The chat takes control

Sam’s voice cut through the haze, sharp with a new, entrepreneurial glee. “They’re loving this. But let’s make it interactive. A real fundraiser.” Her fingers tapped rapidly on her phone screen, not filming, but configuring. “There. New rule in the chat. Pinned at the top.”

Erica, watching the laptop, read it aloud with a triumphant chirp. “For a twenty-dollar tip, you can give the slut any order. She will obey it. No limits.”

The words landed in the room like a declaration of war on Cathy’s last shreds of autonomy. A fresh, cold dread washed over her, so potent it momentarily stilled the frantic rocking of her hips.

The chat, however, exploded. The scrolling text became a blur of excitement and digital currency symbols.

-> User_Shadow23: $20 sent. Make her spit on her own tits. The written ones.

-> BrattyBrit: $20! I want a close-up on her face while she does it. I want to see her eyes.

The commands were instantaneous. Cathy’s eyes, wide and glazed, found the screen. Her voice was a hollow echo. “Shadow23 says… spit on my tits.” Her hand, trembling, rose to her mouth. She gathered a small pool of saliva and, with a shudder of revulsion, spat onto the stark black letters ‘CUM DUMP’ marring her pale breast. The warm fluid traced a path through the ink and over her stiff nipple.

The speculum was still in place, a cold, unyielding reminder of her exposure. The cucumber was still inside her, a grotesque anchor. And now she was defiling herself further on command for cash.

Another notification chimed, louder than the rest—a distinctive cash register sound Sam had clearly set up.

-> LordVortex: $100. Forget the cunt. I want to see that virgin asshole. I want to see her try to get a finger in it. Then I want to see her try to push one of those anal beads in. The big ones.

The air left Cathy’s lungs in a silent rush. No. Not that. That was a line. A final, intimate frontier she had never crossed, never even truly considered. The chat was chanting now, a chorus of encouragement for LordVortex’s request.

Erica was already moving, a flash of fiery hair as she dashed from the room. She returned moments later, holding a string of large, glossy black anal beads. They looked like a necklace of polished obsidian, each bead perfectly spherical and dauntingly large, connected by a thin, sturdy string. She dangled them in front of the laptop camera, giving the audience a preview. The chat scrolled with approval.

“You heard him, sweetheart,” Anita purred, her eyes dark with vicarious thrill. “The customer is always right. And he just paid a hundred dollars for the show.”

“The speculum,” Allison said, her tone practical. “It’s in the way.”

With a cold, clinical click, Anita loosened the screw. The relief as the pressure released was immediate and immense, but short-lived. The speculum was withdrawn, leaving her feeling gaping, empty, and horrifically ****.

Cathy was left on her elbows, her lower body completely exposed, every part of her glistening and used. The camera’s focus, both Sam’s phone and the laptop’s, zeroed in on the new target: the tiny, tightly-clenched pucker nestled between the full cheeks of her ass.

“Let’s see a finger first,” Sam directed, her voice all business. “As requested. Show them how tight it is.”

Cathy’s hand shook so violently she could barely control it. She reached back, her fingers slick with her own mixed juices. The tip of her middle finger touched the rosette. It was a forbidden touch, a violation of a private rule she didn’t know she had. The muscle was tight, unyielding, a tiny knot of resistance. She pressed.

A sharp, burning pain made her gasp. It wasn’t just tight; it was impossible. Her body refused the intrusion. She pushed harder, her face contorting with effort and pain, but the tip of her finger couldn’t breach the guardian muscle.

“She can’t do it,” Suki whispered, her voice a mixture of pity and fascination.

“She’s not trying,” Erica scoffed. “Here.”

Erica knelt behind Cathy, grabbing the string of beads. She poured a generous amount of clear lube from a small bottle into her palm, slicking the first large, black bead until it shone. The sight of it, glistening and immense, sent a new wave of pure terror through Cathy.

“Let’s give the people what they paid for,” Erica said, her voice low and excited.

The cold, lubed tip of the bead pressed against Cathy’s resistant hole. It was a sensation so alien, so profoundly wrong, that she cried out—a short, sharp sound of protest.

“Relax,” Erica commanded, but there was no kindness in it, only impatience.

Cathy tried. She tried to **** her muscles to unclench, but they were locked in a vice of fear and ingrained taboo. She bore down, her entire body trembling with the effort, her face pressed into the rug. The hard, smooth sphere pressed insistently, but it wouldn’t give. It was like trying to **** a marble into a locked keyhole.

“It won’t go,” Cathy sobbed, the admission one of utter defeat. “It’s too big. I can’t.”

The live chat was going wild.

-> LordVortex: PUSH YOU USELESS SLUT

-> BrattyBrit: she’s such a tight little thing isn’t she

-> User_Shadow23: needs a cock to loosen her up first

Erica increased the pressure, her own breath hitching with the effort. Cathy could feel the painful, burning stretch, the threat of tearing. A high, **** whine escaped her lips. She was a thing being broken open for the entertainment of strangers, and she was failing even at that.

The first bead would not go in. It remained a hard, impossible pressure at her gate, a symbol of a degrading order that was still, for now, just out of reach. The audience had paid for a show, and they were getting one: the real-time, humiliating struggle of a virgin ass refusing to yield. And yet the most confusing sensation of all was the hot, slick pulse of her cunt, throbbing in time with the persistent pressure, as if her body, in its ultimate betrayal, was excited by the attempt itself.