Re: Whory

Re: WHORY

She was on all fours now, her forehead pressed to the floor, her ass high in the air, the vibrator still humming, still punishing, still denying. Her appeals for the WHORY items were the final, complete surrender of her soul. She could barely get the plastic heels on, her feet slipping in her own sweat. She stumbled and fell, capturing it all on video.

"Master, please, I'm your whore," she sobbed from the floor, the rhinestone G-string digging into her raw flesh. "My body isn't mine anymore… it's just a set of holes for you to own, to use, to fill whenever you want… I'm begging you to **** me… please, spit in my face, call me your worthless cunt… just fuck me until I'm broken… just make this feeling stop, please, I'm begging you to make it stop by using your whore until she can't feel anything else…"

The final task was the training aids. She didn't have the strength to stand. She filmed them where they lay scattered on the floor around her, her body a quivering, sobbing heap in the center of the frame. Her voice was a raw, broken whisper.

"The gag, Master… please, I'm begging you to use it… so I can't scream and beg like this anymore… make me quiet for you…"

"The restraints… please tie me up… I can't control my own body, I need you to control it for me…"

"The crop… please, Master… use it when I'm bad… use it to remind me of my purpose when the pleasure is too much…"

Her hand finally closed around the base of the wand vibrator, her fingers finding the switch. She held it up to the camera, her face a mask of tragic, **** longing. "And this… this thing…" she whispered, "…you can use it on me whenever you want. But please, Master… I'm begging you… after you're done, let me have it. Let me finish. I've been so good. I've been so willing. Please…"

She finally, mercifully, switched it off.

The silence was a deafening roar. The abrupt cessation of the vibrations left her body feeling hollowed out, every nerve ending screaming in protest. She lay there for a long time, a puddle of sweat, tears, and desperation on her living room floor.

With the last dregs of her energy, she crawled to her laptop. She compiled the new videos, her movements slow and clumsy. The folder was labeled CLARA_ASSETS_Q1_RESUBMISSION. She uploaded it to the secure server, her eyes watching the progress bar with a detached sense of finality.

100%. UPLOAD COMPLETE.

She hit "Send."

This time, there was no thought, no anticipation. Only darkness. She slumped forward, her head hitting the keyboard, and passed out from sheer, absolute physical and emotional exhaustion, her body still locked in a state of agonizing, unfulfilled need, a perfect, broken offering laid at her master's digital feet.