Fiona

“It’s not just you I’m breaking.”

I can hear the words, but they don’t register immediately. I’m having trouble following. I’m having trouble getting my bearings.

I’m having… trouble…

Lene's fingers are wrapped around my wrists, drawing them above my head to fasten them securely to the bedpost. That hardly seems necessary. I’m hardly going to fight her. I was submissive before, but now I’m a broken reed of a girl.

Sleep-deprived, somewhat dehydrated, feverish from constant denial… weak, and docile, and pliant. She doesn’t need to restrain me, I’m bound by something stronger than leather or rope – I’m bound by the sheer force of her will.

It’s crushing me into her coils.

The room swims in and out of focus in my blurry vision. My body is tenser than a violin string, I feel like a bundle of raw nerves all culminating in one place – my overstimulated clit. I’m my own cunt’s set of nerve endings, and nothing more.

It’s been… hours? Fewer? More? No. I’m not sure. We’ve been at it for so long. Naturally, we haven’t been disturbed. The mansion, the maw, is way too precise and hierarchical for that. Lene must have left instructions not to be disturbed.

I know there’s a buzzer the overseer can use to gently remind her mistress of urgent appointments. I’ve heard it buzz a few times, now, unanswered. Is Lene neglecting the upkeep of her estate, as she has fun with me?

As she seeks the thrill of utterly breaking me?

I don’t know. I can barely think straight, in this state. Reflexively, my hips hump the empty air, seeking a release that’s not going to be provided any time soon.

Vibrator, egg, her fingers – the method shifts, but the result is the same. The trigger stops me from coming, like a fucking hypnotic muzzle on my dog brain, because that’s really what I ultimately am, isn’t it? A dog for better women.

I’m coming apart at the seams. I feel like I’m teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, and Lene is the one who pushed me to this edge, and yet she’s also the only one preventing me from falling into it.

She wants me awake, I think. Barely so, but awake.

I shiver at a sudden touch, Lene tilting my chin up with a single index finger. "You really are exquisite like this," she purrs, tracing the line of my jaw. "So helpless and vulnerable, at my mercy in every way. But did you understand what I just said?"

I can’t answer verbally. Not just because my lips are trembling and my wits are fading, but because the doggie trigger prevents it. I can’t speak, or stand upright. All I can do is shake my head no, whimpering like a bitch in heat.

“I thought so. You may now speak. Count," she says, and even if I don’t see the crop, I know it’s there. What else would I be counting? I arch my back, eyes glazing over as I stare upward like a fish, and I part my lips to carry out Lene’s order.

"One," I gasp out as the crop strikes me. A sting, more than a bite, but a familiar one by now. Lene likes to vary intensity unpredictably, to keep her victim guessing, never knowing if the next strike will be gentle and teasing, or harsh and cruel.

The second is the latter.

"T-two," I say with a yelp. Even counting is difficult when you can’t just follow into a rhythm. Five follows four right away, but six takes forever. Eleven and twelve come joined, separated just by a heartbeat. The only true symmetry in Lene’s handiwork is how she’s striking my exposed belly and legs in neat, parallel lines.

I’ve endured my fair share of this sort of punishment, and yet I’m drained and exhausted from my ordeal. By the time I call the twentieth strike, I’m panting, my mind struggling to keep track of the numbers. If I lose count, I’ll earn extra punishment. I need to focus.

At thirty-one, a broken sob leaves my throat.

Somewhere in the forties, the strikes begin to blur together into a continuous blaze of pain. My voice is raw, my body quivering and slick with sweat. Just when I think I can't take any more, Lene stops, trailing the crop lightly over my welted skin.

"Enough counting," she says, softly but not gently. "Doggie."

A chill revelation dawns upon me. I have spent so much time chafing under Mistress’ particular brand of cruelty, of molding, of domination, because it became familiar over time, almost predictable. I could afford to focus on how unjustly robbed I’ve felt, deluding myself that I could ever aspire to be more, to deserve more.

And never once did I pay attention and notice that Mistress, while an apex predator to the bone, while utterly determined to dehumanise us, has never been like…

This.

Under her rule, there was a perverse form of devotion. She always behaved as if the mere act of owning us heightened her own standings. Prized possessions, ornaments, signifiers of status.

Lene does not see me like that. I am disposable in her eyes, a mere plaything for her amusement with no inherent worth of my own. The thing she loves the most about dominating me, is the thought of taking me away from Mistress. There’s nothing personal in it.

No amount of submission on my part will change that.

“I’ll need to rephrase that trigger, once I properly break you in,” Lene muses. “It sounds so silly, phrased like that.”

Now, I feel absurdly protective of that trigger’s wording. Yes, I am Mistress’ own loyal doggie, and Maggie’s, too. It’s… part of who I am, now. And suddenly, I don’t want to give it up.

“Stay," Lene says, stepping away from the bed. It’s a mirthless joke - I’m not going anywhere, and not just because of the restraints. I’m not allowed to stand up, and I probably lack the strength to even crawl properly, right now.

