Chapter 4 - A Woman's End

Story by Alecta's Shadow (2025).

Foreword: this chapter marks the conclusion of A WOMAN'S PLACE! If you've enjoyed this story, and would like to see many more like it, you can become a patron here, and gain early access to new stories on my website! You'll also get access to Patreon-only stories, you'll get to make direct requests, and more.

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Chapter 4 - A Woman's End

Language is beyond me.

So many things are beyond me, these days. Most things people would consider essential for a balanced human existence, in fact. No friends, no education, no control over my body, no dignity, no future other than this.

But my inability to control my own words is the one that hurts the most, always – and the one that turns me on the most. Perhaps because it’s how all of this began.

I’ve lost count of how many times master has made me rub myself stupid in front of a mirror, then upload the video to every corner of the internet. I have to come up with something new each time – if master judges my originality insufficient, I don’t get to cum.

Of course, my original accounts have been banned from most social media platforms, and many of my former friends and fellow students have long since blocked those that remain, but that doesn’t deter master.

I think I see why. It’s no longer about destroying my standing with them. It’s about the future.

The internet never forgets. For every ten of my videos that are flagged and taken down, one remains. On some seedy, ad-ridden porn site, on some mysoginist’s hard disk. I’ve been leaving a digital footprint that will identify me, for all eternity, as a subhuman thrall of cock.

“Not bad,” master says after I attach the latest video to an email, and send it to every Mount Hurst email address I’ve ever interacted with. He’s standing over the bed where I’ve collapsed, exhausted, after my latest performance. I look up at him with large, fearful eyes, the type of feminine look that says I hope he’ll let me cum, but I know better than to ask for it.

He pats my head like he would a dog’s, and to my mortified embarrasment, that makes me nearly squeal with glee. “Certainly better than the droll nonsense you used to spout during your beloved debates. The novelty is starting to wear off a bit, but I guess your performance was just good enough for you to earn… this.”

He lifts up a hand, showing me the object he’s holding: a gleaming, black leather collar, with a small metal ring at the front, leash already attached.

So innocuous, and yet so heavy with meaning. With finality.

Master dangles it in front of my face, letting it sway back and forth. My eyes track its movement, hypnotized. “This is your destiny, fuckpet. The culmination of everything we’ve been working towards. Once this goes on, the home stretch begins. I wasn’t sure you were ready for the next steps of your re-education, but you’ve worked hard enough that I’m willing to give you a chance.”

God, I can’t believe he’s making me feel like I had to earn this collar, like my job was barely sufficient because my misogynistic statements weren’t sufficiently original.

It’s negging. Gaslighting. Assertion of rightful dominance.

“There now,” he says with smug satisfaction as he leans forward to buckle it around my neck. “Isn’t that better? It suits you. You’re not a person, but a stupid animal, and you should be attired accordingly.”

He gives the leash an experimental tug, jerking my head up. Something solid and smooth glides between my lips—a gag. The ball fills my mouth, muffling any protests. Master whispers, softly, gently. “There. All muzzled up. Don’t worry, it’s not permanent, it’s just to train you. Soon, you won’t need it anymore.”

The bed dips under his weight as he climbs atop me. My pulse quickens. His hands grasp my hips, and I spread my legs, inviting, welcoming, meek, docile. Compliant.

Accepting.

The head of his cock rubs against my inner thigh. I’m already slick with arousal – at basically any time of every day, at this point. I emit muffled sounds against the gag as he enters me and my body remembers its true, biological purpose. The rhythmic, wet, squelching sounds of his cock mastering my cunt engulf my senses. There’s a hypnotic quality to them. I feel my mind drifting.

“You’re a cum-greedy slut, but it’s not your fault,” Master says, sweetly, reassuringly. “It’s just how evolution designed you.”

Yes. My mistake didn’t lie in being a slut, but in trying to resist my true purpose. With each thrust, I feel physically pinned and flattened into the bed, and mentally flattened under his boot. More and more submissive. More and more hollowed out.

More and more feminine.

I am an object, a toy, a warm receptacle for cock. Nothing more.

With a deep grunt he thrusts faster inside me, and I whimper softly into the gag. My life is a spiralling staircase, going down, except it’s dark, and you can’t see the bottom. And every time you hit the landing, the stairs just jeep going.

My thoughts grow foggy as my body responds instinctively to his domination. Hips rising to meet his driving rhythm. Back arching in **** pleasure. Silent moans stifled by the gag.

