***WARNING: NON-CONSENSUAL FUCKERY AHEAD***
This story contains elements of coercion, blackmail and body modification in the context of heavy BDSM. Daphne is hereby acknowledged to be a narcissistic sociopath at best or a functional psychotic at worst. I want to portray her as a monster, so don't be surprised when she does monstrous things. Nobody should do any of this stuff to anybody in real life. Now, let the depravity begin.
*****
Daphne sighed in exasperation and stopped dialing. She put the phone down on the nightstand and looked up, a flicker of annoyance flashing across her pretty face. This wouldn't do at all. How could she make such an important call with all that racket going on in the background?
Both Daphne and her slave were nude, the girl just having finished servicing her mistress' pussy with her well-trained tongue. Daphne leaned back against the head board and regarded her slave in the slanting morning light. For several seconds she studied the girl with cool, clinical detachment, a cruel smile playing across her full lips.
The pretty nineteen year-old English major was currently humping herself furiously against the top of Daphne's right foot. She was really going at it, rutting frantically, her thick labial rings jangling jauntily as they danced beneath her. The slave's large breasts were also bouncing up and down merrily, the thick nipple rings tugging and stretching the already distended nipples. The thick black collar with the over-sized red name tag emblazoned with "CUNT" was also jingling in rhythm with the slave's movements. The slave was alternatively mewling and grunting with exertion.
Daphne leaned in and looked more closely at the fleshy interface of cunt and foot. She was gratified to see a good amount of her slave's effluent already coating the curved surface of her foot. She kept the girl in a constant state of arousal by having her edge herself to the brink of orgasm dozens of times per day, but she rarely allowed her actual release. It had been months since the her last orgasm.
Daphne could see that the slave was close now. She was panting loudly, her nostrils flaring like a rearing horse. There was a red flush creeping across her throat and upper chest.
Daphne wavered for a few more seconds, wondering idly if she should actually let the poor girl climax this time, then shook her head dismissively.
She had a call to make.
She snapped her fingers twice.
The girl immediately froze. She stayed perfectly still for several seconds, then her shoulders visibly sagged.
"You were making too much noise, cunt," said Daphne stiffly. ''Better luck next time. Clean up your goo, then go do your special exercises, dear," she added curtly.
With a look of profound disappointment, the slave slowly dismounted Daphne's foot. She pivoted on her knees, then leaned in to lick her Mistress' foot clean. She worked quickly and methodically, flattening her tongue against Daphne's smooth flesh. When the top of the foot was clean, the slave reverently lifted the foot slightly, then curled her neck and leaned in to lick the arch and suck the heel. Finally, she suckled each toe individually, making sure to carefully run her tongue between each digit.
When she was done, the slave slid off the bed on to her knees. She crawled to nightstand and opened the top drawer, glancing up at her mistress gloomily.
Daphne looked down at her slave imperiously, savoring the naked dread radiating from the girl's eyes.
"I think four knochs today," chirped Daphne playfully. "Really give it a good work-out."
The slave's eyes widened, then glazed over in weary resignation. She reached slowly in to the drawer and pulled out the first of the heavy lead fishing sinkers, dropping it on the floor with a hollow thunk. She repeated the process three times, lining up the egg sinkers neatly between her knees. Each one of the dull gray sinkers weighed twenty-eight ounces. She also pulled out a heavy steel carabiner and a one-foot length of medium gauge steel chain.
Daphne did some quick math in her head as she watched her slave in bemused silence. Including the carabiner and the chain, the slut would be pulling close to ten pounds today.
A new record.
The slave squatted at the bedside and expertly slotted the heavy carabiner through all six of her labial rings, then she clipped on the chain, closing the catch with a metallic snick. Finally she reached down and secured each sinker to the chain using the wire leaders attached to each.
When she was finished, the slave closed the drawer carefully and crawled slowly to her corner, the chain and weights dragging loudly on the hardwood floor beneath and behind her. When she reached her appointed spot, she stood on wobbly legs, wincing as the chain suddenly tautened beneath her. Biting her lip, she slowly widened her stance in several awkward mincing hops until her feet were slightly more than shoulder width apart, then laced her hands behind her head.
The chain dangled freely between her legs, swinging slowly past her knees, the four weights hanging like over-ripened fruit on a vine. The slave paused for a moment to fortify herself, then looked over at her mistress.
Daphne looked at her watch, then snapped her fingers.
The slave immediately began to gyrate her hips rhythmically, as if using a hula hoop. The chain and weights began to rotate clockwise beneath her in a circular motion. This had the intended effect of markedly increasing the torque and strain on her delicate labia.
The slave was required to "dangle" in this manner for at least thirty minutes each day.
Her special exercises.
Daphne always pierced the inner labia of her slaves. The delicate inner labia were much more pliable than the thicker outer lips, much easier to stretch.
To transform.
Daphne hopped off the bed and walked over to her slave. She leaned down and examined the girl's crotch. The young mistress swelled with pride as she regarded her current slave's most intimate anatomy. She noted that the girl's delicate lips, plump and dainty when she first acquired her, were now stretched and misshapen. Under tension, they hung a full eight inches below the vertex of the her thighs.
Daphne stood up straight and stifled back a giggle. She delighted in the new fleshy appendages she had wrought. Long after she tossed the girl aside, the grotesque contours of her vagina would be an ongoing source of humiliation and despair, a living, tactile reminder of her submission to Daphne. No matter what the slave might accomplish later in life, every time she wiped herself when she peed, she would think of her former mistress. To Daphne, a confirmed narcissist, the concept that her dark and malevolent imprimatur would live on, woven into the girl's most intimate flesh for the rest of her life was intoxicating.
