Chapter 8

We arrived at my residence after a short drive, my master’s thick cock still nestled in the warmth of my mouth as he brought the car to a halt in the driveway. He hadn’t climaxed yet, and before I could continue my servitude, he opened the door and gently yet firmly pulled me out of the car. With a leash attached to my collar, I was made to crawl like a submissive animal, following his commanding steps towards the house.

Entering the house, my eyes met with my Mistress, Nina, who was waiting with a smirk playing on her lips. Her gaze told me that I was nothing more than a toy for her and my master’s amusement. Without hesitation, I shed the last of my dignity along with my clothes, revealing my trembling body. They led me to the dining room on all fours, and I knew my place was to serve them dinner.

As they feasted at the table, I remained on the cold, hard floor, consuming my meal from a bowl like a pet. The food was simple, but the humiliation was delicious, fueling my desire to serve them in any way they saw fit. After they had finished eating and the plates were cleared, my master led me to the bedroom, the anticipation of what was to come making my stomach flutter with excitement and dread.

My body was a raging inferno of arousal from the intense bimbo training and the earlier encounter at the glory hole. I begged my master for release, my voice shaking with need, “Please sir, can I come now?” But he had other plans. He slapped my butt cheeks, leaving a stinging sensation that only heightened my craving for more.

My mistress beckoned me closer, her eyes gleaming with hunger. “I’ve missed your sweet mouth,” she murmured, guiding my face to her awaiting pussy. I eagerly complied, lapping at her tender folds with a desperation that only a starving bimbo would understand. Meanwhile, my master’s skilled fingers danced around my pussy, coating them in my juices, which he then used to prepare my tight anal cavity for his next move.

“You’re doing so well, Samantha,” he praised, slipping one, then two fingers into my ass. The sensation was foreign, yet oddly exhilarating. The plugs from my training sessions had indeed prepared me, and I found myself eagerly pushing back against his hand, silently begging for more.

“Is it time for you to lose your anal innocence?” he taunted, his voice thick with lust. “Beg for it, slut. Plead for me to take your bimbo ass.”

My voice muffled by my mistress’s pussy, I managed to murmur, “Yes, sir, please fuck me in my ass.” But he demanded more, slapping my cheeks once more.

“You can do better,” he said with a smug smile.

With my face still buried in my mistress’s crotch, I spread my legs wider, exposing my pink, glistening hole. “Please sir, take this dumb bimbo’s anal cherry. I’m begging you to fill me up,” I pleaded.

My mistress’s chuckles echoed through the room as my master spat on my anus. He aligned his cock with my tight opening and began to push. The pain was excruciating at first, his monstrous size stretching me beyond what I thought was possible. But as I adjusted to the intrusion, the pain melted into an intense pleasure, my body craving more of his dominance.

He held still for a moment, allowing my body to accept his invasion. Then, with a sadistic grin, he began to move, his cock sliding in and out of me in a rhythm that grew more punishing with each stroke. I felt like I was being split in two, but the humiliation of being used so roughly only served to make me wetter.

My mistress watched with amusement as I squirmed beneath her, my face painted with her juices as she reached climax not once, but twice. Meanwhile, my master’s cock was relentless, plunging deep into my ass, filling me up in a way that I had never experienced.

“You want to come?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yes, mistress,” I whined. She smirked and slammed a strap-on dildo into my pussy. The dual penetration was overwhelming, the rubber cock stretching me in unimaginable ways.

“Remember the rule,” she said, her voice taunting. “You only get to come when there’s a real cock in your pussy.” But today, she granted me a small mercy, allowing the fake dildo to be the conduit for my release.

The orgasm that followed was the most powerful of my life, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through me as my master and mistress claimed my body as their own. My master filled me with his hot seed, and my mistress continued to fuck me with the strap-on, both of them using me as their personal plaything.

As they lay back, sated from their use of me, my master spoke, “Good girl, Samantha. You’re learning so quickly. Soon, you’ll be the dumbest bimbo around.”

