…My body shook and vibrated, and it certainly hurt to be sure, although this too was doable. I was right on the edge of something, although what exactly was not entirely clear to me. I could hardly catch my breath, wailing out lungs-full of precious air with every stroke, certainly something like this couldn't possibly be doing THAT to me. It was like I was both here, and someplace else, all at the same time.
I knew my body though, and I also knew my dark porn tastes as of late, and in there someplace there was an extraordinary linkage between inflicted pain and deep sexual arousal; almost as if I had reprogrammed myself like a sir unit. Instead of wonderful tender kisses and soft caresses, I got myself "there" by means of the crack of the whip, previously while vicariously watching another endure this fate herself, but in the here and now very personally. Sir had even alluded to this himself, "use it to escape your fate" I think he had said. It didn't make all that much sense to me then, but I think I might just get it now, take the pain and make something else out of it, something wonderful, I told myself.
Here this brilliant, easily underestimated machine, Sir, was teaching me, a human, about sex. And not just "lets breed" kinds of normal sex, but deep and kinky sex, the kinds of taboo things that most "normal" and respectable people pretend not to have any interest in. Or, the real hypocrites instead who pretend to be disgusted by such things, only to sneak away to self-entertain to them in private. Money and free time plays a part here as well, because I'm quite certain that people working hard to feed their family don't exactly have time to think about such kinks, let alone practice them. So, this kink of mine is likely more of a wealthy mindset, people with idle time to ponder such things, to get seriously worked up over them. "An idle mind is the devil's workshop" I remember reading someplace, and in my own personal workshop the devil was quite busy. He was also quite busy in another's as well…
Having thought that, strung up and whipped was something that got me off to watch on the big screen, and seeing how there were vast troves of this particular porn to be found, I assumed I wasn't alone in this interest. Was it the guilt of wealth and success that had given me this dark punishing interest; was that even a real thing? I can't say that I straight up wanted to experience anything like this in the flesh, but to my twisted horned up kinky mind this wasn't quite like torture either. In my mind - and still presently ignorant of the disinterested and sated ladies in the dessert - this wasn't really torture at all; private one-on-one torture was something inflicted on another for their personal entertainment - something Sir specifically couldn't experience - or maybe to gain hidden information, draw out a confession, change a behavior. Sir was only punishing me for my misbehavior, but why like this, with a roving camera drone to catch the very best angles? It should have easily occurred to me that this was for the obvious benefit of another, a breathing, lusting, human other, but to be fair I had a lot going on at the moment.
Torture, in my mind at least, only equals punishment only if somebody else - human - is watching and getting something out of it, or learning some kind of dark lesson maybe. It's a sadistic sick show, there to convert the human receiving it into something less than the one giving it. Sir doesn't have emotions, not pity, anger, lust, or even envy, just input and output, cause and effect. His programs might emulate these emotions for another's benefit, but there was just something right beyond my comprehension happening here. To be fair I was highly preoccupied, and when you're strung up inverted and red faced screaming so hard that you can't catch your breath, blood rushing to your head and all, logical thoughts just aren't all that easy to form. My mind was a jumbled mess with all this stimulation, as if it was short circuiting, or being overwritten, and someplace simple and sexy was a far more desirable place to retreat to anyway…
Strip away the fat, bad, and ugly, to hopefully reveal the good underneath, if there's any left after all these years of bitterness? I knew what I had signed on for with Sir, I had done some study on the subject beforehand so that I wasn't completely ignorant, but I didn't think that would have me hanging by my ankles outside in my own yard like a hog about to be slaughtered either, and on the first day to boot! Mentally I also knew I needed to stop fighting with my Sir, just submit and let him do his thing, build what I've commissioned him to build, I told myself, although easier said than done in the real world though. I didn't necessarily have a submissive personality either, at least on the brittle surface, so this journey of submission was especially hard for me in light of that.
