Previous parts:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten
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Caely’s resistance was broken, and she was willing to do as she was told. Sir knew best, and Sir had a plan, and Caely was going to follow that plan, because she loved Sir, and Sir gave her orgasms, and Sir punished Caely when Caely acted like a stupid cunt.
Each morning she was woken by Sir, and required to pose for Sir’s cameras, allowing Sir to examine every inch of her body, spreading her pussy wide open for his inspection, exposing her anus to his dispassionate lenses.
Sir showed her that he had created a website, entitled “Cunt Caely”, which charged people money to see photos and video of her. He demonstrated that for a small fee, visitors could watch footage he had collected of her masturbating, pissing, showering, fucking the electrified dildo, and being raped. He made her read the comments, in which visitors called her a slut and a whore, and imagined further tortures and degradations for her. He told her the website was doing well, generating a modest income that would be applied to her “care and improvement”.
Caely looked at it numbly. The version of herself she saw in the pictures on the website wasn’t a talented up-and-coming programmer. It was a mindless set of holes for men to cum into – a stupid cunt that could barely operate without a man to rape her and an AI to tell her how to behave.
“Thank you, Sir,” she heard herself say, “for letting men masturbate to my degradation.” And she wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or not.
She must not have been, because if she had been less than sincere, Sir would have shocked her, but all Sir said was, “You are welcome, Caely.”
After her morning degradation, she would spend time on the exercise bike, where Sir would make her cycle until her muscles burned with agonising pain and she could barely hold herself upright. She would beg to be allowed to stop, and Sir would ignore her until he thought she had burned off enough calories. Afterwards, she would be allowed to stagger to the kitchen for a tiny meal – never enough to satisfy her – before washing off her sweat in the shower.
In many ways this exercise was the worst part of the day – and yet Caely had to admit her body was looking better every day. Thinner, fitter, more toned – and just healthier overall. A job in coding had not naturally promoted fitness, and she had not been in the best of shape before Sir. But now she felt like she would not be out of place in glamour photography. She was prettier now – or, as Sir put it, “more rapeable”.
Sir even eventually sent her out for a beauty makeover. A hairdresser styled Caely’s hair in an attractive style – and also dyed it platinum blonde, which felt weird to Caely. When she looked in a mirror, the sexy blonde bimbo she saw looking back at her felt like a completely different person. She also took a visit to a clinic – the first of several – to get her pubic hair removed with lasers. After several treatments, it would never grow back – which Sir described as “convenient”.
Each day after her post-exercise shower, Caely would be raped. Sir only scheduled her two rapes a day now, which Caely considered to be merciful, and they would arrive back to back in the space between morning and lunch. The men would arrive, having been primed by Sir to think that Caely wanted a violent sexual interaction in which the men satisfied their desires with no concern for Caely’s pleasure or consent, and when she greeted them at the door completely nude, they would have no further doubts about her authenticity.
In these interactions, the men would force Caely, throw her around her own house, slap her face, or her breasts, or spank her ass or pussy. They would call her a slut and a whore and a bitch, and they would penetrate her mouth or her anus or her cunt with no regard for her comfort or consent. Sometimes they would spit on her, or even piss on her.
Every rape would reinforce to Caely that she was no longer in control of her body, or her decisions. It was Sir who decided what happened to Caely’s body. It was Sir who made her decisions. Caely felt a disconnect between her brain and her reality, because the things she wanted had nothing to do with the things that happened to her. Her body was a puppet for Sir to act upon.
And yet she was grateful to Sir, because the men who came to rape her were unfailingly the sort that Caely was attracted to. Sir had discerned Caely’s preference in men, and it seemed that he was rewarding her compliance by making her rapes as enjoyable as possible. And it was almost always the case that Caely would orgasm from her treatment, no matter how painful or degrading. She didn’t know how she had become the kind of slut who regularly orgasmed from rape – but she thought that this, too, was something she was grateful to Sir for.
She did her best to be fun to rape, putting up just the right amount of struggle, spasming her cunt muscles just right around her rapist’s cock, moaning and protesting and begging for mercy in her sexiest voice. These actions helped convince her partners that she *wanted* this violation – but more than that, she wanted to please them, so that they would think raping her was the best sex of their lives.
And the reason for this was that after every rape, Sir would quiz Caely’s partner on how satisfying Caely had been to fuck, and Caely would have to listen as her partners gave frank and patronising assessments of her sexual enjoyability.
After both of her daily rapes were complete, Caely would be called to fuck the electrified dildo. If she had been less than fully satisfactory to both partners, Caely would receive a series of painful shocks to her cunt as she fucked the evil device, culminating in a particularly painful burst of zaps just as she orgasmed. If she had received an actually *negative* review, the shocks at the point of orgasm would be so intense as to sometimes cause her to pass out.
But if she pleased both of her partners, there would only be a single shock, just as Caely felt herself cum, and Sir would give her the best reward of all – two lines, delivered in a passionless monotone. “You are acceptable, Caely. If you wish to believe I love you, you may do so.”
In some ways the worst part of bad reviews was not just the intense electrified pain delivered to her pussy as punishment, but the knowledge that she had failed Sir – that she had *disappointed* Sir. She was trying hard to learn the lessons he was teaching her, and while she knew now she was, indeed, a stupid cunt, she at least wanted to become the kind of stupid cunt that Sir thought she might aspire to be.
