When they reached the hotel, Jaclyn was almost crying from sexual need. Her hand was under her skirt, her fingers buried deep in her naked cunt, and she was fingerfucking herself so hard she was gasping with every pump of her fingers.
“Please,” she begged her Master, sitting beside me in the driver’s seat. “Please let me rape a girl. Please let me rape one.”
She didn’t know why she was saying it. She had, so far as she remembered, never raped a girl. Never so much as made out with one. Never wanted to. And yet the words rolled off her tongue easily, naturally—and every time she said them, she had the feeling of a great shame and guilt, locked away inside her mind, a guilt that she didn’t want to confront.
“Please let me rape a girl,” she moaned. “I want to rape a pretty girl. Please let me.”
The men in the back seat—young, red-haired Ben and older, mature Robert—were laughing at her, a cruel chuckle that intensified with every fresh plea to be allowed to rape a girl. She didn’t know specifically why her Master had brought them along on this road-trip, but she had a good general idea—to humiliate her, to abuse her, to objectify her.
The car stopped in the hotel parking lot. “Get out, Jaclyn,” said her Master.
Jaclyn instinctively tried to withdraw her fingers from her cunt to open the door—but they wouldn’t stop masturbating. She didn’t remember being given the command to masturbate, but she knew now that there must have been one, because her inability to stop was not explained by mere lust.
“Get out, Jaclyn,” said her Master again. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
She opened the door with her left hand, still masturbating with her right, and awkwardly climbed out of the car, her fingers still pumping her pussy.
“Please let me stop,” she begged her Master. And then, “Please let me rape a girl.” Why was she saying this? Her Master must have told her to. The knowledge that his hypnotic control extended to altering her memory made her feel sick. What else had he changed in her memory? Had she really done all those disgusting slutty things he had made her do—fucking her own father, being a slut at the office—or had he just put those memories in her head? Or, worse still, had she done things even more disgusting, and been made to forget them?
Was her name even Jaclyn?
She tried again to stop masturbating, and couldn’t.
“Come along, Jaclyn,” said her Master, beginning to walk towards the hotel lobby.
Jaclyn whined. She couldn’t go inside the hotel while still publicly masturbating. She just couldn’t. Why couldn’t her Master see that? “Please, let me rape a girl,” she begged.
Her Master paused, looked back at her, and smiled. “What are you afraid of, Jaclyn? Tell the truth now. White Pineapple.”
Jaclyn’s mouth opened. The trigger word compelled her obedience. Her Master probably expected her to say that she was afraid of acting like a slut in public, but that wasn’t what she was most afraid of right now.
“I’m afraid that you’ll alter my memories,” she said. “So that I won’t know what’s real and what’s not.”
There was a surprised chuckle from Robert—and Jaclyn’s Master smiled. It was a wide, evil smile.
“Let’s play the game of choices, Jaclyn,” he said.
“No,” moaned Jaclyn, still masturbating. “Please, no.”
“Here are your choices,” said her Master. “Your first option is that I’ll let you walk through the hotel lobby in a completely normal, unremarkable way, and no one will see you act like a slut. But as soon as we arrive at the hotel room, you’ll believe that you behaved like a complete whore in the lobby, and that it was all your idea and nobody made you do it, and that you deserve to be punished for it.”
“Or,” her Master continued, “you can walk into the hotel lobby, and take off all your clothes, and masturbate to orgasm while begging to rape a girl. And it will really have happened—but I won’t alter your memory of it in any way.”
Jaclyn stared at him, with her mouth open. She kept masturbating, unsure of what to say.
“Which is it, Jaclyn?” asked her Master.
She knew she needed to answer quickly. If she didn’t make a choice, her Master would choose something for her far worse than either of the options.
She shouldn’t be a slut, she knew. She should choose the option where she didn’t actually act like a slut. But… she would think she had. And her Master would mess with her memory to make her think that. She would think she had chosen to be a slut. She would think she deserved to be punished.
But if she actually did go into the lobby and masturbate in public, she would have chosen to do it. Her Master was offering her an option where she did not, in fact, act like a slut. She would be turning that down and choosing to masturbate in public. It would be disgusting—inflicting her slutty behaviour on innocent people—and she would deserve to be punished.
She whimpered again. How had she gotten trapped in this nightmarish relationship anyway?
“I’m going to count to five, Jaclyn,” said her Master. “And then you need to answer.”
