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"Hello Elizabeth."

God. Him again. The CEO.

The man who had made me his whore.

The man who had taken me – raped me – and had me dance topless for him in his office to thank him for it.

The man who had delivered me here: 'The Scrava' club, London.

The man who had stroked my bottom with his cane while they tattooed my number onto my left buttock.

Whore ninety-four.

He had done that to me.

Him.

Why had I let him do all that?

How did I end up on my elbows and knees before him – as I was now – head bowed, bottom raised up high at his behest, naked but for a pair of whore-heels, neck cruelly collared and cuffed to a metal ring in the floor, ball-gagged, able only to stare at the tips of his shiny black shoes, standing inches from my chin?

How did I let that happen?

Why the need to restrain me at all?

I had been cooperative, hadn't I?

I had been well behaved – I had been a good whore ninety-four for them, hadn't I?

A pair of delicately strapped white high-heels clicked self-importantly around to my rear, paused briefly (to admire my bottom?), then paraded around the other side, circling me, eventually rejoining the CEO's patent black leather shoes at my chin.

It was her: Nicola - one of the CEO's many bleached-blonde assistants.

Why was she here?

Why did she have to be here?

Why wasn't she the whore?

She was so much younger than me - barely an adult.

Did they have to demean me like this in front of her – in front of someone so... junior?

Why wasn't I the one strutting imperiously around her, looking down smugly at her naked, trembling, body. Why wasn't I the one encircling her - enjoying her predicament, knowing that I was her superior, knowing that she was the worthless whore?

Why was I the whore?

Why couldn't it be her neck-cuffed to the floor, bottom-raised and numbered?

The CTO – my ex-boss - was present too. He sat somewhere behind me – no doubt ogling my naked bottom and exposed pussy as I stuck them up for him.

God. I used to run errands for him. Now I displayed and offered my sex to him!

How had I let it come to that?

What did they want?

Why were they here?

"Spread your knees, girl," Nicola demanded bossily, having minced around to my rear again. She prodded my bottom disdainfully with her foot.

Girl? She was calling me a 'girl'? I was at least six years older than her! What right did she have to call me a girl!?

Why did they let her speak to me like that?

And what right did she have to prod me with her feet?

"NOW," she insisted and gave me another two kicks – one landing on each of my inner thighs.

Did I have to obey her?

Why weren't the orders coming from the CEO?

I was his whore, wasn't I? – I worked for him, didn't I?

Not for her.

No way.

Due to the restraint around my neck, I could hardly move – certainly not gainfully. I could have thrashed my legs against the floor, I suppose. But what good would that have done?

God.

Why?

Why had I allowed myself to be chained down like that, exactly?

I had known precisely what I had been doing, hadn't I?

The CEO had simply pointed at his feet; I had curtsied, fallen to my knees obediently, and bowed my head before him. I had remained impeccably still and silent while they had secured the collar around my neck and attached me to the floor.

I hadn't had a choice, had I?

I had to obey and honour him, didn't I?

That's what I did, wasn't it?

That was what was expected of me.

That was what was expected of a well-behaved whore.

"RIGHT NOW, girl" Nicola snapped, kicking me once again on each of my inner-thighs.

Why didn't the CEO – or even the CTO for that matter – over-rule her and tell her to keep quiet?

Reluctantly, I parted my knees a little for her.

"MORE," she demanded, giving me another prod with her foot.

...Stop kicking me...

...How dare you...

I whimpered a small protest into my gag, but to no avail: She prodded me again.

"COME ON girl," she barked. "We don't have all day."

Grudgingly, I spread my knees apart as far as I could, until they could spread no further.

My bottom was high; my knees apart, my pussy available. If I hadn't been on display before, I certainly was now.

"Good girl," she giggled obnoxiously.

Why were they doing this to me?

I didn't need to be neck-cuffed to the floor – I would have gone down on all fours and stuck my bottom in the air for them at the slightest command.

I would have licked the floor at the CEO's feet if he had instructed me to.

God. Would I really have done that?

Was that what I had become?

"Your training is over, Elizabeth," the CEO announced suddenly.

...He called me 'Elizabeth'... No-one ever called me that any more...

Why did he let Nicola call me her 'girl'?

My training was over?

"You are ready to progress," he went on, his voice easy, confident, smooth. "This is your audition."

