Stupid Slut

I had been my master's live-in slut for a number of months; during this period of time, I had undergone what I can only describe as a process of transformation. Things about me that had been hiding in plain sight had been brought into sharp relief. Since the point where my master first collared me - some months before I was able to live with my master full-time - he had been gently (or sometimes not so gently, depending on how well I had behaved) helping me explore myself.

My name is David, although my name is not important now. I'm in my late thirties, but neither is that important. The identity by which I was known in the real world has gone, been subsumed into something else. When I am spoken to now, I am usually addressed as "slut", "fucktoy", "cissie", "slave", or "faggot" - although my master is blessed with a large vocabulary and, as such is very creative with the names that he calls me.

We had developed a sort of morning ritual, my master and I. Either late at night or very early in the morning - my master somehow always had a way of knowing when I was asleep - he would slip a note in a sealed envelope under my door. I usually would make sure I was up by 6 a.m. in order to allow myself adequate time to follow my master's instructions. Usually the note would contain instructions about what my master wanted for breakfast, whether he would like tea or coffee, how to dress, what time I should call upon my master, and what toys I was to bring through with me. It would not be atypical, for example, for my master to request me to dress up in lingerie, wear a collar of his choice, to bring him breakfast and a cup of tea, while also not forgetting to bring a bag containing the toys he had specified.

This morning's note was different. It just read:

Slut. You are to come and see me as soon as you read this. I expect you to be naked and collared. That is all.

The tone of this note was different from what I would read on a typical morning. Usually - although there was no question that my master was in charge - his notes would be written in a tone that was warm and affectionate. This time was different. I was left with the chilling feeling that I'd transgressed in some way; that I had somehow violated the unwritten set of rules that we'd established between ourselves. (We'd always both been of the opinion that it was a bit silly to try and write everything out in formalised contract; to commit everything to writing would be to curtail the flexibility and creativity that a D/s relationship can offer.)

Despite my anxiety, though - desiring not to deviate from my master's instructions - I did as the note instructed. I undressed myself - removing the sexy purple nightie that my master now had me wear by night - and went to fetch my collar from my toy chest. The collar that I put on was the more "fetishy" of the ones that I had available - dark, durable, fastened with a buckle, and with a leach and two chains bearing nipple clamps dangling from it. Given that my master's note indicated some displeasure on his part, I assumed that this one, dark and sombre as it was - rather than one of the more feminine, pretty ones - would be the most appropriate for me to wear in the circumstances.

Having then dressed myself appropriately - naked but for my collar - I left my room and went to knock on my master's door.

"Enter", I heard my master say. There was a coldness in his voice. A sense of menace in the way he uttered that single word. I shuddered, before turning the handle of the door and entering.

"Kneel".

I obeyed. As was our custom, I knelt down before my master, and - as I was wearing this collar in particular - handed my master my leash. He grabbed it out of my hand, and tugged lightly on it. I felt a tingle of anticipation run through my body, and a slight stirring in my crotch, as it always did something strange and almost indefinable to me whenever my master asserted his dominance, even in little ways like that.

"Do you know why I've called you in here to see me like this, slut?". I shook my head. "Speak, slut".

"I can only assume that I have incurred my master's displeasure, somehow." I replied, nervously. My voice was shaky. The tone in my master's voice had set me on edge somewhat: I had been frightened of inadvertently offending my master since the early days of our relationship - on a couple of occasions, I had acted up and started trying to top from the bottom; been a little bit bratty, and once, hilariously had been under the impression that I might be able to act like a switch and try to dominate my master. (He soon found a way of disabusing me of such silly notions, but that's a story that I'll perhaps tell elsewhere.)

"Yes slut, you have, I'm afraid. Do you know what you've done?" Again, I shook my head. "You really are such a stupid slut, aren't you?" he exclaimed. "You don't really don't have the faintest idea, do you?"

"No", I whimpered - genuinely upset that I'd done something wrong in some way that I didn't understand. (I exist to serve and please my master, and I take these duties seriously - and so it crushes me when I fail to live up to his expectations of me.)

