The process of turning Maya into a slut was easier than he expected. The first step, obviously was drugging her and fucking her. In her dazed state she did what she was told, stripping naked when he asked, dressing in the slutty lingerie when he asked, letting him impale her ass on his cock with minimal struggle, and finally pushing her fingers into her spread pussy while she stared with blank, drugfucked eyes at the camera.
That was satisfying, but it was not the whole lifestyle change he wanted from her. But the photograph was the key to that change. “This photo is your new god,” he told her, after she woke the next morning, realised what she had done, and finished crying. “You’re going to pray to it every day, and if you make it a happy god, it won’t spread itself all over the internet with your name attached, understand?”
She didn’t understand, so he pinched her nipples to get her attention and explained it to her. “You’re going to put up a little webcam in your bedroom room so I can watch you 24/7,” he said. “And you’re going to blow up this photo to poster size and hang it on your bedroom wall. Then every morning, first thing when you wake up, and every night, last thing before sleep, you’re going to play with your pussy until you’re nice and wet, and then you’re going to turn to the poster, and you’re going to repeat your little prayer again and again until you orgasm.”
“My prayer?” she asked dumbly.
“I am stupid,” he said. “I am a slut. My tits are for hurting. My cunt is for raping. My face is for slapping. My mouth is for swallowing cum. I am always wrong. Men know best. I don’t deserve clothes. I don’t deserve respect. I don’t deserve to say no. I want a man to make me cry. I want to look pretty for that man.”
He made her repeat it a few times until he was sure she had it memorised, with nipple pinches for incentive when she got it wrong, and sent her home.
“You repeat it again and again until you cum, understand?” he told her. She nodded that she did.
It was fun, watching her on the webcam once he set it up, shyly repeating the mantra morning and night, her breathing getting heavier and heavier until she orgasmed while staring at the picture of herself being raped. It amused him. But it didn’t amuse him half as much as meeting her again in person, three months later, after she had internalised her mantra, after she had started to hear her own voice running through her head telling her what a stupid slut she was, after she had started to associate arousal and sexuality with picturing herself as a slut and degrading herself.
It had worked so well that she barely even struggled when he introduced her to all his friends – both male and female – and told her she was going to be shooting a whole lot more photos to hang on the rest of the walls of her house, so that she could associate new images with her self-image – photos of herself licking cunt, sucking cock, having her tits whipped, and having semen drip from her face while she smiled…
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