Sweetie

“Sweetie, will you come here a minute?”

A little high-pitched squeak — a tiny, girly ‘Hmp!’ — Sweetie’s default acknowledgement of compliance, and then the sound of her heels clicking in the hallway, rapid clicks, even though it takes time for her to arrive - her steps are almost ridiculously short, her walk carefully moderated so as to switch her hips and advertise her vulnerability, rather than to get her anywhere quickly - the clacking silenced as she steps onto the deep pile carpet at the threshold.

She’s not naked. Naked could be innocent — and while Sweetie herself is as innocent a person as you could imagine, she is dressed to suggest, excite and encourage the least innocent of impulses. Astonishingly - given the vicious, degrading and frankly depraved acts she eagerly participates in - and which are the very purpose of her existence - she is more innocent within herself, now, than she had been when she was more technically innocent — innocent in both senses — innocent about the ways of the world — of its darker side, and innocent in terms of what can be done with and to a girl — of the darker side of that, too. She had been, they discovered, rather more innocent than is normal for a 20 year old young woman these days.

She is no longer innocent in those ways — indeed, if one simply read a log of what she experiences in a typical week, one might well conclude that she must be depraved beyond redemption.

This would, though, be a mistake, and would miss the point of her - of what has been done with her, to her - entirely. More accurately, it would miss the point of how carefully, with what heartless selfishness her mind, her self-image, her very identity has been managed, suborned, controlled, crushed and violently reshaped, and to what end.

For although the uses to which she is put, the demands that are made of her, the things she has been required to learn, the way that she has been brought to the point where sweetly offering herself as a willing participant in the realisation of even the most extreme and abusive of perversions and debasements has become second nature to her, although these certainly describe a depraved existence, all has been managed, from the very start, in such a way as to purify, rather than sully, the lovely girl.

It is those who have subjected her to this calculated and terrible regime who must be described as depraved.

And indeed, this is their nickname for their group. They are happy to own the term, to revel in it, to use it as an in-joke — to refer to themselves as ‘The Depraved’. Of course, this is not an official title — there is nothing, nothing at all, official about any of this. Just a group of friends and acquaintances — spread across south western coast of the USA for the most part — who share between them a group of pretty and (eventually) willing - helplessly, despairing, hopelessly, sweetly willing - young women, each of whom has been suborned, in one way or another, until they, like Sweetie, are utterly enmeshed, in such a way that they are simultaneously technically free, and effectively wholly enslaved.

And these girls are innocents — deliberately managed so that they remain innocents — indeed, become more innocent with every passing day, despite the thoroughness and range of debauched abuses imposed upon them, and the humiliating service required from them.

This is possible because, beyond the initial selection of innocent candidates, from the very start of the process, before they have the slightest idea what is going on, it has been made clear to these girls that they are in the hands of strong, masterful people with intelligence, wisdom, money, contacts, and above all, indomitable willpower. That they have no responsibility — none at all, for anything that is asked of them, required of them. That their role is to serve, not to decide.

And so here is Sweetie, entering the room, heart rate kicking up, as it always does when she comes into the presence of the woman whom she considers (still, despite everything) to be the most important person in her universe, the most wonderful, the most remarkable, the most awe-inspiring, the most beautiful, the most terrifying, the most cruel, the most greedy, the most callous — in short, the one that makes her heart race and her knees wobble, her pussy get warm and her nipples stiffen, her mouth go dry, so that, even if it were not required behaviour, she would need to wet her delicate tongue tip and put it out to moisten her lips. Although, if this had been a purely practical need, she would then put her tongue away, instead of parking it on her lower lip, and opening her jaw a bit, concentrating on achieving just the right mix of helpless arousal and pretty embarrassment at being so helpless, on presenting herself as the most enticing sexual plaything she can hope to be, a sexual plaything eager to offer herself completely into anything that might entertain her owner, Lorna.

Such petty strivings occupy a great deal of Sweetie’s attention these days. Although she knows very well how petty they are, knows how small her world is becoming when things like this assume such importance for her, she also knows that, since — well, since almost forever ago, since the day she asked to be completely controlled — since she begged, in the most heartfelt manner, on her knees — that since then, her ²⁴⁄₇ regime has been ‘be perfect, or be hurt’.

