Alessandra was on top of the world. Her recent shoots with popular men's magazines got her noticed in a way that a girl from San Juan simply couldn't have anticipated. Her shockingly stunning beauty was getting her noticed in the right circles: the New York fashion industry. Little did she know that the oppressive male gaze that made her famous would also be her undoing.
Hello there, I sincerely hope you enjoy indulging in the darker side of my mind, while recognizing that women are not objects, and that these fantasies must remain as such. The actions taken against the women in these stories are abominable, and inexcusable. That being said, I hope that by enjoying this story, it serves as the cathartic experience which keeps your demons at bay. I always like to introduce my stories with a basic character dossier on the primary female of the story, for your reference, and will endeavor to increase this encyclopedic content as my skills improve, to provide ever greater depth of character. If I accidentally offend you, I apologize. If you wish to adapt my work, feel free to do so. To see it proliferate is its own reward.
Name: Alessandra Ortiz
Ethnicity: Puerto Rican
Age: 24
Height: 5'8"
Breasts: 36DD
Waist: 24
Hips: 41
Weight: 140lbs
Hair: Espresso Brown
Eyes: Pistachio Green
Skin: Peanut Brown
Personality: Extroverted, Shallow, Sweet
Inspiration/Muse: Priscilla Huggins
Chapter 1 - The Mistake
Alessandra was on top of the world. Her recent shoots with popular men's magazines got her noticed in a way that a girl from San Juan simply couldn't have anticipated. Her shockingly stunning face, eyes, and long legs was getting her noticed in the right circles: the New York fashion industry. But for now, she had to be content with the alarming wealth she was accumulating from social media, and put up with the obsessive male gaze that earned her fame.
She didn't mind that much, but porn wasn't the end goal. She had the looks to be a supermodel. So she sat, in a glamorous, form hugging red dress, classy, but made helplessly sexy by her hourglass figure - signing her new modelling contract. This was at the headquarters of Le Bureau, in Paris - a modelling agency whose connections reached into every single aspect of the modelling industry. She was horrified by the perverted activities of the raunchier subdivisions: Le Chenil, with its catering to the most debased sex acts conceivable...L'Abattoir and its radical lifestyle BDSM. Totally the wrong direction. Moreover, what disturbed her was how classy they dressed it up, and how stunning the models were over there. But Le Bureau also had roots in the Parisian fashion scene, and the whole company was famously professional and discreet with its models. So she resolved to let them manage her fashion and softcore portfolio. Little did she know, as she smiled, and signed, that she was making the biggest mistake of her life.
You see, the executives had already assessed the young beauty...and although she was tall and striking, she was a size 10, on account of her gorgeous child bearing hips. That simply wouldn't do for the fashion industry. No, as they had done with many dozens of models far too pretty for porn, and far too sexy for a proper modelling career - they discreetly put her on a track that lead to L'Abattoir.
The first few weeks had been fine for Alessandra, flying around the world, to exotic locations, with plenty of leisure time. Her skin developed a darker, richer hue from a plethora of kisses from the sun...and subtle bikini lines. She was pleased with the lack of taking every stitch of her clothes off, and felt that she was, at once, exploring her potential, without having her attributes washed away by her raw sexuality.
There was just one thing. Her producer had introduced her to a fine white powder called cocaine. Although it was only a mild habit, a few lines when she was doing long shoots, she began to notice that it was becoming more insistent. The early stage of an addiction, and no time to think about it. Except moments like this, in a private jet, flying back to her newly purchased home in Miami, with lots of time to think. She resolved to kick the habit, and slow down on her modelling schedule. Right there, in the plane, before getting off at Miami Executive Airport, she got a call from her Mother.
"¿Hola Mama, como es?" She asked, sweetly, into the phone. Her bright sundress flowing and short as she walked off the plane and to her parked car, a brand new Corvette. It still couldn't hide her curves, no matter how loose it clung to her.
"Mija! I've been trying to call you all day! Please come to the hospital, your dad collapsed, and they think its a tumor." Her mother's horror descended into grief as the sentence finished, and Alessandra ran...then sped, as traffic allowed, to the hospital.
When she walked through the door of her apartment, mascara running with her tears, she peeled away her dress and clothes, and collapsed into the silk sheets of her bed. Like a carved piece of caramel into a bowl of milk. She sobbed into the pillow. Her father, as it happened, had developed one of the rarest cancers in existence, generally associated with radiation exposure. He never did get medical insurance, and now it was a pre-existing condition. His treatment would necessitate the sale of her condo, her car, and then some. When she had gathered herself, she called her agent.
"Alessandra! What can I do for you, darling?" He said, picking up the phone, his French accent thick and sensuous.
"Hi. I've had some news. I'm going to need more contracts, if possible." She shuddered, before continuing. "And, I'm willing to shoot nude again, even some girl on girl, if the price is right."
Her agent smiled to himself. "I'm sure we can make some accommodation, don't you worry." He said, before exchanging pleasantries and ending the call. He sent a memo up the chain: "Alessandra Ortiz is now Phase 2, the radiation poisoning of her father was successful. Inform our partners that she will be liquidating her assets, for their benefit, and our cut. The frightening thing about corporate conglomerates is that they can arrange for and profit from almost any situation.
Chapter 2 - The Pornstar
Two months later, and she really didn't want to do it. But her coke habit was worse, and the medical bills were skyrocketing. So, wiping a tear away, she did a line in the dressing room. She was at a popular porn studio in LA, getting ready to get fucked on camera. They had pestered her for ages...and now she was taking the bonuses that meant her first porno would be a 4 way. She was going to be "airtight"...meaning that some man's massive penis was going to be fucking each and every hole at once. $25,000 for 30 minutes of sex. She couldn't say no. As the coke washed through her, her energy surged, and she clapped her hands, putting on the outfit she was given. A slutty black dress that barely covered anything. The filming began, and she managed to twist her emotions into excitement.
