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Amelie was seeing Ray Batsby today. She was nervous. It had been some days since she had last seen him, and much had happened since then.
And, of course, he had left her in a humiliating state on his last visit. He had given her demeaning rules to follow – which she had, despite herself, obeyed. And she had given him confidential information about the life and location of Taylah, the rape victim whose complaint had put Ray in prison. And, of course, she was still secretly registered as a sex offender, on his instructions.
Ray was actually overdue for an appointment. She had tried ringing him, and had no answer – which was theoretically enough for her to notify the police that he was not complying with his bail conditions. But the idea of doing this terrified Amelie, because she couldn’t predict what Ray might say to police in such a situation, and what he might reveal of what he had done to her – and made her do in return.
So she had resorted to emailing him.
“Dear Mr Batsby,” read the standard form email. “You are requested to attend for a parole appointment on…”
But Ray had responded almost immediately, with an email of his own.
“Is that how you talk to a male, bitch?” was all he wrote.
Amelie had blushed. She knew what he wanted from her. But this was her work email. Whatever she sent on it would be recorded in the departmental IT system. Sure, it was unlikely that anyone would ever look at it… but if they did…
And in the event that Ray ever *did* talk to police, it would form evidence that what he was saying was true.
But Amelie had looked across at her framed copy of Ray’s rules for her.
Men are never wrong.
I will never contradict a man.
If my opinion contradicts a man’s,
I will push it out of my head and forget it.
And so she had typed:
“I am sorry, Sir. This bitch was stupid and forgetful. I wish to beg you to attend my office so that I can service your cock like the stupid cunt I am.”
Typing those words gave her cunt such a powerful thrill of arousal that Amelie had to resist the temptation to masturbate then and there, staring at the words on the screen. Instead, she pressed “send”.
Why did humiliating herself make her so wet? Why did submission to these terrible men seem to satisfy something deep, dark and slutty inside her? What kind of whore was she, that she would become wet from debasing herself for the enjoyment of convicted rapists?
She knew she had to stop. She knew she had to get free. This path had already led to her being raped by no less than three of her clients. And it would end, she knew, with her impregnation, her public exposure, and her imprisonment.
And yet the thought of standing up to Ray frightened her. She remembered being slapped by him, and remembered the fear she had felt as he shouted at her. But also… refusing him would *disappoint* her. Some disgusting traitorous part of her *wanted* to obey…
She had already degraded herself three times by the time Ray actually walked through her door. In addition to the humiliating email she had sent him, she had slept with the horrid spiky toilet brush shoved up her cunt, as Chris had instructed her to do. And at her morning break she had gone to the alleyway behind the office building, and stripped completely nude, and squatted to piss on the cold concrete, in accordance with her “rules” from her boss, Mr Horner – desperately hoping that nobody would enter the alleyway and see her.
Amelie had thought about what Ray would want from her. He demanded respect – a notion that included the basic proposition that women were inferior to men, and should act accordingly. He demanded honesty, and the slightest mistruth or omission would brand Amelia a “lying cunt”. And he enjoyed using her as his sex toy.
And so, without being asked, Amelie prepared for Ray’s arrival by stripping completely naked and kneeling patiently by her office door, cupping her tits with her hands so as to offer them up to whoever walked in.
When Ray arrived, he was momentarily taken aback to find her in this position, but then he smiled, and closed her office door behind him.
“You learn quickly,” he said. “You’re a good cunt, aren’t you?”
It was essential for her to agree with whatever Ray told her, and to push any idea to the contrary from her brain.
“Yes, sir,” she agreed. “I’m a good cunt.”
She had thought that Ray might immediately have some use for her, or stick his cock into her mouth, but instead he left her there, and strolled slowly around her office.
Ray hadn’t told Amelie to move, or even to turn, so she remained on her knees facing her office door.
She heard him move to the coffee table near the client lounge and pick up something.
“What It Felt Like To Piss On My Clothes In Front Of A Man,” he read aloud.
Amelie blushed deep red.
“Why did you piss on your clothes, Amelie?” asked Ray. “And why did you write about it and leave it on your table for me?”
“Because you told me I couldn’t piss without permission, sir,” said Amelie. “And that was the only way… the man would give me permission.”
She had almost said “my boss” instead of “the man” – and she flinched at the dishonesty the change had involved – but if she implicated Mr Horner in her sexual impropriety, in front of one of her criminal clients, there was no telling what hell might break loose.
Ray seemed not to notice her pause, and her careful choice of words. Instead, he laughed.
