take you? I have use of Master’s girls all the time— why would I want to even feed you, pussy?”
She made a desperate effort, and managed to look at him relatively calmly;
“Test me. Please … Anything…”
He grinned at her, enjoying her distress, cruel. But somehow, even I, former feminist, sympathetic mostly to poor Suzy’s plight, could not help thinking she deserved his cruelty, enjoyed his enjoyment of her suffering.
“OK, little cunt. On your back, quickly! Pleasure yourself; talk to me; tell me things I can do to you. Show me how hot you get. Show me what a slave you can be…”
It was slow at first— she was terrified, traumatised, but Jenkins was a good judge, and patient when it suited him (how he had his dogs so well trained), and after a little while, she began to touch her splayed sex more naturally, and to sound a little sexy as she half-whispered, half-moaned;
“You’ll … you’ll pierce me, here … and … and my nipples … and … and my tongue, too. Tattoo your name on … on my face. You’ll … you’ll fuck my ass every day, fuck me so hard I squeal. And … and I’ll … I’ll come for you. I … I … I will; I’ll come to show you how much you mean to me, to your stupid, weak little slave. And you … you’ll keep me … naked, always, apart from a collar and a corset, and … and you’ll whip me— whip me hard— whip my tits and … and between my legs … make me scream and beg, and thank you afterwards. …”
Her hips were moving now, and it seemed as if Jenkins’ earlier suggestion that she had had these thoughts before might be true, as her breathing became ragged, and her fingers moved with more urgency.
“You’ll give me to … to your friends— give them my ass, my… pussy … my mouth. They’ll all fuck me … two … three at a time … and I’ll come if you tell me too, come while strangers are raping me… “
“Here’s some other things to think about, pretty; I’ll have my dobermans fuck you, right here, for your school friends to watch. I’ll put cigarettes out in your pussy, on your pretty tits. I’ll use a cattle prod on you every day. I’ll have your thumbs removed and your achilles tendon shortened; I’ll have your pretty jaw fixed so you can open real, real wide…”
Jenkins’ fingers were at her pussy, then, and she was humping herself to meet him, thrashing and moaning, and then he was fucking her again, thrusting harshly, and her legs were wrapped around him, her arms, too, and she was kissing him as if her life depended on it as she climaxed, crying as if in pain, near hysterical. It was certainly a bestial and terrifying coupling, but Jenkins remained cool and controlled almost to the end, when once again, he grunted his pleasure as he rammed his cock into her, heedless of her naked body getting torn by the raw road surface.
There was a shocked silence. I was crying softly, the pathos of the poor girl’s situation merging into the awful realisation that I was no better off than she.
Jenkins lifted her up, then, and looked into her eyes, almost lover-like in his seriousness;
“Suzy, if I take you, the price will be two hundred thousand— I can’t afford more. And it will be as dead-cunt. No other way. Do you understand?”
A despairing wail from Suzy’s mother, while Suzy, as she had before, stared at him, transfixed, her face working with terror and despair. Her body began to tremble, with rapidly increasing violence, until she made a visible effort to control herself, forced a terrible, deeply fake smile onto her lips, and made an attempt as she had before, to make her slave pose alluring.
It was an abject failure; far from sexy, she looked just what she was— a pretty, innocent girl, horrorstruck at what she had done to herself— a girl who had been unutterably foolish, had offered herself up to an abusive public fucking, had asked to be enslaved, and who was now trapped into a desperate, destroying fate, her stupid fantasy ripped into tatters, with nothing, nothing at all to show for her efforts, not even a good price.
The trembling was interrupted then, by a series of desperate, seemingly random jerkings, as her body seemed to be looking for a way out, trying to run, to twist itself out of the terrible trap her mind had wrought for it. She managed to control herself, though, at least a little— she knew it was important. Her price could still drop; if he decided that she was likely to be troublesome he could yet walk away, leave her to be caught up by street gangs. Terrible as her situation was, there was always worse.
It was piteous and agonising, and at the same time, a complete and pathetic cliche— we had all seen versions of this scene a hundred times. Suzy was disappearing; she was becoming an interchangeable unit— just another pretty slave cunt. She would be used, carelessly and aggressively, abused and humiliated for nothing more than entertainment, until he was bored with her, when she would be terminated, probably amid terrible suffering.
It was awful to feel it in myself, but at that moment I knew that I had ceased to think of her as a person. Not in the same way as I had understood her, only minutes before. I didn’t want to think of her that way, but I had learned— we had all been shown that it was true, that affording human sympathy to slave girls was a sure way to feeling dreadful, all the time; it took some to madness— everyone knew of a free woman who had had a breakdown from this weakness.
Easier— important— to see her now as just another piece of meat, of whom one’s first thought on seeing her would be to assess how many years were left in her.
