When this all started, I was so shy—soft and delicate, like a princess wrapped in silks and whispered promises. Master treated me like a treasure, showering me with gifts and gentle kisses, making love that felt endless and warm. I was safe in his arms, wrapped in a cocoon of tenderness I thought would never break.

But little by little, things changed. The softness faded, replaced by something darker, more raw. The first time he blindfolded me, I felt my heart race—not with fear, but with a growing hunger I couldn’t ignore. Bound in velvet handcuffs, I was his completely—helpless and craving. He took me deep and hard, his hands gripping my body, pulling me apart in ways I never imagined, his mouth claiming my nipples until they stood stiff and aching beneath his lips.

I learned to obey every demand. I swallowed everything he gave me, every taste marking me as his. Then the toys came—first small, teasing, then larger and more insistent, stretching me open, teaching me to take more and more without hesitation. Blindfolded and restrained, I was a vessel for his pleasure, lost in the sensation of surrender.

But the real change came when strangers began to enter our world. At first, I only caught fragments of their voices behind closed doors, whispers that stirred a deep fire in me. Bound and blindfolded, I couldn’t see them, but I felt their presence, their hands, their need. Then I realized—sometimes, it wasn’t Master I was pleasing. And I didn’t mind. Not at all.

With time, the handcuffs were removed, granting me freedom to explore the mouths and bodies of those men. I learned to milk them, to draw them deep, swallowing every drop with a hungry eagerness that surprised even me. Each moment, I became less the shy girl I once was, and more the filthy, insatiable slut they all craved.

I remember the day Master stopped fucking me himself. At first, it felt strange—like a cold shadow over the fire of my own hunger that only grew hotter. He didn’t need to touch me anymore—I was his fucked-out slut, ready for anyone he wanted to throw me to.

Strangers took over. Random guys, unknown faces, hands roaming over my body like they owned every inch of me. Blindfolded, hands tied, but my cunt always wide open, dripping and aching to be filled. I didn’t care who they were—I just wanted to be used, taken, made filthy.

Master’s tastes grew darker, more dangerous. He hunted bigger cocks, seeking out the perverts lurking in the shadows—men no one would admit craving. He paid huge, thick black men to bury themselves deep inside me, their hands gripping my hips so hard I couldn’t help but beg without words.

Sometimes he even took me to the streets—homeless, stinking men with rough hands and rougher breath. I hated the smell, but when they fucked me hard and deep, I didn’t care. I was his slut. His filthy, broken toy for anyone who wanted to take me.

Gangbangs became my new normal. Almost every day, I was pushed to my limits—stretched wide, used raw and hard by dozens. My body was a mess—sticky, stained, dripping with cum I swallowed greedily like the filthy slut I am.

Then came the moment Master let me take off the blindfold. No more shame. No more hiding. Everyone had to see me.

The room was thick with heat and sweat. Shadows swallowed the corners as men closed in around me. My body already aching, stretched wide and dripping, desperate for whatever they wanted. The heavy weight of thick black cocks pressed into me, rough hands grabbing my hips, pulling me deeper into the filthy mess I’d become.

I looked down for a second, catching my reflection in a polished surface nearby. My eyes were wide, lips parted, a mix of raw hunger and something else—something like pride or maybe madness. I saw all those huge cocks waiting for me, and my cunt clenched tight, dripping, aching to be filled deeper than ever before.

Then I noticed the cameras—small, hidden but obvious once you looked for them. Recording every move, every moan, every shudder. The lights shifted, and suddenly I was on a stage—a theater built just for me. All eyes, all lenses, all attention turned to my body, my face, my dripping cunt and begging mouth.

I was being displayed perfectly, recorded for the whole world to see and recognize who I was—the filthy slut owned by Master and every man who wanted to take me.

Master’s voice echoed inside my head: Keep your cunt tight. Grip your ass. Make them feel you want it.

So I moved for them, syncing every muscle, every squeeze and stretch, every ache and pulse. I became the rhythm and the fire, the endless need they fed on.

