You will want to have read the earlier episodes of this story.
Woken, slowly, gently, from the deepest of deep sleep by the sub-tropical dawn light, the noises of creatures in the surrounding wilds, Prilly was afloat in a haze of rich and redolent feeling. There was a thickness, a depth, a solidity to her existence, which was new; importance was in the air of it; a seriousness that was also warm and human and personal. It was strange; deeply strange; her normal experience of awakening was a sort of numb weariness at the thought of living another day, which would take a while to dispel, before she could get into the swing of her life.
It had begun, the last few days on the island, to be a little different, but now…
… and she was abruptly wide awake, her eyes blinking to clear themselves, to see just what that serious, deep reality was. The focus of it the strange, painful, unaccustomed weight at her sex, and she made herself look at it; the thick steel ring, stained with drying blood, passing through both her outer labia, down at the base of her sex.
… and hanging from the ring, the medallion with the monogrammed letters ‘L’ and ‘S’, elegant, severe, proclaiming her as the possession of a man whom, this time yesterday, she had never met, and knew almost nothing about. That last fact was still true.
She was on the floor, on a thin mat, in the corner of the hallway of his villa, near the base of the stairs— Stairs I chose to walk down naked, yesterday morning, to advertise to him, my new owner, that I was willing to be naked for him, wanted to be naked for him…
But I did not in my wildest dreams think I was offering myself for this!
She knew that she should be screaming; that another girl, an ordinary, decent girl would be screaming now; even if that girl had, through some psychotic interlude, or sinister brainwashing behaved as she, Prilly (the former Prilly) had done over the past 24 hours, she would still be screaming, building a mental case for her own exoneration from the appalling shame and degradation she had participated in, in the hope of reclaiming some sort of place in the world, some sort of rehabilitation into decency and normality.
But she wasn’t screaming, and she didn’t feel like screaming.
The outrage and humiliation and degradation were real— all too real— capped and made physically unmissable with that ring, punched through her flesh, right there, fixed into her soft, precious pussy, the hurt of it so raw and insistent, the claim of it on her body so hard and so obvious.
Tagged like a beef-steer. Nothing but itemised meat.
But she didn’t want to be screaming, didn’t want to be hysterical, desperately looking for ways to paint herself as nothing but the victim of some cruel abuser.
No; she wanted to stay with the feeling she had woken up with, of deep, serious meaning and value in the moment, in that being alive in that particular body, in that particular moment.
To sit with what it meant to actually be a whore. A cunt. A possession. To have asked for it. To have wanted it. To feel— despite the pain of the ring, the fear, the shame— to feel pleased with herself, grateful, satisfied.
A whore in my soul… Maybe more, maybe deeper. Not really a person; not a full person; not by normal standards at least; just a fuck toy; a sex doll. A cunt.
To really be such a creature (so very different to thinking about what it might mean for her socially to be labelled as such). To actually live as such a creature; minute by minute; hour by hour, with nothing else going on. just that existence. Focused, always, on sex, on being used for sex, for the pleasure of others. Not initiating, not choosing, but being used.
To live as a creature which exists to be fucked. No, raped, since consent is never sought, nor relevant, when it gets fucked, since it has already consented to everything, even that which it cannot accept and finds itself fighting against, has still been consented to. Defeat is inevitable, violation is inevitable. Brutality is inevitable. Desirable. Deserved. Appropriate; beautiful, even.
It was deeply strange that these were the calming thoughts, while the call— from those parts of her still trying for some mythical normal were the ones demanding stress, panic, hysteria, wild and desperate activity…
Welcoming brutality; accepting shame it, embracing abuse is the way to peace. And to being fucked so fucking marvellously… to being forced to such mind-bending orgasms… to being absolved of all responsibilities… to being freed from all moral restraints…
Prilly opened her thighs and leant forward a little, reaching down, intending to adjust the ring through her sex, to arrange it more beautifully, then caught herself, and— slowly, wonderingly— tucked her wrists away, behind her, at the small of her back.
