Evolution of a Slut Doll

I flipped open my laptop and opened my e-mail. I was tired, all I wanted to do was pull my covers around me and fall asleep, but there was an e-mail waiting for me that I couldn't ignore. The subject line stared at me. I pushed away the wrecking ball of guilt that always came with these messages. "Slut," the subject line read, "this happens before you sleep."

I opened the mail.

"Hi slut doll,

You are used to going to bed early, so this should be fun. These tasks should keep you awake until at least two in the morning. I expect your full effort on them, so make sure to submit your best work to me. If I sense any sort of slacking you will be punished. Your tasks tonight follow:

1. You like to write, slut doll. Write me a science fiction story. It should include mention of three boxes which play major parts in the story. The boxes are, The Box of Wisdom, The Box of Counting, and The Box of Endings. Keep the story less than five thousand words, slut. Don't stick me with reading it all day.

2. Write the next chapter in your Magical Girl sex story. Your last chapter wasn't very hot, slut doll, I expect more out of you. So you will write this chapter by hand, and it will be legible.

3. Find and read six stories on Literotica. Write me an essay about what stories you read, and how they made you feel.

That is it, slut doll. But there is one more twist. You are to do all of this naked, and I want you to put at least six clothespins on that big thing you call a clit. Keep them on until you finish all three tasks. You will not cum tonight, but you may touch yourself as much as you want. Just don't get too distracted, or you will be up all night.

You should also remember that tomorrow marks the third year that you've been my slut doll. You will be up at dawn to complete your rededication ceremony with me. All work will be submitted by then, slut doll. If it isn't I will have to punish you, and that will ruin our day. Don't ruin our day, slut, I will be very angry.

Mistress Jasmine"

I groaned. I didn't want to do any of the tasks Mistress had given me. I wanted to curl up into a ball, and try to forget Mistress had ever existed, try to forget that we had been best friend's before the banishment. But I couldn't do that. I shut my computer, threw off my blankets, and reached inside my bedside drawer for the pile of clothespins. I pulled out six of them. They were the big kind, wooden, held shut by springs, and I knew from long experience that they hurt like hell. Oh, not at first. At first they barely hurt at all... but I was going to be working for Mistress for hours, and by then I would be quivering in agony.

I threw my clothes off and started to play with my tits. They were small things still, barely an a cup, but someday they would be bigger. Sometimes I hoped that one day they would be big enough that I could suck on my own nipples. Mistress Jasmine would let me have all kinds of fun with that. For now I pinched my nipples, biting into them with my nails, letting pain begin to crawl through my body. I liked the pain, reveled in it, and it would make my over large clit nice and hard. If I played with my tits long enough I could spew my clit juice, getting it all over my body, but tonight that wasn't in the cards.

Instead I pinched and flicked my nipples, letting groans escape my mouth as pain and pleasure transformed from a small crawl to an inferno racing through my nerves. I was rock hard now, my clit twitching every time a new spasm of feeling cascaded through me. I picked up the clothespins, and for the first time looked down to the place I was going to pin them.

"Clit, clit, clit," I chanted inside my head, trying to hold onto that idea. "It's just a really big clit. Clit, clit, clit."

But even though I wanted to believe that, even though that's what I wanted and yearned for with all my heart, a small voice that spoke in my heart reminded me that it wasn't a clit at all.

"It's a cock, a fucking penis," the voice said, "and it's a big one at that."

True enough. The thing was just over eight inches long, and super thick. Veins covered it in a tapestry of blue lines. I tried not to stare. Starring would only remind me of my shame, and I had too much to do tonight to let my retarded dysphoria claim me. Instead I pinned my girl stick against my body, and began clamping the pins.

The first three went on the right side of my clit, and putting those on barely hurt at all. I clipped them on one after the other in quick succession. After those were on I clipped the fourth. The skin on my clit was already being pulled tight by the first three pins, and this one hurt as it found purchase on a thin piece of skin that it pinched without mercy. Pain flowed through me, and I opened myself to it, accepting the pain into me. The fifth pin was even worse. As its jaws closed tight on the thin skin of my cock - clit! - I fell to my back gasping. I focused on my breathing as I adjusted to this new sensation of pain. It took almost fifteen seconds, but I managed to bring my breathing under control, and pushed to a sitting position.

"One more," I thought to myself, "come on slut doll... one more!"

I picked up the pin, and tried to gather some skin near the tip of my clit. The other five pins stuck out of me like the spines of a porcupine. It was a strangely fascinating sight. Looking at my clit on its own was always a harrowing experience... but looking at it covered in implements of torture? That was hot. Don't ask me why.

I found a spot for the last pin, and gathered as much skin as I could. It was hard to do, the other pins held my skin so tight that it was almost impossible to gather a flap for the last pin to cling onto. More pain washed over me as I tugged at skin, praying that one of the other pins wouldn't lose purchase and fly away. I allowed a groan to escape, and bit down on my lip, trying to distract myself from the pain washing through my clit.

