Betty's besties

The next evening, the living room was transformed. A black curtain was hung as a backdrop, filming lights and screens attached around the room, and the new high-end camera was mounted on a tripod, streaming live to DarkFans. Betty knelt in the center, naked except for a black blindfold and a penis gag masking her face, her bitch collar, and the leather cuffs around wrists and ankles complimented the slave look. Her piercings reflected the bright lighting. The noise-canceling earplugs rendered her deaf to the world, her only input a white noise for this event.

Laura and Shannon, wearing sleek white masks to conceal their identities, stood on either side, their voices confident as they addressed the camera.

“Welcome, everyone,” Laura began, her tone sultry. “This is our slave, ready to serve. You’ve seen her as our bitch—now she’s ours all week. Let’s show you what she’s got.”

Shannon stepped forward, gesturing to Betty’s modifications. “These nipple rings? Perfect for bells or chains. Tug them, and she feels it.” She gave a light pull, Betty’s muffled gasp echoing through the ring-gag, her body arching. “These rings through her labia hold her in chastity.”

“Nobody and nothing have entered so far, and nothing ever will.”, Laura teased firmly. “Above, this is called a clit shield. You see both genital installations connected to a remote-controlled shock unit. Watch this.” She tapped her phone, sending a medium buzz. Betty jolted, her bells jingling, her moan audible to the viewers. The chat exploded with emojis and tips.

“And these earplugs,” Shannon added, holding up the remote. “She hears only what we want—our voices, recordings, whatever we choose. She’s completely ours.” She leaned into the mic, her voice clear in Betty’s ears. “Kneel up, slave. Show them your wonderful tattoos.”

Supported by Shannon on one arm, Betty obeyed, her movements fluid despite her blindness and deafness, her submissive haze deepened by the hypnotic loop playing in her ears: “You’re a dumb, horny slave who loves her mistresses.” The viewers typed furiously, praising the mistresses and begging for more.

Laura addressed the chat, her grin hidden behind her mask. “Starting next stream, you can pay for actions—our menus up soon. You can already buy precious Betty coins. Don’t forget to order right now.”

Shannon wasn’t sure if her sentence still made it before the the end of the stream: “We’re keeping it safe—no needles, no extreme stuff. We’re her mistresses, not monsters.”

The stream ended with a flood of tips, subscribers hyped for the next session. Laura and Shannon high-fived, their excitement palpable as they removed Betty’s blindfold and earplugs. “You were a perfect slave,” Shannon praised, stroking her hair. Betty, flushed and aroused, nodded, her voice soft. “Thank you, mistress.”

The following week’s stream introduced the paid menu, carefully curated to balance subscriber desires with Betty’s safety. Laura and Shannon set up in the living room again, the setup with Betty the very same as before. The chat buzzed as they announced the options: deepthroating a dildo, writing words on her body with permanent marker, light spankings, light flogging, coating her anal plug with ginger or temperature-controlled gel, selecting audio files for her earplugs.

“We’ve got limits,” Shannon told the viewers. “No anal thrusts—she’s already stretched for Brutus and plugs. And shocks? They’re pricey and getting more expensive with each purchase, to keep it reasonable.”

“You want her to suffer, pay up.”, Laura commanded with a big smile, not taking herself seriously.

The first paid action was deepthroating. Shannon held a medium-sized, flexible black dildo, guiding it into Betty’s open mouth. “Take it, slave,” she commanded through the earplugs. Betty gagged, drool spilling down her chin, her muffled choking sounds thrilling the subscribers.

“Messy girl,” Laura laughed, zooming in with the camera, “Don’t fuck it up, bitch.” Over the next weeks, they would increase the dildo’s length and girth, pushing Betty to take it deeper, faster, rougher. Subscribers paid to make her hold it in her throat, her face red as she fought her gag reflex, her body trembling with the effort to breathe.

“Good slave,” Shannon’s voice purred in her ears, easing her through the ordeal.

