FOUR O’CLOCK

I am writing this because it is the best way I know to further humiliate myself. Maybe that will make me cum. To expose myself by letting the world know what kind of life I am leading. There have been hundreds of cocks in my mouth and in my cunt since Michael took over my life and it turns me on to know that there are thousands more strangers watching the videos he posts and reading the stories he has me write. I am touching my pussy right now, masturbating because I know someone is reading this.

I need to get some rest. In two hours, it will be six a.m. and Michael will dress me and send me back to Thomas. But I am desperate to cum and I can only cum by hurting myself while I touch myself, by thinking about myself and my depraved state, by picturing myself being looked at.

Half an hour ago, I was on my knees moaning in pain. I wanted to cum but nobody would touch my cunt. I can’t yet cum just from pain but I will get there. Thomas promises me that. If you don’t remember from my last entry, I am a tit slave and a body-modified slave. I am picturing myself as I am now and it makes me want to cum. It has been over a year and Thomas is changing me little by little. Michael is allowing him to. I do not know why. I do not care why. Anything Michael tells me to do, I do.

It is four in the morning. Since nine last night, Michael’s clients have been using me as a party toy. He delivered me in my standard latex outfit, my body encased toes to fingertips, eyes and mouth zippered, pony tail sticking out the hood and every inch of me covered except my tits. My 40DD’s hang obscenely from the opening in the front of the outfit. This group stripped me naked and spent most of the night fucking my asshole. Some of the couples enjoyed making me suck the cum out of their girlfriends’ pussies after a fuck, some of the others had me lick the girls while they were being fucked. My cunt was throbbing all night, the heat in the room got to me. I’d finger myself but someone would always catch me, pull my hand away and kneel behind me, shoving something up my ass and laughing. Michael had made it clear to them that I was there for their pleasure not mine.

At two, Peter showed up. I was naked on my knees with someone’s cock in my mouth, gagging as he held my head balls-deep against him. I didn’t notice the suitcase Peter was carrying until they brought me into the basement. Someone set up two blocks of wood and they made me kneel on them. I put my hands and knees on the wood. My tits hung free and I knew that meant pain. Peter’s fetish is tit torture and I was in an exposed position. He walked around me, touching me, scratching me with his fingernails. “This isn’t quite right,” he said. He was right. He was one of what I called the Latex Three. Sure enough that was what he wanted. Someone went and got the latex suit and made me put it back on.

I was a completely anonymous sex object again, a body in black latex with nothing to identify it except two huge titties hanging free between its elbows. Peter opened the suitcase and removed a metal box, some tubes, and cups. Nipple cups. A milking machine. A farm implement, I’d seen it before. The gentle milking action most mothers were familiar with was nothing like this device. Nothing at all. This was industrial strength, this was the machine they used on cows. And he was going to connect it to me. I felt my body shaking in anticipation already. It was going to be very painful. Sweet, sweet pain, but still pain. I was shaking with excitement and fear.

The thing about machines is that there is no appealing to them. They continue to do their job no matter how you react or how much you beg them to stop. They are just machines. The button is ON or the button is OFF.

I felt the first suction cup on my left tit. The gentle application suction took in the nipple and about two inches of the flesh around it. He applied the other to my right nipple, then stood back and watched me. They left my eyes zippered so I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was there. Peter was like that. Proudly standing over his prey, over his conquest, just as he was about to destroy it.

The two suction cups held on but he didn’t activate them. I felt my cunt flush with arousal, my nipples stiffening. I heard him describing me to someone. A pain slut, watch, watch how her ass moves side to slide slightly. She wants this pain. I realized he was right I was swaying. I tried to stop. And her nipples, he said. See how big they are? That isn’t the suction. That’s her. Her arousal. The pain slut, the pain whore, waiting to be hurt. I knew he was right. The desire was making me crazy, I hadn’t got off all night, my mouth and belly were full of the cum of a dozen different men, and I hadn’t cum. I felt the anger rising inside me, then I gasped as I heard the CLICK when he turned on the machine.

