Chapter 5

As I stood before the imposing facade of the Hardgraves mansion, a wave of anticipation washed over me, mingled with a sense of apprehension that I couldn’t quite shake. Last night with Rod still lingered in my mind, every detail replaying itself. His cum on my face. I had performed well—better than ever, really. The way I had worked him, the way I’d let go, giving him every ounce of pleasure Mistress had taught me to deliver. And yet, I already missed him. The way his arms wrapped around me afterward, the safety I felt in his embrace. The dichotomy of my life was growing more intense with every day. My loving, innocent wife role with Rod versus the darker, more twisted side of me that thrived under Mistress’s control.

As I approached the front door, the familiar knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. I knew that as soon as I stepped inside, I would no longer be Elizabeth, Rod’s sweet wife. Here, I was something else entirely—Mistress Hardgraves’ submissive slut, molded by her will, trained to please. The door creaked open before I could knock, and there she stood, Mistress Hardgraves, with a look that immediately reminded me of my place.

“Come in, slut,” she commanded, her voice sharp, cutting through any lingering hesitation I might have had. I stepped inside, my heels clicking softly on the marble floor, and I felt myself automatically fall into the role she demanded of me.

“Yes, Mistress,” I replied, my head lowering instinctively, awaiting her instructions.

The door closed behind me, and Mistress circled around, inspecting me, as if evaluating my worth. “Last night went well, didn’t it?” she asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. “Roderick was pleased.”

I nodded, my mind replaying every moment with Rod. “Yes, Mistress. He loved it. I ... loved it. Scooping his cum from my face.”

Mistress smiled, but there was a coldness to her approval, a sharpness that reminded me she was always in control. “Good,” she said, running her fingers through my hair in a way that made me both tremble and relax under her touch. But then her tone shifted, her grip tightening ever so slightly. “Don’t forget your place, Elizabeth. As well as you did last night, you’re still bound by our agreement. You know what will happen if you disappoint me.”

The unspoken threat hung heavy in the air. Blackmail. She had warned me more than once, reminding me of the power she held over me, the delicate balance of my life hanging in the hands of a woman who could destroy it with a single word. My heart pounded, fear and submission colliding in my chest.

“I won’t disappoint you, Mistress,” I whispered, my voice soft, submissive, eager to please.

Her eyes gleamed as she stepped back, assessing me once more. “I’ve decided it’s time for something new,” she announced, her tone commanding. “We’re going to get you a vertical clit hood piercing. A slut like you should be horny all the time. You need to be constantly reminded of your place—of what your body is here for.”

My stomach twisted at the thought, but I knew better than to argue. “Yes, Mistress,” I replied, my voice steady despite the nerves bubbling inside me.

She didn’t wait for any further response, simply motioning for me to follow. I obediently trailed behind her as we left the mansion and made our way to the piercing salon. The drive was silent, save for the soft hum of the car’s engine, and I could feel the anticipation building. My mind raced with the possibilities—what would it feel like? What kind of pain would come with the piercing? And, more importantly, how would it change me?

The salon was sleek, clinical, but the moment I stepped inside, a chill ran down my spine. The piercer greeted Mistress by name—clearly, they had done this before—and I found myself being led to the back room without delay. The space was bright, sterile, and the sound of latex gloves snapping into place filled the air. Mistress watched me closely as I was instructed to strip from the waist down, the vulnerability of the moment washing over me in waves.

“On the table, legs open,” the piercer instructed, and I complied, feeling my skin flush with embarrassment as I exposed myself to strangers. The cool air hit my most sensitive parts, and I felt a shiver of anxiety crawl up my spine.

Mistress stood close by, her hand resting on my shoulder, a subtle reminder of her control. “Relax, slut. This is for your pleasure,” she whispered, her voice both commanding and soothing. “You’ll thank me later.”

The piercing itself was quick, but the pain was sharp, intense. My breath caught in my throat as the needle slid through my skin, a mix of agony and pleasure rippling through me. Mistress’s grip on my shoulder tightened, grounding me in the moment, and I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out.

“There,” the piercer said, stepping back to admire their work. “It’ll heal in a week or so. After that, she’ll be able to feel everything—much more intensely.”

Mistress smiled, her hand sliding down my cheek as she looked down at me. “Perfect,” she murmured. “You’ll be even more sensitive now, more ready for pleasure. A slut like you needs to be kept horny all the time. Don’t you?”

I nodded; my voice caught in my throat. “Yes, Mistress.”