Writing on Betty’s body was a hit, the permanent marker scrawling words like “Slut,” “Whore,” or “Property” across her thighs, back, and even forehead. Scrubbing it off visible areas took effort, Betty’s arousal later spiking at the degradation, not wondering what motivated Laura and Shannon to such exploits of her slavery. She did have consented to it nevertheless and remembered she was actually even being paid for it. Hence, she considered herself fair game for anything and told herself to do her work when enduring the treatment became difficult, or her mind started to struggle with worries of any aftermath. The good part was, some tasks were even fun. Being used so attentively by her mistresses aroused her in general. They must have been very happy to use her so frequent and still extensively. The tasks seem never to cease being interesting for them, even with Betty getting better at enduring them longer and harder.

Spankings and light flogging, delivered with a padded paddle or soft flogger, left her skin pink but unbroken, Laura and Shannon careful to avoid bruising. Over the sessions, more and harsher implements would be added though, and her mistresses would strike harder, leaving various red lines and bruised spots over her body. Between the sessions though, they would order her to everything they researched as effective she could to do to make them heal quickly. It seemed marking her for days was neither the main purpose nor a welcome side effect.

Ginger-coated plugs burned her ass, while heated or cooled gels added sensory shocks, each action drawing moans, and therefor behind the scene tips.

The earplug audio slots were a niche favorite, sold to the highest bidder. Subscribers sent files—white noise, porn sounds, or custom recordings echoing Betty’s own voice: “You’re a worthless slave, obey your mistresses.” The hypnotic loops deepened slave Betty’s submission, her mind soft and pliant as she knelt, gagged, and shocked for the camera.

The streams were a spectacle of showmanship—name-calling, mean taunts like “Filthy slut, you love this,” and constant commands.

“Crawl faster,” Shannon snapped, tugging Betty’s nipple chain.

“Beg for it,” Laura demanded, triggering a shock.

The chat ate it up, tips pouring in, pushing the DarkFans revenue to new heights. Shannon didn’t even know how to ever spent such amounts of money when Laura shared the business update. There were definitely ways, but Laura cautioned and invested the surplus wisely, securing their future independence.

Betty, unaware of the account, thrived in her role, her weekdays as a slave blending seamlessly with her weekend bitch training. At college, her tattoos and piercings stayed hidden, her choker and clothing concealing her secret life. Some marks or bruises accidently revealed here or there might have caused suspicions but nobody usually talked to Betty, hence no classmate had the trust base to seriously ask. Overall, student Betty seemed happy at least.

The thrill of Betty’s new role as a weekday slave had initially electrified Laura and Shannon, their DarkFans account surging with revenue as subscribers paid for the degrading, partly painful acts. But the novelty of the gear-heavy sessions waned quickly. New restraints, gags, and toys often disappointed, breaking easily or failing to captivate the audience. Changing locations, however, proved a masterstroke. Renting secluded cabins or private clearings, though costly upfront, delivered fresh backdrops that thrilled subscribers, the investment easily covered by their growing income. Public settings required meticulous planning—mutual consent from any onlookers was non-negotiable. This demanded organizational effort but ensured safety and legality.

Laura and Shannon pushed the boundaries further. They remembered an old idea, and with Dave’s help organized a dog gang bang for Betty during a weekend, a special event that became the talk of DarkFans. Dave sourced trained dogs from trusted contacts, ensuring safety and consent, and the stream—Betty in her pet gear, ring-gagged and deaf, mounted by multiple dogs in succession—drew record tips. The viewers could even pay to influence the order. The first event, raw and unforgettable, set the bar high, though later ones kept the audience hooked.

In another category, Laura and Shannon hired porn actors to throat-fuck Betty, her ring-gagged mouth struggling under brutal thrusts. Subscribers paid extra for the actors to urinate down her throat, the act discreetly filmed to avoid clear visuals, preserving the platform’s limits while satisfying hardcore fans.

