You will want to have read the earlier episodes of this story.
Twenty minutes later, Maria’s heels clicked on the tiles, and Prilly was aroused from a confused waking dream;
She had been small, so small, on the palm of a giant; a giant who was LeStrade, who held her, suspended in the air, naked, strapped to a frame which held her legs open, held her by a chain that wrapped around her neck. She had no arms, her sex was full of something hot and hard and pulsing. His mouth was huge. He was about to eat her. Everything had been warm and good and peaceful, somehow.
When her eyes opened, nothing made any sense for a second, and then everything crashed in on her; the pain, the shame, the ignominy, the terror, the cruelty…
Maria squatted down in front of her, in her maid’s uniform, lifted Prilly’s chin with a finger, captured Prilly’s gaze, saw the horror in her eyes, at what had been done to her.
Maria’s face was hard as stone, her eyes searching, demanding, and the pity of it all overwhelmed Prilly, so that her whole body began to tremble at her terrible, terrible losses, and her eyes begged the older woman, begging for— she had no idea what— but something, some small scrap of something, in her abjection, in her defeat.
She got nothing; the face unmoving, the eyes implacable, observing, like black stones.
Prilly’s body began to quiver with the pain of it, with the fear, the loss, the bleakness, and still, Maria just looked at her, stony faced, Prilly feeling the despair eating its way deep into her, finding nothing, nothing at all, for respite, terrifying herself, about to lose it, lose herself; madness tempting her to give up her mind, lose control, cast her self into the abyss of blackness that was opening up inside her. Where Prilly had been, there was nothing. All erased, drowned in shame, drowned in cruelty, drowned in disrespect, enacted through ruthless cruelty, casual abuse, terrible violence, incessant humiliation, near-death experience, shocking mutilation.
Maria’s presence, the unyielding demand of her eyes that Prilly face reality was impossible, unbearable, and Prilly suddenly knew she must break, could not hold it together, and, helplessly, despairing, exhausted, feeling everything pile up— not just the long list of infamies, but her raging thirst, gnawing hunger in her belly, multiple aches, pains and rips in her flesh, strained joints … and a broken heart … she closed her eyes and let herself go with a low, almost inaudible moaning sigh …
… and …
… and …
… and— she was still there, still with a tiny, small Prilly, still in her head.
And a minute later, two, she was, still, there.
However much she had wanted not to be, had been willing to disappear, it wasn’t happening. Despite everything, with everything that had happened, she was still ‘here’.
She had met her strength. It was small, it had lost everything, it hoped for nothing. But it endured.
It was almost a disappointment. A large part of her had, it seemed, been looking forward to being lost, being gone.
And yet here she was: ringed, beaten, naked, chained, degraded, defiled, diminished, helpless and hopeless, a proven slut, a whore in her soul, without a future, but still somehow present.
There being nothing in her mind but still being there, she opened her eyes again, to see Maria, just the same as before.
Only, not quite; there was a slight softening in the set of her mouth, her eyes was more open, too;
“Thees is what jou have, preety. Thees; nothin’ more.”
It was true; and still, somehow, she had not lost herself. She had nothing but loss, nothing. And yet she had not lost herself.
And she understood, for a second, at least, clung to the knowledge that she had understood, even though it had quickly faded.
“Jou are notheen’ bu’ wha’ ees hees. Notheen’.”
And, with a sob that was almost a smile, Prilly nodded, her voice a whisper, but clear;
“It’s good. Good to be his.”
As soon as she had said these words, felt them deeply, as a revealed truth, she felt herself soften, and open, and although she felt the same, felt the humiliation, knew herself to be being abused, when Maria’s hand came to her sex, she nevertheless opened, and flexed, and shifted herself to make it easy for the hard, strong fingers to enter her, finding it important and necessary to do so; found it important, too, to let herself respond, without filters, to the feelings as she became aroused, encouraged them, encouraged Maria, clamped her wrists tightly behind her, put all her feelings into the soft, desperate sounds she made as Maria toyed with her, giving pain alongside the pleasure;
“Jou goo’ girl, now, hoh? Always hot leetl cont?”
