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A Sordid Plot

Chapter 1 - The Three Trophies

Miku moaned and writhed on the sweat-stained bed-sheets as I plunged my raging erection into her soft, inviting folds once more. Her hips, as always, eagerly rose to meet mine, and I knew that if her hands and feet hadn't been chained to the bedposts, they would've been wrapped around me, pulling me in and holding me there. The fact that I'd been going at her on and off for most of the day, keeping her cooking with a handy, remote-controlled vibrator whenever I needed to take a break to recuperate, seemed to make no difference whatsoever to the strength of her ardor.

Of all the girls I'd ever seduced, I thought for the umpteenth time, this ripe, 19-year-old Japanese-American college-girl was by far the horniest. Terms like 'nymphomaniac' and 'sex-addict' gets thrown around a lot these days, especially in porn and celebrity gossip, but let me tell you - you don't really understand what it means until you've dated one. Someone who'll no more say no to another roll in the hay than a hardcore drug-addict will say no to another hit of coke or another spoonful of meth. Someone who'll drop anything, skip classes and parties alike, just for a chance at a good, solid fuck. Well, not that hard to imagine in a guy , maybe, but in a girl, it's kind of a sight.

I was lasting pretty well - maybe not surprising, considering that I had to have cum something like a dozen times throughout the day. The orgasm was building slowly for me - while Miku seemed to be convulsing her way through yet another of her own, rapid-fire flavor. I hadn't bothered to count hers - and neither had she, I suspected - but she probably had me beat by a factor of five at least. And she still wanted more. This would be my last time today, I feared. Unlike her, I'm no teenager anymore, and even the best 'performance enhancers' have their limits. Still, we were both making the most of it, grinding our organs together with frenzied fervor. This was the kind of thing that motivated me to stay fit - being able to keep up with a college-girl in bed is no mean feat for a man in his mid-thirties. Accomplishing it took hard work and dedication, but it was SO worth it.

My peak approaching, I could not silence a groan of my own, and with a final effort, I mashed my groin against hers, pushing my throbbing cock as deep as it would go as my aching balls began to produce their last load of the day. I blasted my hot jizz into her eagerly-awaiting womb without fear - she was on the pill, after all. I should know - I got them for her. I've cultivated a working relationship with a number of chemists over the years, and have always found it profitable. One of these days, one of my contacts will manage to get their hands on some of that newfangled Bremelanotide-stuff currently undergoing clinical trials, and then things would get REALLY interesting. An actual, real-life aphrodisiac, not reliant on the placebo-effect? Imagine the possibilities!

Even such thoughts, however, could not rouse me to action again. My dick - which was feeling a tad care-worn by now, anyway - was softening rapidly now that its mission had been carried out. With a sigh, I placed a tender kiss on Miku's sweat-dewed forehead - I wasn't going near her lips 'till she'd brushed and rinsed, seeing as I DID know where her mouth had been for the past eight hours or so - and crawled backwards off of her. She was still breathing hard - she tended to cum particularly forcefully when she felt hot spunk spray into her womb, and this time seemed no exception. With a grin, I pushed myself up to my knees, and then scuttled forwards to straddle her upper chest, looking down at the delicately beautiful face between my thighs.

Big eyes - half-closed, now. Elegant, bow-shaped mouth, currently panting. Delicate bone-structure that made her look even younger than she was. Neat little nose. Long, straight, jet-black hair, spread out across my pillow like a cloud. The very image of the Asian beauty. Currently tied to my bed and obedient to my every command. Carefully directing my now fully-softened cock at that pretty little mouth, I sighed and opened my bladder, unleashing a steaming stream of piss into it. As soon as the first drops hit her tongue, she quickly opened her mouth fully, catching as much of the acidic stream as she could, letting it fill her oral cavity and flood her tongue. She let me see it, that pink little thing, flopping around in the darkly-yellow lake to demonstrate how thoroughly she was tasting it. Only just before her lips would have flooded did she swallow, the action rather reminiscent of a flushing toilet as the rank liquid disappeared down her gullet.

I managed to half-fill her mouth again before my bladder ran empty. She let it stay there for a few seconds, swirling her tongue around in it, before she swallowed that too. Starting when she'd showed up this morning, she'd drunk down every drop of piss I'd produced throughout the day - and it wasn't as if I hadn't been drinking plenty. Gotta stay hydrated when you have rough, sweaty sex repeatedly across a whole work-day. Needless to say, there was no complaints. Beyond simply being endlessly horny, she was also enormously adventurous, eager to try anything that was even remotely related to sex. She'd been happy enough to try drinking my pee the first time I suggested it, thus... and while it hadn't really done anything for her, she also hadn't minded doing it again, on occasion, just to please me.

Ah, but things changed. 'Operand Conditioning' is a powerful force, and one of my favorite tools. By strategically weaving a quick round of piss-drinking into our most intense sexual play, usually during or right after inflicting a major orgasm on her, she'd come to associate the taste of my piss with pleasure. By now, she could almost cum just from acting as my personal toilet. A job well done, even if I do say so myself. Lowering my cock to let her lick the last few drops of stray piss off the head, I took a moment to remember how the first time, she'd wanted to rinse out her mouth as soon as she was done. Now, the only reason she did so at all, was so I'd be willing to french-kiss her again.

With a somewhat weary sigh, I climbed off of her and laid down beside her stretched-out, utterly naked body, idly playing with one of her small, perky teenage titties as I got my breath back. She moaned slightly at this, the sensation of my gentle toying no doubt heavily magnified by the fact that she'd been wearing a rather tight set of nipple-clamps until just recently. Her nipples were thus fully-erect and highly sensitive at the moment, and would continue to be so until sometime early tomorrow, if past performance was anything to go by.

Normally, when I'd worn myself out on her, she would happily lay there letting me toy with her body for as long as I cared to. Sometimes, if the mood struck me, I would escalate the teasing to something more severe, spicing up the afterglow by unleashing the paddle, flogger, cane, or just my plain old leather belt on various parts of her fully-exposed physique, or amused myself applying clothespins or needles to this part or that... not as any kind of punishment, mind. Just for play. To a splendid masochist like her, it was all the same. Today, I didn't feel like I had the energy - I'd managed to play myself out, at least for now, so I wouldn't have continued for much longer anyway even if she hadn't surprised me by suddenly speaking up. "Umm... if you aren't gonna get it up again and keep at it, d'ya think you could take off the chains and stuff? There's something I kinda' wanna talk to ya about."

I raised an inquisitive eyebrow, my curiosity awakened even as I once again sighed mentally at the sound of her voice. If she'd had even a SMIDGEON of a Japanese accent, it would have completed the image. A seductive, exotic sound! But alas, however pure her Asian DNA, and however traditional her family's name-choices, she'd been born and raised in the American Midwest, and it showed. Nonetheless, her plea was heard, and I undid the chains binding her limbs, one after the other. The cuffs, with their stainless-steel attachment-loops, were left in place, of course - encircling her wrists and ankles, just like the simple black leather collar encircled her throat. She always wore those when she was with me. It had become part of our ritual - I left them in a chest of drawers by my front door, and whenever she dropped in for an hour, an evening, or a solid day of depraved sexual play, she'd stop right inside the door, strip naked, and don the five pieces of leather as a show of submission before even entering my sights. It was hard, by now, to remember that she hadn't been particularly submissive when I'd first met her. Horny, yes - that part was clearly a natural part of her - but the by-now ingrained submissiveness was my own personal handiwork.

This was on my mind as she sat up in the bed, rubbing her arms and legs to restore circulation. She'd been tied down like that, spreadeagled on my bed, for nearly eight hours after all - anyone not possessing the flexibility and vitality of a teenager would've been a wreck. She seemed to be merely mildly discomfited. "Um... right... so..." She seemed to struggle for words, while I simply sat back, pulling a pillow in front of the headboard and leaning against it as I looked at her with my very best 'open, kind, but clearly authoritative' gaze. Finally, she seemed to figure out where to start.

"Okay, I need to tell you a story, first of all. You remember I have a younger sister, yeah?" I nodded. We had talked about her family quite a bit, at first. Rarely anymore. Sexual matters tended to consume our time together. But of course, I always kept her family in mind. With a girl her age, that is always a good idea - even if she wasn't precisely jailbait, she certainly fit into the 'barely legal' category, and our relationship would draw disapproval from many corners if it became known - not least from her parents, who currently believed that their eldest daughter was off window-shopping at the mall with some friends. Her kid sister hadn't figured heavily in my calculations, but I have a pretty keen memory. "Of course. The little genius, yes? Always impressing your parents with her flawless grades and whatnot. Already skipped two grades in school. Quite impressive."

Miku nodded, suddenly glum. "Yeah. Real genius. Very inquisitive. Stubborn, too, and determined. Once something catches her interest, she can't rest 'till she's studied it thoroughly. Unfortunately, she's currently fixated on an... inappropriate field of study, and it's all my fault." She winced visibly, presumably at the memory, but I merely kept my face politely blank and gestured for her to continue. "Right... so... a while back, before I met you, I kinda' had my boyfriend-at-the-time over one evening when the parents were out. I was supposed to be babysitting, but Maki was just holed up in her room doing homework three years ahead of her age. I figured she'd be there all night, so... I snuck him inside. And we kinda' got it on on the couch in the living-room."

I nodded along, carefully not showing the exasperated eye-roll I was making inside my head. That was just the kind of thing a pair of horny teenagers would decide was a good idea, never bothering to come up with even the most rudimentary risk-assessment. I could think of a dozen ways offhand that little rendezvous might go badly, and already had a fairly solid suspicion of which one of them it was. A suspicion that was immediately confirmed. "I thought we'd gotten away with it - he'd snuck back out before mom'n'dad came home, and I got the stain off the couch well enough that it blended in with, y'know, the general stains. But then next day, Maki comes into my room and tells me that she came downstairs for a snack, and saw the whole thing. That was awkward enough, but then she started asking, like, a million questions! She wanted to know all about it!"

