Caretaker gets protective when people start asking to see whumpee in recovery. They don’t know how they’ll react, seeing it took them days to learn how to enter their hospital room without frightening them.
So, caretaker writes out a list of rules. Just a few things, like no raised voices, no touching, no sudden movements, no loud noises, no questions, no reaching for them, keep a soft tone-
The list goes on, and on, and on.
Snacks are acceptable.
(So evil of me for my mind to go in this direction but…)
Whumpee finds the list. Finds it and thinks it’s for them. They’re not allowed to be noisy, probably not even if they’re in pain. They must go back to walking with feather-light steps and slow careful movements, never reaching for things that don’t belong to them.
Don’t touch Caretaker’s things, don’t make a mess, sound sweet and happy at all times.
Snacks, they find once they reach the end, are allowed. It’s a small gift, one they’ll be grateful for, but it’s so little compared to what they’ve had these past weeks. Caretaker must have grown so tired of them so suddenly to go to the effort of writing it down and leaving it pointedly for Whumpee to find. They hold back the tears and swallow it all down.
Caretaker didn’t even want to talk about it–probably expecting Whumpee would make a scene if they did– they just left a note for Whumpee to read, alone, and obey.
They’ll be better. They’ll be different. Caretaker will see… they’re worth keeping around. They promise to themself, they’ll make this all right, they’ll show they can learn.
Credit for this image goes to Maxx114. If you enjoy this, please consider donating to my ko-fiorjoining my patreon to help fund my writing. More money means more free time to write these stories. :D Thanks!
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Trapped
Ever wonder how I got this big? It wasn’t steroids, if that’s what you think. Everyone thinks that. I always test clean, though. My body won’t take any drugs that aren’t medically necessary.
Why’d I word it that way? I can’t … really say. My tongue will get tied. No literally, I mean my tongue will try to tie itself up. The minute I say something my body doesn’t like, my tongue will—
…
…
…
You can see what I mean.
I don’t know how it happened. I just … can’t control it anymore. I’m trapped. No, literally, I’m tra—uhhhhhhhhh…..
…
…
…
Fuck…. I … how long was I out?
Look, let’s just say my body is my top priority, okay? I treat it right so it’ll treat me right.
You’ve heard of muscle memory and all that stuff, right? Muscles learn, and so does your body. It does things you don’t even have to think about after a while. It just … knows that’s what it’s supposed to do.
Some folks deal with their bodies eating themselves, immune system attacking healthy cells and going out of control for no reason. My body’s sort of the opposite. It’s gone into hyper mode to make me as healthy as I can. Every impulse, every step, day in and day out, my body’s health comes first.
…
Fuck, that felt good….
Sorry, call it … a reward for compliance.
When I work out, what I eat, when I sleep, who I hang out with, all of it is centered around my body and the lifestyle it needs to keep this shape.
Fun fact. Did you know that the brain isn’t actually a muscle? While it is an organ, the majority of its composition and cellular structure has nothing to do with any kind of physical work in the sense that the arms or the legs might. The only muscle tissue involved in the brain has to do with the blood vessels that control where the blood flows, so your brain can get enough oxygen to keep functioning. And that muscle tissue functions as an insulator and, I guess you could say a sort of control valve to the blood vessels to regulate the flow.
Yeah, it’s pretty interesting. I’m what you might call a muscle man. In the traditional sense of the word, yes, I’m talking about my muscles, but I kind of mean it on a deeper sense. For me, it’s more than just dedication to my craft. I have to build my muscles. I have to get stronger. I have to be the very best my body can be. It’s not a choice for me anymore.
No, I mean it literally. I have to do it. I’ve lost so much because of this. And I may get some of it back with the recent success I’ve been having in the bodybuilding community, but it’s never going to be the same. I’m never going to be the same.
I’m never going back to the old me.
…
…
…
Sorry, I, uh … zoned out again there. Another one of those rewards I mentioned.
The secret to my success? It’s all in my head. I mean, it started in my traps. You see how huge these things are. And then it was sort of like a rebellion at that point. An itch, a nag. I started building to level things out, get more even. But when I was satisfied, my body wasn’t. That’s when I started noticing … things. Things that weren’t quite right.
I was sore every day, even on my rest days. And it got harder and harder to do the things I used to to relax. Going to the movies, eating at buffets, gaming in my off hours from work. I used to have a cheap ramen diet. That was one of the first things to go. Things were sort of subtle at first. My eyes would be drawn to supplements, health foods, all the things my budget wouldn’t necessarily allow me to enjoy, but I lingered over them anyway. I’d sit there and stare at them for five, then, fifteen minutes. And I knew I couldn’t afford to get these things, but … I didn’t move either.
It started turning into a real problem that I didn’t understand, so I finally gave in and just bought one of the darned things. And just like that, I felt free to move again. There was even a warm feeling in my chest. You know, like the kind where you just did something really nice, and you feel good for it?
Eventually, there were some things that I couldn’t push myself to do anymore, though. Once the supplement was gone, the urge was back again, that strange stillness, all while I continued to ache. I was getting some great definition, but … I was concerned. I didn’t want to go to the doctor. Didn’t have enough to cover a visit. I was barely scraping by with my other work.
It was work, then home exercises, then shower, then meals and supplements, bed, repeat. I was as surprised as my friends and family when I logged into my social media accounts one day and saw my tags had changed. Vacant, empty stares were in every picture of my increasingly muscular body.
And I never remembered taking any of them.
I was scared, but … I don’t know whether it was the shock or what, but … I didn’t feel it so badly. Kind of like a jump scare, you know? There in a moment, gone the next. Instead, my heart started pounding. I felt that itch. My usual patch of floor was waiting.
…
And then I was working out.
I don’t mean I chose to. I mean ….
You know what it’s like to go through an out of body experience, right?
It was something like that, except I was still in the car, so to speak. I just … watched.
It was the freakiest thing I had ever experienced.
And I knew I needed to see a doctor then. This wasn’t normal behavior.
I met with the doctor first, then got forwarded to a psychiatrist.
You can guess where this is going. I was given pills, told to take them, report back on how I feel in the next couple of weeks after they’ve had time to build up in my system.
I tried. I really did.
It didn’t help.
I don’t know whether they were placebos or something else, but things just … kept going the same way. My muscles got bigger. And I got … smaller, I guess. Not physically, but mentally. I was literally losing control of my own body. It wasn’t hurting anyone directly, but it frightened me.
I tried everything. Hypnosis, self-help books. Heck, I even checked into a psych ward to see if they could figure out what was going on with me. Nothing worked.
When I did the things myself, doctors say I was being rewarded. Dopamine and all those other hormones and chemicals shot through the roof, well beyond the norm for the average male. When I resisted, however, something … different was discovered.
In a very real way, it was like coordinated mutiny. Bloodflow in my brain literally shifted as some of the valves tightened and others opened full blast. And as they did, I found myself being the passenger again. When I tried to eat certain foods, my limbs would go limp. I literally couldn’t even feel them. If I tried to go somewhere that wasn’t conducive to my body’s welfare, I would find myself suddenly unable to progress past a certain point. Or worse yet, jogging right past and not stopping.
