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Xiao Liu


Slut had a hard time breathing as the train pulled into Chicago's Union Station. The new Sir would be there, but which Sir would he be? She'd served him a few times. Sometimes he was the caring Sir, would dig into her soul to understand her problems, and solve them one after another. Then usually at some point he would become the sadistic Sir. A dark anger would course through his eyes, and he would torture her, whether she deserved it or not.

She stepped off the train with her small bag, wearing the humiliating outfit he'd ordered: three-inch heels, fishnet stockings, black miniskirt flaring out, lacy red and black blouse that showed nearly every inch of her blue Victoria's Secret bra and the swell of her breasts beneath. Hair wild and free, sometimes covering the earrings which made her blush in the public glare of the train: dangling the word "slut" in large gold letters from each ear.

She saw him standing in center of the large hall, as arranged, in his black Armani suit and fedora, leaning slightly on a large umbrella. She thought she saw a warm smile wash over his face when he saw her, but if so, it was instantly gone. He stared at her somberly as she walked up to him.

"Hello, sir. I'm sorry I missed the earlier train, sir. I tried, I really tried to catch it, but..." his hand rose to cut her off, and she caught her breath. He turned and strode toward the exit, and she rushed to follow, heels clattering on marble floor. Uh oh.

Rain was pouring down in torrents. Sir was holding the umbrella open, gesturing her under it. He took her elbow, rather sharply, and guided her into a black limousine. She sat nervously on the large leather seat, him beside her. He stared at her legs. He stared at her breasts, briefly, and then at her lips, and her eyes. His right hand rested on her thigh, absent mindedly stroking it, and his gaze drifted outside the car. He kept looking outside, not saying anything, but pulled a little on her leg. She spread her legs apart, then wider as he pulled again. But he just kept his hand there, on her thigh. Minutes passed.

The limousine pulled up to a nondescript building. Sir stepped out with the umbrella and waited for her. He carried that day bag. She remembered what he'd had in it last time and shuddered. A few steps brought them to a locked door and a buzzer, which Sir pressed. No words, just a click and they were in, walking up the rickety wooden staircase, his hand sharp on her elbow again, but welcome given her heels. Two flights up, another locked door. They were let in. Slut sighed in relief; there were a hundred people there, a crowded club. Most looked very friendly, smiling, happy, drinking sodas and eating snacks by a fireplace, on couches. Some of them wore leather, some girls looked like anime characters, one thin man walked around completely naked, one girl led another around by a leash, but laughter was everywhere. Slut felt comfortable, but Sir still had his hand on her elbow, and led her into a large room to the right. She looked around. The room was full of strange equipment, like a modern fitness center transformed into a medieval torture chamber. She couldn't tell what half the machines were for. Some had padded leather benches, some were made entirely of metal. There was a cage on the floor barely big enough for a person.

She didn't get much chance to look around. Sir pulled her around a corner to a huge wooden frame studded with metal hooks. He stood her facing him, stepped back, and suddenly slapped her in the face with brutal strength, enough that she fell to the floor. Quickly she stood up in the same position. "Thank you Sir, this slut is sorry, Sir. Do anything you want to this slut, Sir."

In answer he reached to her neck with both hands, took her beautiful blouse, and tore it in half with a wrenching pull that brought her to her knees. Without regard for her stumbling, he pulled the remnants of the blouse off her body and threw them aside. She stood up again, and he tore off her bra in the same way. "Take off the rest of your clothes, then put the shoes back on. Quickly." She rushed to obey, throwing the skirt to the side, pulling off the heels, rolling down the tights in a panicked rush, then her thong, and finally sitting on the floor to put the heels back on. It was only a few seconds before she stood in front of him again, breathing hard. He slapped her face again, backhanded this time, the other direction, and she managed to stay standing. She stood up tall, thrust her breasts out, and kept her eyes down.

"Slut, you were two hours late by missing your train. In the past month, three times you failed to answer my emails within 12 hours. Even when you answered, you neglected to fully and honestly answer my questions... all three times. Are you a stupid, incompetent, worthless piece of shit, or are you trying to serve two masters while failing both of them?" He reached out to grasp her left breast with his right hand, holding it gently, but with the clear threat of pain, waiting for her answer.