Which means, simply, that any of them (or anyone else, really, since she rarely sees anyone who does not understand how it is with her) is entitled — no, welcome to punish her for anything at all which isn’t perfectly pleasing about her. And by ‘welcome’, is meant that she should openly and sweetly offer herself for such punishment — offer herself to be hurt, in return for an explanation of what it is about her that has failed to please.

You are required to do more than accept punishment, Sweetie; you must sincerely welcome it, offer yourself for it — offer your body to be hurt, tell us how grateful you are for our effort in hurting you for this purpose, since it will help you learn to serve us better.
Of course, it would be unwise of you to confuse punishment with torture — the whole point of which is for you to suffer against your will. A girl who welcomes torture can get herself into a very dangerous situation indeed. What is required of you in respect of torture is compliance — acceptance — you let yourself be tortured because you are obedient and we ask you to, but we don’t expect gratitude — if we should ask you to say thank you for your torture, it’s because we want to see in your eyes, hear in your voice just how awful it is to be asked to say those words in respect of such suffering — it’s just another form of torture, really.

Oh, I know, I know, pretty — it’s so hard to hear these things, hard to listen to me discussing terrible suffering for you so calmly — especially while we’re sitting here, enjoying this lovely meal on such a sunny morning — look at you, your pretty lips are quivering. No, that’s correct; you’re not permitted to cry right now, so bite your lip; bite hard — let the pain bring you back. Good girl, well done. Remind me later to whip you for that — I’ll diddle your clit at the same time, though, since you recovered so well. And it will give you an opportunity, of course, to show that you’ve been paying attention, won’t it? To show how grateful you are that I’m training you so carefully, that I’m not forgetting to hurt you for nearly letting yourself cry just now. So be a good girl now, smile a happy smile for me. Happy!

So, Sweetie is not naked, not presented as innocent, but neither still as a depraved slut. She is presented — presents herself — in a way that brings all the complexity of her situation with it, which advertises it, and makes it pretty, at the same time as inviting immediate considerations of using her for sex. Her clothing is in one sense, perfectly ‘decent’ — her breasts are covered, her sex is covered, the clothes are not those of a whore, a seductress or a bimbo. Neither are they any sort of cliche ‘uniform’ — french maid, bunny girl, harnessed slave girl (although, to be sure, the wardrobe upstairs has versions of all of these when required…); instead, the outfit is one which she has chosen herself, having a few months ago begun to be trusted to buy her own choices, and assemble them together.

This is a source of great and satisfying pleasure to Lorna, as each day she can be pleased and surprised by evidence of just how carefully Sweetie has worked to present herself as she imagines Lorna will want to see her. Generally, the girl is rather good at it, and gets it right — in which case Lorna will get a little smile in her eyes each time she chooses to look — to see a gorgeous young woman who has gift wrapped herself for Lorna’s pleasure — despite the harsh conditions under which Lorna and the others keep her.

In the case of a less successful attempt, there is just as much fun to be had, as this offers the perfect excuse, at any time of the day which suits her, to grab a handful of the girl’s hair; tightly, hurting her, to yank it downwards so that she bends at the waist (Sweetie was taught, very early on, and not without many tears being shed, not to bend her knees in this situation), to drag her upstairs and show her just what it is that she has omitted or judged badly, enjoying the concerned, trembling attention which the girl exhibits, and then reduce her to tears with the negotiation of the punishment, which may take a number of forms, some exacted immediately, simply and stingingly, others perhaps more drawn out and psychological — all according to Lorna’s mood.

Lorna’s preference — what she wants from Sweetie’s presentation — was described to Sweetie thus;

“I want to see a young woman who has mistakenly worn a rather scanty summer picnic outfit to a formal party — a girl who has far too much skin on show, but who has no option but to carry on. Sweet and skimpy flirty dresses are favourite, but little tops and frilly skirts can work, too. Thigh-highs and stockings, waspie corsets, heels, that sort of thing. Peter enjoys the same look, so if you’ve got it right, he’ll push you face down over something as soon as he comes in and and put his cock into you without even saying anything, so you could aim to provoke that, if you like.”

Each of her owners has different requirements, of course — each preference had had to be learned, more or less painfully, with more or less freedom permitted.

The constant variation in what is required from her as she is passed from one to the other, delivered naked, with nothing at all in the way of possessions, is a powerful way of conveying to her the reality of her existence — which is as a body, nothing more. A body, shorn of all context except that which is provided for her, at their whim, by her owners.