They fucked me hard, rough, relentless, and I swallowed every drop. My throat burned but stayed eager. My body trembled under the weight of their possession. In the dark, surrounded by heavy breathing and whispered curses, I was a filthy slut made perfect—broken, dripping, owned.

My body was a living invitation—my ass perfectly round and slick with sweat, lifted just right to give every inch away, shining under the low light like it was made to be grabbed and stretched wide. My tits bounced heavy and full, nipples stiff and proud from every touch and whisper, begging to be squeezed and sucked.

I spread my legs wide, opening myself completely, desperate to be taken deep. My slickness pooled between my thighs like a promise I couldn’t wait to keep. Every muscle clenched tight, holding onto every inch of the thick, heavy cocks pressing into me, gripping them with my cunt and ass like I was made to swallow them whole.

The heat of their bodies, the roughness of their hands—it sent shivers through me, making me slicker, more needy, more broken and alive all at once. I moved in sync with their thrusts, my body a perfect instrument of desire and submission, shining and dripping—every inch a testament to the filthy, owned slut I’d become.

The fucking never let up. It was like time had shattered—hours spilled into days, and my body was caught in this endless, punishing rhythm. Ten thick cocks drove deep inside me, pounding relentlessly, dragging me further and further from anything that resembled myself. My hips moved on their own, muscles quivering, trembling under the weight and motion, stretched beyond what I thought possible. Every thrust was fire ripping through me, burning away the last shreds of shame until all that was left was raw, aching need.

I was drowning in sensation—wet, slick, trembling with exhaustion yet desperate for more. My cunt and ass were stretched wide, gaping, dripping creamy streams that stained my thighs, my skin slick with sweat and sticky with cum. I couldn’t move a muscle, utterly broken and overwhelmed, my body a filthy, abused temple of lust and submission.

And then, as if the torment wasn’t enough, the men started to gather closer, their heavy breaths hot against my skin. One by one, they spilled their thick, hot cum over my drenched body—across my tits, my stomach, my thighs—each warm wave mixing with the mess already coating me. I was utterly spent, my limbs shaking, but I forced my mouth open, swallowing every drop I could, drinking it down like the slut I was trained to be.

Master’s voice was loud in my head: Take it all. Show them how deep you belong. No shame, just hunger.

I obeyed. Exhausted and dripping, I swallowed every last drop, my throat burning but eager, my body trembling with a filthy kind of pride. I was owned—used—perfect.

When they finally left the theater, the heavy silence pressed down on me like a weight. Master didn’t even bring clothes or towels—he left me bare, every inch of my skin slick and dripping with cum. It slid in thick, sticky streams down my thighs and legs, pooling on the floor beneath me, marking me clearly as the drenched cum slut I’d become.

I struggled to catch my breath, my legs weak but refusing to give out. As Master stepped closer and began laying out new rules, my body couldn’t help but respond. The moment his voice hit me, a wave of submission flooded through, and I arched my back instinctively, pushing my huge, heavy breasts forward. My nipples hardened, stiff and erect, begging to be touched, kissed, used.

As he spoke calmly but firmly, every command sank into me like fire, igniting my skin and making me slicker. Master’s voice still burned in my head, every damn word slicing through me like a whip. The rules weren’t just rules—they were chains, pulling me deeper into this filthy world where I was nothing but his cum-soaked toy. My cunt pulsed like a fucking drum, slick and dripping hotter than ever, aching to be used, to be fucked harder, faster, more.

I could feel it all—the shame twisting in my gut thinking about my coworkers, my friends, my stupid family who had no clue how filthy I really was, no idea the slut I’d become. But that shame? It just made me wetter, made my body scream louder for more. Being caught, being exposed, it was like an electric shock that sent my cunt dripping and my ass clenching, begging to be torn open.

Master caught the way my body betrayed me, that creepy fucking smile curling on his lips as he watched me arch my back, pushing my huge tits out, nipples stabbing stiff and raw, aching for his hands and mouth. I was his perfect little slut—broken, dripping, and desperate.