My audition?

What was he saying?

That I was almost ready to be their whore for real now? That it could be my job - that I would be paid?

Was that why they were here today – to tell me that?

"Allow me to explain the format to you, Elizabeth," he continued calmly. "I want you to listen carefully and I want you to understand each and every word that I say to you. If at any time you do not understand me, or if you feel something is not clear, then I want you to do something for me: I want you to push a finger into your pussy and play with yourself. I will interpret that as a sign that you require further explanation. You will continue playing with yourself until you have understood. If or when you remove your finger, I will assume you have removed it because you have understood me, and I will proceed to the next item."

What?

He wanted me to do what?

What the...?

What kind of audition was that?

Surely they should have me dance for them? - Perform for them, entertain them, pleasure them...?

Wasn't that what an audition should be about?

How could being chained to the floor by my neck be part of an audition?

"Right," he started, "Let the audition begin."

I stared at his shoes and saw a smudge of myself in their reflection.

I disgusted myself.

I clamped my eyes shut.

"You are almost ready to work for us," he started. "You have demonstrated sufficient understanding of your role. In particular you have demonstrated that you understand that you are a whore - our whore - and that as a whore you are expected to obey your superiors at all times. You understand that you are reprimanded only when you fail to comply with our requests in a satisfactory and timely manner."

He paused.

I didn't move a muscle.

They were going to pay me, weren't they?

"You have been registered, numbered, and trained. You accept your number, you accept your role and you accept the authority of your superiors."

Again, I didn't move.

I had accepted all of it, hadn't I? They must have already known that, surely?

"You have come a long way, Elizabeth," the CEO went on, taking the time to mouth the words carefully, deliberately. "Yes - a very long way. Not many girls would have had the courage to come as far as you have."

Was that intended as a complement?

Did that make me special?

"It is my duty to inform you that you will continue to serve as our whore," he said, "but that you will not be paid. Not now, not ever."

Oh God.

That was why they were here.

To tell me that.

That!

Oh God. Please not that.

What was I supposed to do about that?

How could I do anything with my neck bound to the floor at their feet?

...Don't accept it...

...Don't let them think they can get away with that...

I mean, they had to pay me, didn't they?

Weren't there laws against that kind of thing?

Jesus.

I moaned into my gag, to no avail.

"You will work for us because we own you," he went on. "You accept our ownership of you. We own your face and you accept it. We own your tits and you accept that too. We own your pussy, your arse. All of it owned by us."

He paused briefly, before adding: "Since I see no signal coming from you, I assume you understand and accept what I am saying."

No!

Did he really expect me to play with myself if I wanted to express dissent?

This couldn't be happening.

No way.

Not me. Not to me.

...Please don't be happening...

Uncertainly, I snuck an arm under myself and reached up between my open legs.

Did I really have to do this?

I curled my index finger round the underside of my pussy and slipped it falteringly into my sex.

Oh God.

Please don't be moist.

Please don't be wet.

Not now.

Please don't let it be like that.

I rotated the tip of my finger guardedly on my clitoris.

What a disgrace.

What a slut.

"Mmmm... Very nice," the CTO's voice rang out behind me.

Shit. He was watching me masturbate myself for him.

Just watching me.

Expecting me to carry on.

But I had to carry on, didn't I?

Otherwise they would think I accepted what they were saying, wouldn't they?

"She likes the idea," Nicola scoffed. "The slut wants to wank herself off to the idea of being our slave."

No – it wasn't like that.

No way!

Or was it?

I couldn't be owned, could I?

I was a respectable... whore...

Oh God.

That was what I was, wasn't it?

That was what I was.

That was what I had become.

Utterly owned.

Their dog whore slave slut.

Was I wanking myself off to that idea?

I wasn't, was I?

I was just obeying them.

What choice did I have?

Should I stop, then?

God... Sopping wet...

Why was I wet?

Why was I warm?

I shut my eyes tightly and wished myself away.

My pulse beat frantically.

Why was I playing with myself?

Did I want to be their slave?

No – I couldn't want that.

I just couldn't.

How could I?

How could anyone?

"You will be our slave-whore, Elizabeth," the CEO said more loudly. "You have been a slave-whore for weeks, and you know it. You are a fuck-slut. You are my fuck-slut."