I couldn’t type or write certain words or phrases. And the more I grew, the … fuzzier things became, I suppose. When I hunch forward like this, it’s not so much a habit or for comfort as a … friendly reminder. Kind of like My Big Fat Greek Wedding. The neck controls wherever the head turns.
I’m a pris—
…
I’m a pri—
…
I’m a pris—uhhhhhhhhhhhhh….
I’m a pristine example of the fruits of hard work and discipline.
It is my intention to continue to grow and exceed expectations in competition. It’s just a matter of listening to your body. When you listen to your body, you are rewarded by your body.
…
Yes, everything is fine now. You could say we’ve come to an understanding since then. I can honestly say this is the most pleasurable life I could ever hope to have. Some things have changed, but I’m happy. And happiness is what matters in the end. I do what my body wants, and it rewards me, just like everyone else. Now, I hope you’ll excuse me, but it’s time for me to get back to work. My body wants to break its record today at the squat rack.
Don’t worry, I just cry randomly sometimes. Don’t know if it’s something in the air or just a thing, but I live with it. Thanks again for the interview. Goodbye!
…
…
…
A behemoth of muscle and strength sits on a bench before a mirror and stares at his reflection as he reaches for two massive dumbbells.
Now, then. What do we need?
A low groan fills the room as the eyes lose focus and the tears cease to fall. Shoulders rise and fall, prompting the trapezius muscles to almost massage his neck with his deltoids and pectorals. The lips smack. The tongue lolls and lashes momentarily in the mouth before finally settling limply, meekly against the base. The breathing grows deep and steady as his cheeks flush in euphoria and the weights clank with the beginnings of reps.
WE … NEED … TO WORK OUT….
The twitch of a smirk pulls at his face in the mirror.
Good boy.
The eyes roll briefly.
You won’t be talking about us like that again, will you?
Another groan. The eyes grow dull in their gaze as the body continues to rep.
I used to be different than the man you see today. They say the industry changes you, and I suppose they’re right, whoever they are. I’ve been a model for … I don’t even know how many years now. Like I said, things used to be different.
It was just one photo shoot. I didn’t expect to be such a hit. It was a million in a million in a million chance. Audition, smile to the cameras, wear the gear, sell the product, get paid in royalties. It was a straightforward business arrangement. Folks say they like to have models with a lot of heart and soul. Now that I think about it, that’s what the company said when they hired me.
My agent got the call, and then he called me. He barely kept himself from shouting as he told me the details. Daemoniquewas and still is one of the premier modeling brands out there. It costs a bundle and a half to even have them consider lending you their talent. Runways, photo ops, fashion articles, the works. If they looked at you, if they chose you, then you were in. You were set for life.
I was floored. Naturally, I said yes. I signed the contract and joined my fellow models in the spotlight, and my agent was offered a hefty sum for snatching me. He still lives very well, from what I understand. Daemoniquepoached him from his firm, something about being a, “devil of a recruiter.” We still talk sometimes, but usually it’s just when he offers me my new assignment. Sometimes, he brings new talent with him to meet me. People worship me, idolize me.
That used to impress me. Now I feel … indifferent, I suppose. It’s … difficult to describe. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the attention, more that … I suppose I slide into whatever they want me to be. That’s my purpose as a model.
I remember when I was introduced to my hero in the modeling community, Nathan Bolaterro. My smile was radiant, my handshake firm and only slightly exaggerated. His smile was reserved, his bearing shifting to accommodate me.
“There are many models here,” he told me, “with many masks, many faces. It’s … difficult to keep track of what brought you here sometimes, the ‘you’ that you put into your shoots. Make sure that you don’t lose track of it. That’s the best advice I can give you.” He looked almost sadly at a playbill with a beaming teenager wrapping either arm around another two other teens’ shoulders on stage. There were four of them, identically dressed in the traditional garb of the barber shop quartet from The Music Man. I could just barely see the resemblance between the middle left boy and the man that stood before me now.
One of the many agents that runs this place strode through the door then. “Nate, it’s time for your sports segment.”
The model swallowed heavily, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as a result. “Coming,” he said in a low-pitched tone. His gaze darted back toward that photo almost desperately. Then he turned his back and followed his handler out. I followed them into the hall, since it would be rude to remain in his dressing room.
“Do well on this one, and you’ll be a shoe-in for Soulless.” The agent grinned and thumped Nathan on the back. My breath caught at the mention of that great fashion line. Only the best of the best of the best in the agency could make it into that exalted circle.
I was confused when I saw, not a joyful smile, but a frown of unease cross over the model’s face.
The next time I saw him, he was getting out of a session for some sports magazine spread or some other campaign. His body was huge, his voice deep and dull. The familiar brand name Soulless stretched down one meaty thigh in big capital letters over the compression pants and widely across his left pectoral as he scratched the material of his compression shirt with his free hand. “You talking to me, bro?” He didn’t seem to recognize me. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. They seemed almost dead as he stared at me through the open visor of a football helmet. The angular shape of the opening gave his head an almost block-like appearance. The rich hair that had once been so carefully styled was little more than sculpted stubble now. His pupils vibrated, like they didn’t know whether to dilate or contract. Or … maybe they were trying to, but couldn’t? “The name’s Jock….”
I still remember how freaked out I was after that encounter. My agent had to explain it to me, about Nathan’s “methods.” A lot of the models follow it, apparently. I guess … I guess I do, too, now that I stop to think about it. There’s a sort of role that we’re asked to fill for each of our shoots. Whatever we model, the photographer wants us to fit certain … characters, tropes, if you will. These tropes have names, and we don them as easily as we do makeup or an outfit for the cameras. Jock, Brat, Badboy, Greaser, Guido, Father, Hipster, Businessman, and so on.
It’s … easy to forget your name when you’re in this community. You become almost numb to it. You have to, if you want to survive the media storms that follow you around. Let go of the power that name has over you, and you can usually ignore most of the reporters or rabid fans trying to get your attention. It’s a trick you learn fast in the business, once you make it big. And all Daemoniquemodels make it big. Sometimes, when I have to sign a waiver or some other legal document, I pause and stare at the line, and I have to grope in the dark to try to find the name I cast away. Sometimes, it’s suggested that I just sign with an X, like a lot of the other models do, but I don’t want to yet. I still want to be able to keep that power of the name with me. If I stop using it there, it’ll be harder to … to … what? I’m not sure. Remember? Pull back? Be myself?
What even is “myself” anymore? I’m … I’m not sure.
I’ve taken to carrying the photo that brought me to Daemonique’sattention with me. I find it … grounding to stare at. Almost comforting, really. I talk to it sometimes, greet it with my name, almost like it’s another person. I guess … in a way, it is. It’s sort of like a lifeline to me, a connection to the me that was before all the lights and the cameras and the flashes and masks I’ve had to don for the sake of the shoot, the product, the image thatDaemonique wants me to fit.