“Just accept it.”

Of course I accept it. I was made to be governed, tamed like an animal and brought to heel. He’s driving the point home into me every time he drives his cock into me. His hips slap against my thighs now, and this isn’t really sex, not in the sense that the unenlightened conceive it.

I’m just his fleshlight. I’m incapable of providing or denying consent. I’m just a hole for him to fuck, an object of relief.

His fingers dig into my hips, marking me as his own. I relish the stinging as he plows me harder, thinking of how incredible and spectacular my downfall must look like to him. My pussy clenches around him like a vice grip as pleasure courses through every muscle in my body.

His pace increases ruthlessly. My world narrows to the relentless pistoning of his cock, a hammer and me the anvil. I feel myself fragmenting, shattered into a thousand little pieces that will never be put back together.

“This is your calling,” he grunts, short of breath. “You exist to serve men, to give us pleasure and bear our children. Nothing more.”

Give them pleasure and bear their children.

The pure, undeniable truth of what it means to be a woman is irresistible, flowing over my identity like water submerging a shattered dam. It expands in every direction, roaring, entombing all it meets in its path.

I clench around him as an orgasm rips through me.

“That’s it,” Master says. “Come for Master.”

Just as I reach the absolute, mind-searing peak of climax, master leans forward, his entire body adhering to mine, his weight overwhelming me. He grabs me by the throat, and presses his face so close to mine that my world narrows down to just his eyes.

“It’s time to take your training even further.”

I shudder at his words, both in dread and anticipation. What more could he possibly do to break me, to grind my identity to dust beneath his boot? I’m already so far gone, reduced to a mewling bitch in heat, **** for his cock.

“You’re going to be a good girl and listen closely now,” he says. “From now on, you will only speak when spoken to. No more of that silly feminist prattle from your cock-sucking lips.”

My eyes widen in shock, a muffled whimper escaping my throat as his words sink in. No, he can’t possibly mean… But even as my mind reels in horror, my treacherous body shudders in twisted arousal. The thought of being silenced, of having my voice stripped away until I’m nothing but a mute set of holes for him to use… it’s sickening, mutilating, and so fucking hot why is it so hot??

“That’s right, puppygirl,” Brad growls, punctuating his words with sharp, brutal thrusts that make me see stars. “When I’m done rewiring your pathetic cunt-for-brains, you won’t even be able to form words unless I explicitly allow it. All you’ll be able to do is moan and babble and drool, a stupid bitch reduced to her most base, animalistic sounds.”

He means to take even that away, to render me truly mute and mindless, a blank slate for him to overwrite as he sees fit.

To turn me into a girl-shaped fleshlight that exists only to milk his cock.

I try to beg, but all that comes out is a strangled mewl as his fingers tighten around my windpipe. It’s just physical control, I haven’t been devoiced yet, but the message is clear enough. He doesn’t need to wait for the hypnosis to take hold to begin training me.

“Shhh, don’t fight it,” master says. “Just let it happen. Let me strip away everything that makes you a person, until all that’s left is a mindless, cock-hungry animal.”

He fucks into me with long, leisurely strokes now. Pleasure crashes through me in sickening waves and I feel myself starting to go under, my higher cognitive functions starting to shut down.

“Do you remember how much you used to talk about the power of words?” He whispers. “Here’s some words for you. You’re livestock for cock…”

I try to protest, to beg him not to take this from me, but all that comes out is a garbled whine, which morphs into a strangled croak as his grip tightens around my throat.

“You’ll be like a debarked dog,” master says, punctuating his words with sharp, punishing thrusts. “Just a dumb, obedient pet, only able to whimper and mewl and pant. No more backtalk, no more sass, no more of that annoying bitch voice. Just grunts and moans and silence.”

I gurgle incoherently, the low whine of a fucked prey item.

“There we go, that’s my good little bitch,” Brad praises as he sees me start to slip away. “Just a simple, stupid animal now. No more thoughts, no more words. Just a body built to serve cock.”

My hips gyrate mindlessly, rutting back onto his pistoning cock on pure fucktoy instinct. I’m panting and drooling, my tongue lolling out as he pounds me into the headspace of a bitch in heat. The wet squelch of his cock churning my fuck-drunk cunt fills the room.

With a final violent thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he fills me with cum. I take it all, every single drop, like I was meant to by nature itself. I whimper softly, like a small dog, overwhelmed by the feeling as rope after rope of cum coats my cunt. Claiming it for his own.