…At one time I had thought I was nasty and tough, but to get by in the modeling world one had to build a shell around oneself, lest the whole world take advantage of you at once. Modeling as a teen very far from home for either gender can quickly turn into high end prostitution, with yachts and mansions, and expensive pure drugs there for the taking, and also there to lower one's inhibitions. Such was hard on a body too, every few nights in a new city or other location could be one nonstop party, and while I hadn't gone all the way there personally, I had watched others that had; it looked quite the time while it lasted. It was called "the diet coke," a play on words if there ever was one, as in it's hard to eat and gain weight when you're getting all your nutrition through your nose. There were other synthetic chemicals too, ones that avoided easy detection, and promised few side effects. Models who do that long enough look like just bones and skin, like they're starving to death, because in reality they are. And what's really twisted is that some think that look is hot and sexy, something for healthy teen girls to emulate. Not my look to be sure, especially now, and that may be a reason that I need Sir to "whip" me into shape, shed those extra pounds, pun intended.
My temporary shell then became my go-to persona, most nice men far too intimidated to even approach me, but not confident Ray. But Ray had been too busy chasing his wealth to be there for his "trophy" girlfriend turned trophy wife, I was maybe something to be attained, won, but not really managed. It was shallow, but I had been shallow too, so we both owned this. Maybe Ray felt some guilt over the way things worked out between us, and his providing for me as generously as he did - in the one way he knew how - was to soothe his own conscience? I certainly felt guilty, for a whole bunch of things too numerous to list, and here I hang to receive the first of my comeuppance, richly deserved and ferociously applied with my very own high-end belt, repurposed as a whip by my paid-for mechanical jailer.
The irony of using my own things against me like this had a rather human feeling to them, a feeling I couldn't completely get my head wrapped around, distracted in rapid fire fashion as I had been. It rang of a human ironic element though, although I didn't know the true source of Sir's reprogramming, as in what devious monster had actually written it, and for what exact purpose. Sir had said so himself, a name was just a name, an address for him to find what others wanted him to. The details were everything, as I was to discover.
My mind was everywhere and I was dancing on the very edge of the mother of all orgasms, I had even lost the stroke count as I hung there getting my stripes. That wasn't my problem, but Sir's, and "giving" him this full physical responsibility over me released something inside of me. Sir wasn't my property, I had this all wrong, I was his, to do HIS bidding, to serve at his pleasure. Yes, I would get something from all this, but I would give much to get there.
With things properly reordered in my conflicted mind the mother of all orgasms then rolled over me, I was soaked with perspiration anyway from my exertions with the whip, but my eyes rolled to the back of my head and my wailing changed pitch, this well past the point of hiding anything from Sir, or anybody else watching back at home in the desert.
My nether regions gushed as if I just had a bladder incident, but I know for a fact that it was empty, and the smell of female arousal soon assailed my nose as my "mess" ran all the way to my face, I gushed so hard. I shook like I was having a seizure, and truth be told I don't remember much after that, except for maybe seeing every color in all of creation flashing before my rolled back eyes; all as Sir literally beat an epic orgasm out of me…
…Back In the desert Veronica gave her just as devious friend Beth a knowing smile while they watched the hanging Jessica orgasm into gushing unconsciousness, all from only being whipped with a belt, specifically her belt.
"I've only ever seen something like that in a porno" Beth admits.
"And that had likely been faked too," Veronica adds.
"True enough. Well, I guess we don't need Sir to confirm what you already saw for yourself" Beth compliments. "Seems a shame to only use a hot little fuck bunny like that for serving and cleaning house though, I could imagine all sorts of fun with her, and not just for the guys either."
"Well to be perfectly honest, right now a hot 'big' flobbly fuck bunny, but I obviously see the potential here. What specifically did you have in mind though?" Veronica asks her friend.
"Ray still thinks she's hot, I saw it in his eyes at your wedding, extra weight and all. And my own husband would likely crawl naked over broken glass just to go down on her, just for the privilege. Dancing with her at the wedding is like all he talked about for three days straight. Let's not kid ourselves here, there's a reason you're doing all this, taking such a risk here; it's called self-preservation. Don't take offense or anything, I'm of a like mind here, I like the cushy ride that I have, it's an easy life, and I way don't want her's, nor to lose my husband to her either. I'm not all jazzed up about his lusting on her either, even if he hasn't said anything specific about wanting on her since I told him to shut up about it. What happens if she's actually successful though, if that Sir thing actually does what it's supposed to?" Beth gesturing to the freshly whipped and still twitching captive displayed on their big screen.