As the lousy scene progressed under some stupid and brief storyline, the fucking began with one of her male leads grabbing her by the back of the head, and shoving her onto her knees on a couch. She looked up and watched as he shoved his cock down her throat. She gagged violently, and her eyes watered, but she tried to look excited as her throat bulged, and her massive tits got pinched and groped.
They had decided on throatfucking her first, because that was a good cover story for her inevitable tears. After all, she wasn't ready. But all she had to do was eagerly slam the cock back and forth, while trying to keep her famous eyes open. Viewers didn't mind rough stuff.
She felt it as another lead, a big muscular black man, pulled her legs apart and back behind her, and pushed her dress up...so that only her belly was truly covered by it. He grabbed her thick hips, and slowly guided his cock between her labia, teasing it slowly, before descending into her. She moaned as much and as exaggeratedly as she could, extracting every ounce of pleasure as she could. At least he was hitting her G-spot as he began to slowly fuck her...the doggy position was good for that. She tried to keep the humiliation of being spit-roasted on camera at bay, and keep her back arched, so that her bubble butt and tits were on display, as she looked at the camera. Every now and then, a sharp cry had to be masked as a moan of pleasure as the huge cocks stretching her out caused a muscle spasm.
Then the two men pulled out, and a third man, huge erect cock out, slid in under her, burying his face in her tits...the black man was now in front of her, and she tried to smile as he approached with her pussy juice dripping from his cock...she licked it, and stifled a gag at the pungent flavour, before he helped her by shoving it back in. The man under her began fucking her, himself....and she braced for the dreaded part of the film.
She couldn't have been ready, and screamed, muffled by the cock in her throat, as she felt her ass forced open by an object far too large for it. She had been fucked before...she had sucked cocks before...but this humiliating pain she couldn't stand. So the men clutched her tightly....as she had agreed to before, when she knew this would happen. They forced her to stay still by pulling her tightly into them, as her ass was reamed up by a few sizes, and each hole in her body was ferociously pounded.
The men's intensity increased, and they did multiple positions. The worst was reverse cowgirl...her naked, slobbery, sweaty body indecently spread out, stuck full of things like some kind of caricature. Her bright eyes forlorn, but locked on the camera. They all lined up at the end, and, one by one, emptied loads into her mouth. She stretched her modeling muscles by posing with the white mouthful in various sexy poses, letting it dribble out, and then swallowing the massive load. When they finally wrapped, she ran to her dressing room, vomited, and then cried herself to sleep.
Unfortunately, the videos and photos were a massive sensation. Her eyes mesmerized all who looked into them, and the cum's sheaming white colour formed such a stark contrast against her lucious brown skin and thick, ruby red lips - that she became the sex symbol of a generation. The photos the type of clickbait that lures any straight man. The critics appreciatively branded her "a massive whore"..."superfreak"...."the hottest girl with the dirtiest mind". And over the remainder of that year, her fashion gigs dried up like the Sahara...even page 2 magazines. She was transferred to management by Le Chenil - the hardcore porn division. She had made a tremendous mistake by diving into the deep end of porn....because now, the only jobs she could get saw her railed in every manner imaginable. She was a pornstar...her mainstream modelling days were history. Precisely as management had intended. Sadly for the poor girl, her dreams dashed, and self esteem in the gutter - they had even bigger plans for her.
She was the model every smutty studio wanted for about a year. Then she was old news. She had done 1,000 shoots, and she was ubiquitous. The fact was - there was no way to pay for her dad's bills. The contracts were cheap now. So there she was, crying, on her knees, before the boss at Le Chenil in LA.
"Please! I'll do anything! The surgeries don't work...they keep finding cancer!" She said, shuddering from withdrawal, drooling from crying.
"Anything?" He asked, skeptically. He knew full well that her father was being repeatedly exposed to radiation...making damn sure he stayed sick.
"Anything!" She wailed, her slutty, cheap pink dress stained, her face streaked with mascara and tears. She locked her stunning green eyes on his. She was a few pounds thinner, but fortunately, they made sure she stayed sexy as ever. No point derailing gorgeous girls' lives if they didn't stay gorgeous.
"Then you can sign up for a 6 month contract at L'Abattoir. Just some light bondage, at a nice private island. Not a big deal right?" He said, injecting kindness like honey into his voice. But her eyes widened in fear.
"No, no, I've seen the girls there. Its too much." She shook her head, shuddering. L'Abattoir was the kinky San Francisco Armory on steroids. A private island in the Pacific Northwest, where kinky lifestyles were openly accepted and tolerated. But there were no boundaries. Any kink was tolerated. That meant that many of the models there were of the most extreme form - sporting tattoos and brands, and almost never leaving.
"Look, you can go and learn a new thing or two about sex, or you can go back to your apartment, and wait for a call on your next shoot." He said, sympathetically.
Alessandra thought long and hard, staying on her knees. She had three options....let her father die, and try to get her life back on track; start doing more than just fucking on camera...getting in with a high end escort agency; or get on the plane with the agency which has only ever done what she asked of them. With a tear, and pushing away any fears, pulling from the depths of optimism, she said
"Okay. I'll do it."
Chapter 3 - The Island
For the first time in a long time, Alessandra felt good. Really, genuinely good. L'Abbatoir had paid for a nice dinner, a nice hotel, and a private jet to fly her to the island. She had called her parents to say goodbye for a few months, as the reception was reportedly spotty, and had picked her prettiest dress. The red one that she had worn to Le Bureau. She sipped champagne, and even held off on one of her usual lines of the day. She was going to impress. She was going to glow, and tied up in soft silken ropes, classy and sensual, she was going to get her modelling career back where she wanted it to be.
