Six months ago, Sally was the highly successful CFO of a company with very dubious connections and revenue sources. But she spoiled it by stealing money from them, on top of her very generous salary and allowances. When they found out, they tortured her until she confessed. Then they punished her brutally and at great length. Unlike all other cases like hers, they didn't torture her to a hideous death. She was more valuable alive, as their CFO. But her new life was very, very different.
Walking into her office, you see the perfect super-competent female senior executive. She is sitting behind her huge, fashionable desk, her long beautifully coiffed blonde hair flowing down to her shoulders. The desk is empty except for four giant monitors, a keyboard, a phone and a couple of folders. The office is huge too, with a light coloured hardwood floor and a panoramic view out over the city and its river. There is little else in the office - a chair for visitors, two armchairs and a low table and, oddly, a medical couch in one corner, all in soft black leather. A narrow window beside the door looks out onto the lesser minions working in the open-plan space outside. Much of the wall opposite her desk is taken up by several large screens. For now they show all sorts of graphs, tickers and other things from the financial world. Passing by, if the door is open as it usually is, you see her studying the screens intently, typing a little, studying some more, on the phone negotiating complex international transfers of millions of dollars.
Now you sit down on the visitor chair. She talks to you with confidence and authority. She knows everything about the company's complex finances, its web of offshore holding companies and bank accounts. Since her life change she knows more than ever about the shady world of drugs, prostitution, trafficking, extortion, money-lending, and much else, which generates all the money she handles. Her own feelings about these enterprises are completely irrelevant. They have told her in complete safety because if she ever breathed a word of it to anyone, her life would end abruptly, though not quickly, and hideously. The phone rings discreetly, a call from a bank in the Virgin Islands, confirming a $30M deal. She haggles over the details, reducing their margin by a tenth of a percent - still a lot of money. Then she returns to her conversation with you. "Please," she says, "call me FT - everybody does".
There are a few things that make you wonder. She has a thick ring through her nose, much heavier than the typical decorative septum ring. She has thick bee-sting lips like some silicone-filled bimbo, though otherwise her face is very thin, almost haggard. Around her neck is a sort of collar, well over an inch wide and made of thick, heavy stainless steel. There is something engraved into it, though you don't like to stare. And speaking of bimbos, she has monstrous tits, obviously unnatural, stretching her thin white shirt, the buttons straining in the buttonholes. Without even staring you can see that she has heavy rings in her nipples, too. Still, people do all sorts of strange things to their bodies these days. There's a very strong smell of the cheapest of cheap perfumes - surely that can't be hers, surely she would be wearing something from Chanel or something. As you sniff, you realise that the perfume is covering some other, earthier, animal smell, though the perfume is so sickeningly strong you can't really make it out.
Your conversation over, you say polite farewells and stand up to leave. She stands too, walking round her desk to accompany you to the door. Now you have a bigger surprise. Today she is wearing a short black rubber skirt, barely long enough to cover her crotch. Her legs look bare, but they are mostly covered by thigh length black patent boots with enormous stiletto heels. Standing there, with her monster tits and her bee-sting lips, she looks much more like a street whore or a porn star than a senior executive. She strides across the office to the door, blocking your way, surprisingly poised in her heels and boots.
"Before you leave, would you like a blowjob? Or maybe to fuck me?"
You can't believe your ears. This accomplished professional woman, known and feared through the industry for her mastery of complex finances, is asking you to fuck her ? In the office, with no preamble. But well, you got a huge erection when you saw her standing there. It would be a shame to waste it. You hardly dare accept, but very quietly, in case somehow you have misunderstood, you say,
"Yes please, that would be very nice. I'd love to."
Without a pause she bends over her elegant, expensive desk, spreading her legs and raising her tiny skirt. She is wearing nothing underneath. Her bottom is covered in bruises and fresh weals from a recent beating. There are four huge rings in her pussy, and some smaller ones too though you can't really see the details. You thrust your cock deep into her, thrusting hard. Her hand strays to her clit, and just as you pump her full of your juices, she comes too. You've barely withdrawn from her when she swivels round, kneels, awkwardly in the stiff boots, and takes your half-erect cock in her mouth, greedily sucking it clean. She persists, but you can't quite get another erection so quickly. She stands and says,
"I have to ask all my visitors that. It's in my job description. Not all of them accept as readily as you did - thank you, my bosses will be pleased. FT - my name - it's short for Fuck Toy, look."