She glanced up at his eyes. He didn't seem terribly angry, just curious. What to say? "I'm sorry Sir..." She breathed, waited a few seconds.

He reached forward with his other hand to her other breast. With both hands, he suddenly dug his nails in, and twisted with full strength. She moaned. He shouted: "You ungrateful stupid cunt! I asked you a fucking question! I want an answer, not an apology! Oh my god, I am going to hurt you so badly tonight. I am going to torture you until you scream for mercy, and then I'm going to keep going until my anger is quenched by your pain and your bodily fluids streaming out of you. But first you're going to answer my fucking question!" He gave both breasts another severe twist, the slapped one hard with an open hand. She staggered.

"I'm sorry Sir! I'm sorry! I don't know, I tried to answer you, Sir! But I have classes, and homework. And my master checks my computer and my phone, Sir. Maybe he deletes your messages. He beat me one time when he found out I was messaging you, Sir. You're right, Sir, I'm stupid and incompetent, and I'm failing to serve both of you. But I love him, Sir, and I want to serve you as your sub, whenever I can, Sir."

"Not good enough, slut. You're a worthless piece of fuckmeat, but I don't accept your answer. I know your history. I know the strength you have, and the intellectual resources. You are being unacceptably lazy. You love your master not because he is worthy of your service, but because he has controlled you for years. You serve me because you need more than he gives, and you need me, but you're too scared and lazy to leave him. Nod for me, little bitch."

She froze. She didn't move. She knew he would strike, but she couldn't move. His fist lashed out and smashed her cheek; she staggered back and fell to the ground. Crying, she got up as fast as she could and stood in front of him. With a deep breath, she stood up tall and pushed her breasts forward again.

"You are failing the chastity your master demands of you. You are failing the honesty and responsiveness and intelligence and progress I demand of you. I could treat you well, but you squander my good will... and yet you dare come to see me, put yourself in my power. Are you suicidal, little cunt? Do you realize the hell I'm going to put you through in response to this half-hearted service you offer me?

"I desire you, cunt. If you were smart... no, you are smart, I know you are... if you applied your intelligence and the pitiful bit of wisdom you've acquired in your brief life, you would beg for a collar from me, instead of occasional torture. This way, you get my anger as much as my care."

She stared at his feet. Flinched at his movements. Said nothing.

"Alright, fuck toy. That's what you get, then. Stand there. Don't move."

A few people were milling around. A lesbian in the far corner was gently flogging her partner on a St Andrew's Cross. A grey-haired man was spanking two hot young black girls on benches across the room. Some spectators were staring at her, as she stood naked, looking down at the floor, her cheek throbbing in pain. Sir was out of sight around the corner.

She waited what seemed a long time, then he came back, wearing a black leather vest, harsh jeans, and black shoes, carrying that bag. He pulled out a pile of gold-colored ropes, and reached for her left arm. She offered it up. With a few deft movements, he wrapped her left wrist in a large snug knot. A minute later, her other wrist was tied with a similar rope. Then her left ankle, then her right ankle. Not looking at her, he took the rope from her left wrist and threw it over the wooden frame, pulling it taut, wrapping it round some hooks and tying it off. She staggered under the frame, her arm stretched uncomfortably high, teetering on her heels.

He threw the rope from her other arm over the far end of the frame, and started pulling it. She yelped as her feet left the floor and her arms were pulled widely apart. It hurt her shoulders, and even with the multiple wraps around her wrists of the soft rope, already it was cutting into her circulation. He scarcely seemed to notice. The onlookers were smiling and nodding. Would they help her if she called out? Would they know if she called their safeword? Suddenly Sir walked up and shoved something in her mouth. A large black rubber ball, with a leather strap he tied brutally tight around her head. She couldn't speak at all. No safeword even possible. He knelt to pick up the rope attached to her left leg and tied it off to the wooden frame at the side, uncomfortably wide. She groaned, and saliva began to drip from the sides of the ball gag. Sir pulled her other leg to the other side. Now it really hurt. Spread-eagled in the air, all four limbs secured in painful stretches. Sir disappeared again. Where was he? How long was he going to leave her like this? Her eyes darted around, couldn't find him. A party of boys and girls her age gawked, laughing and pointing. But they seemed to stay about fifteen feet away... maybe some club rule?