The plane landed, and she was greeted at the luxurious private terminal, a valet ushering her into a black Mercedes. She smiled sweetly, and stepped inside. That was when she met her Master. He was tall, muscular, and dressed in a three piece black suit. His hair blonde with flecks of grey, and cold grey eyes. Black shirt, open collar. He spoke with a local accent to the PNW.
"Nice to meet you Alessandra, I'm addressed as the 'Master' for the professionals here. For theatrical purposes." He said, with a conspiratory wink. She giggled, and made an awkward smile.
"Well nice to meet you Master." She said, with mock sweetness and a high, feminine voice. They both laughed...for different reasons, her because she took it for a joke. The Master laughed because the poor girl didn't realize that he wasn't joking at all.
They passed luxurious cabins, quaint and well lit, and finally into a compound that looked like a massive ski resort architecturally, on the water. Master leads her inside an opulent entry way. A positively stunning Russian girl was there, with similarly buxom tits to Alessandra, but a less pronounced hourglass, with a thinner build, and shorter too. Her hair was long and onyx black, and she had piercing blue eyes. Alessandra gasped, because the girl was absolutely nude. Wearing only lacey black thigh-high stockings, a black leather collar, and ring piercings in her nipples. She looked down, and saw that she had one in her clit, too...that forced the clit to protrude from the hood. She winced involuntarily, imagining the pain of its installation.
"Welcome back Master." She said, looking and sounding like she was addressing the love of her life...or a beloved father. Her accent thick and sultry Slavic, but ultra feminine. She kept her hands behind her back, her posture perfect, and emphasizing her large, perky tits.
"Thank you, 0014. Mira, or 14, is one of our longest serving fuckmeat here." He said, turning to Alessandra - whose eyes were now wide and terrified. She noticed that the girl had flinched at her name - Mira. That was odd.
"Um. Right. Fuckmeat are the ones with the big oath and the tattoos?" She squeaked out around a lump in her throat.
"Right you are. But don't worry, we just have softcore stuff on your schedule." Master said, almost apologetically. "Can you show Alessandra to her room, Mira?" He asked, and the ravenette immediately sprang to action, flinching at her name again.
"Do you have luggage, ma'am?" She asked, her piercing eyes locked onto hers, the same devotion transferred almost so rapidly, that it was jarring.
"Oh, yeah! Just in the trunk." She said, softly, as the Master excused himself. Mira obliged, and lead her to a truly splendid bedroom. She did, indeed, bear a large black tattoo on her ass cheek. It was a butcher's knife and a cleaver crossed, with numbers in the voids between the sinister cross - 0,0,1,4 when read clockwise. Alessandra shuddered, but the room was modern, generous in size, and well appointed.
"Would you like anything else, Ma'am?" She sweetly asked, leaning on the "anything", and making the meaning clear. Alessandra could command this beautiful girl to do anything she wished. It sent a little shiver down her spine, but she composed herself and dismissed her. As she stripped, and stepped into the nicest shower she had ever used, she smiled. The water traced, trickle by trickle, every curve of her body. She looked like a sculpture of feminine perfection - perfectly proportioned, tight, and soft. The only thing that made her less than a marble statue of Venus was the rich creamy brown colour of her sun-kissed skin, set off by dark nipples, and a bright pink pussy that flashed almost as brightly as her eyes in terms of contrast.
The hidden camera soaked up every detail as she bathed, lathered, and rinsed...a long, sensuous shower. The Master watched. "She is definitely a worthy specimen, expect a little less attention, number one." He said to his favourite fuckmeat, kneeling at the side of his office chair. She was a stunning girl. Much shorter than Alessandra, with larger tits, and an even more exaggerated hourglass. Her ass and hips so flared, that she remained well proportioned. Her skin was olive, and her hair black, silky smooth, down to her waist. She had the face of a cherub, and dark brown eyes that made the pupils vanish into the iris. She was Italian-Spanish, and the picture of Mediterranean perfection. Her full lips trembled, and a tear fell down her cheek, but she maintained eye contact with her Master.
"Yes, Master. I understand. She is very beautiful. I'll miss you until you want me again." She said, with a rich Milanese accent.
"Don't worry, Isabella. She has a few months of vanilla work before I get really busy." He said, kissing her head, and then returning to the monitor.
The house, with 11 studios, and guest rooms, throbbed with the sounds of sex, whipping, sobbing, and screaming. Alessandra didn't sleep well, despite the soft sheets. But breakfast was a sumptuous buffet, and she was treated as an honoured guest. Among that crowd were businessmen and women, other models, male, female, and otherwise. Some submissive, some dominant, some neither. Some wore their preferences openly, while others, like her, remained neutral. She was ill at ease in the world of kink, but she was pleasantly surprised by the grace and luxury. She was half afraid that she would have been whisked into a basement and never seen again. Those fears dampened mingling among the fancy kinky crowd.
She did her first bondage shoot later that day. The Master took her into a plain white studio, to "put every delicious inch of you on display" he had said. He and his team were consummate professionals, both in photography and rigging. The shoot was simple. She was nude, and restrained with red silk ropes, that were matched to a bright red lipstick they put on her. They introduced her to frogties, hogties, and various simple rope positions. She leaned into it, and relished the opportunity to exercise her genuine modelling skills, making sensuous expressions and poses that artfully framed her perfect figure. She played the damsel, the defiant captive, the smiling beauty...and felt that she had found her place.