I feel less and less like a person and more and more like some … glorified prop, a life-sized doll that my handlers change, dress, shift, and adapt to their whims. And the scary part is, … I’m okay with that. I … almost relish slipping into those characters and roles now, because they fill that emptiness that I return to when I take them off. The face I see in the mirror of my dressing room is so … alien to me now. It’s nothing like the face I see when I look at this photo. And that emptiness is reinforced whenever I get in line with the other models for our weekly assessments. There’s no real talking, just standing, waiting, moving in time as the camera shutter clicks, snaps, clacks. The model turns, the process repeats, until all the sides are captured. Then we move forward, and the next one follows. The young bloods toward the back of the line whisper and talk among themselves. I used to do that, too, to be that. Now, … now it feels so … unnecessary. I stand among my peers, where quiet is the norm and blank the ideal. A canvas waiting to be painted. A whiteboard waiting to be drawn up, then cleared.
…
A walking, talking mannequin.
Is that all I am now?
Is that all my purpose is?
Is this … really what I want?
…
Does it really even matter anymore?
I feel so strange, so stripped, so … empty, even as I stand on that line now, waiting for that photo set. I pull out my photo for comfort. That tiny spark is only so much against the yawning void that’s eaten away inside of me. A wry smile curves my lips, one of the first sincere ones I’ve had in who knows how long.
Did you know that some cultures believed that to capture yourself in a photo was to capture a piece of your soul? By that logic, every human who’s ever consumed media or pictures is a demon, or at least part demon. They consume those fragments, those pieces. And the models and actors and actresses let them. And they fill up with other things and ideas, just like I do when I’m in a shoot. They’re just as empty, just as desperate for fulfillment, a role, even a piece, a taste of the soul they used to be.
I barely even recognize the feel of the textured mat when I step in front of the camera. I stare into the lens, still holding the photo. The shutter clacks. The light flashes. My shadow is thrown up in sharp relief behind me on the backdrop. I blink. For a moment, I could almost swear that I see sharpened teeth bared in a hungry, anticipatory grin. Clack goes the shutter. Flash goes the light. Around I turn. I feel no sense of fear or worry at the sight of the horns. I feel … nothing. I turn again and watch my shadow flash in front of me, then fade into the nothingness of the backdrop. Just a 2-D silhouette. No substance, no form, just here and gone in a flash of light and the click of a shutter.
I feel no anxiety at the sound of clopping hooves echoing in my ears as I turn again. I’m just going through the motions, following the formula. They want a blank slate. They want the empty. They want a foundation they can build and mold like clay in their hands. Malleable. Easy to shape and control. No complaints. No thoughts or discomforts. Just … being. Just existing.
…
Empty.
I look down at my photo. There is no more thrill at it. No spark. No joy. No connection. Whatever power it held has been stripped by the camera. It is a person I do not know, a blank face in a crowd. I see no light in those eyes, no life, no … soul, to use the company term. I see only a picture, a pointless picture.
Flash. Clatter. Flutter. Smack. The photo is no longer in my hand as I turn to face the camera again. The creature before me leers behind the camera as one final shutter goes off, one last flash. He licks his lips as his tail lashes behind him.
I turn and march as the other models before me on the line have done. Another paper is shoved at me. I do not bother with the name this time. An X will suffice.
My agent is there next to me suddenly. The soles of his shoes clunk with a rhythmic clopping, almost like hooves. He adjusts the waistband of his pants uncomfortably, then rubs at the nubs that I see growing from his forehead. He seems to be sweating for some reason. I’m not sure why as he breaths heavily. I can just see the hints of longer pointed canines protruding from his lips. He raises his phone and snaps a picture of me. I don’t blink.
“I think he’s ready, Sir.”
This time, I do blink. When I open my eyes, there is a bigger agent hovering over his shoulder. This one is like the photographer. The air smells of aftershave with a hint of sulfur as he leans down to peer into my eyes. I don’t care. I stare into an abyss like my own. This one has lights, but it it is different than mine was. It is not so much an absence of substance as a consumer of it. For the briefest of moments, I feel what could almost be considered a suction, a vacuous force seeking to draw something out of me, only there’s nothing to take. Nothing moves, nothing comes, because whatever that vacuum consumes is not there.
The grin that spreads across that face is savage and predatory. “Well done.” He lays a heavy clawed hand on my agent’s shoulder.
My agent shudders as his eyes flicker briefly and corrugated black horns slowly begin to emerge from the nubs. He licks his lips, and as he does so, flashes of his sharpening teeth appear in my gaze. He swallows and gulps, and as the pressure from what I can only assume is his supervisor increases, he hunches forward precariously on the balls of his feet as the beginnings of a tail bursts out behind him, having broken free of the confines of the seat of his pants.
“Th-thank you, Sir,” he repeats breathlessly as he stands up again. His cheeks are flushed from the sudden changes that have overtaken his body.
“Keep it up, and you’ll fit right in in no time.”
“Y-yes, Sir.” He smiles almost timidly, but there’s a hint of bite to it as his sharper teeth peek over the edges of his lips.
They motion for me to follow, and I do so without question.
“What will he, uh, it, become, Sir?”
The supervisor grins as we approach a large black door with red gilded lettering on its front in an angular archaic font that reads, SOULLESS. “Whatever we want it to be.”
The door opens, and I step forward, ready to take on whatever role my owners require. I am ready to be filled. I am blank.
“Welcome to Soulless, slate.”
My response is as numb and empty as I feel. “Thank you, Sir.”
I am nothing more than a dummy shuffled from caricature to caricature. That is my purpose and my role. When my work is complete, I am wiped clean, a blank slate again, to be molded and shaped as my handlers please. This is the fate of the soulless, and the soulless do not care.
I am Jock. I am Bear. I am Thug. I am Guido. I am Officer. I am Soldier. I am Father. I am Son. I am King. I am Peasant. I am Extra. I am everything and nothing. I am one of a legion of slates waiting to be wiped clean or filled according to our handlers’ whims.
I work in an industry with a lot of password protection, requirements to change frequently, etc. Add a little reminder to your everyday and make a D/s password. It becomes another act or acknowledgment of submission.
Examples:
subwife2SIR
babygirl4HIM
Kneeling@SIRsfeet
You get the point. Then you get to type it a million times a day too.
A lot had changed since she first approached Him and begged him to meet her and abuse her worthless piggy body. She was no longer an anal virgin, she knew how badly her pighole dripped after 3 months without an orgasm and she could vividly recall what a woman’s cunt full of cum tastes like.
The main changes in her life though started when on her birthday she asked for the ultimate gift from her Master. She wanted him to take full control of her life - career decisions, finances, hobbies, diet.
Everything.
Her Master seemed to take great joy in her request and as his first decree ordered her to find a new flat. When she started serving Him she lived on the outskirts of London in a large flat with lots of light. Unfortunately it took Master an hour’s travel to come play with her. So now she lives directly between His office and the train that takes Him back to his unsuspecting wife. The flat is tiny and the neighbours are loud but she gets to see more of Him so she is happy.
Then at his insistence she had negotiated a reduction in her hours at work so that she is available for her Master in the mornings and the early evenings. The loss of wages hurt a little but Master has reduced her discretional spending so much that He is able to withdraw money from her account each month to spend on his wife and kids. She loves that she can serve him in this way.
He seemed to take a lot of joy in controlling her diet and exercise regime. At first he told her to lose weight and that she had to subsist on nutrition shakes, fruit, vegetables, vitamins and twice daily visits to the gym. Just as she was about to achieve the target weight he had set for her and become eligible for the reward she craved (a week with no orgasm restrictions), He pulled the rug from under her.