There is no way to describe the feelings I was going through. The machine alternately sucked my left and right titty. They were hard tugs but I was aroused. I wanted more, wanted to ask him to take them off and bite me, whip me, but I knew better. And I knew what I was in for. It would get worse and worse. The machine wouldn’t suck harder but my nipples would become more sensitive as time dragged on. And as my titties were slowly sucked into the cups, more and more of the flesh would be pulled into that narrow opening.

As the minutes went by, the pain became more intense. I tried to breath slow and deep but with the hood on it was impossible. I had to breath in short, quick gasps. The pain got worse, more of my titty was being sucked into the device now. I shook my head and heard Peter laugh. “Ah, now it’s starting,” he said. I screamed as I felt a hard tug, he’d pulled on one of the hoses, making a sharp pain shoot through me.

The machine went on and on, inexorable, unstoppable, terrible. My nipples were sucked, released, sucked, released, each tug sending a wave of pain through me. My cunt was twitching now, my thighs quivering, begging for something to touch me, fuck me, fuck my ass, something! I felt my knees, the bone against the wood, but the next suction pulled my attention back. I tried to feel my hands, my elbows, something, anything other than that incessant milking. It was no good, my entire universe was pain, pain focused on my two titties.

I have no idea how long it went on or how many people were watching. It turns me on now to think about it. Maybe it was just Peter, maybe everyone left. Maybe they left me alone there to swim in my pain and didn’t even bother watching. Oh, reader, I shudder to think of that. Of the complete abject humiliation that my pain is not even worth watching. They could have turned on the machine and left, shut out the lights, gone out for dinner, leaving me there alone, just me and the machine. They would only come back when they wanted to fuck me again.

The machine was unstoppable, my moans and screams of pain underneath the hood completely ignored by the machine and by anyone who was in the room. I was an animal, nothing but a fuck animal who was being milked between fuckings. For their amusement. All for their amusement.

[later]

I apologize. I needed to cum so badly. I stopped typing and opened the drawer of my desk, took a pair of clover clamps and pinched, pinched, twisted, pinched my nipples, then put on the clamps. They are so tender and I screamed, but took the chain between the clamps and hung it in front of me, hung weights to it until I couldn’t feel anything except pain. Then, I put two more 8 ounce weights and started swinging the chain. The pain was blinding me, and I finally turned on my vibrator and pushed it hard against my cunt until I came.

I apologize. I took time away from writing this to pleasure myself. When Michael reads his, he will punish me. Please, punish me.

SIX O’CLOCK

I cried as the icy shower water ran over my body. I knew now that Thomas had no sense of limits, no sense of boundaries at all. He held the hose in his hand and pressed his thumb against the nozzle, forcing a jet of water against my already aching nipples. I screamed. He knew about last night’s milking session, he told me that Peter had sent him a video. He also told me that he’d let Peter do it because it worked for him. I didn’t understand but it didn’t matter. Thomas had free rein to do what he wanted to me.

When he was finished, he toweled me dry, gently dabbing at my aching nipples and sore titties. It was horrible. I knew he wasn’t being tender and that meant he had something else in mind. My arms were sore, I was suspended from the ceiling in his basement, water dripping on the concrete floor then down the drain.

Thomas lowered me to the ground and threw me my ballet boots. I strapped them on and inched myself up, leaning against the wall, standing in front of him at attention, arms behind my back.

“Today, we start on your bottom,” he said. His hand slid between my legs and stroked my clitoris. I was stiff right away, noticed how sensitive it was. He told me that they’d been putting something into my food and that now it was time to see if it worked. I was scared, wondered what he meant. He walked around behind me and I heard a bottle clink. Then, something covered my mouth and I went to sleep.

When I woke, I felt the bandages right away. He’d done something between my legs. How long was I out and what did he do? I tried to sit up but couldn’t, there was a single thick leather belt across my belly holding me down.

“Three more treatments and we’ll be there,” was all he said, then he left the room. I tried to go to sleep but couldn’t. I’d only had an hour and a half last night, I was tired and fuzzy, but the apprehension was too strong and I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t feel anything down there, whatever he’d done couldn’t have been too bad.

