The first time that Mary was led naked in public, by her boyfriend, via a rope leash wrapped around her tits, was the last time she thought of herself as a “normal girl.
Normal girls did not go nude in public. Normal girls did not wear leashes. Normal girls did not let a man drag them around by their tits. Normal girls did not their boyfriends do these things to them.
But these things were happening to her, and therefore she was not normal. She was – as her captor had told her – a disgusting slut.
It was her own fault. Girls with smaller tits could not have the bases of their breasts bound the way that Mary’s were. It was the whorishly large size of her fuckbags that allowed this to happen. The blame lay with her.
Nice girls certainly didn’t masturbate in such situations. But her boyfriend had told her to play with her pussy, and when she resisted, he had yanked her over to him by her tits, and then slapped her face, and told her she was bad. So she had done as she was told.
Her boyfriend told her he would help her. He told her he would take her naked to the beach, and have her lie on her back and start masturbating. And then he would drag her along the beach by her tit leash, and keep dragging her until she was able to orgasm from the shame and the pain in her breasts. It would help her, he said.
He must know best. Certainly he was smarter than Mary, because, after all, Mary was naked on a tit leash, and her boyfriend was fully clothed and in control of her.
Mary felt her past life and past identity drain out of her as she accepted this new world, a world in which she might be dragged painfully by her breasts in front of strangers.
Who must she be to belong in such a world?
A worthless fuckdoll, surely…
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