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By that evening, as her appearance on the webstream approached, Rape-Udders’ anxiety had reached new heights. She couldn’t explain why she felt this way – after all, she was getting her revenge on that bitch Abby, who had made her life such a hell. She should feel elated. But instead she caught herself whimpering, wanting to flee as fast as she could crawl on all fours. It was only the firm presence of Richard – and the leash he held, connected to the dog collar on her neck – that kept her in place. When the anxiety came, she would reach between her legs, and rub her pussy, and that helped.
The webstream was formatted as a traditional talk-show, and owned an entire warehouse that it had converted to a fully-featured TV studio, complete with make-up rooms, backstage, and seats for an audience. They arrived 90 minutes before the stream was due to start, and there were some raised eyebrows as Richard led Rape-Udders into the warehouse on all fours by a dog leash.
There might have been even more alarm had Rape-Udders been naked, but Richard had made her put on clothes – a special outfit that he called her “Abby costume”. It was actually appropriate for wearing in public – a simple blouse that appropriately covered both her tits and pussy. There was no underwear with it, of course, but even so, Richard had to assure Rape-Udders repeatedly that it was okay for her to wear it, and that she wasn’t being a “feminist bitch” for covering her cunt and udders from male gaze.
“You’re pretending to be Abby tonight, remember?” he told her, while stroking her hair. “That bitch Abby would absolutely wear clothes. She’s a cockteasing fake-feminist cunt, remember?”
An assistant producer led Richard and Rape-Udders to the studio’s “green room” – the enclosed lounge where guests waited prior to their appearance on the show. There were two other women waiting here, and Rape-Udders recognised them immediately. One was Jillian Hendricks, Abby’s lecturer in Feminist Theory from her university days. Jillian was in her early 40s now, but she was still a stunningly attractive brunette. The other was Phillipa Quinn, a peer and colleague of Abby who had made her own name in feminist academia with a string of well-regarded books.
They were both icons of feminism, who Abby had revered and idolised. In fact, Rape-Udders recalled that she had pissed on signed copies of their books in front of Abby’s neighbours that very day.
Neither woman looked particularly feminist now. Both were wearing tight low-cut tops that emphasised their cleavage, and both had their hair and makeup done in a sexy style that suited a prostitute more than it did an academic.
And both women looked miserable.
“You remember how you raped Sarah Constance out at the cabin, Rape-Udders?” said Richard.
Rape-Udders nodded. It still made her feel guilty and aroused to think about it.
“Well, we told Sarah that we would destroy the footage of the two of you fucking, if she found us two more feminists to blackmail,” said Richard. “And she really came through for us. She seduced Jillian here, and outright raped Phillipa, and it turns out each of them did some very humiliating things on camera for Sarah that they would do anything to keep secret.”
Rape-Udders looked at the women, who were avoiding eye contact, and clearly trying not to cry. She had that strange sense again – of nauseating sickness and guilt, mixed with nearly overwhelming arousal. She lifted her dress and began to idly rub her wet pussy to make the feelings go away.
“And then,” Richard continued, “Sarah and I told each of them that we’d let them off the hook if they raped two *more* girls for us. So Jillian went and raped her own adult daughter – can you believe it? – and Sarah raped one of her junior research assistants. And they filmed it for us. I have to say, Jillian looked incredibly hot as she orgasmed from humping her crying daughter’s mouth.”
Jillian made a choked, sobbing sound, and Richard immediately looked stern. “Don’t you cry, bitch,” he said. “It’ll ruin your makeup, and they’ll have to do it all over again.”
Jillian bit her lip, and made no further sound.
“So anyway, Rape-Udders,” Richard continued. “I’ve made it clear to these bitches that we *now* have footage – that they filmed themselves – that could send them to jail for a very long time. And if they don’t want us to air it to the world, they have to do as they’re told.”
He paused, to stroke Rape-Udders’ cheek.
“And tonight,” he said, “what I want them to do is to go on this show, and agree enthusiastically with everything the host asks them. That’s all. Just agree, no matter what he asks. And you’re going to do the same. Understand?”
Rape-Udders didn’t really understand – certainly she didn’t know what she might be asked to agree with – but thinking about it made her feel strangely afraid, so she just rubbed her pussy, and nodded. She was lucky to have a man like Richard to do her thinking for her.