I could actually see her toes curling as she recalled that mortifying moment, and was careful to nod sympathetically instead of giggling with schadenfreude. "So... well, I kinda' HAD to answer at least some of her questions, y'know? Otherwise, she would've asked mum and dad, and then they'd have found out about me sneaking my boyfriend in and stuff... or worse, she might start asking somebody else! Like her teachers, or something, and then we'd have the Child Protective Services breathing down our necks! Probably. So... yeah, I told her a few things, y'know? Just the basics. But I'm telling you, that kid could beat a Guantanamo Bay Warden in a game of competitive interrogation. She just kept getting more and more details out of me, and drawing conclusions from everything I'd told her that she HAD to know whether were true or not..."

She sighed scratching her scalp before continuing, her eyes carefully evading mine. "So... after she'd pumped me for pretty much everything I could be convinced to say out loud about the subject of sex... she naturally wanted to TRY it. I'd kinda' let on that it felt really good, y'know? Lying to her just doesn't work, so there was no way around it. She was real persistent about it, too, no matter how I explained that she couldn't 'cuz it was illegal. Far as she's concerned, those laws apply to NORMAL kids, not a genius like her. I... kinda' let her borrow one of my dildos. Smallest one I had - just a little vibe. Figured that might satisfy her curiosity... well, I'll be honest, I mostly just hoped it would satisfy her. Of course, it didn't. She managed to experience an orgasm, and of course she _liked_that, so now she's more determined than ever to... try the real thing."

Miku shifted uncomfortably on the bed, and I had a feeling that she'd be pacing around the room if she was on her feet instead of sitting down. "So, I've been trying to come up with some way to handle it, y'know? I... had to promise her I would figure something out. Otherwise, she might've gone off to try and get some on her own, and there's, like, a MILLION ways that could end badly, and not really any ways for it to end well." Her eyes focused on me now, as she left the memories behind and returned to the present. "But then I met you. And, I mean, you're amazing! You're so cool about everything, nothing fazes you, you know all there is to know about sex and have tried it all... and you seem to be into just about everything. I mean, you let me browse your porn-collection, and there was some of that animated loli-stuff, right? So... y'know... I thought I'd ask you..."

She still wasn't meeting his eyes directly - somewhat understandable, perhaps. With a sigh, I nodded, and finally entered the conversation. "I see. I can certainly appreciate that you're between a rock and a hard place, with no way to get anyone else to help without admitting that you created the situation in the first place. Still, it's... rather a big step you're talking about. Even if she's sufficiently mature beyond her years to actually give informed consent, it'd still be extremely illegal. And if anyone caught wind of it, the blame would fall squarely on my head - you know that, right?" She nodded, looking down. "I know. I know all that. But I'm certainly not gonna talk. And neither will she. She's a smart kid - and I've already explained to her thoroughly that if she actually found someone willing to... try stuff with her, she'd have to keep it COMPLETELY secret, or everything would fall apart. And, hey, she's kept all the stuff that's happened so far secret. Hasn't said a word to our parents, or her school-mates, or anyone!"

I nodded again, gravely this time. "I suppose all that is true, but... still. I'm going to need a little time to digest this and think it over. But either way, I'm touched that you came to me with this. Really shows how much you trust me." She beamed at this, as she always did when I praised her, and I quickly reinforced it with a beatific smile. Then I sighed and shook my head, leaning back against the pillow and headboard again. "Anyway, that rather killed the mood, I'm afraid. Unless there's something else you wanted to tell me, I think we'd best call it a day. Give me some alone-time to think.

She nodded graciously, clearly appreciating my dilemma, and slid out of bed to pad - somewhat unsteadily - towards my shower. I waited patiently, thoughts buzzing in my skull as I listened to the sound of the running water. There were rituals to observe, after all, before I could start thinking this over properly. About 20 minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom - freshly dried-off, with a towel wrapped around her hair, still wearing nothing but the shackles and collar. "I am clean." she said, ritualistically as she came to stand in front of me, splendid in her moisture-dewed nakedness. I nodded and, equally ritualistically, said "Then I must mark you again." The exact nature of the 'marking' I conducted every time she'd bathed at my place varied depending on circumstances and availability. Pee was often involved, but in this case, I'd JUST emptied my bladder, so...

"Come." I commanded simply, as I lifted my arms. She knew how this went, and instantly dived in, embracing me and sticking her head into my armpit, rubbing her face in eight hours of accumulated sex-sweat before arduously licking the pit clean. She then repeated the performance on the other armpit, leaving both of them wet with saliva, and the smell of my sweat soaked into her face and particularly her nose. Then she went further down as I spread my legs, ignoring my still-soft cock to instead rub herself against my sweat-drenched pubic-hair and dangling, hairy pouch. That, too, got a thorough tongue-bath, cleaning away the accumulated sweat.

Sometimes, I let her stop there. This time, I placed a hand on her head and gently yet firmly pushed her further down. She took the hint instantly, and as ever obeyed my unspoken command without complaint or hesitation. Her tongue continued down across my taint, quickly reaching my ass-crack, where sweat had built up like nowhere else, turning into a slimy residue. This, she rubbed her face up and down against for a bit, her nose buried deep in my crack, before settling in the center - her tongue gently massaging and caressing my hairy, puckered sphincter. Finally, she pushed forwards, her lips encircling the tiny orifice as her tongue dug deliciously into the center, performing a full-on french kiss on my anus.

Only then did she lift her head, breathing deeply, her once-clean face now marked with my ass-sweat. "I have been marked." She intoned. "You have been marked." I replied. "Thus, wherever you go, you will not forget where you belong." It had started out as part of a particularly far-out bit of sexual roleplay, and then randomly mutated into a regular part of our BDSM-play... well, randomly as far as she knew. She always looked genuinely pleased at the final bit. Almost like she'd never really felt like she belonged anywhere, being Japanese by blood but American by birth. Being stuck in a traditional, performance-oriented Japanese family with a younger sister who outshone her in just about every way. Being stuck with a bottomless desire for sex which society considered unacceptable in a woman. Yes... almost like being my tender submissive was the first time she'd felt like she had a place that was truly hers. Quite odd, that. Almost like someone had recognized that gap in her psyche and exploited it, no?

I stayed on the bed as I listened to her pad bare-footed out to the entryway, get dressed, deposit the shackles and collar in their designated drawer, and leave. I didn't see her off at the door anymore - that, too, had become part of our rituals. I never saw her wearing anything other than the collars and shackles, unless I dressed her in sexy lingerie for a special occasion, or we did some costume dress-up games, or... well, there are a few exceptions, I suppose, but the ritual is what's important. People love rituals, you know? They find them comforting. It's one of the reasons religion has stuck around so long, even when we found alternate explanations for the questions it was originally devised to answer.

Once she was gone, I got out of bed and grabbed a shower myself before getting dressed. I needed some fresh air to clear my head and think, so I decided to take a walk around town. A glance at my phone told me that it was Saturday evening - when you're self-employed and work from home, it can be pretty easy to lose track, though I suppose I should've been able to guess from Miku's all-day presence... but hey, it might've been a school holiday! Pondering this, I grabbed my coat from the rack, and heard a snuffle as the rustle of fabric awoke something. Blackie, my heavyset, black-coated Mastiff, had a keen ear for things like can-openers, coats, and burger-wrappers, and immediately jumped from the basket he'd been sleeping in and ran over to stare pleadingly at me, panting. I grinned and grabbed his lead - might as well give him a workout along with my brain.

Mind... it's not like I had to think a lot about whether to take Miku up on her offer to bang her baby sister. That much was a given. I just needed time to plan it out, figure out how to make the most of it. I knew what it was Miku intended - some careful and fairly vanilla sex just to give her a sample, preferably combined with me using my powers of persuasion to convince the precocious grade-schooler to knock off any further experimentation 'till she was at least in her teens. Which presented me with a two-way challenge... both to draw young Maki into my life to stay, and to put Miku even further into my power than she already was - to the point where she'd be unable to resist my dominance even while I was having my way with her baby sister.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm no pedophile, though I'm sure lots of people would happily use that term to describe me. Not my fault they've never cracked open a dictionary, though. Pedophiles are stuck being attracted to kids, and ONLY kids, due to some mental defect or other. It can even be caused by traumatic brain-damage. Me? I've got broad tastes. I've bedded women of all ages, colors and creeds. Even seduced a grandmother once, though admittedly she was rather young for that particular title. The point is, my eagerness to seize this particular opportunity was born of something else entirely... namely, the thrill of the hunt.

I do think of myself as a hunter, yes. Not the sort that hunts to feed himself or his family, mind. Rather, the kind of hunter who plays the villain in a Tarzan-movie. A trophy-hunter. Sure, the sex was great and all, but if that was all I wanted, I'd have settled down with a nice, young, fit piece of ass who obeyed my every whim ages ago. Could've even nabbed a rich heiress who'd support me so I'd never have to work another day in my life. But that would just be... boring. I wanted to hunt down another one, and another one... and then, just like a hunter would lovingly skin, stuff and mount his kills, I seduce them, corrupt them, break them down and rebuild them in my image. And of course, the more rare and exotic the prey, the more attractive it is to hunt.

Of course, such exotic prey also tends to be risky. Just bagging a young teen like Miku is difficult enough, at least in the first few stages of the relationship. You can't just start chatting someone like that up at a bar, right after she'd gotten carded. You'd come across as a creep. The trick is to... ah, but that would be telling. Anyway, what I'm getting at is that for the really exotic prey, you can't just hunt 'em down. You have to simply be patient, and wait for an opportunity to offer itself. Which, it seemed, it finally had. Now I just had to be very, very careful to exploit this opportunity without getting my fingers burned.

Turning over the problem in my mind, I sighed and looked down at Blackie, who was currently sniffing at a telephone-pole with intense interest. I'd been planning to 'introduce' the well-trained hound to Miku soon. Should I put that off now? Or accelerate it? Miku was clearly protective of her sister, and getting her to the point where my desires took precedence over that would be challenging. I needed some... inspiration. Well, it was Saturday evening, heading into night - this was a good time to check up on my Trophies, and get myself psyched up for the next hunt.

