Deeper Breaking

The next three weeks became a relentless blur of degradation and conditioning.

Dorothy woke you every morning by dragging you out of the pet bed by your collar and forcing you to greet the day with her cock down your throat. She no longer used lube — she wanted you to feel every inch of discomfort, every gag, every tear.

She stopped calling you anything but Slutcunt.

Your old name was forbidden. If you hesitated even slightly when she called for you, she would punish you by making you crawl on your belly through the house while she walked on your back in heels. The fresh brands on your pubic mound and thigh were kept raw — she rubbed special ointment on them daily, not to heal them faster, but to make the scarring deeper and more raised.

One particularly brutal afternoon, she tied you spread-eagle on the dining table and invited two of her futa friends over for “lunch.”

While they ate gourmet food above you, you were fed directly from their bodies — piss, shit, and cum in rotating cycles — until your stomach bulged and your mind grew hazy. Every time you begged for mercy, Dorothy would lean down and whisper:

“Dominara will be much worse, Slutcunt. This is just preparation.”

She began training your voice.

Every night she made you repeat the same mantras while she slowly fucked you:

“I am Slutcunt.”

“I have a useless clitty.”

“I exist to be used.”

“I belong to Mommy forever.”

“I will serve in Dominara without question.”

If you stumbled over the words, she would pull out and edge you for hours — never letting you cum, only leak — until you were sobbing and babbling the mantras perfectly.

One night, after a particularly savage session where she made you cum hands-free six times in a row, she held you close in bed, stroking your hair while her cock stayed buried inside you.

“You’re almost ready,” she whispered lovingly, kissing your tear-stained cheek. “Just a little more breaking, and you’ll be perfect for Dominara.”

You finally gathered the courage to ask, voice hoarse and trembling:

“Mommy… why are we really going to Dominara?”

Dorothy smiled against your neck. She stayed silent for a long moment, letting the tension build.

Then she finally answered, voice soft and intimate, as if sharing a precious secret:

“Because in Dominara… males like you don’t exist as people.

They exist as registered breeding stock.

Property.

Public utilities.

Some are kept in special facilities. Some are given as gifts to high-status futas. The luckiest ones become personal fucktoys for the elite.

I’m taking you there to register you officially as mine.

Once the papers are signed… you will legally cease to be human in their eyes.

You’ll belong to me in every possible way — body, mind, and name.

No escape. No rights. No future except what I allow.”

She kissed your ear and gently tugged on your Prince Albert piercing.

“And the reason I won’t tell you everything yet…” she purred, starting to move inside you again, slow and deep, “is because I want you to spend every second until we leave wondering… exactly what role I’ve chosen for my precious little Slutcunt in that country.”

She rolled you onto your stomach and began fucking you harder, one hand pressing your face into the pillow.

“Cum again while you think about it, baby. Leak for Mommy while you imagine all the terrible, wonderful things waiting for you in Dominara.”