In her job description ? What kind of a job description is that? CFO and part-time whore? She shows you the engraving on her collar, which indeed says Fuck Toy in large, clear letters.
You leave in a daze, wondering whether that really happened.
You no doubt imagine that, despite her oddities, she lives in a penthouse flat with fabulous views, she drives a luxury car, spends weekends on exotic islands in the Indian Ocean, is constantly jetting off in first class to high-level meetings in New York, Tokyo, Frankfurt. And six months ago, you'd have been absolutely right. Today's reality is rather different.
Let's suppose your meeting had been mid morning yesterday, instead of today. Let's look closer at those 24 hours.
Your meeting would have been very similar, except for details. Her hair was shorter, dark and slightly curly. Your surprises would have started sooner, if you'd realised that her top was bright red rubber, stretched impossibly tight over her monster tits, the outline of her nipple rings showing very clearly. When she stood up you'd have seen she was wearing black leather hot pants, so short that nearly half her bottom was exposed, the erotic curve of her flesh exposed. A heavy and very conspicuous brass zip runs right round the crotch, from waistband to waistband. And it's open, her pussy rings dangling through the gap. Very fine red strappy sandals with impossible heels complete the outfit.
This time when she asks you to fuck her, she takes off her hot pants and lays on the couch, her legs wide apart. You see not only the rings, but the heavy block letters tattooed just above her pussy that say Fuck Toy, and an odd looking letter X just above that looks as though it is somehow etched into her flesh. She tips herself upwards and says, "Please, fuck my ass."
You've always enjoyed that although it's not to everyone's taste, the different feeling of a tight sphincter grabbing the shaft of your cock. To your surprise you slip into her easily, needing no lubrication, not even a handful of saliva. Partly it's because she as already been fucked there today, the slippery cum still oozing out of her. And partly it's because she has been permanently stretched so wide open that her sphincter hardly closes any more.
Soon it's lunch time. Until then she works at her desk, taking calls, negotiating huge complicated transactions. He leather pants remain on the floor where she dropped them. Your cum oozes out of her to make a nice puddle under her cunt. Her chair looks like any other super-high-end executive black leather chair, but not the part you can't see. The seat is a hard piece of wood with several nails driven through it, their points digging into her tender flesh. In the middle is a huge dildo. Sitting down is a delicate affair, positioning herself and then pushing it into her constantly irritated cunt. If only the people on the other end of her phone calls knew. A few do, but most don't.
She works through the lunch break, eating nothing as the people outside come and go, returning in groups, chattering amongst themselves as they savour the last mouthful of the excellent lunches served in the cafeteria. Two young women, 20 at most, come into her office, unannounced and without knocking. They're giggling, looking at each other in an "I dare you" way. They strut up to the desk. She looks at them. Then one unzips her jeans, puts her hand inside and fiddles around awkwardly, finally produces a tampon. It's soaked in dark blood, the first one of her period. She hands it over, receiving a courteous "thank you". FT puts it into her mouth and starts sucking. Her face screws up in disgust at the vileness of it, in truth she has the utmost difficulty in not retching or puking. But she says nothing, just sits there sucking on the tampon as she resumes her work.
The second girl looks on in a mixture of amazement and disgust.
"See, I told you. You can bring anything, used tampons, used toilet paper covered in shit, used condoms full of cum. She eats it, she has to. Even shit. One girl was pregnant, every morning she'd throw up, used to bring it in a bowl of puke for this bitch to slurp up. Can you believe it? And now watch this..."
She reaches over the desk and slaps FT hard twice, across each cheek. Her ring draws blood. Again she receives a polite "thank you".
"Now lick her shoes clean, bitch."
She rises from her chair, carefully easing the punishing dildo out of her bruised cunt, and kneels on the floor in front of the shocked girl, pressing her lips to her dirty beige pumps, licking them as though her life depended on it.
"See, you can make her do anything, the more degrading the better. Did you see she's naked below the waist? That's so she can be fucked any time, any where. I've seen guys do it, just bend her over in a corridor and fuck her, it's incredible. Gives me ideas too - imagine that, walking around with your pussy just ready and waiting to take it from anyone, not even a please or a thank you. Hmm, I'm getting all wet..."
