Laura's Transformation

Chapter 14 : The Throne

The next stage of oral conditioning began without warning.

Laura was taken to a smaller, windowless room dominated by a raised platform. At its center sat a heavy, throne-like chair of polished black metal and leather. The seat contained a large, precisely cut oval opening shaped like a toilet seat. Beneath the opening was a low, padded restraint frame designed to lock a slave in place on her back, head tilted upward, mouth directly under the hole.

She was forced onto the frame. Wrist and ankle cuffs were locked tight. A wide metal ring gag was forced between her teeth and secured, holding her mouth open far beyond comfort. The larger anal plug shifted painfully as her hips were strapped down. No hood or blindfold was applied. She was left with a clear, forced view of whatever would be positioned above her.

Miss Elaina’s voice came from somewhere nearby.

“You will learn to service the anus of both male and female superiors with equal skill and enthusiasm. The act is not optional. You will keep your eyes open and fixed on your target. Looking away is disobedience. Resistance will be corrected. Begin when ordered.”

The first sessions used training models and carefully prepared instructors who sat fully clothed except for the necessary exposure. Laura’s tongue was guided through the opening while her eyes were forced to remain locked on the intimate flesh only inches from her face. The visual proximity made the act sharper, more personal, and harder to distance herself from. The headphones, sealed against her ears, delivered constant instruction and reinforcement.

Clean. Penetrate. Serve.

A slave’s mouth has no limits.

Dignity is a luxury you no longer require.

Eyes open. Do not look away.

The physical act was degrading in a way that reached past everything that had come before. The smell, the texture, the forced intimacy of the position, and the unavoidable sight of what she was servicing—all of it scraped at whatever thin layer of self-respect she still possessed. The wide ring gag left her unable to protect herself. She could only open wider, stare, and obey.

After several days of progressive training, the real test arrived.

Miss Elaina entered with a young woman Laura had never seen before. The newcomer was twenty years old, tall, sharp-featured, and wore the same black instructor uniform, though the cut was slightly newer. Her expression carried a bright, barely restrained interest that Miss Elaina’s never did.

“This is Miss Anya,” Miss Elaina said. “She is my apprentice from the Academy. You will treat her with the same absolute obedience you show me. Begin.”

Anya climbed onto the throne and settled into place with deliberate slowness. Laura, still ring-gagged and fully able to see, watched as the young woman’s body positioned itself above her. The view through the seat opening was immediate and inescapable.

“Tongue out,” Anya ordered. Her voice was younger, lighter, and carried a private amusement that made the command worse. “Eyes on me. Do not look away.”

Laura obeyed. The conditioning held. She performed the act she had been drilled on for days—licking, pressing, penetrating as deeply as the angle allowed—while staring directly at the intimate target only inches from her face. Anya sat above her and made soft, evaluative sounds. Miss Elaina watched in silence from the side.

When the required time had passed, Anya did not immediately rise.

Instead she adjusted her position slightly, took hold of Laura’s head with one hand to keep her eyes locked in place, and released a steady stream of urine directly into the open, ring-gagged mouth and across Laura’s face.

The hot liquid flooded Laura’s throat and spilled over her cheeks. The shock of it—coming from a woman barely older than herself, delivered with casual ownership while Laura was forced to watch—hit harder than any previous humiliation. Something raw and surviving inside her recoiled violently. She gagged, thrashed against the restraints, and tried to turn her head away from the sight and the stream.

The collar responded at once.

A rapid series of punitive shocks tore through her neck and along the electrode points of the chastity belt. The pain was bright and precise, punishing both the physical reaction and the attempt to break eye contact. Anya did not stop the stream until she was finished. Only then did she stand, look down at the soaked, shaking slave beneath the throne, and smile with quiet satisfaction.

Miss Elaina’s voice remained level.

“Poor reaction noted. Additional correction will follow. Miss Anya, you may continue observing for the remainder of the session.”

Laura lay locked in place, urine cooling on her skin, the taste of it still thick in her mouth, the aftershocks of the collar still flickering through her nerves. The young apprentice’s presence and the forced visual contact made the degradation sharper. Being used by someone so close to her own age, someone who clearly enjoyed the extra cruelty, while being made to stare the entire time, stripped another layer from what little dignity she had left.

The headphones resumed their soft, relentless instruction.

A slave accepts what is given.

A slave does not choose the form of her use.

Eyes remain open.

Gratitude is the only correct response.

Laura swallowed what remained in her mouth and waited for the next order, the psychological damage settling in deeper than the physical. The throne, the ring gag, the unavoidable view, the apprentice’s casual sadism, and the taste of urine had all become part of her training now—another step further into the identity the facility was carving out of her.