It was a gruesome as that; when someone saw her, now— saw me, also— there would be an automatic judgement made as to how long it would be before the body in front of you would be killed. And, following on from that process, the dehumanisation. A girl who looked only to have a year or so left to her could almost not be looked at as a person, as an individual; only as meat - fuckable meat. One had to dehumanise the body completely— use the word it. Horrible as it was to train oneself to do this, it was the only way.
And, too, the girl herself would know it; for most, as their time shortened, their service would become ever more humble, ever more carefully perfect, ever more prettily accepting of vile treatment, ever more abject— in the hope of staving off the dread moment.
That would be me, too, I knew it; however pathetic it might be.
I would not be one of those brave girls who, at some point, refused the increasingly intense certainty of impending termination, the agonising humiliation of serving with perfect submissiveness those who would decide when and how she would die; for these girls, a last act of defiance— always rewarded with a slow and agonising death— would be the end. They could at least control that.
But I could already see myself, kneeling, docile for my Master, having been told of my impending termination, meekly, ridiculously thanking Him, before— another TV cliche— leaning in to give him a careful, servile blowjob, wiggling my butt for the benefit of anyone else present, encouraging them, too, to degrade me.
These dread thoughts sat in my mind like a dark, heavy fog; my eyes closed against the despair, the shame of it, and I slumped— only to be violently reminded of my status— the hand in my sex grabbed me, painful, and hauled me up into a more accessible position; a boot kicked, hard, at my ankle; I was to hold myself prettily, in an accommodating pose, or I would be hurt and forced. If I wanted to live at all, I must become entertaining cunt. There was nothing else left for me.
I made a small, stupid sound— an apology whimper, it was called; and I did my best for him, going up on tiptoes, flexing one knee, opening myself, thrusting against him, letting myself turn the sensation into a what I hoped was a sexually inviting moan.
Slavegirls who let despairing thoughts eat into them did not last long. One had to determinedly become focused on the present, upon giving pleasure, upon learning to find pleasure in being used. Somehow.
I told myself then that I would work hard for my trainers, that I would ‘lean in’ to their treatment of me, no matter how brutal and mechanical, I would be as soft for them, and as sexy as I could be, at all times. I would learn to take pain, take intentional cruelty prettily, to thank them for it as if I meant it. I must learn to actually mean it, in fact.
My heart was breaking inside me, but I was making myself ignore it, so that the stranger who was playing, with increasingly urgent roughness, with my open pussy, would have no reason to remember that I existed— to be nothing but another offered, easy, responsive cunt for him. For fear of death.
Perhaps some version of these terrible thoughts had passed through Suzy’s mind. At any rate, she had managed it somehow; managed to control herself, to set her body so that it invited thoughts of sexual usage again, she had found a way to smile that was not an ugly parody.
Slowly then, very slowly, she managed to look seductive as she knelt for him, naked, in the dirt, then bent, quite smoothly, spread her legs, lifted her hips and lowered her head, to kiss Jenkins’ big black boots, one after the other, slowly, carefully, her lips parted a little, really kissing his feet. She was shaking, still, but even this was now a submissive thing, showing the depth of her acceptance of the terrible power he had over her.
Her voice was very small, then, but clear and definite;
“I am yours.”
And within five minutes, then, Suzy too, was a slavegirl; a nothing; a piece of cunt-meat; mounted on the apparatus, she too with the big black dildo deep inside her, had heard her rights being stripped away from her, with the grim difference that as what was commonly known as a ‘dead-cunt’, her life depended absolutely, personally on Jenkins. If he were to die, or go to prison, or go bankrupt, or otherwise be unable to keep her; or if he simply tired of her, repudiated her, she would be put to death— there being no other choice permitted.
“Method?” asked the slave taker;
“Public sexual torture without mercy” answered Jenkins without a hesitation, and Suzy flinched, but hardly paused before saying;
“I consent”, and so, as simply and brutally as that, her life as a person was over.
Dead-cunt is sickly fascinating— it ties both owner and girl together. Her life depends utterly on his wanting to keep her, to find her worth feeding, but he, too has tied himself— for he cannot sell her.
In practice, he can of course rent her out, but the implication at the start is that there is some sort of bond. I am bizarrely jealous of her— for I know that Master has no bond with me— I am just another pretty, eager piece of cunt that will eagerly offer herself up to satisfy his smallest whim, while Suzy will be Jenkins’ special girl until he is finished with her.
While I thought about this, I shuddered, for Jenkins had selected for her the cruellest possible end— stated it as a definite fact. It was now almost certain that within five years, Suzy would find herself used in the most hideously sadistic way in front of a jeering, laughing mob; kept alive for as long as possible while terrible things were done to her lovely body.
I shook my head, trying to push the thoughts away. I could suffer the same fate— and tomorrow, even. It was up to Master. I had no say any more. Evermore.