Suddenly horrified at what I was hearing, I pulled my fingers hurriedly away from my vagina, but then foolishly found myself not knowing quite where to relocate my hand to, and so ended up leaving it wavering foolishly at my entrance, unsure, uncertain.

"Looks like she's starting to understand," the CTO remarked.

Bastard.

I had been a good PA to him – a good senior PA.

From senior PA to unpaid fuck-slut?

No way.

"There's a good girl," Nicola crowed.

How dare she?

I quickly found my clitoris again and turned it between my index and middle fingers.

...Never accept it...

...Never...

...Not for her... Not for that bitch... A bleached-blonde nineteen year-old trumped up tart...

...Never agree to be her unpaid fuck-slut...

I whimpered pathetically into my gag.

"I don't know how else to explain it," the CEO said. "You are a slave-whore now, Elizabeth. And that is what you will always be."

"Can I spank her?" Nicola asked. "She likes that."

"Of course," the CEO responded. "If it helps her understand, be my guest."

Spank me?

She couldn't do that could she?

SPANK.

Yes she could, apparently - with her bare palm on the backs of my thighs.

Bitch.

And still playing with my clitoris for her.

Should I stop?

SPANK.

A nineteen year-old, arrogant, office tart beating my bottom while I masturbate myself for her?

"You're right, I think she likes it," the CTO commented. "She's dripping."

SPANK.

I shrieked and gurgled into my gag – not because the blows were hurting me particularly – but out of despair, desperation.

I was utterly helpless.

I sobbed feebly.

SPANK.

...Please stop spanking me...

...I don't want to be a slave-whore...

...I don't want to be a fuck-slut...

SPANK

...Ow...

SPANK.

"Your hopes and aspirations are worthless, Elizabeth, and they always were," the CEO's voice went on. "From now on you will give yourself only to the hopes and aspirations of your keepers."

I turned my clitoris in my fingers one more time, before moving my hand away more determinedly.

What was the use?

I just couldn't go on humiliating myself like that, could I?

SPANK.

Not with Nicola spanking my buttocks.

SPANK.

"Keep that bottom UP girl."

SPANK.

Did they really think that by refusing to play with myself I was accepting what they were telling me?

They couldn't believe that, could they?

"I like you, Elizabeth," the CEO went on. "I like you because you are a good, obedient, willing, grateful whore. And I want to go on liking you."

My fingers hovered uncertainly at my sex.

Wet fingers.

Shamed fingers.

SPANK.

"That will do, Nicola," the CEO said. "Elizabeth has stopped touching herself, and I take that to mean she understands what I am saying."

No!

I did not accept a single word of what he was saying! – He must know that. Why was he tormenting me?

"You wouldn't have given yourself to me in the first place if you didn't want to be here today begging to be my slave-whore," he said. "It's what you want – it's what you have always wanted."

Still my fingers lingered at my entrance.

Was he right?

I touched myself lightly.

Had I really wanted that?

No! – How could I?

"You let us mark you – number you," he said. "You accepted our right to number your bottom and have you perform for us."

God. Why had I let them tattoo 'Whore94' on my bottom so effortlessly?

Why hadn't I resisted?

How could I argue with that?

"Look at you, Elizabeth," he went on. "You are a little fuck-whore. I took your worthless bottom and I fucked it and scrawled your number on it. I counted you. I took your cunt and I had it dance for me. I raped it and fucked it. I had you thank me for owning it. You crawl before me today knowing that what I say is true. You know that I own you. You want to be owned. It is what you have always wanted. You are nothing, and you will never amount to anything more than nothing."

The tears rolled from the corners of my eyes.

A little fuck-whore?

Was that what I was?

Was that all I was?

How could I deny the veracity of his words?

I had given myself to him, hadn't I?

I had never been forced, coerced, had I?

Or had I?

Sometimes they coerced me, didn't they?

Like now... weren't they coercing me now?

I pushed my forefinger into my pussy – vacillating – I let it quiver there a while – then withdrew it.

I was trembling, sobbing, shaking.

"I numbered you, Elizabeth," he said. "I number all my girls. I count my sluts. You are one of my sluts."

I thought I was Mr. Khani's whore?

Wasn't that what they had said?

"She seems to be understanding things a little better now," the CTO chimed up.

I half-opened my eyes in time to see a tear-drop fall onto the CEO's patent leather shoes.