As well as enhancing the internalisation of her total dependence upon them for pretty much everything (even her access to air is regularly controlled through various means, from simple choking, to plastic bags, to more sophisticated mechanical setups — this control sometimes played for laughs, sometimes cruelly, to generate terror, sometimes sexually, to satisfy some kink, and by some members instrumentally, almost as a chore, to make it clear that their control over her is cold, unemotional, absolute and all-enveloping), the denial of context is designed to make her subjugation as coolly impersonal as possible; denies her, as far as possible, any personal relationship, any solid foundation to her existence apart from the crude negation of her as a person to which she has consented. To continuously impress upon the girl’s consciousness the reality that she is a nothing — that there is no reliable foundation on which anything meaningful can be built; to give her nothing to build her world around beyond compliance with their cruel and capricious requirements.

Of course, the deeper this goes, the more it becomes her lived reality, the harder it is for her, when required — as she is, every now and then, without warning — to reaffirm her choice to be their possession, to have relinquished her humanity to them, renounced all rights to an independent will, all rights to any part of herself (including, in theory, the deepest recesses of her mind — as well as the deep passages of her body) — the longer she has lived this way, the harder it becomes for her to even imagine what it might be like to say no, let alone wish to say no, as if she would dare to even if she did so wish.

So that, each time, naked, kneeling, displaying herself, usually fresh from being fucked, used or abused by one or more of them, still messy, panting, shaking, tear-stained, white with fear or red with shame, or trembling from a humiliating orgasm — however they have left her — when she is told that they are finished with her, that she is to be retired, when she is taken and put out through the back door (or some equivalent, depending upon location), naked, with nothing, the door shut and locked against her, she feels her world about to disintegrate.

Naked, alone, feeling as if her heart will break at even this ritual rejection by those who have come to define every aspect of her existence, she has to work hard to fight down the fear (fear of being freed, to have to rely upon her own will, her own decision-making, her own understanding, of having to make her own way in the world again, of having to live with her own responsibility for what she has been through, what she has become), fight it down so that she won’t present herself with tears on her face — since tears without torture are unacceptable — wait, wait until she can bear it no more, and then — only then knock on the door (if she knocks too soon, they won’t answer, and unanswered knockings bring additional punishment), before getting down upon her knees, and summoning up her sweetest, weakest, most vulnerable smile, her thighs spread wide, shoulders back, tits and sex thrust forward, hands behind her back, butt lifted, waiting — always made to wait — until the door is opened; made to wait again — until one of them asks her what she wants, at which point she always finds it absolutely urgent (as well as heartbreaking) to beg — her tone heartfelt, sincere, abject. if they will, please, take control of her, absolutely.

There is often some sort of cruel game-playing at this point — enumeration of recent failures of hers, times she has not given satisfaction, discussion as to whether her tits are beginning to droop, or her asshole become too loose for a really satisfactory violation fuck, her pathetic eagerness to swallow cock begun to be boring, until she is quivering with despair, until she cannot hold back the tears — at which point the question will be asked of her; is she sure that she wants to be taken back? — since the first thing that must happen if she is is that she will be punished for her unwarranted crying, to which she responds, of course, with a tearful smile and a grateful request to be treated harshly for her lapse.

The fact that one or more of the other possessed girls is usually present on these occasions makes it all the more heartbreaking to be put through this, the dreadful humiliation of being forced to make clear the depth of her subjugation terrible enough, but made infinitely more poignant when witnessed by another innocent — for, having seen these girls also put through the same ritual, she knows just how it looks, as a bystander, to see a young woman so helplessly ensnared, so pitifully complicit in her own debasement. Sweetie knows that she judges these other girls harshly — unable not to label them in her own mind as degraded sluts, as abject whores, as moral weaklings who deserve the treatment they get, and worse — and so can only assume that they apply similar judgement to her as they witness her own humiliating eagerness to be allowed to reconfirm her grovelling submission, her desperation to be allowed to pledge herself as a willing servant of their abuses. And, of course, in the cold, lonely nights, Sweetie will find it impossible not to apply the same terrible judgements to herself.

Today is a day on which Sweetie has done well, and Lorna smiles her twisted smile as the girl comes through the door in a cutely provocative outfit, prettily hesitant, but at the same time being careful to display herself, to provoke sexual attention, as she knows is required of her — thighs parted, shoulders back — all second nature to her now — the difficulty for her being, on the occasions when they have visitors from whom her status is to be kept discreet, not to let her needs show. For by now, it is her own need for validation that drives her to strive to be exactly what her current controller enjoys; the fear of punishment in her mind to be sure, but very definitely in second place. She has learned that there is a certain amount of pain which each of them likes to inflict upon her — if she doesn’t receive it as punishment, she will receive it as torture, or during sex, so that worrying too much about punishment has little purpose — while doing as they suggest, and attempting to turn their requirements of her into deep needs of her own has been an amazing (and terrifying) success.

