The Toughest Bitch

Daphne circled her bald slave like a sculptor admiring her masterpiece.

She reached out and pinched the soft, pale flesh of Samantha's inner arm, twisting hard.

The bald woman didn't react. Not a flinch. Not a twitch.

"You know what she used to do to me?" Daphne asked casually, still circling. "In our first month at Saint Catherine's, the trio cornered me in the bathroom. They held my head in the toilet while she quoted bible verses at me."

Daphne pinched Samantha's nipple.

Hard.

The dark purple flesh turned white under the pressure.

Nothing.

"She told me I needed to be baptized like this to cleanse me of my filthy, deviant sins," Daphne continued, her voice eerily calm. "Then they flushed."

Daphne moved behind Samantha, tracing a finger down the bald woman's spine.

"Another time, she stole my diary. My only source of sanity. Read it out loud in the cafeteria. Every embarrassing, desperate, pathetic entry about my crush on Maria, the only friend I had managed to make there. In front of 200 girls."

She pinched the flesh of Samantha's lower back, digging her nails in deep enough to leave marks.

Still nothing. The bald woman hung there like a slab of meat. Her eyes remained fixed on the concrete floor, completely vacant.

"The whole school laughed," Daphne said. “I was sent to the principal, and they held a prayer circle over me"

Daphne paused, standing directly in front of Samantha now.

“And Maria? Well she avoided me like a plague, of course. And I got to spend the rest of my time in that hellhole all alone."

Daphne's fist clenched at her side.

"Maria told me that God was watching. That He was disgusted by me."

The punch came out of nowhere.

Daphne drove her fist straight into Samantha's stomach with a brutal, meaty THUD.

The bald woman's body swung backward on the chains, her massive tits bouncing violently from the impact.

But she didn't cry out.

She didn't even grunt.

Her massive breasts settled back into their heavy, swaying rhythm, and her blank expression remained completely unchanged.

She absorbed the blow like a concrete wall absorbing a tennis ball.

Daphne shook out her fist, grinning with dark pride.

"See that?" she said, turning to me. "See how she barely moved? I spent months rebuilding this one, Jack. Months."

She slapped Samantha's bald head affectionately, the sound ringing through the dungeon.

"She's my magnum opus. My perfect specimen. I stripped away everything. Her hair, her vanity, her identity, her fucking name. She's just Six. A number. A thing."

Daphne rapped her knuckles against Samantha's skull like she was knocking on a door.

"Built like a castle. Able to withstand absolutely anything.”

She took another look at her and sighed.

“Somewhat boring now. There's nothing left inside to break."

I stared at the hollow-eyed, bald woman hanging from the ceiling.

She was terrifying.

Not because of her appearance, but because of what she represented.

This was what happened when Daphne finished with you.

Even Ulla looked scared.

“Which makes her perfect for this challenge, don’t you think?” Daphne asked with an evil, gleeful smile.

Suddenly the PA system crackled to life.

"Users," the AI voice announced, cutting through the dungeon. "The rules for the third bout will now be explained."

I shut my mouth and listened.

"Prior to this contest, both suspended subjects were provided with a secret phrase. The phrase is unique to each subject and unknown to both users."

The AI paused.

"The objective is simple. The user who successfully compels the opposing subject to verbally utter their secret phrase first wins the bout. This is a test of loyalty, endurance, and psychological perseverance."

I looked at Ulla, then at Six.

I had to make Six break before Ulla did.

This was going to be a fucking nightmare.

"The users are permitted to utilize any implements available in the room to extract the phrase from the opposing subject. There are no restrictions on method or intensity, provided the core rules of the Submission Accelerator are respected. No murder. No permanent, life-threatening injury."

My eyes scanned the dungeon.

The room was stocked like a professional torturer's wet dream.

Along the far wall, mounted on heavy iron hooks, hung an arsenal of implements that made my pulse quicken.

Leather bullwhips coiled like sleeping snakes. Thin, flexible riding crops with leather tips. A heavy wooden paddle with holes drilled through it for maximum sting. Several lengths of rough hemp rope. A set of weighted nipple clamps connected by a thin, cruel chain.

On a steel table in the corner sat more specialized equipment.

A cattle prod, its metal tip gleaming under the red lights. A heavy leather flogger with dozens of thick, knotted tails. Candles of various colors—paraffin, judging by the texture, designed to drip at higher, more painful temperatures. An assortment of dildos and plugs in escalating sizes, the largest of which looked almost comedic in its girth.

A ball gag. A ring gag. A spider gag. A blindfold.

Clothespins, dozens of them, in a small wooden bucket.

Christ.

It was a real dungeon.

Almost as well-equipped as the one I had built in Mirage’s basement.

Whoever these developers were, they understood the craft.

My phone suddenly buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out, my eyes scanning the new notification.

My blood turned to ice.

---

ATTENTION: For the duration of this bout, all effects of the Submission Accelerator on the suspended subjects are temporarily disabled. Their SP scores have been reset to 0. Users cannot rely on app-enforced obedience.

