Anne-Marie - Forced to Whore Pt. 03

The story will make much more sense if you have read the previous parts

...

The car that came to take me away to my new life of servitude was black, expensive and on time. My husband carried my bags out to the boot. My anger flashed and I thought that even seeing me off to pay the prices for our crimes, he acted just like another servant of Mr. Croker. When he tried to hug me goodbye all I could do was stand passively and accept his arms around me. I couldn't respond in kind as I was so filled with fury and hate.

All through the drive to the private hospital, all through the admission process, the pre-op, all through Dr. Khan explaining what was to be done -- that not only would they tighten my vagina but inject collagen into its front wall for G-spot amplification -- I refused to cry. Even through the signing of what were ironically called 'consent papers', I refused to sob.

That changed the night before the operation when Mr. Croker visited my private room. I think it was the fact that he brought flowers and chocolates. This despicable, cruel man who was modifying my body for his pleasure, to demonstrate his power over me dared to pretend he cared. I began to cry in both hot hatred and fear.

I knew from my previous to encounters -- my right cheek was still tender -- to obey his order to: "Snivel more quietly, we don't want the nurses to hear." He then pulled out camera from one of his suit pockets and gave me more orders: "Lie on top of the bed. Place a pillow under your arse. Lift up your medical robe till it is bunched around your hips. Spread your legs for Daddy, that's it, spread them wider."

Too intimidated by the blackmail he held and by fear of the physical punishment he may unleash if I was uncooperative, I meekly complied. Feeling scared, vulnerable and ashamed at having to display my most intimate parts this way to a terrible abuser holding a camera.

"I am going to take some before photos of your cunt for my Anne-Marie scrapbook. I'll take some after ones post-surgery of course and send both to Alex to remind him of what his wife's sex looked like before I had it re-made according to my will. Oh I know, it's a tactless display of power over you both, but I enjoy that sort of thing."

He began to click away, entirely focussed on my sex, not even giving a glance to the tears falling down my face. "Now hold yourself open. Hold your puffy little lips open for Daddy. Good girl. That's it, display yourself like a wanton little whore. Now masturbate for me. Show me how you like to play with yourself."

Utterly crushed and ashamed, I went through the hollow actions of pleasuring myself. I stroked my lower lips, pulled a finger between them, nudging apart their tender folds. All the while Mr. Croker clicked and made disgusting, lewd and abusive comments. I felt none of the usual pleasure these actions would give me, only revulsion.

"I own this cunt now Anne-Marie. It's Daddy's to fuck, to sell, to use anyway I see fit."

Mr. Croker then reached into his suit and pulled out what looked at a distance a tube of toothpaste and a shiny metal rod. It was only when he threw them onto the bed that I saw it was a tube of lubricating gel and the outer casing of a container for a large cigar.

"Lube yourself, then show Daddy how you fuck your cunt before Dr. Khan makes it virgin tight for me. Do you know, I've promised him that once I've broken it in, I'll let him come visit and experience his handiwork for himself."

Crying, broken and mortified, I applied some of the cold, slippery gel to my fingers and gently worked it across and into my sex. Then I smeared some of it across the cigar container's six and bit inches of length and an inch of width. Whether out of fear of what would happen or to lessen the discomfort I might face, I began to use the cigar casing exactly as I would my own favourite smooth mini-vibrator.

First I pulled it from my taint to my bud in long, slow strokes. Then I applied a little pressure and let it part my lips as I moved in gently up and down. As I pushed it into myself like a small dildo, I remembered the foul taste of cigar-flavoured saliva Mr. Croker had spat into my mouth while fucking my breasts and I gave out an involuntary moan. I told myself it was only the shock of the tube entering me. Gently I begin to push it in and out of myself, all the time Mr. Croker taking pictures and offering obscene encouragement."

He fiddled with the camera and then set it down between my open legs. Then taking the tube from my hand he began the process of fucking me with it. His pistoning in and out was more forceful and deeper than my own had been, but it wasn't faster and he maintained a constant rhythm.

"What a little whore you are being fucked with Daddy's cigar. Don't pretend there isn't some small part of you enjoying this."

Mortified I was was to admit it to myself, Mr. Croker wasn't entirely wrong. Despite his torrent of horrid, abusive words, his pushing and pulling the smooth metal phallus substitute in and out of my sex was having a physical effect. It wasn't anything like desire or being turned on, but I could feel all those slight physiological tells of arousal -- unbidden and detested as it was under the circumstances kick in. I could feel my lips puff up, a little reddening blush come to my face and chest. I could feel my bud throbbing.

With one hand violating me with the cannister, Mr. Croker used his free hand to roughly maul my breasts through the fabric of my white hospital gown. In between his strong squeezing of my flesh, his fingers would find my nipples and pull and pinch them till they embarrassingly became erect.