Sir came back. Uh oh. He was carrying the whip. Not even an easy flogger to start. Straight to that fucking blue whip with that nasty slash of white at the end. Oh fuck. He twirled it around a bit, like he was practicing. He snapped it in the air and the crack made some of the audience startle. Slut knew he wouldn't hit her with the full force like that, though. Would he? No, of course not. Sir was nice, deep down, and really liked her. She knew that.

He stepped up to her, held the whip in front of her face to kiss. She reached forward, but he pulled it back a few inches. "Kiss it, slut, or it gets worse for you." She strained forward, swinging in the ropes, trying so hard to reach it. She puckered her lips forward, gasping through the gag, trying so hard to reach it.

"Please, Sir, I'm trying!" Of course, what came out was "Peeesh, shi... Mmmm eyeing!!"

"Stupid piece of meat, you'll suffer for that." He stepped back and swirled it, looking up and down her body, seeming to consider where to strike, and how hard. He stepped further back and started a series of figure eights, a foot from her torso. They were awfully fast. He'd never hit her with that fast a stroke before. Her stomach clenched involuntarily as he inched closer. Her breathing was ragged. She couldn't take her eyes off the whip. Suddenly it seared across her stomach and she screamed. He stepped back and smiled. He paused, then lashed out almost exactly in the same spot, laying the whip hard across her stomach. Her breathing became so hard, blocked by tears and snot filling her nose and saliva welling up from her lips, forced open by the ball. He started lashing all over the front of her body, little high speed strikes, moving down to the sensitive fronts of her feet exposed by her open shoes, moving up her shins, suddenly moving up to her dangling breasts. He focused on her breasts for a while. A long while. Over and over. She tried screaming but she ran out of breath, though her body convulsed and her throat tried to scream again, her mouth couldn't. Then he began whipping her harder. He paused now and then, let her regain some breath, made it appear it was over... before he cracked the whip in the air and laid into her again.

"Cunt, listen to me." He stepped up, on a stool he'd grabbed so he could stand above her face. She looked up at him, fearful. This was already far more pain than she had ever endured, and he wasn't paying any attention, and didn't seem anywhere near finishing. Oh god, would she be scarred for life? What would her master say when he saw the marks? He'd be so furious. "Cunt!" She had drifted into space, jerked back to his eyes by the angry shout. He spit in her face. She gazed at him. He spit again. "Slut, I'm going to whip your cunt now. I want you to nod three times. This is your way of begging me to whip you there. I don't intend to hold back as I usually do. I want to see if I can get an ultrasonic whip crack right on your lips. Actually, I want to hear you scream, so I'll release the gag now." Slut's stomach was heaving, her mouth hung slack as the ball was removed. She looked down at the floor, defeated, looked up into Sir's unwavering stare, tried to summon the courage, failed, didn't know what to do.

"Cunt, nod three times or we're done. You can go back to your master and all he does for you. I'm sick of your lack of response. You say 'sorry, Sir' and 'thank-you, Sir' but it's a sham. You're a lazy sack of fuck meat who can't even make the right decisions or show genuine appreciation."

"Aiiiieeee!" She couldn't verbalize. Jerking, she could only move her head, spasmodically, hardly in control. Three times, up and down. Then she held her breath in agony. She knew she could not take this. It was way beyond her pitiful pain tolerance. What was she doing?

Sir stood a few paces away, the whip swaying sickeningly in his hand. He studied her pussy, visually measuring the distance, taking a few practice swings, cracking the whip inches from her hip. Then he struck. The body of the whip curved underhand, unfurling like a snake. The tip dragged behind at close to the speed of sound. Then the curve turned up as it approached her thighs. The tip was dragged in a loop and crossed the sound barrier, three inches from her clitoris. It cracked loudly as it swung by, striking her widened pussy full on. It felt like a hot iron had been pressed to her lips. Sir just stood and got ready to strike again. Slut started screaming, her throat already hoarse. Some of the audience turned away in fear, but more stared with intense fascination. The crowd had grown. Was the whole club watching her being tortured? There were so many, but she was too wracked with pain to count. Sir struck again, and again, all over her cunt. She felt her skin shredding, felt a burning flow. Was it blood? She didn't know, her brain was going away, overloaded with pain. He stopped. She sagged in the ropes, her hands cold and numb, her pussy on fire, her torso drenched with sweat and tears and spit and snot. She cried and cried.