"Very well, slut. I have in mind a course of corrective actions for your transgressions. But you must listen carefully, because I'm going to offer you a choice, and I'm going to expect a decision from you quite soon after I've explained the implications of the options - I might give you a few minutes to think it over."

"The first option - and, my preferred option, incidentally - is that you learn how to overcome your failings experientially. I won't explain to you now precisely what will happen if you choose this option, but if you consent to it, you're agreeing to give me absolute free reign for an evening. No safe words; no acting; no fucking around. You put your trust wholly in me for one evening. I decide when you've had enough. Understood?" (I nodded.)

My master continued: "The second option is that I explain to you in great detail what you've done wrong. You come to understand it intellectually. And try to modify your behaviour accordingly. This approach is less effective, by itself, in my experience as a Dom, but I try to find that it works best if done in conjunction with solitary confinement and enforced sleep deprivation. You'd be placed in a cell; food would be slid under your door, periodically. Sensors would be attached to your body to monitor your state of awakeness. If you fell asleep, you would be woken up by a recording of me reminding you of the lessons you need to learn. You'd be in there until I decided that you'd been appropriately conditioned."

My master lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper: "The latter approach has been known to take days to work. Sometimes weeks". He paused, before continuing: "Do you know which option you'd like to choose, slut?"

Without hesitation, I blurted out: "The former, the former!". My desperation to avoid the hell of solitary confinement and sleep deprivation must have been apparent in my voice. At this point, my master smiled slightly, and said "Good slut. I think you've chosen wisely. I'm proud of you, for being willing to place your trust in me, and for being committed to being a better slut."

"Thank you, master."

* * * * *

After making that agreement, and after completing my customary morning duties for my master, he instructed me to return to my room and to pack a case. It was to contain all of the toys and sexy clothes that I had in my room. My master was going to take me to a secret location that evening - a place that he, and only a select few knew of, was all that he would disclose - but quite what was going to happen when I was there was to be a surprise. I was to get plenty of rest during the day, and I was to call upon my master again in the early evening, bringing with me a light meal. (Again, I was to present myself naked, save for my collar.)

Following my master's instructions, I put my nightie back on and lay down to get some rest. (Experience had taught me that it was unwise to ignore my master's advice.) I slept fitfully, as I was both excited and nervous about whatever was going to take place later. When the time came, I again stripped naked, donned my collar, and brought through some food to my master. As before, he told me to kneel, but then told me that there was one essential thing that we had to do together as preparation for later. But I was to remain on my knees and wait while my master ate.

After my master had finished eating, he explained to me something of what he had in mind, but warned me that it might very well seem odd - but suggested that it would be best if I just tried to put aside my natural scepticism and try to go with the flow. He explained that it was a pagan ritual; that he'd noticed that I was, at times, a bit reticent about following certain instructions - that while I did what I was told quite consistently, I was sometimes rather hesitant - and that if I participated in this ritual, and took it seriously, I would be much more naturally compliant.

"It is important to understand that this will increase my control over you, though, slut. Do you have any questions?".

"Complete control over my every action?"

"Not quite; I wouldn't be able to make you do anything that would be completely against your normal moral values; I might change the way you think a bit, and I will make you more obedient and open to new experiences. And I will use the power that you give me responsibly."

I paused for a few moments to think about it, before concluding that I trusted my master. He knew what was best for me - experience had taught me this. Even on the occasions when he'd asked me to do slightly scary things he'd been very caring afterwards, and would tell me that I was a good slut, affectionately. I nodded my assent.

"What was that, slut?"

"I agree, master."

"Describe what you understand this to entail, just so I can be sure that you understood correctly."

I tried to summarise what I'd surmised. "You're going to more or less cast a spell that will make me more compliant and suggestible, before we go off to this secret location this evening, and at this secret location there's going a number of surprises waiting for me. This is to try and train me to avoid doing something that I've been doing wrong - although you haven't told me what my transgression was."