So it went for 4 months. She had grown confident, comfortable, and even had begun to adopt the submissive role that she played in ropes. She was gradually cutting down on coke. She found that the Master could motivate with a single glance...his natural authority adding gravitas, without seeming overbearing. She was at the point where she knew enough to be quite comfortable in all bondage positions, including suspension. She never wanted to be hurt, or to escalate to extremes, but when the Master had put forth an offer for an extended contract - she had accepted, almost without thinking, and certainly without reading it.
Chapter 4 - The Indoctrination
"We can keep going as we are". He had said, and that sounded great. So, when she had signed, and the Master had locked the door, placed a collar on the table, and thick leather cuffs....she instinctively knew that she had made a terrible mistake.
"What?!" She exclaimed with a start, as Master wrapped the collar around her neck, and yanked off her necklace.
Master smiled, an evil grin. "You just signed your life away, fuckmeat 0057. Now, you go to your indoctrination chamber."
She screamed, and tried to struggle, but he was too strong. He cuffed her hands behind her back, and yanked her dress off, tearing all at once. She never wore a bra or underwear, since she was there to shoot porn after all. But she had also never had a gag in her mouth. As he shoved a ballgag into her mouth, forcing it to spread, she tried desperately to scream, but just drooled and made muffled sounds. She was carried away downstairs over Master's shoulders, into a black and tiny cell. Her pathetic sounds falling on the deaf ears of fuckmeat, of all nationalities, who stood idly by, awaiting instructions.
He closed the steel door, and turned on a harsh LED light. It exposed what was in the tiny room: a steel body cage, wires, and tubes. She didn't have time to parse them before Master had forced each limb into the cage, and latched it closed. When he had done it, Alessandra was on her knees, bent over, tits dangling, her arms pinned behind her back. The cage placed cold steel bars against every inch of her skin - and despite her budding panic, she couldn't move a single appendage a single inch. She began to struggle in a tiny, shuddering motion. That made The Master's pants bulge.
The cage left her tits wide open, her mouth, her anus, and her pussy. Since it splayed her legs apart, it left lots of room for access. And it left a sizeable surface on her left asscheek bare. She squeaked through the gag when the cage, on an electric platform, rose sharply up to The Master's waist height.
"So, 0057, you are to receive reconditioning for the next 2 months. That should erase Alessandra, and improve your physique a bit. Understand that this was destined to happen from the moment you walked into that office in Paris. You don't have the body of a model...you have the body of fuckmeat. It's best that you accept that, and obey." He said, clinical and cold. She burst into tears, frightened and confused as Master disappeared behind her. She yelped as a large, thick hose was jammed into her ass, buried deep within her rectum. And then she squealed, shuddering in the cage, as a small, rigid tube was jammed into her urethra...a catheter.
Shuddering and weeping, her voice turned to sobbing, blubbering pleas "Please, what are you doing?" Her Puerto Rican accent thickened by her emotional distress...and muffled when another hose was jammed into her mouth, and then forced painstakingly into her stomach. She tried to gag, to spit it out, to jerk any of the tubes free....but that just caused pain, and she yelped again.
Master pulled a VR helmet from a case, which was now open, and he put it over her head, plunging her into darkness, and tightening it. He plugged it into the wall socket - no batteries required. She then felt an unparalleled stab of white-hot pain, as Master slipped a needle through her left nipple, followed by a ring piercing...secured it, and repeated it again. Tears flowed down Alessandra's cheeks, and Master used pliers to expose her clit. She squirmed helplessly as he drove what felt like a massive stake through her poor clit. She had never been a masochist....and so, this unrelenting and merciless sudden assault made her chin drown in an ocean of tears. The hollow tube did little to muffle her wailing as the Master installed the ring on her clit, and and then jammed a metal rod deep into her pussy. The cold, sudden object causing her to shiver sharply between her shaking pain...little did she know that wires were attached to the pussy-stretching object. And he clipped wires to her clit and nipple rings....unbeknownst to her.
The next horror Alessandra felt began with the buzzing sound of a tattoo gun. She knew, immediately, that she was to be branded...and struggled in vain against Master as he dug the needles of the tattoo gun into her buttock - labelling her with the crossed knives, and 0-0-5-7. When he was through, she heard the door clang open, and then closed again. Fluid began to flow into her stomach. A bitter, strange tasting thing. Hormones and proteins - everything required to keep her body perfect, and even with enough estrogen to cause her tits to swell, her skin to grow tender, her libido to rise, and her emotions to destabilize.
The VR screen blinked to life...images of women being dominated by men flooded her eyes...and she was unable to turn away from the images that horrified her. And the rod in her pussy began to vigorously vibrate. In among the barrage of images, almost too fast to differentiate, was the "Fuckmeat Creed"...the oath that the most radical submissives at L'Abattoir swore to. And then, an image of her family. When that blinked, a horrifying surge of savage electrical voltage pulsed through the rod to her clit ring, as if a hot knife had been pushed between the two. Simultaneously, a similar sensation coursed between her nipples...as if a steel cable had been threaded under her skin between the two points. And in the instant that her family photo blinked away, the pleasure returned...she recognized what was happening in one terrified thought. This was how they got gorgeous women to sign up for their ridiculous perversions, this was why Mira had shuddered at her own name. Her brain was to be reprogrammed, and there was nothing she could do about it.
So it went, every minute felt like an hour. And unfortunately for poor Alessandra, 86,400 minutes would pass before the brainwashing torture was over. Two months, 24 hours a day. A process which, for a girl of unexceptional mental ability, was 100% guaranteed to melt the previous identity into slag. After all, they had done it 56 times before.
Chapter 5 - The Training
When the screen went blank, and the headset came off, 0057 stared blank, experiencing something like confusion and panic. Her tits had indeed swollen half a cup, and the Master surveyed her appreciatively. He had shown exceptional restraint, and now he had the opportunity to use her to his heart's content. Putty in his hands. They didn't have to pay him, really...this was the real perk of the job. He removed the tubes from the curvaceous fuckmeat, pulling her feeding tube last. She gasped, and took a moment to feel the texture of her mouth. She kept her eyes locked on his, and he felt himself go hard.