---

What?

WHAT?

No. No, no, no.

I read it again.

Fuck!

There was nothing about this in the rules we received at the beginning!

Those fuckers!

SP score reset to zero.

All effects disabled.

Ulla was free.

Not physically, she was still hanging from the ceiling in leather cuffs, but mentally, her mind was no longer bound by the app's invisible chains.

For the first time in weeks, Ulla was actually able to be independent.

She could resist. She could fight. She could tell me to go fuck myself, and there was no magical force compelling her to obey.

My hands were shaking.

I looked over at Daphne.

She was staring at her own phone, her face unreadable.

But I saw it.

A flicker of something dark and anxious behind her carefully constructed mask.

She was worried too.

Good. At least this was a surprise for both of us.

I looked up at Ulla.

She was still hanging silently, her pale body swaying gently, her expression tight and angry.

I looked at Six.

The bald woman remained exactly as she was. Meek. Servile. Staring at the floor.

Nothing had changed.

Seconds passed. Ten. Twenty.

Neither woman moved or spoke.

They didn't realize it yet.

The invisible leash had been cut, but neither of them had tried to pull against it.

The conditioning was still holding out of sheer habit and psychological momentum.

Even Daphne seemed to relax slightly, a small, smug curve returning to her lips.

But I knew it wouldn't last.

It was only a matter of time before—

"Jack?"

Ulla's voice cut through the silence like a knife.

It was quiet.

Confused.

Almost timid.

She blinked rapidly, her brow furrowing as she processed the unfamiliar sensation of her own voice leaving her mouth without permission.

"Jack… what is going on here?"

She sounded genuinely bewildered.

Like a sleepwalker waking up mid-stride.

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

Ulla's eyes darted around the dungeon. The chains. The implements.

The bald, monstrous woman hanging next to her.

"Jack?" she repeated, louder this time. "What the fuck is going on?"

The confusion was rapidly crystallizing into something far more dangerous.

Recognition.

"Where am I?" she demanded, her voice rising. "Why am I naked? Why am I chained to a fucking ceiling?"

The anger was building. I could see it swelling behind her eyes like a gathering storm.

"JACK!" she screamed, her body thrashing violently against the chains. "What the FUCK have you done to me?! Where am I?! Why can't I remember how I got here?!"

She was pulling at the cuffs now, the leather creaking under the strain.

"You SICK, TWISTED, DISGUSTING PIECE OF SHIT!" she howled, her face contorting with unbridled fury. "Let me free RIGHT NOW!! You fucking MONSTER! I'll KILL you! I swear to GOD, I will rip your fucking throat out!"

She was swinging wildly now, her nude body thrashing to get free.

Fuck.

The damage this was doing.

All my carefully cultivated submission.

If I somehow survived this contest, I would have to wipe the memories of all five women of the whole experience.

I looked over at Six.

The bald woman hadn't moved. Hadn't spoken. Hadn't even looked up.

The psychological conditioning Daphne had seemingly drilled into her skull held firm without a single volt of digital reinforcement.

Daphne noticed the contrast too.

She let out a low, dark chuckle.

"Sounds like your little bitch needs a firmer hand, Jack," she taunted, crossing her arms. "Mine still knows not to anger her mistress."

Ulla was still screaming, her voice going hoarse. "LET ME DOWN! LET ME DOWN RIGHT NOW, YOU FUCKING PSYCHOPATH!"

Enough.

I moved.

I crossed the distance between us in three long strides.

I grabbed Ulla by the throat.

Not hard enough to choke.

Just hard enough to feel the frantic pulse of her carotid artery hammering against my palm.

Her screaming stopped instantly.

Her eyes went wide, the rage momentarily short-circuited by the primal shock of a hand around her windpipe.

We stared at each other.

Her blue eyes, wet with frustration, boring into mine.

"Listen to me," I said, my voice low, controlled, and deadly calm. "From this point on, you will stay quiet. No matter what happens. No matter what you see, hear, or feel. You will not say a single word unless I tell you to."

Her jaw clenched. I could feel her throat working beneath my fingers, swallowing hard.

She wanted to spit in my face.

Every fiber of her being wanted to defy me.

But I held her gaze, pouring every ounce of dominance I had learned over these weeks into my stare.

The app wasn't enforcing anything right now.

This was just me.

Just Jack.

It was man versus woman, the most primal power dynamic in the universe.

If my hold over her was truly just software, this was the moment it all fell apart.

If I had actually gotten inside her head—the real, psychological way—then she would obey.

Ulla's breathing was ragged. Quick. Furious.

But she didn't speak.

Ten seconds passed.

Her lips pressed into a thin, trembling line, but they stayed shut.

I loosened my grip on her throat slightly, but didn't let go.

"I own you, Ulla," I told her, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "And deep in your heart… you know that I own you."

She shook her head. Weakly.

I held her head still with my free hand, my fingers gripping her jaw.

"Yes," I corrected her softly. "Yes, I do."

I let my hand slide from her throat, trailing slowly down her chest, over the swell of her full breast, down her trembling stomach.

