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She spent the better part of the afternoon writing the book.
She described in detail how a teenaged Abby had seduced her own father, against his better judgement, into fucking her on a daily basis. Her motivation had been partly to get special favours, including an increased allowance and a new car for her birthday, but mostly because she was just a disgusting whore. She described how Abby had gone to school some days with her father’s cum still drying on her tits, or with a pussy full of his sperm.
This story was entirely fictional – Abby’s first sexual experience had been at a much older age, and her relationship with her father was loving and non-sexual – but as she wrote it down, she started to become confused. If this hadn’t happened, why was she saying it had? Why could she picture it in such detail? Had Abby really fucked her own father? She must have, surely.
At the back of her mind, she knew that *she* was Abby. She was writing this about herself, degrading herself on paper. But she also knew that Abby was a terrible bitch who wouldn’t let her sleep at night. It was Abby’s fault that she had giant fake tits, which were covered with bruises. It was Abby’s fault that she was called “Rape-Udders” now and had a pussy and ass stuffed with dog food, which she would eat for her dinner. Abby deserved to be degraded. Abby deserved to have been fucked by her father.
Her mind was a mess now. Deprived of sleep, degraded, kept horny and confused, she could barely put two coherent thoughts together, and what little brain power she had was spent on crafting the story of Abby’s incestuous affair. She was completely unaware that she was crying as she wrote, or that her free hand was desperately squeezing her bruised tits, pinching her nipples.
As she described how her father’s cock had penetrated her virginal pussy, she experienced her first stimulation-free orgasm, shuddering silently as her pussy spasmed around the jellied dog food it was stuffed with.
As she finished up this chapter of Abby’s life, Richard came over to her and ejaculated on her face again. She thanked him, and sucked his cock clean. And then he introduced her to a new game.
Like the earlier game “Bitch, Role-Model or Fuckdoll”, it was played on the laptop.
“But this time,” said Richard, “I want you to look at each image, and work out what a man would say about it. Just vocalise your thoughts into the microphone. All the photos are of you, so what you say should start with ‘I’. For example, you might say, ‘I like being fucked by men I hate.’”
“I like being fucked by men I hate,” said Rape-Udders obediently.
“Good girl,” said Richard. “But do it with the photos.”
Rape-Udders looked at the photos.
Richard had been wrong. The first photo wasn’t of her. It was of Bitch Abby, speaking at a conference somewhere. But Rape-Udders played along anyway.
“I deserve to be slapped whenever I open my stupid mouth,” she said.
The next one was of her, posing in Richard’s office back when this had all begun, spreading her pussy as a visible rope of arousal-slime dripped from her fuckhole.
“I’m a disgusting slut,” she said.
The next one was Abby again, looking like an unpleasant bitch.
“I need a man to discipline me,” she said.
Now it was her. It was a photo from earlier that day, of the banana chunks squirting out of her pussy into her dog bowl. She felt sick, looking at it.
“I’m an animal, not a person,” she said.
And the photos continued. Images of Abby, looking so heartless and cruel that she wanted to reach out and slap her stupid bitch face. Images of herself, acting like a disgusting nude big-titted fuck-pig.
She hated Abby. She hated herself. She wanted to see them both punished for being so awful.
“I have tits that make me look like a porn cartoon,” she said.
“I don’t deserve to be in control of my own pussy,” she said.
“I piss in the woods like an animal because I don’t deserve to use a toilet,” she said.
“I’m too stupid to make my own decisions,” she said.
And on and on, for nearly two hours, as she stared at the images and realised how worthless she truly was, vocalising those thoughts into the microphone for the laptop to record.
When she was done, Richard moved to the laptop and changed some settings. A new window appeared. It showed Rape-Udders, as she was right now. She was being videoed by the laptop camera.
Not just that – there was some text around the camera window. It took Rape-Udders a moment to realise what was happening. The camera was streaming. This was a porn streaming site, and it was streaming her onto the internet right now. The window showed that there were seven people watching her, right at this moment.