"Hello, 57. Do you remember me?" He asked, like a schoolteacher or a babysitter.
"Ye-uh...yes master." She croaked, through a cough. Never breaking eye contact. He had placed all of his standard instructions in the image stream, for her brain to subconsciously memorize. Training fuckmeat in this manner made it so easy...all of his preferences trained in as reflex and instinct.
"Good fuckmeat." He cooed, stroking her head affectionately. "So, you understand what you are, and what you exist for?"
"I'm fuckmeat, Master. I exist to be used however anyone wants to use me." She said, mouth parted in a sensuous pout, eyes locked like lasers on her Masters'.
"Recite the creed regarding L'Abattoir's Fuckmeat...like you." He said, cock hardening in confirmation.
She recited the creed:
1. Fuckmeat are self explanatory - sexual pleasure objects to be regarded as meat, with the purpose of being used as anyone wishes to use them.
2. Fuckmeat will liquidate all their assets, and donate the result to L'Abattoir, existing as penniless, naked meat.
3. Fuckmeat will only wear thigh-high stockings and high heels, unless modelling - in which case they will wear what they are told.
4. Fuckmeat will negotiate a contract stipulating their consent and limits. This contract, and her limits, will be her only human rights.
5. Fuckmeat will be given suitable lodging, and assigned chores on the compound, when not in use as a model, as fuckmeat, or when training.
6. Fuckmeat will receive two tattoos: a lacey garter around her left thigh, and L'Abattoir logo, bearing her number, on her left ass cheek or breast, above the nipple - dependent on which is more pleasant on the fuckmeat.
7. Fuckmeat will be pierced, and have rings installed, in her nipples and her clit, not her clitoral hood.
8. Fuckmeat will be given a day collar, to be worn at all times, but removed as is practical. They will also be given a slave collar in a case. Only the master may open the case, and only he can remove it.
9. Fuckmeat will use their own, legal name in any modelling - and will otherwise only be addressed by their number.
10. Fuckmeat will live on campus until they are retired.
11. Fuckmeat will address every man as "Sir", every woman as "Ma'am", and the Master as such.
12. Fuckmeat will be available for any use decided on by the master. This includes servicing visitors in any way they wish. L'Abattoir seeks to provide a place where any dominant man or woman can come and indulge in well trained fuckmeat for free.
13. If the master decides that its time for her to retire, she will be found a good home, as she will leave naked, penniless, and emotionally reliant on dominance.
"Do you swear to live by this creed until I state otherwise?" He asked.
"I swear to live by the Fuckmeat's Creed. There were no limits in my contract, Master." She spoke, sober and soft.
"Good girl...you recognize that you are short a tattoo?" He asked, gently.
"Yes Master. I don't have a garter yet." She cooed.
With that, Master unlocked the cage, and opened it. She gingerly stepped out, muscles atrophied. Her body was still the perfect curvaceous shape, even more so....but were muscle once was, thin, soft pads of fat under her skin replaced it...making her tender and soft to the touch as he felt her up. She meekly folded her hands behind her back, and followed his gaze like an eager schoolgirl, her bright eyes ever the stunning orbs that they were.
He placed leather shackles on her wrists, and she made it easy to do so. He clipped a chain to her clit ring, and led her down the hallway, out and back into the basement, where the fuckmeat lived. He took her to a cell, and opened it. Larger than the one she had been in, but still prison-like. A camera blinked, a continuous stream for those who wished to observe the fuckmeat online, free of charge. There was a stainless toilet, a drain in the floor, and a showerhead overtop, a toilet brush hung on the wall, next to a bar of soap. A stunningly beautiful blonde was kneeling, looking at them both. She was very short, a mere 5'0", platinum blonde, and with the largest tits 57 had ever seen. A curvy little thing in her late 30's, who spoke with an elegant spoken English accent:
"Hello Master, and 57...I'm 0003. You would like her cleaned Master?" She asked, huge, icy blue eyes glistening under the harsh lighting.
"Yes, 3, thank you. I'll watch." He said, sitting on the bottom bunk of the bunk bed in the room. "Cooperate, 57." He commanded. 57 looked about the room, scared and confused and overwhelmed, but obediently walked forward under the shower head. The blonde turned a knob, and cold water flowed. 57 gasped and shuddered, with a little yelp, as the shock happened....but she tried to maintain a posture which made accentuated her soft hourglass curves. The Master enjoyed watching her lathered up, and then bent over by the blonde.
"This will hurt, 57, I'm sorry, sweetheart." She cooed, as she guided her legs apart.
"Yes, Ma'am." 57 squeaked, nervously and shivering through the words before she screamed. The blonde had jammed the toilet brush into her pussy in one clean motion. She scrubbed and scrubbed, in every single hole the poor girl had. She screamed and cried the way she had wanted to while she had her skin pierced. But Master loved to see her gaping orifices...and this was foreplay.
They left 3 in the cell, unlocked, where she would patiently await summoning by the studios or the guest. L'Abattoir was a factory of industrialized debauchery, and 57 gingerly hobbled out, yelping when her chain went taught and tugged her clit. He lead her to a room that was labelled "training", and recognized it as the place where Master dealt out his cruelest torments. His personal dungeon. She shivered, and straightened. She was fuckmeat now, and she was going to make Master so happy.