Then Sir was untying her feet, the ropes were gone. He untied one of her arms, and she slumped with one hand in the air. He untied that and she fell to his feet. His shoes. Her face was by his shoes. She reached forward, kissed his shoes, reached her arms around his leg, and snuggled up to it. He knelt down and whispered in her ear. He whispered for a long time.

Shocked, she looked up at his face but saw no reprieve. Fresh tears fell from her eyes. He spit in her face again, and she whispered "thank you, Sir." She kissed both his shoes, and summoned her courage. She turned on her hands and knees, and started crawling toward the crowd. Still on her hands and knees, she looked at their feet, and spoke as loudly as she could...

"Thank you, all of you, for watching my humiliation and punishment. I have been a miserable slave and sub. I am a worthless piece of fuck meat. I am a fuck toy, nothing more. Sir has decided to offer me to all of you. Please use me. Please, everyone fuck me. Everyone. If any of you don't fuck me, Sir is going to whip me again. I am a stupid cunt. Please use me."

She tentatively inched forward to the nearest pair of shoes, leaned down and kissed them, then looked up hopefully. It was a young man, reasonably good looking, about her age. He looked down in wonder, unsure. "Please..." she whispered, and turned around, lifting her ass in the air, shifting it a little back and forth, hoping he would take her. She sighed in relief and fear, when she felt him kneel down behind her and heard his zipper. It seemed a split second later that he pushed clumsily into her cunt. She stifled a scream, as it felt like he was ripping her apart. She didn't want him to stop. He pumped, grasping her hips. He lasted only a few seconds. The boy's friends didn't need any hints; they grasped her by all four limbs and dragged her a few feet to a wide leather-covered table.

In seconds the room became an orgy. The two lesbians came over and started sucking her nipples, one on each. The grey-haired man had his two lovers take turns sitting on her face, pushing their dripping hairy cunts into her mouth, before the grey-haired man himself thrust his member into her upturned face. It took him a full five minutes to come down her throat, five full minutes of piston throat-fucking, slut not getting enough breath, struggling. Meanwhile she lost track of how many people used her pussy, one after another. Most of them gave her playful slaps on her belly and legs as well.

The worst was her mind. She tried to recoil, to pass out, but she couldn't. Instead, she focused on the sensations. The lips sucking on her breasts. The cock driving down her throat. The cocks and hands and tongues in and out of her cunt, over and over and over. And she juiced. She couldn't help it. Her pussy was leaking sexual fluids as wells as blood and semen and spit. She bucked her hips and met the invaders. But they kept coming, one hoarse orgasm after another, dumping semen into her. Where was Sir? She looked frantically around, couldn't see him. Had he left? Was she alone here now, getting gang banged, naked and with her clothes in a torn heap? How would she get home? Then her mind went back to the hand slapping her pussy, demanding a response, and she gave it, moaning "thank you sirs, thank you, please fuck me."

Her pussy didn't go numb, but her senses were flooded, she could only scream so much. She was lost in sub space, almost sightless as she absorbed another cock. At some point they flipped her over and started using her ass. The first one tore something and she managed another scream, but that was choked off by someone pushing another cock into her mouth. She tried to lick it, tried so hard to give, but she was exhausted, and he was impatient; he grabbed her by the ears, spit in her face for good measure, and started face-fucking her violently, shaking her head back and forth on his cock rather than thrusting his hips. By the time he came, backing off to cover her face with it, her neck felt broken.

Then they were gone. A pretty white lady in Japanese school girl clothes was sponging her body, like a cool massage, with a damp cloth. She had a lot of cloths and water and patience. Slut sagged onto the table, dozing, hurting all over, and focused on the pretty lady's hands, touching her gently. She even washed slut's face, dabbing softly the bruise on her cheek. Slut started crying again, sobbing quietly.

The pretty lady was gone, and suddenly Sir was there beside her, cupping her head in his palm, gazing quietly into her eyes. He reached down slowly and kissed her on the mouth, lingering, soft. His eyes didn't leave hers. He was staring intently, with concern, analyzing her. She swallowed. Took a breath. "Thank you for punishing me, Sir. Your slut is in pain, Sir, but... please do whatever you want to, Sir."

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