Not for me, not for cunt, to use its hands to change the world.
Still seeking a more fitting arrangement for her defining feature— the alien violation of her tenderest flesh now somehow the most important part of her— she understood that only by offering her body was it permissible for her to ask for change in the world, and slowly, carefully, spread her thighs and pushed her hips forwards, forwards and backwards, until such shift had achieved the desirable arrangement of the mark of her slavery, her eyes never leaving it; imprinting its cruel penetration, its hard beauty, its powerful symbolism, the injury done to her— all so that she can do justice to this amazing experience; this having been transformed, in such a short space of time, into something extraordinary; something rare and precious; into a sex toy.
It was not easy; tears were never far away, fear was real and cold and threatening inside her, shame and humiliation biting deep; at times it was hard to breathe, but she made herself look, made herself remember, knowing that she must find the story of how she had become this degraded, powerless creature, must somehow embed its meaning into her mind, or be driven insane.
And so she took herself back, back to the aftermath of LeStrade’s violent and devastating rape in his office, the shattering, shaming, glorious orgasm imposed on her immediately afterwards, to having been demolished by LeStrade and Maria, numbed, the wonderful stillness in her, the total comfort of utter powerlessness, empty of anything, full of nothing.
Prilly had been mildness itself as Maria tugged at her collar, making humble and earnest efforts to remain elegant as she stood, filled with a wonderfully innocent shyness at her nakedness, nevermind what had just been done to her, LeStrade already back at his desk, his attention gone from her.
Prilly had walked with intense care, feeling the strains and pains at her groin, the new marks on her body somehow as blessings, signs of her desirability, her reward for offering herself so fully, aware at the same time of the parallel story, equal and opposite, of the destructive impact of their heartless, greedy treatment of her, constantly degrading and belittling, each perspective reinforcing the other— the cruelty of the usage the perfect signal of the specialness of her acceptance, the violence of LeStrade’s rapes a testament to her willing, soft weakness.
Bittersweet, always; intense and frightening and wondrous to have become this extraordinary creature, to have been so thoroughly, so smoothly defeated; to have been reduced so quickly, so that it made a crazy sense to Prilly that she would be nothing more than a sexual plaything in the hands of a man like LeStrade; a greedy and rapacious sadist.
Without words, once back in the kitchen, Maria had first wiped her briskly with a dampened cloth, then wrapped the revealing scrap of a dress around her again, two buttons the only fastenings. She had then arranged Prilly on her knees on a serving trolley— a small metal table on wheels— covered her head with a black silk hood and tied her arms behind her at the elbows. Her hand made free with Prilly’s puffy, sore sex then, investigating, invasive, impersonal;
“Jou keep jou poosy wet, hoh? Fin’ a way that wor’ for jou. Or Black mark, onnerestan’?”
She did not wait for Prilly’s weak, “Si Señora”, but was away about her work.
Prilly was on the trolley then for some long time, knees spread as wide as the length of it would permit— as first Maria and Santi got ready to serve the evening meal, then disappeared to set up the dining room, to which Santi eventually delivered her, shortly before LeStrade and then Roddy arrived. No-one said anything to her or about her. Just part of the furniture, Prilly told herself, finding that too somehow fitting.
I should be naked. They’d pay more attention then, maybe; I will be naked soon, if he takes me. Then I’ll be raped.
It’s insane! How can these thoughts seem so obvious? How can I be wanting to be raped?
For Prilly could not help but fear that LeStrade might have changed his mind, might refuse to let her stay.
I deserve him to send me away, maybe— if he knew how much of me still wants to go, the voice in my head which tells me to hate him for what he has done to me, he probably would.
Oh God how can I want this so much, when he hurts and shames me so cruelly, even though I offer myself so willingly, walk sexy for him, up on tiptoes, keep my lips parted, when I let Maria do anything she wants with me? They are going to whip me, often, so that I have whip marks on my tits at all times, just so he can enjoy looking at me like that.