The drive back to the mansion was a blur, my mind spinning from the experience. My body felt different already, more sensitive, more aware of every shift and movement. By the time we returned home, I could barely keep my thoughts straight. Mistress guided me inside, her touch soft yet firm, and I followed her into the living room.

“Rest,” she ordered, pushing me gently onto the couch. “You’ll need it for the training to come.”

I nodded, sinking into the soft cushions as Mistress sat beside me. She put on a pornographic film, something raw and explicit, and leaned back with a casual confidence. “You’re going to learn more today,” she said, her eyes fixed on the screen. “We’ll focus on anal and oral. You need to be vocal, to take pleasure in everything you do. The happier and more eager you are, the more satisfying it is for your partner.”

I nodded, my mind foggy from the piercing but eager to please. “Yes, Mistress. I’ll be better.”

She smiled, her eyes gleaming with approval. “Good. Now, watch. Listen to the way they speak, the words they use. You’re going to need to learn to talk like that—like a real slut.”

Over the next week, Mistress drilled me relentlessly. We practiced anal, oral, everything she wanted me to perfect. She pushed me to be louder, more enthusiastic, to lose myself in the pleasure of being used. My words became filthier, my movements more fluid, my body responding to every touch with heightened sensitivity. And every night, when I touched myself, the piercing sent shockwaves of pleasure through my body, the sensation more intense than I had ever imagined.

By the time the week had passed and I was fully healed, I felt transformed. The VCH hood piercing made every touch electric, every climax more powerful. I found myself cumming more often, the words flowing from my lips like second nature—dirty, filthy phrases that made me feel like the slut Mistress wanted me to be.

As I lay back one evening, my body trembling from yet another intense orgasm, I realized how much I had grown. I was becoming everything Mistress had molded me to be—submissive, obedient, and eager. I was learning to take pleasure in every moment, in every word, and with each day, I felt myself slipping further into the role I was born to play.

“Good girl,” Mistress purred, running her fingers through my hair as I lay there, my mind foggy with true satisfaction. “You’re growing into your role perfectly.”

I smiled, my eyes fluttering closed. “Thank you, Mistress.”

This was my life now. This was who I had become. And as I drifted into sleep, my body still humming with pleasure, I knew that there was no going back.

As I stepped out into the cool night air, the click of my pink heels echoed against the pavement, a sound that now felt so intimately tied to who I was becoming. My white dress, tight and teasing, hugged every curve of my body, a symbol of the submission I was learning to embrace. The pink lipstick I wore felt overdone, but it matched the image Mistress had crafted for me—sweet, slutty, obedient. I couldn’t forget the slut collar fastened snugly around my neck, gleaming gold in the low light. It was a constant, tangible reminder of my status. And then there was the clit piercing, each step making it throb, arousal simmering just below the surface, permanent now. The small anal egg hidden deep inside me buzzed softly, a secret that no one knew but Mistress and me.

My makeup was flawless—bold, exaggerated lashes that fluttered against my cheeks whenever I blinked, my nails long and painted a soft baby pink. I had perfected the look that Mistress wanted. But as much as I looked the part, there was still that gnawing feeling deep inside me, that tension between my outward appearance and the part of me that still held onto the old Elizabeth, the one who wasn’t used to this world of control and submission. Yet with each click of my heels, with every flutter of my fake lashes, I could feel myself slipping deeper into the role. I was becoming the slut Mistress demanded, even as the weight of it all threatened to overwhelm me.

Beside me, Mistress Hardgraves walked with an air of effortless authority, her leather pants tight and commanding, her heels clicking in a rhythm that matched her power. She didn’t have to say a word—her presence alone was enough to remind me of my place. Every move I made, every sway of my hips, was for her. I stole a glance at her, hoping for a sign of approval, but her face remained impassive, eyes sharp, as though daring me to slip up. I couldn’t afford to fail her tonight.

“Remember to smile, slut,” she whispered as we entered the restaurant. Her voice was calm, but I felt the weight of her expectations behind every word. “And keep those hips moving.”

I swallowed hard, forcing a bright, flirtatious smile onto my lips as we were seated. The clit piercing tickled softly as I shifted in my seat, and the sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through me, making my stomach twist with arousal. Every movement was a reminder of my submission. I could feel my cheeks flush as I took in the eyes of the patrons around us. Did they see me as a slut? Could they sense the control Mistress had over me? My body hummed with the mixture of humiliation and arousal, a constant tug-of-war that I was slowly losing.