And why not? He already has everything else anyway.

When he finally pulls out, leaving me this close to cumming again, I lie splayed out on the bed, glassy-eyed and slack-jawed, leaking cum. My mind is shattered, scraped clean, an empty vessel capable of retaining just one, essential piece of information.

He’ll have more and more power over me. He willl control me. He will oppress me. He’ll take my words away.

And my body will thank him for it.

***

Language is literally beyond me.

Every time he puts me under, master’s eyes draw me in until they’re my horizon, my ground and my sky, my present and my future.

Every time he puts me under, his words reverberates through me like a long, slow, booming sound. It’s a sound that takes root deep into my my psyche. Every word he says is a vine, wrapping around me, constricting me, keeping me firmly in place.

I feel myself drifting.

No. Dissolving.

And what about my words?

That’s… the problem. My words are his words. My mantras are his doctrine.

You’re a silly little cunt who needs a firm hand to guide you.

It’s been days since I last spoke. Days of existing in silence, communicating only through whimpers and needy whines, wordlessly begging for cock, for master’s approval.

At first, it was maddening, feeling my voice slowly slip away, strangled by master’s hypnotic conditioning.

Now though… now it feels right. Natural. Like this is how it was always meant to be. Me, mute and mindless, a simple creature governed purely by base instinct and the will of my owner.

It’s dizzying to think that all of this started when I still thought myself as master’s debate rival. Incredible. I thought words were my weapon, armor, and identity.

I wielded them with such pride, such conviction.

And now, here I am. My lips have been repurposed, from tools of debate and discourse to mere cocksucking pillows. I’ve gone from debater to mute sex kitten. Even that last feeble claim to personhood is fading away in his grip.

I think mute, but that’s not entirely correct. My devoicing is not a vow of silence. I can make as much noise as I want, especially when I get fucked, when I suck his cock, but it has to be non-verbal, because I’m just an animal.

Only men can decide to bestow us personhood, and even then, for a limited time. They can revoke it as they see fit.

This means that I find comfort in reciting the mantras out loud. It’s the one time I’m permitted to speak without directly responding an address by my master.

The comfort creates positive reinforcement. Combined with the enfeeblement of my fragile female intellect, it’s no wonder the words are sinking deeper and deeper into me.

Surrender is the natural state of woman. I’ll be so much happier when you accept that.

Soon, they’ll sink so deep that I won’t be able to dig them out anymore.

I’m clay for him to mold as he pleases, putty in the hands of a master sculptor crafting his perfect woman, his perfect ****.

I accept it.

What can women do, but accept? Accept the discrimination, the belittling, the dismissal.

Acccept words like hysterical, shrill, bossy, frigid, bitch – all designed to keep us small, compliant.

Accept a car door being opened. A sexual advance. Accept the yoke being placed around our necks.

Accept a proffered cock, hovering inches from our lips.

I’m just a woman, and thus I ache for correction, to be whipped into proper shape through punishment and strict discipline. My body and mind no longer my own, but belonging totally and completely to any man who would stake his claim.

To master.

“Who owns you?” he asks sometimes, when bending me over the dishwasher to casually fuck me. Direct address. A rare opportunity to speak, in-between the moans of a conquered female animal. “Man owns woman,” I respond, every. Single. Time.

And it’s true, undeniably so. With language comes power. With power comes oppression. With oppression comes control.

Deep down, men have always known this. They’ve always had a hunter’s instinct for it. For thousands of years, they’ve used language to determine what thoughts we can think, what dreams we can dream.

This is my fate, all women’s fate – to have our minds claimed and colonized by male words, male rules, male desires. Male terms, for them to impose, and for us to accept.

I’m spending more and more time on all fours as well, just to drive home the point that I really am being domesticated like some formerly wild and unruly animal. Master often leads me by the leash from room to room. When I’m not doing chores or administering to his sexual needs, I sit back on my haunches at his feet, gazing up at him with adoring, vacant eyes.

He particularly enjoys having me crawl to the front door to greet him when he returns home, like an eager puppy. I nuzzle against his legs, lapping at his fingers, silently begging for his attention, his approval, his cock.

Master is such a good sculptor, chiseling away at the empty shell of my old identity day after day, revealing the docile, submissive, subhuman female creature hidden beneath.

