Descent

Isobel helps me put her gear on. First, the harness that runs around her ribs - straps over and under her tits, connected at the back and sides. The harness connects, by straps like a long garter belt, to her thigh cuffs, which I make sure are tightly in place, the D-rings on her outer thighs. Ankle cuffs are next. She holds out her hands obediently for the black leather that goes around her wrists. When we're done with all that, she kneels to wait for her collar.

I can see that the straps have put her in subspace. At an ordinary moment, my Isobel would be looking intelligently around. Assessing. Guessing. Thinking. It's taken months of work to break her of those habits, but now she's as sweet and easy as penny candy. On her knees, she looks at me with wide, trusting eyes. Her body quivers with lust and eagerness. She's becoming so beautiful.

Doesn't mean I'm not going to make her work for it.

I reach down and pet her jaw, stroking it from ear to chin. Then I cup her chin in my hand. "What are you today, sweetheart?"

Her voice is fervent and adoring. "Yours."

I tighten my grip. "My what?"

"Your slut."

"And how do you say that politely?"

Isobel whimpers a little. "Your cockslut, sir."

Oh, I have her. "My cockslut?"

She wriggles closer on her knees. "Yes, sir."

I slap her across the face without letting go of her chin. Not hard. We've just started. "We've talked about this." I remind her. "If you can use words, you can answer in full sentences."

Her eyes go wider. Her cheek is a pretty pink where I slapped it. Her chest heaves with the breath she uses to collect herself.

"This girl is your cockslut, sir," she tells me. "This girl used to just be your slut, but that doesn't feel deep enough anymore, sir." She bends her head, tries to rub her cheek against my hand. I don't let her. "This girl wants to be more degraded for you, sir."

"Do you, now." I pet her hair. "That's just right for today, cockslut. Can you tell me again what we're going to do?"

My cockslut nods, and I can see her letting her day-to-day self drop out of control. "Yes, cockslut can tell you, sir. You are going to give cockslut a drink that makes her..." she blushes, fumbling for how to say it. Isobel would say 'stimulated,' but my slut, and apparently even more my cockslut, doesn't use big words. "...Horny, sir. And then some people are going to use your cockslut for you, sir."

"That's right," I praise. "Full, polite sentences, and you called yourself the right thing. What a good piece of shit you are. That is what's going to happen. Crawl over there and get up on the bed for me."

She puts her hands on the floor and scrambles where I've told her to go. The black leather straps framing her back and her ass are such a turn on, dark against her pale skin. I'm almost reluctant to have her turn around, but it is part of the next step.

"Sit up for me."

She sits, and frowns. "Sir, your cockslut is wearing a lot of straps today."

I pick up the prepared cup and sit by her side. We obviously can't do this a moment too soon. "That's so people can do whatever they like to you. You're such a good filthy whore, I know you'll like it too."

"Thank you, sir." She lays her head sideways on my shoulder. "You always take such good care of your cockslut, sir."

I hold the cup for her to drink from. Her face twists up at the first sip. "It tastes terrible, sir."

I tug at her hair with my free hand. "That doesn't matter. I want cockslut to drink it, so you'll drink it all." I tilt the cup ruthlessly over her lip.

She can never control her face while she's under, and the look she's wearing now is completely pathetic. She's disgusted, but I've been conditioning her for months: between the straps, the slap, the speech rules and the petting, she can't refuse. The most resistance she can muster is a brief whimper, and even that comes after she swallows.

"Good bitch," I tell her. "Such a good little worthless cocksleeve, letting Sir drug her up for his friends to fuck. Lie back now, and spread those slutty legs." I wrap the collar around the back of her neck while she lies down. "We're going to get you warmed up."

I slide the buckle of the collar home, and adjust the hang of it, so that the D-rings at the side are lined up over her shoulders. The one at the front is right over the notch of her clavicle, and I know the back one will be perfectly aligned with her spine. She looks so perfect, clean and unmarked, so I start biting tiny bruises along her collarbone.

"Oh Sir," she sighs. "That feels so good on cockslut, sir."

"You just swallowed, baby girl," I laugh. "The stuff won't even have kicked in yet."

"When will it, sir?" She asks.

I move down to her soft, delicious breasts. "Soon, my eager whore."

"How," she gasps as I bite one of her nipples. "How long will it last, sir?"