And just like that, the filthy game was far from over. I knew he had plans, twisted and dark, to push me even harder—make me a public, dripping mess for the whole goddamn world to see. And honestly? I was already wet just thinking about it.

The thought of being out there on the streets, naked and dripping, exposed to every eye—it made my heart slam with pure terror. I wanted to run, hide, disappear.

But then Master’s voice cut through my panic, cold and cruel, “I’m leaving you there. Never coming back. You’re all alone now.”

That hit me hard—the desperate ache to have him, to need his control, wrapped tight inside me. Without his commands, I was nothing, lost. So I obeyed.

The heavy doors of the theater swung open behind me, closing with a final, echoing thud that left the silence raw and electric. I stood there, exposed, every inch of my skin slick and sticky with cum—the hot, dripping evidence of the night’s brutal use. The cold air kissed my bare flesh like a shock, making goosebumps rise where sweat and cum hadn’t yet dried. My legs trembled under me, weak but stubborn. No towels, no clothes—Master hadn’t even offered me the smallest mercy. Just my bare, slick body and a pair of high heels, cold and unforgiving in his hand.

His voice cut through the quiet. “Put these on. You’re walking home like this.”

I swallowed hard, the words settling deep like a brand. The thought of walking through the streets, naked and dripping, terrified me. My heart slammed against my ribs, panic rising with every breath. But beneath that panic, a darker flame flickered—the sharp edge of craving, of desperate need for his control, his commands, his presence.

My fingers trembled as I slipped my feet into the towering heels. The cold metal clasp bit into my ankles, but the ache in my body was nothing compared to the ache in my soul. Master stepped back, eyes cold, a twisted smile curling on his lips. “Go. And remember—you belong to me out here too.”

I took the first step, legs shaking violently, hips swaying awkwardly. Every step made the cum slick on my thighs shift and drip, a wet, sticky reminder of how utterly owned and exposed I was. The cold air kissed my body, but the fire inside grew hotter—raw, aching, hungry.

At first, I kept my head down, trying to disappear into the shadows, but the city had other plans. Eyes found me instantly—wide, hungry, curious. Whispers and murmurs rolled over me like waves.

“Look at that filthy little slut…”

“She’s dripping everywhere…”

“Walking around like she’s proud of it…”

The sting of those words wasn’t shame—it was fire, lighting my cunt on fire, making it pulse and drip hotter than before. My nipples hardened sharply, aching through the cold, begging for touch.

Then the hands came.

A rough grip seized my ass cheeks from behind, strong fingers squeezing and spreading me wide, slick cum coating them as they slipped inside my cunt with confident ease. My breath hitched, caught between shock and filthy need. The fingers moved with my steps, pushing deeper, making me moan into the night air.

From the front, another man pressed close, hands crashing onto my heavy, swollen breasts. The first pinch was sharp, almost painful—but the sting twisted into heat as he grabbed harder, fingers twisting my stiff, swollen nipples between calloused fingers while his mouth closed over them, sucking with greedy hunger. A shudder tore through me, cunt clenching tighter, dripping uncontrollably.

I was utterly exposed—every drip, every moan, every touch a testament to my broken, dripping submission. My back arched instinctively, pushing my ass high and tits forward, making myself an open invitation for every filthy eye and greedy hand.

Master’s voice echoed relentlessly in my mind: You belong to them. You are theirs to touch, use, and break. Own it, slut.

The cold night air, the wetness, the hungry hands—it all fused into a savage symphony of submission and desire. I was his cum-soaked toy, displayed and owned, and the filthy thrill of it made me ache for more.

My body was on fire—nipples burning like hot embers beneath my fingers, cunt pulsing and dripping with desperate hunger, trembling as my own touch sent jolts of pleasure and torment crashing through me.