The dungeon used dimmable lighting that seemed to come from nowhere, making the lighting soft and ambient...so that every inch of the fuckmeat being used at the time could be seen. The styling was rustic and industrial - like a barn or garage, but that did not detract from the sense that this was a state of the art dungeon. Master ushered 57 to a steel table, and she obediently lay down supine, placed her arms behind her head, under the table, and spread her legs to be bound. Master obliged by chaining her wrists down to the corners of the table, and her right leg folded, then bound to the corner. Master wheeled an overhead crane above her, and she raised her left leg high. The long limb obediently outstretched, as he chained the ankle to the crane. He went to a toolbox, and removed the tattoo gun, preparing it with black ink.
She gulped, and began to sweat, anticipating the pain. But she remained loyally watching her Master for instructions. "I'm not going to gag you, and you aren't going to scream this time, 57, understood? Your low pain tolerance is appreciated, but your spoiled flesh is no excuse to harm the ears of others." He said, conversationally.
She gulped again, her eyes moistening slightly, making them seem to glow. Her nipples, pierced, and erect from cold. Her whole, smooth body covered in goosebumps. "Yes master...I won't scream." She spoke, softly and scared, before biting her lip, and bracing, eyes closed.
Master dug the the gun into her thigh, and painstakingly spent the next hour making a lovely, lacey garter tattoo in black, like black ink on caramel. She yelped at times, and cried profusely. But she kept her mouth closed, and managed to make it without a scream. "Good girl." Master cooed, when he was done. He then unzipped his pants, and unveiled a rock hard cock. She admired the tattoo trough tear soaked eyes, and Master's cock. It was 8"x3"...and he walked to her face, drying her face by rubbing the cock and nuts into them. Fortunately, they were hairless and clean...and 57 became genuinely aroused.
"Open your mouth, fuckmeat." Master said, stepping back, and she obliged, tilting her head back, making her throat straight and parallel to the table. She gathered her saliva, and opened wide, letting a drop of it drip down across her face. Fuckmeat wasn't meant to be elegant unless specifically requested, she thought...she was meant to be fucked, and degradingly so. Master didn't disappoint. He guided his member smoothly down her throat until his nuts were on her nose. She had a sensitive gag reflex, coughing and sputtering profusely the whole way down, but he liked it better that way, after all. More lubrication if mucus and saliva coated his cock. With that, he placed a hand on each huge, perky, brown tit, and squeezed, getting a full handful for each. He hardened some more as she began to suffocate.
Struggling, sputtering, and jerky her body involuntarily, 57 was choked until her face started to turn purple, and then Master yanked his cock out violently. She gulped air, desperately. "What do you say when a man decides to let you breathe?" He asked, a savage buzz in his voice, the animal sound of a violent man engorged with lust.
"Urgh-th-thank you-argh-Master." She replied, voice strangled by fluid and her own panting. Her chest and perfectly sculpted abdomen heaved desperately, and Master's attention drifted to the moistened pink flesh between her legs. She had electrolysis done on her legs and pussy way back in the beginning of her career. She felt a swell of pride as her Master ogled her pussy, and fought to control this unsuitable attitude.
He walked up between her legs, and admired the bright pink labia before him, the way they contrasted with her toffee brown skin...as her body heaved and panted, she kept her eyes on his, and although spread wide, she leaned to try and offer herself more openly. He wrapped his hands around each side of her most dramatic feature - her wide hips, grabbed firmly, and then slowly guided his cock into the perfectly shaped pussy until the tip slipped up just above her cervix. Despite her pussy feeling tender and raw from her scrubbing, she loved the feeling of her pussy being filled, and moaned softly, letting her Master know how thankful she was. The fucking started slow, 57 emitting a mixture of delighted moans and pained winces as her pussy was stretched by his cock, her body responding to every stroke. And with every stroke, the fucking got harder and faster. He leaned in, placed his teeth around her nipple, and bit hard enough to make her yelp before leaning back, and slapping the tit hard. She squealed, confused by the blend of pain and pleasure. Her indoctrination taught her what was expected of her, but Master would spend hundreds of hours fucking her and torturing her for fun - just to teach her precisely what it meant to be fuckmeat.
It was his favourite part of the job, and as he buried his cock into her cervix one more time, he locked his eyes onto hers, and blew a thick sticky load. Her eyes were blank as her mind...she understood, better than ever, what fuckmeat meant. What was more foreboding was the subsequent incident - when she was walked back into her Master's room. There was 0001...the deep brown eyes filled with sorrow as she knelt waiting. When she saw 57, she wilted and asked through a failing voice: "where am I going, Master?"
He replied simply..."To that Saudi guest, with the cigarette obsession." He said so apologetically, and she gasped. Her eyes widened in alarmed surprise.
"He'll...he'll ruin my tits, Master." She stammered, starting to sob.
"Yes he will, I decided to accelerate your retirement." Master said, softly, as she burst into tears, and slowly left, whispering her last "Yes, Master."
57 felt a chill down her spine once more, as she watched the woman go to a painful new phase of her life.
"What is the use of meat when it is aged past fresh?" He asked her, sitting on the bed.
"Throw it away, I suppose, Master." She said, nervously kneeling before him.
"That's absolutely right, fuckmeat." He said, darkness creeping into in his voice.
Chapter 6 - The Torture
The poor girl, formerly known as Alessandra served for several weeks as such - getting fucked raw, by Master and the guests. Her gag reflex never did go away, despite her time as a pornstar...and constant fucking, but everyone seemed to like that about her anyways. She was vaguely struck by how well porn had prepared her for sex as an object, and not a person. Nonetheless, she learned much about the art of submissive sex. She was an eager student, motivated by a mix of fear, duty, instinct, and lust. They never, ever let her cum....and thus, more and more, she fantasized about being locked up again in an indoctrination chamber, allowed to cum dozens of times a day. It made her dripping and desperate...it made her a damn good fuck, and her career began to recover. This time, every dime from the shoots she did in the studios went to L'Abattoir. Moreover, her scenes became extreme. Gangrape scene one after another. After she had sputtered her way through Master's morning throatjob, and swallowed every drop, she lay by his side, and let herself take comfort in the embrace of his muscular body. For all his cruelty, he was always fair, and sometimes sweet. After all, he had only done what her contract said. If she was too dumb to read it, then it was better that she have her freedom erased, as she had. It hurt to think of what her past life was like....it physically hurt.