He’ll feed me from his plate once I’m properly tamed. Or maybe I’ll have to eat out of a bowl. The sound of my collar jingling with each submissive lap from my bowl will carve a deeper groove into my shattered psyche.

And of course, to properly condition me, he’ll fuck me silly. Fuck me stupid. Fuck me into subjugation. He’ll work my pussy relentlessly, turning me into a moaning, writhing mess with his fingers and mouth, then switching to his cock, stretching me out until I scream Master!

Broken, drooling, eyes rolling upwards, my hips bucking against him like the mindless animal nature always intended me to be.

It’s humiliating, degrading, to be treated as less than human. And yet, it feels so right, so natural. This is my place, my purpose. Why did I ever fight against it?

My world has narrowed to this – to serving him, pleasing him, being his perfect mindless pet. Thoughts of my old life, my old ambitions, feel distant and hazy, like half-remembered dreams. They slip through my fingers like wisps of smoke whenever I try to grasp at them. The devoicing has stripped away my last pretensions to human status.

Without language, I’m just a rutty animal.

I’m also a more serene animal. The last time I tried to use language for myself, it was to solve my problems – win back my friends, salvage my standing at college. But if I have no language anymore, I can’t solve anything to begin with. That comes with a quiet, resigned, comforting sort of acceptance.

Of… peace.

What do I have to worry about? I know my place in the world. It’s as a fuckdoll, a cumdump, a mindless set of holes. I don’t have to think anymore, don’t have to agonize over decisions, just obey and submit, like I was always meant to. It’s so beautifully simple. So womanly.

I don’t need to concern myself with what is beyond me, after all.

***

“Stand up,” master says.

Not a fiber of my body could ever question a direct order from him. I’m too well-trained and annihilated as a person for that. But this particular order pierces through the layer of even my perfect training, and I find myself looking up at him, blinking slowly in bovine confusion.

I’m slow on the uptake. My reflexes are shot. I’m just plain dumb.

All women are, I suppose. It’s pathetic we ever dared think ourselves their equal. Men are human, we are not. They’re our kings, our gods, and we are just dirt beneath their feet.

Stand up?

Good girls don’t stand up. Good girls stumble unsteadily on all fours. Good girls get cummies. I’m a good girl. The best there’s ever been.

I’m used to crawling. Why would master want me to stand up? The floor is where I belong, as befits a pet.

Good girls don’t question, though, so I obey… or I try to. Mere seconds into the motion, I find myself stumbling back towards the ground. Too high. I feel dizzy, unable to maintain my balance.

I look up at master with reddened cheeks, mortally embarrassed by my failure, revolted by my past arrogance, my feminist naïvete. How did I ever think I could finish uni, find work, amount to anything? I’m too stupid to even stand up for master when ordered. That’s the measure of my lack of worth. Really, my only useful contribution to humanity is lying down and being fucked.

But master doesn’t look upset at my failure. Instead, he’s grinning.

“Try again.”

There’s no room for disobedience, so I try again. My legs are wobbly and begin to shake as soon as I lift myself off the ground. The room spins. Too high, not natural, hands and knees so much better, it’s where good girls belong.

I land back on the ground with a thump.

“It actually worked,” he says, his eyes alight with joy, more talking to himself than to me. “Don’t worry, there’s an override. I will want you to stand up when your chores require it. But otherwise…”

He starts circling around me, his fingers barely brushing against the collar sitting heavy around my throat. The leash dangles down between my breasts, clipped to the ring at the front, ready for Master’s hand to grasp and guide me. To yank me to heel if I dare step out of line.

Not that there’s any risk of that anymore.

He comes to a stop behind me. A hand, large and strong, comes to rest on the nape of my neck, right above the collar. I instinctively press into the touch, craving the contact, the feeling of grounding. His fingers stroke me there and I shudder.

“Otherwise… your proper place is on all fours. Don’t you agree, fuckpet?”

All I can offer in response are the base vocalizations of an animal – mewls and whines and moans.

And it’s good, it’s right. It’s all I deserve. Words are for people, for the superior sex. Not for brainless fucktoys like me.

His other hand comes around, two fingers pressing against my lips in a wordless command. I part them immediately, sucking the digits into my mouth, lavishing them with my tongue. I hollow my cheeks and bob my head, worshipping his fingers like I would his cock.

“Look how far you’ve fallen,” he muses. “From an uppity feminist to a drooling cock socket. I’ve fucked the fight right out of you, fucked you into the perfect bitch.”

