Chapter 3: Whore

From the OmniSentia site:

In the late twentieth century and into the early twenty first, drug companies wielded lots of power. They took money from the government to pay for research that would eventually turn into products that made the companies billions of dollars. They formed sweetheart deals with each other, making it so that the most popular medications didn’t have any real competition. In the USA, the lack of competition allowed the companies to drive up prices to ridiculous heights.

Citizens were incensed that drugs that were developed in the USA could be found cheaper in other countries like Canada. As the examples of price gouging kept pouring in, a people’s revolt of a kind never seen before in the USA since the mid eighteenth century started to happen.

It wasn’t just the drug companies. The energy companies had similar sweetheart deals with each other. They dictated the price that “independent” stations would sell the various energy products: electricity, hydrogen, and even petroleum for those classics that used internal combustion. They made sure the licenses for solar cars were locked up in endless committee hearings. This was seen as just another example of how the corporations weren’t acting in the public interest.

At first, a few people started to run for office on platforms that highlighted the bad behavior of the corporations.

People started voting for these “people’s candidates” that promised not to be beholden to the corporations. It was a movement that once started conservatively (Tea Party movement, 2009) and soon spread like wildfire just a few years later on the progressive side (Sanders primary, 2016). This eventually led to the formation of the People’s Candidates Party, 2020 or the PCP, as it is commonly referred. The politicians from the PCP ran as “outsiders.” Some were your normal run of the mill politicians in sheep’s clothing, but they were easily weeded out by watchdogs following the money (Briggs campaign, 2124; Grove scandal, 2127; Fronk scandal, 2196; et al). That left the true revolutionaries. This combined with a series of sexual scandals involving so-called religious or “morality” politicians (Lewis scandal, 2145; Hardy/Lemmon incident, 2148; Smith-Tomkins scandal, 2149), showing that those espousing the most conservative sexual values were themselves among the worst offenders. The PCP became the “third party” to the conventional two party system.

The rise of the PCP and the fall of the morality leadership resulted in a basic sea change in American politics. Reacting to the more outrageous of the perceived offenses by large corporate donations, the new politicians sought to strip these behemoths, including the pharmaceuticals, of the huge political power they once wielded.

It wasn’t an overnight switch. The large corporations fought back tooth and nail with their existing propaganda machines, but they were finding that their profits were being chipped away on a regular basis by small riders to essential legislation that took away a tax break here, and a shelter there. Bit by bit, the behemoths found their sources of income shrinking and their power dwindling. Scandals involving the heads of these corporations made their leadership constantly in play, with stockholder revolts chipping away at their power from the inside.

The PCP started a ball rolling that resulted in larger and larger rule changes.

Sarcastically reciting the “Corporations are citizens, my friend” mantra made popular by a pro-corporation politician at the start of the twenty-first (Romney presidential campaign, 2008), the PCP and their supporters started to enact laws limiting the power of corporations. The Corporate Citizenship and Accountability Act, 2138 (CCA) ensured corporations doing business in America acted as “good citizens” with criminal cases directed at the corporations themselves for misbehavior, going as far as the dreaded “Corporate Death Penalty,” which could have the corporation’s charters being stripped away, board members jailed, and assets of all involved seized with the possibility of punitive damages for willful misconduct.

With the corporations assaulted from all sides, the FDA and Patent system started to modify their rules, requiring RAND (“Reasonable and Non-Discriminatory”) licensing fees for any drugs that were distributed in the USA, regardless of how new or self-funded the research was. They tried to fight back by not making their more essential medications available here, resulting in CCA prosecutions against the drug companies. They found themselves as defendants in high stakes murder prosecutions from the government for withholding treatment, with the real possibility of the defendants ceasing to exist if they were found guilty! Nearly every one settled with the government to avoid the death penalty, although at great expense to the corporations. “Too big to fail,” became an oddly quaint and historical slogan and laughably inaccurate in the current political climate.

As a direct result, a lot of drugs that used to cost over a thousand dollars per pill went down to tens of dollars instead, and the more popularly prescribed medications found competitors and generic equivalents, causing the first major downward pressure on medical expenses since the Affordable Care Act, 2010 experiment in the early twenty-first. Effectively, the out-of-pocket cost for most citizens was reduced to zero for a class of drugs known as Prescriptive Essentials, including heart and cancer medication, and eventually even to elective medication such as birth control, abortion, and sexual augmentation.

With advances in sexual medications, such as the annual DNI birth control injection, available for no cost for most citizens both male and female, the birth rate started to plateau and even decline. DNI was easily reversible if a couple actually wanted to start a family immediately thereafter. This, combined with IFP, a drug that enhanced fertility in either gender, meant that pregnancies no longer were prone to random chance. A couple could decide to go on IFP and within a week could find the woman had been impregnated if she was within a week or two of the height of her fertility cycle. “Birth, if and when you want it,” was the slogan (IFP Slogans, 2173). This, along with the outlawing of sex laws that involved no real victims, gave birth, so to speak, to a new sexual revolution, much like the one in the mid-twentieth century that resulted from the original contraception pills and the subsequent changes to people’s sense of morality.