Oh but what if he didn’t want to rape me so hard? I’d know he didn’t want me, and I don’t know how I could live with having given myself to him then…
And her hips surged as she remembered the violence of his thrusting into her womb, into her throat, into her poor backside, how his violence made her weak for him, trembling with need, and felt her sex soften and then tighten, wanting him.
It’s shameful how easy it is to keep myself wet for him, like Maria told me I must.
It must have been so obvious to everyone, my hips moving like that; They all know what a slut I am, what a wanton. they all know I’m LeStrade’s helpless whore, and … and I can’t help it turning me on that they do, even though it’s so shaming…
I wonder if there are marks on my thighs from where Maria whipped me, marks that Lestrade will like? How will I be able to take my punishment later? I hope it doesn’t hurt as much as Maria hurt me before. Probably it will hurt more! How will I bear it? Will Roddy watch me getting whipped? Will Roddy rape me? Oh Jesus this is all so hard, all so strange! How can it be? What would have happened to me if LeStrade hadn’t turned up? Would I have lived my whole life less than half alive?
Such thoughts, and a host of similar ones, chased each other round Prilly’s mind as LeStrade and Roddy ate, LeStrade relaxed, making conversation with Roddy about easy subjects, Roddy slowly sounding less resentful, less stiff, until the plates were cleared, and Lestrade had invited Roddy to have a brandy and a cigar with him in his den— another room previously off limits.
Without anything being said, Prilly was wheeled along behind them by Santi, while Maria held the door.
Ten minutes later, Le Strade and Roddy been served brandy and the room was filled with the masculine scent of cigar smoke, and suddenly, shockingly, it was time for choices;
“Well then young Roderick; tell me; are you ready to justify your stay here? Or do you want to run away?”
Roddy sounded uncertain, but his words were clear enough;
“I … I’ll stay, Sir, and … and do what you asked, of course.”
“Very well. The right choice. There’s still a place for you to prove your worth, boy, no matter that things have not worked out with your mother. No need to sweat at it; just do the work I asked, and we will see where we go from there.”
“Next, we will hear from Miss Prilly, our unexpected but interesting guest. Santi, will you remove the hood and help her up.”
LeStrade was standing with his back to the fire, Roddy was in an armchair to one side, one eye seriously swollen. Santi was unobtrusive in a corner next to the drinks cabinet, amd Maria was behind her, by the door. Prilly’s heart was suddenly going a mile-a-minute, and she could hardly breathe;
Can I really do this? It’s madness! He’ll destroy me! ruin my life! And hurt and defile me too. Even if it’s only a few days, I’ll be ruined, one way or another! And that’s just my own mind, without whatever plan Maria has to ruin me!
It was agonising, the shame as if it were brand new every time, to attend to her presentation— spread her legs, high on her tiptoes, pull her shoulders back, thrusting her breasts forward, open her lips and slowly, hesitantly lick them with her tongue tip, her whole body trembling, shame and guilt and sexual heat and fear and… and… everything alive in her, all at once, blinking back tears, trying to smile (failing; just too awfully nervous), trying not to whimper out loud as Lestrade took a step towards her, another, and reached out. She flinched, fearing a blow, forcing herself not to jerk away from him, but this time he was cupping her left cheek, gentle, controlling; superior as well. She melted into it, feeling him calm her, knowing that it would be easier, now, grateful to him, almost too eager, almost blurting something out, biting her lip; speak when required to, not otherwise.
It was so hard, that this was taking place in front of everyone; all of them seeing just how she had been tamed, suborned into accepting such humiliating and belittling treatment— accepting it so sweetly, with so much weakness;why could it not be just her and Lestrade— she would be on her knees already, nuzzling at his cock, asking him to rape her, to whip her breasts so that she could be marked for him, she knew it…
I’m going to do it, then. It’s obvious now he’s touching me; no doubt at all; he’s going to have me; I’ll give myself to him and be his to destroy if he wants. Oh god this is it.