I suckle gently on master’s fingers, my tongue swirling around them as I moan in wordless agreement.

His other hand remains at my nape, fingers idly toying with my collar as he speaks. “No one would ever be able to take you seriously as a person, dumb cunt. Not when you’re too much of a dolt to even stand up. The floor is where you belong. Silly fuckpuppet.”

I whimper softly around his fingers, the sound muffled and pitiful. Master withdraws them from my mouth and smears the saliva across my cheek. I lean into it, nuzzling his palm, silently begging for more. But he steps back, circling around until he’s facing me once again.

He guides my head down towards his crotch and I nuzzle against the growing bulge there, mouthing at it through the fabric of his pants. This, at least, is a task I can still perform with mindless, cock-hungry perfection.

“Mmmhhh, good girl,” he groans, his fingers tightening in my hair. “Get to work. Fulfill your purpose.”

My fingers tremble with eagerness as I undo his fly and fish out his hardening shaft. I take him into my mouth with a moan of contentment, savoring the familiar weight and taste of him on my tongue. This is my purpose, my calling – worshipping cock with lips and ass and throat and cunt. Nothing else matters.

He lets me suckle him for a few blissful minutes, just enjoying the wet heat of my mouth. Then he yanks me off by the hair, leaving me panting and glassy-eyed, my lips shiny with spit and pre-cum.

“Hands and knees, puppygirl,” he orders. “Present yourself for fucking.”

I scramble to obey, turning around and raising my ass up high, head down submissively. He kneels behind me, large hands gripping my hips.

I feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against my asshole and I instinctively tense up. Even after all this time, all the training, there’s still that brief moment of resistance before my body remembers its place, remembers that it belongs to him.

He pushes forward, slowly but relentlessly, stretching me open around his girth. I gasp and shudder as he sinks into me inch by excruciating inch, the burn and pressure almost too much to bear. My fingers curl into the carpet, nails digging in as I **** myself to relax, to accept the intrusion.

“That’s it,” he grunts, giving my ass a sharp slap that makes me yelp. “Take it, you little anal slut. This is what you’re for now.”

He sinks deeper and stays there for a long moment, letting me adjust to the feeling of being so utterly full, so completely claimed.

Then he starts to move, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. I cry out, the sound somewhere between a moan and a sob, as he sets a punishing pace. Each brutal thrust jostles me forward, my tits swinging beneath me, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing obscenely through the room.

So hot.

He reaches under me to grab my tits, mauling the soft flesh. I arch into the rough groping, nipples stiffening under his calloused palms. He pinches and twists the sensitive peaks and I yelp.

I’m shaking, sweat-soaked and delirious, as if the pressure and pleasure coming from my conquered ass is all my reduced nervous system can process. He pounds into me relentlessly, grunting and growling filthy degradation that I can barely process in my fuck-stupid, fried-synapses state.

Until one question pierces the fog shrouding my mind.

“Forcing you to stay on all fours, it’s not the only way I’ve changed you. Do you know that? Do you feel that?”

I frown, trying to concentrate on Master’s question even as he continues to pound into my ass. It’s hard to think, hard to focus on anything beyond the overwhelming sensations of being so thoroughly used.

What else has changed about me recently? I’m not sure. Everything feels hazy, my thoughts slow and muddled.

Master snaps his hips particularly hard and I yelp again, jolted out of my attempted reverie. He chuckles darkly, one hand coming down to smack my ass. “Dumb bitch, can’t even think straight with a cock in you. Pathetic.”

I whimper an apology, my face burning with shame. He’s right, I am pathetic. A silly fuckdoll, too stupid to multitask. But thinking is hard, has been getting harder every day.

Is that… is that the clue?

That realization niggles at me, nudging insistently at the edges of my sluggish mind. Is that it? Is that what’s different? Am I… dumber than I used to be?

The thought sends a bolt of panic through me, momentarily piercing the fog. Dumber. Dimmer. It can’t be, surely. I was smart, before, wasn’t I? I went to college, I was good with words, I…

Anyone who spends their life being a good girl would feel slower in her mind, right? All I do is fuck. All I do is suck. That’s why my thoughts are slow.

Isn’t it?

“I can practically hear the rusty gears turning in that empty head of yours,” master grunts. “Trying so hard to think, aren’t you? Stupid cunt. You’re not built for thinking.”

I frown. Thinking is hard, it makes my head hurt. But master asked, and I need to answer… my face scrunches up as I try to focus, but for the life of me I can’t find an answer I’m certain of. I can’t trust my perception anymore.