All of a sudden he wanted her fat. Fatter than when she started. Six months of bodybuilding shakes, fry-ups, junk food and as little exercise as possible followed. Her udders grew, her belly swelled and stretch marks appeared. As her body changed Master had her spend an hour each night staring at herself in a full length mirror looking at the physical results of her service. She cries a lot but she is still happy to serve Him.
Of course he started to pervert her desires and turn her into the sexual freak he wanted her to be. Once per month she has to contact other women on tumblr and ask if they will sell her their soiled panties. Most requests are ignored or politely declined, but enough women see an opportunity to make some easy money and agree a transaction. Every Sunday she must kneel in her flat from 4pm until midnight inhaling and tasting some other woman’s dried stains, ready to serve Him if he chooses to visit her unannounced. She has done this for 28 weeks now and he has never visited. Regardless she knows that on Sunday she will follow his orders because maybe, just maybe, this week will be different…
This is just going to be a recipe and instructional for slop w/ pictures.
First off, you’ll need the base for the slop. We use a bunch of different kinds, but I prefer cream of wheat (I find the flavor less terrible) so that’s what I’m using while I’m making it. (The oat bran is what I had in my last slop faq, so you’ll see how different the textures are)
Next, grab your supplements. Here I have iodine salt, Choline, Potassium, Calcium, Magnesium, Zinc, a multivitamin, fiber powder and plain protein powder. (I also take fish oil, biotin, iron supplement, and vitamin d3 supplments, but I take these in gummies and thy are not pictured.) These are IMPORTANT you guys!! Please don’t starve yourself of basic vitamins. It’s just as terrible w/ them, if not worse, so there’s no reason to sacrifice your safety!
And finally, get your tools. Have something to boil water, (you can just use a pot) something to crush the pills, (you can just swallow them, I just can’t swallow pills [I can swallow dick tho, that’s weird]) a bowl and a spoon to stir and eat it w/ if you’re not just eating it from the floor like I sometimes do.
This picture is sideways, but basically you need to grab your pills, (Choline, potassium, multivitamin, zinc, magnesium and calcium) and you’re going to crush them in your bowl. Any capsules can just be taken apart and dumped in. As a side note: I don’t crush in my multi. It has a flavor and it’s gross. I do my best to swallow that one. Then, add in 2 tsp of fiber powder. DON’T PUT IN THE PROTEIN YET! IT WILL BE GROSS!
Cook the base according to box/bag directions. (This is easy, no pics for this.) Make sure you use the correct amount of servings for your calorie goals (I get 2 in the morning, 3 at night, I end up eating 1045 calories at the end of the day. [I’m small! This is way too little for most people!!] Just check calories on your base to make sure you’re getting enough.) Once cooked, add to bowl w/ supplements and mix, let cool. (Seriously let it cool if you’re going to put in protein.)
Once it isn’t super hot, mix in a scoop of protein. The protein powder coagulates in the hot base, and looks like rotten milk, so don’t try it while hot.
Congrats, you made this gross shit. It tastes terrible. I also take an olive oil shot w/ this but honestly I’d just suggest mixing in some butter for fats cause no one should have to do that.
Everyone, please make sure you follow a soylent guide if you plan on doing slop, thanks.
Classical conditioning is one of those psychological method that always work, when a superior mind trains an inferior one. It is about a slow comforting voice and a sensual effective learning curve. Say for example always, when she is giving head, ‘Good girl’ and caress her cheeks. Do it every single time, while she looks at you with big puppy trusting eyes. She will smile. She will think, you just compliment her on her ability. She cannot see the bigger picture. She is faithful and obedient, and doesn’t know what is happening to her. So say it again, day after day
‘Good girl’, when she is swallowing, ‘Good girl’ when she is licking ‘Good girl’ when she is engulfing and deep-throating herself,
and then enjoy the fruits of your efforts. Just sit, next to her in the restaurant, look at her and say ‘Good girl’ and she will drool and moan without any hesitation. She is now conditioned and will not care what people think. She will feel, wherever, whenever you say ‘Good girl’ your hard nice cock between her lips.
I am right behind you. Show me,that you are a good slut!
My Boss and I have been shopping a lot recently. Necessity of moving in to a new place. He’s been using our being out in public to His advantage. I’ve lost count of the times he’s flipped up the back of my skirt, and looked at and groped my ass, in the middle of the store. There’s usually no people around l, which I am grateful for. But he also does it in the middle of the parking lot when there’s cars around. I usually have panties on, but sometimes not. A few days ago, we were at Costco. He made me go into the bathroom, put on my nipple clamps and remove my panties. I had to walk back out to him in the food area holding my panties clearly in my hand, and give them to him. It was mortifying. When I handed them to Him, he held them in his hand for a while, clearly on display. Then, as we were shopping, He gave me a time limit to flash him my bare pussy. That one was quite hard to do. Later, when trying on clothes at another store, he handed my panties back to me right in front of the fitting room attendant. Very embarrassing These public adventures give me so many mixed feelings. Embarrassment, humiliation, horniness, frustration and a tiny bit of resentment. He enjoys my suffering. And I endure it, because I know that my feelings are only important when they serve Him. I push through the embarrassment because it doesn’t matter. My feelings about it don’t matter. What matters is completing the assigned task, and sharing my thoughts about it with Him. I am His possession, and I’m not entitled to refusal.
Proper maintenance of your state of mind is important. You have many times that you might be distracted from what you really are during daily life. Turn these times into reminders instead of distractions. Wear a plug, crotch rope and/or ben-wah balls during work or everyday activities. Take every moment to edge. Whether when you use the bathroom, in your car before or after work, or anytime you can sneak your hand down to that cunt. Make sure you always dress in a way that reminds you. Keep your legs always parted as an activity to focus your mind, and in general move in ways that properly show off that body. Find ways to make everything in your normal life degrade, humiliate, tease or make you suffer. And I promise in no time you will be thinking more like a good fucktoy.
Unlike a full slave that only has basic needs and has to be content with whatever else Master provides. A submissive girl has additional needs as she is allowed to have possessions, wants and desires. Even if all her basic needs are met to a high degree of luxury a submissive girl will still be missing important things in her life. So in stead of controlling only her basic needs for the control of a submissive girl it is important to control the additional things as well. I call these additional things privileges. Where in the basic needs system compliance determines the level of how your needs are met. In the privilege system the level of compliance determines both the level of meeting basic needs and the amount of material and autonomy you have.
Privileges are tailor made to each girl as every girl has different wants and desires so the system is flexible and completely individual to each girl. However to understand the working of the method example privileges will work fine. So if one of your needs is not posted do not worry it will be added once a system is made for you.
Unlike basic needs that are dictated by nature and have to be met at some point privileges can be left out or added as needed in the relationship. This means new privileges can be earned or added if there is a need for them and privileges can also be lost or taken away completely.
Because privileges can be added and taken away they can be used as goals to work towards in altering behaviour. They should not be seen as rewards but as goals that motivate to learn something new or learn to do something in a way master wants. Using this method will also give the girl some input in her development as she can work hard to grow faster in some aspects and slower in others.