The cold night air did nothing to cool the fever raging inside, every look, every whisper, every camera flash a sharp sting that made me arch my back further, pushing my swollen breasts forward, begging for more—more pain, more pleasure, more control. As I continued walking, my fingers trembled as they slid up my slick, dripping skin, the cold night air a sharp contrast to the heat pooling beneath my touch. One hand cupped my heavy breast, thumb brushing over the swollen, aching nipple, sending a jolt that made me gasp. The skin was slick with sweat and cum, sticky and warm beneath my palm, every nerve ending alive as I squeezed and rolled the hardened bud between my fingers, the sharp sting mixing with a delicious ache that pulsed through me.

Slowly, my hand moved lower, fingertips tracing the curve of my ribs, the wet sheen making every touch glide like silk against fire. My other hand slipped between my thighs, the slick heat immediately flooding my senses as my fingers pressed against the soaked, swollen folds. The slickness coated my skin, making every stroke glide smooth and hot, sending tremors up my spine. I circled my clit with trembling fingers, each flick sparking waves of desperate need that pooled deep inside, making my cunt pulse and drip, hungry and aching.

I sank two fingers deep, curling them slowly, tasting the wet heat, feeling my muscles clench around them with a shuddering moan. The friction, the slickness, the pressure—it was everything I craved, raw and tender and fiercely alive all at once. I bit my lip to keep from crying out, but the slick, needy ache inside me only grew sharper, my breath hitching with every slick stroke as I pushed further into my own dark craving

Around me, the men's voices grew louder, rougher, their words both humiliating and intoxicating: “Look at that filthy little slut, dripping and desperate,” “She’s ours now, broken and on display,” “Every filthy inch captured and shared.” The thought of every snapshot, every video clip spreading like wildfire stoked the flames inside me until I was drowning in my own desperate need and shame.

And through it all, beneath the crushing weight of exposure and the electric fire of submission, I craved only one thing—Master's touch, his control, the cruel kindness in his commands that made me feel alive and utterly his. I was his filthy, dripping toy, and I would walk into any darkness for him, broken and shining, desperate and proud.

Master’s voice cut through the haze like a whip as we finally reached the apartment, low and commanding: “Leave everything just like this. No shower, no cleaning. You’ll sleep with that dildo deep inside and the plug in your ass. You’re going to stay just like the filthy slut you are. Tomorrow you will go to work, all sticky, drenched with cum stench odor, hoping somebody recognizes who you truly are. Master handed me a tight, black lycra mini skirt that clung to every curve of my dripping body, designed to hold the dildo deep inside my cunt and the plug stretching my ass perfectly in place all night long. The fabric was slick and unforgiving, pressing the toys firmly against my raw skin so I could never forget who I belonged to. As I slipped it on, the cold, smooth plastic pressed harder against my most sensitive spots, making my cunt pulse and ache with need even as exhaustion weighed heavy in my limbs.”

My body was trembling, exhausted and dripping, every nerve on fire. I barely had the strength to obey, but his words seared into me, locking me deeper into the broken, dripping submission I craved. The cold dildo pushed deep, making my cunt pulse even harder, while the object stretched my ass open, a constant reminder of his control.

I collapsed onto the bed, skin sticky and slick, cum slowly dripping onto the sheets as I fought to calm the wild storm inside me. My breath came ragged, heart pounding with a mix of shame, fear, and the filthy thrill of knowing the world outside didn’t even know how dirty and owned I was right now.

The morning light seeped through the blinds, cold and unforgiving, but I didn’t care. I was still coated in the sticky, salty proof of the night—slick trails clinging to my thighs, my cunt still swollen and tender from the toys Master left inside me as a reminder. There was no shower, no washing away the filth or the shame; Master’s orders were clear. I was to wear every mark, every drop, every aching need like a badge.

I dressed carefully, the dildo still buried deep, the plug stretching me tight, my cunt aching and dripping, every step a reminder of what I was and who I belonged to.