The pendulum would always swing back and forth, but the current swing toward nearly total sexual freedom makes it seem as if there would never be any push back. This is fallacy, of course. It will always swing back, but at present, it looks like it will be a while before it does...

Sleep didn’t come easily for me that first night with Bob.

I was horny nonstop all day, with each humiliation increasing the desire, and nothing I seemed to do did anything to lessen it. Bob didn’t order me into his bed, and he hadn’t made it into a rule, so there was nothing compelling me to do so. I knew there were other bedrooms, but deep down, I knew my uniforms were in this room, and I was expected to be in this bedroom. This is your room. It is wrong to sleep in another room. That voice inside my head told me so. I knew that fighting that voice was fruitless. It was incessant, and I had human limitations. I’m sure the voice came from my collar, and it seemed to have more power over me than I consciously had.

That didn’t leave me much choice.

While Bob was soundly snoring away, I kept staring at the bed. It looked so comfortable despite the presence of the little shit sleeping in it. It was where I belonged, like a good little whore.

Even a whore doesn’t necessarily spend the night with all her clients, I thought back, trying to reason with my own mind. The entire “good little whore” was a constant reminder of what I was, what I had become. It was humiliating. It was wrong. But fighting it was useless.

And if I didn’t get myself off, I thought I would explode.

I found an extra blanket and pillow in “my” closet on the top shelf. I retrieved them, and set up an area on the floor. It wasn’t the bed, but it was better than some places I endured before the WfD shelter. I remembered the second vibrator in my mini dresser and retrieved it as well. That might help me get over the hurdle that was keeping me from achieving release.

When I got it out, I figured how to turn it on. It was loud, and at first, I was worried that it would awaken Bob. I turned it off and Bob was still snoring. I forgot how much I hated his snoring! The dildo was too large to be functional as such, but I figured it could still work topically on my aching clit. It wasn’t fancy at all. It probably would have been current state of the art in the late twentieth century as a gag gift.

I found a few tissues in the bathroom, then lay down on my makeshift bed. Again I turned it on. I listened for Bob’s snoring and he hadn’t awakened. I touched it to my clit.

Nothing.

Something was wrong. I tried it again, and again. Nothing. The need was there, the vibrator was vibrating, but my clitoris wasn’t being affected the way I expected. I should be riding the crest of a wave of sensation, but the only thing there was my current state of arousal, and now a new frustration.

After turning it off, I tried my fingers, remembering how they felt when I frigged myself in front of Bob and Renault. Nothing. I pushed them in and out of my vaginal cavity. Nothing. I lightly rubbed my clit. Nothing. I gave it a more urgent rub. Nothing.

There’s always Master’s cock. It was a tiny, tiny voice inside my head. No! Never! I’d rather die!

Of course, I knew what his cock looked like. I’ve known it for seven and a half years, despite not having seen it the last five until today. And thinking about him pissing into my mouth sent further waves of humiliation-inspired desire that simply did nothing to bring me over. If anything, it was now worse and still unbearable.

Then I remembered sucking him in the living room. Taking it gently and lovingly. I did it without being ordered, with no imperative to do so other than an urge to shit. He didn’t make me want to do it, I made me want to do it. Well, he did make me make a choice, but still, I was the one responsible. It was insidious in retrospect--the ultimate humiliation of me making love to the little shit’s cock willingly.

Another thing I recalled that while I was working him there in the living room in front of my daughter, my desire tamped down, except for the knowledge I was doing this almost in front of my daughter that triggered the humiliation response. Once Bob achieved his ejaculate and I rushed to the bathroom, the desire gradually rose back to where it previously was, or maybe a little more. I could use the respite, and the idea of sucking him again formed and stuck like flypaper in my mind.

A good little whore loves to suck her Master. Right?

I needed sleep, and that just wouldn’t happen in my current state.

No! I would not, could not crawl to his bed, anxious to feel him in my mouth again ... but the thought would not go away. Crawling is nice, the thought lured me. I will be a good little whore.

The inability to pleasure myself with my fingers or even the large dildo bothered me. It was wrong, the voice said. A good little whore didn’t diddle herself unless told to do so. But that didn’t make sense. I wasn’t told to do it earlier in the bedroom in front of the two men, and it almost felt like a jolt of electricity...

That was when I realized that the jolt wasn’t from my fingers. It was from the humiliation! At the time, I hadn’t as yet realized fully how much humiliation was turning me on. Frigging myself in front of the two guys was humiliating. Alone, in my bed area, it was not. I was attempting to wrest my own control but that was apparently not allowed, by what mechanism, I had no idea. But it was clear, I could not do what needed to be done by myself.