That this type of system works is proven by the fact that while growing up most of us will have had some form of privilege system. For example most parents will give a child more autonomy because he or she has proven to be able to handle it.
I make a difference between two types of privileges. Material / need based privileges and activity based privileges.
Material or need based privileges have levels going up in quality or amount. An example of a quality range can be for the privilege of wearing clothes can go from potato sack to pretty dress. An example of an amount based range can be for the privilege of drinking coffee in cups a day.
Activity based privileges have levels going up in the freedom to do the activity. For example: Not at all, at masters discretion, with permission, limited and full privilege.
In this at masters discretion means you are not allowed to ask for the activity but will be allowed to do it when master wants you to.
Limited means you do not have to ask permission for the activity but are only allowed to do it within certain limits e.g. at home, after dinner, during the day, when it is dark, when it is cold outside, between 11:00 and 13:00, when you are wearing clothes, ect
Some privileges are linked in a way that you have to reach a certain level of one privilege in order to earn another privilege (or level of another privilege). For example you need to have reached a certain level of clothing and footwear before you can be taken outside. You will have to reach being taken outside and eating at the table to be able to be taken out to dinner. This also means that if a privilege is taken away / lost this can effect other privileges. On the one hand this introduces a level of complexity on the other hand it also drives home the consequences of losing a privilege.
This linking is why I call it a system and not just privileges. The linking provides additional motivation to pay attention to things the submissive girl finds less important. If for example her posture (and posture training) is not important to a girl but she needs to show proper posture in order to be allowed to sit in public and she needs to be able to sit in public in order to go out to see a movie. The new movie she wants to see will be a great motivation to improve her posture.
This woman had her pants taken away after she was found wearing them over her chastity belt. When she was then found to be wearing tights under her dress, thigh bands were added to permanently modify her behaviour. Now, she wears beautiful stockings under her dresses and skirts with pride, and no longer tries to hide her chastity appliance from those who wish to view it.
Female Chastity Reasons #6: It Can Be Used to Further Other Ladylike Behaviour
The chastity belt allows proper lady like behaviour to be furthered and enforced. Not only does the belt give the woman confidence, it also ensures discipline and can be used for behaviour modification. The chastity belt constantly reminds the wearer that she is a vulnerable woman who needs protection, both from others and from herself.
A proper lady walks with her legs close together, and refrains from ever spreading them like a whore. Although most women will come to be proud of their belts, most show signs of embarrassment when they are initially fitted. This gives the woman an extra reason to keep her legs closed, so her belt is not visible up her skirt. Should the woman be found to be spreading her legs inappropriately, or not walking in a ladylike manner, thigh bands may be fastened to correct this behaviour. Thigh bands also provide subtle motivation for the woman to wear higher heels, since the increased height of the heel masks the fact that her stride is actually restricted by the bands. Thigh bands may also be applied if the woman tries to wear panties, pantyhose instead of stockings, or pants instead of a skirt. The anchor points for the bands also conveniently allow a cable or chain to be locked to the belt and to an anchor in the kitchen, laundry room or other area of the house while domestic tasks need to be completed.
Collared, cuffed and fettered. The appropriate means of keeping your chattel. Remember: the restriction of physical freedom is crucial in the psychological development of your chattel.
This is true. Always having on at least some restrictive device helps mentally condition the slave to a new reality. Most days I wear a locked steel collar around my neck. My wrists, ankles, cunt are locked most of the time depending on Masters instructions and outfits he puts on me.
Devotional Training: Physical Restrictions Bring About Psychological Development.
Here’s my first official piece of homework for any cunt that follows me.
Tell a man that you like misogyny today. Tell him that actually, it kind of turns you on.
If you can’t find a man in real life to tell this to, then you can settle for a male tumblr user. Just sitting down to type out the words “misogyny turns me on” (preferably to a stranger) will be a healthy thing for you. But…
If you can, telling someone in real life will be more beneficial. I’ve done it before. The guy will most likely be amused even if he’s all for equality.
He’ll start making jokes. The same jokes you hear from Family Guy or other mainstream comedy shows, the things he may not have even realized he payed attention to. The typical stuff like telling you to get him a beer, or don’t you feel uncomfortable when you’re not in the kitchen? It will all be in good fun; he’ll laugh, thinking it’s a kinky (albeit kind of unusual) game. Giggle and joke with him, but do as he says. When you do, he’ll begin to realize that you really don’t want to be an equal. For all intents and purposes, you really do what to be that female stereotype- to serve and make the men around you happy.
It will slowly shift from a game to reality. He’ll realize that deep down, he always wanted a girl to boss around, and here you are. It’s ok for him to be like this, because you already told him you like it.
Soon when he tells you to get him a beer, he won’t be laughing. Playful demands will turn into demands, the pretense of a joke long gone. He’ll start to see you as you want to see yourself, as a bitch suitable for housework and fucking.
Another good step towards obliterating your autonomy. Just like you always wanted.
The very first thing that you have to change is how you perceive sex. Let’s start with a simple definition. “sex” is an activity between two partners, for example a man and a woman, where the woman has her anus and mouth penetrated by her partner. It can of course involve other sexual activities, like nipple play or pussy licking, however the “main course” is the act of penetrating the anus. Therefore, instead of thinking “I am horny”, start thinking “I need cock in my ass”. Whenever you have the opportunity, not only think, but say “I’m going to be a good girl, I need cock in my ass”. Every time you say it, bend over and slap your ass. Do you need a cock in your ass now, sweetie? You know what to do. Just like that. That’s a good girl.
Sally opened the box as soon as she received it. She had not been expecting a delivery and so she was quietly curious as to what it was. It arrived whilst her husband was at work, but it was clearly addressed to her. Once she got it open though, things became much clearer.
Inside there were two things, buried amid a pile of packaging peanuts. A box and a note. She read the note first.
‘Sally, I can’t stop thinking about our little dalliance of late. I shall be seeing you again, but first I bought a small present for you to try in the meantime. It is small and discrete so you should be able to keep it from your husband, or simply lie about where you got it. Be with you again soon – A’
Inside the box was a small black ring. So small in fact that she could barely even fit it on her pinky finger. As she examined it up close she noticed it had a tiny display on one side. What exactly was this thing? Sally turned the note over and saw an extra line on the back.
‘P.S. it goes on your clit!’
Sally blushed. So it was some kind of sex toy? A vibrator perhaps? She sighed. She had only spent one night with Anastasia. It was a crazy night and she didn’t really know what she was doing. She still wasn’t sure whether she was bi, but she remembered enjoying herself far more than expected. Could it be the excitement of cheating that made it so fun? But it was a mistake. She never intended to contact Anastasia again. And yet here she was receiving such a lewd gift from her…she couldn’t actually be thinking of using it? Could she?
Curiosity is a powerful thing, and it wasn’t long before Sally succumbed to its inescapable pull. She went to her bedroom, pulled her pants and underwear out of the way and slowly slid the ring over her clit.
Click
It tightened around her clit until it was affixed snugly in place. Once it had, the display flashed to life and she saw the number ‘0’ on it. Huh, was that the intensity level or something? It certainly wasn’t vibrating yet. She tried to fiddle with it for a few moments but she couldn’t seem to make it do anything. Frustrated, she tried to tug it off, but to her dismay it clung to her sensitive nub firmly.