God.

What a pathetic creature I had become.

"No-one will come looking for you, Elizabeth," he said. "Your life out there - beyond the walls of this place – is over. You have been disappeared. It has all been taken care of."

I sobbed miserably into my gag.

Why me?

Why me?

"And there is no escape," he went on. "As you have seen, the club benefits from extraordinary security. Our clients are selected meticulously, as you know, and they are always discreet. Don't ever think that one of them will hear your story and want to help you. On the contrary, they will simply enjoy using you all the more – because that is what they want from a club like this – that is what they are paying for."

I clamped my eyes shut in despair and wished them all away.

...Just leave me alone...

...All of you...

...Not me...

...Please not me...

"If you behave yourself and continue to serve your owners and our clients as diligently as you have throughout your training, then you will be cared for and treated well. Only if you are disobedient will you be punished."

Punished?

God.

I didn't even want to start to entertain the idea of what that might involve.

Wasn't this punishment enough?

Wasn't being told you were to be an unpaid fuck-slut slave-whore punishment enough?

Bastards.

All of them.

"You understand everything you have been told, Elizabeth?" he asked.

Understood it?

Was that it?

I was to be a well-behaved, willing, obedient, unpaid whore for the rest of my life?

Was I supposed to agree to that?

Did I have a choice?

"Prepare her for me, Nicola," the CEO said resolutely. "Let's go to the next stage."

Nicola's heels clicked militantly across the room, paused momentarily, then returned to my rear.

I felt her palms on my bottom.

"Raise that bottom up, girl," she instructed me bossily. "I want your butt."

Instinctively, obediently – just as I had been trained to do - I raised my bottom up and offered her my exposed arsehole.

I was obeying her.

I was obeying the bitch.

I felt her cold wet fingers on the nub of my arsehole.

She rubbed her fingers - gingerly at first - into my hole, spreading and pushing some kind of greasy lubricant into my back passage.

SPANK.

"UP," she reminded me when I shrunk away from her at the coldness of her touch.

She probed my arse with her fingers and I surrendered it to her.

It could only mean one thing.

My arse was to be taken.

Probably by the CEO.

My owner.

"When Nicola has finished creaming you up," the CEO explained, "you will be given an object. To signal to me that you have fully understood all that you have been told here today, you will insert the object deep into your bottom and then you will fuck yourself on it until you are ready to come for me."

I moaned a protest into my gag.

Would there be no end to this?

Why did he have to make me do that?

"When you are ready to come, you will push the object into your arse as far as it will go, and you will keep it there. You will then respectfully part your pussy-lips with your fingers as wide as you can. I will take that to mean you are ready to accept me inside you. You will then come on my penis while I fuck you like a dog."

I sniffed.

I wanted it all to stop. ...be over... ...end...

"If you fail to carry out any part of this simple request, it will be assumed that you have not fully grasped your new role. You will be punished and we will start again tomorrow."

Nicola's fingers explored my arsehole, massaging the lubricant into me.

Bitch.

Tormenting me.

Enjoying having me squirm on her fingers.

She would be my owner too, would she?

I would be her 'girl'.

Her slave.

My mistress' fingers in my butt.

"Begin," the CEO said, as Nicola withdrew her fingers.

Begin... what...?

Nicola's immaculately manicured fingers pressed the object into my right hand.

It was a dildo.

A plastic arse-dildo.

I was to perform for them.

Amuse them.

Show them I understood that this was what I did.

That this was what I would do.

Be a whore for them.

Begin... sticking this dildo thing into my own arsehole... to fuck myself on it?

"Fuck your butt hard on that dildo girl," Nicola asserted. "Do it NOW."

Could I really do that for them?

Accept their ownership of me and prepare myself to accept my master?

...Don't do it...

...There must be an alternative...

...They must be bluffing... mustn't they?...

What did they mean they had 'disappeared' me?

Could they really have done that?

Was I a slave now?

A slave-whore?

Was that what I would always be?

"GET ON with it girl," Nicola chided me and clipped her palm across my bottom.

SPANK.

...Ouch...

I had to do it, didn't I?

They would go on tormenting me all day if I didn't just obey them and give them what they wanted.

They wanted me.

That was what they wanted.

I had to give myself to them.

I pressed the tip of the dildo to my rose-bud.
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