Ivy League at Any Cost

Vicki was still in the bathroom coffee shop. She had done her best to clean up after being force-fed Liz's piss. The soap and water hadn't been enough, could never be enough. Vicki felt she could never be clean again.

It was her punishment for meeting Liz without a buttplug in her ass, for daring to attempt to end this relationship. Her stomach roiled. Her knees still creaked from kneeling on the hard tile floor. It wasn't over. It would never be over. This was her life now.

Vicki needed to move. Liz had ordered an inspection back at the house. The punishment wasn't over.

The buttplug pressed uncomfortably against her insides, a constant reminder of who she was now. Liz's slave.

She couldn't hide in here forever. Vicki unlocked the bathroom door. The heavy clack of the deadbolt made her jump. She took a deep breath. Her whole world smelled like Liz's piss. She had to move forward. She had no choice.

Vicki opened the door and walked in to the coffee shop. Her ass was stretched and uncomfortable. The buttplug was humiliating but at least it was invisible. What truly scared Vicki was that she had no real sense of smell. Her sinuses burned with Liz's piss. Vicki couldn't smell herself and that was terrifying.

She stumbled through the coffee shop praying no one noticed.

Liz. She was still fucking here, sitting at a table, drinking her coffee like nothing had happened. She put her drink down and smiled at Vicki.

Vicki's wet shirt clung to her full breasts, nearly transparent, nipples poking obscenely through thin material. Liz smiled and waved her over.

Vicki shuffled through the coffee shop numb, bumped into a table which made an awkward scraping noise. For a moment, all eyes were on her.

"Is it in?" Liz asked.

Vicki nodded.

"Good. Don't forget, my room. Inspection, got it?" Liz's smile was perfect.

Vicki darted her eyes around the shop. Two boys she didn't recognize were staring at her tits.

"Yes," she said. Vicki had to get the hell out of here. She swallowed her words, but on the inside she was begging, pleading to just go.

"Yes, what?"

Vicki stared at Liz. A world of contempt was communicated with just those eyes and that expecting smirk. Liz was going to make her say it.

"Yes. Master," Vicki whispered.

Liz's eyes lit up. Another cruel smile. She sipped her coffee and stared into Vicki.

"Well you better get going then," she said. "It's not a short walk."

The boy nudged his friend, and both sets of eyes were on her. They looked poised to say something. Vicki launched herself for the door, making it to the street.

The sidewalk outside was lightly traveled. An old man stared at her tits-- no one she knew. Her breathing came in ragged gasps. "Don't panic," she told herself. She just had to get home.

So she walked from one end of campus to the other. Her full ass working around the buttplug with each step, every one a reminder of just how much her plan had backfired, and how soap and water made for inadequate lube.

The sun was shining, but even so the walk was cold, making her nipples even more visible. At least it was Sunday and campus was less packed than normal.

Men and women watched her go by. She told herself that her nipples were just hard from the cold.

--

Vicki prayed for the house to be empty. It wasn't uncommon for the other girls to go home on the weekend, and it typically didn't refill until evening. She made it all the way to her room without being stopped, breathing a sigh of relief. Vicki opened the door.

Janette.

Fuck. She was lying on the bed, freshly showered, in a clingy t-shirt and panties. She wasn't naked, but her outfit left very little to the imagination. Did she ever fucking wear clothes? Janette was reading a textbook but immediately slammed it shut.

"Vicki!" she said.

Fuck. Fuck.

Vicki had dried off on the walk home, but her world still reeked. She needed a shower.

"Janette," Vicki said. Her tone neutral, stomach turning over, a burp forming. Jesus no, she told herself.

"We need to talk," Janette said.

"Yeah, but not now," Vicki said. She started toward the bathroom.

"Now Vicki," Janette said. She leapt off the bed, uncomfortably close. "You've been avoiding me for weeks,"

Those pale blue eyes. Patient. Kind. Worried.

Where was that concern when Steve was raping her? When she was getting throat fucked in front of everyone she knew?

Vicki was going to throw up.

"I'm... I'm sorry," Janette said. She stepped in closer, so close. She put a small hand on Vicki's shoulder. "I was drunk. I know you don't want--"

"Stay the fuck away from me!" Vicki shouted. And she meant it. Fucking Janette, her beautiful, perfect roommate who wanted to fuck her and comfort her and abandon her when Vicki needed her most. She wanted to cry on that bony shoulder and wanted everything to be OK. But things weren't OK. They weren't ever going to be OK. A good cry against sharp ribs wouldn't cut it this time.