I'd been wondering when she would ask that question, but I never had any doubt how I would answer it. "A while."

I occupy myself between her breasts. If I'm honest, what I'm doing here is letting go of Isobel by enjoying the better features of her submission. Like all women, she's worthless alone, but malleable for a man. As always, my work on her tits is rewarded by arousal, but with the assistance of the aphrodisiac I administered, that arousal is far more profound than usual. She - I'm thinking of her as She now, as though it's her name - twists underneath me. Her thighs press towards each other, but I'm between them, preventing her from closing her legs.

"What does my bitch want now?" I ask.

"Please sir. Please. I want your fingers, sir," she pleads.

"Where do you want my fingers?"

"Inside me, sir."

This is one of the few bad habits I haven't yet managed to break her of: euphemism, attempting to defend herself from embarrassment by failing to use clear language with her master. It is, however, a simple enough problem. I reach up and shove three fingers in her mouth.

"Like this?" I ask. "Oh, I like this." I thrust my fingers back and forth, seizing and releasing her tongue.

"Mmph, mmmph!" is the only noise she can make. She makes it urgently.

"I bet I could fuck your throat like this, don't you think? Shove all these fingers right down, see how your deep throat training paid off."

I arrange myself to kneel over her and keep working my hand in and out, deeper each time. Her head sinks back to the pillow. There's beautiful desperation in her eyes as she struggles to open her mouth wider over my knuckles.

"Wouldn't you like that, slut, feeling Sir's hand bulge in your neck? I bet you wouldn't be able to talk for days." I have fond memories of the days when I had her wearing a deep throat trainer around the house, and shoved bigger and bigger dildos into her esophagus every hour. Even with her mouth empty, she could barely speak. I'd take the dildo out entirely every few hours, give her a drink of water, and let her whisper hoarse devotion before I slotted the next size into place. Every step in her gradual degradation has been lovelier than the last. I picked Isobel up in a bar because of her gorgeous self-possession, but she's far more attractive now that she's powerless, broken to serve the way women should be. That careful training in submission keeps her from resisting now. She knows what I want, and she wants to obey.

When I finally have mercy and slide my hand free, her gasp is all gratitude. "Th-th-thank you, S-sir."

"That's right," I tell her. "That's what a bitch should say when she's used." I have to remind myself not to kiss her mouth. The aphrodisiac I gave her would keep me hard and horny for days. Instead, I slide my hand between her legs.

"Oh, what's this?" I tease. "My cocksocket's clit is like a little rock." I toy with it a little, push the hood back - not that there's far for it to go - and twist her clit between my fingers. "I bet this hurts," I tell her. "I bet this hurts just like all those guys balls that you didn't sleep with in high school. Let's get some revenge for them, shall we?" I twist harder, and take a clamp out of the nightstand drawer. "You know I stocked this with good little pain toys, and told all the guys where they are. Just in case they want to hurt you." She mews as I fasten the clamp and stroke my hand down across her slit. "This is just how I like you, stupid slut. Swollen and dripping."

She's appallingly wet. At least a few of the guys are going to complain she's too slick, but they should still be able to have a good time with her ass. Plenty of cum will get worked into her pussy just the same.

"That's right, silly bitch. You're so horny, aren't you?" More mewing. I pinch a bruise onto her mound. When she's all there, that makes her scream and curse, so it's a good test for verbal coherence. I get back wordless little shrieks, hip thrusts, wild-eyed moans. "Oh, you're so ready. Ready for me to let the whole gang run a train on you." I settle my fingers for another sadistic pinch and lean down to her ear. "Let me tell you a secret. The stuff I gave you has fertility meds in it, and breast hormones. You're just about peak fertile right now, and these boobs," I run a hand over her breasts, which are already a little swollen, "Are going to turn into the hugest, most obvious fucking cow udders. You're going to moo and milk for me, and every other man you meet. You're going to have so many babies, and so much milk. It's going to be so good for you."

Then I stand up and open the door to the waiting crowd of guys. I'm going out to pick up a new slut. When I come back in a few days, I'll have a cow name all picked out for the erstwhile Isobel, and every last one of her holes will be leaking gobs of cum. The great thing is, she won't even mind. She won't complain. She'll be a happy little titty cow, just like a woman should be.