(Thinking over it now, it all seemed quite Kafkaesque - I had been told I was guilty of something but had not been told what it was; I was to be driven to a secret location and follow my master's instructions, after having let him cast a spell that would let him influence my mind.)

My master smiled. "Clever slut. That's close enough. And you're sure that you agree?"

"Yes, master."

"Very well. Stay still."

My master lit some incense and set light to some ritual herbs in a burner; the room was flooded by pungent fragrances. He chanted some sort of incantation in a language that I didn't understand or recognise. He anointed my chest with some essential oil (I think it may have been ginger) before proceeding to write some Celtic runes on my chest. I felt a very intense warm feeling moving through my body at this point: I can only describe it as a feeling of having some sort of energy flowing into me.

And then my master told me to stand up. And then he held me, pulling me close to him, and kissed me, hard. Blood flowed into my cock, such that it was pressed against my master's beautiful shapely body. My master whispered in my ear that there was one further part of the ritual: I was to get down on my knees and suck his cock and make him come - and it was important that I drank deep of my master's cum while doing so. And that following this, the ritual would require me to have an orgasm, and to drink my own cum - and it was also very important that I swallowed as much of it as was possible.

My master sat down on the edge of the bed and opened his legs for me. Without a word, I dropped to my knees and buried my face in my master's crotch. I gladly drank deep of my master's wet cunt, then sucked and licked his hard cock. My master wrapped his strong legs around my neck and held my head with his hands. I was trapped. But I felt no inclination to struggle - for this was where I belonged. It wasn't long before my master came quite intensely. And, as he did, I felt the same strange feeling of warmth spreading through my body, although more intensely this time.

Then, following my master's instructions I dropped to the floor. I was handed a cocktail glass. I knew what I had to do; I held the glass in my left hand, and started to stroke my cock with my right hand. My master was standing above me now, looking down on me.

"Good slut. You are so totally mine now. Oh. There's a couple of things I maybe neglected to mention. I have the ability to control when you cum now. And, more importantly, when you don't cum."

"What? You should have mentioned this, master."

"Sorry, slut. Slipped my mind." He grinned. "Now. See if you can make yourself cum."

I stroked myself, hard, trying to think about all manner of sexy things in order to get myself off. But I really wasn't getting anything, despite me being very, very hard.

"I think you'll find you just physically can't cum until I directly command it. Now. I'm going to count down from ten to one; and when I reach one, you're going to cum for me, slut. You're going to have an extremely intense orgasm. Keep stroking."

My master counted down; as the numbers decreased waves of pleasure coursed through my body. When my master reached two, he paused. For a long time. He looked into my eyes, with a look of lust and a slight smile on his face.

"One. Cum for me, you stupid slut. You do as I tell you now."

I had what I can only describe as an explosive full body orgasm. It felt almost like it was completely involuntary - like my body was being controlled by an external force. I writhed around. I shot a lot more cum than usual - and, somehow, managed to get it all to land neatly in the glass, which feels like quite an achievement in the circumstances.

"Now, slut. Drink. Drink up. You depraved little cumslut."

Without hesitation - without even thinking - I lifted the glass to my lips and greedily drank up all of my own cum.

"Good slut. Now. Just to clarify a few things about the effects that this ritual will have on you."

He beckoned me to come and lie down on the bed with him, and held me affectionately and protectively; stroked my hair a bit before continuing to explain.

"If I tell you that the world is flat, you accept it unquestionably, and remark to me that you can't believe you realised it before. If I tell you that you are a woman, you accept it. If I tell you that you want nothing more than to get down your knees and suck cocks, and that you can't think straight at all without a cock in your mouth, that becomes the case. That's how what I've done works; you won't try to assert your own will. You will accept and do whatever I say. It will wear off eventually, but there'll be enough time for me to teach you a few things. You understand?"

"I do."

"Oh. And. There's just one other thing. I also have the power to make you sleep."