“What the hell?”
Sally was disappointed. She had been so excited by the idea of trying out this vibrator. Somehow it had sparked those same naughty feelings she had when she was cheating with Anastasia. ‘Well…I came up here to have some fun and I’m not gonna leave unsatisfied.’ she figured, and began to slowly rub her pussy whilst reclining on her bed. She pictured that night with Anastasia. The hungry look in her eyes as she slipped her hand down her pants. She tried to use the same motions as her lover had back then. It was a completely different technique to how she would touch herself alone, and yet it still felt exquisite. She couldn’t quite do it the same, but it didn’t matter. The fantasy running through her mind was enough to get her slick and aching in no time. Before she knew it she was on the edge.
She pictured Anastasia sliding down her body, flicking her tongue like a viper as she eyed up her prey. She pictured that tongue sliding over her pussy so eagerly. God, she could almost feel it! Her pleasure built and built until she could almost scream…and then, without warning, it faded away in the most frustrating way.
Sally was left panting there, her pussy now wet and aching but with her orgasm nowhere to be seen. She bit her lip and glanced down to her crotch, only to see the display on the clit ring had for some reason changed. It now read ‘1’. She stared at it for a moment in puzzlement. 1 what? Had it done something? If so it hadn’t been very effective because that orgasm had just slipped through her fingers. That didn’t usually happen. It was very annoying, to practically explode with pleasure but then feel that beautiful bliss bomb sadly defused just as the countdown should have ticked down.
Wait…it couldn’t be…Had this ring…no. It was impossible. She was still horny and needy. Her orgasm would come with just a little extra work. She laid back once more and returned to her steamy scene. Anastasia’s tongue was lapping away at her pussy so perfectly. All the while her gaze was fixed up at her, those dazzling eyes, mixed with the sensation of that tongue, running along her folds, flicking and sucking at her clit…oh god. She could feel it again. It hadn’t taken as long this time, since she started from a point of high arousal. Now her hips were gyrating and she was moaning louder and louder.
Then…nothing. Nada. No burst of pleasure. No waves of joy crashing over her body. It just faded. The heat didn’t go away, just dulled slightly. It was still gnawing at her. Begging her to keep touching. And yet, she was starting to realize that even if she did, even if she kept grinding her fingers into her sloppy slit with wanton desire, it would not change a thing.
With horror, she saw the display on the ring. 2. It was true. This thing…this damn device had just stolen her orgasms! This wasn’t fair. What kind of mean prank was Anastasia playing on her? She gave removing the ring another go, harder this time, but she only bit her lip and squealed as her tender clit throbbed in pain. Clearly brute force was not an option. She would have to consult Anastasia on how to remove it. But not right now. She had spent enough time masturbating, she needed to get on with her daily routine and household chores.
The rest of the day was torturous. Having not managed to cum despite her earlier attempts, her pussy was sensitive and achy all day. Often she became distracted and contemplated rubbing herself once again. Mostly she was able to stay her hand, but a few times her resistance failed and she let her fingers slip between her needy folds. Perhaps this time it would work. Perhaps this time she could cum?
Of course, each time only served to make her wetter and weaker. The display read 5 when she finally went to sleep that night. She felt slightly hazy, as the arousal continuously clouded her mind, but her husband didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.
The next day, after her husband had left for work again and she had made a sixth failed attempt to experience the illusive bliss of an orgasm, Sally finally called Anastasia.
“Sally, my sweet little thing. Are you enjoying your new present?” she said upon answering, as if she had been anticipating this very moment.
“Quite the opposite. I’m not happy at all, and I want you to tell me how to remove it.” she huffed.
“Oh, I’ll do you one better. I will come over and remove it for you. Is now a good time?”
It seemed a little too easy, but Sally figured that Anastasia had had her fun and was possibly feeling a bit bad about it. Not that it showed in her tone. She always sounded playful and…hungry.
“Uh…yes…that will work.”
“Ok hun, see you soon!”
Sally couldn’t sit down as she waited. Her clit was throbbing, she had been rubbing on and off since yesterday and never really recovered from that first missed orgasm. It was like the heat wouldn’t dissipate until she could achieve it. An ember burned in her crotch constantly, an ever present reminder, numbing her focus and daring her to touch. To rub. To scramble pathetically for satisfaction even though she knew it was pointless. Worse than that, counterproductive. Every failed orgasm making her situation worse.
Finally, the doorbell rang and Sally let Anastasia in.
“So, uh…how do I remove it?” she asked, nervous.
Anastasia smiled and shook her head. “You don’t, only I can. Its registered to me with a DNA lock, so only I can remove it.”
“What the fuck? Why?” Sally blurted out in anger.
“Well, it would spoil the fun if you could just take it off yourself. Ok, I will remove it for you now.”
With that, Anastasia leaned in close, close enough that Sally could smell her perfume. It was the same as that night they slept together. Just inhaling made her already soaking cunt throb. Ten Anastasia’s hand slipped beneath Sally’s waistband and she whimpered.
“What are you…”
“Hush, this is the only way to remove it.” she reassured Sally as her slender fingers cupped her crotch.
“My, you are quite wet honey. How many orgasms did you lose huh?”
Sally turned away, face beet red.
“You don’t have to tell me, I will see for myself soon enough.” With that, Anastasia gave Sally’s sopping slit a final caress before her fingers wrapped around the ring and it slid off her clit so easily. It was infuriating, how it came off like the moment Anastasia started pulling, she made it seem so simple. And yet Sally had been entrapped in this thing for nearly 24 hours. Desperate and drowning in arousal.
Anastasia held the damp ring up and read it. “6 huh, and you were already so eager to get it off. I must say I’m a little disappointed, I thought it would be more.”
“Shut up, you’ve had your fun. Now leave so I can finally have mine!”
But Anastasia wasn’t done. “Oh Sally, you have only seen half of what this ring can do. Watch…”
With that, Anastasia took the ring and reached down to her own crotch. She flipped up her skirt, pulled aside her already damp cotton panties and made a clear display of affixing the ring to her own clit right in front of Sally.
“Come on, I know we had sex but I really don’t need to see your…vagina…” Sally could barely say it, and she didn’t want to watch it either. She was still confused about her sexuality, and while being eaten out by a girl had been incredibly hot, she was wary of trying anything so sapphic herself. She still thought it was a bit gross…another woman’s intimate area.
Once it was affixed, Anastasia let her skirt fall back into place and gave a wry smile. “Don’t be such a prude, now comes the fun part!”
Anastasia’s finger pressed into her crotch through her skirt, hitting precisely where her clit, and the ring, were. In a moment Sally watched in shock as the woman’s expression shifted dramatically from a cool and calm expression to the wide eyes and slack jaw of someone who was in the throes of pleasure. She saw Anastasia’s hips writhe and heard explicit moans as she watched the woman cum right there, without any effort whatsoever. But it didn’t stop. Not there. It continued for longer than any orgasm should. For minutes and minutes. Anastasia flopped onto the couch, groaning and eyes rolling back in her skull as she was clearly swimming in sensations. Drowning in orgasmic bliss.
