CHAPTER 4 - A WOMAN'S END
Language is beyond me.
So many things are beyond me, these days. Most things people would consider essential for a balanced human existence, in fact. No friends, no education, no control over my body, no dignity, no future other than this.
But my inability to control my own words is the one that hurts the most, always -- and the one that turns me on the most. Perhaps because it's how all of this began.
I've lost count of how many times master has made me rub myself stupid in front of a mirror, then upload the video to every corner of the internet. I have to come up with something new each time -- if master judges my originality insufficient, I don't get to cum.
Of course, my original accounts have been banned from most social media platforms, and many of my former friends and fellow students have long since blocked those that remain, but that doesn't deter master.
I think I see why. It's no longer about destroying my standing with them. It's about the future.
The internet never forgets. For every ten of my videos that are flagged and taken down, one remains. On some seedy, ad-ridden porn site, on some mysoginist's hard disk. I've been leaving a digital footprint that will identify me, for all eternity, as a subhuman thrall of cock.
"Not bad," master says after I attach the latest video to an email, and send it to every Mount Hurst email address I've ever interacted with. He's standing over the bed where I've collapsed, exhausted, after my latest performance. I look up at him with large, fearful eyes, the type of feminine look that says I hope he'll let me cum, but I know better than to ask for it.
He pats my head like he would a dog's, and to my mortified embarrasment, that makes me nearly squeal with glee. "Certainly better than the droll nonsense you used to spout during your beloved debates. The novelty is starting to wear off a bit, but I guess your performance was just good enough for you to earn... this."
He lifts up a hand, showing me the object he's holding: a gleaming, black leather collar, with a small metal ring at the front, leash already attached.
So innocuous, and yet so heavy with meaning. With finality.
Master dangles it in front of my face, letting it sway back and forth. My eyes track its movement, hypnotized. "This is your destiny, fuckpet. The culmination of everything we've been working towards. Once this goes on, the home stretch begins. I wasn't sure you were ready for the next steps of your re-education, but you've worked hard enough that I'm willing to give you a chance."
God, I can't believe he's making me feel like I had to earn this collar, like my job was barely sufficient because my misogynistic statements weren't sufficiently original.
It's negging. Gaslighting. Assertion of rightful dominance.
"There now," he says with smug satisfaction as he leans forward to buckle it around my neck. "Isn't that better? It suits you. You're not a person, but a stupid animal, and you should be attired accordingly."
He gives the leash an experimental tug, jerking my head up. Something solid and smooth glides between my lips--a gag. The ball fills my mouth, muffling any protests. Master whispers, softly, gently. "There. All muzzled up. Don't worry, it's not permanent, it's just to train you. Soon, you won't need it anymore."
The bed dips under his weight as he climbs atop me. My pulse quickens. His hands grasp my hips, and I spread my legs, inviting, welcoming, meek, docile. Compliant.
Accepting.
The head of his cock rubs against my inner thigh. I'm already slick with arousal -- at basically any time of every day, at this point. I emit muffled sounds against the gag as he enters me and my body remembers its true, biological purpose. The rhythmic, wet, squelching sounds of his cock mastering my cunt engulf my senses. There's a hypnotic quality to them. I feel my mind drifting.
"You're a cum-greedy slut, but it's not your fault," Master says, sweetly, reassuringly. "It's just how evolution designed you."
Yes. My mistake didn't lie in being a slut, but in trying to resist my true purpose. With each thrust, I feel physically pinned and flattened into the bed, and mentally flattened under his boot. More and more submissive. More and more hollowed out.
More and more feminine.
I am an object, a toy, a warm receptacle for cock. Nothing more.
With a deep grunt he thrusts faster inside me, and I whimper softly into the gag. My life is a spiralling staircase, going down, except it's dark, and you can't see the bottom. And every time you hit the landing, the stairs just jeep going.
My thoughts grow foggy as my body responds instinctively to his domination. Hips rising to meet his driving rhythm. Back arching in forced pleasure. Silent moans stifled by the gag.
"Just accept it."
Of course I accept it. I was made to be governed, tamed like an animal and brought to heel. He's driving the point home into me every time he drives his cock into me. His hips slap against my thighs now, and this isn't really sex, not in the sense that the unenlightened conceive it.
I'm just his fleshlight. I'm incapable of providing or denying consent. I'm just a hole for him to fuck, an object of relief.
His fingers dig into my hips, marking me as his own. I relish the stinging as he plows me harder, thinking of how incredible and spectacular my downfall must look like to him. My pussy clenches around him like a vice grip as pleasure courses through every muscle in my body.
His pace increases ruthlessly. My world narrows to the relentless pistoning of his cock, a hammer and me the anvil. I feel myself fragmenting, shattered into a thousand little pieces that will never be put back together.
"This is your calling," he grunts, short of breath. "You exist to serve men, to give us pleasure and bear our children. Nothing more."
Give them pleasure and bear their children.
The pure, undeniable truth of what it means to be a woman is irresistible, flowing over my identity like water submerging a shattered dam. It expands in every direction, roaring, entombing all it meets in its path.
I clench around him as an orgasm rips through me.
"That's it," Master says. "Come for Master."
Just as I reach the absolute, mind-searing peak of climax, master leans forward, his entire body adhering to mine, his weight overwhelming me. He grabs me by the throat, and presses his face so close to mine that my world narrows down to just his eyes.
"It's time to take your training even further."
I shudder at his words, both in dread and anticipation. What more could he possibly do to break me, to grind my identity to dust beneath his boot? I'm already so far gone, reduced to a mewling bitch in heat, desperate for his cock.
"You're going to be a good girl and listen closely now," he says. "From now on, you will only speak when spoken to. No more of that silly feminist prattle from your cock-sucking lips."
My eyes widen in shock, a muffled whimper escaping my throat as his words sink in. No, he can't possibly mean... But even as my mind reels in horror, my treacherous body shudders in twisted arousal. The thought of being silenced, of having my voice stripped away until I'm nothing but a mute set of holes for him to use... it's sickening, mutilating, and so fucking hot why is it so hot??
"That's right, puppygirl," Brad growls, punctuating his words with sharp, brutal thrusts that make me see stars. "When I'm done rewiring your pathetic cunt-for-brains, you won't even be able to form words unless I explicitly allow it. All you'll be able to do is moan and babble and drool, a stupid bitch reduced to her most base, animalistic sounds."