Needless to say, I'm not talking about trophies in the serial-killer sense. I've got no secret backroom filled with skin-masks or vials of blood, or even locks of hair. My Trophies are a bit different, and a bit more mobile than such things usually are, but at this time of the week, I had a pretty good idea of where to find several of them. Starting with... I glanced down at Blackie, who looked back up at me with adoring puppy-dog eyes. Yeah - starting with her. With an emerging grin, I started walking again, this time with a bit more purpose than just the exercise.

It was a bit of a walk, actually, but as previously mentioned, I kept myself fit. Good thing, too, 'cuz there was no bus-service in this run-down industrial wasteland. An abandoned industrial park at the outskirts of the city, which had been quietly rotting there since the Death of American Industry decades ago. Just another victim of globalization. By now, everything of even the most remote value had been stripped off its corpse, right down to the copper wiring in the walls, and the left-over husks had decayed to the point where not even the hobos considered them worthwhile shelters anymore. Instead, hardier specimens had moved in - rats, racoons, and particularly stray dogs. LOTS of stray dogs. Which the City Council were going to do something about, like, really soon, promise.

Entering it was like taking a step into some kind of Fallout-esque post-apocalyptic wasteland. About the only people you'd be likely to meet in there were the odd Urban Explorer, and maybe the occasional good Samaritan looking to collect some of the more presentable mutts for a rescue-shelter. I spotted neither on my path - nor, indeed, as many stray dogs as one might have expected. Which would have suggested to most casual pedestrians that something was FINALLY being done about those dirty mutts, but told me that I had been right - she was here, all right.

A few passing strays growled or barked at Blackie, but he was used to the trip and stared down the underfed beasts with little more than a deep-chested rumble, even as he casually marked a few utility-poles just to tell them how little of a shit he gave. Giving him a pat on the head, I steered us towards a particular building, indistinguishable from its equally run-down peers, past the 'condemned' signs and the washed-out warning-notices. Inside, around a flimsy wall and down a broad staircase into the basement... ah yes. The barking was becoming noticeable. The basement was just one big room, with a few areas where one could see the fittings that had once held various machines - heating, ventilation, back-up generators and what-have-you. Once, it would have hummed quietly with the rumble of engines and the hiss of fans.

Currently, however, it was boiling with flea-bitten stray dogs. A number of automatic feeders lined up against one wall had drawn them in - every fifteen minutes or so, they dispensed another load of dry fodder into the line of sturdy bowls underneath them, and continued to do so until they ran empty. Set up like that, they'd empty themselves in maybe 4-5 hours, and during that period, most of the canine residents of the area would be here, partying down. And for the male strays, well... there was an extra feast on hand. After all, someone had driven her car into this place, concealed it out of sight behind the building, and dragged a heavy bag of dry dog-fodder into this place and down the stairs to fill up the dispensers...

That someone was currently on her hands and knees in the middle of the floor, mostly concealed under the thick, matted fur of a large mongrel dog, as he pounded her with the speed and ferocity that only canines can produce. She hadn't noticed me entering - no wonder, either, what with her face being buried in the groin of another, smaller stray who had rolled over on his back in front of her as she deep-throated his unwashed cock. Other dogs milled around her, waiting their turn, barking and snapping at each others as pecking-orders were established and challenged.

These dogs were nowhere near as carefully-trained as my Blackie, of course. He could understand several commands, could be told to target one hole or the other, go slow or full-speed, and would never, ever try to mount someone without express orders. These dogs, meanwhile... well, male dogs like to mount things, and strays tend to be quick learners for purely Darwinian reasons. They'd certainly figured out that a strange, furless bitch arrived alongside the food, and apparently was always in heat. They gleefully took advantage of this, and the regulars had probably gotten reasonably adept at dealing with the subtle, anatomical differences between human and hound.

But that was about it, really. They didn't care what hole they entered, as long as they got to feel something hot and tight around their cocks, and between their self-lubricating equipment and the aforementioned anatomical differences, they were almost more likely to slip up the ass than successfully find the pussy. There was also no real way to call them off - if she started trying to back out, they'd treat her like any other reluctant bitch, delivering a carefully-measured, not-quite-skin-breaking bite to the neck, just to make it clear who was in charge. Indeed, now that they'd gotten used to her, they were unlikely to let her leave as long as there still were unsatisfied hounds waiting to get their rocks off, which there always were. Only when the food ran out would they begin to wander off, though it would probably still take another hour or so for the last stragglers to work themselves dry.

Blackie whined and pulled on his lead, his nose vibrating as he took in the arousal that was thick in the air. Hardly a wonder - the place was basically a canine orgy. It wasn't just the woman in the middle of the floor, even - perhaps due to the level of pheromones in the semi-enclosed space, a number of actual bitches were being mounted in various places along the walls, providing a backdrop of mongrel-on-mongrel sex for the whole mess. Wondering how many bitches' well-used canine pussies my old lover had tasted on the cocks of her canine suitors, I chuckled and took Blackie off the lead. He instantly dashed into the mob of mongrels surrounding the woman, paying no mind to the girls of his own species, and quickly asserted himself with growls and snaps. Being healthy, well-fed and pretty goddamn big helped to, I suspect. His place in the pecking-order was thus quickly established as 'wherever he wants to be, basically'.

I let my eyes scan the room for a small, easily-missed detail that I knew would be there, and which served, in a way, as the most key point of this particular trophy... ah, there it was. On top of one of the food-dispensers, out of reach of any slobbery mutts. A clear plastic bag containing a neatly-folded $50,000 dress, several pieces of jewelry that gleamed with gold, platinum and gemstones, and a brand-name lady's purse that had cost more than most people had in their bank-accounts, nevermind their purses. It would contain an eclectic selection of credit-cards and whatever the newest and priciest model smartphone was, along with a couple of thousand-dollar bills just in case she accidentally wound up somewhere barbaric.

Oh yes. This one was the cream of the crop. Wealthy socialite. Former catwalk-model. Married thrice, divorced twice, widowed once... none of the marriages lasting very long. The last one had been a rather decrepit oil-tycoon who soon afterwards died of a heart-attack. In bed. She had more money than she knew what to do with, beloved by the highest reaches of society, pursued by paparazzi and suitors wherever she went. In me, she thought she'd found an amusing dalliance, a bit of 'slumming it' just for the sake of the scandal. Heh. Instead, well... she'd wound up like this. I'd introduced her to Blackie in due time, and been surprised at just how quickly she took to him. I explored her eagerness, prodded it... encouraged it. Grew it.

Soon, she was hopelessly addicted to doggy cock. Human dicks stopped holding any charm for her. Too boringly shaped, she said. Too cool. Too slow. Of course, she still happily served ME - but that was an act of submission, not of pleasure. And Blackie alone had proved insufficient to satiate her hunger. So, I'd suggested... alternate measures. Helped set things up, knowing that it would grow naturally, and that her addiction would only grow with it. I'd certainly been right about that. It was a good thing that I'd also taught her a few things about manipulation and misdirection, for the purpose of evading prying eyes... seeing as, based on what I'd seen in the colored magazines, she disappeared off the public radar several times a week, now. The gossip-magazines were all abuzz with speculations about her 'secret boyfriend'. Heh. If only they knew. Heck, they hadn't even caught on to the fact that she never wore backless dresses anymore.

I caught a glimpse of her back as the long-furred mongrel who'd been going at her when I came in finally blew his wad deep inside her and, almost immediately, swung his legs over her to turn around for the ol' ass-to-ass. I could tell from the angle that he had, indeed, been pounding her asshole - as most of them probably had - but even that orifice wasn't tight enough to hold a knot anymore, and a few seconds later, he pulled himself away, leaving his thick, bright-red cock swinging wetly under his loins, the knot still fully inflated. During that interval, though - before the next dog in line, which just so happened to be my dear Blackie, jumped on her, I could see her back.

It wasn't so much scratched as scarred. I kept Blackie's claws trimmed, of course, but these strays didn't see such care, and while she could easily have worn something across her back for protection, she didn't. She liked it - liked feeling their claws dig into her skin, marking her, possessing her, making their dominance felt. As a result, her upper back was, by now, a mass of scar-tissue interspersed by the occasional red line of a fresh cut. Heh. Shame none of the women's magazines who wondered about her beauty-regimen realized it included a slathering of disinfectant for her scratched-up back and a flea-dip.

I turned back to the dispensers to give them a cursory examination and made some quick calculations. Based on the contents and the rate they were depositing the food at, she must've been on that floor for about three hours, and it would take another two before the dispensers were empty. I twisted a few knobs on each of them. The strays were always hungry - they'd stick around as long as there was food, no matter how slowly it was coming. It would now take closer to four hours for them to run empty... add in the time for stragglers to get tired and blow their last loads, and she'd be lucky if she staggered out of here before midnight. Hopefully, she didn't have any important appointments... heh.

I heard a surprised exclamation behind me and turned around. She'd lifted her face, dog-cum mixed with drool running from one corner of her wide-open mouth, her eyes unfocused and vague. "Oh... Blackie..." she mumbled, her hips shifting and flexing to meet the huge mastiff's powerful thrusts. Trained in the art of pleasuring humans since he was a pup, with years of experience behind him, his sexual skills were incomparable to the mob of random strays that surrounded him. Naturally, having spent so many days and nights under his furry mass, she recognized the technique immediately. I stepped closer, and her eyes focused on me. "Ah... Master..." she slurred, clearly floating somewhere in the seventh heaven after hours of being ceaselessly pounded by an endless stream of flea-bitten wild dogs.