I forced myself to put on a brave face, but inside I was trembling—afraid of what my coworkers might think if they saw me like this, dripping, needy, still marked by the night. Yet beneath the fear, a hot pulse of excitement throbbed—because I was his slut, utterly exposed, utterly owned, and that filthy secret made me wet all over again.

I slipped into my tight office outfit, the pencil skirt clinging to every curve of my dripping body, the sheer blouse stretched thin over my swollen breasts, nipples hard and aching beneath the delicate fabric. Hidden underneath it all, the toys Master gave me pressed deep inside—one nestled wet and heavy in my cunt, the other stretching me wide and pulsing faintly against my tightest places. A tiny panty struggled to hold them in, but slickness soaked through, pooling hot and relentless between my thighs, wearing Master’s toys deep inside me—a cold, constant reminder of his control hidden beneath my professional mask.

He commanded me to turn on the small vibrator in the plug—a wicked little light that glowed faintly against my panties. “Be careful,” he warned with a cruel smile, “because if you slip, anyone could see just how deep you’re owned.”

Every step I took was a battle—a delicious torment as the vibrating plug whispered its secret pulse against my body, a reminder of the filthy ownership I wore like a brand. The cold office air brushed against my damp skin, making me shiver with a mix of shame and need that only deepened with every passing minute.

The day at work was a constant battle between keeping my filthy secret hidden and the burning ache pulsing deep inside me. My pencil skirt clung tightly to my hips, the thin fabric doing little to hold back the slick warmth that soaked through my tiny panty. The vibrating plug nestled deep inside me pulsed faintly with every step, a wicked little secret only I knew. The dildo pressed wet and heavy against my aching cunt, reminding me relentlessly of Master’s control.

Despite the shame and fear, a twisted heat ignited inside me, each moment pushing me closer to the edge as I went about my tasks, answered calls, and tried to stay focused. The vibrating light in the plug was my constant reminder—any slip and someone could see exactly how deep I was his.

Every hour or so, I had to steal away again and again—rushing to the bathroom with trembling fingers, trying desperately to clean the slick trails that soaked my legs and thighs and adjusted the toys hidden beneath my clothes. The mirror reflected a woman who looked composed—professional—but I knew the truth buried beneath: dripping, needy, utterly owned. The ache in my nipples was a constant throb, and the pressure between my legs built with every whispered glance, every passing footstep.

The ache in my breasts was unbearable—nipples aching so fiercely I wanted nothing more than to twist and suckle them into submission, but I clenched my teeth, knowing I had to keep control in this public prison. My cunt throbbed wildly, every secret flicker of the plug’s light a cruel tease that I might be exposed at any moment.

When the day finally ended, I collapsed through the home door, exhausted, trembling, soaked in my own filthy need. Master was waiting, eyes dark and sharp, and ordered me to undress. I did it slowly and painfully until only the dildo and plug remained, buried deep and throbbing inside me.

He began to tell me about the comic he planned—the way he would make me famous, a filthy, dripping slut immortalized on pages and screens. He spoke of how my image would spread—across websites, dark corners of the internet, in public squares where strangers would see and use the slut he created. My face, my body, every ache and desperate submission captured perfectly, displayed in public squares, gangbanged and drenched in cum for everyone to see and worship. My body shuddered as the weight of it hit me—every filthy detail, every exposure, every cum-soaked page designed to make me famous and broken in all the ways I craved. I was his masterpiece, his perfect slut for the world.

As Master finished describing the comic’s filthy future for me, my body reacted without control—the wet heat inside flaring fiercely, muscles clenching around the toys buried deep within me. The dildo and plug, slick with my own slickness and tension, shifted and pressed against raw, aching flesh.

I could feel every curve and ridge as they moved slightly with my trembling breaths, the vibrating pulse in the plug syncing with my heartbeat, making every nerve scream with desperate need. The tightness of my muscles gripping the dildo sent sharp jolts of pleasure through me, both torment and release tangled together like fire and ice.

