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Dixie used to be an independent young woman putting herself through her Freshman year of college, estranged from her family and determined to make her own way in the world. Now she’s something much simpler: a living object, trained to service and pleasure her handler while denying her own pleasure. She doesn’t remember exactly how her life changed so much, or even how long she’s been in training, but she does know that today’s adventure will be the first time in a very long time that she’s left her handler’s house. She just hopes she can live up to his expectations…Very dark content rating, 10k words.
Content Warnings/Tags: human trafficking; brainwashing/indoctrination via torture (not physically violent); depersonalization and extreme objectification, including forced use of it/its pronouns; nonconsensual genital piercings (no active piercing/needles on-page); use of misogynist language as a form of depersonalization/denigration; forced exhibitionism
Dixie woke up already begging.
“P, please,” she stammered out before she even knew where she was, her body straining forward into a familiar gentle, bouncing stimulation against her clit.
A man laughed. Her handler?
She couldn’t tell. She was disoriented, her vision still dark even though she’d opened her eyes, and the hard bench under her was intermittently vibrating, making it so hard to focus–
Because she was in a vehicle.
Foggy memories flooded back: she was being transported somewhere. She couldn’t see because her handler had blindfolded her, said it was to keep her calm, and she had to admit that she had felt a little bit panicky at the idea of being taken out of the underground room where he had kept for the past–
–How long, again?–
–Well, it had been a long time. A long time since she had last been outside, and the idea frightened her, but the blindfold helped.
The bindings helped, too, because she didn’t have to worry about whether she was meant to be sitting or kneeling or doing anything else in particular; she didn’t have any choice. Her arms were cuffed behind her and attached to the inside wall of the vehicle, which she thought might be something like the transport trucks that they used for prisoners.
Dixie’s ankles were cuffed to the floor, too, holding her legs spread uncomfortably wide. That left her naked pussy exposed and undefended–and someone was tugging lightly on the ring pierced through her clitoral hood. That was what had woken her.
The gentle, indistinct movement sent little static shocks of teasing pleasure through her, lighting up the cavernous yearning inside her, the emptiness in her core.
“Pl-ease…” she gasped.
She wanted desperately to be fucked, to be filled up, to be useful. The way she had been trained to be.
“Noisy. You said you used a new technique for this one?”
“Yeah.” That was her handler; she knew his voice well by now. “Complete orgasm denial. It is pretty noisy, I guess I could have trained that out, but I think the sounds are sweet.”
She tried to bite back any more cries, embarrassed–but every slight movement in the little piercing made her whine and squirm helplessly. The smallest bit of it was in direct contact with the hyper-sensitive skin of her unprotected clit, rubbing directly against it under the hood at the same time as it tugged at the skin wrapped around her clit.
Her handler never touched her clit directly, not since the piercing had been put in, and the light stimulation felt unimaginably intense. The metal bench under her was wet with her own fluids.
“Yeah. It’s cute,” the other man commented, and her pussy fluttered hopefully, the way it always did these days when anyone said anything about her that implied approval. If he thought she was cute then maybe he would fuck her, maybe he would fill her up, and she felt so desperately empty– “Is it harder to train it like that? When you can’t reward it?”
“Oh, it gets plenty of rewards,” her handler laughed. “Don’t you, cunt?”
“Y-yes sir,” she stammered, because she knew better than to ignore a direct question. And it was true; she did get so many rewards. Sometimes her handler fucked her, or used a vibrator on her nipples, or–if she was really good–he might even put a dildo in her to keep the whole day…just thinking about it made her shudder and drip more onto the seat. “It, it gets lots of r-rewards.”
“Mm. Practically spoiled, this cunt.”
A rough, heavy hand landed on Dixie’s thigh, a hand that she recognized as belonging to her handler. He stroked her in a proprietary way, like he was petting a dog. She shivered and bit her lip again.
A part of her, deep inside, still felt shame at how they talked to her, about her. It. Cunt. Bitch.
But that was what she was called, here, in her new life. What she was. She no longer felt the urge to argue back, to fight and scream, to defend her personhood and her ownership of her own body.
Dixie didn’t even feel the urge to escape. Not any more.
