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Sally's Downfall, Part 4 - Life At Home

A Sally's Downfall series story
Heavy, f, Real Life, Bondage, Humiliation, Pain, CNC
After the torments and humiliations of her office, it's time for Fuck Toy to return home. The word "home" conjures up a private haven where you can relax and be yourself, retreat from the outside world and live how you want to live. She is entitled to none of that. She has given up the right to any kind of human existence at all, except as a sex object and fuck toy. So what kind of home can she have?

When her luxury flat was confiscated, they found for her a room in the basement of another office building, a mile away. She has never seen her flat or heard anything of it since the awful return from her confession in the back of the van. She must walk between home and the office, in her impossible heels. It's slow, dangerous and difficult.

The Journey

She says goodnight to the friendly guard - one of the few in the building who has no idea what has happened to her, and still calls her Sally - and steps out into the night. It's cold - normal people are wearing coats but all she has is a thin rubber top that doesn't even reach the bottom of her monster tits, and a short skirt. Her belly, arms and legs are completely naked. It's cold, but at least it isn't raining or freezing. It would make no difference if it was.

It takes her about an hour to totter home through the empty evening streets. It's not unusual for a car to stop and offer her a lift, which she must under no circumstances accept no matter how much her legs hurt, no matter how cold and wet she is. But sometimes they stop and ask for something else, and this she must always give. Tonight an old van pulls up beside her.

"'Ere darlin', 'ow much for a blowjob?"

She tells him, but says she'll give him a quick fuck for the same. She climbs into the van, spreads her legs in the dirty space at the back. The whole thing takes less than five minutes. She tucks the money between her tits and carries on walking painfully home. She has regular clients who wait for her sometimes on her way home, knowing that they can get a cheap fuck from a sexy bimbo with monster tits and crazy heels.

You are probably asking "why?". Why doesn't she just slip off her shoes and walk barefoot? Why doesn't she accept a lift when it's offered? Why does she offer herself to be fucked by strangers, and not even very nice ones? The answer is, fear. There's a chance, small but it has happened, that someone is following her to check, or that one of the ubiquitous street security cameras will see something. She dare not take that chance, no matter how small. In the early days they caught her taking her shoes off, when she still found it almost impossible to balance in her heels. She stumbled and fell. Nobody said anything, but that weekend they made her walk ten miles in even higher heels, strappy sandals where every step is a work of art to stay balanced. Then they locked her up overnight standing in them. The following morning they caned her feet - bastinado - so every step was agony for days afterwards. She understood.

Finally she arrives. The entrance is another office building, with a surly night security guard. He doesn't know the whole story, only that she is some kind of fallen whore who can be used and abused as he likes - which is close enough to the truth. He unlocks the door to the basement stairs, grabbing her pussy rings and tugging them. Soon she is in her "home", the only place she is allowed to be when not working or otherwise being abused.

Home Sweet Home

"Home" is a small windowless room, about ten feet square. The walls and floor are rough, bare concrete. The furniture consists of a thin, dirty foam mattress, a filthy blanket heaped in one corner, and a punishment stool like the one in the meeting room with a huge and painful dildo. A huge screen takes up much of one wall. There are three dirty plastic buckets: one for her toilet, that makes the room stink, one for clean water, and another one that holds the swill and slops which are all she is allowed to eat. There is no running water, no drain, no cooking facilities. An even smaller adjacent room contains her street whore outfits, torments of various kinds and the other few personal possessions she is allowed. Cameras in the ceiling observe and record everything she does. It's rare that anybody watches, but she has to assume that she is watched all the time.

The first thing she does is to remove her wig. Her hair looks beautiful when she is at work or on an assignment, but it is an illusion. That's how she can be a blonde one day, a brunette another. Once, a lifetime ago, it was indeed beautiful, looked after by a top hairdresser, washed and treated with the finest shampoos and lotions. Now it is hacked short, uneven, shaved bald in places, dyed in random colours - green, red, purple, bleached white. It hasn't seen shampoo since her downfall, but every evening she rubs into her scalp a thick, gritty grease that itches horribly. Every now and then she is commanded to shampoo her hair. That means dipping not just her hair but her whole head in to the toilet bucket, until she is desperate to breathe. Her hair is a sorry mess and one more thing that makes her weep whenever she thinks of it.