Then, as my body gave in to the overwhelming sensation, the toys slipped free—wet, soft sounds echoing in the quiet room as they fell to the floor. A sudden, hot release burst from me, spilling out in a shuddering squirt that soaked the floor beneath my trembling legs. I was left breathless and utterly exposed, every part of me marked by his ownership and the filthy promise of what was to come.

I sank to my knees as the toys slipped free, my body trembling like a live wire from the sudden emptiness and the rush of release flooding through me. My cunt felt hollow and aching, the muscles spasming as if begging for more, still dripping with the slick heat that coated my skin and soaked the floor beneath me. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and desire, heavy and intoxicating.

Master’s eyes never left me, dark and hungry, as he stepped closer, his presence a crushing weight that both terrified and thrilled me. I could feel the pulse of his control radiating through the room, making my skin prickle and my nipples tighten until they felt like hard little spikes beneath my blouse. Every breath I took was shallow, caught between shame and craving.

I wanted to beg him—to plead for more, for release, for the filthy torment he alone could give. But I stayed silent, swallowed by the overwhelming wave of submission that crashed over me. My hands trembled as I reached out, barely able to touch myself, the echoes of the toys still alive in my aching core.

Master’s voice cut through the haze, low and commanding. “This is just the beginning, slut. You’ll wear every mark, every touch, every dirty secret, and the world will know you for it. They’ll watch, they’ll want you, and you’ll give yourself to them—because that’s what you are. Mine.”

The words burned into me, setting my skin aflame even as exhaustion pulled at my limbs. I was his perfect slut—broken, dripping, and utterly owned. And I knew there was no turning back.

Master’s dark eyes locked onto mine, a cruel smile playing at the corners of his lips as he pulled the sketches closer, spreading them out like a map of my own filthy destiny. “Every twisted chapter,” he whispered, “every filthy scene we draw, you’re going to live it. Not just in ink and paper, but in real life, on camera, for the whole world to see.”

His voice was low, heavy with possession and promise. “We’ll broadcast it—live, raw, uncut—on every adult site that’ll have us. Subscription after subscription, thousands of eyes watching your every move, your every moan, your every desperate surrender.”

I swallowed hard, heat pooling in my cunt again as his words sank deep. The thought of being displayed—used, watched, degraded—felt like fire and ice twisting inside me. My nipples tightened, aching to be touched, while my soaked cunt clenched reflexively around nothing, aching for the pressure and release it knew all too well.

“You’ll become a legend,” Master said, voice thick with hunger. “Not just some comic fantasy, but the real thing. The slut everyone knows, craves, and owns. Every chapter, every scene, you’ll perform it, live and dripping, just like the pages. And they’ll pay to watch, to use you, to make you theirs.”

I trembled, a shudder running through my whole body as the weight of what he planned crashed over me. The idea of thousands watching me, knowing me, owning me—it broke me down and built me back up all at once, a filthy, trembling mess of need and submission.

Master reached out, his hand brushing over my cheek, rough and demanding. “You’re mine, slut. And now, the whole world will see it.”

Master’s eyes burned into me as he laid out the plan even clearer. “Your purpose, slut, is to be like the whore you were born to be—sent out every day into the streets, the alleys, anywhere filthy men want to use you. You won’t come back until you’re a mess—dripping, stretched, filled with cum from every stranger who takes you.”

The thought slammed into me like a punch, raw and overwhelming. My body reacted instinctively, nipples hardening beneath my blouse, cunt pulsing desperately even as my mind spun with the terror and thrill of it all. The filthy, broken slut inside me surged forward, aching to be that girl—owned, used, and displayed for the whole world.

“You’ll walk those streets, dripping and broken, for them,” Master continued, voice low and commanding. “And every filthy detail, every moan, every filthy mark will be recorded, streamed, shared. Your name, your face, your dripping cunt will be known everywhere.”

I shivered, heart pounding with a twisted mix of fear and filthy pride, knowing there was no turning back. I was his—his perfect public slut, meant to be owned and used beyond anything I’d ever imagined.