Moving in for the Ill

Note: this is one of my stories written in first person... but in this case the narrator is male, and his target is me (january cunis). this one is pure fantasy❤️

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We noticed that with January, who had been deeply masochistic from the start and even, we believe, had in a sense sought us out, not literally but it could be honestly asserted that she needed little encouragement to submit, and made herself more available than most, and in her case it was definitely not a matter of financial need. No with Jan it was, from very early on, well it would have been difficult to push her away, and once the process started she fell deeper into the addiction, and more obviously craving the more humiliating (and more agonizing) treatments, in short she put up so little resistance that it seemed to be us, at times, almost trying to slow her down a bit.

And we began the process of paying her less and less much earlier than the other girls; and to punish her more, more often and more publicly and in harsher and more humiliating ways than any of them would have been ready for. And in fact it became known among them, we are sure, very early that we had stopped giving her any pay, nor gifts even, excepting the most outlandish and ridiculous of whore outfits, that in truth weren't even hers but rather she was tasked with keeping them together and clean enough to be used... although I'm not sure if any of the other girls knew that at the time, that Jan did not actually receive any pay nor gifts, and that it had been made clear, to her at least, that she did not actually own anything, and that she -- and I'm sure the other girls noticed this -- was required to beg and efface herself each time she wanted food.

Although I suppose the pretense was that she was fat, which of course she was not, but that was the narrative: she wasn't allowed to eat anything but a few saltines, nor drink but for a little pee, until she could reach her goal weight. Of course she was already frightfully skinny. But -- ah, and here is the construct -- we could "pinch an inch"! We could. If we dug in with our strong male fingers and thumbs vigorously enough, we could determine that there was still an inch of disgusting, female body-fat to be viciously pinched!

Oh and the pinching was such delight to us! And it left such copious bruises across her (actually rather petite) belly, and along the insides of her thighs...

You see, we were being kind, that is it was a kindness to pinch so hard as we reminded her, because of course at the very moment we found that there was no longer a full inch left to pinch, or so the saying goes, her terrible dieting would be over. Of course there never would be less than an inch to pinch on her fat little bottom, and as her mewling became more desperate from the soreness we would never fail to point that out to her and make her thank us for our vigilance and honesty.

And as our ministrations became more devious and we began to make the most of her naturally plentiful feminine lubrication, to push her towards edging even as we dug in more boldly with thumbs and forefingers to her nether regions, and even hooking stronger and longer digits right into her bottom hole, so as to really grab it, and really bear down hard with the pinching, we would of course remind her that, due to her disturbingly fat and whorish ass, the dieting, the pee drinking, and the pinching would never actually stop.

And as she approached orgasm, or as she was sucked into that vortex in which she was maddeningly compelled to chase its shadow, thrusting mightily at fingers which were now evading her, slapping uselessly against what by now had become no more than an open palm, slapping gently back against her wet but cleanly shaven vulva, delighting in its soreness but unwilling to provide more than a fairly subtle stinging sensation, and even as the hands of our partners continued to grip and penetrate poor Jan's ass and cheeks tirelessly and even with a renewed vigor, at these times it became fairly obvious to all watching that here was a girl that could certainly be trained to orgasm under the whip.

And at these times too we made her admit, even as with every thrust she was admitting non-verbally, that she would probably never outgrow her baby fat, that she was just too much of a disgusting little piglet, that even her pleas and abjectly wailed apologies sounded more and more like a sow's squealing, and that it was becoming all too obvious to us that she enjoyed these punishments, that she enjoyed them greatly, and that even to us, much as we enjoyed giving them, found her wetly and grindingly responsive reaction to our attempts at discipline, her obvious and craven enjoyment of this treatment, quite frankly, as we always told her at these moments, that she is repugnant beyond compare, that we do not even believe she should be considered human anymore she is so far gone.

She is less than a beast, for even a beast will protect its own body from ravenous attack, and surely does not relish its own brutal rape, nor orgasm in response to torture. "You are beyond repulsive, you leaky-twatted stink-hole: You are more than sick, you are criminally insane!" At these times we would stop manipulating her limbs with our hands and let her hold herself open for us, as we removed our belts and grimaced, moving in for the kill.