She squeaked, and looked at Richard in dismay.
“I have a decision for you, Rape-Udders,” said Richard. “You can say hello to these nice people watching you on the internet, and then eat your dinner in front of them while they watch. If you do that, I’ll let you cum when you’re done eating.”
“Or,” he continued, “we can turn this off right now. But you won’t get to have dinner or cum, and the dog food will stay inside you until breakfast.”
“Who are the people who are watching?” asked Abby.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Richard. “Maybe anonymous internet people. Maybe people who know you. You don’t need to ask questions like that.”
She mewled unhappily. She didn’t want to perform for other people. But on the other hand, she *was* hungry, and she *did* want to cum. And perhaps more importantly, she wanted the clamps off her pussy. She knew it would be agonising to take them off already. She couldn’t imagine leaving them on all night without getting any relief first.
It was no choice at all, really.
She turned to face the camera. She could see her face was streaked with Richard’s cum, and two contradictory thoughts popped into her mind at the same time – “pretty”, and equally, “disgusting”. She lifted her big fake bruised fuckbags up with her hands so that the audience could see them. “Hi!” she said. “I’m Rape-Udders, and I’m a stupid fuckpig bimbo!” She paused – something was missing. Then she realised what it was.
“Just like all women,” she added. “Today I’m going to eat an appropriate dinner for women, in the way that a dumb bimbo like me deserves.”
She pulled over her dogbowls, and then squatted over one with her ass facing the camera. She worked the butt-plug out of her anus, and let the dog food she had shoved into her bowels squeeze back out into the bowl. Then she turned around, unclipped her pussy, and let that dog food out as well. She screamed as the blood rushed back into her abused labia, but the pain came with a single clear thought – “I deserve this.”
Then she bent down on all fours and began to eat the cunty, fragrant dog food. And as she did so, she masturbated frantically.
She could see the commentary from the audience appearing on screen as she ate.
“WTF am I jerking off to?”
“This slut is so pathetic and disgusting I’m laughing and cumming at the same time.”
“Hey, does she look like that feminist bitch Abby Fields to anyone else? Except with whore tits?”
“How dumb must she be to do this on camera?”
She burned with shame because she knew it was true. She *was* stupid and pathetic.
Nevertheless, she orgasmed as she finished the last chunks of food.
When she was done, Richard shut off the video feed, and led her to her sleeping area. This time he did not give her any food to stuff in her pussy. Rape-Udders was worried – what would she eat for breakfast? He put the wicked chastity belt back on her, turned on the television, and left her alone in the dark.
It was just as it had been on previous nights – the screaming voice of bitch Abby, trying to keep her awake, alternating with pictures of Rape-Udders being a good little bimbo slut. However, now during each of the “Rape-Udders” sessions, the video played a voice, speaking quietly. It was her own voice, from her recording sessions today and previously.
“I am a stupid porn fuckdoll.”
“I deserve to be raped.”
“I need men to make my decisions.”
Abby liked these phrases, because they were quiet enough to sleep through – although each time she woke, she could hear them still playing in her head like an echo, going round and round. She found herself mouthing along to them, telling herself she was a good little fuckpuppet and that she was an animal who needed to have her tits whipped.
And as for the screaming bitch Abby, it was still too hard for Rape-Udders to sleep through the noise, at least until the early hours of the morning when she was half-delusional from interrupted sleep, but she found she could now maintain her arousal all night long and avoid getting her pussy zapped by the chastity belt. She just had to start fantasising about Abby’s rape and degradation at the first possible opportunity, and keep those thoughts on a loop all night long, even while she dreamed. She thought about the stories she had written of Abby fucking her dog and her father, and then she pictured Abby having to eat dog food from a bowl on a live internet stream, like she had done herself, and she found herself cumming happily from nothing but her own whorish thoughts.
“Good slut,” she whispered to herself in her sleep, and smiled.