The door opened and a man walked in, holding a cup of coffee and a cigarette. He unzipped his pants and held his cock in front of my mouth. I reached out with my hand and brought him closer, but couldn’t quite reach. I heard Thomas say “hang on”, then felt the table drop, there was a cutout behind my head. The man pushed deep into my mouth then, fucking me slow and easy, enjoying my tight throat. When he was done, he let me swallow most of it, but let some drizzle onto my face and forehead. “Pig,” he said.

When he left, another man came in, then another. In all, I swallowed eight loads for Thomas while I was there. I saw a pile of twenties growing on the table, he was pimping me out as well. Everyone but me was making money off of my pussy.

Michael came and dressed me, then drove me home. The bandages were no longer between my legs but I still didn’t feel anything. I was afraid to look, so I went to sleep and dreamed of cock. As usual.

Michael delivered me to Thomas’s house at six o’clock every morning for the next week. Most days, I was strapped to the table while a stream of men came and fucked my face. Twice, he drugged me and I passed out. When I woke up, I was bandaged between my legs again. Every night when I was sent home, I was wearing a posture collar. It prevented me from looking down at my body.

When they finally let me see what had happened, I nearly panicked. Reader, if you can imagine the deepest humiliation and desperation a fuck toy like me can experience, mine was worse. I will describe how it happened.

Michael picked up Thomas and the three of us drove to Marco’s home. Marco with the exhibitionist fetish. I had been dressed in a simple white dress and my posture collar.

Marco met us at the door, holding a photograph in his hand. He waved it at Thomas and complimented him. He had us follow him into the house. There were thirty or so people, about a third of them women. They tied me to a St. Andrew’s Cross, then cut away my dress leaving me naked. Marco announced that I would not be giving blow jobs or ass jobs tonight, tonight I was on exhibit. They could look, touch, fondle, hurt, they could do anything they liked to my body, but they were not to fuck me and I was not so suck them.

One of the women walked up to me and whispered in my ear, “beautiful”, then walked away. Another stood in front of me looking at my crotch, then knelt down and leaned forward. I felt a warm breath on my clit and nearly came. I was hypersensitive down there! What had Thomas done? One of the men brought a woman with him. He took her drink and told her to strip. She obediently pulled her dress over her head. He motioned again and she knelt down in front of me, staring wide eyed at my cunt. I tried desperately to see what she was seeing but couldn’t move my head. Then, the man pointed and I felt her tongue on my cunt. Again, I came in just a few seconds. She’d tongued one of my cunt lips and I’d cum. It was dawning on me what he’d done. Something between what he’d fed me and what he’d done had made me hyper-sensitive. Why didn’t I feel it when I was alone?

The day went on and on like that. They brought me lunch and dinner, which they fed me rather than untie me from the device. But aside from the meals, it went like that all night long, someone would touch me, or lick me, or blow air on my pussy and I’d cum. I was wild by the end of the night, insane from orgasm after orgasm. I felt like I was going to pass out.

After the last guest had left, Thomas stood in front of me. He moved his hand toward my cunt and I moaned, pushed my hips out, begged him to touch me. He pulled back and I screamed. When he did touch me, I came again. He rubbed his thumb on my clit and I came. Again and again. Finally, he stopped and I caught my breath.

I’ll never forget, he asked “do you want to see what they were looking at?” I froze. No, I didn’t want to see. Whatever he’d done, I knew I didn’t want to see it. What he’d done to my feet was enough, what did he do to my pussy? He left the room and came back with a full length mirror. When he held it up, I nearly passed out. My cunt looked like one of the pictures at his house. My cunt lips were thick, swollen and bright red, nearly three times their normal size. And a finger sized clitoris stuck out from between them. The mirror also showed that my hips and ass were much wider than they’d ever been before. My thighs tapered to my knees, giving me a very sexy look, an exaggerated Marilyn Monroe figure.

I remember exactly what he said next. “We still have work to do on your titties and your waist but your pussy was first.”