Halfway through dinner, Mistress glanced at me, her eyes cold but calculating. “Go touch up your makeup. You’re looking a bit ... disheveled.” There was no room for argument in her tone.

I excused myself from the table, walking carefully in my heels, knowing she was watching every step. The anal egg buzzed softly, a steady hum that filled my thoughts, making my legs wobble just slightly. When I entered the restroom, I gripped the edge of the sink for support, staring at myself in the mirror. The pink lipstick was still perfectly in place, but I re-applied it anyway, trying to steady my breathing. My hands shook as I adjusted my false lashes, the weight of the slutty makeup making me feel more exposed, more vulnerable.

As I stepped out of the restroom, the anal eggs sweet buzz turned into a harsh electric shock, a sudden, sharp jolt of pain that made me gasp. My mind had wandered into a valley of unawareness, and this was the price to pay. Oh shit. I hadn’t smiled enough. I hadn’t kept up the act.

“Sorry, Mistress,” I whispered to myself, knowing she would see it in my body language the second I returned to the table.

I forced my body back into the rhythm she demanded. Hips swaying, smile bright, lashes fluttering. I slipped back into the role, knowing there was no room for mistakes. The egg buzzed again, this time a soft hum that sent a pulse of pleasure through me, a silent reward for returning to form. Good girl, I told myself, imagining Mistress’s voice in my head.

When I reached the table, I gave Mistress a shy smile, batting my lashes at her in the way she liked. “Sorry for the delay, Mistress,” I whispered softly, sitting down and folding my hands in my lap, my heart pounding in my chest.

Dinner passed quickly, and soon we were walking through the mall. Mistress, was thirty feet behind me, her eyes watching my every move, the remote for the anal egg firmly in her hand. Each slip in my performance was met with a harsh jolt, a sharp reminder that I needed to be better, more obedient. A buzz hit me when my smile faltered. Another when my hips didn’t sway enough. I had to be perfect. There was no room for failure tonight.

“Don’t forget to twirl your hair, slut,” Mistress’s voice echoed in my mind, though she hadn’t spoken it aloud. I could feel her commands even when she was silent. I obediently reached up, twirling a lock of my honey blond hair around my finger, letting it fall slowly down my back as I strutted in my heels. The hum of the egg was constant now, teasing me, keeping me on edge.

A few minutes later, at a newsstand, I flipped through a particularly raunchy porn magazine, feigning interest as I scanned the pages. The young clerk, barely in his twenties, was watching me with wide, disbelieving eyes. His expression was torn between curiosity and the type of judgment that made my stomach flutter with a sick kind of pleasure.

“Is this a gift for your husband?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly under the weight of his discomfort.

I laughed, a high, tinkling sound that felt too innocent for the situation. Leaning over the counter, I gave him a full view of my cleavage, watching as his face reddened. “No, darling, just for me,” I purred, winking at him as I licked my lips slowly. “I need some new tricks to keep things spicy at home.”

His face turned beet red, and I reveled in his embarrassment, enjoying the control I had over the situation. The thrill of it was intoxicating, even as it felt wrong. But I couldn’t deny that Mistress’s words—her expectations—were seeping into me, making this feel like my purpose.

As I paid for the magazine, locking eyes with the clerk in an unashamed stare, the familiar buzz from the anal egg hit me again, sharper this time, a reward from Mistress. I almost moaned, biting my lip to keep from drawing too much attention.

I felt the buzz of the egg soften, the pain fading into pleasure. Good girl, Mistress’s voice echoed in my head again, and I stood up straight, my face burning with shame, but my body trembling with arousal. Every humiliating act was making me wetter, more aroused. The clit piercing throbbed with every step, and I bit back a moan, feeling the weight of my submission settle deeper within me.

As the night ended, Mistress praised me, her voice soft but firm. “You did well tonight, Elizabeth. You’re learning.”

A rush of warmth and pride filled me at her words, a feeling of closeness to her that I hadn’t expected. Despite the humiliation, the pain, the constant fear of slipping up, there was something deeply satisfying about pleasing her. I was learning. I was growing into the role she had designed for me.

Back at the mansion, as I removed the anal egg, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. My body ached, but the pain was a reminder of how far I had come. I lay in bed, my clit piercing still throbbing softly, the memory of the night’s humiliation fresh in my mind. And yet, I couldn’t deny the arousal and satisfaction I felt. I was falling deeper into this world, learning to accept my place, my role. Mistress was molding me, and I was becoming the obedient slut she wanted me to be.