But achieving such good results was hard work.
After only a few seconds, the slave began to grunt in pain. The weight was almost unbearable, impossibly heavy. She began breathing loudly through her mouth, then began to cry softly.
Daphne beamed at her slave, her eyes alight with lust. She reached out and gently caressed the slave's left cheek with the back of her right hand.
''That's a good girl, cunt," she soothed. "I love you like this. Suffering. You are pleasing me. Only twenty nine minutes to go. You can do it, sweetie."
Daphne pulled her hand away from the slave's cheek, noting that the back was wet with the her tears. She looked into the girl's eyes and slowly licked up the salty droplets, grinning wolfishly when she was done.
The student began to sob uncontrollably, her breath coming in great shuddering gasps. Daphne re-arranged her facial muscles into an expression she hoped resembled empathy for a few seconds, then turned away dismissively.
Daphne walked back to the bed. She sat on the edge of the mattress and picked up the phone from the nightstand.
From the corner, there came a low, guttural howl of despair which ascended into a high-pitched shriek of pure, unalloyed agony.
Daphne scowled at her slave in annoyance. She put down her phone and bounded off the bed. Her eyes darted around the room until she spotted yesterday's panties. She picked up the frilly thong redolent with her musk and approached her slave. Wadding them up into a tight ball she stuffed the panties into her slave's mouth.
"Do you mind, cunt," she snapped irritably. "I'm trying to make a phone call here. Keep it down, or you'll get the whipping of your life when you're done."
The slave quickly stifled her sobs, but her shoulders continued to hitch up and down rhythmically as she cried on in complete silence. She had mastered the skill long ago.
The weights spun and danced beneath her.
Daphne ignored her and crossed her legs on the edge of the bed. She opened the phone's keypad dialed a familiar number.
***
Across town, in a nondescript college dormitory room, two sophomore students were engaged in a familiar morning ritual.
Penelope Paine adjusted herself on her roommate's face, then settled back down on to her lively tongue. She had already had two gushing orgasms this morning and was impatiently awaiting a third. The slave provided her mistress with three orgasms every morning. No exceptions.
The young mistress glanced down. Only the lower half of the the girl's face was visible, her jaw muscles bunching with effort as she worked her mouth and tongue frantically beneath Penelope's tender flesh. Her chin and lower lip were already glazed with the young mistress' drippings.
Penelope let her gaze wander idly around the room. The cheap particle-board furniture looked particularly depressing in the morning gloom. Even though the room was technically a double, the young mistress was currently squatting on the only single bed, the slave's bed having been removed months ago. There was a threadbare blanket in the corner where the girl currently curled up at night.
Penelope sighed and wriggled her pelvis almost daintily, savoring the familiar tickling sensation of the slave's nose brushing against her delicate rosebud, then resettled herself on her perch with perfect, practiced equipoise. She was facing the slave's feet, the girl's legs splayed out before her.
"Good girl," Penelope cooed. "That's it. Let me feel that tongue go deep. All the way in, pudge."
Penelope felt the slave respond immediately, her tongue darting upward and inward, wriggling like a living thing.
Such a good slave.
Penelope smiled, thinking of the day she had claimed and named her. It had been the beginning of second semester of freshman year. Her first roommate had been abruptly pulled from college by her Mormon parents when they found out Penelope had seduced her and was passing her around to the other girls in the dorm. Her new roommate, randomly assigned, had turned out to be a pretty farm girl from Nebraska.
Her name was Nadine. She was a straight-laced petit little thing with a cute, pixie face, ginger hair and just a hint of baby fat around her belly and hips. She had milky white skin and full breasts. She was a nice enough girl, her only annoying quality being that she talked constantly about her long-term boyfriend who was going to school in another state.
Penelope hadn't planned on enslaving the girl. It had just happened.
The first week of class, Penelope had caught the naive girl ogling her body surreptitiously after she got out of the shower. She tried to look away, but Penelope had caught her out. It was not the first time it had happened since they had moved in together.
Penelope didn't mind. Not at all.
The young mistress had simply turned around and locked the door, then let the towel fall to the floor. She stood naked in the middle of the room and faced her new roommate.
Penelope Paine was a stunning brunette with high cheekbones, straight white teeth and full lips. She had piercing blue over-sized eyes. She stood five feet, seven inches tall and weighed one hundred and fifteen pounds. Her breasts were large and firm, her stomach flat. Her legs were lean and lithe. She wore her long raven hair in a pony tail down her back. She kept her pubic hair completely shorn.
But the most distinctive part of her appearance below the waist, the thing that her roommate had been stealing furtive glances at all week, was her tattoo. She had a large yellow chrysanthemum inked upon her bare vulva. It was a beautiful piece of work. Pudge had also been stealing glances at her tramp-stamp, a much more crudely executed series of black swirls and waves on her lower back.
Penelope was not what you would call a nice girl. She was crude and vulgar and a bit of a spoiled brat. She was hyper-sexual and domineering in bed. Her own pleasure always came first.
In high school, Penelope could have had her pick of boyfriends had she been so inclined. The boys had been constantly chasing her and generally making a nuisance of themselves ever since she had hit puberty.
As it happened, however, Penelope Paine liked girls.
Lots of girls.