“Oh yes, si Señora, Si!”
Maria give a short huff of self-satisfaction and stood up, leaving Prilly with her hips working, soft, shameless whining coming from her, begging for more like a needy puppy, unfiltered, breasts swaying.
“Ess goo’, no, to be a cont, nothing but hees cont?”
“Yes, yes, it’s good. Very good. Thank you Señora.”
And it was good, if you were nothing, and you had nothing, and you were nothing, to experience pleasure. Because the pleasure was pure pleasure, a gift from her betters, to be responded to with infinite gratitude since pleasure was not a right, or even likely.
Maria, though, had straightened, brusquely busy with the chain, already turning, heading for the servant’s quarters.
“Com, poosy, jos’ time to clean jou, feed jou, water jou, empty you, wheep jou; get jou ready for MonSeñor.”
Fifteen minutes later, Maria told Prilly to sit on the side of the tiled platform, and wait while she fetched something.
Prilly, on tiptoes, hands locked at her back by her own choice, utterly docile, had followed Maria to the tiled room, where a ruthlessly efficient and pragmatic exercise had seen her hosed down as one would a a dog or a piece of machinery, had the hose directed at her face, told to drink, gasping in the powerful, freezing flow, then to kneel and lap at the floor when it was done, if she was still thirsty, which she was, quickly learning she must position herself over the smelly floor drain to catch what water she could. Then, up onto the low tiled table, not chained this time, expected to take the dreadful enema nozzle without protest— which she did, despite the misery of it— fed from a bowl of bland mush while her bowel was filled with cold water, an awful experience, but so hungry that she made herself eat (having been told it was unsure when she would next be fed, that there was no regular feeding scheduled for her but this one).
“Jou will be kept hongry, always, preety. Eet help jou wan’ to be perfec’ for heem. Somtime he geev you from hees plate, maybe. We will pu’ salina in jou tetas with a needle— salt water eh?— ever’ day, eef they ge’ not so beeg.”.
Then mechanically manipulated into voiding herself, hating the shame of it, that had to be suppressed, in favour of smiling and thanking Maria, then showered down again, then finally, wrists chained up high, given five brisk strokes of the dog whip across her buttocks.
“No’ ponishmen’, poosy, jos’ to keep marks on jou preety ass for evr’one to see that jou wheeped girly, keep jou hortin’, frighten’, sad.”
Which it did. Except that now, the hunger, the pain, the fear, the sadness were somehow important— part of the sacrament; as Maria said, helping to keep her wanting to be perfect. She hated the whip, the utter abjection of allowing herself to be whipped, of accepting that she could be whipped, but could not bring herself to resent it, since it was ordained by LeStrade.
Since she had nothing, was nothing, was nothing but cunt, she had nothing to be but as good cunt as she could be.
Yesterday, she had told herself she must be good cunt, more than once. It was completely different now— she wasn’t telling herself against her better judgement, as she had been then. Now, it had become a felt need— her meaning; for, having allowed— no; encouraged, asked for, colluded with— the terrible things which had been done to her, there was no other meaning left to her; good cunt, or nothing..
It was very strange how this made her feel— how a little flower of hope opened in her at the thought of being able to be good cunt, how she moved for Maria as she returned, welcoming the imminence of control, attending to the sway of her breasts, the offer of her pussy, again, like an eager puppy whose master is coming for it, shamed by the feeling, but eagerly giving herself to it as well.
I have to learn to do this, to be what they want me to become, really live it, to be his.
So strange, the idea that she was his. A terrible, delicious, trembly feeling— fear and shame strong in it, but eagerness, too, for the experience of it, for the amazing feeling of being asked, offering herself for sexual usage to a strong, greedy tyrant who would use her roughly.