It was impossible, anyway. She’d tried, of course–she’d gorukle escort tried so many times, in the early days. When she first woke to find herself restrained in a cage in a basement room, naked, disoriented. She’d been terrified, and confused, and she’d wanted to get away. To go back to her old life.
So she had tried to escape. She had tried, and each time the punishment had been–horrific. Weeks of isolation, cuffed up in her cage, with her handler only visiting long enough to give her a bit of food and water and then to smear a thick cream over her genitals, her anus, her breasts. The cream burned like acid at first–just the sensation, it never left a mark on her, but the pain was excruciating–and then over time would cool to a violent itching, leaving her inconsolable in her inability to touch herself to relieve the itch or satisfy the resulting raging arousal.
By the end of each punishment, she was out of her mind with torment, begging to be forgiven. Pleading that she understood her place, that she wouldn’t try to run again.
The first time she said that, it had been a lie. And the second time, and the third.
But–but somewhere along the way–
The truth was Dixie couldn’t remember now why she had ever wanted to go back to her old life.
Oh, sure, there were things that she missed, if she thought hard enough about it.
The biggest thing was probably the right to masturbate, to come. When she had been her own woman–a real person, living her own life–she could touch herself whenever and however she wanted, and she didn’t need anyone’s permission to have an orgasm. That was mostly what she thought of, now, if she looked back on that old life; and maybe her memory was warping a bit, skewed by her fantasies, because surely she hadn’t spent all her time giving herself one glorious orgasm after another.
Yes, she did sometimes wish that she could go back to that part of her old life. She understood why it had to be this way–why her handler, who owned her body, got to decide when and if that body experienced satisfaction–but sometimes she just…thought about it.
About the days when she was free to just reach down, and massage her clit, and…
But it didn’t matter, because Dixie wasn’t that woman any more. She was no longer a college student, no longer the independent young woman who had cut all contact with her abusive family to start over.
She hadn’t even had time to make any friends at her school. Nobody would ever know that she was missing, not until the college started looking for her tuition checks.
Or would that have happened already? She had to pay them every semester, and it had been…well, it had been…
It didn’t matter. Looking back on that life now, she felt nothing–no yearning, no recognition. Only a vague jealousy for that woman who had been free to touch herself any time, to feel pleasure whenever she wanted.
“Ready for your big day, cunt?” her handler asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“Y-yes, sir,” she said, because it was the only acceptable answer.
She didn’t know what would happen. Her handler never told her in advance what to expect, never gave her a chance to get worried or try to prepare. She didn’t know where they were going, how much longer the ride would be, what would happen when they got there.
None of that mattered, though–because she would be ready for it. For whatever happened to her. That was her only job, now: to be ready for whatever happened to her. Her handler had trained her for it, and she had to trust that his training would be what she needed.
It was a very simple life. Uncomplicated.
Almost…better, in some ways, than the life she’d had before.
“You’ll get a nice reward when we get there,” handler assured her. “Something to fill you up.”
Dixie shivered. Her clit twitched, which made her moan as she felt it press against the heavy ring.
Her handler laughed. “Yes, you like that, don’t you? I asked them to set up a fucking machine just for you, just to drill out your hungry bitch-hole.”
“Sir,” she gasped, trembling with anticipation. Her thighs spread automatically, her back arching, body trying to present itself for penetration immediately at just the thought.
“That’s right. What a happy cunt you’ll be. I want you to wiggle and squirm for all the nice people coming to look at you.” There was another gentle tug at her clit-ring, and she thought that the leash attached to it must have been passed back to him by the other man–a guard or an escort, maybe. “You’ll do that, won’t you? Be a good little bitch and show off all the effort I’ve put into training you?”
“Yes, sir, yes,” she whined, her thighs shaking with how hard she was straining to spread them wider, obstructed by the bench, by the unforgiving dig of the cuffs around her ankles.
“If you’re lucky, someone may even want to sample the product, and you’ll get a real cock in your hole.”
She could only moan at that, low and desperate, her hips lurching.
Her bursa görükle escort handler laughed again.
***
Half an hour later, the truck finally stopped.
They didn’t get out right away. First, Dixie’s handler had her thank the other man in the truck for escorting them.