She carefully takes the money from between her tits and puts it under the mattress. Not for safe keeping, but because she must hand it in tomorrow morning. She is never allowed any money of her own. If rarely, she has to buy something, she is given the exact amount and has to account for evey penny of the change. There is no possibility of buying something nice for herself, a snack, a drink, a book, some cheap jewelry. Everything she uses has been chosen by someone else, to be as humiliating and degrading as possible.

The huge screen comes to life. At first it shows her slurping shit from Rena's feet earlier in the day, in a short loop that repeats continuously. Just seeing it makes her retch, and weep in humiliation and desperation. Often she wonders whether she shouldn't have chosen the slow, agonising death that was her alternative to the unbearable non-human existence she suffers now. At least it would long since be over. Rena's voice continuously repeats "worthless shit slurping cunt", to reinforce her humiliation.

She undresses as she watches. Unless she has instructions for some special torment, she is always naked when she is in her unheated room, shivering as she sits through the long evening. She squats over the first of the buckets and empties her bowels and bladder. The nearly-full bucket stinks. Only when the bucket is completely full she is allowed to carry it out of the room and empty it into a drain further down the corridor. She wasn't allowed to piss today, so by the time she gets home her bladder is bursting. Once she has finished, she inserts a huge plug into her anus, pumping it up so it stays in place no matter how hard her body tries to expel it. It hurts, and makes her leak uncomfortably all day long, but she must keep herself wide open in case someone wants to fuck her there.

The next bucket is her only source of clean water. Well, fairly clean - sometimes she is told to scoop a handful from the toilet bucket into it, or to empty her enema into it. She's allowed a new bucket of clean water every few days, from the tap by the drain. She drinks from it thirstily, then uses it to remove the worst of the dirt and filth from her body, letting the precious liquid flow soiled back into the bucket so it is not wasted.

The third bucket is her larder, the stock of food for her to eat when she is at home. Every few days she's given a container to top it up, filled with the kind of thing that Rena brought her for lunch: unwanted food scraped off used plates, vegetable peel, raw fat and gristle, mouldy or out of date ingredients, all stirred up together and often with something more unpleasant too. She hasn't eaten a single mouthful of normal food since her downfall. Each morning and night she takes a handful of this revolting slop and licks it up from the floor. Sometimes, they don't give her a top-up. In that case she simply doesn't eat - it would not be a good idea to ask. She once went for a week like this, eating nothing but shit, and then only if someone was kind enough to give her some.

She prepares her evening meal: three handfuls from the swill bucket, and a small handful from the toilet, mixed up together in a pile on the floor. She rinses her hand in her "clean" water, then bends down to slurp up the stomach-churning mixture, licking the floor clean. She is still desperately hungry but there will be no more until morning.

In the meantime instructions have appeared on the screen, as they do every evening. They tell her what to wear, if anything, what torments and bondage she is to suffer, and how she is to pass the time.

An Evening Stroll

She can walk with apparent ease in heels that most women would consider impossible even to stand in. But she is still training to be able to wear ballet heels to work. Her first task this evening is to practise walking in them, strutting up and down the deserted corridor outside her room. She has to make the return journey 60 times - about a mile, and not coincidentally the distance from "home" to her office. To make it harder - much harder - her wrists are bound behind her back, to a short chain running down from her collar. She has no use of her arms to keep her balance. Just to make it more unpleasant, she is also wearing a thick rubber hood with small openings for her eyes, and a huge gag that stretches her jaws and constantly triggers her gag reflex. A heavy weight hangs from her nose ring on a long chain. Her cunt is filled with a huge dildo, strapped in tight and covered with metal bumps that can be remotely triggered to give her electric shocks of varying intensity and duration.

At first she walks effortlessly, even in her extreme bondage, taking surprisingly long strides and easily keeping her balance. At each end of the corridor is a button at chest height that she has to press hard with her breast before she turns round. If she is too slow the electric shocks start, gently at first and then harder.