Who would make her come so hard she would become something else. And she opened herself to the memories, to reliving, in her body, the incredible feelings she had felt yesterday; made to come by grinding herself on his wrist, held up in the air, he not working at all, doing it to herself, him watching, for his entertainment; her first proper orgasm, a feeling like nothing else, every previous climax put in the shade by the wild intensity of it, the way it had undone her, destroyed her, used her up…
The way it had changed her— opened her eyes to what he had meant about her— that she could have such an experience, in such sordid, degrading circumstances, and be filled with gratitude toward him who had done it to her.
One.
Then, not LeStrade, but Maria, with her whole hand inside Prilly’s pussy, clenching and twisting, her other hand relentless, knowing, so hard at Prilly’s clit, and the shame and vulnerability of coming like that, chained, so completely out of control, like an animal, Maria knowing that Prilly could be used like that and come from it, the way she had once again being unmade, revealed to herself as not at all who she had understood herself to be, again, the pathetic depth of her gratitude at having been abused like that…
Two.
Maria doing her again, after her pussy had been thrashed with a whip, after LeStrade had raped her throat, another revelation; that pain was not enough to stop her orgasming; more, that it could become part of her arousal.
Three.
Then the way she had been brought so agonisingly close to coming during the whipping, by nothing but him crudely fucking her with the hardness of the whip handle, how desperately she had wished to have him let her come, with all of them watching, how he could easily have had her begging for it… That experience just the first of repeated shaming arousals during the barrage of intensities on the terrace, in the hot and cold pools, shown again and again that she would respond sexually given the slightest chance, that she would abase herself to get that chance, that the act of abasing herself would itself excite her— all that making the final act, being made to come while LeStrade broke her poor ass, knowing that orgasm would bring the burning, the piercing, the reduction of her to a marked possession, and owned slut, and yet working with them, eagerly, desperately working with them to bring her to the crowning intensity of the day— of her whole life— that orgasm which would now define her, which had utterly destroyed her, so that she had lost herself— everything but that tiny, indestructible little Prilly, everything else washed away, a pale, thin memory of a girl who had been Prilly, but was now just a cunt.
God, that orgasm…
Four.
In the span of twelve hours, four life-changing come-offs, revelations of what it was possible for her to feel, to be, to become— so far beyond anything she had ever imagined, so that to imagine a life where she would never feel that way again is to imagine endless drear, endless regret, a half-life. She was panting with the memory of them, pale and insubstantial as it was compared to the soul tearing realities they had been, utterly transfixed by the notion that she will — that she must— have more experiences like that. Needy, hungry for them, feeling the wanting inside her, the yearning…
He was right, Maria is right; I am made for this; I must be, otherwise my pussy wouldn’t be clenching like this at these awful thoughts… But it is, it is! And I do; I do want him to fuck me. Or Maria, put her hand in me. I’d like it; I would, right now, she could just do me and I’d thank her, and come for her, anyway she wanted me.
And she lifted her chin a little, and opened her lips, to let Maria see that she was aroused, to mutely beg to be fucked, to be raped, horribly shy, horribly ashamed, blushing, but everything trumped by the need in her, the desire, and Maria laughed at her, not entirely cruelly, and Prilly’s heart lifted and she laughed at herself a little— it was a sob, too, but it was a laugh.
I can be happy, to be this cunt
It was an amazing thought.
But when, moments later, she began to understood the import of what Maria returned with, what she was being fitted with, fear and shame once again took her over.
So brief, the moments of happiness, but so, so sweet, they too unlike any previous experience of joy; as bitter as they were sweet, as frightening as they were welcome.
The sleek silver chain around her ankle was pretty enough, albeit it spoke so strongly of slave-girl cliche, but what was attached to it carried the hurt; an enormous, sharp pointed nail, fully 5" long. When the other chain had been fitted— a loop around her big toe— and Maria had adjusted the lengths of the chains holding the nail in place, it was obvious what it meant.
Up on tiptoes, the nail would hang, upside-down, more or less vertical, just under her heel, maintained in that position by chains hanging down from the anklet on either side of her ankle, which also kept it from swinging out far sideways, while another from the toe kept it from swinging backwards.
