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Kathy may have deciphered the sixth secret message – that if men didn’t want to fuck her, she was worthless – but she couldn’t immediately get to her phone to register her success. She was obliged to play hostess for her male guests, and she wouldn’t get to use her phone until the night was over.
The night turned out to be a lesson in how little control she now had over her own body. Mitch started a porn movie on Kathy’s flatscreen, playing from his laptop – something that seemed to largely involve unwilling girls being raped – and Kathy crawled from guest to guest to suck on their cocks as they watched.
These were not blowjobs that Kathy was in control of. Instead, the men would hold Kathy’s head tightly against their groins and fuck her face, not letting her escape no matter how she gagged or struggled or found it hard to breathe. She was an object, a toilet for them to cum into, and they neither spoke to her nor acknowledged her humanity as they shoved their cocks down her throat and skullfucked her.
On several occasions, one of the guests wanted to use her pussy, and when this happened they would drag her down the corridor physically to her own bedroom to rape her. Sometimes they pulled her by the hair. On one occasion she was dragged by her leg, lying on her back as they pulled her along the carpet. Then they would pick her up bodily, place her on her own bed, and stuff their cocks into her.
Kathy was on the pill, but she knew it wasn’t 100% effective, and the idea that she was going to be impregnated from the rape of an anonymous man began to grow in her mind with each fresh load of cum deposited in her pussy. The idea terrified her, and made her buck and moan as she was raped – and yet at the same time it made her pussy wetter with each time it looped through her brain, and each time she felt a man spurt his cum up into her womb, she orgasmed powerfully.
And through it all, her headphones kept talking. “That’s it, be a good little fuckdoll,” said the voice of her father. “You’re not good for anything but being fucked,” said her boss. “I’m so stupid and slutty!” giggled her own voice.
Around 1 am, there was a lull when nobody was raping Kathy – and when she realised this, a wave of panic came over her. If nobody wanted to fuck her, she was worthless. Completely worthless. She felt the sound of static growing in her empty little head, overwhelming in its loudness. She looked around desperately for a cock that she could tease into cumming inside her….
… but then her eyes fell on her phone, and she realised that she had a chance to enter her new secret message.
She crawled to her phone, picked it up, and typed in the phrase – “If men don’t want to fuck me, I’m worthless.”
“Congratulations!” replied the text on the app. “You’ve won the secret to escaping the spiral. Are you ready? Yes/No.”
“Yes,” clicked Kathy eagerly – desperately.
“The secret to escaping the spiral is….” teased the app, and then the words appeared: “Find all ten secret messages!”
Kathy whimpered, out loud. This wasn’t fair! It was just a tease! She still had to find the rest of the messages! And she was so far gone already. What kind of a slut would she be by the time all ten were lodged in her brain?
But… if she succeeded, she would be free. The app had said so. So there was still hope.
She scanned the screen to see if she had won any other prize – but apparently this non-answer was all she got, this time. So Kathy sighed, and went back to her original plan – finding a cock to cum inside her. One of the men was on a nearby couch, drinking a beer and watching the TV, so Kathy crawled over to him and began licking his exposed cock, until she had him sufficiently interested to grab her hair and rape her mouth.
At some point during the man’s penetration of her face, she felt herself go into trance, and after that she knew nothing of the rest of the night.
It was llght again when Kathy resurfaced, and she was alone in her house. A quick look at her phone verified that it was Sunday morning. There was no sign of either Mitch or her guests, and no cars in her driveway but her own. Much of the house was a mess – the men had left their empty beer bottles, chip packets and other rubbish everywhere.
Kathy would have to clean it, she supposed – but first, she had something else to do. She had found another message while she was trancing – a deceptively simple one.
“Be vulnerable,” she whispered, and she typed it into the app on her phone, too. “BE VULNERABLE”.
The words had been easy to find, but once again there was a lot packed into them. Being vulnerable meant being unable to prevent others from making decisions about her – from controlling her – from hurting her. Vulnerable was sexy. Being vulnerable pleased men. Being vulnerable made men want to fuck her – and if men didn’t want to fuck her, she was worthless.
The app chimed, acknowledging her discovery of the seventh secret message. “You’ve won the bimbo package!” said the app. “Blonde hair dye, new clothes, and high heels – all delivered directly to your door!”
Kathy trembled. She didn’t want to look like a bimbo – she didn’t want to *be* a bimbo – and yet, at the same time, she did. Men wanted to fuck bimbos. They would want to fuck *her*, if she looked like one. And then she wouldn’t be so worthless.
She was only three messages away from completing the sequence, and earning her freedom, so she wanted to dive right back into the spiral. It was good to listen to the static on her earphones, but it went faster if she looked at the spiral too. But she didn’t feel like she’d eaten or drunk while in her trance, and her stomach was full of nothing but the sperm of her guests. She had some basic needs to attend to.
As she cooked breakfast, and toileted, she realised that she had completely tuned out her earphones, which were still playing in her ears. Her father’s voice had been speaking for half an hour, telling her that she was a disgusting cunt who deserved to be repeatedly raped, and her conscious mind had heard none of it.
But when she took the earphones out, in order to shower, she realised that her *subconscious* had certainly been listening – because she could still hear her father’s voice, even without the headphones. “I always knew you’d end up as a cum-addicted little fucktoy,” she could hear him say. “I should have spanked your cunt until you behaved yourself, you little bitch.”
It was particularly hard to tune the voice out because she was reluctant to think about other things. Whenever she tried to let her mind drift, it just went empty – ready to be filled with messages of degradation. Her head was empty, and her cunt was wet.