Inevitably her leg muscles tire, her muscles trembling with effort, every step taking intense concentration to retain her balance. After 40 journeys she is barely able to take a step. She staggers awkwardly from one foot to the other, in obvious pain. She is bathed in sweat despite the cold. Her body jerks from the electric shocks long before she reaches the end. She almost falls against the end wall, struggling for breath against the gag. She has lost count and has no idea how much longer this torture will go on, but she knows she has no choice. There is nothing physically to stop her just sitting down, relieving the agony in her legs. But she knows that apart from the electric shocks, which would be at their unbearable maximum intensity, she would be severely punished not just now but at her next weekend punishment session. It isn't worth it, she must carry on. Sometimes she stumbles, falling against the rough concrete wall. Her cunt plug detects it and gives her a powerful jolt that produces an audible scream even through the gag. Her uneven steps make the weight on her nose swing wildly, tugging at her bruised septum.

The last few journeys take a very long time. The shock is more severe as she almost falls the last couple of yards at each end of the corridor. If anyone is watching through the cameras in the ceiling - which is likely, there is a web page where anyone in the company can watch her - they will see the terrible struggle she has even to stand. As she finishes the 60th journey, the door to her room opens automatically. From the ceiling comes a derisive voice, "Amazing, the useless cunt did it" - so indeed someone was watching.

Relaxing in Front of the Television

She staggers into her room, struggling desperately to balance on her toes. Even though this ordeal is over, she must do exactly as she is told. Leaning against the wall or collapsing to the floor without permission would be severely punished. Luckily for her the message on the screen is "kneel on the floor and watch".

That sounds a lot more relaxing than the reality. She shuffles across the rough, hard concrete on her bare knees to retrieve a little box with two coloured buttons on it, twisting round so her bound hands can reach. She presses one button and her evening's viewing starts. She has to watch it intently, every moment. The content is completely unpredictable, a mixture of everything from children's cartoons to junk porn, though nothing with intelligent grown-up content. There are always torture scenes, from George, Alex and others who have met the same fate, and scenes of her own degradation and punishment. Sometimes there is nothing at all, just a fixed, coloured screen or a swirling pattern. There are frequent stills of her former life, taken from a photo album that was in her flat: Sally at 6 cuddling a kitten, Sally looking very proud at her graduation ceremony, Sally smooching her first boyfriend, and many more. Worst of all is Sally looking every bit the serious executive at dinner less than 24 hours before she was permanently dehumanized.

Unpredictably a marker flashes onto the screen for a second or so, a coloured shape, and when that happens she press the corresponding button. Sometimes there are questions about what she has been watching, to make sure she has been paying attention, such as "What colour was the rabbit? Press red for brown, green for pink." If she misses one through inattention, or gives the wrong answer, she receives a powerful electric shock through the dildo. Worse, her mistakes are counted and noted for her next punishment session. So she sits, staring intently at the nonsense or horrifying scenes passing before her, trying to memorize everything that goes past.

Every moment of it is either total drivel or horrifying. Many of the scenes bring her to tears of disgust and self-pity, the worst being the photos of her innocence. She is so tired that she dozes off sometimes, awoken by some sudden sensation: her mouth filling with saliva so she can't breath, or tearing at her delicate pussy, or a couple of times by the violent shocks when she misses a cue on the screen.

The content is not only boring or horrifying, it is also carefully chosen to humiliate and degrade her. Some of the questions are in the same vein, "are you a stupid shit cunt, press red for yes, green for no", or "does sucking used tampons turn you on".

Time for Bed

Finally the screen goes blank. She struggles across to her toilet bucket, her last chance until morning. With difficulty she pulls the stinking blanket around her body. She is asleep instantly, even before the light turns itself off. Tonight her bondage is quite light. She can move around and choose a sleeping position, though she wakes up frequently from the discomfort of the gag.

Often her bondage is much stricter. Last night she slept in a hog-tie, her wrists and ankles bound behind her as she slept, or tried to, on her belly, her monster tits crushed painfully under her weight. A few nights ago her ankles were fastened by a short chain to her clit ring, so every time she involuntarily tried to straighten her legs in her sleep she received a painful tug on her delicate clit. Sometimes a short chain pins her neck to the wall, her body in a sitting or kneeling posture or worse, standing in her heels. She is so exhausted that even then she manages to sleep fitfully.

