Peta’s boyfriend controlled her. He fucked her when he wanted to, humiliated her when he wanted to, and punished her when he wanted to.
He made a nice sideline in posing her for pornographic pictures and selling them online. She hated these worst of all; she was terrified that her family or friends might come across them. He told her he didn’t care if they did, and if they did she should be glad they now understood what kind of girl she really was.
That discussion sparked a minor rebellion in her. She would still strip and pose for his pictures – she knew she would get her tits slapped if she didn’t – but she stubbornly refused to smile, instead looking pouty, unhappy, and on the verge of tears.
“Peta,” he exclaimed in disgust after three days of this, “what are you doing? What do you think you’re going to achieve by having that sooky infant look on your face?”
“People will see,” she said. “People will see that I’m unhappy, that I’m not consenting to be in these photographs. Someone will come and rescue me.”
That made him laugh for a good long while, until he finally recovered enough to grab her by the hair and drag her inside, tits still bare, to show her the website he sold her body on.
“Number one,” he said, “if you wanted to leave you would leave. You stay because you know this is where you belong. You obey because you like to obey. If someone did come to rescue you, you’d probably find a reason to not be rescued so you could go on being used like the fucktoy you know you are.”
“But number two,” he said, using his grip on her hair to tilt her face towards the screen, “look at those site visits. You think someone’s going to give a fuck that you’re a pouty little bitch? The numbers have gone *up* since you stopped looking like you’re enjoying it. They *like* the thought that you don’t consent. There’s a half-million men out there whacking off daily to the idea that you have no choice about baring your tits and that you cry yourself to sleep from the humiliation of their gaze on your naked fuckhole.”
She stared at the screen. It was true, all of it. She felt the will to fight drain out of her.
Her boyfriend adjusted his pants and took out his cock, then pulled her away from the screen and guided her mouth down onto his penis. “There’s a good girl,” he told her. “Now stop using that mouth to argue and use it to be a little less worthless until I cum…”
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You can find more tales of conditioning sluts in Slaves in Training – Stories of Educating Slaves and Other Pets, available for only $4.99 USD from AllTheseRoadworks.com! (Click here to view in store.)
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“The idea that you have choice” is probably a typo, and should be “the idea that you have no choice”.
You are correct, and now it’s fixed. 🙂