Despite her happiness, Betty’s college performance continued to crumble. Although she was able to focus, pay attention, and was even ordered by her mistresses to do all her assignments, resulting in quick deliveries, a temporary peak of her grades right after turning into a slave drove straight forward into the ground for good. Betty wondered how this could be, feeling so happy, balanced, and well cared for in her new lifestyle. Everything seemed to fit to each other, but her answers at college got more and more wrong. Despite her best confidence that she understood a topic, her fellow students and professors were of the quite opposite opinion.

Laura and Shannon noticed Betty’s confusion and mental trouble—her dumb look and fake smile when she freshly returned from college and sat over an assignment, eager to do her best. Therefor, after having discussed the matter among themselves, one evening they ordered Betty to kneel naked in the living room, no gear besides her collar, no camera, no blindfold just the earplugs. It seemed all so serious since she noticed the lack of any gear usually involved in plays, no mush, no bowl, no dildo, nothing.

Shannon set her soda down, her blue eyes soft but direct. “Betty, listen. We need to talk.” She noticed Betty shift nervously. “Do you actually love us?”

Betty blinked, puzzled. She wasn’t lesbian, and while Laura and Shannon were her best friends, she saw them as trainers and mistresses, not lovers. Yet their care—financial, emotional, and physical—was undeniable. “I don’t… quite understand,” she stuttered, her voice small, eager to please.

Laura leaned forward, her hazel eyes steady. “We mean, what would you do for us, Betty? Seriously.”

“Anything!” Betty replied quickly, her voice quiet but fervent. “I’d do anything for you guys.”

Shannon’s expression softened, but her tone was firm. “We want you to drop college.”

The words hung heavy in the room. Betty froze, her breath catching. College was a pillar of her identity; a goal she’d clung to despite her sexual adventures. The idea of abandoning it shook her to her core. She opened her mouth but found no words, her eyes wide as she listened.

Shannon continued, her voice earnest. “We see the toll it’s taking on you, Betts. The stress, the bad grades—it’s not fulfilling you. It may be not as intense that you notice, but it’s constant, and it’s just making you miserable. Being our dog bitch, our slave—that’s where you shine. That’s what makes you happy. Ain’t that right?”

Laura nodded, her tone gentle but unyielding. “We know college has been your dream, but ask yourself: why? For a degree? Then what? A boring job, maybe a boyfriend, a husband, kids—all the stuff society expects, but it’s not you. It’s killing you, and we can’t watch that.”

Shannon leaned closer, her compassion clear. “We love caring for you, but juggling your college struggle for such a negative effect, that’s just too much to ask. Do us a favor, Betts. Give it up.”

Betty’s mind reeled. She tried to summon reasons for staying in college—the pride of a degree, the promise of a career—but her thoughts went blank. She remembered no joy in the lectures, the homework, the endless studying. In fact, being secretly plugged, and all the covered piercings and tattoos, what her classmates would say or do if they knew, Betty now noticed it as the most fun part of being in class. The only light in her academic life had been Laura and Shannon, her besties who’d given her this wild, fulfilling world. Her ambition felt hollow, a burden she’d placed on them. Guilt twisted in her chest.

Still, a spark of resistance took fire in her, causing her to open her mouth and stand her ground, surprising herself, still kneeling though, her hands obediently laying on her upper legs. “But college is all I got. It’s my future.”, she protested. Turning her voice mild, almost begging for kindness, she asked: “Do you really want to take that away from me?”

Laura’s voice sharpened, a hint of meanness creeping in. “Frankly, Betty, you’re too dumb for college. We take care of everything—you don’t work, we cover your costs, we even order you to pay attention at class and study at home—and your grades still suck. Be honest with yourself. You’re a horny bitch in heat, not a student.”

The words stung, because they rang true. If would have been easier if Betty could deny them with clear conscience. Betty’s shoulders slumped, her resistance crumbling. They were right—she was failing, despite their support. Her arousal, constant and intense, defined her more than any textbook ever had.