“Well, pretty girl? You have some idea, now, of how it will be with you if you ask to stay, I believe, but I will lay it out for you, very clearly, before asking whether you wish to beg for it.”
“You will be kept naked, used as a sex toy, a whore, in any way I choose; no consent will be sought; nothing will be off limits to me. You will be forced if needed, you will be beaten without mercy, for my pleasure, or for punishment or training. You will keep yourself ready for sexual usage at all times, you will present yourself at all times in such a way as to incite sexual usage. You will have no say as to who will use you, how they will use you, where they will use you, or what for.”
“You will be perfectly, prettily, sweetly willing at all times.”
“You are accepting that you will be treated with less care, less respect than my dogs, at the same time as being expected to use your full capacities in service of my pleasure, without reserve.”
“You will not be rewarded in any way for offering yourself up for such treatment. Indeed, you will be diminished by it, become ever less worthy of consideration as you are degraded.”
Prilly was shaking visibly by the end of this, leaning into the hand at her cheek for reassurance and support, her hands, locked behind her, flexing randomly, the fingers twitching, as she sought to dissipate some part of the terrible burning energy that assailed her.
How could anyone be expected to beg for all that?
How can I not be going to ask to leave after that?
How can it be that I want him to help me say yes? That I’m melting in my pussy at the thought of him raping me again, even though I hurt so much down there. I’m mad, really I am.
It was very hard, then, to keep the tears at bay as LeStrade looked at her, as the silence in the room demanded of her a response, as he held her;
He has me already; he knows he does; he’s just playing with me, and… and I’m grateful; even though this is so hard, it’s wonderful that he is enjoying me like this, that he wants this of me, that I mean something like this.
Oh God, but why can’t he just throw me over the chair and rape me though?
She was entirely his captive; everyone could see it.
Roddy suddenly saw what he could have had from Prilly all those days, if he had known what to do. His cock was raging and he told himself he’d fuck her harder than LeStrade, that he’d ask LeStrade to teach him how to have girls like this.
Santi was horrified. Despite having raped Prilly himself earlier, despite knowing something of how it had been with his mother and LeStrade many years before, he had not until that moment understood quite the depth of the man’s cruel demands. He had decided that he was going to try to help Prilly, protect her, where he could.
Maria was shaking too, though she was much more in control than Prilly. LeStrade still had the power to terrify her, to reduce her to jelly, to have her yearn to be raped by him as this young girl was soon to be, to remember the pain and shame and terror of having had to learn to be this way, just to survive, even though she was not in any way the ’natural’ this Prilly appeared to be.
LeStrade was by far the calmest of them, but even he, having done this now with more than two dozen young and luscious women, even he was conscious of the rare, special savour of such moments, astonished a little himself at how easy it had breen to bring this lovely morsel so far, so fast— with every sign that she would be easy to take further, as Maria had suggested.
“So, Miss Prilly, do you have something to ask me? Do you want to be taken to the airport, or do you want to beg to be kept as a sexual plaything for another day?”
This was it; the moment of truth; Lestrade had returned to the fireplace, watching her, relaxed, calm, apparently not concerned by which choice she might make.
A last-minute resurgence of sanity broke in her, demanding that she resist him, avoid this tragedy, save herself, and she was reduced to wailing her distress as the internal struggle raged, tears in her eyes, too many to blink away as she pulled desperately, blindly at the back of her dress with her pinioned hands until the buttons ripped free, until the dress hung trapped behind her, knowing she must be naked for him; as she lowered herself, striving for elegance, her knees splayed, as she posed herself for him, as her hips thrust forwards of their own accord, hungry for sensation, as her weak, husky voice, throbbing with need and despair, crushed all hope;
“Please, Please MonSeñor, I … beg of you; please … please keep me for another day; please rape me, whip me, do … do everything you said to me … Please… I’ll … I’ll die otherwise, it feels like… Please.”