“Have you seriously been following my rules, bitch?” he asked. “Are you that much of a submissive whore that you actually followed those ridiculous rules while I’ve been away, even though I’d never know whether you did or not?”
Amelie gasped, and then went even brighter red, wanting to melt into the ground. He was just playing with her, surely? He hadn’t *really* thought they were a joke, had he? He’d forced her to obey. Amelie had had no choice. Amelie hadn’t just… decided to be a slut for no reason, had she?
He had said it. He had said he would know if she didn’t obey. And that there would be consequences.
But what had he also said?
“Do you like submitting?”
And she had nodded, and said, “Yes, sir, I like submitting.”
Because she had been afraid! Not because she meant it! Except… that she *had* meant it. Submitting *did* make her wet…
“Would you like me to teach you how to submit properly, bitch?” he had asked.
And with her mouth full of a rapist’s cock, Amelie had nodded.
As Amelie struggled to reconcile these thoughts, Ray said, “You’re just a dumb cunt that needs to be dominated, aren’t you, bitch?”
And Amelie, keyed up to agree with Ray, who had told herself that she must let any contrary opinion vanish from her brain when a man spoke, replied, “Yes, sir, I’m a dumb cunt that needs to be dominated.”
And she knew as she said those words that she *had* asked for this, that she *had* wanted this. These things were happening to her because she was a slut. They didn’t happen to other female parole officers. There was something wrong with Amelie, something slutty, that wanted to kneel nude at the feet of rapists and let them abuse her. And because of that slutty wrongness, she deserved whatever happened to her as a result.
Ray sat on the couch, and extracted his cock from his pants.
“Come over here, slut,” he said.
Amelie obediently crawled across the floor and, without being asked, took his cock into her mouth and began to suck.
“Good bitch,” said Ray approvingly.
He was holding something in his hands, and with some alarm, Amelie saw it was her mobile phone. He passed it down to her.
“Unlock this,” he told her.
Amelie didn’t want to give Ray access to her phone – but disobedience was unthinkable. She obligingly entered her passcode, and gave it back to him.
Ray fiddled with her phone for a while as Amelie sucked his dick, then got out his own phone briefly, and then went back to hers. After a while, he turned it to show her the screen. It was an unfamiliar app, showing video footage of what appeared to be an empty apartment.
“That’s Taylah’s place,” said Ray. “It’s the view from the secret cameras I’ve installed there. There’s ones in the lounge, kitchen, bedroom, toilet, shower – you can change between them with this button. It keeps the last 36 hours of footage and then deletes it unless it’s flagged for saving.”
Amelie didn’t know why Ray was showing her this, but she was scared to find out. She felt a deep stab of guilt. Ray only knew where Taylah lived because of Amelie’s illegal actions on his behalf – and now he had broken into her apartment and installed cameras to secretly spy on her?
“I like to keep tabs on the little bitch,” said Ray, grabbing Amelie’s hair with his free hand and forcing her down on his groin. “I go there a lot of days while she’s out, and piss into her orange juice bottle, and ejaculate into her milk, or her shampoo. She’s back on birth control, the silly little cunt, so I’ve been switching out her pills with something that boosts up her milk production. She makes a cute cow.” He laughed.
“Anyway,” he continued. “I haven’t got time to go checking all the footage my cameras film, so that’s going to be your job. Each night, you can just scroll through the footage at high speed, and mark anything interesting to be saved. If she strips, if she’s naked, if she showers or pisses or masturbates, if she breast-feeds the baby or squeezes milk from those udders of hers, just mark it for saving. You can do that for me, can’t you, bitch?”
Amelie wanted to cry. Ray was asking her to take part in the illegal filming and harassment of an innocent woman – a woman who he had already gone to prison for raping. It was a crime, and Amelie would be complicit.
But….
She nodded, her mouth still full of cock.
“Good bitch,” said Ray. “It’s okay, this is just you doing your job. An important part of rehabilitation for offenders is finding a steady source of income, right?”
He showed her the phone again, and now it depicted a website called “Bitch Cam” – and Amelie’s heart sank as she realised what it was. It was a place where people could pay money to watch the covert surveillance clips of Taylah. Whenever poor Taylah undressed in the privacy of her home, or showered, or pissed on her toilet, she would be completely unaware that strangers around the world would be watching, and masturbating…
“It’s making good money already,” said Ray, “and with you helping curate clips it should do even better.”
Amelie’s eyes went to a button on the website marked “special access”.