She knows that none of them love her — understands on many levels the carefully cruel intent behind them holding her in common — but she cannot prevent herself for having feelings for them; as they are the only people she has any regular contact with, and she has allowed herself to be made utterly dependent upon them, radically exposed to them — their moment-by-moment responses to her immediately enacted upon her body, whether it is to be ignored, to be hurt, or used for sex — it is inevitable that she fixates upon them. And she loves Lorna intensely; reveres her, worships her in a way that goes far beyond her feelings for any of the others.

Permitted no private thoughts, she has been made, by those members of the group who find it entertaining, to be as honest as she can be about these feelings — and of course the vulnerabilities thus exposed have been ruthlessly and knowingly exploited in the most heartbreaking ways.

And still, and still, she feels, lets herself have feelings, has not lost her innocence.

She is, of course, permitted no outlet, no expression of her love for Lorna at all, bar her offering of herself, her dedication of herself to Lorna’s pleasure, and so it is that this act of presentation on first entry to a room with Lorna in it has become her sacrament, her sacrifice, her offering to her god. And the first such presentation of the day, which this is, is the most affecting, the most important of all.

She waits, trembling tinily, eyes demurely downcast, while at the same time completely focused on Lorna with her peripheral vision, looking, waiting for — there it is — the tiny bit of body language which is now all she needs to know that she may proceed with the next part of the ritual;

“May, I show you my pussy, Madam?”

Her fingers are at the hem of the skirts, already lifting a little, encouraging, enticing, tempting fate (there is a general prohibition on her doing anything not strictly required without explicit permission — on occasion she has been subjected to a half-an-hour thrashing simply for touching her skirt hems before the curtsey has been consented: on the other hand, she has also been whipped for being ‘insufficiently eager to offer your cunt’. Suffering is unavoidable, here, and the only thing that works for Sweetie is to immerse herself in all this as if it were some continuous, over-intense erotic dream, perverse and all-consuming — a dream which is increasingly her reality).

Again, there is the merest hint of a permissive flick of the fingers; Sweetie feels herself go pink with pleasure, and then blushes with shame at feeling that pleasure; neither of which she allows to interfere with the delicate, enticing way in which she lifts the hem of the short skirts, to expose her pussy (Lorna allows her no panties) moving steadily, not stopping until her hands touch the undersides of her bust, where she uses them to push her breasts upward and outward, at the same time as deliberately shifting her feet, one after the other, a little further apart, to make more explicit the opening of her thighs, the offering of her sex, to her owner. The humiliating little ritual (and despite the love with which she performs it, despite the hundreds of times she has performed it, the humiliation still burns her, still makes her pussy clench, her breath catch, her eyes sting with pent-up tears) is capped by the slow and deliberate little thrusting movements she makes with her hips (See if you can make your pussy beg to be violated, pretty — keep trying ways of doing that until I say I like it, and then do it like that, every time — or feel the whip on your neat little slit. Start now.).

Of course, with her eyes cast down, she cannot ever be sure whether Lorna is even bothering to look, let alone watch the demeaning and blatant little move — yet another reason it makes so much sense to be doing it to meet her own needs. But still, it is so hard not to know, and it is hard, every time so hard, not to look (looking is no longer an imaginable option — not after the last time Master Tom beat her for peeping, and told them all that he had promised her worse next time she should transgress with any of them).

Sweetie caps the move with another very deliberate and obvious show of her tongue tip teasing and moistening her lips, sticks her tongue tip out a little and languorously wriggles it, as if she were licking at a tiny and intensely flavoured ice cream.

As far as she can tell, she is ignored. There comes no appreciable sign at all that this lovingly executed offering of herself for sexual use has even been observed, let alone enjoyed, by L. Despite this being the typical pattern, Sweetie cannot prevent little waves of despair from lapping at her, insisting that she consider whether Lorna is now bored with her, whether she has not shaved her little landing strip of pubic hair carefully enough, if her outfit is not acceptable, if today is going to be the day when Lorna announces that the whole thing has been an elaborate test, and the she has failed, and is to be sent back to North Dakota — an endless flow of new fears and insecurities assail her as she waits, continually making tiny movements designed to attract attention without becoming irritating, knowing that making her stand like this, so shamefully and wantonly exposed, is deliberate and calculated, and yet hopelessly vulnerable to the intended effect upon her of mounting desperation and emotional turmoil.

