She returned home three days later. Not in business class this time, but chained up in the back of the truck that had brought things to the meeting and was now taking them back. As promised, she had been severely punished and given a foretaste of her new life. She'd been beaten and whipped again and again. They'd used the nail torture knife on her a couple of times, just to show her what it was like. She'd been kept in painful bondage when they didn't have anything else to do with her.
She'd been raped repeatedly in every possible way, by every single person at the meeting. Some were reluctant from some scruple or other, but it was gently but firmly explained to them that it was expected. They'd used the fucking-stick on her several times - the same thing that had finally broken her resistance and made her confess, hoping never to have it inside her again. Even the women had raped her, using dildos if they were kind, or a fucking-stick if not.
They'd kept her anus plugged whenever they weren't raping her, increasing the size so every insertion was agony as her poor sphincter was stretched further and further. By now even the biggest cock could slide in there just as easily as into her cunt - and she was under strict instruction to keep it that way. As a consequence she leaked constantly and messily, yet another humiliation to accept unquestioningly.
She had been humiliated and degraded in many other ways too. At the beginning of the day's business she was on her belly at the meeting room door, her nipples painfully clamped and crushed under her tits, her arms bound behind her. As everyone came in she had to lick their shoes clean. At the dinner in the evening she was again on her belly, her nipples clamped, her cunt and anus plugged, squirming round on her belly to eat scraps of food that the guests threw to her. The humiliation after being the CFO, one of the most prestigious and respected people there, was impossible to bear, in a way even worse than the pain and the physical suffering.
She had been pissed on, spat on, slapped, punched, fisted, her tits grabbed and twisted. She had been made to lick the disgusting rotted shit out of her soiled trousers. That made her puke, but they were merciless. She had to eat up the puke as well, until finally her body accepted everything.
She had been used as a toilet, men and women pissing directly into her mouth, taking shit into her open mouth as it slithered out of their bodies. Or licking up piles of it, cold, from the floor where it had been dropped hours before. Or licking people clean after they had used a normal toilet. She had been sick like never before, vomiting filthy brown puke which she then had to eat again slowly and carefully. She had eaten other people's puke, licked snot from their fingers, sucked used tampons, been gagged with used toilet paper that she had to suck clean.
When nobody was available to torment her, she was put to work, hard physical labour, carrying heavy rocks around as she staggered in impossibly high heels, digging a hole big enough to be her grave, barefoot and naked, in the pouring rain or the hot sun. In the mornings she "helped" the maids. That meant they sat around chatting while she made beds, cleaned the rooms, folded clothes, carried dirty laundry around, always naked apart from her impossible heels. Afterwards they inspected her work, finding faults everywhere, beating her before making her start over. In the evening she helped in the kitchen, doing all the menial work nobody else wanted. At any moment she could be pushed over and fucked, or a cock thrust into her mouth, or the crop used on her bottom, her legs, her tits.
Even worse than all that, even worse than eating shit or being fucked with the stick or being beaten relentlessly, she had been forced to watched her colleague Alex being tortured to death. She hadn't particularly liked him, but it was all her fault. It was her embezzlement that had made him a suspect, led to his hideous death. She had watched while his balls were crushed, while his fingers and toes were amputated and crushed joint by joint, while his teeth were pulled out. She had watched him impaled on a scaffold pole, hanging awkwardly with his broken limbs dangling, twitching in his residual agony. And when it seemed his suffering must surely be over, she had watched as they skinned him alive then burned his flesh with flames, until finally with one last heave of unimaginable agony he died.
They made her watch it so she would know what would happen to her if she ever betrayed their trust, or tried to escape or to tell anyone what was happening to her. They would find out, they would catch her, and this is how she would perish.