My mistress giggled in agreement. “And now, as a new rule, your ass is open for anyone superior to you to use. And when they fill you up, you’ll wear a butt plug to keep their cum inside until the next day,” she added.

With trembling hands, I took the cold metal butt plug she offered, the jewel on the end glinting maliciously. I spread my cheeks and pushed it in, feeling the stretch and burn as it filled my now-used hole. They both laughed as I locked in the plug, my ass clenching around it, eager to accept more.

Allowed to crawl into my cage, I was locked away for the night, my thoughts consumed by the new sensations and the desire to become the ultimate bimbo. The soft whispers of my dreams promised a future of even bigger breasts and a more rounded butt, along with the never-ending need to serve and satisfy those who deemed themselves better than me.

I awoke to a throbbing ache in my mouth and a stinging sensation emanating from my anus. The memories of the previous night’s escapade with my master flooded my mind, bringing a warm blush to my cheeks. He had claimed my anal virginity with such fervor, filling me to the brim with his seed and leaving me to wear a butt plug as a constant reminder of his dominance. I never anticipated that I would find such perverse pleasure in the act, but the bimbo training under the tutelage of my madam, Isis, had transformed my body and desires into something new and utterly devoted to serving.

As the early morning light streamed through the bars of my cage, I heard the soft murmurs of movement from the room. Master Kevin and Mistress Nina were already stirring, their footsteps echoing through the quiet space. The anticipation of seeing them filled me with a mix of excitement and trepidation. I had become accustomed to their daily rituals, eager to please and obey.

Mistress Nina eventually approached the cage, unlocking the door with a metallic clink that sent a shiver down my spine. She eyed my swollen and slightly soiled form with an amused smirk, clearly noticing the evidence of my recent deflowering. The dry cum on my face and the base of the plug that stretched my anus were badges of dishonor that I had earned and would now have to maintain.

“Good morning, Samantha,” she purred, her voice a stark contrast to the cold steel of her gaze. “It seems your training is progressing quite nicely. Now, remember, your anus must be as pristine as your mouth. Whenever you engage in anal play, it is essential that you clean yourself thoroughly. You are to receive three enemas each morning to ensure your insides are as clean as a whistle.”

Her words hit me like a sledgehammer, but I knew better than to protest. My body was their playground, and I was merely a vessel for their pleasure. I nodded solemnly, acknowledging the painful task that lay ahead. As she turned away, I could feel the weight of the plug inside me, a constant presence that served as a humiliating reminder of my new role.

With trembling hands, I made my way to the washroom. The enema kit sat ominously in the cabinet, a tool of both cleansing and punishment. I gritted my teeth as I unscrewed the plug from my sore anus, the sudden release of pressure causing me to whimper. I approached the toilet with the kit in hand, my knees knocking together as I prepared for the ordeal.

The first enema was a shock to my system, the cold liquid invading my bowels with a painful jolt. I had to fight the urge to expel it immediately, counting the seconds as they turned into minutes. The pressure grew unbearable, and I could feel my master’s seed mixing with the water inside me. I clenched my fists and focused on the floor tiles, willing myself to endure the discomfort.

After what felt like an eternity, I released the contents into the toilet. The feeling of relief was short-lived as I had to repeat the process two more times. Each insertion was more painful than the last, stretching me wider and filling me deeper. I could feel the water sloshing around with each movement, a stark reminder of my newfound role as a receptacle for their whims.

Finally, the last enema complete, I cleaned myself meticulously, ensuring not a drop of filth remained. My skin was raw and my muscles ached, but I knew better than to complain. I had been given a new set of instructions, and I was determined to follow them to the letter.

Dressing in the attire laid out for me, a scandalously short black mini skirt and a blush pink blouse with the top three buttons undone, I made my way to the kitchen. My makeup was hastily applied, and my hair was hastily thrown into a ponytail. The outfit left little to the imagination, my breasts threatening to spill out of the fabric at the slightest movement.