Several times, Sweetie has been left in this pose, ignored, all day, Lorna coming and going from the room as if she weren’t there, her release not coming until whenever Peter gets in from work and comes looking for her mouth or ass to fuck. On each occasion she has been unable to prevent herself from crying in her despair, meaning that — this having been pointed out to Lorna — the fucking (gloriously welcome — no matter how rough and greedy Peter is, the knowledge that she is wanted, useful, even like this, is a blessing) — the fucking is accompanied by the electric pain wand set to high, at her nipples and at her sex.

At last, today, Lorna speaks;

“Ah Sweetie, there you are. You can make us both some tea, and then get down to work.”

Work is what keeps Sweetie sane; most of the members let her do work. Those members who don’t agree to this are permitted only shorter periods of usage — the group has learned from some early experiences which became difficult that the pretties cannot tolerate the intensity of their condition for extended periods, and have developed a variety of boring, relentless and repetitive tasks which, without adding anything in terms of meaning, are sufficient to provide the sort of ‘down’ time that is required. Initially, they tried menial housework — floor scrubbing, toilet cleaning and the like, but when it became apparent that the pretties found satisfaction in doing this work well, this was phased out in favour of various online ‘pay per click’ schemes. Some members are able to integrate this type of work into their own business activities, but most simply set the pretties to work earning pin-money for a few hours each day. The money is not the point — what matters is the more or less mindless, uninteresting nature of the work, which is always mixed-up — a different task each hour, in random sequences, across a variety of tasks, so that opportunities to develop any rhythm or self-improvement satisfaction are minimised.

The tea made, Sweetie opens the bodice of the dress to reveal her breasts, which are very obviously presented by the tight half cup uplift lace brassiere she is wearing, then kneels into her stand — designed by one of the handier members, this consists of two padded rests for her shins and ankle, set two feet apart, so that her thighs are held open, the whole mounted on a wheeled office chair base. A socket mounted onto the base is fitted with a vertical rod, onto which various things can be mounted. Lorna keeps a light-duty shock wand there — this ensures that Sweetie kneels well up from the stand, to avoid shocks to her opened pussy.

The position was hard for Sweetie to keep for long at first, but the strong incentive to keep her position encouraged her to persevere, and the exercise has improved the muscle tone of her elegant thighs and cute butt cheeks.

The height is set so that it’s easy to put a hand directly between the girl’s spread thighs, from front or back. Of course, it is also easy for anyone standing near the girl to put a little weight onto her shoulders, push her down, so that she receives a little jolt or two — or even ten, if desired. Although Sweetie loves Lorna, she hates and fears the shock wands that Lorna loves to use on her. Since they inflict pain without damage, it is possible to really hurt the girl all through the day, without rendering her useless the next. As well, the mind games that can be played are fun; ‘Sweetie, I do so enjoy torturing you, enjoy seeing you suffer, seeing you in pain — you make the cutest faces and it makes me feel all warm and sexy. Since you exist to make me happy, and since even on full power the wand hardly even makes a mark, you’ve got no excuse not to encourage me to use it on you whenever you can, have you?‘

Later, as usual, Sweetie spends lunch on her knees between Lorna’s legs, hands tightly grasping the wrist of the other arm, behind her back, happily and lovingly working her tongue in her mistress’s sex, preparing her for a satisfying orgasm.

Sweetie’s own feeding is tightly controlled. She is fed bland pap from the fingers of her owners, never quite enough, at random times which suit them; this makes her reaction to the occasional chocolate drop or other little treat one of uncontrollable intensity — her whole body helplessly responding to the precious sensation; of course, the circumstances in which treats are given are always deeply humiliating.

Once Lorna has finished with her food, a hand in Sweetie’s hair drags the girl over to the couch, where Lorna sits down. It’s time to take her Mistress to her climax, while Lorna plays with Sweetie’s nipples.

The girl flinches, despite her determination not to, when Lorna grabs her breasts, and Lorna quickly understands why.