They leave the room chatting and giggling, her friend in a state of complete shock. It is her first week at the company. The idea that the CFO, one of the highest executives, can be treated like this is just beyond all belief.
Inevitably some employees think it is "inappropriate" that she dresses like a whore, looks like a porn star, can be fucked and treated like shit. They complain that it is degrading to women. It's certainly extremely degrading to her, that's the idea. They complain to their boss or to HR. They are soon set straight, told they are welcome to leave for a more "appropriate" company where the pay and benefits will certainly be less. Or stay and shut up. One or two who did neither ended up having quite unpleasant accidents. Others understood.
FT carries on working for a while, until one of the cafeteria workers brings her lunch - busy executives don't always have time for a lunch break. It's a metal dog bowl, which she sets down in the corner by the couch. She again eases herself off the dildo and crawls over to the bowl. It is filled with a mixture of plate scrapings, all stirred up together, some half-rotten stuff from previous days, mouldy vegetables, sour milk. She presses her mouth to it and starts eating. It's not so much that it's nasty to eat, as the degradation of eating garbage on all fours like a dog, in front of this lowly canteen worker. Even after six months she often has trouble not bursting into tears. Only fear of punishment keeps her eyes dry.
She finishes the bowl of food, licking it clean. The worker stoops and spits in it. She licks that up too. Then the worker squats down, lifts her skirt, pushes her panties to one side, and fills the bowl with piss. She slurps all that up, then stands up and says, again, a very polite "thank you". She slips her tiny leather pants back on before returning to her desk, impaling herself carefully. Her belly is full of piss and food slops, she can still taste the foulness of the sucked tampon, her poor tortured cunt really hurts her, and she is close to tears with the misery and humiliation of it all. Yet she has to concentrate on her work, a difficult and demanding job. She will be punished if she makes any mistake, as much on the professional side as the personal side.
For much of the afternoon she works alone in her office, tormented by the dildo and the spikes sticking into her bruised bottom but at least undisturbed. Towards the end of the afternoon there's an important meeting, in fact that's why you are visiting. You show up early in the impressive boardroom. Everything there says luxury and expense - the huge solid wood table full of little pop-up things for computers, the high-backed leather chairs, the high end coffee machine discreetly in one corner. Other attendees show up and take their places.
Then FT totters in on her crazy heels. She is dressed as you saw her this morning, a red latex top emphasizing her monster tits, the teeny leather hotpants exposing most of her bottom, unzipped around her crotch, the weird rubber stockings, the red fuck-me stiletto sandals. She doesn't sit on one of the chairs though. She goes to a corner and pulls out a very odd looking stool, wheeling it into a gap between the chairs, and sets herself down on it. Later you'll have a chance to look closer. The base is like any office chair, with four castors. There's no back, just a steel X-shape. Along the X are sharp spikes, sharp enough to puncture your skin if you press hard. And sticking up in the centre is a big dildo made of some kind of hard white silicone, covered in hard, pointy bumps. It's even bigger and more painful than the one on the seat in her office. She settles down onto it, forcing the dildo painfully into her bruised cunt, gasping very quietly with pain. At the same time she greets the people in the room, spreads her papers on the table, just like any normal person at a business meeting.
You're sitting almost opposite her. You can see her grimace in pain as the dildo enters her, and as she moves around to organise her papers. You see the man next to her touch her arm and mouth "tits". Instantly she pulls down the rubber top, tugging out her monster tits. They really are gigantic, you have to see them naked and unconstrained to appreciate their size. If you were a plastic surgeon, you'd know that her implants are nearly two litres each, grotesquely enormous even by porn star standards. In her former life she had tiny implants, very discreet, that nobody would even notice except to admire how perfectly shaped her breasts were. The new ones are intended to be a constant and utterly inescapable source of humiliation for her, reminding her that she is one hundred percent sex object, and zero percent human being. The giant rings hanging from her swollen nipples emphasise this even more.
What you can't see is how she feels , about sitting in a business meeting with her tits on display for all to ogle, a painful dildo filling her as she tries to concentrate on the finer points of global finance deals, or about being forced by teenagers to suck used tampons. She hates it. She is constantly on the verge of tears. If someone said a sympathetic word to her, and if she wasn't petrified of meeting the same end as her very-much-former colleagues Gary and Alex, she would collapse, sobbing from her heart, howling in shame and self-pity. But there's little chance of anyone saying a sympathetic word.