A good little whore knows that all of her pleasure comes from her Master.

There it was. That word... Master... that had been flitting in and out of my mind, starting to take root.

The little shit had absolute control over me, over my body, even my thoughts somehow, but I never saw him planning anything or running some kind of controlling app that was telling me what to think and do. He was right now snoring away, and his control over me was totally absolute even now. That insight bought me some more humiliation and upped my levels even further skyward.

I would not get off even if I dragged my body over there and sucked him, I realized. Never before in my life had I received an orgasm without physical stimulation, and that meant I would have to fuck him. And he would wake up and smile that smarmy grin that told me he knew he won yet another battle. More humiliation, even now just thinking it.

I did have orders from him. The house rules, for instance. I was the cook, so I needed to be up for breakfast ... even before to get it set up. I also had to be ready for him whenever he wanted me. He hadn’t wanted me, except to suck off Renault and afterward to piss in my mouth. But tomorrow was another day, and a good little whore should always be ready. That meant sleep when I could, especially while Master was asleep. That meant tamping down the humiliation that was creating a feedback loop preventing me from sleeping, from which I had no escape except to willingly do what I vowed I’d never do again in a million years.

I didn’t realize I was crawling until I reached the bed.

I need to be a good little whore. I need that cock. A good little whore knows that all of her pleasure comes from her Master. I need my Master’s cock. The thoughts became a mantra.

If I did this, he wins, and I lose. What did I have to lose? I already lost my money, my home, my way of life. Well, I could also lose Shirley, I remembered. I didn’t even have self respect. I lost that this evening when I took him willingly into my mouth.

This would just be a continuation down a path I’ve already started.

How bad could it be?

This is the man that took everything from me, maybe even my own daughter. He was the one that was in a position of domination over me. And he wasn’t even ordering me to do this. If he did, I could easily tell myself I had no choice. But the little shit wasn’t ordering me, even though he knew he could. And I was helpless against his dominance. I could still not want to do it, but my body wanted it; it craved it. He was still taking everything, and I was now abetting my own debasement.

As I gently pulled the sheet from over him, I saw his cock, half flaccid, half hard. It was mostly in shadow, but I knew it. I tasted it twice today, and it was familiar. As I gently threw my leg over his body with my crotch in the air, I knew that this was a moment of depravity that would never be forgotten.

Slowly, I lowered my body toward its target. I used my right hand to align it. This was the moment.

I saw light reflect from his open eyes, and knew he was awake to witness my ultimate loss. I knew the grin he would have on his face as I committed the extreme sin against everything I stood for. I was committed to my final corruption and knew I could no longer stop myself, just as I couldn’t force my feet not to bring me into his bedroom that first time. Fighting was futile, all resistance was in the past. I felt it touch the lips of my pussy, and it was unlike any other time, even the very first time. It resonated with my body, something the vibrator and my own fingers couldn’t do in the slightest bit. This moment, my last moment, and ultimately his moment, would be forever seared into my memory.

My traitorous womb accepted him inside me as if welcoming a long lost lover.

Even after my orgasm, which took less than a minute to start and about five minutes to end, I continued to ride him. I couldn’t stop. A good little whore wants her Master’s semen and accepts it in any form he decides to give to her. But he wasn’t giving it to me. My body was gripping his cock, accepting it, even welcoming it. My mind wanted me to stop fucking it, wanted to reject it, wanted to rip it off his body, but I was powerless against my body’s craving.

It also registered in my mind that for the next five years, this was my lot. Apparently, only his cock could get me off. Sucking him, and being a good little whore could help ease the humiliation-based urges I had, but my body apparently required his cock and his cock alone to bring me over the top.

I knew I had my annual DNI shot a month ago at the shelter. I wouldn’t get pregnant for the next eleven months. The shots were free and available everywhere. But still, the thought of fertility entered my mind.

Bob always wanted a son. He therefore refused to accept Shirley as his daughter despite the play acting he was doing with her today. I could easily see him ordering me to no longer take the DNI. He might even make me get it reversed and put me on IFP. He would definitely make me bear him a son, trying again and again over the five years of my slavery every time a daughter came out instead.

Fuck. It was just like the little shit to have had me reversed or super-fertile with IFP while I was unconscious and having my collar installed. Those little bastards swimming up my Fallopian tubes might already be triggering something I didn’t think I’d ever even be worrying about!

It was just like Bob to do that kind of thing to me, not caring one bit about what pregnancy does to a woman, let alone one that is collared and limited in her freedom as I found myself. Worse, he could make me have abortions if he discovered I was carrying the wrong gender, something he demanded when Shirley’s gender was determined. I refused it then, and stood by my rights. It was the beginning of the end of my marriage, I see now.