“Oh my, Sweetie, Peter’s really done a number on your poor nipples, hasn’t he? They’re all swollen and pretty and pink — they must be so, so tender! I declare they look good enough to eat. I guess he really meant it when he said he’d make sure they were permanently in pain for you this stay. What’s this, Day Three of him biting down on them every morning? It’s such a surprise, my Peter developing subtlety when he’s normally such a simple soul — but I have to say, I like it. Look at you squirming, Sweetie — and I’m only caressing you. I’ll have a nibble myself later, and see if I can’t make you squeal. Ooohhhh, that’s good, Sweetie, yes, like that … harder … Faster now, harder — deeper … yes … Yes! Don’t … don’t you dare stop you little cunt, don’t you fucking stop…”

Lorna forgets Sweetie’s swollen and tender nipples for the moment, and grabs the girl’s head in both hands, holding her down, bucking her pussy with increasing violence into Sweetie’s face, seeking maximum intensity from her orgasm, standing up suddenly, then forcing Sweetie to bend backwards until her head hits the floor, Lorna now sitting directly on her face, humping fast, thrusting hard as she orgasms, greedy, taking just what she wants, uncaring that the position is excruciating for Sweetie, her knees bent tightly, feet in the ankle cuffed high heels on either side of her ribcage, Lorna’s weight increasing the pressure, giving the girl no chance to breathe as Lorna’s crotch engulfs her face.

Sweetie, though, experiences real joy — the joy that is the drug which made it so easy for Lorna to suborn her, all those months ago — as she feels the tell-tale spasms of Lorna’s orgasming, feeling, as always, a sense of incredible privilege to be allowed to be with her goddess in these moments.

Later still, Lorna is sitting back in the sofa, at her ease, grinning softly, while Sweetie kneels, thighs spread, skirt rucked up, tits out, arms locked behind her, eyes demurely downcast. wondering what is coming — for this is unusual — she would expect to be back at ‘work’ by now on a normal day.

Also unusual is the video camera on its tripod, pointed at her, its little red light indicating that it’s recording.

“You won’t know — at least I hope you don’t, or we’re doing a bad job of keeping you confused about such things — but today makes it a year since you gave yourself to us; that’s right pretty — it means that you’re a year in to your two year contract, and I want to talk to you; in fact, you’ll be surprised, I guess, that I actually want you to talk to me — that I want to hear how you’re feeling.”

“So I’m going to ask you some questions, and you are to give honest answers — today, I want to hear what you are really thinking — that’s what I want to know. I’ll know if you aren’t honest, lovely, and of course that will result in pain — pain and shame both, as you’ll be required to bring yourself to the point of orgasm to earn your pain, and it’s all being recorded for the entertainment of the other members. But I don’t think we’ll have any trouble like that, will we — because you just can’t bear to lie to me, can you, pretty? It’s so cute that you still feel love for me a year in — gives me a warm fuzzy feeling which makes hurting you really mean something… Anyhow, there are a few questions, so we’d better get started.”

“What’s your name?”

“Sweetie.”

“Don’t you have another name?”

“I … I used to but … but that … that isn’t me … anymore. I’m just … just Sweetie.”

“Why are you called Sweetie?”

“You … you said I made the sweetest faces right after you’d been whipping me.”

“Why are you here, Sweetie?”

“I’m here to … to give pleasure to … you and … and the others in … in any way I can.”

“Sum up the ways in which you serve our pleasure, pretty.”

Sweetie knows what she is expected to say in answer to this, and she trembles. Despite everything, despite all the many awful things which she has offered herself for, the shameful ways in which she has served so many people, saying this phrase out loud still fills her with despair and dread — but say it she must;

“I … I exist to be fucked … fucked and used, h…hurt and abused, Madam. Thank you, madam.”

Oh, that’s cute, the way you say that — again, please, and clearer now.”

“Fucked and used, hurt and … and abused.”

“My, that sounds like a lot for a sweet and pretty little thing like you, Sweetie. Are you sure you’re alright with that?”

Sweetie has to blink hard, now, as tears threaten, but she manages a pretty smile, and her voice has real sincerity in it as she answers;

“I … I guess I must be, because … because I … I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

A pause; silence, then;

“I … know that … that sounds crazy, but … but … but it’s true. This … this is right for me. Thank you.”

“That’s good, pretty, that’s good; we think so too. Now tell me, do you know where you are, in fact? Since you say you want to be here.”

Sweetie winces a little;

“I … I have no … no idea where I … where I actually am. Maybe, maybe Colorado, someplace?”