Finally I gathered enough skin, and I quickly jammed the last pin onto it. The jaws clamped shut and I forgot about my lips. I fell onto my back, and shoved the palm of my hand between my teeth, stifling the scream of agony that threatened to escape my lips. I took deep, ragged breaths through my nose, trying to adjust to the agony.

That's something most people don't realize about pain. Given enough time it is possible to adjust to almost anything. And clothespins were nothing compared to some of the other tortures Mistress had inflicted on me.

Ten ragged breaths and my breathing slowed. I took my palm out of my mouth. I'd left a couple tooth marks behind, but nothing that wouldn't fade in the next couple of hours.

I pushed myself back to a sitting position, trying to ignore the way my clit flapped about, causing the pins to twist in new and exciting expressions of pain. Instead I grabbed my computer, and flipped it open. It was time to get to work.

I started work on the science fiction story first. I set the short fiction in a universe where humans had spread across nine galaxies, and extended their lifespan almost indefinitely. Living for nine hundred years was common, and sickness was a thing of the past. Technology had been developed to transport people across space in mere seconds, making travel across the galaxies as easy as stepping onto a modern day subway car. But the long life and instant travel came at a price. Humans weren't meant to live for a thousand years, nor were they designed to cross the vast void of space. The forced evolution tore at their sanity, at that's where to boxes came in. Boxes of Wisdom could hold sanity together against the perils of time that seemed to stretch into infinity. The Box of Counting could absorb the endless weight of light years. As for the Box of Endings? Well, that was a legend, one that was said could bring ruin to all the nine galaxies in a single day.

It was a simple tale, and a strange one, told from the point of view of a character who was going slowly insane. But despite my sleepiness, I enjoyed writing the story, and barely noticed the pins pinching down on my nethers. I saved the story as a first draft. I would come back to it in the future, cutting it, refining it, but Mistress would accept a first draft. Indeed, she might make the editing process a task. She liked assigning me writing work, liked to believe that she was partly responsible for my success as a writer. After all, our whole relationship had started with my writing, my writing and a simple game.

The second task wasn't as easy. I had started my magical girl erotica about six months ago, and it was going nowhere fast. If I had my way, I wouldn't be writing it at all anymore. The main character was too much like me. I had thought it would be a good idea to write a story about a boy that turned into a magical girl to fight crime and have sex. I thought it would be new and exciting, and a way to live out my fondest desire. Instead the whole thing tended to trigger my dysphoria, reminding me that no matter how much I wanted it, how many surgeries and hormones I took, I would never really be a girl. For Sapphire, the magical girl, there was magic. For me there was only reality.

I tried to push the dysphoria away. I focused instead on the pins. They were really starting to hurt, the constant pinch of half a dozen pins keeping me rock hard and twitching. Every time I twitched the pins moved a bit, causing throbs of pain that were growing harder and harder to ignore. I imagined Mistress Jasmine's face, her fire red hair and green eyes, her pale skin, her soft lips. Sometimes, if I was a very good girl, she would let me kiss her. I hated Mistress now... and yet, I also longed for her. I belonged to her. I was her slut doll, and I didn't remember how to be anything else. I suffered this pain for her, and I knew she would approve.

Despite everything, that approval was the world to me.

"For you, Mistress," I whispered, "this story, for you."

I grabbed a pad of paper and began to write. In the story an Incubus had invaded Boston, placing a terrible curse over the city. Every time someone orgasmed they were instantly turned to ash, and their life force flowed into the monster. Teenagers and adults exploded in clouds of smoke. Spouses and partners ran through the streets, screaming in panic and fear. The whole city descended into riots, and as the monster's power grew, he forced people to rut in the streets like animals.

When Sapphire caught up to do battle, the Incubus had her writhing in exquisite pleasure in mere seconds. The chapter was all about orgasm control, and the ability to overcome even the most frantic sexual urges. This was the climax of the story arch, and it looked as if Sapphire would give into the supernatural waves of sex that washed through her and the city. But in the end she managed to seduce the Incubus instead, and when the monster came all over her face and tits, drowning her in superheated jizz, the monster was brought down by his own curse, turned to ash and destroyed.

The chapter ended with Sapphire mashing her triple D cup tits together, sucking on her nipples, licking the hot cum off of them without care. She didn't know that the curse hand't lifted when the monster was destroyed, and I left her at the brink of orgasm, about to die.

I read through the chapter again and smiled. The sex was hot. I had drizzled precum all over my leg while I wrote, caught up in the epic blow job Sapphire gave to the monster, carried away by the desire to have massive tits like my magical Mary Sue. I absently gathered up precum on my finger, and applied it to my lips like lip stick. Mistress didn't let me taste it, but this she allowed me. I felt my clit juice drying on my lips, and suppressed the desire to flick my tongue across my lips.