When it was finally over, Anastasia gave a deep and dreamy sigh and her lazy eyes gazed up at Sally as her lips curled once more into a triumphant smile.
“What the fuck was that?” Sally asked, unsure how to respond to such a lewd display.
“Well, you didn’t think I would let those orgasms go to waste did you? After you put in so much work rubbing your needy slit for me?” she cooed.
“You mean…you just had my orgasms? How the hell does that work?”
“Mmmm…I don’t want to get too technical, but lets just say that this ring can store pleasure and then release it later.”
“You bitch…I have been so frustrated…I…I can’t believe…”
“Shhh, I will make it up to you. I will make you cum. Just like last time. You want that don’t you? To feel my tongue on that tasty pussy of yours…Feel me eat your insides out?” her tongue traced her lips and danced around seductively.
Sally was split. She wanted to kick Anastasia out right now after that stunt. And yet, her crotch was soaking and the only thing she could think about was that tongue. That expert tongue. Lapping away at her. How good it felt…how good it would feel…
Without a word, Sally had already removed her pants and underwear. She crawled onto the couch besides Anastasia and raised her ass, presenting her drooling pussy for the still dreamy looking woman. Anastasia wasted no time in grabbing Sally’s hips firmly and pressing her face directly into her rear as she began to suck and slurp at the pretty pink hole.
Fantasy could never compare to reality. All Sally’s memories of how good it had felt to be eaten out were merely pale imitations. Now that she was here, feeling it in real time, the pleasure was beyond what she could imagine yesterday on the bed. She squirmed and moaned in no time, her pussy already aching so much. As she felt that tongue work its way through her every sensitive spot, her pleasure built and built and she knew she was about to cum once more.
Click
“What was that?” she asked as she felt a pinch around her clit.
But it was too late. Anastasia continued her assault, but just as Sally was ready to reach that plateau, it faded once more. In that familiar and despicable way that it had each time with the ring on. Urgently, Sally pulled away and looked to her crotch. There it was. Glaring back at her. Taunting her. The black ring clung around her clit and the display proudly presented its current count. 1.
“No! No get it off! I was…I just…No!” Sally begged deliriously. Another missed orgasm causing her to sink deeper into that state of horny desperation.
“Sally, I will take it off again. But not now. If you want it to come off, you have to do a few things for me…”
“No…no just take it off! Come on it has to come off…” she tried tugging at it once more, remembering how easily it had slipped off when Anastasia had tried earlier. “Ouch!” she cried as the pain hit her.
“It won’t come off like that. Only I can remove it, and if you want that to happen you need to listen and do exactly what I say.”
Sally was finally able to calm down and she slumped into the couch as she stared up at Anastasia like a deer in the headlights.
“What do I need to do?”
“I just have a couple of requirements. I will give you a week to get them done, if you manage it I will remove the ring for you.”
Sally sobbed. “A whole week…I can’t…”
“Oh but you will, if you ever want this ring to come off that is.”
Sally lowered her head and stared downwards in defeat. “Ok.” she mumbled.
“I hope your attitude will improve after a week. So, firstly I want you to get that counter on the ring to 100 orgasms.”
“100!” Sally gasped in shock. “You can’t be serious!”
“Oh, I am serious. And there’s more. Not only will you give me 100 of your orgasms, but whilst you are rubbing yourself I want you to Listen to these audio files.” Anastasia produced a USB stick from her pocket and handed it over.
“Audio files…What like music or something?” Sally studied the stick curiously.
“More like…instructions. To prove that you have listened to them, I want you to record yourself repeating what they say whilst you do. And don’t think you can cheat, the ring will be tracking every time you are masturbating so I will know how much audio to expect. Send your recordings the night before so I have time to check that they are legitimate.”
Sally’s head was spinning. This listening and repeating some audio nonsense just seemed weird, but 100 orgasms? 100 devastating, unsatisfying lost orgasms. Could she really do that? She felt so wet and achy after just 6…
“Well, you have what you need. I will be going now.”
With that, Anastasia took her leave. Sally was left there, in disbelief. Was she really going to cum 50 times without any reward? Just the promise of eventually being released from this torment? Could she even trust Anastasia? Well, even if not, she was the only person who could remove this infernal device which had siphoned away her orgasms. She had little choice but to play her twisted game. Or risk never cumming again. How much could 1 week hurt?
It was later that day, when she decided to get started that she began to find out just what she was in for. She connected her headphones to her computer and plugged in the USB so that she could listen to the files. Then she set up her phone to record. If she was going to do this, she had to follow Anastasia’s peculiar rules. There was no way she was going to be denied her freedom because she couldn’t listen to a few audio files.
But as she reached into her panties and slowly started stroking and heard the audio start, Sally began to question everything. They started with an odd, echoey noise. Something between a tune and some kind of interference. Whatever it was, it seemed to reverberate around inside her head. Next, she heard Anastasia’s voice, in a hushed and sultry tone it spoke.
“Okay Sally, I take it you have your fingers on your pussy right now? Good. While you rub yourself for me, you are going to repeat everything I say. Make sure you are recording for me, I want to hear every moment of your conditioning.”
It gave Sally the creeps. Not only did Anastasia want to siphon 50 of her orgasms from her, but she also wanted countless hours of weird fap material where Sally would say whatever she wanted. This was so disgusting and abusive. Yet Sally had no choice.
“I can’t cum.” the recording said.
“I…can’t cum…” Sally repeated, her fingers slowly working her soft flesh.
“I don’t want to cum.”
Sally frowned as she repeated. “I don’t want to cum.” It wasn’t true, she had just started and already all she could think about was how much she wanted to cum. Her pussy was already throbbing. She needed it.
“I don’t deserve to cum.”
“I…I…” Sally sighed and forced herself to say it. “I don’t deserve…to cum.” it was a humiliating thing to say. And now she had just recorded it. Though, she would be saying many more humiliating things over the course of this week, she feared.
“My pussy belongs to Anastasia.”
Fuck. Each phrase was going to be more audacious than the last wasn’t it? She hesitated for a moment but her trembling lips finally parroted the degrading phrase. “My pussy belongs to Anastasia.”
“My orgasms belong to Anastasia.”
She whimpered. Her fingers constantly pumping in and out of her pussy were growing faster. She could hear the sloppy sounds of her wetness, they would surely be caught on the recording. She blushed, she needed to keep repeating the phrases. No matter how bad they were. She would get through this.
“My orgasms belong to Anastasia.” she droned, between ragged breaths.
At this point her pussy was ready to boil over. She knew an orgasm was close, and her fingers dug in. Here it came. Here it came. There it went. Gone, without any release. Just like every other time. And now she was just wetter and needier. Weaker and more pathetic.
“Anastasia is my Mistress.”
That word. Of course. This whole thing was some domination play. Anastasia was one of those types. She enjoyed controlling and demeaning her partners. Being called ‘Mistress’ by a subservient little slave girl. Sally didn’t want to play along, but she knew all she could do was continue to obey and repeat as she fruitlessly fingered her aching cunt.
“Anastasia is my Mistress.” Sally said meekly.
“My pussy belongs to my Mistress.”
Of course. Now she would have to go through those last phrases with Anastasia replaced with Mistress. Just to double down on the humiliation. “My pussy belongs to my Mistress.”
