Posing like this for passing truck drivers to hoot at, while they drink beer and laugh, she thinks back. Only six days…
They’d picked her up hitch-hiking to Las Vegas. They all knew she was going to end up a whore. She had even offered herself to them for $50 each.
They decided to own her instead.
When they explained, she freaked out, went a bit crazy, but after a while, when they talked to her, calmly, smiling, gentle, soft, relaxed, she had calmed down. Then, when she had understood that they would draw up a contract - that she would have $50k after 2 years, no taxes - she began to look round eyed.
It was easy after that. Particularly once they had explained that she had ten days to ‘earn’ her contract. Ten days during which she had to prove to them that she had what it took.
It turned out she liked being eager, found being used by one man while the other watched both shaming and exciting.
On the third day they whipped her for the first time. She had screamed and begged, of course, struggled violently (she was strong - had been an active cheerleader - but they were stronger, and experienced, and ruthless). An hour afterwards, she was soft and snuggly, teary and hoping;
“.. that I was alright for you guys? I mean, I .. I guess I know that s..slaves get whipped and all, but … please .. please, if ever there’s anything, anything at all I can do for you instead of getting whipped - please tell me? Please.”
When they explained to her that she would always be whipped at least once a day, she cried again, bitterly, for a little while, but made no other complaint. Since that point, her eagerness and compliance had been remarkable - really rather a turn-on.
When they told her this, she flushed deep red, and giggled a little hysterically;
“I know. I ..I’m a little frightened by .. by how much I .. I like all this.”
“You like being a sex-slave?”
“I .. I guess. Yes. Yes, I .. I like being a sex slave. Hah. There .. I said it.”
And, looking up, seeing their expressions, she let out another sad little laugh, tears in her eyes;
“I .. I’m gonna get whipped now, aren’t I?”.
But she manages to smile prettily at them as they tie her wrists, and to say her line sweetly enough;
“Please .. please hurt me.”
And they do, afterwards fucking her back and front at the same time, holding her up in the air, her knees level with her chin, split wide open, helpless, utterly disempowered, moaning her distress, until the unlooked for pleasure overtakes her and she loses all control, all dignity - at the same time grateful to be taken away from herself, and despairing at her weakness, knowing that she has lost yet another little slice of her claim to be a person.
Of course, her ‘contract’ never materialises. She mentions it once but is ignored - a cock pushed deep into her throat, a savage whipping following that - and gets the point.
She cries silently, in the night sometimes, but mostly she’s happy being slutty and getting fucked, wearing the sexy clothes they bring her, fucking the guys they bring home, taking the drugs they give her, trying not to think, pushing herself into the devastating orgasms, into the ecstacies of agony, into the degradation of giving herself over completely to whomsoever it is that is using her.
They keep her for 8 months, then sell her to an upmarket mexican brothel. She smiles at them as they wave goodbye, the brand still raw on her belly, just above her sex.