“Good bitches,” said Richard. “Now get out there and ruin Abby’s life.”
The host of the stream was a young man – he couldn’t have been more than 20 – with gelled peroxide blonde-hair and an ugly mocking smirk. He sat behind a desk festooned with pop culture detritus, in a parody of the traditional television talk-show format. The audience seats were filled with nearly fifty viewers – almost all of them young men – but of course the real audience were the millions of people watching over the internet.
The host opened the stream by taking out a tiny toy trumpet and playing a discordant blast on it – clearly a regular gimmick, because the audience went wild for it – and then turning to the cameras.
“I’m Jimbelcakes!” he declared, “and you’re watching Jimbelcakes Live, supported by our streaming partners at StreamTrain and JXContent.com! On today’s show we’re going to be asking the eternal question – is feminism fake?”
A large banner dropped down from the overhead rigging, to appear at the back of the stage. It read “IS FEMINISM FAKE”.
“And I’m joined today by three women who claim to be prominent feminists,” said the host. “Let’s hear it for Abby Fields, Jillian Hendricks, and Phillipa Quinn!”
There was clapping from the audience – which turned to immediate laughter as the three women crawled out on stage on all fours. They were all collared and leashed, and Richard held their leashes, walking them like a pack of dogs.
The laughter continued as they reached the seats. Richard unclipped their leashes, and Jillian and Phillipa took seats facing the audience. Rape-Udders, however, couldn’t get into the seat – it was too high, and she began whimpering when she raised her head high enough to climb into it – so she ended up just kneeling in front of it.
Richard retreated off stage, leaving the women alone.
“Now, Abby here is a prominent feminist author,” said ‘Jimbelcakes’. “She’s the author of ‘The Aphrodite Myth’ and ‘The Power of Me’, and she’s also been a strong crusader against pornography. But last month she posed nude for the websites of Richard Owens – have we got visual of that?”
Images of Abby, naked, cupping her tits and spreading her cunt, appeared on a large screen to the left of the stage – copied to a window of the stream for all the viewers at home.
“And now,” the host continued, “she’s come out with a new book called ‘I Am A Slut’, and it’s filled with some fairly shocking revelations. Do you want to tell us about it, Abby?”
“Well, it’s basically the story of how I’m a giant whore,” said Rape-Udders. Inside, she was giggling. These people thought she was Abby, and they believed that it was Abby saying these things, when instead it was Rape-Udders, secretly getting her revenge on Abby the feminist bitch.
“Tell us more,” said Jimbelcakes.
“In the book, I talk about how I lost my virginity to the family dog, and then seduced my own father, and then fucked my way to a university degree,” said Rape-Udders. “I’m really very stupid, and I never could have got anywhere in life if I wasn’t so good at getting men to cum inside me. In the book, I talk a lot about how all the women I know are stupid hypocritical sluts, and I share explcit details of the women I’ve lezzed off with.”
“Wow,” said Jimbelcakes. “That’s pretty disgusting stuff. And do you still call yourself a feminist?”
“Kind of,” said Rape-Udders. “I mean, all feminists are basically hypocritical sluts who want to be raped, and that definitely describes me! Deep down, all women love showing their cunts to men.”
Jimbelcakes turned to the other women. “Jillian, you’ve been a professor of Feminist Theory for 12 years. You’d be the one to know. Are feminists basically hypocritical sluts who want to be raped?”
Jillian swallowed, and blushed, and looked like she wanted to cry. But she said, “Yes, absolutely, they are.”
“And Phillipa,” said the host, turning to the other woman. “You’ve been active in advocating for laws to prevent revenge porn and intimate image abuse. But do you agree that in reality women love showing their cunts to men?”
Phillipa looked down at the floor, unable to make eye contact with the host or the audience, but she said, “Yes, definitely. We love it.”
Jimbelcakes laughed. “Well, ladies, I’m told that none of you are wearing underwear. Why don’t you spread your legs and show your cunts to the audience right now?”
There was a moment where it looked like Jillian might get up and make a run for it – but then she remembered that Richard had footage of her raping her own daughter, and instead she slowly parted her legs on the couch. Her skirt was short, and the camera could see right up to her naked snatch. On the other chair, Phillipa did the same.