“My orgasms belong to my Mistress.”
“My orgasms belong to my Mistress.” she repeated.
On it went. For hours. Every phrase as disgusting, debasing and embarrassing as the last. “I am a slave. I love to edge my achy cunt. I can never cum. My greedy cunt controls me. My Mistress controls my cunt. Anastasia is so beautiful. Mistress is so beautiful. Anastasia is so sexy. Mistress is so sexy. My cunt drools over Mistress. I must obey my Mistress. I must edge for my Mistress. I must never cum. I am too weak to cum. I am too eager to cum. I am too dumb to cum. I am too pathetic to cum. I am my Mistress’ pet. I am my Mistress’ toy. I rub my pussy for my Mistress. I obey. I cannot resist. I have no free will. I don’t even remember what cumming feels like.”
The phrases swirled and mingled inside Sally’s arousal soaked mind as she continued to repeat them. Even as countless orgasms approached and then slipped through her fingers. As the count went up on the ring. It was only when she heard her husband get home that she was snapped out of her trance-like state. She shook herself off and scolded herself for getting so lost in that state. She must have been like that for hours. She looked down and saw the number 11 on the ring and bit her lip. 9 orgasms. Part of her was surprised. She had never orgasmed 9 times in one day before. Of course, she hadn’t actually had a single one. And she knew she still had 91 more to go. This was going to be one hell of a week!
So it continued like that. As soon as her husband left for work she was masturbating with the audio files playing in her ears. She reached the end of the files and started to loop through the same phrases over and over. It became easier and easier as she did. That echoey tone seemed calming. Her mind was numb and slick with arousal. Her pussy was aching like never before. Every moment was torture. And yet she pressed on. Groaning and pleading to no-one as if it would change the fact that she simply could not cum. Watching that number tick up with every lost moment of bliss. All the while listening. Repeating.
She was terrified to notice that even when she went to bed, she could hear those phrases swirling inside her head. All those hazy hours were clearly affecting her. Anastasia and Mistress had already become synonymous in her head after two nights. By her third night she was muttering the phrases in her sleep. Dreaming that she was still rubbing. Still trying and failing to cum. Even in her dreams she couldn’t cum. Even in her dreams she was a slave to her mistress.
She had sex with her husband on the fourth night. He was pleasantly surprised to find her already soaking wet, and he asked about the ring.
“Oh its just something my Mist…uh…something I bought to make myself more sensitive. I was eager to try it out, that’s why I’m so excited down there…” she lied.
Her husband wasn’t going to question it and went ahead and pumped his cum into her pussy in a sweaty and sloppy session which only served to drive Sally even crazier.
“Was that good for you? You seemed to be enjoying it more than usual…” he noted.
“Yeah…yeah…” she groaned. Still unable to cum, even around her husband’s cock.
When the 6th day came she was up to 94 orgasms. She was actually close to doing it. And yet, she felt like her mind was no longer her own. Her thoughts were subdued and scrambled. Her normal life was crumbling and fading. All she could focus on was her Mistress’ insidious mantras and her own aching pussy. She needed to edge. She couldn’t cum. She could never cum. If she quit now, that would definitely be true.
That session was the most maddening. After almost a week of this torment, her mind was too susceptible. Her body was trained. She knew how to get herself to the edge quickly and how long it took before the next missed orgasm. She edged and enshrined her programming like a good girl for Mistress. Over and over.
When her husband finally came home, the count was 110. She had gone a whole ten orgasms over, that was how brainless and pathetic she was. How disheveled and dazed and weak she had become. She breathed a sigh of relief, though it was a hollow one. Her task was complete, and she went to work sending the final recording to Mistress to prove she had followed the rules. Yet she would not get the ring removed until tomorrow.
After another night of wet and explicit dreams about edging and degrading herself for her Mistress, the day finally came. When Anastasia walked through the door once more, Sally was dancing with her thighs clenched as if she needed to pee.
“Please. Please take it off!” she begged urgently.
“Please what?”
“Please…Mistress!”
Anastasia smiled and reached once more into Sally’s panties. With one fluid motion she pulled the ring off once more and looked at it. “111 huh? It was 110 when I checked my data last night” she commented.
“Yes Mistress, I couldn’t help myself.” Sally responded meekly.
Without hesitation, Sally reached down to her crotch and began to stroke her pussy and gyrate her hips like a mindless slut.
“What are you doing Sally?” Mistress asked.
“Um…I’m going to cum, Mistress.” she said, confused.
“Did I give you permission to cum?” Mistress asked, sternly.
“No…Mistress.”
“Who owns your orgasms?”
“You do Mistress.”
“Good. What are you?”
“Your slave, Mistress. Your pet. Your toy.”
“And do you deserve to cum, slave?”
“No…mistress. I don’t deserve to cum. I can never cum.” Sally knew that everything she had said was true. These thoughts were so embedded now in her brain that she believed every word of every degrading phrase.
“Good. So get on your knees and eat me out.” Anastasia orders, sitting on the couch and spreading her legs to reveal that she was not wearing any panties underneath her skirt this time. Her pussy was undeniably glistening and she was clearly horny.
“I…I’ve never…Mistress…I…”
“You will obey me.” Mistress said plainly.
“I will obey you.”
With that, Sally’s will crumbled and she sank to her knees. She leaned in close, smelling Mistress’ lovey perfume mixed with the new but obvious scent of her arousal. Of her dribbling pussy waiting for Sally’s service. She leaned forward, head now dizzier than ever. A concoction of heat and conditioning overtook her mind and turned her into an eager and hungry little cunt licking slave in no time. As she buried her face in Mistress’ pink slit and sucked the salty and slick flesh with utter devotion, Mistress reached down and stroked her head. After a while she saw Mistress slip the ring around her clit and turn it on.
Her juices flowed and her hips bucked like crazy as Mistress held Sally’s head in place. She humped Sally’s face, slathering her in her fluids and turning her into a sloppy and sopping mess. Over and over. It seemed to last for nearly an hour. An hour of pure bliss for Mistress as she experience over 100 orgasms. Meanwhile, Sally was gagging on her pussy as she herself ached and ebbed with a burning need which she knew she could not satisfy. It didn’t matter that the ring was not on her. She couldn’t cum. She could never cum. She didn’t want to cum.
When the dazed and dripping Sally was finally released, Mistress was twitching and groaning on the couch. It was clearly soaked. How on earth would Sally explain that? A spill? It didn’t really matter. She had just had her face fucked for an hour as she felt and even tasted her Mistress enjoy all of those orgasms which she had laboured over for a week. She was trembling and muttering about what a pathetic slave she was and how she could never cum when Mistress finally regained the strength to sit up and look at her slave.
“Whew. I won’t be walking home after that. Guess you will have to drive me. But before you do, one last thing.” Mistress removed the ring once more, handing it to Sally. “Put that back on. We will do this again next week.”
Sally took the ring and glanced at the number 0 on the display. She couldn’t resist her Mistress’ will. She slipped the ring back on her still aching cunt and looked up at her Mistress.
“Yes Mistress. I don’t want to cum.” she said as the ring clicked into place, guaranteeing that she would not cum. Not for another week. Or the next one after that. Or ever again.
