Chapter 11

I slowly regained consciousness, unsure of the hour that had passed since the harrowing events of the night. My body felt like it had been through a tumultuous storm of pleasure and pain, a symphony of debauchery orchestrated by the depraved individuals who owned us. The dimly lit basement was a stark contrast to the vibrant life that existed just beyond the bars of our metal cage, a prison of our own making, or rather, a prison we had been thrown into.

Tamanna and I had been subjected to countless humiliations and sexual degradations, our dignity shattered into a million pieces as we were used for the entertainment. Our once pristine attire had been torn to shreds, leaving us in nothing but our bruised and beaten flesh. I could feel the sticky residue of dried semen on my skin, a crusty reminder of the lewd acts we had been forced to endure. My cunt was sore and sensitive from the constant probing of the ben-wa-balls, a sadistic toy that had been inserted into me and left to do its work all night long. And my ass, oh my poor ass, it was stretched beyond belief by the anal plug that was still lodged deep within me, a silent sentinel of the depravity that had been inflicted upon us.

The cage door was open, a silent invitation to freedom, or perhaps another form of punishment. I carefully crawled out; the chains attached to the ben-wa-balls clinking with every painful movement. The bell that dangled from them echoed through the empty room, a metallic reminder of my newfound status as a mere object of desire. As I made my way to Tamanna, I couldn’t help but admire her, even in her current state of undress and submission. She had always been a beauty, but now she glowed with an inner strength that could only be born from the fires of degradation.

My eyes met her as I approached. I watched as she bent over, her round, firm ass jiggling with each movement as she worked diligently to clean the space that had been our stage of humiliation. She had become a creature of the night, a slut who reveled in her own debasement. The sight of her made my heart ache and my cunt throb in a confusing mix of pain and arousal.

“Samantha, darling, you’re awake,” she whispered, her voice a siren’s call that sent shivers down my spine. She looked up at me, her eyes shimmering with a mix of mischief and affection. “You’ve slept through most of the cleanup, but don’t worry, I saved some for you.”

Her hand reached out to me, and I took it, allowing her to pull me into an embrace. Our naked bodies pressed together, my hardened nipples brushing against her soft, tender breasts. Her skin was sticky with sweat and the remnants of the night’s festivities, but I didn’t care. We were in this together, two lost souls navigating the dark waters of our new reality.

“I love you, Tammu,” I murmured into her ear, my voice barely a whisper.

“I love you too, my sweet little slut,” she replied, her breath warm against my neck. The words should have stung, but instead, they filled me with a strange sense of comfort and belonging. We were no longer the same people we had been before this twisted soiree; we had been transformed into something new, something that thrived on the very humiliation that we had once feared.

With renewed purpose, we set to work, scrubbing away the evidence of our degradation. The rubber dildos and vibrators that had been shoved into us so violently the night before was now squeaky clean, as if they had never seen the inside of a cunt or ass. The floor, sticky with a variety of bodily fluids, was now gleaming, the smell of disinfectant overpowering the musky scent of sex. We mopped and cleaned until every inch of the basement was spotless, our bodies moving in a harmony born from desperation and fear.

As we finished, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in our work, despite the circumstances. We had become a well-oiled machine, a duo of depravity that could take whatever was thrown at us.

Tamanna’s mistress descended the stairs, her eyes scanning the room with the cold precision of a drill sergeant. We immediately fell to our knees, our heads bowed in submission, our hearts racing with anticipation of what was to come. She was a woman of few words, but those she chose to speak were always laden with meaning.

“Good job, my little sluts,” she said, her voice like a whip cracking through the stillness of the basement. “You’ve done well to clean up. Now, go and get ready. Your time together is over for now. Madam has need of you, Samantha.”

My stomach clenched at the mention of Madam. The thought of leaving Tamanna’s side was almost unbearable, but I knew I had no choice. We were pawns in their twisted game, and we played our parts to the best of our ability.

Tamanna led me to the makeshift bathing area. The washroom, a grim reminder of the depravity that transpired here, was a stark contrast to the opulent living spaces above. It contained nothing more than a toilet, a standalone tub, and a sink stained with the residue of past acts of degradation.