Even in her absence, I feel the ghostly imprint of Lene’s control. I feel it in my mind, hemmed in like cattle to the pen. I feel it on my skin, marked by her nails and by her crop and by her lips. I feel it in my cunt – there, most of all.

Lene does believe it’s the part of my body that should be doing all my thinking for me, after all.

Her heels clack against the floor. She’s moving around the room, outside my field of view. "You once thought yourself so high and mighty, didn't you, Fiona? You thought you could outsmart the system. Go far in the world. Onwards and upwards, rags to riches, all of that."

I hear the clink of metal and the subtle snap of a lock.

“A little too romantic, don’t you think?”

She steps back into sight. She looks so towering, seen from down here.

“Still. You prized yourself on your intellect so much, on being a bright student, so… try to do better for me, dog. Don’t tell me a little sexual overstimulation is all it takes to make your brain crash completely. I said, it’s not just you I’m breaking. What do I mean by that? It’s a simple question.”

She’s bearing a pair of gleaming cuffs, each linked to a thin chain. My breath catches as she secures them around my ankles, spreading me open, exposed and vulnerable before her inscrutable gaze.

“You can’t answer with your words,” she says, “but there’s no need for that. I can spot understanding in your eyes, if it’s there. Let me look.”

Her eyes descend on mine.

She’s so close that our lips are almost touching. I lose myself in the deep blue of those eyes. They’re clever, cold, dissecting.

She drags her fingernails down my throat, sending shivers down my spine. I bite my lip to muffle a moan, hating myself for the way my body still responds to her touch. Lene chuckles.

"You don’t understand, after all. Beautiful," Lene says, sounding almost mesmerised, as she begins to climb over the bed, straddling me, slithering above me like a crouching tigress.

Her eyes over mine, her body over mine, her mind over mine, her will over mine, it gives her the edge.

“Ignorant creature. It’s Elizabeth’s control over you that I’m truly breaking. Snapping the collar in half, so I can place my own around your neck. Now, open for me."

She means both my body and my mind.

Her fingers pry me open, and so do her eyes. Her touch is tender but firm, exacting, as she teases my clit and my pussy lips like a musical instrument. I gasp and arch my back as she slides two fingers inside me. I’m ready for her, hungry for the intrusion. My cunt clamps down greedily on the intrusion, slick with arousal I can't control.

"Relax into it," she says, and it’s just not possible, I’ve been on the edge for too long, I’m mindlessly humping her hand, panting like an animal.

"Respond only to my touch," Lene says, and I draw in breath sharply as she enters me with a third finger. The wet, rhythmic sound is so hot to listen to, it’s lodged in my brain like an arousal bullet, it’s the sound of conquest, of methodically being hollowed out and mind-broken and brain-fucked by this living goddess.

Her fingers trail a path of fire across my skin. I’m not just being fingered, I’m being sculpted by Lene's deft hands. There is no room for pride or ambition here; there is only the unfolding of my being beneath her touch.

And then she stops, withdrawing her fingers and leaving me empty and aching. A needy whine escapes my throat before I can bite it back. Lene smiles, feline and predatory.

The buzzer rings, unanswered.

"You're doing so well," she coos in my ear as if she were praising a well-trained dog. "I can see why Elizabeth likes you." The way she says 'likes' sends a shiver down my spine; it isn't spoken with any warmth or empathy - only clinical interest.

Slowly, gently, her fingers slide inside me once more. My hips rock desperately, chasing her fingers as she withdraws them almost completely before thrusting back in. Over and over the sweet torture continues

Her thumb circles my clit again as her fingers pump into me, hitting that sweet spot again and again. Pressure builds deep within, my toes curling, muscles tensing.

Once again, the world swims in and out of focus. Every muscle in my body clenches at once. If not for the trigger, I’d be cumming my brains out now, I know. Instead, all I can do is teeter on the edge, becoming unwound as Lene sits astride me, mastering my body and my mind.

I see her shadow on the wall. Like a spectator to my unraveling. A fever-dream thought, but everything feels oneiric now, in this surreal mind space. When I was free, I didn’t even know it was possible to feel like this.

Is this even reality? The blue eyes looming over me like two shining orbs of cold fire certainly don’t look real to me. They pin me downway more effectively than any physical shackle. I feel naked, exposed, my mind stripped bare, as if my defenses are being incinerated away under the hateful glare of a pulsing blue sun.

I lose myself in her eyes, and it’s almost as if they’re losing themselves in me, such is the intensity of their glare.

Lene is obsessed.

It’s a strange realisation. I don’t know which part of my brain supplied it, but I can’t deny its truth. She’s incredibly into this, and not just dominating me, no – I’m an afterthought in her fantasy, really.

It’s the idea of prying Elizabeth’s grip on me apart, and seizing me in her own name, that excites her. And if that means separating Maggie and I, breaking my heart… so much the better, right? Predators always go for vital spots. The jugular, the heart…

"Speak. Tell me, Fiona... are you really here with me?"

I blink, dazed. In my mentally and physically liminal state, I can’t tell if her question is a non sequitur, or if I’m the one not following. My world has narrowed down to the exquisite pleasure-pain of her fingers fucking me open.