Vicki stormed passed Janette, not quite shoving her, slamming the bathroom door behind her. She threw the bathtub facet to max and bent over the tub. The toxic urine belch started a round of dry heaving.

When the first wave of dry heaving passed, and Vicki was able to form a coherent thought again, her first wish was that that Janette was gone, and that she was alone, that no one could hear what she was going through.

Vicki couldn't stand anymore good natured concern.

--

Vicki took a long shower and cried it all out. By the time it was over, Janette was gone. Not that it mattered. She had minutes to put her buttplug back in and get to Liz's room.

It had only been a couple of hours since Vicki's gamble for independence had backfired. It felt like a lifetime. The long shower had given her time to process. She had fallen from hope and independence to this.

Nothing. She was nothing. Liz was extra angry now, not that she ever needed a reason to punish Vicki.

Trapped. As bad as things were with Liz, it would be infinitely worse if she turned Vicki in. She had only the edge of how bad the true punishment would be, but the vacant look in both Liz's and her sister's eyes said more than enough.

Vicki was caught. There was no point in fighting anymore.

She selected a low cut shirt, skimpy even. It left most of her chest exposed, and a bit of her mid-drift. Her nipples poked through the thin material. Fuck it, she told herself. What was modesty now?

Vicki selected her shortest skirt. It was loose and frilly, not like the sleek, ass hugging dresses the other girls wore, but it only went down to mid thigh, and left easy access to her ass.

Vicki got herself ready, then reached for the buttplug. This was the point after all. Her inspection. Liz wanted to check that Vicki's defiant streak was truly dead. She slid it in, so big, always too big. But eventually it fit, stretching her open again.

Her defiant streak was dead.

Vicki walked the short distance to Liz's room, knocking once then going in.

Liz was laid out on her bed, not so different than Janette had been.

Fuck. Janette. She had a a flash of the things she had said to Janette, the look of hurt in her eyes. Vicki had a moment of regret that settled into anger.

Liz's outfit was remarkably close to Vicki's. Short, loose skirt that showed off her toned legs. An undersized t-shirt clung to her body, revealing smooth abs and sharp nipples.

"Nice outfit," Liz said. It wasn't even sarcastic this time.

"Th-thanks," Vicki said.

"Lock the door and bend over," Liz said.

--

Vicki was bent over, the short skirt dragging so far up her thighs it left very little to the imagination.

Liz crossed the room, Vicki's feeling of doom growing as she approached.

Liz flipped the skirt up Vicki's back, exposing her in an instant. Vicki's shaved pussy and buttplug-filled ass were on display.

"Good," Liz said. "You going to listen now?"

Vicki nodded.

Liz slapped her ass, then gripped it hard, painfully.

"What was that?"

"Yes, master," Vicki said. Reflex.

"Just because you are obeying now, that doesn't mean I have forgotten what you did," Liz said. "Drinking a little piss doesn't get you off the hook."

Liz turned on the stereo. Bob Dylan, Blonde on Blonde. Vicki watched her go through her dresser and pull out the same belt Liz had beaten her with before.

She held it up to Vicki's lips. Without prompting, Vicki kissed it. A cruel smile from Liz.

"I've been thinking," Liz said. "You need to be punished." Liz slid the belt across Vicki's ass. She couldn't suppress a shiver. "You need a real beating. Not for fun. Not like last time. One that will leave a mark. You need to understand the consequences for defiance."

Vicki flashed back to her last beating, how Liz had crossed her back, pussy, and ass with the belt, how Liz had violated her with fingers, how Vicki had been desperate for more.

Vicki thought about the lash on her pussy, how she had cried out in pain, convinced that Liz would kill her. And that was before she had rebelled, before Liz wanted to leave a mark.

New butterflies grew in Vicki's stomach. Not dread or humiliation. Fear. What would Liz do?

Vicki felt a finger brush against her pussy, rubbing and pressing until she opened up, felt it slide in.

"You are such a whore," Liz said. Vicki knew she was wet, somehow the fear and pain turned her on. She hated herself but couldn't control it.

"I'll give you a choice, and think about it before you answer," Liz said. As she spoke, the fingers inside of Vicki stroked and massaged, gently sliding in and out, pressing against the buttplug from the inside. Each word was a breathy whisper in her ear, each one lighting a fire in her body. "I'm going to whip you so hard you won't be fit for service. Fuck your ass raw, break your pussy open, make you afraid to have sex with me..."

Liz paused, taking time to enjoy Vicki's insides. Pleasure built with each touch. Vicki felt the warm edge of an orgasm, Liz's breathy words of imminent torture pushing her towards the edge.