“Oh, that?” laughed Ray, following her gaze. “For $10,000, fans can buy her real name, her home address, and a copy of her house key. No one’s purchased it yet, but it should be a real money-spinner. And the footage of what happens when they buy it should be something I can sell for a premium too…”
Amelie felt sick. She had made this happen. She should never have submitted to Ray, should never have given him Taylah’s address, should *certainly* never have sucked his cock or agreed to his demeaning misogynistic rules.
And yet she was still sucking his cock. And for all her guilt, she knew she was going to go home tonight and do as she had been told, checking through footage of Taylah’s apartment to find all the clips that most intensely breached Taylah’s privacy, so that anonymous men could masturbate to her violation.
Ray stopped talking, focused on the pleasant sensations that Amelie’s mouth was providing to his cock. Some minutes passed, where the only sound was Amelie sucking and slurping.
Then, finally, Ray neared his orgasm. He put a hand on Amelie’s forehead, pushing her forcefully off his dick, and with the other hand he pumped at his cock, aiming it at Amelie’s face. Moments later, hot sticky cum was spurting from the tip of his penis and splattering across Amelie’s cheeks, mouth, neck and tits.
When Ray had finished gasping his way through his orgasm, he looked at Amelie and laughed.
“You look prettier like that, bitch,” he said, and used Amelie’s phone to photograph her.
“Thank you, sir,” said Amelie meekly.
“I’m impressed that you’ve been following my rules,” said Ray. “Would you like to learn more about how to submit?”
She shivered, knowing that she should say no. But Ray would slap her and call her a cunt if she said no. He might hurt her.
And besides, part of her didn’t *want* to say no…
“Yes, sir,” she said, quietly.
“New rule,” said Ray. “One that every cunt should observe at all times. You must anticipate a man’s needs. You must work out what a man is going to want, before he thinks to ask for it, and provide it for him before he needs to speak. Being told to do something is a sign that you are a stupid bitch, because you should have known to do it without being told.”
“Yes, sir,” said Amelie submissively. She tried to think what Ray would want from her right now. Her eyes fixed on his cock, and she realised he would need it cleaned. She leaned forward and took it into her mouth, sucking the remaining cum from the tip.
“Good bitch,” laughed Ray. “That’s a good start.”
He fiddled with her phone, and then showed her the screen.
“Who’s this?” he asked.
It was a random name from her social media contacts – Travis Kettle, a boy she had gone to school with, now a grown man, who she hadn’t really talked to in years. She took her mouth off Ray’s cock long enough to explain as much.
“I think he should see the real you,” said Ray – and before Amelie could stop him, he had sent a copy of the picture he had just taken to Travis.
Somewhere, Travis’ inbox was pinging, and when he looked, he would see a smiling nude Amelie, with a man’s cum dripping from her face and tits.
Amelie’s mouth widened in shock.
“Did Travis already know you were a whore, bitch?” asked Ray.
“No…” said Amelie.
“Then you were lying to him by omission,” said Ray. “And what does that make you?”
Amelie knew the answer. “A lying cunt, sir,” she said, her voice breaking with shame and fear.
“And what do lying cunts deserve?” asked Ray.
Amelie didn’t know exactly, but she took a guess. “Lying cunts deserve to be raped, sir,” she squeaked.
“That’s right,” said Ray. “So if this Travis finds you and rapes you, it will be all your fault, won’t it, bitch?”
“Yes, sir,” said Amelie.
He put down her phone on the couch.
“I won’t make you be honest with everyone you know at once,” said Ray. “That feels… impersonal. I think you should really process the guilt of each individual person that you’ve deceived into thinking you’re a nice girl, don’t you?”
She was to agree with men. “Yes, sir,” she said.
“Every three days, you pick someone who knows you by name, but who doesn’t know you’re a whore,” said Ray, “and you correct their understanding. Send them a photo. You should be nude, but you should also be doing a little something extra to let them know what a fuckpig you are. Masturbating, pissing, decorating yourself with sperm – it’s your choice. Do you understand, bitch?”
“Yes, sir,” said Amelie. And she already knew she was going to obey, despite the feeling of horror and fear that filled her at the thought.
“Good bitch,” said Ray again. He stood, pulled up his pants, and zipped and buttoned them.
“This was a good meeting,” he declared. “I’ll look forward to the next one.”
And he left, leaving Amelie to clean the cum off her skin, dress, file a completely false report suggesting that she had conducted a normal parole interview with Ray Batsby – and then contemplate the horrible new demands that her parolee had placed upon her…
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