The same man drops something on the table in front of her, three shiny metal objects, two big and one smaller. One by one she picks up the big ones and, to your horror, clips them onto her nipples. They're the kind of clip you get on the end of battery jump leads for starting a car, with powerful springs - except these have been sharpened to a row of vicious teeth. Her whole body sags as the pain tears through her body, you can see her suppressing the urge to scream in pain. But worse is to come. She takes the smaller clip, which has a lead fishing weight attached to it. Her hand disappears below the table, and then she really does emit a little whimper of pain, her face contorted in agony. You can't see, but she has clipped it onto her clit, around the thick ring that transpierces it (one of those you couldn't quite figure out when you fucked her). You watch her desperately trying to not to cry out, to scream, to beg for mercy, to throw herself at the feet of her tormenter and plead with him. Yet for those who aren't watching her face closely - everyone else - everything seems normal, just another dull participant in a boring business meeting, albeit one with her monster tits on full display and vicious clips torturing them.
The meeting starts. It proceeds like any business meeting - Powerpoint presentations, discussions, endless off-topic rambles, arguments about irrelevant minutiae. During all of this she behaves professionally, joining in discussions, making her point firmly, not losing an argument she doesn't want to. You are once again impressed by just how thoroughly she understands her subject, how well she has her mind around every single detail. No wonder they decided to keep her instead of torturing her to death (although you don't know that bit).
At one point she stands up to explain something using a complicated drawing. She extracts herself painfully from the dildo, teeters across the to the board, the heavy weight swinging from the vicious clip on her tender clit. There are trickles of blood on her thighs and oozing down her tits from the sharp clips. She must be in agony, yet she remains professional and cool as she makes her point, quelling opposition from several of the men around the table. Then she sits down again. You see her face contort with pain as she pushes the punishment dildo into herself, crushing her tender, bleeding cunt flesh.
You wonder what the other people around the table - not just men, there are two women as well - think of all this? They wouldn't tell you if you asked them, they would almost pretend not to have noticed.
"Yes, she's a bit strange, I'll give you that. But these days, people have the right to do what they want. And she is a fantastic CFO, as you've seen. Live and let live, that's what I say."
Nobody is innocent about the real nature of the business, nor about the people who run it. Everybody knows of someone who disappeared after displeasing the management, or who spent months recovering from an nasty accident. If you really could look inside their heads, you'd see that they all find it very disturbing - who wouldn't? Some are downright horrified, squirming inside with every rape, every assault on her body. Others, those with a sadistic side, find it all very arousing. But it doesn't matter what they think, it's a constant reminder of their own vulnerability. Which is exactly how management wants it. Not only is she an excellent CFO and a very effective fuck toy and plaything, she keeps everyone else on their toes - pour encourager les autres. What could be better? - unless you're her, of course.
The meeting comes to its end, and people start to leave the room. She stands too, pulling the dildo out of herself. It is red now, covered in a thick layer of her bloody juices. Without being told she drops to her knees, slurping it up and cleaning it until it is the same pristine white as when she arrived. She also laps up the puddle of runny shit that has leaked from her barely functional sphincter during the last hour. The man beside her yanks her upright by tugging on her clips, then twists them until they tear from her tender nipples. Now she really does cry out in pain, but he ignores her and pushes her down over the table, thrusting his cock into her. When he is about to come he tears the remaining clip from her clit. She screams, her convulsion squeezing her tight around his cock just as he spurts into her.
He has hardly pulled out of her when one of the women pushes him away and kneels behind her. Expertly she places her lips around the tortured clit, puts her tongue to it, relishing its bloody taste. Now FT can make some noise. Her body squirms, thrusts, soon she cries out, screams, her body shaking with the short-lived pleasure. Then the tongue forces its way into her poor tortured cunt, licking out the man's cum, the blood, the thick mucus from the constant irritation. It feels so good on her poor bruised tender cunt flesh. She squirms and wriggles and moans, but just can't quite come from it. Then suddenly she screams, her whole body arching, her arms and legs suddenly rigid. And then she comes. That's what fingernails dug deep into a bruised, bleeding, painful clit can do to a girl - to this one anyway.