My fingers found the soft, warm flesh between her suspended thighs.

I began to circle her clit.

Slowly.

Gently.

Ulla sucked in a sharp breath, her body stiffening.

"You like being owned by me," I murmured, watching her face closely. "Whether you admit it or not. Whether you scream and curse and call me every name in the book. Your body knows. Your body has always known."

Her jaw tightened. She shook her head again.

I held it still.

"Yes. You. Do."

I slid my fingers lower, pressing two of them slowly inside her warm, wet entrance.

She squirmed, her hips twisting in the chains, trying to escape the invasion.

But she couldn't go anywhere.

“You know that only I can enter here. Not Henrika, not you. This is mine. It belongs to me.”

Well, not true anymore since her Pussy Lock was currently turned off, but she didn’t need to know that.

I pushed deeper, curling my fingers against her inner walls.

"You want to keep me happy, Ulla," I whispered, my lips close to her ear. "Because you know that in the world where I am happy…"

I pressed my thumb against her swollen clit, rubbing in slow, firm circles while my fingers worked inside her.

"…you are happy."

A soft, involuntary whimper escaped her lips.

She hated it. I could see the self-loathing burning in her eyes.

But her body was responding. Her hips were subtly, unconsciously, rocking against my hand.

"And in the world where I am not happy…"

I withdrew my fingers from her pussy and moved my free hand to her left breast.

I cupped the heavy, warm flesh gently, my thumb brushing over her stiffening nipple in soft, soothing strokes.

Ulla's breathing hitched. Her eyes fluttered.

Then I pinched.

Hard.

My fingers clamped down on her sensitive nipple like a vise, twisting.

Ulla let out a sharp, agonized squeal, her body jerking violently in the chains.

Then I yanked.

A brutal, downward pull that stretched her breast painfully, her nipple turning white between my crushing fingers.

"AAAH!" she cried out, her voice cracking.

I held the tension for three long, agonizing seconds before releasing.

Her breast snapped back, the abused nipple throbbing an angry, swollen red.

She was panting.

But she wasn't screaming at me anymore.

I leaned in close, my mouth brushing against her ear.

"I picked you for this challenge for a reason, Ulla," I whispered. "I didn't pick Gretchen. I didn't pick Michelle or Sophie or Janice. I picked you."

She was trembling, her entire body vibrating between pain and arousal.

"Because you are the toughest bitch I have."

Her wet eyes flickered.

Something shifted.

"Whatever happens in this room," I continued softly, "whatever that woman does to you… you can take it. I know you can. Because you're strong. Stronger than any of them. Stronger than me, probably."

Her jaw was still tight. Her eyes still furious.

But something in them softened. Just a fraction. Just enough.

"Do you understand me?" I asked.

The silence stretched between us.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, Ulla nodded.

A single, small, reluctant nod.

But it was enough.

I let go of her completely, stepping back.

My heart was hammering in my chest, but I kept my face perfectly composed.

If she saw any weakness, my hold over her would probably shatter.

I couldn’t show how much I feared losing another point.

I turned around.

Daphne was leaning against the wall beside the implement rack, her arms crossed, watching me with an expression of genuine, analytical interest.

She had observed the entire exchange with the focused attention of a scientist studying a lab rat.

"Impressive," she conceded, tilting her head slightly. "You've got some decent natural game, Jack. The carrot and the stick. Classic."

I straightened my back, meeting her gaze. "Fair is fair. You told me about your… woman. What do you want to know about her?"

Daphne pushed herself off the wall. She walked slowly toward the rack of implements, her dark eyes scanning the arsenal of whips, crops, and electrical tools.

Her calloused fingers trailed over the coiled leather of a heavy bullwhip.

She lifted it off the hook, letting the long, braided tail unfurl onto the concrete floor with a soft, serpentine hiss.

She tested its weight in her hand, gave it a lazy, experimental flick.

The tip cracked against the air with a sound like a pistol shot.

Ulla flinched violently in her chains.

Daphne turned to me, the bullwhip coiled casually over her shoulder.

"I don't need her backstory, Jack," she said, her voice smooth and cold.

She looked past me, directly at Ulla's trembling, suspended body.

"I'm going to enjoy destroying that precious little moment you two just had."

---

Author's note: A small break in the schedule next. I'll be writing the next short story, titled "Privileged Prey". It's about a man who is dating an incredibly entitled rich woman, who treats him like shit. Her sister and mother don't treat him any better either. The man comes up with a solution, that helps all three see things... a bit differently.

So roughly six to seven days until the next "Idle Harem" chapter. Come to my subscribestar account to check the new short story out soon! There's also new vids for the early TSA chapters (up to ch. 32 now), and a brand new poll in the new chapter!

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Hooked on an addictive, desire-altering designer drug, undercover cop Katherine Hennigan becomes the pawn of a disgraced chemist. To feed her desperate hunger, she helps him systematically ensnare every woman on the police force, turning the entire precinct into his personal collection.

Nearly 10k words, 13 pictures.

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