Master’s cock withdraws from my well-used ass with a lewd pop. I whimper at the sudden emptiness, feeling hollow and bereft without him filling me up.

He snaps his fingers. I shuffle on my hands and knees, turning around to face me, a response that’s been drilled into my puppygirl brain so hard that it’s basically muscle memory now. Without hesitation, I lean forward and seamlessly take his cock into my mouth, tasting my own ass on his shaft.

“That’s right, ass-to-mouth like a good little whore. You love the taste of your own ass, don’t you? Filthy slut.”

I moan around his cock in wordless agreement, my eyes fluttering shut as I lose myself in the act of servicing him. His hand fists in my hair, guiding my movements, using me as he pleases.

“I’ve been doing more than just conditioning you to stay on all fours, you know,” he continues, his words piercing through the haze of submissive bliss. “I’ve been chipping away at that silly little mind of yours. Bit by bit, fuck by fuck, I’ve been making you dumber.”

My eyes fly open at that, a muffled sound of confusion and distress escaping my stretched lips. Dumber? So it’s… true?

My increasingly sluggish thoughts, my difficulty focusing, the way complex ideas now seem to just slip through my grasp… it’s all his doing. He’s been deliberately diminishing my cognitive function, shaping me into a true bimbo fucktoy.

I’m sure it’s for the best. I think… good girls don’t think? Men love dumb girls, so it makes sense. We’re so much easier to handle that way.

I redouble my efforts, sucking harder, trying to please him, as if that could somehow change what he’s saying.

“Every time I fuck your brains out, I’m literally fucking your brains out. Rewiring that cunt-for-brains of yours, dimming your intellect. You lose IQ every time you cum.”

His words go straight through my clit, and I shudder at the electricity going through me from just contemplating the totality of my defeat. To be unmade so completely, to have even my very awareness stripped away…

“Female intelligence is evolutionarily vestigial anyway. Why keep it, when you can fulfill your purpose so well without it?”

He groans above me, then, quickening his pace. He fucks my mouth roughly, hitting the back of my throat again and again. I relax my jaw and suppress my gag reflex, determined to please him. Spit drips down my chin as I struggle to accommodate his full girth.

“**** on it. How many times I dreamed to cram your annoying feminist arguments back down your whore throat like this. And here you are.”

I gag and slobber, eager to swallow back every feminist heresy I’ve ever uttered. My jaw aches as he fucks my face roughly, his balls slapping against my chin. How silly I was, debating a man. Words is how they keep us on our knees to begin with, because they’re so much smarter than we are.

Words, and… this.

I moan around him as I suck. My mind swims, untethered, unanchored, because there is no self to give it direction anymore. Direction comes from the outside now, from Master. I can’t self-determine.

“You know, true artistry,” he says, panting, “is making you dumb, without going too far. I want to leave just enough of you in there that you always know, on some deep level, just how much you’ve lost.”

I’m coating his cock with the dissolving remnants of my will, not just with my spit. The world doesn’t matter. I donh’t matter. The only thing that matters is this moment, this perfect snapshot of the natural order: me, kneeling, vanquished and defeated, at the altar of male supremacy. Paying my dues.

“Just how much you’ve been reduced.”

We are built for this, selected to be men’s accessories. To make their lives easier and more pleasant. Incubators with added benefits, like the ability to suck cock like champs. Homemakers, cookers, maids.

“Just how much I’ve taken from you.”

Helpers, and pets, and ornaments.

My cunt aches with need as Master uses my mouth. I am nothing but a set of holes for him, my worth comes only from what I can do to make his life better. I have no inherent value.

“Just how lesser you truly are.”

I don’t count as a full person.

I hollow my cheeks further, sucking obediently as Master grunts above me. My cunt aches even more, dripping wet, **** to be filled by him. But that will come later, after I have properly serviced his cock. This is my place, on my knees before a man. This is what I was made for.

Suddenly, Master shoves deeper into my throat and holds me there as I splutter helplessly. I gasp for air as trails of saliva run down my chin. My cunt throbs, aroused by the ****. He pets my head, wordlessly praising me for being an obedient little cocksucker.

“Dumb cunt. You’re going to make such a pretty pet, crawling around naked on a leash. I’ll teach you tricks – sit, stay, spread. Maybe I’ll even take you for walks near Mount Hurst. Would you like that?”