She is exhausted now and would just like to pass out where she is. But there is no question of that. The man yanks her upright, points to you , and says,
"What about our guest here? Don't you think he deserves something? Instead of just taking your own selfish pleasure. Maybe you should get him to shit in your mouth?"
That's not really something you're ready for, but a blowjob would be nice. You walk round to where she has fallen to her knees, trembling and moaning softly. She takes you into her mouth and soon, for the second time today, you empty yourself into her. You find it so hard to resist taking her into your arms, licking her wounds, comforting her, yes even loving her. But you have understood there is no question of that. So in a perverse show of affection and gratitude you twist her nipple rings, round a full turn, and tug on them, watching pain replace pleasure on her face.
By now the room is empty apart from the four of you. The others left, chatting among themselves, studiously ignoring what was happening. You leave too, catching up with some stragglers and joining in their office gossip. Your business there is done, you will probably never see her again.
She has barely returned to her office, her monster tits still exposed, when the cafeteria worker returns, ostensibly to collect the empty dog bowl. She's in her 30s, seriously overweight, with bad skin, lank greasy hair, dirty fingernails and obviously poor personal hygiene. She's wearing the cheap nylon cafeteria uniform and filthy, heavily worn plastic sandals. In other words, there is absolutely nothing attractive about her whatsoever. She knows it and she doesn't care. The name tag on her uniform says she is called Rena. FT finds her physically repulsive, and did long before her change of life. Just seeing her behind the counter in the cafeteria was enough to put her off her lunch, as she told plenty of people. So it was only natural to persuade her - with little difficulty - to become a special tormentress.
She walks in and bends over the couch, spreading her legs.
"Just had a shit, couldn't be bothered to wipe it. Get your shit-licking tongue over here and clean me up, bitch."
She knows she has no choice, though it makes her feel physically nauseous even to go near this woman. She pulls herself off the dildo and crawls across the room. She presses her face to the shit-filled crack, pushes her tongue in, fills her mouth with the intense foulness. After six months she is even beginning to get used to it, but not from Rena. She swallows as fast as she can, trying desperately not to puke nor to burst into tears. She has swallowed most of it and is pushing her tongue into the folds of her anus when suddenly another turd pops out, straight into her mouth.
"Weren't expecting that, were you shit bitch? Now eat it, eat my shit."
She chews and swallows it as fast as she can. Rena changes position, aligns her cunt with FT's mouth. She doesn't need to say what she expects. Her cunt stinks, of stale piss and stale cunt. It's almost worse than the shit. She presses her tongue to Rena's fat clit, and soon her fat body is trembling with pleasure.
"You've got me going now, all shaken up inside."
She squats down over the bowl, still in the corner where FT ate her lunch, and squirts it half full of thick, greasy stinking runny shit. Without being told, FT moves to put her face in it and start to slurp it up, but her head is pushed abruptly away. Rena pushes her foot into it and stirs it around.
"Now you can eat it, shit bitch. Lick it off my shoe and foot. Come on, slurp it all up like the toilet cunt you are."
And she does as she is told. It is not only foul, but degrading beyond belief. She wraps her swollen lips around the filthy plastic shoe and laps and slurps until it is clean, pushing her tongue into the gap between the plastic and Rena's fat, dirty flesh. She is using all her strength not to retch, nor to burst into tears and beg for mercy.
Just once, very early on, she did try to say no to Rena, to refuse to lick up a pile of her shit. She very quickly learned never to try anything like that again. Her punishment was brutal, extreme and apt. Now she understands that even the slightest hesitation, even a momentary pause, or waiting to be told to do something, will be unpleasant beyond belief. As for questioning an order, now matter how degrading, humiliating, painful or disgusting... she still has nightmares about that experience.
After she's sure that FT's tongue has completely cleaned up the filthy, worn sole, Rena slips the shoe off and stirs the filth some more with her foot, giving her a chance to lick between her toes and savour the dirty, calloused skin. And then she has to empty what is left in the bowl. She manages all this without puking, just.
"My day off tomorrow, you'll miss me. But I'll be back soon," says Rena as she leaves, taking the bowl.