Rape-Udders wasn’t on a chair, so she just leaned back, and pulled her dress up to her waist, and spread her legs for the audience.
The cameras zoomed in on the women’s cunts, showing them in excruciating detail to the audience – here in the studio, and the millions on the internet. No one could fail to notice the wet sticky ropes of goo drooling from their fuckholes.
“Ladies – are you *aroused* right now?” asked Jimbelcakes.
Richard had made the girls edge for nearly an hour before the show. They were very much aroused, despite the humiliating circumstances.
“Yes,” said Jillian and Phillipa in small voices.
“There you have it!” crowed JImbelcakes to his audience. “Alleged feminists, turned on by showing their pussies to millions of strangers.”
Someone in the audience yelled out, “Show us your tits!” and there was laughter.
“Ladies?” asked Jimbelcakes. “Would you like to show us your tits as well?”
“Yes!” said Rape-Udders enthusiastically. “Yes,” said Phillip and Jillian in the same small voices.
And just like that, the girls found themselves undressing in front of the audience. Jillian and Phillip stood and pulled their dresses up over their heads, revealing their nude bodies. Rape-Udders took off her dress while sitting. It felt good to be naked – more honest, more real.
There were hoots and hollers from the audience, and more laughter – apparently directed at the mortified, humiliated blushes of Jillian and Phillipa.
“Wow, those are some nice fuckbags,” said Jimbelcakes. “Thank you, girls. Now, Abby, you make some more claims in your book. You say at page 203 that all women love being raped.”
“Absolutely,” said Rape-Udders.
“Do you agree, ladies?” said Jimbelcakes to the other women. They nodded (unhappily) that they did.
“Then we’ve got a little something for you ladies to read out,” said Jimbelcakes, and directed their attention to a teleprompter that faced the stage. “Go ahead and read it.”
Phillipa and Jillian didn’t want to. They looked away – but when they did, they saw Richard at the side of the stage, holding the dog leashes, and looking stern. They turned back to the prompter.
“I hereby give permission for anybody watching this to rape me, at any time and in any place and in any manner of their choosing,” the girls chorused. “This permission lasts forever, and I waive my right to withdraw consent at a later time.”
Rape-Udder giggled at the end, because it just felt so *fun* to hear the two other staunch feminists inviting strangers on the internet to rape them. She was having such a good time on this show. She felt grateful to Richard for bringing her here.
“We’ve got another one from your book, Abby,” Jimbelcakes went on. “At page 187, you say that women deserve to have their tits in pain pretty much all the time, because they’re such stupid sluts. Do you still agree with that?”
“Yes!” said Abby.
And when the host asked the other women, they agreed too – although they looked, frankly, scared.
A table was wheeled out on stage. It was low to the ground – about stomach-level to the kneeling Abby – and it had three strange devices on it.
“It’s time for a game!” said Jimbelcakes. “I call it the TIT VICE CHALLENGE!”
There were roars and laughter from the audience.
“Ladies, I want you to go and put your udders in these vices. Our stagehand here will wind the vices down, until your tits are crushed in a fairly agonising way inside them. You won’t be able to get out of them without help, and your boobs will be in intense pain.”
The girls looked at Jimbelcakes in horror.
“But first, girls – would you agree that no woman who deserves respecs or rights would consent to put their tits in a vice in front of millions of strangers?” asked Jimbelcakes.
“Y… yes,” said Jillian, her voice trembling. “No woman who does that deserves respect.”
“Only a stupid whore would do that,” agreed Phillipa. She was genuinely crying now.
“But you’re going to do it, aren’t you?” asked Jimbelcakes.
“Yes,” chorused the women. And they did. They got down on their knees in front of the table, and leaned forward and placed their breasts into the gap in each of the vices. The vices were heavy, and attached to the table, and the mechanism to screw them down was arranged in such a way that none of the women could reach it from the position they were in. A stagehand operated it, winding down the vices, until the women felt their breasts begin to be squished between two hard metal plates.
“These won’t do any permanent damage to you ladies,” Jimbelcakes assured them. “They just hurt like all hell, and make you look like dumb whores.”
