Chapter 11: Officially Owned

The next morning, the harsh, insistent rapping on the door of Samantha’s tiny kennel jolted her out of a fitful slumber. She struggled to pry open her eyes, which felt glued shut by the cold, thick semen that had been spattered all over her face. As the light from outside began to seep through the minuscule gaps in the wooden barricade, she became painfully aware of the sticky mess that surrounded her. The two Pitbulls that had been her nocturnal companions were nowhere in sight; their cages were empty.

Her body, still contorted in the cruel bondage she had been left in, protested as she attempted to move. The clamps on her swollen pussy lips had tightened overnight, turning the once mild discomfort into a throbbing ache. The sensation of the thick, intrusive anal plug remained lodged deep within her, a constant reminder of the degrading use she had been put to. The effort to shift her weight caused a fresh wave of pain to shoot through her, as the plug dug into her sensitive flesh.

With every labored breath, she could feel the sticky residue of cum coating her chest, stomach, and thighs, a testament to the countless times she had been used and abused by her captors. Her knees and elbows, bruised and scraped from the unforgiving concrete floor, bore the brunt of her weight as she dragged herself across the cold, wet surface of the kennel. Each movement sent a fresh jolt of pain through her body, a stark contrast to the numbness that had set in from the relentless assault she had endured.

Her once soft, plump pussy lips were now a deep shade of purple, the blood flow restricted by the merciless metal clamps. The trickle of cum that had leaked from her ass and pussy during the night had pooled underneath her, creating a foul, sticky mess that she was forced to lie in. The smell of sex, sweat, and bodily fluids permeated the air, a humiliating reminder of her situation.

The door of the cage creaked open, allowing a shaft of blinding sunlight to pierce through the darkness. Samantha’s eyes squeezed shut against the sudden onslaught, her pupils struggling to adjust. A cold metal object was attached to the collar that now served as a permanent fixture around her neck, sending a jolt of reality through her trembling body. With a gentle yet firm pull on the leash, she felt the weight of the world dragging her forward, and she knew she had no choice but to comply.

With a grunt of effort, she managed to hoist herself onto her knees, using her elbows for balance. Each movement sent waves of agony crashing through her body, a stark reminder of the brutal transformation she had endured. Slowly, painfully, she crawled out into the open, the dirt beneath her knees a harsh contrast to the plush carpets she was once accustomed to.

Her eyes finally adjusted to the light, and there they were – Anjali and Tyrone, her new masters, basking in the glow of the morning sun. The sight of them filled her with a mix of dread and despair. They looked so content, so utterly at peace with their cruel role in her new life. Her thoughts stumbled back to the night that had changed everything. A night that had stripped her of her identity, her dignity, and her freedom.

Once a revered Bollywood star, Samantha had been brought to her knees, quite literally. Now, she was nothing more than a plaything for these two individuals. Anjali, a rival actress she had known from her glamorous past, and Tyrone, the man whose love had led her down a treacherous path of betrayal and scandal.

As she emerged from the shadow of the cage, the leather collar around her neck grew taut, pulling her towards them. They didn’t say a word, just watched her crawl closer, their smirks speaking volumes about their amusement. The humiliation was palpable, each inch she covered in the dirt a stark symbol of her fall from grace.

When she finally reached them, they looked down upon her with a sense of entitlement, as if she were a pet that had just performed a trick. Anjali’s foot nudged Samantha’s face, a silent command to kiss it. The once-proud woman felt the bile rise in her throat as she obeyed, her lips pressing against the cool, smooth leather of Anjali’s shoe.

The realization that she was no longer in control washed over her like a cold shower. She had been a queen in her world, now reduced to a mere servant to these two, who reveled in her suffering. The pain was not just physical; it was a deep, soul-wrenching ache that left her feeling violated and exposed.

Her thoughts drifted to the night before, to the moments that led to her initiation. The whispers, the betrayal, the pain. It was a montage of horror she couldn’t escape from, no matter how hard she tried to push it away. She had been lured into a trap, and now she was paying the price.

The leash grew taut once again, and she looked up, her eyes meeting the unfamiliar gaze of someone new. This person, yet to be revealed, added an extra layer of anxiety to her already tumultuous existence. Who could it be? What new torments would they bring?

Her mind raced as she waited for the order to move, the leather biting into her neck. She was no longer the woman who had captured the hearts of millions with her beauty and talent. She was a possession, a toy to be used and discarded at will. The fear of what lay ahead was almost too much to bear.

Anjali smiled wickedly at Samantha; her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Look at you,” she sneered, “you’re nothing but a cum-soaked slut who needs a thorough cleaning.” Samantha felt a shiver of anticipation mixed with dread. Anjali’s words painted a vivid picture of her current state, and she knew that the humiliation was about to get even more intense.