"Just dropped by to see how you were doing. Don't mind me. I think Blackie missed you, though. He's even got a special gift for you." A cum-stained smile made the beauty that had stunned the gossip-rags visible even through the layer of sweat and lack of makeup, and she turned her head upwards. "Oh... Blackie... I love you so much..." She didn't notice the sharp hand-gesture I made, but Blackie, ever attentive, did - and responded promptly. Lowering his big head, he met her lips with his own and pushed his big, wide tongue into her mouth in the canine equivalent of a french kiss. Her body shook and writhed in delight at this gesture of love, even as his thrusting changed - rather than the frantic, rapid-fire pace that is natural for canines, he was now using long, slow movement... including pulling his partially-swollen knot all the way out of her cum-slicked asshole and plunging it back inside on every thrust.

I watched them undulate against one another for a few minutes - I'm pretty sure she came at least once, possibly twice, even in that brief span of time - then gave Blackie a verbal command. "Blackie! Switch-up." Immediately, he broke off both the slobbery kiss and the slow-thrusting ass-fucking and jumped off her back to go trotting around her, to where the next stray had been waiting in line for her mouth. The mongrel, however, backed off respectfully as the bigger, fitter 'Top Dog' approached, leaving him free space to mount her from the front instead. She'd probably already sucked off a number of strays who'd previously visited her ass, but not like that - fresh from the steaming, cum-packed orifice. Blackie's cock was, indeed, thoroughly covered in an unwholesome, brown-flecked slime - the combined jizz-reserves of the several dozen dogs who'd already mounted her, along with the inevitable result of her kneeling there for hours while her battered digestive-system attempted to carry on with business as usual.

Nonetheless, she eagerly opened her mouth for him, her soft, subtle lips and tongues cleaning the messy coating from his tapered, bright-red cock as she deep-throated him with practiced ease, only stopping short of his large, swollen knot. Hardly surprising - she was even less likely to refuse Blackie any kind of service than she was to refuse me. She was obsessed with dogs, and thanks to my training, a hardcore submissive. For someone like that, Blackie - with his carefully-trained and ingrained sexually dominant behavior - was a dream made flesh.

I let them continue for a while, her eagerly sucking while Blackie's hips pumped slowly, driven by the almost-repressed instincts that would normally have had him face-fucking her at near-sonic speeds. Finally, with a low-pitched whine, he came - propelled to orgasm by a mouth well-practiced in the art of pleasuring canines. (It takes rather different technique from dealing with human cocks, apparently.) She convulsed in pleasure as he sprayed his cum down her throats - probably cumming herself just from the joy of having served her ultimate beloved. Then, as Blackie's hip-pumps stopped and he huffed in satisfaction, I gave another command.

"Mark". He perked up at this, and subtly adjusted his hips, pulling back so that only his tapered cockhead remained inside the still-tight circle of her lips. Then, with a satisfied whine, he released the contents of his capacious canine bladder. He never spent too much marking his territory during walkies, and part of his training had been to simply not pee unless ordered (or permitted) to. Knowing that I'd probably find her here, I hadn't given that permission during our walk, and he had probably been under a bit of strain.

Now, a thick rope of pungent, strong-smelling canine piss was filling her mouth, flooding her tongue, pouring down her throat and into her gullet. I could see her throat working as she swallowed rapidly, unwilling to waste a single drop of her beloved's juices, and her eyes were rolling back with joy. The strays couldn't do this for her - there were no instincts that could get them even close. Only a purpose-trained sex-dog was able to give her that ultimate, dirty pleasure of being reduced to an animal's toilet. The frequent, hour-long canine gang-bangs she spent her free time on kept her going, dulling her desires, but every now and then, I'd get a call from her begging me to bring Blackie by so that she could get a proper session, once again experiencing what it was like to be completely dominated by a well-trained, highly-skilled fuck-hound. I usually agreed, if I wasn't busy with something (or someone) else, but often with some caveat to remind her that I was ultimately in charge. For example, that she had to be on all fours on her bed, fully equipped with handcuffs, spreader-bar, blindfold and ball-gag, with the door unlocked, by the time me and Blackie arrived. I'd never known her to fail to meet my conditions, either... truly, a marvelous Trophy.

Once Blackie had finished draining his bladder and her throat had stopped moving with the repeated gulps, I patted one hand against my leg, signaling to my faithful hound that it was time to return to my side. Jumping down from her shoulders, he padded through the encircling strays towards me with a satisfied expression on his canine face, while behind him the rest of the hounds once again closed in around my Trophy, no longer kept at bay by his power and authority. As a short but stout bulldog-mongrel jumped on her back, they also demonstrated their ingenuity - having observed Blackie in action, one Terrier-mix proceeded to duplicate his earlier feat and mounted her from the front, jabbing his fully-unsheathed cock against her face while staring stiffly into the face of the somewhat-surprised bulldog. She barely had time to throw one longing glance after Blackie's retreating rear before her face was covered by fur, and her lips drawn inexorably towards the proffered doggie-cock. She probably didn't even see me wave goodbye.

On my way out of the basement, I wondered if she'd realize that I'd tampered with the food-dispensers, later. Probably not. She'd be in a daze for a long time after such a gangbang, especially with Blackie putting in a personal appearance, so she'd be running on autopilot. Chances were good that she wouldn't even notice that she'd spent a couple more hours getting reamed by a pack of wild dogs than she'd planned... and IF she did, well, she wouldn't complain. Even if she preferred dogs, submitting to the decisions of yours truly had been thoroughly ingrained in her. A pleasant thought, as always... and I found that between seeing her in action again, and pondering the newfound possibilities involving dear little Maki, the vitality I had thought wrung out for the day was returning to me. Perhaps I could find some release at my next destination.

Wandering out of the moldering, industrial wasteland with Blackie once again attached to his lead, I glanced at my wrist-watch and concluded that the other Trophy would be in place by now. As such, I set my course towards a park on the outskirts of the city center. Skirting the restaurant-district - aglow with activity at this time of a Saturday night - I eventually reached my goal. During the day, it was a pleasant, green oasis midst the towering skyscrapers and other concrete-and-glass titans. During the night, however, it was a place where honest folks did not wander. Nor did the cops, unless they HAD to, and if so only in large, well-armed groups.

Drug-dealers and prostitutes roamed the paths at this hour, offering their goods. Gang-bangers 'hung out' and black-market arms-dealers set up shop. A few suggestions were shouted in my direction as I passed through, but I ignored them as I headed towards my destination... the public toilets near the park's center. Not the kind of place where you'd expect a line to form, particularly at this time of the night. And yet, that was exactly the case. At least fifteen people were lined up at the entrance to the men's room, curiously including a few women. Which, much like the baying of the hounds back in the broken-down industrial building, proved that my Trophy was, indeed, present.

Tying Blackie's lead to a nearby post, I headed inside, bypassing the line. A few angry exclamations rose from those waiting, but they were swiftly shushed by others who knew me... or at least knew enough. The air inside the toilet was dense - thick with the smell of piss and cum. Several toilet-stalls stood unattended, as did most of the line of urinals. The line, instead, terminated at a voluptuous, black-skinned woman chained to the last urinal in the row. She was wearing a slave-collar, to which the chain was attached, and nothing else whatsoever. Graffiti on the surrounding walls made clear her purpose, and stated the times where she could be found there. To one side, a glass jar stood with the inscription 'Please Tip the Whore' messily printed on it. It was piled with coins and notes alike, though as usual, someone had also taken it upon themselves to masturbate into it.

I watched from the wall as the latest customer zipped his pants and walked out with a grin, the next man in line stepping past the tip-jar without a second glance and unzipping his pants to whip out a thick semi-stiffie. The ebony beauty kneeling on the floor eagerly opened her mouth as he stepped forwards, catching the thick, yellow stream that shot from his dick with practiced ease. Some of it inevitably splashed across her face, tits and body, but most of it went down her gullet as she repeatedly swallowed without closing her mouth, making good use of the technique I'd once taught her. Once the stream had died down to a drizzle, she lifted herself to her knees and grabbed the man's belt for support, as she encircled his clearly-unwashed cock in her lips and began to suck vigorously, eliciting an appreciative moan.

She cut a fine figure like that, kneeling on the filthy floor, drenched in piss, servicing a steady stream of perverts. I couldn't even take complete credit for it. She'd already been pretty far ahead when I first met her. Honestly, I hadn't even realized how intriguing her predilections would prove to be when I originally seduced her - I was just in the mood for some dark chocolate booty. When it comes to race, I'm a man of broad tastes - indeed, one of my goals in life is to fuck a woman of every ethnicity on the face of the earth. (Currently, all I'm missing is an Inuit and an Aboriginal...) But I have to admit to holding a certain preference for the African phenotype. Mostly because, as the ancient philosopher Sir Mix-A-Lot put it, 'I like big butts and I cannot lie'.

Of course, you can encounter that perfect, in-your-face bubble-butt on a woman of just about any race... but they DO seem to be particularly prevalent in black women. Genetics are like that, I suppose. And being, as you might have gathered by now, a bit of an ass-man, I have a well-developed appreciation for that. So when I picked her up, it was with no more advanced plan than to get a piece of that lovely ass of hers. Only later did I realize what a gem I'd encountered... a natural submissive, with a very particular and risque kink: She enjoyed being dominated and humiliated by, very specifically, white men. A racially-charged perversion, if you will. As such, she also holds the distinction of being about the only woman ever to leave me somewhat flustered in the bedroom. I've put a lot of energy into perfecting my charisma - always knowing just what to say and how to say it. As smooth as silk, as polished as chrome, that's me. So needing to whip out the crudest terms thought up by generations of racists, starting with the N-word and going downhill from there, to get a girl properly heated up... was a unique experience.

Still, I soon got to the root of her desires... it was really all about humiliation for her. The more denigrated she was, the lower her position, the hornier she got. Imitating the very life of slavery that her ancestors struggled so hard to escape worked well for that, but I gradually managed to... broaden her horizons. Created more and more filthy, humiliating scenarios, adding new toe-curling twists... finally landing her here. The chain I'd provided her with was equipped with a reliable time-lock, and would leave her chained in that dirty, stinking public toilet as a human pissoir for six solid hours, servicing anyone who came to her for pennies. Heck, the tip-jar was really just there for spice, turning her from a simple slut to a cheap whore - a definite step in the right direction for her.