"Let's say that I agree with you; what do you propose?"
"Let's turn her back into that hot runway model body again, a slightly aged version anyway. Sir will do that for us, and I don't know that we could stop that part if we wanted to. Then let's pimp her out, give her the golden arches treatment, then both guys will want to stay about as far away from her as they can. Maybe you could even start a little rainy-day fund with the proceeds?"
"I don't follow you; what's the 'golden arches' treatment?" Veronica asks. She sees herself as a worldly and wise woman, and having Beth have to explain anything to her; Ray's simmering desire for his ex-wife, or even the slang golden arches thing, really rubs her raw. Beth is younger, and Veronica invited her along to share this experience with her, share the potential guilt maybe, not to get schooled in something she'd rather not have to acknowledge. It's the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room that everybody is trying not to pay attention to; appearance wise Ray's ex-wife is still hot and sexy, extra weight and all.
"McDonalds, the fast-food place. Did you ever see their sign? The golden arches look like a tan set of spread legs while on your back, knees bent sharply, and the sign underneath says 'eight billion served' or something like that. No guy, not our guys at least, want to be mister eight billion and one."
"That is the sickest and most fucked up… and to be honest fitting thing I've ever heard. She kept away from that sex for sale scene when she was actually modeling, Ray talks about it all the time. 'Jessica this, and Jessica that' I'm frankly tired of it. I want that estate for myself, and maybe we'll share all her clothes, take our pick, and then give the rest to charity or something. I think maybe she only needs two maid's uniforms anyway, one to wear, and one in the wash. But your way would work too, have her serve everybody in a different way, without a stitch to wear, show off that hot skinny model's body, and that gaping, overused, anything would easily fit and flop around, worn out model's snatch. Oh, such irony, I love it!"
"Can Sir train for that as well?" Beth asks.
"I have no idea, but worse comes to worst I might have to have her buy another program, another in-app purchase for extended capabilities maybe…"
"A slut brothel program maybe, one that she herself buys? Simply brilliant, sadistic, but still brilliant!"
"Maybe one with a beatdown show for us every now and then? I can't tell you how much I enjoyed watching her get whipped into oblivion like that…"
"How would you like to be the one giving her the whipping instead, because I know I'd like to?"
"Do you even need to ask?"
"…Sir, what just happened?" I asked while laying tenderly on a chaise lounge near the pool, still while wearing not a thing. I remember being hung upside down by my ankles, and I also remember the whipping from hell with my own belt, the rough side of the natural leather specifically, but by my own request. Then of course I remember "IT" happening, like the very best and most intense orgasm of my entire life… but really nothing after that.
"YOU PASSED OUT FROM OVERSTIMULATION JESSICA." my sir informs me while in close attendance.
"I don't remember how I got here, Sir."
"I PLACED YOU HERE MYSELF FOR RECOVERY. YOU ENDURED QUITE STOICALLY AND WITHOUT BEGGING FOR MERCY OR ANYTHING HUMILIATING LIKE THAT."
"I'm sure it was quite the show" I offered, seeing what I could get my sir unit to reveal, now that I could think clearly for a few seconds in a row. I feel both deflated and at peace with myself, but a big orgasm is great therapy, and that one had been epic. It was also humiliating to have been driven to something personal like that for my sir unit alone, let alone any others, despite his previous words to the contrary.
A finger then touches one of my welts, yes it stings, but this is nothing, nothing as compared to being fired from one's position for no good reason, and the sting of going hungry with no paycheck going forward is something more yet again. Fired from serving, waiting hand and foot on a bitter and overweight one-time fashion model; how desperate had each of them been to endure such treatment? The ones that could actually do something else had likely been the ones that had already resigned and left, and what remained until the very end were either the truly dedicated ones, or the truly needy. Do any of my former employees have little ones at home also looking forward to going hungry, I wonder, all as I lay here very overweight and ordinarily well fed to easily ponder such? I hadn't eaten much that particular day, there had been no time for such, but the hunger that was just starting for me would be a very real thing at some point for those just displaced by my sir unit.