It takes her some time to recover from this awful experience, taking deep breaths as she sits with the punishment dildo deep inside her. Her office stinks, despite its especially efficient ventilation, but this doesn't seem to deter the men who come in to make use of her. For them she's a bit like the bowl of candy on the reception desk. They wouldn't go out of their way to buy sweets on the way home, but they take a piece or two of chocolate as they walk past. They wouldn't seek a prostitute, some of them would never dream of such a thing, but how can they resist a quickie when all they have to do is take a step into her office. She spreads her legs, they fuck her, it's over. Some say thank you, or sorry, others slap her about. One leaves her a bowl of piss to drink. One is an older guy, close to retirement. He is almost apologetic as he fucks her, he is so grateful. She feels quite sorry for him.
It's getting late, past the normal working day. But the banks in New York and South America are still open, there's plenty to do. She sits at her desk, cum oozing out of her filled cunt, her belly full of Rena's foul, awful shit, the memory of licking it from her horrid shoes and her filthy feet still very present in her mind. Still, she gets her job done, she's the CFO, there are deals to be structured, banks to reminded of their place in things.
It's well after seven when a female visitor appears. It's Esmé, the VP of HR for the whole group. She's another one of the few who has a good idea of the real activities of the company. She and Sally were good friends, occasional lovers. They'd go to movies and the theatre together, occasional luxury weekends away either with or without men. Esmé is in her 40s, tall and well figured, very elegant. She's black, though her family have been in the country for so many generations that you'd never guess from her voice. Their relationship is rather different now. Esmé is a lesbian, mostly anyway, and also an intelligent, creative sadist. She gets very, very aroused by watching people suffer under her control, women and men alike. So you can easily guess who has come up with most of what is happening to poor Fuck Toy. The very idea of transforming her into a dehumanised sex object with no rights to anything at all was hers, and she is the one who makes sure that is really going on, that people don't get soft over time. It was her idea to involve Rena, knowing that Sally found her viscerally revolting.
She's also responsible for managing the fine balance between FT's constant torment and torture, humiliation and degradation, and actually getting her job done. Anybody can demand absolutely anything of her - be fucked, give a blowjob, eat shit, be beaten, lick their shoes clean, anything at all - but it mustn't take very long and it mustn't interrupt anything important.
She sits on the edge of the desk, legs apart, right in front of where FT is sitting. She bends awkwardly, the dildo reluctant to follow the movement of her body, and presses her face to Esmé's pussy. When she has come, noisily, she hands over a plastic tub. Opening it, FT finds a couple of dozen used, bloody tampons.
"Saved them in the ladies. They're not all for now, you can suck them when you get home. Time for your beating - it sounds as though you've behaved yourself today, I hear you were quite heroic in the customer review, so I'll be gentle."
Of all the revolting things she has to do, she finds used tampons the worst. She has almost got used to shit now, the taste and the texture. But the thought of putting another woman's menstrual blood in her mouth and her belly still makes her feel very ill. She tries hard not to cry, above all in front of Esmé. She carefully selects the bloodiest one and pops it in her mouth, saying "thank you" very politely.
At Esmé's instruction she extracts the dildo from herself with a loud slurp, licks it clean, and crawls across to the bench where she presents herself with her legs wide apart. Esmé's tongue gives her delicious pleasure, as it used to when they were friends. Then a cane strikes her bottom, just under the leather pants, and her thighs, over and over, about thirty times in all. She sobs in pain but manages not to scream. But then she does scream. Esmé has fucked her with a huge dildo on the end of a stick - you can guess whose idea the fucking-stick was, only a woman could think of that. She thrusts it in and out, hard and often, covering the end in thick blood from FT's poor tortured cunt flesh.
With the stick still inside her, FT is required to give an account of everything that has happened today - the enjoyable fuck from an unknown visitor, the two girls at lunchtime, the meeting, Rena's visit, all the fucks and blowjobs that have punctuated the day. Esmé listens carefully, so she will know who to encourage (Rena and the teenage intern, for sure), who to tell to tone things down. Later she'll skim the video footage from the several cameras in the office to check that nothing has been missed out.
Now it is time to leave the office, to return to what passes for her home. She inhabits a tiny concrete cell in the basement of another office about a mile away. Her life there is even more unpleasant than her life at work. But that is a story for another time.