Melody's Open Invite Gangbang Ch. 13

"Of course I have to whet their appetites. These videos were streamed live to them, and a great amount of attention and excitement was paid to them. I know they've been duplicated and reuploaded in other places, which is inevitable. It is part of your canon now. The three videos have already been viewed a collective 600,000 times, and that will only grow in time. I let the forum users vote on your appearance at each party. They like to have some input, and I see nothing wrong with that.

"I didn't give you the drug every single time, because I didn't want you to catch on too quickly. I wanted you to eventually, but not right off the bat. We had to allow enough time to pass."

She looked at him strangely, through the tears. "Enough time for what?"

He smiled sympathetically at her. "Enough time to collect all this."

He switched to another window. It took her several seconds to realize what she was looking at. A page of different thumbnails, each labeled differently. At the top was "Live," and then another link said "Archive".

"The complete chronicle of your life in private. Or what you thought was private. A sort of final frontier with you, which I hope you will recognize was important to cross."

She felt her heart rate soar, and felt her face flush with heat as she looked at the various thumbnails and the implications set in with a growing sense of dread. They were labeled things like "Bedroom," "Sauna," "Bathroom Wide," "Facing Toilet," and, most disturbing of all, "Toilet Interior." They were on the Live page so at the moment every angle was empty, but the "Archive" link told her everything she needed to know.

"You were spying on me," she said, her voice a whisper.

"Spying is not the word I would use. I warned you to expect no privacy here. Now you see why."

He clicked to the Archive page. Within there was a separate page for every individual day, going back for every day she had been here, for weeks. There were cameras hidden in every corner of her suite, covering multiple angles of every room. They had such good shots, in full lighting and color, HD resolution, she had no idea how she could have missed them. But she'd never had any idea. They were in her bedroom, her workout room, the sauna. Four were in the bathroom alone: one covering the whole room in a wide shot, one hidden inside the mirror, one directly facing the toilet, and one somehow embedded in the toilet bowl itself, pointing straight up, missing nothing and as well lit as the others. You could click to switch between them at will, or show multiple at once. She started to feel sick in her stomach as she realized the full implication.

He clicked on yesterday's archive. The program was set to only save recordings when there was movement on screen, so people browsing through didn't have to skip through hours of empty footage. It was all action. She saw herself washing her face, topless, staring right into the camera/mirror, completely oblivious. She cringed as she saw herself softly and badly singing a tune to herself, thinking herself alone, not being watched by thousands of perverts online. Of course the cameras captured sound as well.

Then the moment she dreaded came. She had hoped he would have censored it, but of course he didn't. She pulled down her panties, the only thing she was wearing, and sat on the toilet. The straight-ahead toilet camera saw her come into view and sit, her panties around her bare ankles, directly facing the camera and not seeing it at all. She flexed her toes on the cold tile as she prepared to relieve herself. The camera was less than three feet away from her, capturing her whole form.

Simultaneously she had seen her ass and pussy float above the toilet bowl from the inner cam, some subtle lighting mechanism activating as her undercarriage filled the porcelain hole, leaving nothing to the imagination, just thighs and asscheeks and asshole and labia framed like some obscene artwork, lit in natural color. After a few seconds her stream of piss came down and splashed in the bowl. When she was done you could see tiny goosebumps freckling her flesh, all over her thighs and ass, tiny water droplets here and there where it had splashed back up. The tiny, nearly invisible hairs covering her skin - more detail than you'd even notice if you were looking at it in real life. The detail was unbelievable. Back on the front camera, she saw her eyes close and her features contort in a slight grunt as the inner camera showed her asshole bulge out slightly, and then release a full bowel movement splashing with a heinous splatter into the toilet.

She couldn't look at the screen. She felt light in the head, and then she felt herself falling into blackness. When she came to, Bruce was holding her head off the floor, peering compassionately down at her.

"You passed out," he said.

Her head was reeling. She went to the computer and clicked through the different days of the archive, already knowing what she would find. Every moment she'd been in those quarters where she'd lived for the past several weeks was recorded. Every time she used the toilet, showing in perfect clarity her bowels or bladder emptying itself, showing as she wiped, showing every detail of her most private moments, her private routines. She couldn't look at it any more. She felt sick. It was the final level of degradation she had never before been subjected to. Not like this. The most egregious violation of privacy, things no one should have ever seen - not a theoretical husband, probably not a doctor - no one, committed to permanent widespread dissemination and documentation on the internet. She couldn't bear to even see the footage, what anyone in the world could look at if they wanted to.

"It's a bit much, I know," Bruce said. "Even for your fans, not all of it will be everyone's cup of tea. But it's important to have. To be thorough. This is an important part of your training toward total submission, and thus of total peace. This will be the most difficult part."

She was sitting on the ground now with her legs bent under her and her feet splayed to either side, the course of her recent life flashing through her mind, how sudden the change was, how unlikely, how completely divorced from how she had imagined her life would go, from the trajectory it had been on. Unable to help it, she began to sob in ugly gasps.

Bruce took her into his arms, and she didn't even try to resist it. She knew she should be furious with him, and was, but his authoritative confidence and warmth was too much. It just felt good to be held by someone. Maybe he was right anyway. Maybe this is what it would take. All she deserved now.

He stroked her hair. "I know it's hard, and I'm sorry it has to be this way. But I know what I'm doing. You have to be broken before you can be remade. Remember I'm doing this to help you, Melody. It will be painful at times. Your life, as you previously knew it, was already ruined. I am simply working within the confines of the situation as they already exist, trying to salvage true ownership of your lot in life for you. This was the first, necessary step. You had to realize that normal privacy, normal agency of your sexuality is gone. You have to learn to embrace and flourish in humiliation, in submission. You must learn to forget the concept of privacy."