Phillipa was weeping loudly as her tits were crushed in the vice. Jillian tried to remain stoic, but it was clear this was the most awful and humiliating moment of her life.
For her part, Rape-Udders just let the pain transition in her mind into pleasure. It had hurt worse when Richard whipped her tits. She felt her pussy getting wetter.
“Now, ladies,” said Jimbelcakes. “I just want you to establish, to your own satisfaction, that you are now unable to escape the devices, or protect your cunts in any way.”
The women squirmed – Jillian and Phillipa increasingly alarmed – but the host was correct. They couldn’t free their tits, couldn’t reach their cunts, and couldn’t lower their asses far enough to prevent access to their fuckholes. The best they could do was squeeze their thighs together tightly and hope for the best.
“Excellent,” said Jimbelcakes, once the women had realised the full extent of their vulnerability. “Now, we have a surprise for you all backstage. We have three men here – men you know. In fact, I understand they’re men you would *really* hate to fuck. And they’ve expressed an interest in raping you.”
The women’s eyes widened. Phillipa began desperately trying to extract her tits from the vice again, but only succeeded in increasing her pain.
Three masked men had appeared at the rear of the stage. The black balaclavas over their faces rendered them anonymous – although the women, facing the audience, couldn’t look at them anyway.
“I’m told that none of you girls have used birth control in more than a month,” said Jimbelcakes. “I’m told that you’re all *exceptionally* fertile right now. Ready to be impregnated with a rape-baby.”
“No,” moaned Jillian. “Please no. Let me go.”
“Really?” asked Jimbelcakes. “You want out? We’re not doing anything to you that you don’t consent to. Just say the word and I’ll let you out, right now.”
Richard had emerged from backstage, standing behind the three men, and now he coughed discreetly from behind the girls.
Jillian whimpered. She didn’t want to be raped or impregnated – but she feared the idea of jail even more. “No,” she said.
“You want to stay trapped in the tit-vice?” asked Jimbelcakes.
“Yes, please,” said Jillian, miserable.
“Good,” said the host. “Now, as I was saying, these men want to rape you – but we’ve made a deal with them. They can only stick their cocks in you if you’re wet and aroused. Now, I think we can all agree that no woman who deserved respect would be aroused by being raped and impregnated in front of millions of strangers, right? So all you have to do is… not be wet-cunted sluts, and the men will leave you alone.”
“Don’t worry, Jimbelcakes,” said Richard from the back of the stage. “I’m sure these girls will be wet for it.”
Jillian whimpered again, and Phillipa moaned. They understood Richard’s meaning. They were wet, still, from their masturbation, but fear was drying them up fast. Richard wanted them to stay aroused. They had to stay aroused, or he would release the footage of them – and no matter how humiliated they were by what was about to happen, the footage Richard had was worse, because it would send them to *jail*.
So as the masked men stepped forward, and unzipped their flies and extracted their cocks, the women tried to think their sluttiest, most arousing thoughts. And sure enough when each man reached down and tested the cunt of the woman in front of him, he found it wet and ready to be raped. Satisfied, each man knelt behind one of the women, and slid his cock into her unprotected fuckhole.
Rape-Udders had the biggest smile on her face. Everyone thought it was Abby being raped. Abby would never live this down. Abby would be a laughable sex-object forever because of this. The audience was hooting and laughing as the men began to fuck the humiliated women. Jimbelcakes tooted his little gimmick trumpet again, and another big banner appeared over the girls’ heads, titled “FEMINISM”, captioning the women’s degradation.
Somewhere, a live band started up, providing a jaunty musical accompaniment to the rape of the girls. And as they played, Richard walked around to the women, and knelt by Rape-Udders’ front end.
“You’re being a good girl, Rape-Udders,” he whispered in her ear.
“Thank you, sir,” said Rape-Udders.
“Who do you think is raping you, Rape-Udders?” asked Richard. “Someone Abby knew? A friend? An enemy? Maybe it’s Abby’s own father, getting revenge for the lies you told about him in your book?”
Rape-Udders just moaned. All those options delighted her – and she ignored the part of the back of her mind that did a horrified little somersault at Richard’s words.
“You still want to hurt that bitch Abby, don’t you?” asked Richard.
“More than anything, sir,” said Rape-Udders.
