Some images created recently, and a cruel little story to link them:


ONE:

Convincing him she can be used as he wishes Convincing him she can be used as he wishes

There had been a long conversation. He had told her that his sexual needs were beyond her. That he needed to feel totally free to achieve a full orgasm; had to know that he had carte-blanche with a girl, so that if he felt like hitting her, or biting her nipples so as to leave a mark, or flipping her over and buggering her, he need not think twice about it.

She had stared at him, she had cried, she had feebly asked him questions, to which the answers had only become more distressing. She had tried to have an argument with him— he had simply refused; looked at her, serious, eyes fully on her, and shook his head. She had tried flouncing off, but he had simply let her go, and, an hour later, she had come to him in tears, hiccupping, thrown herself into his arms and said she was sorry.

He had lifted her, gently wiped her face with his tee-shirt, and said;

“It’s not your fault, pretty; I’m the monster; not you.”

But that afternoon, after a glorious walk in the May sunshine, after he had held her hand and picked flowers for her, she had decided to convince him that she could be used that way; that she wanted it. That she should be used that way; no holds barred.

He had not believed her. He’d smiled and caressed her, and made silly jokes so that she did not lose herself in tears.

Finally, though, she found that it was not him she had convinced, but herself. She had stripped herself, arranged herself, as lewdly as she knew how, shocking herself, on the blanket chest at the foot of the hotel bed, opened herself wide, and told him that it was she; she who wanted him to feel like that with her— to be totally free as to how he took his pleasure with her.

He had made her beg, and plead, but then, suddenly, he had taken her, and it had been astonishing; beyond anything.

After that, she had become his slave. First emotionally, but then, surprisingly quickly, physically, mentally, spiritually even; totally his.

TWO:

Degrading herself for him Degrading herself for him

The way he did it— he had told her it would be this way; it wasn’t a trick— the way he did it was that he would withold sex, until she thought of something which would degrade her further. If she did it prettily enough, if he could see that it got her hot (she had to show him that it was getting her hot; faking was not permitted— I need to know you really want this, pretty; that you want me to monster you), then— usually, at least; she could never be sure of him— he would go crazy with her; which was what she had come to need.

He had told her it would damage her.

And it did.

But somehow she didn’t care. She had to stop seeing her girlfriends, because they were threatening to do an intervention, shouting at her;

“He’s an abuser; he’s gaslighting you, he’s brainwashing you!”

“But it’s me that’s asking him for it— begging him”, she would reply.

But she knew they were right. It was him, really— he was doing this to her, and he wouldn’t stop until she was totally his; until she had lost any hope or belief in herself as an independent person, worthy of any respect or dignity.

She knew it.

And she couldn’t make herself care, couldn’t make herself not want it.

He had told her, at the opera, one evening, in the interval, that he had decided that she might be a girl who could be ’taken all the way’. That he considered it was possible that she might be brought to the point where she had lost herself so completely that she might allow him to sell her to a stranger, in full confidence that she would accept her new position, however degrading; accept and obey her new master, however cruel— that, if she would ask him to do that to her, one day, he was prepared to do it; turn her into something prepared to give up on its own humanity.

So she ditched her girlfriends, cut off ties with everyone, in the end. So that he could destroy her.

So that they could do it together.

THREE:

She can still be sassy She can still be sassy

He took it slowly, though;

“I’m going to enjoy taking you down, reducing you. Like a fine wine, it won’t do to rush it.”

It was a terrible thing to say to her. But then, that was most of their relationship, now— talking together about where he wanted her to go next, her being appalled, him being amused. Then weeks, often, of more talking about it; her asking questions, him laughing at her mostly, occasionally saying terrible, cold and cruel things to her in his calm serious voice— so that she knew these terrible things were real, and in her future.

For the longest while she was capable of pushing back at him, even when displaying herself like this for him and two of his friends, all three of whom will later gang-bang her, introducing her for the first time to the sensation of being invaded by three hot male cocks, all going at her as roughly as they can. She could be feisty, despite her wanton pose, but that all ended when she had been brought to accept that whippings would be daily, and nothing to do with punishment, but with destroying her self-image.

All back-talk stopped, then.

She became pathetically eager to please, servile, totally emotionally dependent, her sexual arousal on a hair trigger.

It was appalling, but she liked her new self better; Maybe if I try really hard to be what He wants me to be, someone really might offer to buy me.

FOUR:

Ringed Ringed

The piercing had been an incredibly powerful thing. Strange— it wasn’t really much more painful or serious than having her ears pierced; if the ring was removed, the holes would heal up in a year or so, the man in the body art parlour had told her.

But the size of the fat ring, its weight, that way she felt it all the time, the way it reminded her— as he had told her it would— that she was now nothing really, apart from her utility as a sex toy, a fuck-bunny.

It defined her.

She found herself driven to show it as often as possible, as soon as possible to anyone new. It saved so many words. As soon as people saw it, they knew that she wasn’t a real person, not really— just something to be fucked or hurt, ordered about.

FIVE:

Finery for the auction Finery for the auction

Some intricate body jewellery. A light chain, hung from her collar, supports a steel rod, from each end of which a strong but thin spring links to fine chains linked to either end of long pins piercing her areolae. The chain from her neck can be shortened, so that her breasts are noticeably lifted by the nipples. The sping ensures that, as she moves around, the weight of her breasts causes eye-catching jiggles. A chain hangs down from her nipples, joining them. A leash attached to this chain guarantees eager and attentive following.

It hurts.

He has told her she will wear this when she is auctioned.

That the man who seems keenest on bidding for her;

“You know, the one who whips you between the legs before doing your ass..”

That he will have her branded ;

“.. like an animal,” he had told her; smiling cheerfully as he toyed with the dog-tags which now hung from her pussy, hurting her intentionally, testing her ability to hold her pose.