She spent the day chained up in the back of the truck, amongst the boxes and furniture on their way back home, her arms behind her, unable to move around. They'd found her a tiny denim skirt to wear, and a much-too-tight tee-shirt, both filthy with dirt, sweat, piss and worse. A pair of red ankle boots with five inch heels were locked onto her feet. Her body was still covered in weals and bruises from all her beatings. The hard metal floor was bad enough, but there were a couple of metal bars placed exactly where she was sitting, digging into her bruises and making the discomfort much worse. Her stretched anus oozed stinking shit constantly, and she was sitting in a puddle of her own piss. It was usually bitterly cold in the unheated truck.
Her head was covered with a thick rubber hood, fastened tight around her neck. A tube led from there to a large bottle full of dirty water, so she wasn't thirsty although every slurp tasted foul. The motion of the truck constantly shook her up and she puked several times every day, her vomit filling the hood then dribbling slowly onto her body and tee-shirt.
The trip back took several days. They spent each night at a truck stop somewhere. The driver opened the truck, released her from bonds and replaced the hood with a metal collar. He gave her a filthy towel to remove the worst of the puke from her face and body, so she didn't stink too badly, and swapped her piss and puke soaked tee-shirt with a cleaner one. Then he led her inside, to be used and abused by the assembled company.
Each time he explained that since she was new to the job and needed training, there was no charge for using her. They could fuck her any way they wanted, get blowjobs, spank or beat her, or anything else they wanted that didn't do any permanent damage. Nearly all of them used her somehow. Mostly it was just a simple fuck or blowjob, but there were always one or two who wanted more - a spanking over their knee, or pissing in her mouth.
During dinner she crawled around on the floor, eating scraps as they were thrown to her. The men loved that, laughing uproariously as she scrambled from one table to another, stamping on a half-eaten potato and making her lick a filthy boot before she could get to the food. They weren't bad men, they all had wives, children, cats, dogs, but the chance to fuck and play with a pretty woman was just too hard to pass up. None of them noticed how she was covered in bruises, nor the barely healed cross burned into her belly, nor how bad she smelled. Or if they did, they said nothing.
One night the truck stop owner agreed to let her be tied up over a table, legs spread wide, to be used during the night. Which she was, extensively. In the morning she sat on the floor in the toilet, drinking piss from anyone who would give it to her, sometimes licking them clean and giving an extra blowjob. Afterwards she cleaned the place, licking up the mixture of dirt and dried piss from the floor, licking stains from around the toilet bowls. Finally she puked violently on the floor, and the toilet had to be closed for a few minutes while she cleaned that up too, sobbing in pain and shame.
Other nights the truck stop was less accommodating. She spent those nights locked in the truck, shivering under the thin, filthy blanket that was thrown over her, dozing fitfully, cum oozing from both her holes.
The only other time she was allowed out of the back of the truck was when they were crossing borders. Then she sat primly in the passenger seat, proffering her newly-minted fake passport when requested, making small talk with the driver and the officers. She was much too old for the usual profile of trafficking, so the officers never wondered about her. Though they may have been put off by the stink too, of days' worth of stale piss and puke soaked into her skimpy tee-shirt.
Finally they made it back home. She was utterly exhausted. She was sore everywhere, her poor bruised bottom, her cunt and anus from being fucked, and everywhere from being held in an uncomfortable fixed position in the truck. She was starving and freezing. She had given no thought at all to what would happen to her upon arrival. They'd taken everything from her, keys, money, credit cards, anything that would get her back to her old life. It seemed so long ago that she'd slept in her own comfortable bed, driven her own luxury car, had control of her own body.
The truck stopped at the office. The driver put her in the basement with everything else, chained her up, beat her, pissed on her, and left. It was the weekend so she stayed there, alone in the dark, cold and hungry. She sat in a growing puddle of her own filth, drinking from it to slake her thirst.
It was Monday, although she didn't know that, when the light was turned on. That was the beginning of her new existence, as a sex slave and fuck toy, a barely human animal to be exploited and tormented, yet still expected to manage the organisation's finances.