He started to count. He only got as far as three before Jaclyn gave him her answer.
The second she stepped through the door of the hotel suite that her Master had rented, Jaclyn fell to her knees and began to sob. She had been holding it in, but she couldn’t anymore. She couldn’t stop thinking about the horrified looks that everyone had given her as she had stumbled into the lobby, still frantically fingering her twat, and began stripping off her clothes while begging to rape a girl.
A middle aged couple had stared at her as if she were an animal relieving itself on the floor. A younger man had taken out his phone and started to film her. The concierge had looked revolted, and only held off on kicking her out onto the street when Jaclyn’s Master had slipped him a handful of banknotes, and promised that Jaclyn would put her clothes back on when she was done.
And it had been her choice. She hadn’t had to do it. She could have avoided it—spared all those people—but she had been too proud to let her Master mess with her memories. She was a disgusting slut. She deserved these things that were happening to her. She needed to be punished.
“Is something the matter, Jaclyn?” asked her Master, smiling.
“I’m such a slut,” she sobbed. “Why did I choose to do that? I need to be punished.”
There were chuckles from Ben and Robert.
“I agree absolutely, Jaclyn,” said her Master. “What you did deserves a very firm punishment. And we need to punish two things, don’t we? Your body—and your mind.”
She looked up at him in horror. “My mind?”
“You said that you hated the thought of me messing with your memories, Jaclyn,” said her Master. “So I think that would be the perfect punishment, don’t you?”
“No…” she whispered, in horror.
“Have a look at Ben and Robert here,” said her Master. “And tell me—which one would you most like to be raped by?”
Raped? She was going to be raped? By one of these men?
“White pineapple,” said her Master. “Make a choice, Jaclyn.”
She had to obey. She had to choose. She looked at them. Robert was attractive—in a mature, fatherly way. She remembered fucking her own father, and shivered. Had that been real? Or just a memory her Master had put in her head? But Robert also looked cruel.
Whereas Ben was handsome and young. Immature, certainly, and he had shown no kindness to Jaclyn, but he had cum surprisingly quickly into her panties in the car, so maybe it would be over faster if she let him rape her.
“Ben,” she said.
Ben looked surprised and pleased. Robert didn’t seem to care.
“Very well then,” said her Master. “Robert it is.”
“I said Ben!” objected Jaclyn.
“I know,” said her Master. “It wouldn’t be much of a punishment if it were the man you wanted to fuck, would it?”
Robert stepped forward and grabbed a fistful of Jaclyn’s hair. “Come on, bitch,” he said, in a deep, commanding voice. “It’s time to have some fun.”
“Oh, and Jaclyn,” said her Master. “Robert is going to make up some alternative memories for you, and when you hear them, they are going to become your memories. If you’re a very good girl, I might take them away again in the future. But if you’re a bad girl, I might just leave them there forever.”
“No! No!” Jaclyn squealed, as Robert dragged her towards one of the suite’s bedrooms by her hair. But she knew that she deserved this, for being such a slut in the lobby—and for something else, that she couldn’t quite remember. And to her surprise and shame, she felt her cunt—so recently publicly pleasured in front of the people in the lobby—growing sopping wet again. She had lost control of herself many times since her Master had come into her life, but now she was losing control of her mind—of her memories—of her identity—and her traitorous pussy was reacting to it by pulsing with slutty, uncontrollable arousal.
Why was she such a slut?
Robert pulled her into the bedroom, threw her on the bed, and slammed the door behind them.
“Take off your clothes, bitch,” he told her, and Jaclyn began shyly complying.
“What are you going to do to me?” asked Jaclyn as she undressed.
Robert smiled. “Only what you deserve,” he told her. “Now, tell me, bitch—is there any limit to what kind of abuse you deserve?”
And she knew the answer, with every fibre of her being.
“No,” she said.
He smiled more, and unzipped his fly to expose his erect cock. He walked across to the bed, grabbed her hair, and forced her face down on his cock.
She opened her mouth obediently and sucked. He began to buck his hips against her, and there was something about the way he fucked her that made her feel like an object—a masturbatory tool, not a person. And it just made her pussy even wetter.
“You don’t need your mouth to listen,” he told her. “Here’s what I want you to remember. I was inspired by the way you begged to rape a girl down in the lobby. I think you raped my adult daughter Alice multiple times, while she cried and begged you to stop. I caught you, and you were overcome with guilt and shame. You begged me not to tell the police, and you begged me to punish you for your disgusting behaviour.”