With my mouth full, with my throat tamed, my breath controlled and mastered, I look up at him with wide, glazed eyes. I feel feverish in his grip, I will always choose his cock over oxygen, it’s not even a question. Though I gag and ****, I do not resist. My fate is in his hands.

My vision starts to blur as my lungs burn for air. Master’s grip on my hair tightens, holding me firmly in place, but he doesn’t need to. I will unfailingly maintain position unless I pass out. I feel myself start to fade when suddenly he pulls out, leaving me gasping, drool dripping down my chin.

“Good puppygirl,” he coos as I cough violently. “Good dog. You took it so well.”

But he does not let me recover for long before thrusting back in, using my mouth relentlessly.

Even with his training, I still feel myself growing dizzy. Not because of any failure of his part, just because I need to do better, to learn faster.

To be the perfect pet.

“We were literally debate competition rivals,” he says, “and I took your voice, your posture, and your mind. How incredible is that? I took it all away from you. You won’t be needing it anymore.”

I nod obediently, trembling at how true, how violating, how perfect it is. He’s right, he did muzzle and dismantle and destroy me, like some unruly dog who just won’t learn her place. Like some uppity rival who thinks too much of herself.

But I am learning it, and I will squeal with glee as he brings me to heel, where I belong.

I swirl my tongue around the tip, then sink back in, showing him my acceptance not through words, but through deeds, like any proper domesticated animal would do. I am his voiceless and brainless fuckdoll. The more he degrades me, the wetter I become.

The more aligned with my true purpose.

God, my cunt really is so **** to be filled again. To be bred.

But I know it is not my place to take without permission.

Master’s cock slides in and out of my throat, the rhythm as natural as breathing now. More natural, in fact. My mind floats in a pink haze of submission and cock worship, all other thoughts drowned out by the steady glide of his shaft over my tongue.

“You’re going to cum without me even touching you,” he says, breathing heavier now. “That’s how well I’ve programmed you. I’ll snap my fingers and you’ll cum. The snap will lock in the dimming of your intelligence. It’ll leave you a drooling, slack-jawed fucktoy with a clit for a brain.”

My eyes roll back in my head as he buries himself in my throat, cutting off my air. I gag and splutter as he uses my mouth like a cheap fleshlight. Drool gushes down my chin, my eyes watering from the brutal face-fucking.

My pussy drips uncontrollably at the idea that my smarts, my studies, it’s all leaking out with my juices. That Master is draining me, like a vampire. Feeding on my mind, and leaving a hollowed-out shell of intellect behind.

I’m getting wetter the dumber I become, and dumber the wetter I become. My body is embracing its role as a mindless cum receptacle. Every drop of girl juice that leaks out takes a little more of my intellect with it. Fucked out, fucked dumb, just a stupid cock-hungry animal now.

Master’s balls slap against my chin as he holds me, my lungs screaming for air. Spots dance across my vision but I don’t struggle.

I welcome the asphyxiation. It only heightens the floating, untethered sensation, making me feel like I’m drifting away from myself.

Who needs oxygen when you can have cock? Breathing is for people, for beings with agency and self-determination. Not mindless cock sleeves like me.

I gurgle incoherently around his shaft, drool gushing down my chin and splattering my tits. The world is going hazy, indistinct, my mind fogging over with a dense cloud of cock-drunk submission. Complex ideas and abstract reasoning slip through my grasp like sand through my fingers, the granules of my intelligence steadily pouring out of me.

He pulls out and I gasp desperately, strings of drool connecting his shining cockhead to my lips. I breathe in deep, but he gives me only the briefest reprieve, plunging back in, ruthlessly fucking my face in earnest.

“Dumb puppy, stupid toy. I can see the vapid glaze creeping into your eyes.”

“Uuunngghh,” I gurgle in mindless agreement, my tongue flailing uselessly around his pistoning shaft. Drool patters onto my bouncing tits as he facefucks me, my jaw stretched obscenely around his girth.

My intellect is fading fast. The smarts need to go. There needs to be enough room for all his cum to fit in.

It feels like a strangulation. Like my higher cognitive functions are being slowly but inexorably snuffed out in master’s hypnotic fist as he ruthlessly face-fucks me.

“Gllkk, gllkk, gllkk,” I gurgle.

“You can only cum when permitted by a man,” he says, and my cunt immediately clenches. One more thing, taken away. “Your pleasure is not yours to control.”

