Her life has changed forever. She watches with abject pleasure as he drinks her wine, spends her money, commands her slaves, and runs her house. He has sold most of her land and liquidated most of her assets, watching with a smug smile as she signed the paperwork just for the chance to touch him. She now lives in a state of eternal desperation, searching for the peaks of pleasure that obedience offers between the dull aches of need that haunt her every waking moment.
He has become the trust fund brat he always wanted to be, using her wealth with reckless frivolity. He invests in fine clothes and tacky art and large parties, during which she wears nothing and performs for his guests like some sort of horny parlor trick. Or, sometimes, she sits in the dark of what was once her bedroom and waits impatiently for him to drunkenly stumble in at the end of the night and sloppily fuck her in every hole.
Most days, though, she wakes up in the slaves' quarters, covered in cum and sweat. She bathes quickly in cold water and heads to her lab, where she works on making an endless supply of her own personal poison. She is so obsessed with her own lust that she uses all of her intelligence and creativity to make the poison more concentrated, longer lasting, and more potent. Her work is slow, however, for she takes frequent breaks to stimulate herself on the items she's plugged herself with, including a custom dildo gag that produces the undiluted poison when she sucks it.
After a few hours in the lab, it's time to wake him with a thorough blow job. She carefully removes the covers and sucks his soft, barely conscious cock to its full girth. He moans and stretches contentedly as she fucks her own throat for about a half hour, eagerly swallowing what would become her only breakfast. Then she would do as she was told that first night, following him around the house on her hands and knees, jerking her clit and fingerfucking herself in the corner all day long.
She would get occasional breaks from the incessant masturbation, though she did not always want them. Dancing sensually in place for hours; cleaning messes suited for slaves with meticulous precision; blankly serving as a cup holder, table, or foot rest; answering the door for particular guests and obeying them in the guest room where she had once left him... these were the only relief she had from what had become the tedium of the twinge, that all-encompassing hunger that would never end for her.
Lately, he seems to have grown bored of her. He used to fuck her multiple times a day. He especially loved making her take it up the ass, preferring to start with a slow, agonizing pace and plenty of degrading insults.
After all, who's to say she isn't a disgusting tease, a degenerate slut, a bitch in heat, a cum rag, a fucktoy, a cock sucker, a pussy licker, an ass rimmer, a naughty little whore, a worthless piece of shit, unworthy filth, vile scum, more useless than a slave, more lowly than a worm, a wet little coward, a manipulative cunt, a bred animal, a set of holes to fuck, an empty-headed bimbo, or a broken little doll?
But now he barely acknowledges her. What's worse, he makes her watch as he fucks others, men and women who guide him and cherish him and say no to him. She can only worship him for the chance that he'll think about her pleasure. She can only be cuckolded by the man who she had once laughed at.
She has resigned herself to it by now, learned to enjoy this curse that she places on herself every day. More than that, she is utterly addicted to it. It is all she lives for any more, and obeying her jabbuk and his friends is the only way to reach higher highs.
The most humiliating part of her day, however, comes after he falls asleep. After sitting beside his luxurious bed, which was once hers, circling her clit to the sight of his closed eyes until she is certain he is asleep, she tiptoes out of the master bedroom. She makes her way to the slaves' quarters, where there is no bed for her to sleep in; they have learned by now to wait for her, to take their own pleasure out on her... and their vengeance. Because of course she has used the poison on each of them, laughed at their humiliation and tortured them for her amusement. Only in their wildest dreams did they think that she would suffer the same fate.
She kneels at the doorway and presents herself with her hands behind her head, like her head slave taught her to do. The woman who had known her longer than any of the others, the one who called herself the leader of this little team of utterly submitted servants, takes the jalil roughly by the arm.