“But before that,” Anjali’s smile grew wider, “we have someone new to introduce to you, your new boss and trainer.”

The person who had been controlling Samantha with the leash stepped closer, and Samantha couldn’t help but stare. This newcomer, Yasmin, was a vision of power and dominance, her leather-clad body tight and fit. Her legs looked like they could wrap around anyone and never let go, and her chest, pushed up by the leather dress, was a tantalizing promise of pain and pleasure.

But it was the bulge at her crotch that truly captured Samantha’s attention. It was clear that Yasmin was packing something extra, something that would surely play a significant role in Samantha’s training. Anjali noticed her slave’s bewildered expression and took delight in explaining, “Yasmin is a TS Mistress, your new handler, and she will be the one to train and use you from now on. You will serve her with the same devotion you show us.”

Samantha’s mind reeled, but she nodded obediently. She had come to accept, and even crave, the control her owners had over her. Their approval was like a drug, and she would do anything to get her next fix.

“Now, let’s get you cleaned up,” Yasmin’s voice was smooth and commanding, sending a jolt of fear down Samantha’s spine. She tugged on the leash, and Samantha followed, her legs trembling slightly.

As they walked away, Tyrone and Anjali continued with their breakfast, their laughter echoing through the room as they enjoyed the cool, clean air. They had no intention of joining the upcoming scene; they had already had their fill of Samantha’s suffering. But they knew that Yasmin would take things to new heights, and the thought of watching her new toy squirm under the TS Mistress’s dominance was almost too delicious to resist.

Yasmin guided the trembling Samantha into the backyard, where a designated area stood out, tailored for the use and degradation of slaves like her. This specific section was open to the elements, yet boasted a cold, hard concrete floor that seemed to echo the harshness of the environment. In this space, there were two distinct sections: one was a toilet, and the other, a drain, where dirty water would swirl and gurgle away after it had rinsed her clean of the filth she would inevitably accumulate. The area was encircled by three metal poles, each adorned with a multitude of hooks, hinting at the various ways she would be restrained and displayed.

With a sense of cruel delight, Yasmin secured Samantha’s leash to one of the metal poles. Samantha couldn’t help but gaze up at her new Mistress, noticing for the first time the delicate beauty of her face. The sight of Yasmin’s smile as she whispered the word “Mistress” was surprisingly comforting.

Yasmin’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she examined the gold chain connecting Samantha’s nipple rings. Each tug she gave sent a shockwave of pleasure through her new pet’s body, making Samantha gasp and moan. However, the delight was short-lived, as she abruptly claimed Samantha’s mouth in a fierce kiss. At the same time, her free hand ventured down to Samantha’s most sensitive area.

With a swift and deliberate action, Yasmin released the clamps that had been viciously clamping Samantha’s pussy shut, sending a torrent of pain through her body as the blood rushed back into the deprived tissue. Samantha’s muffled scream was lost in the invasive warmth of Yasmin’s tongue, which was currently dueling with hers. The agony was intense, yet she found an odd sense of arousal in the mix, her body betraying her in the most humiliating of ways.

The clamps were followed by the removal of the clear butt plug, which had been lodged in Samantha’s ass since the previous night. The sudden emptiness it left behind was almost as painful as the initial insertion, causing her to whimper pathetically. The gaping hole allowed the cum from the night’s events to seep out, leaving her feeling used and utterly violated.

Now, Samantha knelt there, shivering uncontrollably from the pain, her body a canvas of suffering and desire.

Yasmin then proceeded to remove each and every binding, meticulously freeing Samantha from her prolonged and agonizing bondage. As she was hoisted up, Samantha’s legs buckled beneath her, unable to support her after the ordeal of being held in such a degrading position for over twelve grueling hours. Her body had grown accustomed to the pain, a testament to her endurance.

“Time for your purification,” her new mistress declared, wielding a spray can with an air of authority. She applied the solution liberally over Samantha’s naked and exposed flesh, causing a peculiar sensation as the sticky residue of the night’s depravity began to dissolve and fall away. The thick, crusty layers of cum that had adhered to her skin from her previous tormentors slowly loosened their grip, revealing the soft, tender skin beneath.

With a brush that was clearly designed for animals, Yasmin meticulously scrubbed Samantha from head to toe, paying particular attention to the intimate areas of her mouth, pussy, and anus. Each stroke brought a mix of pain and humiliation, a stark reminder of her current state of degradation. The harsh bristles scoured her tender skin, removing not just the filth but also a part of her dignity with each pass.