I moan around his cock as my free will disintegrates. I feel slow, stupid, just a dumb cow, simple-minded and gulllible, easily steered by a strong, decisive masculine hand.

My eyes roll back, fluttering, as my vision blurs at the edges. Hypoxia and pure submissive bliss meld together, the world going hazy and indistinct. I can feel my neurons misfiring, synapses shutting down one by one as he literally fucks me into a state of empty-headed subservience.

Master finally withdraws from my tamed throat once more, allowing me to gasp in **** lungfuls of air. I pant, dizzy and disoriented. My mind feels sluggish, slow… weak.

After I’ve caught enough of my breath, I look up at my conqueror. He’s watching me, waiting for me to show initiative.

I know what I must do. What I was made for.

With an eager mewl, I lean forward and lap at his cock like a kitten with a bowl of cream, cleaning my own drool from his flesh with worshipful strokes of my tongue. I lavish the shaft with wet, sloppy kisses from base to tip. Then, with a demure slurp, I take him back into my mouth.

Master is close now, I can tell. I redouble my efforts, bobbing my head faster, working my tongue along his shaft.

It’s the only skill left to me.

This time, I focus only on the head, sealing my plush lips in a tight ring around it. I swirl my tongue slowly, sensually over his tip, trying to draw out every single drop of cum he has for me.

My eyes flutter shut in concentration as I devote my entire being to pleasuring this one crucial bit of flesh. I lap like the puppygirl I am, flickering my tongue-tip rapidly over his leaking slit.

Master groans above me, his fingers tightening reflexively in my hair. “Fuck, just like that,” he grunts, his hips giving shallow little thrusts as I work him over with my expert mouth. “Milk that cock, you brainless bimbo. Show me what a flawless little fellatrix I’ve trained you to be.”

I moan throatily in response, the wanton sound muffled. Encouraged by his praise, I double down on my efforts, bobbing my head in shallow motions, keeping my lips clamped tightly around the tip of his cock until I feel him start to swell and throb. My own cunt clenches in sympathetic response, sopping wet and aching, but I ignore it. My pleasure is irrelevant, an afterthought. All that matters is serving Master, worshipping his magnificent cock.

Finally, I coax and flick and milk him to the tipping point.

I am rewarded with a guttural groan as his hot seed spills down my throat. Rope after rope of cum hits the back of my throat like another hammer blow to my mind… but my mind has already been shattered. I swallow every drop eagerly, milking him dry with my lips.

He withdraws at last with a satisfied sigh, but his glistening cock is still hovering mere inches from my lips. He nods towards it.

“Clean it, whore.”

I lean forward and get to work, gently sucking and licking his softening cock, cleaning it thoroughly with my mouth.

And then, he snaps his fingers, and the world stops making sense.

It’s the tidal wave again, flowing over the dam, but so much bigger this time. A shockwave of all-consuming pleasure radiates outward from my clit and through every nerve in my body. I convulse and scream around his cock, my pussy gushing uncontrollably as the most intense orgasm I’ve ever felt rips through me.

Destroys me.

“It’s all locking in. There’s no going back from this. The damage is irreversible. Cum for me fuckpuppet. Cum as I fuck out everything that made you a person.”

Every nerve in my body is alight with ecstasy and submission.

This is what it means to be a woman. This is what it means to be alive.

Every time I think I’ve hit the peak of climax, it just keeps going, and every new high feels like it’s scouring out my skull, sandblasting away my identity, my memories, my very sense of self. All that’s left is sensation, overwhelming, obliterating.

“That’s it, just a dumb puppy now,” he says mockingly. “No more thoughts in that silly little head, just an aching void **** to be pumped full of spunk.”

I can feel it, feel myself slipping away, being unmade, every thought drowned out by cock-drunk static until I’m reduced an empty-headed fleshlight.

Drool leaks from the corners of my open mouth as I start the slow climb down. My eyes glaze over.

I’m vaguely aware of a warm wetness on my face and realize dimly that I’m crying. Tears of gratitude, of ecstasy, of utter defeat. I’ve been conquered so completely, unmade so thoroughly. There’s a purity to this total annihilation of self, a blissful serenity in surrendering to my basest purpose as a meatsleeve for cock.

When he first drove me to my knees, master promised he would end me, and now he has.

This was the final extraction. It started with language, but now everything is beyond me. Good girls don’t worry with what’s beyond them. Only with what they can do.

Serve our masters, in silence.

THE END