She was there every Friday, Saturday and Sunday night, I knew. Each night brought a randomized assortment of disgusting humiliations, courtesy of a clientele consisting mainly of gang-members, drug-dealers, male prostitutes and bums. With a few odds and ends mixed in, of course, including a surprising number of female prostitutes who probably just enjoyed being able to do something filthy and perverted rather than having it done to them. She didn't care, of course. She'd lick a pussy as readily as she'd suck a cock, and even that was just the beginning.

The man I'd just watched piss in her mouth had reached a swift orgasm, his knees almost buckling as he shot his load down her throat. She gulped it down as eagerly as she had his pee, and then released his belt to sink back down on her haunches, hands gathered in her lap as she awaited her next customer. The man leered down at her as he stuffed his wet, rapidly-deflating cock back in his trousers - then he turned and left again without ever speaking a word. Some of them were like that, treating her as an object rather than a person. Others enjoyed heaping abuse on her while they availed themselves to her services. Either approach dehumanized her - and thus, made her shiver in pleasure.

The next man in line carried the unmistakable scent of a homeless - even there, in the toilet's heavy air, the smell of an unwashed human body pushed through. He dropped a couple of coins in the jar, then dropped his filthy sweatpants in front of her. "Been a while, eh, slut?" he jeered. "Imma gonna need a full Hobo Shower today, I think. But first..." Her mouth once again opened obediently as his manky cock was directed towards it, and another stream of piss - this one no doubt loaded with freshly-processed cheap booze - hit it.

This was where she'd found her perfect place. Not just reenacting the kind of slave/master relationship that had probably existed in abundance across the South a few hundred years ago, but taking it a step further - acting as a cheap whore for society's lowest and most pathetic outcasts. She wasn't like the previous Trophy I'd visited, undulating in the midst of an endless gang-bang, racking up countless orgasms as she surrendered her body to visceral pleasure. This one was more... cerebral. She didn't cum from doing this. Actually, the fact that she rarely, if ever, had an orgasm was part of the appeal - she was being used for their pleasure, getting nothing in return... and, paradoxically, filling her with a deep, emotional satisfaction in the process.

Letting my eyes scan across the line, I spotted a young lad - in his early 20's at most, and quite possibly still in his teens - who looked markedly nervous. A light shade of brown, probably the product of an interracial relationship, he had the bearing and uniform of your classic 'young punk' - a hopeful who had yet to fully graduate into a proper 'banger. Sidling up to him, I assumed a comforting, paternalistic stance as I nodded a polite greeting. "Hey there. First time here, I'm guessing?" He jumped slightly, looked me up and down, and then seem to stop himself from making the kind of macho denial that would normally be mandatory in that situation as he subconsciously absorbed my 'knowledgeable authority' stance.

"Well... yeah, I 'spose. I figured it was an urban legend, ya know? But I thought I'd check it out." I nodded, the very image of understanding. "I hear you. Seems too good to be true, no? And yet, there she is. Hey, though - since you're new, lemme give you a couple of pointers, okay?" He blinked, then shrugged. "Sure, man, if you wanna." I nodded, and moved in closer so that I could point towards the demented display at the end of the line. She'd finished drinking down the steaming helping of hobo-piss, by now, and was going down on his unwashed cock without any sign of reluctance. "Now, the basic service is free - you piss in her mouth, and she'll give you a blowjob to finish off. If you want anything more complex than that, you're expected to leave a tip in the jar." I directed him towards the aforementioned, slightly slimy jar.

He nodded, absorbing the lesson eagerly. "Uh... okay. Um. How much are ya supposed to tip? And what... uh... 'more complex' stuff can you get?" "Ah, yes... the tips run on an honor-system, sort of. You leave money according to what you HAVE, see? So you have hobos coming in here dropping a couple of quarters from their daily panhandling, and dealers flush with cash dropping hundreds. 's all good." He nodded, vague understanding on his young face, and his hands instinctively moved to his rear pocket. Hah. This kid was WAY too easy to read. Lucky him this toilet was generally considered 'safe territory' in the interest of not making this mysterious slut relocate, or someone would've pick-pocketed him already.

"As for the other question... well, she offers a broad variety of services, but many of them requires you to bring stuff of your own. Like, you can fuck her in either hole if you want, but you gotta bring a condom. If you give it to her afterwards, she'll suck the contents out, though. Popular with some!" He nodded, doing his best to look like this kind of thing was everyday for a tough like him, but his face was heating up noticeably at my plain speaking. "And then there's the Pottymouth Special and the Hot Dessert... ah, but some don't require extra tools. Like the Hobo Shower the guy over there is getting, see?" I directed his attention back to the front where the show had continued during my explanation. Having sucked a load out of the homeless man's dangling, hairy balls, she'd then proceeded to lick and suck the pair of them, leaving his whole tackle freshly spit-cleaned... and then, he'd turned around.

The kid gulped as she tongue-cleaned the bum's reeking ass-crack, including a thorough rimjob, all without her face showing the least sign of repulsion or hesitation. Then, just for good measure, she rose as high off the floor as her chain would allow, even as the homeless man opened his equally-unwashed jacket. The face the kid made as she licked the guy's armpits clean was a curious mix of surprise, disgust... and arousal. (It should go without saying that it was me who taught her that particular... procedure, originally.) The hobo had apparently just gotten aroused from it, his previously deflated cock coming back to life - and he quickly turned around and jerked it off in her general direction as she finished her disgusting task and sank back down to her original kneeling pose. A shower of reeking cum splattered across her naked body as the hobo - apparently quite quick on the trigger - finished up, and then quickly collected his clothes while the guy behind him in line started grumbling about the hold-up. "Much obliged, cunt." The hobo exclaimed laconically as he pulled his pants into place and walked back out again.

"...of course, you can also just get a rimjob, if you don't feel like taking off your shirt." A casual enough statement, but it managed to get the kid's attention back on me. He blinked a couple of times, then nodded as if he'd been paying attention all along. "Oh... right, sure. Um. What was those other things you mentioned earlier, though? Stuff you needed to bring things for?" "Ah, yes. Well, the 'Hot Desert' is a flexible bit. You just gotta bring some kind of suitably-sized foodstuff, then give it to her when you step up. She'll stuff it up her ass while she does the basic service, then pull it out afterwards and eat it. Sausages, cucumbers, bananas and carrots are popular choices. Ah, look - there's a gent there with a thick wiener, for example."

His eyes followed my finger automatically, and he couldn't giggling when the guy I'd pointed at half-turned and grinned back at us, waving what was, indeed, a rather thick wiener. A proper salami, from the looks of it, and probably quite a bit bigger than what he had in his pants. "As for the other one, you have to bring a mug. Beer-mugs are popular for it, but not mandatory... see the guy who's next in line now? Yeah. Guess you're about to see what a 'Pottymouth Special' is. It's one of her most unique moves - you're unlikely to see it anywhere else!" The guy who'd followed directly after the hobo - a huge, black guy with a huge, black cock - had apparently been perfectly satisfied with just the basic piss-and-blowjob combo, and had already moved on, making room for the next in line - a rather Eminem-looking white dude who had all the markings of a moderately successful drug-dealer/wannabe rapper. Even with all the 'training' I'd given her, I knew she still got an extra thrill from the white 'clients', so this would be a treat for her, no doubt.

He was, indeed, carrying a standard-issue glass beer-mug, which he put down on the ground in front of her even as he pulled out a pair of fifties from a pocket and deposited them showily in the tip-jar. (She was actually making surprisingly good money out of it, even if that had never been an objective - the 'honor rule' was working surprisingly well in this environment, with various crooks dropping large notes in the jar just to show their peers how successful they were.) Then he grinned down at her, rather unnecessarily saying "I'll have my usual Pottymouth Special." She nodded, face unchanging, and pushed herself up from the floor, twisting around to show him her ass. With her face practically resting in the reeking urinal she was chained to, she reached back to pull her buttocks apart, making her sphincter follow suit. Her ass really was a sight - perfectly shaped, perfectly firm, and still marked with barely-perceivable white lines from a time where I'd gotten a bit overenthusiastic with a crop.

The drug-dealer grinned, clearly appreciating the sight as much as I did, and pulled out his cock - which was quite hard already. There was no condoms in appearance, but then again, he didn't really penetrate her - just rested his bulbous cockhead against her sphincter, the very tip just peeking inside. Then, the sound could vaguely be heard - a hiss, as he poured his piss into her asshole with a look of relief on his face. Clearly, he'd been holding it for a while, just for this occasion. Between his clearly-strained bladder and his hardened tool limiting the flow-speed, it took about a solid minute for him to finish. At this point, she released her grip on her buttocks, letting them flow back together around the dealer's not-terribly-impressive tool - then twisted her body around again, holding the piss enema as she squatted on the floor and began the standard follow-up blowjob.

Only when she was done - which didn't take long, considering the guy's obvious arousal - did she grab the empty beer-mug and pull it under her body. Relaxing her sphincter, she let the piss back out - splattering foamily into the mug, half-filling it. "Wait... is she really gonna..." the kid next to me mumbled, eyes wide. Sure enough, she was - without a moment's hesitation, she lifted the mug to her lips and drank down the now ass-flavored piss, right down to the last drop. Then she handed the mug back to the customer, and said demurely "Thank you for the drink, sir." She didn't usually talk when she was 'on the job', but white customers with particularly depraved demands tended to make her want to put a voice to her humiliation. The guy, of course, ate it up and grinned broadly. "You're welcome. I'll be sure to come by with another tomorrow night..."

The kid was looking decidedly flustered by now. I gave him a friendly shoulder-shake to bring him back to earth, meeting him with a friendly, entirely-unperturbed grin when he turned back to face me. "Well, those are just examples, obviously. There are very few limits with this girl, and most of those are about preventing STD's rather than any reluctance on her part. If you look at the graffiti, you can find various suggestions too... plus, of course, there's a sort of 'secret menu' of options that go around purely by word-of-mouth. Like how, if you've left a decent tip, you can wipe off your shoes on her pussy when you're done."

