I’m not a thing to use. I’m a person.
His lips pull up in a smirk. Instead of anger, I see amusement. “It doesn’t matter what you believe, Pet. You’re a whore. My whore. And tonight, your body will perform for me whether you like it or not.”
He presses a button on the remote.
A vibration, deep and insistent erupts from the hidden metal in my most intimate flesh. It’s centred directly on my clit, a relentless, buzzing pleasure that obliterates the discomfort instantly.
My gasp of shame turns into a long, low moan.
“That’s it,” Antonio whispers. “Let go. Be the mindless slut I want you to be. Be the perfect whore I’m making of you.”
The vibration is everything.
It unlocks a part of my brain that only knows sensation, that only wants pleasure.
Uncle Bobby’s thrusts become a rhythm I ride, his degrading mutterings of, “Take it, you fat bitch,” become a mantra that pushes me higher and higher.
I am screaming, my body straining against the silk ropes, my world narrowing to the cock inside me and the devilish vibration on my clit.
I am nothing but a body, a vessel for pleasure to be used, and right now I welcome it, I give in. I have no choice, no other thought process beyond this moment, this pleasure,this.
Uncle Bobby groans, his thrusts becoming erratic, and I feel the hot rush of his release inside me. He slumps against me for a moment before pulling out. I sag in the ropes, panting, the vibration still humming, keeping me on a dizzying edge.
Antonio walks a slow circle around me, inspecting his property as he looks at the mess glistening on my inner thighs. “Robert,” he says, his voice cold. “You’ve made a mess of my Pet. Clean it up.”
Uncle Bobby, still breathing heavily, just grins. Without a word, he drops to his knees before me. His tongue, rough and eager, laps at the come trickling out from me.
He cleans me with a grotesque reverence, his mouth seeking out every drop.
Antonio turns the vibrator up a notch, and a broken cry is torn from my throat as another, smaller orgasm is wrung from me, my body convulsing against the ropes as Uncle Bobby’s tongue works away.
“Filthy fucking whore.” Uncle Bobby chuckles. “Your daddy would be so proud.”
I don’t care. I don’t care about anything. The alcohol, the drugs, and this thing vibrating in me have taken away my morality, and I’m lost. I’m so fucking lost.
I sob out one brutal orgasm as he licks me clean, and when he is done he rises, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He nods at Antonio with a look of profound satisfaction before stepping off the stage.
I am panting, spent, my body humming.
God, I hope it’s over. I need it to be over.
Antonio turns to the crowd, his voice projecting across the room, cool and challenging. “I’d like to introduce you all to my latest pet, Grace Ratcliffe. She’s a spoil of war, a trophy I get to keep and abuse. Most of you have been burned by her father, Titus, in one way or another. Perhaps tonight we can right some wrongs. Who else would like to fuck his whore of a daughter?”
“No,” I gasp, louder this time, more insistent. I don’t want this. I don’t want to be here.
Antonio turns, bending down to look me in the face as he slowly tucks a piece of my stray hair behind my ear. “Stop fighting this, Pet. We must let them have their fun. These jackals came here tonight for Ratcliffe blood, and we must give them that.”
I shake my head more furiously.
He tuts, placing a finger over my lips. “Embrace what you are. Embrace what you’ve been trained to be. I’ve given you something to make it feel good, Pet, so just relax and enjoy it. Remember you’re a whore. A mindless fuck hole to be used. That is it, that is all you need to be.”
I blink back the tears as he steps away from me.
I can feel that drug setting in. I can feel it eating away at the last bits of my sanity, and I shudder realising that I don’t have the strength to fight this. That I can’t stop this.
I am a whore. Antonio’s whore.
His filthy fucking slut to use and abuse however he sees fit.