"In return, you get the week off," Liz said. The fingers never stopped. "You'll have to take the week off, because you will be so used up you'll need the time to recover."

The words cut through Vicki, even as Liz's fingers stroked her inside. Vicki was going to fucking come. She bit her lip and tried to fight it.

"Or," Liz began, "I'm going to set you up with the oldest, baldest, bad breathy-iest client I can find, and he can fuck you. Missionary. Ten minutes at the most."

The fingers inside Vicki felt so good. Liz was cruel, but she was also hot as fuck. Vicki hated the part of her that liked this treatment, but that part was real, and with each stroke of Liz's fingers that part of her grew. Getting defiled by Liz wasn't just preferable to fucking some old man. Vicki wanted it. She wanted those fingers inside of her and more. What was a little pain for so much pleasure?

"So what do you say Vicki," she whispered, lips so close that Vicki could feel her breath on her neck, so close lips grazed her skin. "Do you want me to ruin your body?"

Vicki wanted it so bad. She wanted to come around Liz's fingers, wanted to be tied down and fucked. Abused. She needed all of it.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. The rattle of the locked doorknob trying to open.

"Liz, open up," McKayla's voice cut through the thin walls. Liz pulled her fingers out of Vicki, both girls stood up, almost in a daze. The buttplug filled her ass. Scared and horny, Vicki's orgasm receded away.

Liz stared Vicki down. "Don't you say a fucking word," she hissed.

Vicki nodded. Oh fuck. McKayla had warned her to stay away from Liz. Vicki told herself that this wasn't on her. She was the victim. It did nothing to calm her nerves.

Liz opened the door.

"We need to talk," McKayla said. Her eyes cut over to Vicki. "What the fuck is she doing in here?"

Vicki wasn't wearing panties below her skirt. Her nipples were hard. Her blouse low cut and sheer. She'd never felt so naked in her life.

"House business," Liz said. Cold.

"I run this house too," McKayla said.

"What do you want?" Liz asked.

McKayla stared at Vicki again. Gears were turning, but Vicki didn't know to what end. Whatever lust had been powering Vicki's body was draining away. Moments ago she was desperate, ready to fling herself off a cliff just to get fucked by Liz. Now she felt so very tired, her ass abused, belly full of piss.

She pressed her eyes shut, finding new ways to hate herself, clenching her jaw and willing herself to keep it together.

"Vicki, get the fuck out of her," McKayla said. "And shut the door."

Vicki hustled out of the room, new fear growing. All of this misery spun off from one night, when Liz had gotten her drunk and Steve had fucked her. A violation of the only rule. What if Liz turned her in? The doorbell video and her wet hair would be enough to find her guilty. It wasn't exactly a jury of her peers. All this abuse would be for nothing, with only worse to come.

--

Vicki spent the rest of the evening in her room. Alone. Janette didn't come back. She took too much Tylenol PM and waited for sleep.

But she was restless, her uncertain future hung over her. Liz's threat wouldn't go away. Vicki slipped her shorts off, naked from the waist down. Her legs and pussy were freshly shaved and smooth.

Vicki's body wasn't her own any more. It belonged to Liz first and the house second. She slid her fingers over her clit. It was almost funny. She wasn't abusing herself. She was taking advantage of Liz's property. Vicki thought of her body as a separate thing, and found she liked the idea.

Vicki stroked her clit, lingering on the feeling of Liz's fingers inside of her and the threat. She imagined the belt across her pussy, shouting and crying in pain, out of control, begging to stop, begging to come. A strap-on so big it hurt, strapped to Liz's perfect abs and thighs. Getting fucked doggy style, hands in her hair, each stroke stretching her, painfully deep, bucking into Liz's tight body, coming over and over and over again.

Vicki's orgasm came quickly, as intense as anything she had experienced in her short time as a sex slave. She basked in the glow, eventually rolling over, looking at the empty bed beside her.

She was alone. As her afterglow faded, Liz's threat came back to her. It wasn't a fantasy. It was real. Not sexy. Painful. Real pain. Fucking her so hard it hurt. Why did the idea turn her on? Vicki clutched her pillow and hated herself. Sleep came quick.

--

Janette didn't come back. Vicki returned to her room after class to find most of her things gone. She left a perfectly nice, folded up card for Vicki. It said only, "I'm sorry."

Part of Vicki died inside, knowing Janette was gone, but that part was getting strangled each day, little by little. Soon, Vicki wouldn't feel anything. She welcomed the idea.