“That would be telling, Sweetie . So OK, you don’t know where you are, even though you want to stay here. Tell me, do you know who we are — the people you call ‘you and the others’?”

Sweetie is pale now; this question is one that she would like to be able to answer, but the truth is;

“Not … no, Madam, no . no. Only … only a few names.”

“Well, do you even know how many of us there are?”

Small voice;

“N … no, no I actually … don’t…”

Long silence, while Sweetie quivers, softly, looking down, very pale.

Lorna’s voice is soft, low;

“Oh my, Sweetie, you must feel so, so vulnerable — a bunch of people, you don’t know really who, or how many of them, you don’t know where you are, and you can’t think of anything else to say but that you exist to be — what was it again?”

“Umm … f-fucked, used, hurt and abused.”

“And do you — don’t you feel vulnerable — frightened? How about sexually — I mean, what’s it like to have this bunch of people knowing they can just use you like that, that you know that’s your purpose as far as they are concerned, that they know you want to be used like that? How do you feel about that, pretty?”

Long silence. Sweetie gradually turns pink again;

“Yes. Yes I … am … often … f-frightened, and … and I feel very … very vulnerable — so … so weak … but … but I know that … these people are … are strong. And … and that they have me, and that … sometimes I can please them, and … that they … you … like … like me to feel vulnerable … and so … and so I’m pleasing you, I … I hope, feeling, feeling like this. Omigod this is — so — hard. …. My pussy is … my pussy is … is wet.”

It’s a whisper by the end, but Sweetie’s hips are now in a slow and constant rolling motion, and her breathing is slow and deep.

“That’s good, Sweetie, that’s good. You’re clearly a submissive little slut to be turned on like this, by the things we’re talking about.”

“So does that mean you have no regrets about giving yourself to us, a year ago?”

A big sigh; Sweetie’s eyes are brimming with tears, but she is managing to smile; her chest heaves with emotion, and it takes her a little while to be able to control herself enough to speak;

“It … it has been … hard. Very … very hard, sometimes. I … I know that … that I’ve been changed … weakened. Maybe … maybe the me that I was, when … when I said, when I … gave myself to . . to you … maybe that … that girl would not … not be … be happy to … to see me now … but me, now, Sweetie, I … I I guess it’s too late for regrets, really …”

She tails off, but Lorna can sense that there is something still to come, and waits for it. Clearly, it’s something the girl is frightened to say, as she has to build up to speaking, and in the end it’s the third attempt before she can actually get the words out, speaking fast — obviously fearful of the consequences, but needing to tell what she feels, get it out;

“There … there is one … one thing that … that is … very … very hard, and that … that I … I don’t like.”

Tears are flowing now, she can’t check them, but she is not sobbing, just letting the droplets splash onto her breasts and her thighs, her chest heaving;

“I … I didn’t mind the … the first … few, but … but the … the . It … it destroys me, being … being parcelled up like that … the … the delivery, the not knowing, the strangers … not knowing who …, how long it will be … . That … If … if I’d known that … then … then maybe … maybe I wouldn’t have … It … it is — truly — terrible.”

She tails off again.

Lorna leaves it a while before speaking, soft, almost sympathetic;

“Oh Sweetie, pretty, that’s so naughty of you to talk like that. So silly, too. I know that you know exactly why we do it that way, I know you do. I have to say that I’m very, very disappointed by that little outburst, and that nothing but a real whipping will do as punishment — a really savage whipping in fact, this coming weekend, get a few of the others over to help with that — and to gang-fuck you too, of course. I can’t imagine what it will be like for you to have your tits whipped after two more days of Peter’s biting treatment. Maybe you can tell us with your screaming.”

“But now — now, Sweetie, I need you to explain to me what you know very well — just why it is that you have to be shared around like this. Right away please — and make it very very clear, or there’ll be immediate consequences, too.”

Sweetie is white again, frozen with fear at the threat of the impending whipping, trembling, unable to accept the prospect, but at the same time knowing, from bitter experience, that once promised, such threats always come to pass — that no amount of begging, pleading, wishing, good behaviour, extra effort, pretty smiles, nothing can make them go away. That an awful whipping is coming.

