Brenda remembered the night she had committed to her new lifestyle.
Supervised by her Master, she had carried all her clothes out into the front yard and burned them in a bonfire. She had stood there, naked, blushing, masturbating like a good girl as the neighbours came to watch.
Per her Master’s orders, she had gone to each spectator, male or female, and offered them a kiss on the lips and a chance to play with her tits or pussy. If they refused, she asked them if they would like to slap her across the face for being a slut. Many played with her. A few slapped her.
The slaps felt right – her punishment for being insufficiently sexually desirable.
She knew there was no going back from this – that from now on everyone would see her as a slut who couldn’t be trusted to make her own decisions, who was only good for fucking and slapping. They would ensure she filled that role, no matter what Brenda wanted.
And that was right. That was exactly what she needed in her life.
She pitied the other women, still wearing clothes, still thinking they were people. They were going through the motions of being humans rather than fuckholes, and she knew from her own experience that it was terribly stressful and confusing for them. They would know true happiness on the day when they threw their own clothes into the fire, and begged their neighbours to slap them or fuck them or both.
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