Janette's departure left more time alone, which was bad. Every moment alone was less protection from Liz.

Vicki never got the story of what happened between Liz and McKayla. Maybe they were discussing Janette's move. Maybe not. It seemed to spook Liz, who left her alone for the week.

During the day, Vicki was terrified at what new humiliation Liz would inflict on her, but at night, before bed, she would masturbate, imagining a sexy kind of torture, where her breasts and abs were perfect, and men and women would watch her being whipped, marveling at how she stoically endured each smack. The red welts on her body making them want to fuck her even more, but they couldn't.

In her fantasy, she got to decide who fucked her, and Liz would beat her, stopping only when Vicki's sexy body overwhelmed her with desire, stopping the torture so she could lick Vicki's pussy. How good it would feel. Each night she shuffled off to sleep haunted by self shame and revulsion.

The only thing worse than being tormented by Liz, was being left alone to torment herself.

--

Friday night.

Liz hadn't bothered her all week. The reprieve should have been wonderful. It felt like a punishment, as if Liz was so mad at her she wouldn't even fuck her. It made Vicki nervous, like Liz was spending time in a lab crafting a scenario for Vicki's bleak future.

A black SUV pulled up in front of the house. Kim had left an hour earlier. Janette and Haley were still inside. Janette wouldn't make eye contact with her, and Vicki didn't press it.

In her heart, Vicki knew what she was in for. Punishment. The old man. Missionary. Bad breath and paunchy skin. Whatever had transpired between Liz and McKayla had taken the beating off the table. Vicki should have been relieved, but instead felt shaky as she approached the SUV.

Liz strutted up from behind her, up to the car door and opened it. She had on a stylish jacket and a skintight green dress that cut out at her mid thigh.

"Get in," Liz said.

Vicki took a deep breath and got in the car.

The first shock came at how damn cold the interior was, the second when Liz got in behind her. Bill was behind the wheel as they drove off into the night.

A terrifying thought consumed Vicki, one that drained away all the erotic tension, drained away the fantasy, the nights imagining a beating like it was a good thing, like she would be screaming in ecstasy. What if Liz was the client?

The thing she had promised Vicki-- sex so terrible it would take a week to recover-- it couldn't be done in the house. You don't beat a woman raw in a crowded house with thin walls.

Oh fuck. What if she wouldn't stop? The idea of a safeword lost its power weeks ago.

"Where are we going?" Vicki asked. Her voice was shaking.

"The city," Liz said.

"Bad breath billionaire?" Vicki asked.

"Something else," Liz smiled.

Vicki looked in the mirror at Bill behind the wheel. They wouldn't kill her. Liz was cruel, but she wasn't a murderer. Bill wasn't in on the blackmail either, at least not that Vicki knew. He was "safe," authorized to fuck Vicki or any of the girls without protection. Fuck.

"The belt then?" Vicki was afraid to ask.

A moment of confusion rippled across Liz's face. She turned to look at Bill's face in the mirror then back at Vicki.

"No, shut up," she watched Bill for another moment. He seemed oblivious. "We have special clients tonight. Just for you. You ever hear of Nyotaimori?"

"No," Vicki said.

"It's Japanese," Liz said.

"I'm not," Vicki said back.

"Well I don't think there will be a quiz. Do you need a reminder of who you are talking to?" Liz asked, an edge of anger in her voice.

Vicki looked away. Fuck me. "No," she said.

"Then truly, shut the fuck up," Liz said. "Nyotaimori is the Japanese custom of eating sushi off the body of a naked woman. It's been phased out -- sexist, misogynistic, canceled, all of that. That's why they need our special services. Normally there are rules to protect the modesty of the woman, rules we won't be observing tonight."

Vicki sighed. Of the indignities she had to suffer, getting mistaken for Japanese shouldn't have registered, but it did. It just hurt different, a gap in the armor she had spent weeks building up.

She tried to imagine the scenario in her mind. Vicki wasn't familiar with the process but she could guess. Lay down on a table while men ogled her. She assumed the worst. Spread legs, pussy and ass exposed. Nipples on display.

"It's a special client," Liz said. "Clients. Normally they aren't allowed to touch you, but they paid extra. A lot extra. They're going to get whatever they want."

She updated the scenario in her mind. Laying naked on a table, getting fucked while men watched.

"How many?" Vicki asked.

"Six to eight," Liz smiled.

"What are they going to do?" Vicki asked. Liz just stared at her. The answer was obvious. "I'm not complaining or saying no, but I don't know if I can do it. I... physically I mean."