I was looking at her out the corner of my eyes as I talked to the kid. She'd noticed me entering, of course, but pro that she was, she'd made no sign of recognition. Focused entirely on 'customer service' as should be. Now, however, a subtle flow of emotion went through her - a stiffening of the muscles as she froze up for a split second, followed by an even greater relaxation. One could almost see it as a sort of vague orgasm-equivalent. The bit about the shoe-wiping was new, see. I'd just thought it up. But now it was out there - several people in line were perking their ears. It might never have occurred to them before, but now that I'd said it, they'd want to try it. And she, meanwhile, was realizing that she was about to become a _literal_doormat for several people who'd been standing in line on a dirty bathroom floor after a walk through a park that was popular dog-walking territory too. Such exquisite humiliation... and she lapped it up, just as eagerly as she drank down the endless stream of piss her clients served up.

Letting go of the kid's shoulder, I took a step back and shrugged. "And, heck, on top of that, there's 'special service' options that only regulars can request. Sky's the limit, kid! Better make up your mind soon." The line had, indeed, proceeded steadily while we talked. Noticing that the guy currently next-in-line was someone I'd had dealings with a few times before, I walked away from the kid and put a hand on his shoulder instead, just as he was about do undo his fly. Looking up, he recognized me at a glance and gave a lopsided half-grin, half-shrug as he stepped back and let me take his place in front of the black-skinned beauty on the grimy toilet-floor.

I doubted that anyone else in the room could see any change in her demeanor as I stood there - on the surface, she seemed to face me with the same aura of expressionless readiness as she'd faced every other client. But I could see the light dancing in the depths of her half-unfocused eyes. She still remembered me, remembered how I'd shown her new depths of humiliation, new lows. Before meeting me, she'd never really known how deep it was possible to sink. And she was still learning. Pulling my cock out, well hard after watching her performance so far, I grabbed her by her short, curly hair and pulled her head directly over it, forcing her to deepthroat me on the spot. I could feel her throat convulse around my cockhead as I opened my bladder, her gag-reflex barely suppressed. My tank was only half-full, what with me having emptied it in Miku's mouth before my walk, but the exercise (and the soft-drink I'd picked up on the way) had helped refill it.

I held her there until I was done. Her arms never left her lap, but her whole body vibrated with the suppressed instinct to push me away, to clear her airways by any means necessary. Several of the guys waiting in line seemed to have instinctively been holding their breaths since I started, based on the gasps that sounded from them when they gave up. Then, even as the flow of piss ended, I didn't relinquish my grip on her head - I merely moved it back a bit, just enough to pull out of her throat and let her breathe through her nose again, while still filling her mouth. I could feel the air rushing through her nostrils, tickling my pubic hair as she struggled to re-oxygenate herself after being nearly choked, but still she made no attempt to breathe through her mouth, instead immediately dedicating it to sucking me off to the best of her ability.

I let her get me_almost_ to the point of climax. Then, holding her head in place with one hand on top of it, I pulled my cock back out of her mouth and aimed it with my free hand, pushing it up against one of her flaring nostrils as I finished up with a few quick tugs. The resulting spurt of hot cum went straight up her nose, filling her nasal cavity, and no doubt dripping down the back of her throat. She was panting, now, her stoic demeanor temporarily broken. Her eyes rolled back as the smell of my cum literally filled her nose... she'd be snorting it out soon enough, but the smell would stick there for hours - heck, it'd probably still be there when she woke up the next morning, sore and nauseous but strangely satisfied.

Then, just to finish up in the proper style, I pulled her head up and back, and carefully, deliberately spat into her panting mouth, watching the glob of phlegm hit her tongue and slide down the back of it. Only then did I let it go, pushing her slightly back. Even in her present state, she remembered - and understood. Her thighs parted as she lifted herself up into a squat, bending backwards at her waist to practically push her cunt up towards me. Conscious of the many men in line behind me, eyes glued on the unexpected show, I carefully lifted first one foot, then the other, wiping off my practical, well-worn walking-boots on her proffered pussy, the sole-patterns roughly caressing her sensitive parts. The boot-thread marks it left on her mons were very fetching too, I thought.

As she returned to her customary, kneeling position, I took a glance at her face. She was getting her expression back under control, but my work had still left a mark. Pulling a stack of tens out of my jacket-pocket, I used it to wipe off the tears that had sprung from her eyes during the throat-pissing, and the cum dribbling from her nose, before discarding the wad of cash in the tip-jar. Then I straightened, stuffing my cock back in my pants, and turned to give a lifted-eyebrow glance at the folks waiting in line behind me. "Now, don't be getting any ideas, gents... except for the last bit, that was all 'special service', reserved only for regulars who have proven their ability to control themselves and the situation. Things would get a lot less fun around here if she wound up choking to death on some idiot's cock, no?" Murmurs of agreement rose from the line as I stepped aside for the guy who'd originally ceded his place for me.

Stepping back to the wall, I watched for a while longer as I let my thoughts work themselves out. There were more money going into the tip-jar now, more perverted requests, fewer who were satisfied with just the basic service. I had clearly inspired the crowd. Unsurprisingly, there were several more demands for boot-wiping service, but a few others got creative. Like a transsexual prostitute I'd seen there a few times before - enough so that I, unlike several hopeful-looking men in the line, wasn't surprised when she unveiled a surprisingly solid piece of meat from under her tight dress for the basic piss-and-blowjob combo. What did surprise me a bit was when she subsequently leaned down and planted a sloppy, deep-tonguing kiss where she'd just been pissing. It was enough to make me interested, albeit only for the few seconds it took for her body-language to inform me that she wasn't really enjoying it, just putting on a dirty act in the hopes of drumming up some quick business. Based on the way several eyes followed her when she swayed back out of the toilets afterwards, she might've even succeeded.

Really, you'd think a setup like this would reduce traffic to the regular prostitutes plying their trade in the area, but if anything, it seemed to draw in_more_ business. Between the long line and the limited time you had with the chained-down girl at the end of it (what with the many impatient folks waiting in line behind you), most men left the toilets with an emptied bladder - and a set of balls already refilling rapidly. So it wasn't unusual to see recent 'clients' of hers being dragged into the bushes surrounding the loo by regular hookers as they left. Or, indeed, for some of them to advertise their good by joining the line.

The kid I'd been coaching earlier had finally made it to the front of the line, now, and managed to drop a tenner in the tip-jar without looking TOO awkward about it. As she looked up at him expectantly, he dropped his pants altogether - revealing a rather respectable piece for a boy his age - and managed to say, with barely a stammer, "I'll just have a basic rimjob afterwards." She just nodded and opened her mouth as he struggled to point his rock-solid hard-on suitably downwards for the first bit. There was quite a bit of spattering, which could just possibly be attributed to a somewhat shaky hand, and once she reached up to engulf his cock in her mouth, it didn't seem to take much more than a minute before he hissed in pleasure between clenched teeth.

That's when I raised my voice. "Hey, whore... 's the kid's first time here, don't ya think he deserves a bit of extra service? Give him a double... no, heck, make it a triple, on me." A few of the other guys in the line added their own laughs and jeers to my suggestion, but mine was what mattered. Her Master's Voice, and all that. Her hands were gripping the young lad's taut buttocks tightly, now, holding him in place as she continued to suck him off, challenging his youthful virility with her highly-experienced tongue. Needless to say, she was not about to fail at a challenge I'd set her... not that it was THAT much of a challenge. Guys who cum that fast, especially if that young, generally don't have any trouble going two or three times in a row.

And sure enough, after a few more minutes, the kid had sent two more loads down her throat, chasing the first... and his knees were just about ready to buckle, by the sight of it. Still, he managed to keep it together, with all the decorum of a man standing before his peers, and turned around to bend over once she let go of his hips. Despite the three rapid-fire orgasms preceding it, he rapidly hardened again as she pulled his buttocks apart and buried her head between them. Hard to blame him - when she blows the rusty trombone, she doesn't mess around. Wrapping her lips around the sphincter, pushing her tongue inside, applying just a bit of suction... it really feels like getting a particularly passionate french kiss on your ass. And knowing her, since I'd demonstrated a personal interest in this kid, she was likely pulling out all the stops with him. Doing that thing where she practically unhinges her jaw in order to push her tongue up your ass almost to the root, flopping it around like she'd trying to lick your insides clean. Would certainly explain the expression on the boy's face.

Afterwards, as he staggered out, his legs not looking terribly reliable, he paused in front of me. "Just who are you, dude? Her pimp, or something?" He looked questioningly at me, clearly trying to mentally pigeonhole me as something he was familiar with. I just grinned. "Or something. Hope you enjoyed your first rimjob. Don't count on getting one like it anywhere else, though I'm sure you'll find several interested parties offering just that once you leave." He blinked a few times, eyes still vaguely unfocused from the pleasure he'd just endured, then reverted to the default reply. "Whatever, dude." Then he left. I stayed for a little bit longer, letting my thoughts dance freely as I watched the men (and occasional women) come and go. And then leave.

Then I left too, wandering back out into the reasonably-fresh air. She was a worthy Trophy indeed, one that even the roughest types in town had to respect. One of my finest. Still, the inspiration I'd been hoping to find had failed to appear... and also, where the heck was my dog? Blackie wasn't at the post where I'd tied him. He wasn't the sort to wander off. Unless... I sharpened my ears. Other than the noises resounding hollowly from inside the tile-clad public toilet, about half a dozen different sex-acts were going on within earshot, concealed midst the pools of darkness beyond the bushes lining the paths. One sounded different from the rest, and I walked in that direction. Sure enough, behind a bush, I found a thirty-something woman wearing too much makeup and the kind of dress that can be easily converted into a stylish belly-warmer, on her hands and knees with Blackie merrily humping her as she moaned.