She let him hold her, hating herself for it, and broke down.

"Let it all out," he said. "It's ok."

"Are we being filmed now?" she asked.

"No. There are no cameras anywhere else in the house but in your quarters. I promise."

She clutched him, the sobs wracking her. She felt his hand suddenly travel under the bottom of her robe, and his fingers brushed her labia. To her humiliation and resentment she was soaked.

"You see?" he said, holding the dripping fingers up in front of her. "This is what is good for you. You can't help it. Your resistance is where the pain comes from. Lean into it. Accept the fact that nothing turns you on more than being forced into a life of exposure and humiliation, of being the ultimate publicly owned, bottom bitch in the world. If you'll pardon me saying so. You can't go any lower.

"Abandon the concept of dignity. Is it not just bound to defeat you over and over again? Whatever the true story is. However you got into this. The reluctant closet exhibitionist who had her most private, shameful desire forced on her, shown to the world, and taking with it any hopes for her to ever have a normal life. It's over. It is written in stone. You would have never done this to yourself on your own, or even wanted to, really. Only in your fantasies. But now you're here. And the fact that this reality is so horrifying to you is exactly why it is so darkly and perversely pleasure, is it not? Your pushback is what perpetuates the cycle. The more humiliated you are, the more turned on you are. But that is mental. That feedback loop is something we will not be able to do anything about. But why should we?

"Pleasure is not a crime, not in itself. It's a very interesting predicament your brain chemistry has put you in. But what we can do is train your response. Learn to relish it. No more of these tears. Since you are already trapped in it, I will help to make these most deep-seated desires come true. In a safe, fulfilling way. But you must learn to trust me. Learn to surrender. You will think, many times, that what I am putting you through is not what you want. Not on the surface. But it will be what you need. It is the only way women like you can ever find true satisfaction in life. I have seen it many times, although of course you are the most extreme case. You are meant to be used by and serve others. In a way I think you should be thankful to whoever trapped you in this, though I know you'll resent to hear me say it. It's your true calling. To be a sort of freely-given pleasure-girl to the world. A blank slate for anyone to enact their fantasies on. There should be more like you, serving this role. It is honorable, in a way.

"While you are with me, I will subject you to total immersion in sexual submission and humiliation and exposure. We should be clear about that. You will be pushed beyond the furthest extremes of humiliation and exhibition and sexual subservience you can imagine. But that awaits you whether you stay here or not. Only in the outside world, it will be far less controlled. Far less directed. And it will be far more dangerous."

Melody quaked in his arms. She was soaked, somewhat indignant, and above all else confused. Hearing him dismantle her psychology like that, lay out her reality so bluntly and accurately, was both mortifying and strangely comforting. As much as some small part of her felt she should defend herself, and would have in a past life, the overwhelming urge now was just to collapse into this man, into his authority. It would be so easy, so relieving to just let someone take firm, confident direction of what remained of her destroyed life. She didn't want to have to try to make her own choices anymore, or fight this. He was right. What else could she do? She should just give up. Be property. Forfeit all claim to agency or responsibility in this doomed fate.

She heard herself take a pathetic, shuddering gasp, and then spill herself to him.

She told him, again, that she had been set up to begin with, that while she had private fantasies about exposure, she couldn't help them, and would have never chose to make it come true. She knew she'd already told him this, but she heard herself reiterating it. She heard herself apologizing to him for breaking down like this, that she thought she'd had the feeling suppressed, how she didn't allow herself to really think about all of it, didn't allow herself to think about those initial feelings since the first day, but now it was all hitting her. She had shut it all away deep in her brain to survive.

He listened, knowing he had the power. He could be gentle and kind as he wished. She felt herself confiding in him because she had no one else, in all this time had had no one else to be vulnerable about this to. She knew he was a warped dominant figure to cling to, but it still felt better than holding it in. For these few years she had really been completely alone, bottling up all the stress and insanity of her life falling apart. He was the closest thing to a partner she was going to get. Someone who knew everything and accepted it, accepted her. It was the only form of emotional support, of real human connection she would find in this world.

She recounted out loud how disgusted and used she had felt after those first 20 dicks, on that first day when her whole life had suddenly collapsed. Her current number was just unimaginable, and she had tried to become numb to it. The fact that her body betrayed her at every turn only made it worse, encouraged everyone to feel justified. When she'd first had these secret fantasies, never revealed even to her boyfriend, of being treated like a cumrag, it was only because it was so shameful, so taboo. She had always secretly looked down on slutty girls all her life. She didn't harshly judge them in a religious way, but thought they were tacky or flawed in some way. And now she was famously the lowest slut of all. What would the younger version of herself say if she could see the way her life would turn out? She would hate herself, wonder what the hell went wrong. There was no conceivable way to get from there to here. And yet it had happened. She would have never imagined it was possible to be 27 and living as the sex slave of some man, shared with the world, her dignity removed in every way possible.

When she finally stopped blabbering she was humiliated that she had revealed all she did to him. Humiliated in her own openness. But he just stroked her hair and held her.

"It's alright now," he said, his voice firm and reassuring. "But what has happened has happened. You will overcome this, with my help. Things will be different now, going forward. There will be new rules, new arrangements in this house. The curtain has been pulled back, and that is for the best. Just remember it is necessary to help you. But for today, go rest."

Eventually she went back downstairs. She sat on her couch, acutely aware now that she was being recorded, as she could expect to be at all hours. She drank a few screwdrivers that Bruce had sent down to her, staring numbly ahead. She absently glanced around the room, trying to locate the cameras, but found no trace of them. What difference did it make? She couldn't escape this. At least here there were four walls around her.

At some point she passed out. 1,200 viewers saw her do so live. They could see where her pussy soaked straight through her panties as she dreamed.

(To be continued)