As I served my owners their breakfast, kneeling on the cool tiles with my head downcast, I was acutely aware of my new role. They had made it clear that I was to be a living footrest for them during meals, a silent and submissive presence to be used at their leisure. The humiliation of serving them in such a degrading manner only served to fuel the fire burning within me, a mix of anger and arousal that I could not quench.

Throughout their breakfast, I remained by their side, ready to fetch or serve at a moment’s notice. My meal was a simple affair, eaten from a bowl on the floor beside them. The occasional crumb that fell from their plates was swiftly picked up by my eager tongue, a reminder of the pecking order in our twisted little world.

Each day at the office, which had once been the gleaming bastion of my power as CEO, now felt like a never-ending descent into the abyss of my own humiliation. I had been demoted to the role of an assistant to Madam Isis, my former secretary, who now reveled in her role as the new CEO. Every morning, I endured an hour of bimbo training, forced to watch degrading videos of mindless, buxom females while my own body was subjected to the merciless whims of vibrating toys. My nakedness was a constant reminder of my newfound status, a silent declaration of my subjugation. The rubber dildo in my mouth served as a stark symbol of the power exchange, a black phallus that I had to suck on obediently, as if it were a lifeline to the dignity that had been ripped away from me.

The afternoons brought with them a new level of degradation. I was sent to a nearby pub, where I would spend two interminable hours at the mercy of strangers in the gloryhole, my mouth eagerly accepting the throbbing members of countless men as they used me as nothing more than a vessel for their depraved desires. The plastic bottle I held onto grew heavier with each deposit of their seed, a grotesque testament to my newfound skills as a cock sucker. Yet, the training was far from over.

Once the sun dipped below the horizon, signaling the end of my workday, I would be subjected to yet another round of bimbo training. This time, the cruel twist was the addition of the cum collected from the pub. Madam Isis had decreed that I was to smear the foul substance onto my face and breasts, the very same parts of me that had once been admired in board meetings and executive offices. The sticky, foul-smelling liquid served as a mask of shame, a reminder that I was no longer a respected leader, but rather a pathetic plaything for the amusement of others.

The relentless march of time seemed to slow to a crawl as each excruciating minute of the week passed by, each one a never-ending loop of my submission and degradation. Finally, the much-anticipated Friday evening approached, bringing with it a mix of dread and perverse excitement. As the last of my tasks was completed, I descended the stairs, the sharp clacking of my high heels on the cold, hard floor echoing through the desolate corridor like a drumbeat heralding my arrival.

The basement door loomed before me, the entrance to the Janitor’s chamber, a place that had become synonymous with my ultimate submission. I rapped my knuckles against the wood with a sense of trepidation, the sound reverberating through my soul. The door creaked open, and there he stood—Master Kevin, his gaze piercing my very core, his smirk a cruel reminder of his power over me. His greeting was a slap in the face, a verbal assault that sent a jolt of humiliation through my body. “Hey slut,” he bellowed, his tone a vile caress that left me trembling.

He stepped aside, revealing the dingy interior of the room where I would once again offer my body for his twisted amusement. I shuffled in, my eyes cast down, desperate to please him. As was customary, I awaited his instructions, my breath coming in shallow gasps, my heart hammering in my chest. But tonight was different. He took a call, his attention momentarily diverted, leaving me to kneel like the obedient whore I had become.

Master Kevin’s eyes lit up with a sinister glee as he returned from his call, a package clutched in his hand. He placed it before me on the stained floor and tossed an envelope at my barely covered breasts. The envelope bore my name with a degrading new tag, “Bimbo Slut Samantha Ruth Prabhu,” a constant reminder of my descent into his world of debauchery. “The instructions are inside,” he growled, his voice a thunderclap of authority. “Follow them to the letter, or face the consequences.” He said and walked away leaving me alone in the janitor’s room.

With trembling fingers, I took the envelop, behind, it had few instructions that I had to follow before actually opening it. The instructions were clear and uncompromising—stripping naked and destroying my own clothing was the first step in my further degradation. The words on the page were as cold and unforgiving as the concrete beneath my knees. I had to follow them, no matter how much they made me cringe. So, I did as I was told, peeling off my skirt and blouse with the resentful obedience of a prisoner undressing for their executioner.