"You know I'm not gonna pay you for that, right?" I said somewhat spitefully as I cast a deterring eye at Blackie, who had the good grace to look embarrassed. He even stopped thrusting. The prostitute looked up with an annoyed groan. "I know, I know... I'm just handing out free samples, see? Good business-practice. Now would you please let him continue? The last few john I picked up couldn't make a girl cum with if their lives depended on it. I need this!" I lifted an eyebrow and grinned. "Yeah? Maybe I should charge you, then. But tell you what - give me a bareback ass-fuck with A2M when you're done, and we'll call it even." She grimaced. "That's a bit steep." "You know he'll jump right off if I tell him to, right?" "Fine, fine. Deal."

I signaled Blackie, and he happily resumed his work, pounding the experienced street-walker towards a hefty orgasm. She was a Trophy too, albeit a lesser one. A small, self-indulgent experiment of mine - I'd wanted to see if it was actually possible to show a hooker such a good time, she gave you your money back. As it turned out, you could. This, however, could also result in her frequently popping up and offering 'freebies'. Or getting so cozy with your dog that she might sneak off with him if you left him unattended near where she'd set up shop. I mostly coped by always demanding stuff she wouldn't give paying customers, but in the end, she just wasn't really up to my usual standards. Still, there WAS a certain perverse appeal in ass-fucking a two-bit whore behind a bush in the park.

Blackie, ever the sort to go above and beyond, got her off at least twice before he shot his load deep into her well-used pussy. Afterwards, as he jumped off, she obediently got to her feet and leaned a bit unsteadily against a nearby tree-trunk, showing her bony white ass. A quick gesture had Blackie provide lubrication in the form of a tongueful of doggie-slobber lathered down her ass-crack, and then I proceeded to roughly ream her ass as I pushed her against the tree. I tried making it as uncomfortable for her as I could - I was getting rather tired of her, after all - but her earlier experiences with me seemed to have given her a subconscious attachment that made her enjoy it when I treated her roughly, even though she wasn't the sort to like that usually. She moaned as her pussy and tits were shoved against the rough bark of the tree, and actually managed to cum from the poorly-lubricated ass-fucking I dished out.

Afterwards, as I watched her clean my cock with more skill than enthusiasm, one hand possessively resting on her bleached locks, I sighed. This kind of low-quality Trophy wasn't likely to give me any brainwaves about how to handle my current situation. Then I brightened up. I knew where I needed to go to think. It was just about time for my regular visit, anyway. Feeling suddenly cheerier, I looked down at the middle-aged prostitute kneeling before me, and patted her on the head. "Say..." I said "How would you like to borrow Blackie for the rest of the night?" She looked up, first with eagerness, then with suspicion in her eyes. "What's the catch?"

I chuckled, and ran a finger along the line of pink that now decorated the base of my cock. "Oh, nothing much. I'll be leaving him with specific commands, is all. Every time he mounts you, he'll be expecting a rimjob in repayment. If he doesn't get one, he'll run right home." She grimaced. "Bastard." I just laughed, pushing her away as I put my cock back in my pants. "Hey, 's just an offer. But I know you. I look forwards to seeing him return with that cheap lipstick of yours smeared all over his asshole." Then I walked over to Blackie, who had been sitting patiently next to us as I took my 'payment' from the prostitute, and took the lead off his collar as I bent over him and whispered some commands.

Now, just to be clear... Blackie's REALLY well-trained, but there are limits to everything. I'm sure it would be possible to teach a dog to do exactly what I just said he'd do, but it's just a bit too specific to be part of Blackie's more general sex-hound repertoire. What I_actually_ ordered him to do was just to alternate mounting and lining himself up for a rimjob, until tired. Then go home. If nothing happened when he was showing his ass, he'd just go back to the fucking. But like I said... I knew that woman well enough to feel certain she wouldn't call that particular bluff. She wasn't particularly smart, and I doubt she had any clear ideas of the limits of Blackie's training. With that in mind, I straightened up and flashed her another grin as I stuffed the lead in my pocket. "Oh, and one more thing... the more he enjoys the rimjob, the harder he'll work next time he pounds your pussy. Just something to consider."

Then I walked away, leaving the cheap hooker to shoot a thoughtful look at my dog. I doubted she'd be making any more money that night - she'd be too busy having earth-shattering, Blackie-induced orgasms and practicing her rimjob-techniques. (Needless to say, that was another service she didn't usually offer paying customers... let alone dogs.) As I walked out of the park, I idly wondered what I should do with her in the future. Try to desensitize her to the point where she started offering rimjobs and A2M to her usual customers? Try to get her to ACTUALLY pay for time with Blackie? Eh, it was all rather low-priority. No matter how you polish it, a low-quality Trophy would always be low-quality.

Now that I didn't have Blackie along anymore, I could travel a bit quicker. Getting a cab near the park at this hour of the night would have been an exercise in futility, particularly on a Saturday, so I jumped on a non-too-clean city bus that would take me within walking-distance of my final destination - a nondescript storage-business not far from the harbor. I think they actually shot an episode of Storage Wars there once. Of course, the storage-locker I was heading towards had been paid up for the foreseeable future - not that it was being rented in my name, of course. Still, I was one of only two people who had the keys to it - the other being an occasional associate of mine, known for reliably performing odd jobs without asking any questions.

The storage-lot was unsurprisingly abandoned at this time of the night, which conveniently meant that there was no-one around to ask what _I_was doing there as I made my way to the specific locker and let myself in, quickly closing the gate behind me. A quick, cursory look showed that my aforementioned associate had been as reliable as ever since my last visit - all the right bags had been filled and emptied, respectively, and the monitoring-instruments were showing all green. With a satisfied nod, I stepped up to the central fixture of the locker - a proper, modern sensory deprivation tank, filled with water kept at exactly 36.5°C - or 97.7 °F for those still clinging to a badly outdated and terribly impractical standard of measurements, I suppose.

Inside it, visible though the glass lid and the clear water, was a young woman... not that any part of her was visible. She was covered head to toe in a skin-tight latex outfit, almost like a perverted wetsuit, which included several tightened belts - effectively immobilizing her completely. It included a full hood too, of course - covering eyes and ears for total isolation, and the mandatory breathing-tube emerging from the mouth. The only part of her body that was visible was her hair, tied into a tight ponytail and emerging from a single hole at the top of her scalp. It scattered in the water behind her like a pale brown halo.

Several wires and tubes emerged from various parts of the suit, and from there left the capsule altogether to join with the various machines and devices stacked around it. All of them were working as they should, including the backup generator which would ensure continued performance in the event of a blackout. She was being provided with air via the tube, and nourishment via an IV drop (from a reservoir refilled daily by my associate). Most of the wires went to a set of electroshock-pads attached to the inside of the suit across her body, providing electro-stimulation to prevent muscular degeneration, a technique sometimes used on coma-patients. Normally, it was coupled with regular massages, but I'd compensated for that absence by dialing the intensity of the 'stimulation' up above the pain threshold.

My eyes, however, fixated naturally on a few key points. Her nipples, for starters - each of them was surrounded by a tight metal ring, which were also hooked up to the electroshock-system. It wasn't visible from here, but I knew that the inside of those rings were covered in spikes long enough to nearly meet in the middle, turning them into perhaps the cruelest nipple-piercings imaginable. They could still be removed, of course - the bottom of the spikes were flush against the outside of the ring, but they could be pulled back with a carefully-applied magnet. For now.

Further down, several more tubes emerged from between her legs. One, of course, went to the thick urethral sound that had been inserted all the way up inside her bladder, keeping it drained. Two other tubes, meanwhile, connected to the large dildos lodged in her pussy and ass, and would regularly flood both orifices with warm water before sucking it back out again. A necessity when it came to the ass, of course - even though she hadn't eaten any solid food for months now, her intestines would still be producing their usual covering of lubricating slime, and that stuff builds up. For her pussy, though... well, she'd stopped menstruating, by the simple expediency of having too low body-fat percentage, so it wasn't really necessary to keep flushing that. But there were other reasons - like how each enema was just a milliliter bigger than the last, stretching her insides out ever-so-gradually. The stomach-area of her latex suit was about the only bit that was unrestrained by belts, too - in fact, it was designed to stretch.

I flicked a switch on one of the devices, starting the enema-cycle. Normally, it ran on a random integer, like everything else - the electroshock-treatments, the enemas, even the vibration- and thrusting-patterns of the dildos, they were all designed to be random. To prevent her from having any regular schedule to attach to - any sense of time in the darkness, surrounded by pleasure and pain in equal measures. But of course, they also all had manual overrides. I watched her buck in the tank as the liquid filled her, her stomach bulging beneath the black latex. The quantity was probably past the pain threshold by now, but the very slow, gradual approach ensured that there was no real risk of anything bursting. Her body was simply adapting to the pressure, if not without some protest.

Turning my back on her, I looked at the wall where the instruments of her transformation hung. It also served as a convenient measurement of progress - I could see the blank space where the set of tools currently inserted in her various orifices had hung. It was more than halfway down the wall, but there was still far to go. Taking down the next set, I made the necessary preparations - function-checks to make sure they were still in good working order, and some necessary lubrication - while the enema-cycle finished behind me. Many of the 'toys' were rather complex - far beyond anything you'd find in an average sex-shop. They'd been expensive and difficult to obtain, with the vast majority being bespoke and made-to-order. Some of the more advanced ones, near the end of the wall, hadn't even been finished yet when she went into the tank, but by now the whole selection was there, just waiting for her to work her way through it.

Having finished my preparations, I checked to make sure the enema had been completely finished and then opened the capsule, activating the mechanical grid at the bottom. With a slight hum of powerful, electric motors, it started rising, pushing her up out of the water. She shuddered slightly as she left the familiar embrace of the tank's lukewarm water, but otherwise remained passive as the machinery went through its paces. Once she was all the way out, I undid the various belts holding her legs together and pulled them apart, attaching her ankle-cuffs instead to a pair of anchoring-points at the base of the capsule, set there for exactly that purpose.