The stale odor of the toilet filled my nostrils as I stepped inside. Bending at the waist, I reached back with trembling fingers to the source of my discomfort. I could feel the cold, hard plug lodged firmly in my anus, a stark contrast to the warm, throbbing sensation of last night’s activities. The thought of what had been pumped into me made my cheeks burn with a mix of humiliation and arousal. Carefully, I began to explore the crusty remnants of the dried cum that clung to the plug and my fingers, a tangible reminder of my used and abused state.

With a deep, shaky breath, I gripped the plug and started to pull it out, the stretch of my sphincter a painful reminder of the relentless pounding it had endured. The sound of the cum being displaced by the metal was audible, a squelching that made my stomach lurch. The sticky, gel-like substance began to ooze out, a noxious stream of white that painted the inside of my thighs. I clenched my teeth, fighting the urge to retch as the last of it slipped out, leaving me feeling both empty and violated.

My next task was to take a seat on the cold, unforgiving porcelain throne. The thought of releasing my morning bowel movement after the ordeal of the plug was almost too much to bear. I could feel the pressure building as I pushed, my sphincter protesting the intrusion. With a grunt, I expelled the waste, a feeling of relief mixing with the pain of my tender anus. The foul smell that filled the space was a testament to the depravity of my situation.

Once the final bit of fecal matter had dropped into the toilet and after cleaning, I reached for the enema kit. This was the most degrading part of my morning routine. The necessity of cleaning my bowels thoroughly, so that my hole was fit for use by others, was a constant reminder of my role. I inserted the nozzle with a gentle push, the lubricated tip sliding in with an ease that spoke of my overuse. The warm water filled me up, and I waited, counting the seconds until the burning need to release became unbearable.

With a grimace, I expelled the foul-smelling contents, the water mixing with the last traces of cum and feces to form a murky pool in the toilet. I cleaned myself as best I could, the sting of the soap on my raw flesh adding to my growing sense of degradation. I repeated this process three times, each one more painful than the last, as the water grew increasingly hot and the burn more intense. I flushed and put everything in order.

When I finally emerged from the stall, feeling cleaner yet somehow dirtier than before, I forced a smile onto my lips for Tamanna. She was standing there, her eyes gleaming with amusement at my plight. Unlike me, she was not an anal whore, and her mornings were not filled with such rituals of purification and pain. She was the epitome of innocence, a stark contrast to the filth that clung to me like a second skin.

Her entrance into the stall was swift and efficient, a stark reminder of the ease with which she could perform her bodily functions without fear of the degradation that awaited me. As the door clicked shut, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy at her unblemished purity.

I prepared the bath for us and waited for Tamanna to return from the toilet. When she emerged, I couldn’t help but feel a spark of envy at her confidence, despite the clear power dynamic at play. Her words, “you are really a naughty lesbian slut,” were a gentle caress of the truth that sent a shiver down my spine. Her lips met mine in a kiss that was part affection, part challenge.

The warm embrace of the water in the tub was a welcome respite from the coldness that had seeped into my bones. We stepped in together, our naked forms slipping against one another like eels in a murky pond. The water was scented with a faint hint of jasmine, which only served to make the scene more surreal. We lathered each other up, paying special attention to the most intimate parts of our bodies.

My breasts, tender from the constant attention they had received the night before, were squeezed and massaged by Tamanna’s strong hands. She took special care to cleanse my cunt, her fingers lingering on the sensitive flesh as she worked. Her touch was firm, almost brutal, yet it sent waves of pleasure through me. It was a stark reminder that, despite the pain and humiliation, my body craved this kind of treatment.

Tamanna’s massive breasts bobbed in the water as she worked, their size exaggerated by silver piercing on her nipples. I knew that she reveled in the way her body was displayed, even though it was clear she was not the one in charge here.

Once we were clean and our bodies gleaming, we stepped out of the tub. The cold air hit us like a slap in the face, making our nipples stand at attention. We toweled off, our eyes meeting in a silent understanding that this was only the beginning of another long day.

Our attire for the day was laid out on the cage that had been our prison the previous night. It was a sheer, black skirt for me, so short that it barely covered my ass, and a tube top that would leave nothing to the imagination. Tamanna’s outfit was similar, but in a garish pink that clashed with the rest of the room.