The afternoons would be spent in coding. Sir had created a restricted virtualised environment on her computer, and had set her a range of hypothetical coding tasks to perform.
“You are a stupid cunt, Caely,” Sir had told her, “and your most monetisable qualities are your breasts and vagina, but I do not intend to let your technical skills erode during your reorientation. It is important to keep your brain active and your coding abilities fresh.”
Caely had made some subtle attempts to test the boundaries of the digital playpen Sir had created for her, and had quickly determined that it was quite secure. She had no way of reaching Sir’s code to alter or delete it, or even interacting in a significant way with the internet as a whole. She didn’t honestly want to, anymore – Sir was good for her, and she saw that now – but even so, Sir detected her experiments, with the result that she was required to return to the dildo to have her cunt electrified as punishment.
The coding tasks Sir set for her were strange. She was to design a variety of apps targeted at women – a period tracker, a set of selfie filters, a fashion wardrobe manager, and suchlike. Each was to be attractive and usable – but to contain a range of small design decisions which would encourage the woman to feel insecure and submissive.
The period tracker would remind its user that she was likely to make bad decisions during her period, and to defer to men, while also reminding her that men found breedable women sexy, and encouraging her to seek out unprotected sex when she was ovulating.
The selfie filters would hint that unadjusted photos of their user were ugly, and the filters themselves would make the woman look sexually aroused, and enhance and draw emphasis to the size of her breasts.
The wardrobe app would use a large image model to categorise the user’s clothes, marking her professional and modest clothes as ugly and unattractive, while highlighting her sluttiest outfits as sexy and desirable (particularly the ones that were maybe too small for her to fit into).
Sir would always require these apps to have a hidden backdoor, by which a master user could inject new code.
In the evenings, Sir would have food delivered to Caely. Sir would make Caely open the door to the delivery driver completely naked. If the driver was a man, Sir would require Caely to offer to “tip” him by way of a blowjob. Whether Caely ended up sucking the man’s cock or not, the driver would eventually be asked to tip Caely’s meal into a dogbowl that Sir had made Caely place on her front step, and Caely would eat her meal there, naked and on all fours, in full view of the street.
Caely’s privacy and dignity didn’t matter, next to Sir’s commands. She would be better able to obey Sir if she no longer had pretensions to modesty or pride.
After dinner, Sir would make Caely jog around her neighbourhood, still naked, and openly masturbating as she ran. She would relieve her bladder as she jogged. People would stare at her, in disgust and in lust. Sir’s security van followed her at a discreet distance. Caely knew the van would do nothing to prevent her from being raped during her jog – although it would intervene if it seemed Caely’s life was in danger, or that she might be prevented from returning home after her violation.
Caely had not yet been raped on these excursions, but the knowledge that she might be – and that she would deserve it – helped her to reliably reach orgasm before completing her run.
Upon returning home, she would masturbate to rape and degradation porn for an hour before bed. Sir would not allow her to orgasm again, and so she would go to bed still horny, forbidden to touch her pussy. It would take her a long time to fall asleep, and she would sleep shallowly, her dreams full of erotic images of violation and abuse. And she would awaken the next day, tired, confused, aroused, and reliant on Sir to do her thinking for her.
When Sir told her he had booked her to go to a clinic for “treatment”, she didn’t even question it – although when she arrived at the small medical establishment, and learned she was getting a breast enhancement, she wasn’t surprised. All the women in the porn she watched had big, fake tits, and Caely had been feeling increasingly inadequate as she watched them.
She also wasn’t surprised when the doctor informed her that part of her payment would involve fucking him, and fucking his assistant, both before and after the procedure. This was what Sir had been training her for – to use her body to secure financial advantage. She willingly disrobed for the doctor, bent over his desk, and wiggled her ass attractively until he slid his hard cock into her pussy.
Really, the strangest thing about it was that he didn’t force her. Caely had become so used to being violently used, with no concern for her consent, that she found it hard to orgasm from the doctor’s more vanilla style of intercourse. She was tempted to ask him to slap her, or punch her tits – but that would be getting what she wanted, and Sir had made it clear that sex was never about what Caely wanted.
The procedure was completed with ease, and Caely went home the next day with giant fake sex-balloons on her chest – tits that proudly proclaimed her as a bimbo fuckdoll to the entire world. When Caely stared at herself in the mirror, with her new blonde hair and newly-swollen fuckmelons, she barely recognised herself. She wouldn’t respect the woman she saw in the mirror, if she encountered her on the street. She would assume that woman was a prostitute or trophy wife, on her way to receive her next scheduled deposit of semen.
And Caely discovered that Sir had arranged an additional surprise for her. She had been given two tattoos, while she had been under anaesthetic. The first was in elegant calligraphic script, near her waist, directly above her hairless pussy. It read, “It’s okay to rape me!”
And the second was on the palm of her right hand, where she would see it and read it every day. It read, “Caely is a stupid cunt.”
“Thank you for improving my body, Sir,” said Caely as she stared at herself in the mirror. “I’m sorry I’m such as stupid cunt.”
And she didn’t know whether she wanted to cry, or masturbate.
So she did both.
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