Well, then. First things first. I went up to her head and unfastened the seal surrounding the tube attached to her mouth. Then I pulled it out in a smooth movement, revealing a long, thick, fairly realistic-looking rubber cock, with a small tube sticking out the bottom halfway down. It had started out as your basic 'pecker gag' when she went in, but the current version blocked her throat completely, with the breathing-tube fitted for her airways being the only reason she could breathe through it. A gasp followed it up, and I could see her pale lips struggling to adapt to no longer being spread apart by anything, even as I proceeded to undo the seal around one of the ear-coverings. The skin underneath was ivory-white, unsurprisingly.

"Do you want out?" I whispered into it. A shudder went through her, and I could see her throat laboring. Then, the answer came, raw and garbled but still clearly understandable. "No." I nodded to myself with a smile, then whispered again. "Do not forget your Master." Then I closed up the ear-hole again, and bent over her to plant a kiss on those pale, near-bloodless lips. She convulsed as I touched her, her body bucking in what had to be an orgasm - just from that simple touch. It had surprised me a bit the first time it happened, but not anymore... and really, it shouldn't have in the first place. After all, I'd adapted this process largely from Cold War-era Soviet experiments in using sensory deprivation for interrogation-purposes... and those experiments reported similar results of extremely affectionate responses to any form of real human contact after lengthy deprivation. Not that any of those experiments had gone on as long as this...

It had been months since it started, I reflected as I pushed the new gag carefully down her throat, finding no resisting gag reflex. This one was different from the last - rather than being a huge human cock, it imitated a huge dog cock - a good deal bigger than what even Blackie could pride himself of possessing. The tapered tip obviously caused no trouble, and I had lots of practice in getting the air-tube correctly situated by now. Then I activated the knot, causing it to inflate in her mouth, filling it entirely and pinning her tongue to the bottom of her jaw, even as it locked into place behind her teeth. Then there was only left to fasten the airtight seal around her lips, and attach the air-hose.

Every week or so, I'd swing by here for an 'upgrade'. A new set of tools, pushing her body just a little bit further... and, of course, asking that question. Giving her an out. Everything could still be undone, by design. She might need some recovery-time, but she could still return to being an ordinary human being. And yet, she always said no... knowing that if she held out 'till the end, there would be no turning back. She'd known that since the idea first occurred to her (with some subtle inspiration from me, perhaps), but she'd still dedicated herself to it fully. She'd sold her condo and emptied her accounts to buy the capsule and the tools, and to make sure the rent would be paid up through to the end.

She's always been all about limits. Bondage was her favorite flavor early on, but I soon taught her other ways to push herself, and more than anything, she wanted to find out how far she could go. Wanted to find her hard limits. But no matter how far we pushed, she never found them. So now, she was taking a final gambit. The whole process was calculated to last about a year - a year of sensory deprivation and non-stop pleasure/torture. Either she'd hit her limits somewhere along the way and finally want to stop, or she'd come out the other side... changed. Beyond limits.

I removed the two dildos from her ass and pussy, pausing to compare them to the set I'd just prepared. They were long, thick, and covered in hard plastic spikes. Their otherwise rubbery hide was flexible, though, allowing for the mechanisms build into them to create a piston-effect, thrusting in and out even as the built-in vibrators went through their randomly-selected patterns. Both orifices continued to gape as they were removed, giving me a clear view of her insides. The spikes, be they ever so plasticky, had done their job - scratching up the sensitive insides, generating hardened scar-tissue and reducing sensitivity. That was necessary for the NEXT set I was now inserting - bigger, thicker, and covered in flat-but-still-nasty _metal_spikes. They also held a different piston-system, one that would twist them as they went in and out, ensuring that no part of her rectum or vagina evaded the attention of those cruel spikes.

I glanced over at the wall as I pushed the two well-lubricated tools inside and made the necessary attachments. They only got worse from there - bigger and nastier. The next set would be hooked up to the electroshock-system, every metal spike becoming a node of electric agony during her irregularly-spaced 'treatments'. At the end of the line waited tools the size (and shape) of a full-grown stallion's cock, with the rough texture of sandpaper. If she went through with it all, she'd be left with two utterly wrecked holes, not merely stretched beyond any ordinary dimensions, but also hardened to the point where she couldn't possibly derive any pleasure from them - nor could any man, be he human, dog or horse, considering the coarse texture that her scar-tissue internals would have. If she ever started eating solid food again, she'd have to wear a (heinously large) butt-plug full-time, just to keep the shit from dribbling out of her wrecked sphincter whenever.

Next up was the urethra. A bit of a step, there - from a smooth tube to a thicker, bumpier, heavily-textured one... equipped with a miniaturized version of the piston-mechanism from the larger dildos. It would teach her bladder to get accustomed to repeated penetrations, theoretically. It went in relatively easily, her urethra gaping just as readily as the holes beneath it, albeit not quite as widely. The next one would be less textured and barely any thicker, but metallic - and tying into the electroshock-network as well. A sensitive area, it was necessary to proceed rather slowly with it, stretching it by smaller gradients. Still, the 'sound' dangling at the end of the line was nothing more or less than the realistic tool of a particularly well-hung human man... ensuring that by the time her two principal holes had become nothing more than gaping ruins, she'd have a new orifice with which to please her Master.

I stepped away, nodding as I checked my work. Everything was duly attached. A quick systems-check confirmed that they were all working to speck. All that was left was to detach her ankles and pull them back together again, then close up and tighten the belts... and finally, lower her back into the waiting bath and close the lid. Finished, I activated the dildos, and watched her convulse in the water as they went to work, drilling into her, spikes scratching across tissue that, while desensitized, still wasn't THAT desensitized. Then I gave a final glance at the end of the wall. The last of the oral dildos was another realistic, full-sized stallion's tool, and included the by-then standard-issue side-tube for air. Impressive enough by itself, but even more so when one considered the implications.

If she went through the whole thing... if she still said 'No' before I inserted that final, gullet-busting tool... it would all become permanent. Well, not in the sense that she'd stay in the sensory deprivation-tank forever, but... well, it's a bit complicated. The hood, for starters, would become permanent, attached to an immovable slave-collar, which would also serve as an anchoring-point for a pure titanium tracheotomy-tube. A doctor of my acquaintance, who preferred to go by 'Doc D', often did surgery of... a questionable nature, for the right price (or just because it amused him.) Genital alterations, clitoral hood removals, surgical expansion of the urethra, the works... well, this time, he would be performing a permanent tracheotomy, enabling her to breathe through her throat, and thus go on to deepthroat actual horses without choking.

The built-in blindfold and ear-coverings would also be permanent, albeit with a slight twist - wireless Bluetooth earplug-phones would be inserted as well, enabling my voice to reach her even if nothing else did. Otherwise, she'd be left to find her way around through sense of smell, mainly. She wouldn't be able to walk, obviously, after so long spent immobile - not without major retraining. But she should be able to learn how to crawl again fairly quickly, and I had a nice set of kneepads and bondage-mittens ready. Other than that, she'd be wearing nothing but a necessary waist-harness, holding in the dildos or plugs that would, by then, be necessary to keep her battered insides in place.

Then... she'd be my special pet-girl. To punish or pleasure as the whim took me. Padding around my condo with her gleaming ivory skin, so easily marked red by whip, rod or paddle... eating out of a bowl next to Blackie, her mouth available for his pleasure whenever he liked... stashed in a closet when I had company, tightly-bound and uncomplaining... well, that much was a given. There wouldn't really be anything _left_of her at that point - no sense of self, no real will. Just a perfect, utterly-obedient sex-slave, passed beyond any limitations, beyond any hope of recovery or leading a normal life. She knew that, assuming she was still sane enough to understand it. She'd certainly known it when she went into that capsule in the first place. And still, she'd said 'No' every time I offered her a way out.

Truly, my greatest Trophy, albeit yet unfinished. I no longer had any doubts that she'd carry on through 'till the end, really - the weekly question was just a formality. And until recently, I had believed she would be the greatest Trophy I would ever land. Now, though... now, another opportunity offered itself. A seven-year-old Asian-American girl was about to literally fall into my lap. Brilliant for her age, by all accounts, but still a kid... easily shaped, molded and manipulated. To make her mine... and ensure she STAYED that way... I'd have to pull out all the stops. I had to bring her sister in, get her caught up to the point where she became a help rather than a hindrance.

By now, I had a basic idea of how to proceed, and I was filled with determination at making it happen. There were risks, yes, but they could be moderated as long as I proceeded carefully. I wouldn't let my enthusiasm get the best of me. I wouldn't let this chance pass me by. I had already landed some amazing Trophies, but that was no reason not to give it my all in the attempt to obtain an even greater one. Certainly, it was unlikely that I'd ever see another opportunity like this... oh, but I'd best not get so caught up in it that I forgot about my existing Trophies! Particularly not this one. But then, Trophies don't necessary exist in a vacuum, do they? Maybe I could use some of my older ones to help me land this one... certainly, they had provided me with ample inspiration.

With that in mind, I left the storage-locker, shut it behind me, and called a taxi to take me home. I've always been a bit of a night-raven, so despite the late hour, I sat around planning and preparing, doing research and generally making sure all of my ducks were in a row, until the small hours of the morning. It was about that time that Blackie scratched on my door to be let in, and having done so, I was quite satisfied to observe that his asshole was, indeed, thoroughly caked with cheap lipstick. It was just a small thing, but it didn't hurt to be reminded of the reliability of my powers of prediction... that is, reading people. It amused me to imagine that cheap prostitute, repeatedly giving my dog the kind of service she'd never offer a customer, just to keep receiving the pelvis-shaking orgasms he was capable of dishing out. Pleasure is a drug, you see, and you don't have to be a natural nympho to become addicted to it. Even a 'professional' can get hooked if you introduce them to the right flavor. Getting an inexperienced waif caught up in a similar addiction would be easy.

I had it all planned out, by now, and was confident in my ability to carry it out. There was nothing left but to refill Blackie's food-bowl and head to bed to slumber 'till noon. I'd have to get some work done, then, to make sure I was free when Miku next contacted me. Then the hunt would begin in earnest...

The End (For now)