Jaclyn could remember it. She could picture Alice’s pretty naked body. She could picture the feel of Alice’s tears on her inner thighs as she humped Alice’s face. She could remember the shame and humiliation of Robert bursting in on them, and how she couldn’t face living with the guilt, and how she had begged him to discipline her.
“I told you I wouldn’t turn you in to the police, as long as you married me, and became my sex-slave, and never had sex with me unless your tits or pussy were in pain,” he said. “And you agreed. You’re my wife now. The only way you can cope with your guilt is by sexually pleasuring me.”
Jaclyn moaned. It was all so true. She sucked eagerly at her husband’s cock, overwhelmed with guilt for her slutty behaviour.
“But even that wasn’t enough for you,” said Robert. “So you legally changed your name to Honeycunt Girlraper. That’s what it says on your birth certificate and your driver’s licence, and that’s what you see when you look at those documents, and that’s how you introduce yourself. It makes you want to die from shame every time you hear yourself say it, but that’s exactly what you deserve.”
Honeycunt wanted to cry. She was such a disgusting slut. She only hoped she could make her husband cum.
“That’s enough of that,” said Robert. He put his palm on her forehead and pushed her physically off his cock. She fell back onto the bed, her legs spread, her cunt pointed at Robert’s cock.
Robert moved away and opened one of the suitcases he had brought out. He took out a length of strong rope, about as thick as Jaclyn’s little finger, and he began to wind it around the base of Jaclyn’s tits tightly. Soon he had made a constricting bind around each of Jaclyn’s breasts, causing them to bulge lewdly and begin turning purple. The rope ran from Jaclyn’s tits to Robert’s hands, forming a leash. He pulled on it, and Jaclyn felt herself painfully drawn towards him by her tits.
“Good,” he said to himself. Then he stepped between her legs, and slid his cock into her wet cunt.
It felt amazing—not just because of the feeling of a cock in her pussy, but because of the knowledge that she was sexually pleasing her husband, who she had wronged so disgustingly. She hoped she was being a good cock-sleeve for him.
Then he began to pull on her tit-leash.
She squealed. Her whole body was being dragged by her tits—pulled tight against his cock. He would pull her down on his cock using the leash, and then buck hard against her groin to push her away again, before pulling on her tits again.
It hurt so much—and yet it was exactly how it should be. She remembered that she had never had sex since her wedding day without being in agonising tit or cunt pain. And nevertheless, she was soaking wet. She must have become accustomed to finding pain arousing. She must like it. She moaned as Robert yanked on her tits. The pain was pleasure—the pleasure of pleasing her husband. She couldn’t remember if he liked her to act like she was enjoying herself, or like she was being tortured. She split the difference, and allowed herself to cry, but moaned like a slut between sobs, and bucked her hips in a way that might be struggle or eagerness.
“Remember,” he told her. “You’re not on birth control, and you’re terrified of getting pregnant.”
She did begin to struggle then, her eyes wide, desperately trying to pull away from her husband—which only increased the agony in her leashed tits. There was no escape. He pulled her closer—and then he sighed, and she felt him ejaculate up into her womb. She gasped, and sobbed.
And she remembered that she deserved this—all of this.
“Thank you,” she gasped between sobs. “Thank you, my love.”
Robert just laughed. He pulled his cock out of her, then pulled her upright by her tits and wiped his cock clean on her face. Then he pulled on her tits again, dragging her off the bed, towards the bedroom closet.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He ignored her. He was treating her as if she were nothing but an object.
He opened the closet door. The inside was empty, containing nothing but an overhead bar for hanging coathangers on.
Robert reached into his luggage and brought out a pair of handcuffs. He snapped these onto Jaclyn’s wrists, binding her hands behind her back. Then he pulled the rope attached to her tits over the bar in the closet, and tugged.
Jaclyn was forced to move to stand beneath the coathanger bar—and then pulled up, until she was standing on her tiptoes. She was in agony—most of her weight was now being supported by her breasts. She could barely balance on her toes, but if she lost her balance or tried to relax, her tits would take her full weight.
And in this position, Robert tied off the rope, leaving Jaclyn trapped.
“This is where we store our luggage until we need it,” he told her.
Then he closed the closet door, leaving Jaclyn in darkness, in pain, with nothing for company but the sensation of Robert’s cum slowly trickling from her pussy.