With both fitted, Prilly was invited to stand. The pain in her heart was strong, the heartless cruelty of these beautiful, slinky adornments were perfectly judged to push her, once again, even deeper.
Picture: The nail heels : Click here to reveal.
She could not but direct a pleading, despairing look at Maria, whose hard smile was implacable;
“Maria wore thees for tres años, preety; MonSeñor’ invenshon. They gonna make jou walk so nice, jou weel see. They gonna make jou cry so moch, each nigh’, look.”
And Maria lifted one foot, caught it with her hand, removed the shoe and swivelled it to expose the heel. A circular, pale scar, about the size of a nickel— an old scar— with at its centre a pronounced dent in the surface of Maria’s foot, was evidence for her claim, and brought tears to Prilly’s eyes, but there was nothing for it but to try to stand, to learn for herself the beautiful cruelty of these devices.
Maria even held her hand for the first few steps, as Prilly discovered that it simply would not be possible to wear these things without sometimes being stabbed in the sole of her heel by a nail, and the tears began to drip, then, as Maria simply grinned at her mews of pain.
Next Maria unfurled a longer length of chain, a little heaver, but still slinky and elegant, with a leather loop handle at one end, a large ring at the other. It was wrapped round her waist, the leather passed through the ring, the handle dropped down behind her, then brought forward between her legs, threaded through the ring at the base of her labia, and pulled tight; Prilly emitted a helpless whimper of dread, of imagined pain and misery as she realised what this meant, as the chain rubbed against the raw holes in her labia, but maintained her position, blinking to hold back tears, but still carefully docile.
Without a word, then, looking at her watch, Maria led Prilly, the chain working its way between her sex lips as Maria held it high, Prilly on extreme tiptoes, wincing and squeaking and biting her lips to keep from making louder noises, knowing how terribly early it is, the nails jingling— a pretty, sweet noise, considering how cruel they were.
It was appalling, shocking, even after what has been done with her, for Prilly to be led up the stairs this way; she could hardly believe what she saw in the upper landing mirror, placed where it was to allow the lady of the house a final check before sweeping down the stairs to her guests, serving now simply to show Prilly just what she has become.
While the sight brought fresh tears to her eyes; tears of pity for herself, she was also taken aback by just how sexy the image was, could not help adjusting herself, to mitigate what she considered slight flaws in her posture, to make herself look even more sexy. So that LeStrade would want to keep her like this. So that he would want to rape her.
The image stayed with her as they mounted the next flight of stairs, leading to the penthouse suite, kept locked before LeStrade had arrived.
The chain worked its way into the crease of her sex with every step.
I need to work with this; they want to hyper-sexualise me, and so I must do what I can to help; focus on the constant working of the chain in my pussy, find a way to make the pain from the ring into a sexy pain.
The image helped with this, the way the chain looked, deep between her sex lips, working as her thighs moved. Prilly found herself gasping softly, throaty with each step, her arousal strongly signalled; was mortified, but dared not control herself.
This is what they require of me; that I am always obviously horny. It’s good for me if I can manage that, too.
And the thought brought a surge of heat as she imagined herself, permanently hot, slippery down there, always on show, on show to strangers, presented like this…
It was too much, and she swayed, tottered, spiked her heel badly, fought to suppress a scream, tears spurting from her eyes at the pain, immediately doubled as Maria yanked on the chain to silence her. It was a hard few seconds for Prilly, despairing, cruelly hurt in horribly unfair ways, despite her doing her best to be what they want, but there would be no sympathy, no encouragement, no help, she knew, swallowing bitter bile, forcing herself to smile and genuflect for Maria, to show that she can control herself, wary of the dog-whip Maria still carries.
“Fi’ minits. Jou will crawl, on jou knees, to hees bed, jou will creep onder the cover quiet quiet, then take hees cock in jou mouth, vary vary sof.”
“Then, jou wait. Jou ar hees. If jou locky he will rape you. Do not speak, onless a direc’ question’, or an order; he no like talk early in the morning.”