“I’m sorry, daddy,” she whispered as the hot water of the shower ran over her. Her hand went between her legs, and began to massage and squeeze her pussy. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Slut,” said her father’s voice in her head. “Whore. Cunt.”
Her hand spread open her pussy lips and began to massage her clitoris. She moaned. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I’m such a slut.”
“I don’t have a daughter,” said her father’s voice. “I have a cum-toilet.”
Kathy’s legs went weak. Her body trembled. She was orgasming. She made a whimpering noise, and sank to her knees, shuddering.
“Good slut,” said her father. “Good cum-toilet.”
She didn’t dress after her shower. She felt more vulnerable naked, and being vulnerable was good. She began to clean up from last night’s party.
At one point she noticed that Mitch had locked the front door behind him on the way out. She briefly felt a surge of gratitude towards him for securing her house – and then she felt sudden, overwhelming anxiety. The door shouldn’t be locked. She should be vulnerable.
She should call a locksmith, and have him remove the lock.
The thought was scary, and she pictured a man trying to break into her house. The only thing she would be able to would be to hold the door closed – she wouldn’t be able to lock it.
And then she realised she was thinking too small.
She looked up a number on the internet, and then dialled the number on her phone.
“Juan’s Handyman Service,” said the voice on the other end. “How can I help you?”
“Hi,” said Kathy. “I was wondering if I could get someone to come and remove the doors on my house?”
“You want someone to replace the doors?” asked the voice on the phone.
“No,” said Kathy. “Just remove them. Take them off, so there’s no doors.” She paused. “I know it’s unusual, but… could you come today?”
A part of her was screaming. What was she doing? Why was she doing this? Her body was trembling. But her voice stayed even, and measured, and she negotiated a tradesman to attend in the early afternoon to do the work of un-securing her house.
Being vulnerable took more work. She took all her curtains down, to start with. They were only there to protect her privacy. She was more vulnerable without them.
Then she found herself looking through her purse, her medicine cabinet, her bedside table. Her hands shook as she took her birth control and flushed it down the toilet. She didn’t want to. She was terrified of getting pregnant. But she had to be vulnerable.
She kept the small supply of condoms in her purse, but she carefully poked a hole in each one with a needle.
Next she went through her clothes, with a large garbage bag. All her warmest jackets and jumpers went in the bag. She would be more vulnerable if she was shivering. Then anything that didn’t, in her mind, make her look “rapeable” followed them. She kept her tightest dresses, her shortest skirts, her sluttiest underwear, and threw out her casualwear, her professional outfits, or anything else that didn’t emphasise her sexual availability.
For the remaining clothes, she took a knife, and weakened many of their stiches and connectors, to increase the odds that something would disintegrate while she was wearing it, leaving her naked in public.
She took the bag of garbage to the outside bin, in the front yard. She was still nude, and she scurried quickly, trying to minimise her exposure. Wanting to be vulnerable still didn’t mean that she wanted to be *seen*. She knew what she was doing was slutty and humiliating, and she hated it – she just couldn’t stop.
But she wasn’t fast enough. As she came back from the bin, Mr Green from next door was standing in his yard, staring at her.
She blushed, and tried to pretend she hadn’t seem him, but he called out to her. “Kathy!”
She stopped, and turned to him, trying to cover her tits and pussy. “Yes?” she asked.
He cleared his throat. “Yesterday your boyfriend suggested that… you might want to… um, fuck me.”
Kathy turned even redder. Part of her blush was a sense of perverse pride. He wanted to fuck her! That meant she wasn’t worthless! But mostly it was just humiliation. She didn’t want to fuck her neighbour. She wanted to go back into the spiral.
But Mitch had said she would do it. Men knew best. She wanted to obey.
“Of course,” she said. “Do you want to come inside?”
He did want to come inside. And once inside, he followed her to her bedroom, where she pulled down his pants, and sucked on his cock until it was rock hard, and then she let him push her backwards onto the bed, and sink his cock deep into her pussy.
As he fucked her, Kathy realised she felt anxious. It took her a moment to realise what it was. He wasn’t *forcing* her, like the men last night had done. She could make this stop, if she wanted to. She still had control. Which meant that this was all *her* idea – her responsibility. She wasn’t a rape victim, she was just a slut.
She whimpered. “Force me,” she said.
“What?” said Mr Green, his cock still inside her.
“Make me,” said Kathy. “Please. Hold me down. Don’t give me a choice.” And then she remembered what Mitch had made her say, to encourage her guests last night to disrespect her.
“Slap me,” she whispered.
With some hesitancy, Mr Green *did* slap Kathy, across the face – but when he heard how it made her moan, and caused her pussy to squeeze his cock, he lost his hesitancy, and slapped her again – and after that, he held her down, one hand pinning her hands together over her head, and the other on her throat in a light chokehold. And after that, it was much better for Kathy, and she managed to orgasm twice before she felt him ejaculate into her womb.
“Can I do this again?” he asked afterwards.
Kathy was still breathing heavily. “There are men taking the doors off my house in the afternoon,” she said. “I won’t be able to stop you.”
This answer seemed to confuse Mr Green – but she supposed he would understand once the workmen had finished their work.
That left Kathy with nothing to do but wait.
She thought for a while – then she unlocked and opened her front door, leaving it wide open. She carefully wrote a note on a piece of blank paper, and the stuck it to the door.
It read. “Please come in. Please remove all doors from the house, inside and external. I am naked and trancing in my bedroom; you can use me if you want.”
And then she went to her bedroom, and went back into the spiral, searching for the eighth message.