Uncuffed but still blindfolded, she knelt on the metal floor and sucked the stranger’s cock. He nudged the toe of his boot between her thighs, lightly teasing the sensitive skin around her wet pussy. He marveled out loud at how well-trained she was, at how she didn’t hump at his shoe or his leg without permission, how she focused on pleasuring him even though she was whining for it.
“Should I let it hump?” the man offered. “It’ll just edge itself, right?”
“It would never come without permission,” her handler confirmed. “I’d just rather not get it too dirty before the show.”
The certainty in his voice made Dixie swell inside with pride. She was so well-trained. She would never, even though she wanted to so bad, she would never–it was what she lived for, now. To do what she was told, to please other people, more important people, real people. And the number one rule to please other people was that she was never, ever supposed to come without her handler’s permission.
And she had long stopped hoping to get that permission. He hadn’t ever given it, not once since she had reached the appropriate stages of training and had learned to control herself. The idea of coming, now–of even asking for it–would feel like a shattering failure. Like she had failed to live up to his expectations.
The other man grunted in understanding, then grunted again a minute later as he pumped his semen down Dixie’s throat.
His low noises of pleasure made her drip onto the floor, her body tingling.
It felt so, so good to make someone else feel good. It was what she was for, now, and handler had trained her to be so good at it.
Sometimes, she hardly even missed her own orgasms.
“Well done, cunt,” her handler praised when she stood, even though she was clumsy, her legs numb from kneeling on the hard floor and from the hot need throbbing in her.
They unloaded from the truck a while later. Dixie’s blindfold stayed on; her handler led her along with the leash attached to the clit-ring, tugging and clicking his tongue when he changed direction so that she would know to follow.
She could hear other people around them–men and women, talking quietly, at a distance–but none of them said anything to her or her handler, none of them came close enough to touch her.
It was still humiliating, if she thought about what they were seeing when they looked at her. Naked, pussy dripping, dragged through the halls by a chain attached to her swollen, erect clit. Glittering piercings at her nipples as well, and on her tongue and her septum, everywhere that her handler had thought would be convenient or attractive. All welded shut, not meant to ever be removed: the kind of piercings that were used to control livestock, not decorative piercings like a real person might have.
But it wasn’t as mortifying, nor as terrifying, as it would have been once.
Handler had been getting her used to strangers, bringing over his friends and letting them touch her, reward her, fuck her.
So even as part of Dixie was deeply embarrassed to be seen by so many people, another–much louder–part of her was wondering hopefully whether any of them liked what they saw. Whether they might ask her handler to borrow her, to use her.
He’d said there would be rewards here, hadn’t he?
Oh, it’d been ages since he’d fucked her pussy, she felt so empty–
“Here we go,” he said, and pulled her blindfold off.
Dixie blinked hard at the sudden brightness, but as her eyes adjusted, she realized the room was actually quite dim. There were no windows, and the lights were kept low. That was reassuring. It was familiar, not so different to the underground room she’d been living in for the past–
–However long her handler had been training her.
A year, maybe? Two years?
It didn’t really matter how long it had been. Keeping track of time wasn’t something she needed to worry about any more.
Besides, there was something far more important in front of her: a fucking machine. A big, powerful machine with a fat dildo attached. She couldn’t restrain a quiet, wanting whine at the sight of it.
Her handler laughed. “You like how that looks, don’t you, cunt? You want that in you? Nice reward for you, hmm?”
She nodded, blushing furiously with the power of her own desire, and he nudged her towards a bed in the center of the room. That was familiar, too: all sterile metal bars and a flat, hard mattress–almost hospital-like–very much like the bed she slept on at home, when she’d been good and didn’t need to be locked in the cage. The only difference here was that the footboard rails on this bed had been dropped down, making room for the machine to be placed right up against the foot of the bed.
“Go on up. Hands and knees, with your tongue out.”
“Yes, sir,” she murmured, and climbed eagerly onto the bed, opening her mouth and dropping her tongue so that the piercing there was exposed.
Her handler detached the thin leather leash carefully from her clit–each near brush of his fingers made her shiver–and then attached it instead to the ring that pierced her tongue. Once it was secured, he looped the leash around the metal bars of the headboard, pulling it tight until Dixie had to hold her head up to keep it from tugging uncomfortably at her tongue.