The scissors felt like a weapon in my hand as I sliced through the fabric of my clothing, each snip a painful reminder of my loss of dignity. The pieces fell into the trash can with a sickening thud, leaving me exposed and vulnerable in the harsh fluorescent light of the janitor’s room. I could feel his eyes on me, relishing the power he had over me as I disposed of the last vestiges of my former self.

The stench of the tiny, grimy bathroom was almost overwhelming as I stepped into the shower. The water was ice cold, a deliberate punishment that made my skin crawl and my teeth chatter. I scrubbed and clawed at my flesh, desperate to rid myself of the filth that clung to me from my glory hole and bimbo training. The harsh soap stung my skin as I cleaned away the evidence of my use, the cold water a stark reminder of the emptiness inside me.

Once I had cleaned away the grime, I dried off with the coarse towel provided, feeling the rough fabric against my tender skin. The chill had left me goose-pimpled and shivering, but I knew that was only the beginning. The letter inside the envelope contained clear details that I had to follow, which would be more humiliating and degrading.

My Dear Whore,

I am quite certain that you are at this very moment standing in the janitor’s closet, your body quivering not only from the icy embrace of the cold shower you were instructed to take, but also from the thrill of anticipation that is about to consume you. Your bare flesh exposed, your soul laid bare, you stand before me in my mind’s eye, trembling with the kind of excitement that only a truly depraved soul could understand. If you have not adhered to the commands that were so clearly laid out for you on the cover of this letter, then you shall indeed find yourself in a world of pain once you are back within our grasp on Monday.

As you are no doubt aware, this evening marks the beginning of the weekend, and traditionally, Friday night is reserved for you to serve us and us alone. However, fate has conspired to grant us, your master and I, a brief respite in the form of a whimsical two-day jaunt. I trust that you are not feeling neglected by this sudden absence, for I have taken it upon myself to ensure that your weekend is filled with just the right amount of degradation and pleasure.

Once you have digested the contents of this letter, I expect you to replace it within the envelop and delicately push it through the narrow slot provided in the drawer of the table. You will the open the package, there, you shall discover a treasure trove of items that are to become part of your whorish attire for the weekend ahead. Within the confines of this package, you shall find the dress that will expose your filthy body to the world, a make-up kit to make you appear like the slutty harlot that you truly are, a nail polish set to color your claws, and hair ties to pull your locks into a ponytail, a style that screams submission. Additionally, there is an egg vibrator and a butt plug, both of which shall become intimately acquainted with your most intimate spaces.

Dress yourself in these fineries, whore, and apply the make-up with the care of a woman preparing to sell herself to the highest bidder. Once you have painted your face and adorned your nails with the vibrant colors of your new life, you will place the discarded tools of your transformation back into the package and discard them like the trash that they are. The message you are to send, once your preparations are complete, is a simple one: “I am ready, Mistress.” Do not dare to deviate from this script, lest you wish to incur further punishment upon yourself.

With trembling fingers, you will then seal your fate by sliding the drawer closed, ensuring that you cannot retrieve the contents should you falter in your resolve. You are to remain accessible and vulnerable, your make-up a mask of readiness for the trials that await you.

When you have sent your message of surrender, you will make your way to the bus terminus, the egg vibrator nestled snugly within your cunt and the butt plug claiming your ass as its own. Throughout your journey, you will stand, as is fitting for a creature of your ilk, enduring the lecherous gazes and groping hands of the men who wish to sample the wares you so freely offer.

Your destination is the mall where you were once a mere mortal, shopping for clothing to hide your true nature. Now, you are nothing but a plaything, a sex doll to be used and discarded at the whim of your betters. Seek out Danny, the burly brute who mans the burger shop and with whom you shared an intimate encounter. You will greet him with the shamelessness of a harlot who knows no shame, announcing to him and to all within earshot that you are no longer an anal virgin. This revelation shall be accompanied by a giggle, a shrill, empty sound that betrays the depth of your training.