As we dressed, I noticed the ben-wa-balls sitting on the side table. Their cold, metallic surfaces glinted in the dim light, a silent testament to the pleasure and pain they could inflict. Tamanna picked them up and handed them to me with a knowing smile.

“You’re going to need these,” she whispered, her voice thick with amusement.

Danny and Kirti, the couple who owned Tamanna, appeared at the doorway. Danny’s eyes swept over me, his gaze lingering on me. His smile was cruel as he sauntered over, his heavy boots echoing through the room.

“Where are those balls, cunt?” he demanded, his voice filled with the authority that comes from knowing you hold the power over someone.

My cheeks flamed with humiliation as I held them out to him. He took them from me, his touch making me shiver.

“You’re going to wear these everywhere,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine, “I want everyone to know that you’re a slut.”

The metal balls slammed into me, filling me up and stretching me in a way that was both agonizing and exhilarating. The chain was attached to a small, silver bell that hung a foot outside my pussy, the end brushing against the fabric of my skirt.

Danny’s eyes narrowed as he took in the sight of me in my new attire. “Not good enough,” he murmured, a wicked idea clearly forming in his mind. “Pull your skirt up. I want those bells to be visible.”

My stomach twisted with dread, but I obeyed. The fabric inched up, revealing the chain and the bell. The skirt now barely covered my sex, and the bell dangled obscenely, announcing my every movement with a tinkling sound that was impossible to ignore. Danny leaned down and flicked the bell with the toe of his boot.

The sound was like a slap to my dignity, and I felt my face burn even hotter. He was enjoying this, reveling in my embarrassment.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his eyes raking over me.

I looked to Tamanna, hoping for some solace, but her expression was one of amusement. She was used to this, to being the center of attention, the object of lust and degradation. For her, this was just another day.

As we stepped out of the washroom, the weight of the bells and the knowledge of what they signified weighing heavily upon me, I realized that I was no longer just a participant in these twisted games. I had become an integral part of the show, a living, breathing symbol of submission for all to see.

The metallic clasp of the leash latching onto my collar sent a jolt of fear and excitement through me. Danny, the cruel master, held the end of it firmly in his hand, and with a sadistic smile, he led me upstairs, each click of my heels echoing through the grand hallway. Behind us, Tamanna was on all fours, a similar leash attached to her neck, with Kirti, the equally sadistic mistress, holding the reins. The chiming of the bells attached to the chain from my ben-wa-balls was a constant reminder of my subservience as I ascended the staircase.

The living room was a place of punishment and degradation. The large grandfather clock loomed over us, the hands mockingly pointing to 11 AM. My stomach turned as I realized I had neglected my duties to Madam Isis, and the day of servitude had already begun. Yet, the fear of her wrath was overshadowed by the current scene unfolding before me. Danny and Kirti had laid out our breakfast – not on plates, but in bowls like animals. We were positioned side by side, kneeling on the cold, hard floor, our heads bent down with our tongues extended just above the food. The humiliation was palpable as the couple sat at the dining table, feasting on their breakfast, watching us with amusement.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of waiting, we were allowed to consume the scraps provided for us. We lapped up the food like starving dogs, eager to please our masters. The act of feeding ourselves from the floor was a stark reminder of our place in their world. Once the bowls were empty, we were told to cleanse each other’s mouths, a sensual act that only served to deepen our embarrassment.

With our breakfast complete, we were led outside into the sunlit day. Danny took the wheel of his sleek car, and Kirti slid into the passenger seat. I was positioned on the floor in front of her, and Tamanna took the same degrading spot before Danny. The engine roared to life, and we set off. Our instructions were clear: we were to perform oral sex on them without bringing them to climax until given permission.

The journey was long and uncomfortable. My knees ached from the constant strain of staying in the same position, my jaw grew sore from the relentless motion of pleasuring Kirti, and my heart raced from the fear of being caught in such a compromising act. Yet, the thrill of serving my mistress kept me going. We drove through the city, passing by families and couples enjoying their Sunday outing, completely oblivious to the depraved acts happening within the confines of the car.