Betty’s heart still raced though. She pouted her lips and nearly shouted: “So what! I still want to graduate and I will. And if I have to drop out of our arrangement.” She was a bit shocked herself what she just had spoken. But there, it was out, impossible to put the option off the table now. Her mistresses would certainly react. Would they be angry? Would they be disappointed and just let her go, letting her depend on her own, dropped like a hot potatoe?

It didn’t take long though. Noone got mad. Shannon’s tone turned strict though, her mistress persona taking over. “We’re making this easy for you. If you don’t drop college now, we’ll release the material we have—every video, every photo, your face included.”

Laura calmly concluded the consequences further: “You’ll be expelled anyway, with no chance of another school. Plus, you’re drowning in debt to us. You can’t work that off in a lifetime. Working in shitty job nine to five, and in another one or two just to make ends meet, submitting to shitty bosses just not to starve, living in a tiny, filthy apartment in the worst district. You won’t ever be able to get rid of the tattoos. No man seeing that will ever care for you, or even want to marry you and have children. No chance, Betty.”

Shannon encouraged the other option in her soft voice: “Just give in, Betts. You promised to obey us. You even signed it. You know we care for you, and we always will.” She smiled sympathetic.

Betty nodded, her eyes glistening but her resolve gone. They were her besties, her mistresses, and they were right. Resistance felt pointless—she wanted to make them happy, to be what they needed.

Laura’s grin was wicked, her voice low. “One more thing, slave. We want you to quit in style. And I won’t take any backtalk from you, bitch.” She stood up, towering over Betty. Unconsciously, the kneeling girl faltered her hands behind her back, before Laura continued: “Tomorrow, you’ll go college as slutty dressed as possible. Your collar on, a stripe barely covering your breasts, am microskirt, no underwear. You’ll show off your piercings and tattoos. After they will have expelled you from campus, we’ll arrange a party advertised to all your fellow student for any volunteer to face-fucked you, and we’ll record it all and publish it. You’re wet just thinking about it, aren’t you, dog bitch?”

Betty’s heart racing, her mind swiftly drifting into submission, her thighs clenched, her genital dripping through the rings. The idea—total exposure, complete ruin—was horrifying yet thrilling. She nodded, her voice barely a whisper. “Yes, mistress.”

The event was a DarkFans sensation, planned with meticulous care to maximize impact while ensuring legal consent. Laura and Shannon secured a private college courtyard, coordinating with a select group of students who’d signed NDAs and consented to participate. Betty, naked except for her piercings and collar, stood trembling as Laura and Shannon scrawled words collected from the subscribers across her body: “Cum Dumpster” on her forehead, “Slave Whore” across her chest, “Fuck Meat” on her thighs. Her tattoos were fully exposed and oiled shiny, her nipple bells jingling, her cow tags swaying, and her mouth forced open by her ring-gag.

The camera streamed live as volunteers, vetted and eager, took turns face-fucking her, her muffled gags and drool drawing cheers from the chat. Laura and Shannon, masked as always, narrated, their voices amplified through Betty’s earplugs. “Look at our slave,” Laura taunted. “She’s nothing but a hole now.” The subscribers tipped furiously, the revenue spiking.

Betty’s identity was revealed proofing it by her documents—her name, her face, her ruin—cementing her as DarkFans’ newest extreme porn star. Expelled from college, any academic dreams were shattered. But as Laura and Shannon predicted, it didn’t matter. Betty was no longer Betty—just a dog bitch, a slave, existing to please her mistresses and any guests they chose.

Their friendship, once the heart of their bond, dissolved into a new dynamic. In the long run, Laura and Shannon didn’t think of Betty as the second of their best friends forever anymore. Betty was clearly different as a slave. Even as DarkFans’ financial returns dimmed—paled by their savvy investments in other ventures—Laura and Shannon kept their dog bitch, her degradation a source of personal fulfillment. They lounged in their debt-free apartment, dressed in designer clothes, sipping wine, while Betty knelt at their feet, her collar gleaming, her earplugs playing her own voice: “I am a worthless slave, forever owned.”

The end