"Rub your clit Anne-Marie. Do it for Daddy."

Abashed as I was, I complied and couldn't help enjoying the sensation of rolling my hood.

Suddenly he pulled the tube out of my sex and began to push it painfully against my sphincter. I began to panic and almost cried out "NO!" before I realised that the consequences of that word and resisting might be worse than any anal pain I was about the experience. Slowly, but relentlessly, the cigar cannister was forced into me. Even with it being slightly lubricated from the gel, despite its smoothness, it really hurt as the first inch of it was pushed beyond my little rosebud.

"Alex has told me how much you like something in both you holes during sex, so don't act all shy. By the way, I'm filming this for him. How do you think he will like seeing the last two things fuck his wife's cunt before I remake it being my cigar and my hand? Come on now, answer me."

As he twisted and pushed further inches of the tube into my bottom I meekly replied: "I would hope he would hate seeing it as much as I hate you doing it."

"Oh Anne-Marie, I don't think that's quite true is it? You haven't stopped rubbing have you?"

Suddenly he pushed the cigar canister so almost its full length was painfully violating me and then without any warning pushed two fingers into my sex. I yelped in both surprise and agony at the forceful intrusion. When they were in to the second knuckle he curled them and began to twist them as they pistoned me. "If you hated it so much you'd have stopped rubbing and my fingers wouldn't have slipped in so easily. You didn't use that much lube did you? No, some part of your little whore cunt likes being fucked by Daddy's fingers. Some part of you like having Daddy stuff his cigar up your bottom. Keep rubbing."

Feeling utterly debased by what was being done to me -- to what I was doing to myself -- I began to sob uncontrollably. I thought about the camera between my legs. I thought about how this hateful pervert was forever modifying the most intimate part of me. I thought of how he had already promised that Dr. Khan could fuck me. I thought about how he made me call him Daddy, how he called me Good Girl and Whore. I thought about the pain in my bottom from the cigar cannister, I thought how Mr. Crokers fingers were working me. Thought about how good my bud felt, as if it was going to explode. I hated him, but I hated myself even more as I felt an orgasm approaching.

"Isn't this going to make a lovely family film? Husband watching his wife take Daddy's fingers in her natural cunt one last time before it gets tightened tomorrow ..."

Suddenly I was spasming around the fingers curled into me. Inbetween my sobs, a little groan of completion escaped my mouth.

"That's it you little whore. Come for Daddy. Good girl."

Mr. Croker held his fingers still in me while my spasming subsided and my sobbing became a little louder. Oh God, I'd just let this bastard make me come. I had totally humiliated myself and it was all on camera.

He pulled his hand out of me and held it to my mouth. "Clean them:" He pushed them into my mouth, forcing me to taste myself. I tasted of the ocean. I noticed he was now holding the camera and filming this act of debasement. Using his other hand he pulled the cigar casing from my bottom and held it to my mouth. "Now clean this. Use your tongue."

"Please. I cant..."

"Daddy doesn't like the words 'can't' and 'no'. Do as you are told Anne-Marie."

Utterly disgusted, I tentatively pushed out my tongue as Mr. Croker rolled the tube across it. I tasted bitter and I couldn't help but gag as he pushed it into my mouth.

"Clean it all. There's a good girl. Let your husband see how well you can use that tongue. Good, now keep your tongue out so it forms a nice warm, wet runway."

Mr. Croker put down the cigar and unzipped his trousers. Slowly he pulled out his erect penis. It was clear what he expected of me.

"Daddy made his whore come and now it's time to return the favour. You are being filmed so I expect a better performance than you first blowjob for me. Put some effort into it or I'll not only think you ungrateful, but unskilled. If I think you need training up, you really won't enjoy it. Remember, after tomorrow your cunt might be off limits for a while, but your mouth and arse can be used. Heavily used."

One hand holding the back of my head, the other holding a camera, he gazed down as I licked the underside of his cock, kissed his head and then his shaft. I tried to push through my revulsion at what I was doing, worried about the threatened training. I tried to pretend that this was a lover's cock, not one belonging to a blackmailing abuser. I licked, kissed and yes, I sucked. I did as he wanted and pushed out my tongue as a warm, wet runaway for his cock to push along into my mouth and towards my throat. I pulled my lips over my teeth and sucked him. I clearly did something right as he began to hold my head more firmly and thrust into my mouth. I was no longer giving him oral sex, he was in control and he was face-fucking me. When he began to grunt like a pig, when the hot, salty jets of his sperm flooded my mouth, I felt only relief and shame.

I didn't protest when he ordered me to clean his penis as it slowly became flaccid. I didn't protest when he zipped himself up and told me to myself clean up before the nurses found out what a dirty whore I was. By the time he told me he'd send the pictures and film to not only my husband, but Dr. Khan, I couldn't even sob anymore. I was truly broken.