I reached down and rubbed the tip of my clit with the palm of my hand. I couldn't wrap my hand around it, not with the pins sticking out, but I rubbed the head of my clit quickly, letting the pleasure build up inside of me. I knew I was racing towards an orgasm, knew that I was about to spew girl juice all over the place. The pins twitched as I rubbed, and I noticed that almost all my muscles were tensed against the pain, and they were starting to quiver. The feeling was amazing. I loved the pain. Pain was bigger than gender, bigger than sex and love. Pain could be big as god. It could be everything, pleasure, time... even infinity.

I gasped as I rubbed myself. I didn't care that I was about to spew. I didn't care that Mistress had forbidden me. She would punish me, and I would pay the punishment gladly to have this moment to myself. My muscles began to tense, and I could feel my cum gathering, ready to explode.

Tomorrow was our dedication ceremony. If I ruined that I wouldn't just be punished... I would be desecrated. I pulled my hand away at the last second. I gasped as my clit twitched in the air, seeking release. I balled my fists and struggled against the impending cum, tensing my kegels and refusing to let them go. Sometimes Mistress brought me to this point, rubbing my clit in her pale, lotioned hand, bringing me to this point over and over again. She called it edging. I loved and hated it.

Tonight I just hated it.

I thought about my next task and groaned. I had to find and read six stories on literotica. Six stories about sex and passion, and I wasn't allowed to cum.

"Fuck," I shouted at the empty room, "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

It was almost four in the morning when I finished my assigned reading. My entire body was quivering in pain, and I wanted the pins off my clit. They had been pinching me for almost six hours! But I had to finish my essay first. I bookmarked the story I'd been reading, a novella called Tinkle Bell. It was a long story, and I was completely enthralled. I opened my e-mail and composed a message to Mistress.

"Dear Mistress Jasmine,

slut doll wants to thank you for the tasks you gave her tonight. She's been working at them since ten pm, and she is very sleepy, but she had lots of fun, and did everything Mistress told her to. slut doll's science fiction story, called "Containers of Eternity" is in your drop box, and the handwritten chapter about Sapphire is ready to show you whenever Mistress wants.

Mistress told slut doll to find some stories on literotica and read them. slut doll read the first six chapters in a story called Tinkle Bell. And Mistress, slut doll did what you said and didn't cum... even though she really wanted too! There was a close moment when slut doll was finished writing. she was touching herself like Mistress said she could do, and she was so turned on from writing about sex. But at the last moment slut doll remembered about the dedication ceremony, and she didn't want to ruin the day. slut doll enjoys ceremonies, and doesn't want to be the one to mess it up.

As for the story I was reading... it's about a boy and a foreign exchange student. It turns out that the foreign exchange student has a big thing for piss, and together they explore, pissing all over each other and having all kinds of sex. Mistress, I know you don't share my piss fetish, but right now I really wish that someday you would piss all over me, in my mouth, over my breasts, maybe even give me a piss enema. I want to roll around in your piss, let my hair get drenched, let your warm liquid drip off my chin and down my body. I know this will never happen... and I know that this is a dirty fantasy that slut doll shouldn't have. But she is so drawn to it. It's one of her deepest desires.

slut doll is excited to see Mistress in the morning."

I sent the message, and sighed in relief. I could finally take the pins off my clit and give it a rest. It was going to be very sore in the morning, and I hoped that Mistress didn't have lots of clit torture in mind when it was time for the ceremony.

Something else most people don't realize is how painful it is to remove pinching devices like pins and clamps. At some point, despite the continuing throbs and pulses of pain, a sort of numbness descends. All that goes away when the pinching is removed. Blood races back into deprived skin, and the pain is overwhelming. I love that moment when Mistress is in charge of removing torture devices. I lose myself in the moment, and fly off to a place few people know exist. But when I have to do it myself I have to stay in the moment, have to stay emotionally present. When I have to do it there is no escape.

I looked at the pins still sticking out of my clit, and suddenly taking them off was the very last thing I wanted to do in the world.

"Embrace the pain, slut doll," I told myself, "you can do this. You can do this."

I reached down and pulled off the first pin. I howled in pain, and yanked another pin off as I screamed and screamed. From there I took several deep breaths, my throat already ragged from the screams. Then I repeated the process, tearing off three pins at the same time, and shoving the palm of my hand back in my mouth. White lights flashed in my vision, as the exploded like fireworks I pulled the last pin off my girl stick and threw the pins across the room.

I lay back, feeling exhausted and used. Mistress always made me feel like this, even when she wasn't with me. I let the feeling of submission wash over me, always strongest at the end of a scene. In my mind she looked down at me with those deep, emerald eyes.

"Good job, slut doll. Mistress is proud of you."

I wished Mistress was there to hold me, to caress the pain away and brush the tears of pain from my eyes. I wanted to cuddle with her, to feel the comforting feeling of being owned.

Instead I crawled under the covers, still rock hard, still twitching in pain, and closed my eyes. I pretended that I could feel Mistress Jasmine running her hands through my long hair, shaping it into dozens of braids in a style I hated but she loved. I drifted into sleep, bathing in her summoned comfort.