Whatever her bondage, the verbal insults and humiliations continue all night, a constant background of "you're a worthless shit eating fuck toy" and the like. Often, once she has slept off the worst of her fatigue, she stays awake weeping at the non-human she has become.


At 5.30 the light comes back on, much brighter. Her cuffs are unlocked and she can finally remove her bonds and the ballet heels that have been on her feet all night. The screen lights up and plays the screams of torture victims, very loud, with a voiceover saying "wake up worthless fuck toy". Her morning routine is simple - there is no shower, no complicated breakfast. She removes the plug that filled and stretched her anus overnight, licks it clean, uses her toilet bucket, taking a mouthful of its stinking content. She takes a drink of filthy water, then rinses her face, pussy and hands in it. She takes a couple of handfuls of swill, mixes them with shit, and laps them up from the concrete floor.

From the moment she wakes until she leaves, except when she is eating, the screen directs her to say over and over, "I eat shit, I'm a stupid worthless cunt", until her throat is sore. If she stammers or pauses it may be noticed and paid for in for her next punishment session.

The screen directs how she should appear. Today it lets her choose. This is worse than directing her - if she is not judged to be enough of a street whore, she will be punished for that too.She starts by applying her makeup. Sally used only the finest products and spent anything up to half an hour carefully applying them to look as elegant yet sexual as possible. Fuck Toy has a selection of the cheapest, gaudiest junk, and she is allowed only a few minutes to apply it. A bright red gash of lipstick and heavy black eye makeup, laid on top of the dried up remnants from yesterday, are all she has time for. She finds a bright pink crop-top that barely covers her nipples and leaves the bottom half of her tits completely exposed. Her tiny, flimsy pink skirt consists only of thin strings at the back, completely exposing her naked bottom. She puts on a pair of black hold-up stockings, stiff and filthy where they have been soaked in the toilet bucket then left to dry, and some clear plastic stripper shoes with high platforms and even higher heels.

One last torment before she leaves is to insert a thick, studded dildo into her poor bruised cunt. It clips to her labia rings, ensuring that it won't slip out on the journey to the office.

Soon the door opens and it is time for her to leave. She is so exposed that she has the right to cover herself up just a little, with a thin cotton coat. It provides no warmth or protection, just stops her being arrested. It was pink once, but it too is frequently soaked in her toilet bucket so it has now turned a dirty pinkish yellow-brown. It's still damp, and it stinks. She squirts herself with the cheapest of perfumes to cover the smell. That brings tears too, when she thinks of the range of expensive perfumes she once used, carefully selected for the occasion and the person.

She climbs the stairs, with difficulty in her ridiculous shoes, and totters past the morning guard. He, like the night one, thinks she is just a cheap whore. He knows that he can ask for anything he wants, and she must give it to him. He emerges from behind his desk and opens his flies. He's a fat slob, unshaven, his clothes are dirty and smell of sweat, he has stomach-turning body odour. His cock hasn't been washed in days and smells of stale piss and stale cum. She drops to her knees and takes him in her mouth, caressing it until it is hard then expertly working on him until he squirts into her mouth. She swallows and says thank you, with good grace as always, then kneels and kisses his dirty, scuffed boots.

Finally she starts her painful walk to her office. It is cold and damp. Her clothes provide no protection at all, the damp, stinking coat makes it even colder. She totters along the deserted streets, each step demanding great care not to fall or twist her ankle. Every step twists the dildo inside her cunt, bruising it even more. She would just like to sit down in a doorway and weep in pain and shame, but she must not do that.

Before 7 she is installed in her office, impaled on her "seat", dealing with what has been happening overnight in Asia. Esmé is one of her first visitors. She brings a big plastic tub full of used toilet paper, with some extra shit added on top. "Just something for you to nibble while you work, " she says sweetly. As always, Fuck Toy thanks her charmingly. She stuffs a handful of the doubly-disgusting mess into her mouth, sucking on it as she works, the intense bitter awfulness of it filling her mouth, trickling into her throat.

Inwardly she is sobbing with shame and humiliation. Outwardly she is as professional as ever, exchanging instant messages with bankers in six countries simultaneously. Within the first hour several men have visited her office for a quick fuck or blowjob before they start work. Cum dribbles down her thighs onto the smelly, uncomfortable stockings. It is the start of another working day for Fuck Toy.

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