I guess I am a ditzy, brain-addled, dopamine-starved cum rag, after all. Lene will just have to forgive me. She’s making me be this way.

"Yes," I reply, and even to my own ears, the word sounds so unsteady, like the tentative answer of an unprepared student… not before her teacher, but before her master.

I deliberately avoid using the word mistress. That position is taken. I can hold on to that much, at least. At least…

At least for now.

"Where do your thoughts wander?" Lene asks, deliberate, calculating, as if she’s enjoying the taste and feel of every syllablle. "Tell me about your dreams, Fiona.”

I try to focus, to push past the haze of confusion and need, but my thoughts are scattered leaves in the wind of her will, in the storm of my bottled-up sexual need. "I... I don't understand," I stammer.

"Your fears, then," Lene presses on, her breath hot against my lips, her eyes cold over mine. "What nightmares has Elizabeth woven into the fabric of your slumber?"

What?

I… I don’t understand. I’m being stripped of higher cognitive functioning. The pleasure builds steadily, almost unbearably, especially because it won’t be allowed to jump off the cliff. Just constant build-up, with no release.

I'm helpless beneath her ministrations, my hips bucking, inner muscles clenching around her fingers as she plays my body expertly.

She must notice the complete befuddlement in my eyes, and she snaps at last. "Elizabeth... What did she tell you before sending you to me?"

Lene leans in close, and our lips touch. "Look at me, pet. Look deep into my eyes and tell me what that bitch has done to you. There must be something. I will have the truth from you, one way or another. What are you hiding from me?"

"Nothing, Mistress," I gasp out. There's nothing to confess. She already knows everything! There are no hidden triggers or implanted commands for Lene to find.

I squirm and whimper beneath Lene, my mind hazy with arousal as her fingers work their magic between my legs. I want to please her, to give her what she desires, but I truly have no secrets to divulge.

"Please, Mistress, I don't know anything," I whimper, my hips rolling uncontrollably against her hand.

Lene's eyes blaze with cold fire. "I don't believe you. A good pet holds nothing back from her owner."

You’re not my owner, I almost blurt out, but I check myself. That would be really, really dangerous. From the glint in her eyes, I can tell she approves of my failure to push back.

"I-I promise, there's nothing..." My protests dissolve into moans as she works her magic, making my thighs tremble. Her skills are almost wasted on me right now. I’ve been at the very edge for so long that even the most mediocre kind of sexual attention would be enough to keep me going.

But together with arousal, there’s a bit of fear, now. What will she do if she doesn't find what she seeks? How far will she go to wring non-existing secrets and false confessions from my quivering body?

Somewhere in the haze I'm aware of Lene still talking, asking questions I can't comprehend. All I can do is moan and shake my head.

"I think you need more encouragement," Lene says. “Tell me the truth, betray Elizabeth, and I’ll let you cum. You have my word.”

Uggghhhh.

I really do appreciate the genius and cruelty of it all, I do. Just hearing her words has my body spasm and contort like it’s trying to physically expel the hypnotic lock placed on my ability to cum. I would do anything, say anything…

Even lie, perhaps.

But somehow,  I can’t bring myself to actually tell her what she wants to hear. No matter how delirious I feel right now, there’s this one, weird moment of lucidity, clarity of thought, that allows me to tell the truth. Nothing more, and nothing less.

“That… that won’t work, Mistress,” I say at last, and Lene looks genuinely taken aback at my response.

“What do you mean, slave?” She asks, and I can’t tell if the edge to her voice is genuine curiosity, or anger.

I gulp.

“I mean… that I’m already telling the truth,” I say. “And even if I make something up to please you… what’s the point, Mistress? You’re never going to believe anything I say anyway.”

There’s a strange look passing through Lene’s eyes as she processes my last question. As if she’s just realised something herself.

“… No,” she says at last, pensively. “No, you’re absolutely right. I suppose I would not.”

Before I can process her words, she snaps her fingers. Four times.

My mind begins to sag, soft and shapeless raw materials, ready to receive new form. Ready for reprogramming.

I stare, glassy-eyed and slack-jawed, as Lene leans in, her lips finding mine in a brutal kiss. Her tongue invades my mouth as her fingers continue their relentless rhythm below.

When she breaks the kiss, Lene begins to speak.

I don’t process the words consciously, but I know my subconscious is drinking them all up. Absorbing them. Internalising them.

I feel something then - a strange shifting in my mind. Lene's will presses against my own, urging me to surrender, to give her access to my innermost thoughts and memories.

I can’t resist this psychic invasion, no more than I could resist the physical. Her will is too strong, her mastery of my body too complete. Slowly, I relinquish control. My brain opens up to her hypnotic power, just as my cunt opens up to welcome her fingers.

So be it.

Let Lene rifle through my memories and surface thoughts, sifting for clues, for any sign of Elizabeth's machinations. She will find nothing, and she’ll know that I’ve been telling the truth.

I lay limp and broken beneath her, being fucked in both body and mind. Lene dives deep into my mind, deeper and deeper, as lost in me as I am in her.

The buzzer rings again and again, unheard.