"Your training is coming along well, but Its time you learn the realities of what your purpose means, fuckmeat. If someone is pleased by torturing you, then how should you feel about it?" He asked, taking her ass in his hand, and squeezing enough to tease her groin. She softly sighed in pleasure.
"If it pleases you to torture me, then it pleases me to, Master." She cooed, clutching him, and enjoying the moment of peace before a hard day began. She still had fuzzy, unclear nightmares of the brutal piercings she suffered on het first day, and was by no means a masochist. The surge of fear would only fuel Master...and she knew it.
At breakfast, a lovely young redheaded guest was a visiting model as she had once been. The thought hurt, but she admired the girl's blue grey eyes, and the Scandinavian beauty of the 19 year old girl. Her tits were a bit bigger than 57's, and she had a nicer ass, with alabaster pale skin, while she still stood a few inches shorter than her. She knew her future from the way Master ogled her, and saw that she never could have been a fashion model anyway. She pushed the abstract thoughts from her mind...they always made her head ache.
It was after breakfast that Master clipped the chain to her clit, and lead her down to the training room. He put her in the gyno table this time - heavy straps holding her arms, leg, head, and abdomen firmly to the spread-eagle shaped table. Master put a ballgag in her mouth that made her jaw ache...though that could have been yesterday, when she had served two dozen visitors orally. The bright red ball matched the shade of lipstick she had chosen that day, and she put lots of cheap mascara on...she knew she was going to cry, and Master would enjoy the running makeup.
"So. Today, 57, I will be spending the entire duration exposing you to the types of pain you can be reasonably expecting to endure on a regular basis. In other words, whatever won't scar you. We discourage scars on our property, at least, before they are retired." He took his coat off, dressed in a more utilitarian black outfit, unlike his normal suit. And he opened a cabinet. A table sat beside the gyno table....and upon it, he laid the electrical box. "This is a good place to start." He muttered, as he plugged it in. She began to squirm in fear and anticipatory dread. He dumped a bucket of water onto the girl's body, causing her to start and seize as the frigid shock set in.
He swabbed a steel wool in the water, and unceremoniously jammed it into her pussy, a wire clipped to it. She yelped around her gag as the harsh object was inserted. He put on a pair of gloves, and took a steel rod in hand. "This was known as 'parrilla', Chilean Spanish jargon for 'grill', during the Pinochet regime. His secret police would abduct political opponents' teenaged daughters, and use them for torture practice without leaving any marks. Of course, there were occasional casualties....the closer I place the rod to your pussy, the higher the current." He said, as she squirmed and whimpered, before being jarred by a sharp jab with the rod to her breast.
She wailed around the gag, mouth opened wide as her bright green eyes. It was as though something had crawled between her tit and pussy, through her flesh. The cruel Master jumper right ahead to her clit, the ring serving as an ideal conductor. She shrieked, in agony as he hit her with the shortest route between positive and negative poles. Directly between her clit and vagina, hitting every single one of the thousands of nerves between them. The poor girl cried and screamed herself hoarse over the next hour, as Master showed her every single permutation of electrical torment.
When he was through, and had yanked the steel wool out, she was sobbing, her body throbbing in the throws of her deep sobs...and trembling softly. Her tits and pussy were reddened, and steam rose from them. Master had a massive erection....but there was more torture to be done. He shoved several caffeine pills i to her mouth and instructed her "Swallow." She complied, keeping her awake and alert for the entire ordeal.
Next was the canes, and master laid them out by thickness. Starting thick, and explaining "The thicker canes will leave bruises, and the thinner they get, the more focused, stinging, and sharp the marks will be." Her sobbing resolved into deep chest heaving breathing, and she was filled with fear for the day to come just in time to groan loudly at the thud of the baton. After Master landed a good hard thump of the thick cane against her inner thigh.
He slowly and steadily used thinner canes on her skin, exploring her body by using every single inch of it with each size...leaving bruises, and then, gradually, the bruises evolved into thin red and purple stripes. Her guttural, pained moans and sighs into the gag became high pitched squeals and shrieks like a stuck pig or a dog that had been stepped on. The temperature of her body had fully evaporated the water she had been doused with, but she was now dripping in sweat. Master pulled out one last cane, and 57 cried softly, sobbing as she watched him wield his favourite, stroking its length appreciatively. It was gleaming stainless steel, and a mere 0.009" thick...she squealed, pleading as she could through the gag. "Nhhh,nhh, plsss, nhhh!" her muffled voice petering out to a soft, spent, delicate whisper. He could smell her fear, a musky scent to her salty sweat, and the ozone smell of her electrical torment. It made him all the more desperate to relieve himself into her once more - to fill her with his cum. But there was more torture to be meted out.
He rose the cane, aimed for her pussy, and it landed with a sharp crack. She gasped sharply, her eyes wide, and surprised him with silence...before unleashing a blood-curdling scream that made him flinch, in spite of her gag. A tiny pinprick of blood made itself manifest on her labia where the cane's tip had landed, at the highest velocity on the shaft. He knew it was a trivial wound, the type she would suffer through on thousands of occasions in her miserable future. He inflicted dozens more of them, especially on her lovely melons...but sparing not a scrap of her flesh. After he had been thorough, he stopped. Her voice had been hoarse and silent, the only evidence of her pain was the violent jerking of her body, and the wide open mouth, trying desperately to scream.