To cleanse her even further, Yasmin attached two enema bags to Samantha’s body, inserting one into her ass and the other into her pussy. The bags were filled to the brim with a solution that sent chills down Samantha’s spine. Once both bags were emptied, she was forced to clench and hold the noxious fluid inside her for a few interminable minutes, feeling her insides burn and cramp as the solution did its work. Only after five agonizing minutes did she earn the brief respite of release, allowing the vile contents to flow out of her, staining the floor with her violated purity. This degrading process was repeated twice more, ensuring she was thoroughly cleansed of the night’s depravity.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Yasmin took the time to clean Samantha yet again, this time with a gentler touch, perhaps feeling some semblance of pity for the human being she had been reduced to. During this final cleaning, her genitals were shaved bare, leaving her completely vulnerable and exposed. It was a humiliating act that brought a fresh wave of tears to Samantha’s eyes, but she knew it was necessary to satisfy her mistress’s twisted desires for cleanliness.

After nearly an hour of this rigorous and degrading treatment, Samantha finally felt a sense of relief as the last remnants of filth were washed away. Her body was now clean, but the emotional scars of her ordeal remained, a constant reminder of her new life as a subservient plaything. The pain and humiliation had been extreme, but it was a small price to pay for the semblance of comfort that came with feeling clean again.

“Thank you, Mistress,” whispered Samantha gratefully, feeling the freshness of being clean once more. Yasmin took a soft cloth and meticulously dried her body, her skilled hands gliding over the freshly washed skin. With a firm grip, she removed the leash attached to the pole and guided Samantha into the house. Down the stairs to the basement, which had been transformed into Samantha’s humble new living quarters, Yasmin positioned her before a large mirror.

Gazing at her reflection, Samantha barely recognized herself. The woman who once held her head high with pride had been replaced by a trembling, obedient servant. The delicate hoop piercing her left nostril and the larger hoops in her ears glinted in the dim light, a stark contrast to the innocence she had lost. Her chest was adorned with shiny gold rings that pierced her nipples, a chain connecting them that swung freely, emphasizing her newfound role as an erotic plaything.

Her eyes wandered to the fresh tattoos that now marked her as property. The Queen of Spades emblem was inked on various parts of her body: her neck, wrists, and ankles. It was a clear declaration of her ownership, a symbol that she was now exclusively for the enjoyment of black masters and mistresses. The bold letters on her neck, spelling out “Black Owned Anal Whore,” sent a shiver down her spine as she read the stark reality of her existence. The one above her breasts, claiming her as the property of Anjali and Tyrone, filled her with an odd sense of comfort, knowing she belonged to them completely.

The sight of the word “Owned Fucktoy,” tattooed just above her intimate area, brought a blush to her cheeks and a flutter in her stomach. It was a constant reminder of her purpose, a title she had fully embraced during the intense night she had just endured.

Behind her, she could make out the Slave ID etched onto her back, right below her neck. It was a humiliating brand, a label of her status as a mere object for others’ pleasure. And on the small of her back, the tramp stamp, a series of interlocking chains with the words “Slut Samantha” enclosed inside served as a constant reminder of her degradation.

“How do the new additions make you feel, slut?” inquired Yasmin, her voice a mix of amusement and authority. Samantha met her gaze in the mirror, her heart racing. “I love some of them, Mistress, but others I’m not so keen on,” she replied truthfully, her voice quivering. “But, as I am owned by Anjali and Tyrone, it is their will that is important, not mine.”

This answer brought a smile to Yasmin’s lips. She leaned in, whispering sweetly into Samantha’s ear, “You look so pretty and slutty, my dear. The tattoos and piercings suit you perfectly.” Yasmin’s warm breath sent shivers down Samantha’s spine. She kissed Samantha’s neck, her hands gently squeezing the pierced nipples. Samantha leaned into the kiss, savoring the brief moment of intimacy with her handler, her body responding to the gentle touch with an undeniable need for more.

Yasmin broke the kiss with a start, glancing at the time on her wristwatch. It was high time they moved. She strode over to the closet, flinging it open to reveal a scandalous outfit for Samantha to don. The dress was a minuscule white strapless crop top that barely contained Samantha’s ample breasts, and an even shorter black tube skirt. No undergarments accompanied the ensemble, leaving Samantha’s most intimate areas shockingly exposed.

With trembling hands, Samantha tugged on the dress, the fabric clinging to her like a second skin. The metal hoops adorning her nipples pierced through the flimsy material, their chain starkly visible. The tattoos snaking over her body were laid bare, save for the one strategically placed just above her pubic area, which remained hidden for now. Despite feeling a cold sweat break out, she accepted the degrading attire without protest.