I had never troubled myself to learn a single thing about any of their lives outside of their service to me. In my shallow former mind it really was all about me, my needs and wants, not theirs. I've just had a rather painful awakening, and I don't like what I see staring back at me in the proverbial mirror. Asking for the rough side of the belt was only the very first step of a very long journey for me, a necessary journey.
"…INDEED" my sir finally offered, telling me perhaps that what I suspect is true, but not confirming it, nor who specifically was watching. Was Sir even permitted to reveal this information, if it was even true and I wasn't just imagining it.
"Sir?"
"YES, JESSICA?"
"I would like you to issue a payroll check to each of my former employees, the ones you displaced, call it a severance package or something like that, but whatever it is I don't want them to feel like they're under any obligation to accept it. Every week until we decide what to do about them, I want to make sure they're not going hungry or anything like that. Not from Ray's household account though, that doesn't seem fair to me as he's already paying for you, and about everything else around here too. I would like you to draw the checks from my personal investments account, I'll give you the number for that one too."
"AS YOU WISH JESSICA. FIFTEEN LAPS IN THE POOL SO YOU DON'T CRAMP UP, IT WILL RELIEVE THE STING OF YOUR BELT AS WELL. YOU HAVE WORK TO DO THIS AFTERNOON, BUT IF YOU BEHAVE IT SHOULDN'T BE TOO HARD ON YOU."
"Yes sir, and thank you."
The rest of my first day under Sir's control had me acquainted with several mindless house chores, and preparing dinner for myself, which was no more than eight hundred calories of mixed nutrition reminiscent of my early modeling days to be sure. Bedtime was a surprise though, as to fit my new and much more humble station in life I was to occupy the smallest and most sparsely decorated little bedroom in the back wing of the estate, where the overnight maid and other serving people would catch a few hours rest if working the night shift. Sometimes they would do a forty-eight on, forty-eight off kind of schedule, depending on the daily demands in the house.
Day two, still no clothing, but I'm already getting used to this, and eating so little for dinner - my only meal of the day - has me actually feeling pretty good, and my cheerful mood comes out in my greeting to my sir, despite the brick-like bed. I felt my new welts on that bed, but already they've begun to fade. I also maybe feel pretty good about myself despite the show I provided while getting those welts, while strung up by my ankles and whipped in my own yard. I had done an actual selfless good deed, but one to correct an earlier moral lap though. Nobody will know about this one except myself and the recipients, and for me that means something extra. It's one thing to do good things, but quite another to make sure everybody sees you doing them. I slept well too on that horrible little bed, but I did have some crazy kinky dreams, not only about sex and further corporal punishments, but of being sold for sex, being used for sex…
Guys who get to know me even a little bit find me toxic, so this seems unlikely, but then again maybe not, as these dream men weren't lovers so much as users, dare I say customers. Not that I played that game when I was modeling - at least not very much - but in this present shape I'm in I have no proverbial bait to lure one in, an interested man maybe putting up with my attitude because of the desirable physical package I at one time presented: but no longer. I'm worse than the proverbial empty fishing hook, as this one is baited with something bitter that nothing really likes. I've inadvertently used people my whole life, so seeing this from the other side of things, even in a dream, causes further contemplation.
"I'VE ORDERED SOME THINGS THAT I REQUIRE FOR YOUR TRAINING, THEY WILL ARRIVE IN THE AFTERNOON. THEY REQUIRE YOUR SIGNATURE SO THEY WON'T GET DROPPED OVER THE GATE VIA DRONE."
"What am I to wear for the delivery driver sir?"
"WHAT DO YOU DESERVE JESSICA?"
"Nothing at all Sir, but I'm embarrassed by how I look."
"WE CAN'T HAVE THAT, NOW CAN WE? SIGN MY TOUCHPAD THREE TIMES WITH YOUR FINGER AND DATE IT, AND I WILL DUPLICATE YOUR SIGNATURE WHEREVER IT NEEDS TO BE."
And just like that I had sold myself into a further level of ownership with my sir unit, and eventually too the ladies in the dessert, to include Ray's new spiteful wife, the one that wants not only my estate, but a slave to serve her while visiting. No ordinary slave would do obviously, and simply dominating me and rubbing my nose in her superiority wouldn't either, her plans for me were far darker than that…