“Then I’m sure you know that there’s one thing you can do that would hurt Abby now more than anything,” said Richard.
“What’s that, sir?” asked Rape-Udders.
“Make Rape-Udders go away,” said Richard. “Forever.”
Rape-Udders didn’t understand at first – and then she did, and her eyes widened.
“No!” she said. “Please, sir…”
“The way you can hurt Abby most of all is to make her live with this,” said Richard. “All of it. To make her be Abby 24 hours a day, in the life that you’ve created for her. You know that’s the worst thing you could possibly do to her.”
“But I like being Rape-Udders!” she babbled. “I don’t want to be… I don’t want to have to think about… I want to keep pretending…” She didn’t even understand the words she was saying.
“You have to,” said Richard. “Because you deserve it. Because Abby deserves it.”
“Nooo….” moaned Rape-Udders.
“Are you about to cum from being raped and impregnated, Rape-Udders?” asked Richard. “Do it before you cum. Leave her a little present.”
Rape-Udders *was* about to cum. And she knew she didn’t deserve to. Because she was refusing to give Richard what she wanted. She was a selfish bitch, just like Abby.
She gave in. She would do as men told her – even if it meant destroying her entire identity.
“Yes, sir,” she said. And then she looked up into the eyes of the man who had given her so much – the man she loved – and said, “Goodbye.”
The audience saw the change in Abby’s expression, but they didn’t understand it. They just saw her eyes widen, and fill with tears, and then her mouth open in a wide O of surprise as she orgasmed – and orgasmed again – and again. And at the point she did, the man behind her grunted, and ejaculated into her pussy, filling her womb with the cum that, some days later, she would learn had impregnated her.
No one could hear what Abby was saying to Richard. No one but Richard.
“I hate you,” moaned Abby. “I hate you. I hate you. Please. You can’t leave me like this. Please, fix me.”
“You did this to yourself, Abby,” said Richard. “You know, I don’t actually have a problem with feminism. Lots of feminists are lovely people. I have a problem with bitches. You were a bitch to me, Abby, and you deserved this – all of this.”
“I’m sorry,” wept Abby. “Please. Don’t make me live like this. Fix it. Fix it.”
“Are you not looking forward to living nude on all fours, Abby?” asked Richard. “Being fucked by your neighbours? Being a public laughing-stock?”
“Please,” moaned Abby. “I’ll.. I’ll suck your cock. Whatever. Just fix it.”
“You’ve already sucked my cock many times, Abby,” said Richard. “And I can’t undo what you’ve done to your life. I can’t unpublish that book, or unfuck your neighbour, or take this show off the internet.”
“Please,” said Abby – her tits still trapped in the vice, her rapist’s cum still dripping from her snatch. “Please. Anything. I’ll do anything. Fix it.”
“There’s one thing I can do, Abby,” said Richard. “We created Rape-Udders once before. We could create her again. And then you won’t have to think about any of this. You’ll just be a happy slut who enjoys being degraded. Won’t that be better?”
Abby moaned. She was silent, for a long time.
Then she said, “Yes.”
“I’ll make you a deal, Abby,” said Richard. “I want you to live like this for six months. I want you to fully experience your degradation and humiliation. During that time, you’re going to marry Phillipa here, in a naked, humiliating ceremony where you publicly lez off in front of everyone you know. All three of you girls are going to visit me regularly,, and rape each other for my entertainment, and service my cock. Your belly is going to grow big and round and pregnant, and your udders will start making milk. You’re going to continue betraying all your ideals by publicly explaining that feminists are sluts. And if you’re a very good girl, then at the end of that six months, I’ll take you back to my cabin, and turn you back into Rape-Udders.”
He reached out and stroked her cheek.
“Is that what you want, Abby?” he asked her.
Another long paused. A choked, broken sob.
“Excuse me?” asked Richard.
“Yes, sir,” said Abby.
“Good bitch,” said Richard. “Now thank me for everything I’ve done for you.”
And as she looked up at him, he saw what he had wanted since the first moment he met her. Somewhere inside her, the last, brittle fragment of resistance, of hope, of dignity, finally died. She said the words he had asked for, and in order to allow herself to say them, she had, finally, allowed herself to believe them.
“Thank you, sir,” she sobbed.
And she meant it.
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