As I drifted off to sleep, I couldn’t help but wonder how much further I would fall.

Step by step, Mistress was molding me. I could feel it in every fiber of my being. The sessions had become so routine, so necessary, that I didn’t even question them anymore. It wasn’t just about obeying her—it was about the way my body responded, the way my mind eagerly sought her approval, craved it. I needed to comply, to please her, and with every new task, I could feel myself slipping further into the role she demanded of me.

The training sessions had taken a darker turn, more humiliating than I could’ve ever imagined. Mistress had started using vulgar language, pushing me to limits I didn’t know I had. The words she used cut through me, raw and degrading, but I swallowed them, internalizing every insult as a tool for my transformation. My punishments were harsh—sharp slaps, whippings, her cold eyes watching me closely for any sign of defiance. But when I pleased her, when I did better, she gave me reprieve. Sometimes, a gentle stroke of my hair, a few words of approval, were enough to make me feel like I was soaring.

When I had pleased her, she allowed me to step outside for tanning sessions in the beautiful weather. I’d lie back on the chair, letting the sun drench my bronzed skin, and I found myself growing more comfortable in my own body. I was getting more toned, my figure tighter and more defined from her physical training. My skin, kissed by the sun, was glowing, and my hands often drifted unconsciously to my pierced clit. The sensation was overwhelming, the soft throb of the piercing making me more aware of my arousal, even when I wasn’t fully engaged in Mistress’s tasks. I felt free in those moments, almost carefree, soaking in the sun’s warmth.

“May I play with myself, Mistress?” I asked one day, my voice dripping with anticipation. I sought her permission, knowing that every inch of my pleasure was still under her control. My body was hers, my desire shaped by her commands.

Mistress looked at me, the barest hint of a smile playing on her lips as she nodded. “Go ahead, slut,” she said coolly, her voice commanding. “But don’t cum until I say so.”

My heart raced as I slipped my hand under my bikini bottoms, my fingers tracing the edges of my piercing, the warmth of the sun only heightening my need. The thought of having to ask for permission to cum made me wetter, my arousal swelling within me. But I knew I had to wait, to be patient, to prove I could control myself.

Each day, half an hour of deepthroat training pushed me to perfect my skills. I would kneel before the mirror, a dildo attached to its surface, acting as if I were making love to it. I licked it, kissed it, took it deep into my throat, my eyes staring back at my own reflection, seeing the eager slut I was becoming. The more I trained, the better I became. My gag reflex had all but disappeared, and Mistress would stand behind me, her strap-on ready for me to prove my prowess. I eagerly took her in, my throat welcoming her with no hesitation. I saw pride in her eyes when I didn’t gag, when I embraced the feeling of her inside me, even if it was just a tool for my learning.

“You’re becoming the perfect cocksucker, Elizabeth,” she said one day, her words vulgar but laced with satisfaction. “This is what you were meant for, isn’t it?”

I hesitated, feeling the sting of her words, but there was no point in denying it anymore. “Yes, Mistress,” I whispered, my voice barely audible as I accepted the truth she had been forcing me to see.

The forced cumming sessions became a constant part of my life. Mistress would press the Hitachi wand tightly against my pussy, my clit screaming with pleasure as the vibrations sent me into a frenzy. I couldn’t stop cumming—over and over, my body convulsing as I moaned and cried out. My mind was numb, reduced to nothing but a pleasure-seeking slut, the sensation of my piercing making every orgasm sharper, more intense. I was overwhelmed with sensation, lost in the endless cycle of arousal and release, and though part of me still resisted the label, I was starting to embrace it. I was becoming what Mistress wanted me to be.

Each orgasm made it harder to deny. Each time I came at her command, I felt my mind slip a little further away from who I had been. I was Elizabeth, but I was also something more now—Mistress’s slut.

One day, after a particularly intense session, Mistress gave me a reward—an outing. She handed me two small eggs, one for my pussy and one for my ass, telling me I had earned the privilege to wear them out in public. My heart raced at the thought of it, the fear of being so exposed, so vulnerable. But I obeyed. I always obeyed.

We went to the mall, and as we walked through the brightly lit corridors, I could feel the buzz of the eggs inside me. Every step sent a jolt of pleasure through my body, the vibrations teasing me, keeping me on edge. Mistress was behind me, controlling the remote, increasing the intensity whenever I slipped up. If I didn’t smile enough—buzz. If my hips didn’t sway just right—buzz. Each mistake was met with punishment, and I quickly learned to maintain the perfect facade.