He patted her on the head before stepping away to move the fucking machine into position. “Good cunt,” he praised as he adjusted the machine, nudging the head of the dildo against her wet, ready hole. She couldn’t help but breathe hard at the sensation, practically panting as her entire awareness narrowed down to the toy promising to fill her achingly empty body. “So eager, hmm? Are you ready to show off for all these people how well-trained you are?”
“Ye-sth thir,” she lisped around the leash, though a bolt of nerves went through her at the implication that so many strangers would be seeing her, judging her? “I’ll be good, I promisthe.”
“I know you will,” he said, patting her on the rump before reaching between her legs to spread her vulva to get at her clit-ring again.
He hooked on a chain this time, one that she knew well: it had a weight dangling from the end. Not anything too heavy, just the kind of weight that might be used on a fishing line, but it was more than enough to make her moan with a combination of discomfort and pleasure as it swung gently in the air and tugged at the tender flesh, creating a fluttering, massaging sensation around her sensitive clit.
Her handler reached up and pulled her hair back from her face, looking her over: outstretched tongue, drool already gathering at the corners of her mouth, thighs trembling lightly and setting the weight to swinging even more.
He nodded in satisfaction. “Perfect. Remind me, cunt, who here can give you permission to orgasm?”
“On-y you, thir.”
“That’s right.” He patted her on the cheek, then stepped away. “Here you go. This is your big reward for training up so nicely. The event will go on for a few hours at least, so enjoy it.”
He turned on the machine then, and the dildo started to press forward, slowly forcing its way into Dixie’s hungry pussy.
Dixie cried out so loudly that she barely heard her handler walking out of the room. She lost track of herself for a while, absolutely undone by the simple pleasure of being so utterly full, when she spent every second of every day feeling so empty.
The machine moved slowly, much more slowly than any person ever would. It dragged in and out of her in gentle waves, forcing her to really feel it. Her clit throbbed, tickled by the movement of the ring and the gentle tug of the weight as it swung underneath her.
Occasionally, everything inside her would coalesce into a massive twitch, a hungry rippling motion that pulled against the weight and tightened her around the dildo and made Dixie shudder all over.
This was it. This was everything she wanted, everything she dreamt about when she slept, everything she fantasized about during the dullest moments of training.
Well–maybe not everything, because she couldn’t–but she didn’t have permission to come, anyway, so that was fine.
And it was so good just to be full. To feel something down there where she was always burning for stimulation. The short fucks from her handler, from his friends, never lasted long enough to provide more than a temporary reprieve from the emptiness, but the machine…it just kept going, and going, and going.
Dixie let out one long, grateful moan after another, the sweet and glad noises that her handler liked to hear–even though she was fairly sure that he wasn’t listening, that he had walked away and left the room altogether.
“Noisy, isn’t she?” a woman’s voice tittered, and Dixie jerked and gasped, startled. She hadn’t heard anyone come in.
“Look here on the sign, dear, this one is an it,” a man corrected. “Oh, it’s one of Tyson’s bitches. Says here that he trained it on a new program–complete orgasm denial.”
“No orgasms at all? Well, no wonder it’s so loud,” the woman said. “And wet.”
Fingers pressed against the stretched skin where the dildo was slowly pumping into Dixie’s pussy, smearing through the fluids she was leaking around it. She flushed with embarrassment, but with her mouth open for the leash attached to her tongue, she couldn’t quiet the loud cry of pleasure that the touch evoked.
“Oh, poor thing. I almost feel bad for it,” the woman simpered. “Do you eat cunt, bitch?”
Dixie nodded–as much as the leash would allow–and stammered out, “Y-yesth, nm’am.”
Seconds later, she was doing so.
The woman sat on the headboard, legs spread and skirt rolled up, and she even loosened the leash so that Dixie had more room to maneuver her tongue, which was a relief. Dixie lapped away at the woman’s slick folds, using her tongue-ring to tease against the woman’s clit the way that she’d been taught; her own clit, gently teased by the dangling weight, throbbed sympathetically.
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