A hellish death by a thousand cuts was averted by his painstaking care for each cut with polysporin and bandages. Seeing that her pussy, tits, and the front of her perfect body had enough for one week, he took care when he picked her up. Gently carrying her over to a stock, bending her over, exposing her long, lovely legs and round, generous ass. The profile of her abdomen was pleasantly curvaceous too. Moreover, it was fresh, unmarred light brown...an ideal target for the remaining arsenal that the typical expert BDSM practitioner would use on her. He introduced her to the full variety - paddling, flogging, and whipping her red and raw. She jerked and struggled pleasingly, and silently...her voice gone.
Among the final acts of cruelty he had in store for her was chemical in nature.
He removed a case from the cabinet, with 4 large dildos. All 24" long, and ranging from 4-12 inches across. They were made of stainless steel, and perforated with dozens of tiny holes. This was designed to allow fluid injection through the base...any sort of fluid. He started in her ass, slowly stretching and boring the hole up to 6"...it took half an hour, and her shuddering reached a fever pitch. A bead of blood from popped vessels dripped from the tormented orifice, more than 12" of the thing inside of her rectum. But that was just the start. He liked taunting them, so he didn't hesitate. "Did you know the female vagina can extend up to 8" typically, to accommodate babies' heads? Well...with hips like yours, I intend to set a new record." Her eyes pleaded with him, as he held the 12" wide dildo....her voice couldn't even make a muffled sound. He worked slowly, as with her anus...9" and her poor pussy and ass looked like a grotesque caricature, out of some hentai...a girl getting fucked by an impossible beast. Then the big one...he pulled the other out, and was pleased at the bright pink hole, gaped and dripping. He mercilessly applied brute force, and wiggled, to get the massive diameter inside of her...and he didn't stop until he was certain it had bottomed out. He was impressed...the only girl whose abdomen could accommodate the evil thing thus far - right up to her cervix. And that, unfortunately, was only half of his final act of sadism for the day. He opened a liter bottle of 99% pure capsaicin extract - the active ingredient in hot peppers, artificially purified into a nearly corrosive substance. Apart from the occasional involuntary spasm and contraction from her abused holes, with indecently massive insertions inside them, she hung limp in the stocks. Her energy almost totally expired.
That changed very, very rapidly. because when the bottle was emptied, into her pussy, and then her ass, it mingled not just with her skin, but the broken blood vessels and pin prick cuts inflicted. Like lava inside of her, she screamed like a beast...her ruined voice deep and hoarse, every muscle in her body totally contracting and flexing against her will. He let her squirm and suffer for 5 minutes, before neutralizing the fluid, and removing the dildos. The burning would last for 48 hours...and she spent that in his bed, sobbing.
Chapter 7 - Retirement
She thought back on her first true torture session...now 11 years ago, back in her mid 20s. She smiled, thinking to herself that it was a good primer for her life. She had been used and abused in any way fuckmeat could be. Many were professionals in the porn industry...and many were amateurs, fulfilling a forbidden fantasy on a woman that would have been out of their reach if not for L'Abattoir's generosity. Those were the dangerous ones...the undisciplined ones. The dozen or so scars she did have came from them...places where they had lost control. She stroked a third degree burn on her right tit, almost affectionately. She was happy that they had gotten good mileage out of her, at least. And now that phase of her life was over. She was still gorgeous, but smile lines were creeping in. Her tits and curves were as delicious as ever, if not more so, but there was the occasional spot of pleasant plumpness. Indeed, it was merciful to auction her into retirement now, to a good home...if they waited too long, she would end up in the worst kind of porno or brothel there was. She did her makeup, dramatic eyeshadow and mascara...bright red lipstick. She pulled on her thigh-highs, and red heels. Admiring herself in the mirror. She liked what she saw. Having served thousands of women, she had after years developed an appreciation, if not an equal preference, for women. She didn't sob or gag now when eating out some hairy, unwashed pussy. But she hoped to be sold to a man.
Master arrived at her cell, taking her by the hand, and clipping his leash to her clit, like the old days. "57, it's been a while...shall we?" He asked, warmly. His voice had grown deeper, and he had grown an iron grey, clean beard. Even more of a natural authority than he had been when she was first enlightened. He led her to the auction room...a well lit white room with a platform, and 360 degree cameras. He left her there, and occasionally provided instructions...moving her into different positions, spreading various parts of herself, but always trying to make the most of every pose. The auction lasted an hour, when Master collected her, and then took her to the car. She specifically didn't think about coming here...it hurt her too much. She left without luggage, or even clothes on her back. She didn't ask who she had been sold too. It didn't matter - she was just meat.
After a lonely, long flight in the jet, she got out to another private car. A shriveled raisin of a tiny Chinese man, elderly and dressed like wealth...waited before her. He impatiently walked up to her, not caring if she understood a word he said, and placed a new collar on her neck. It was gaudy and gold...and within the day, she found herself contorted into a bizarre position in his living room. A mansion in Shanghai. The position left her tits and her holes exposed, her back arched, her shins wrapped up around her back, and a part of the frame was inserted into her mouth, spreading her jaw wide...gold tubes gently cradling her there. A welder was fired up, and she felt a moment of striking fear and apprehension, as she realized this was the last place she would ever be in, as the tube frame was welded shut. She was right...and served the duration of her life as a sexy, glass topped cocktail table...absorbing or swallowing the occasional load of cum from a half flaccid old man. Never speaking, her eyes striking and expressive instead. She was expired fuckmeat, and though she cried at times while the lights were off, she dared not dream for more in retirement. Her dreams had been rendered from her soul long ago.