* * * * *

When I awoke, I was on a bed in a strange place. It looked like a dressing room in an old theatre. I was naked. My collar had gone. There was a note beside me. It read:

Dearest slut,

If you look in the wardrobe, you will find the clothes that you are to wear tonight. If you kindly put those on, then knock on the door to the left of the room you're in when you're done, someone will help you complete your makeover. After that, you will be directed to the stage area of the venue. See you soon, my slut.

I had a look in the wardrobe. It looked like I wasn't going to be wearing much - the green panties and the black lace top that my master had helpfully bought on my behalf. And one of my pretty collars. I hurriedly put these items on, as I didn't want to keep anybody waiting.

Next door, in the makeup room, I had very, very slutty makeup applied to me. A wig - a long, auburn one - was put on me. When the make up artist was done, he handed me a hand mirror. It was quite amazing. I looked and felt very much like a woman. I looked so perfectly slutty. And this felt so right. I thanked the makeup artist for his work and asked him if he could kindly direct me to the stage. He agreed, and walked me out into the corridor, and to the curtained doorway that led out onto the stage.

"I hope you know what you're letting yourself in for, honeybun." he whispered.

"I don't."

"Well. Be careful. Some people can find it a bit much."

"I have the protection of my master.

"Well. Good luck."

I thanked him again. He pulled the curtain aside for me, and I stepped out, onto the stage. It was very, very well lit. I noticed that there were huge screens around the stage; and various cameras in different positions. As well as a man holding a camera stood in the corner. Straightaway I understood that it wasn't good enough for me to be just showed off in front of an audience: cameras were going to be trained on me at all times, and the crowd would be able to see what I was doing in high definition on a couple of very big screens.

I heard a voice - it sounded almost robotic - make an announcement over the theatre's PA system: "Please welcome slut number 594 to the stage."

I gingerly walked to the centre of the stage, and turned to face the audience. The audience was, as far as I could tell, mixed - cis and trans, men and women. All wearing fetishwear. All looking like they were here for the same purpose; all hot, in their different ways. (My master would later tell me that this was a members only establishment - and they were quite selective about who they allowed in.)

I tried to see if I could see my master in the crowd. I couldn't. I froze. I was out here by myself. Dressed up like a slut. On camera. In front of an audience. Possibly being recorded. Possibly even being live streamed on the internet. And my master was not with me.

"You look lost, slut." My master's voice. Thank God. I turned to the direction that the voice had come from - to my back, to the left. My master was walking towards me. He was fully clothed, dressed in a smart dark suit - and, I noticed, carrying a paddle.

I nodded in agreement - still feeling somewhat disoriented.

"Now slut. On your hands and knees." Once again, I found myself unconsciously obeying the command.

My master motioned to someone off stage: a stagehand appeared on cue, bringing with him a blindfold, some headphones and a small black bag, which I assumed contained a selection of toys. The blindfold was put on me first. And then the headphones - which, I soon discovered were playing white noise, constantly. I could no longer hear or see a thing. All that there was in terms of input would be smells, tastes, and physical sensations. I felt my slutty panties being pulled part way down, and my arse being exposed to the air - and then I felt a series of sharp and hard spanks across my arse. I lost count of how many spanks I received; but it seemed to go on forever. My master - if indeed, it was my master administering the spanks - was being much rougher and much more aggressive than usual.

When the spanking was finally over my buttocks were stinging; I was quite sure that they must have been quite heavily marked, but I had no way of knowing for certain. I was pulled to my feet - again, it felt like my master's touch, but I couldn't be sure. I felt my panties being grabbed, roughly, from the front. Then, I felt the touch of cold metal against my crotch. What was it? A blade? I panicked slightly - what was happening?

I realised a moment or so later that it was actually a pair of scissors. Whoever was holding them was cutting my panties open down the front. I felt a frisson of excitement, knowing that I was being exhibited and degraded before an audience of horny perverts. And then... I felt hands on my panties again. Whoever it was ripped them asunder - I felt what remained of my pretty panties fall upon my feet.