Victoria's Journey

Victoria was on display and ready for use by anybody who entered the room. She was helpless, her movement restricted to just her head being able to move slightly, a useless concession that only served to highlight her absolute immobilization. She knew, on some distant, rational level of her consciousness that had been slowly eroded over weeks, that what they were doing to her was wrong. It was a violation, a crime, a descent into madness from which there might be no return. But right now, that rational voice was a whisper drowned out by a roaring, primal ache. It was a deep, physical need that overrode everything her sensible brain was trying to tell her. She was the being she had allowed them to turn her into. She had been given regular opportunities to leave. Richard had told her nobody would stop her. But she had chosen to stay. And every time she had made that choice, things had become worse. She had fallen deeper down the rabbit hole, and now she could barely see a pinprick of light at the distant entrance.

Music started playing from another room, a thumping, rhythmic bass that vibrated through the floor and up into her bones. People were starting to arrive. Her heart beat faster with every new voice she heard, every peal of laughter that drifted down the hall. She jumped in her skin when the room was suddenly flooded with light as the door was thrown open.

"Ahh, my little slut," a familiar voice said. It was Richard.

She tried to turn her head to see him, to catch a glimpse of her ex-husband, her Master, but he stayed out of her direct line of sight, a disembodied voice in the shadows.

"I trust you are going to get enough cock tonight," he continued, his tone a chilling blend of affection and contempt. "Akiko said you have been missing it."

She groaned, a guttural, helpless sound from behind the rubber wedges, as fingers, cool and possessive, explored her gaping, exposed pussy. She thought she heard the faint rattle of chains, but it was hard to distinguish over the loud music and the chatting people who were now gathering just outside the door. A thumb, slick with her own juices, found its way to the tight star of her anus. She moaned as it pushed past the sphincter, a sharp, intrusive pressure that was both a violation and a terrifying promise. The fingers continued their exploration, tracing the edges of her lips, a maddening, teasing touch that stoked the fire of her desperate need.

Then the hand was yanked away, and a sharp, stinging slap landed on her rump. "Be good for us, little bitch," Richard's voice said, a final, dismissive command. "Make mummy and daddy proud."

Then he was gone. The door closed, and Victoria was left gasping, her breath raspy in the silent, dim room. What she didn't see, what she would never be allowed to see, was him being led away on his hands and knees by his Mistress Akiko. The thick collar around his neck was attached to a leash she held firmly. A bushy, faux-fur tail was plugged into his rectum, and a dog-shaped hood covered his head, complete with floppy ears. Those were the last words he would say tonight; puppies don't speak. The door closed, and Victoria was alone with her racing heart and the echo of his final, humiliating command.

Twenty minutes later, though Victoria had no way of measuring time, the door opened again. Light flooded the room, and a shadow formed, looming over her. The door closed, and all she could hear was heavy breathing. It was a sound she recognized, a sound from a life she thought was long gone.

"How the mighty have fallen," the voice said, a low, triumphant sneer. "Remember when you fucked me over?"

She recognized the voice. She heard a belt being undone, the metallic rasp of a zipper, the soft thud of trousers falling to the floor. She could smell the distinctive, spicy scent of his aftershave, once associated with power and success. She put the voice and the aftershave together. Kenny Grant. Her blood ran cold. He was the man whose company she had put into receivership when she first started, the man she had undercut on a crucial bid after sleeping with him and finding out his figures. He had been relying on that deal, but she had brokered it for her own company. It was her first big break, the first time she had been truly ruthless. The first time, she had enjoyed it.

He didn't say another word. He positioned himself behind her, his hands gripping her hips. He entered her in one hard, brutal thrust, a punishment, a repossession. He fucked her with a cold, methodical fury, each thrust a repayment for an old debt, a reclamation of his stolen pride. There was no pleasure in it for him, only the grim satisfaction of revenge. He used her body as a tool to settle a score, grunting with the effort. When he was finished, he pulled out with a grunt of disgust. She heard the rustle of his clothes, the jingle of coins. A single, ten-pence piece landed in the tip jar with a pathetic, final clink. Then he was gone, the door closing behind him, leaving her feeling more used and dirty than ever before.

He was the first. He was not the last.

A line formed. Men and women came and fucked Victoria in every hole, a relentless, impersonal procession of lust and revenge. The ladies, many of them women from the business world she had climbed over, favoured using a strap-on on her arse, their thrusts hard and punishing, their whispered taunts about her fall from grace stinging more than the physical act. The men were split between her mouth, forced open by the wedges, and her pussy. They used her without preamble, without conversation, their faces blank or contorted in a grim pleasure. She was a collection of holes, a public utility for their gratification. She lost track of how many there were, of faces, of voices. They all blurred into one long, humiliating assault. By the end of the night, she was a quivering wreck, her body aching, her mind a blank, shattered space. She was covered in sweat, in semen, in the lubricant that had been used so liberally. She was left there for an hour after everybody had left, the silence of the house a deafening roar in her ears.

Finally, the door opened. It was Yumi. She moved with a quiet efficiency, untying the straps, unbuckling the manacles, and finally, carefully releasing the spring-loaded wedges from Victoria's aching jaw. Victoria's jaw clicked shut, a wave of pain shooting through her face. She couldn't speak. She could barely move.

Akiko has retired with  Richard. She has replaced his tail with an extra-large dildo that she is fucking him with, while he begs her to have his cock released. Yuri had volunteered to take care of Victoria.

Yumi put a leash on Victoria's collar and made her crawl to the downstairs bathroom. The floor was an assault on her tortured knees. Inside, a nice, hot bath was waiting for her, the water scented with lavender and chamomile. Yumi helped Victoria into it, the warm water a soothing balm on her battered, bruised skin. Gently, she began to clean Victoria's face, using a soft cloth to wipe away the layers of doll-like makeup, revealing the pale, exhausted woman beneath.

"You were a good girl," Yumi said softly, her voice surprisingly gentle. "Akiko and Master Richard were proud."

Victoria closed her eyes as she soaked in the perfumed water, a single tear tracing a path through the grime on her cheek. It was the first kindness she had been shown in an eternity, and it broke her more completely than any of the cruelty.

After the bath, Yumi took Victoria to bed with her. It was Yumi's room, and the bed felt luxurious to Victoria, a soft, warm haven after her night on the cold tiles and the lumpy mattress she had at home. Yumi was gentle as she used Victoria, her touch soft, her kisses light. There was no cruelty, no punishment, only a quiet, demanding need. And Victoria, starved for affection, for any kind of touch that wasn't painful, gladly gave Yumi the pleasure she demanded. She offered her body willingly, a silent payment for the brief respite from her torment.

The last thing Victoria remembered before sleep finally claimed her was the soft, silken feel of a scarf being tied around her wrist and her ankles, not a harsh restraint, but a gentle binding. And she remembered Yumi kissing her ear, a soft, possessive whisper, as she hugged her close, a warm body in the dark.