It is only the threat of more immediate punishment which helps her jolt herself out of the near panic, and she is paradoxically full of gratitude to Lorna for helping her so, and applies herself to the required task like a drowning woman might clutch at a twig; helpless, but with desperate intensity;

“Ah … er … it …Ah … Yes, yes, Ummmm. Girls — weak, vulnerable girls like … like me, girls who … who like to be … overpowered … girls like me are … are very … very susceptible to … to becoming ah … emotionally, um, attached to … the the people who … have … have power over them.”

“The … the way that … that girls are … are moved around from … from one member to another, in … in such … such an impersonal way and … and mostly without any … any pattern is … is … designed to make it … make it pointless for girls … girls like me, used … used like this … to … to get too attached. We … we are more … more easily maintained in … in a weak and … and controllable state if … if we are … regularly … moved and … and kept from settling.”

“That’s better, little cunt; you do, in fact, understand and accept the reasons for the way we do things — the way we manage you. Please, now, explain the process, for the recording.”

Sweetie is having a hard time managing herself, her chest is heaving — making her breasts move rather interestingly, the tortured nipples swollen and obviously pink, tenderised. Kneeling, as she has been trained to do, with her bottom up in the air, and as agitated as she is, makes for a degree of up and down movement too, which flexes her legs and draws attention to her pretty pussy, opened between her spread thighs. Lorna is having urges to ravage the girl right where she is, but knows that there is a little more to be achieved before that is an option.

The girl makes another urgent effort and manages to begin;

“Well, there … there is no warning, mostly … mostly. I … I don’t know when I’m going to be moved until it happens. I’m … I’m asked to do an enema on myself — or the, the person in charge of me does it — but that … that could happen any day, It’s when, when I am catheterised for my pee, and … and a big tube put … put in my back … back hole, and then I know.”

“The case is brought, and … and I … I must get in, naked, just with the tubes in me. And then … and then I’m gagged, and tied — they tie me very carefully, so … so that it can stay tied for a long time without, without … damaging me … badly. Then the case is sealed up, and … and I just have to wait … wait until someone opens it again, and see who it is, and what they want — how … how they want to use me, how … how I how I can please them. I … don’t really know what, but … but I think it goes in a truck, or a van, the case, and then, maybe to somewhere else where they, they just leave me, in the case — I hear them drive off, and then it can be a long time, or a short time — maybe a day, maybe more, sometimes. It’s hard to know, inside the case.”

The girl stops then, finished — but again it seems as if she is battling with herself, and Lorna waits, until some paroxysm of emotion shakes her, and once more Sweetie speaks what is in her heart;

“You … You’re going to … going to whip me, anyway, so … so I’m just going to say it anyway — I can’t — I can’t bear it! Being … being in that case, not … not knowing how long, not knowing who, what they’ll be like, what they’ll do … It’s just too terrible for words, and I can’t bear it”

She is sobbing at last, utterly undone, a puppet with cut strings, swaying — although, notes Lorna, she still has her hands locked around her wrists — without bindings, nothing keeps her so, but evidently the position has become habitual, and it doesn’t even occur to Sweetie to free herself in this way, no matter how intense her distress.

Lorna reaches out, to caress the girl’s cheek, softly. Her voice is calm, gentle;

“Sweetie dear, you’re being silly — you know you are. It really makes no difference at all whether you feel you can bear it or not, does it? The fact of the matter is that you gave yourself to us, all that time ago, gave yourself without reserve, gave yourself with a pretty smile, even knowing that you were going to be rewarded with a nasty thrashing.”

Lorna’s hand moves now to Sweetie’s sex, and begins to forage there, softly at first, but with increasing force.

“So if we choose to move you around like that, then that’s how it will be, and you — helpless, juicy little fuck-slut that you are — you have nothing whatsoever to say to the matter.”

“In any case, right now, again whether you like it or not, we’re going upstairs now, where I’m going to make you scream with the big shock wand and the dog-whip too, I think, and then I’m going to get the big double head strapon and fuck you until you scream some more, and then when Peter comes home, I’m going to show him this tape and have him make you scream all over again while you lick my pussy out.”

“And then pretty, we’re going to edit this recording, and it will be used to advertise you to the international network we’ve just joined. We’re going to swap you for a pretty from Russia. I don’t think you’re going to like that idea, either — but again, you’re the least important person involved, and we like causing you distress, so there’s no point imagining that that will stop us. Thinking about it, that will likely be the end of you even being a person, really. Christ, that’s an exciting thought — and look at you, quivering so prettily. Lie down, cutie, hands stay behind your back; you’re going to have to lick me out again, right now, — and then we can go upstairs for the dog-whip.”