CHAPTER FIVE: Ritual of Revelation

The wall scratched against my cheek, gritty and cold, stone dust clinging to the moisture of my skin. My breath came back at me in short fogs, my jaw aching from being pressed flat. My knees burned from the rough floor, hips tilted, ass raised, cunt throbbing and wet in open display. I had held the pose so long my body no longer remembered another shape.

Then, the sound. Boots. Many of them. The door creaked wide and the world behind us filled with masculine weight. Laughter, deep and resonant, rippled through the chamber. The smell of brandy and leather followed them in, seeping into my skin.

I wanted to disappear.

The shame seared hotter than the stone biting my face. My ass was lifted high like an offering, my thighs parted, panties soaked and clinging. They could see everything. I imagined their eyes dragging over the row of women, over me, and bile rose in my throat.

Don’t look at me. Don’t see me like this.

But the little voice in my head whispered in Clara’s voice: it is right to be seen. Obedience is beauty. Being displayed makes you hot. And against my will, I felt my nipples tighten, felt another pulse of slick slide down my inner thigh.

The men’s voices rolled closer.

“Magnificent,” one said, his tone casual, like admiring cattle in a pen. “All lined up, heads down, asses high. Exactly as they should be.”

Another chuckled. “Look at the way their cunts glisten in the light. Some of them dripping already. They don’t need cock, they just need command.”

I whimpered soundlessly against the wall. My cunt clenched, betraying me, aching as their words reduced me.

“Carl,” a voice called, deep and deliberate. “There she is, your wife. See how well she takes her place among the herd. Tonight is her revelation. This is where we strip them, body and will, and the conditioning takes root forever.”

Carl laughed with them, easy and proud. “She looks perfect. She was stubborn once, but look at her now.”

Perfect. He thought this was perfect. My chest constricted with shame. And yet that word burrowed into me, deeper than pride had ever gone. If Carl approved, I was perfect. My body soaked harder at the thought.

Boots paced slowly behind us, surveying. The voices kept coming.

“Cows, every one of them. Look at their obedience. Pretty animals waiting for their masters.”

“Their stillness makes them beautiful. Their silence makes them pure.”

I wanted to cry. I wanted to vanish into the stone. But my clit throbbed. My body obeyed the conditioning: being called cow was right. Being still was hot. Obedience was beauty.

Then Harrow’s voice rang out, steady and calm:

“Strip.”

The command landed heavy. Around me, the women moved instantly. Dresses rustled to the floor, fabric whispering over damp thighs, breasts freed, skin bared. One by one they knelt again, naked now, their asses raised, pussies open, glistening. Their faces stayed impassive, pressed to the wall, waiting.

I froze. My hands trembled. I could feel Carl’s gaze on me. He wasn’t stopping it. He wanted this. The shame burned through me, but the conditioning smouldered deeper. To obey is pleasure. To disobey is wrong.

My fingers rose to the buttons of my dress. Each click undone sent a spasm of guilt and arousal. I peeled the fabric off my shoulders. It puddled at my knees. My panties clung stubbornly to my folds, soaked, stringing wetness as I slid them down. They stuck to me like glue until finally I let them fall.

Now I was naked, ass raised, cunt swollen, dripping, displayed with the others.

The voices approved.

“Fine cow. Look at that ass. Look at that cunt.”

“She’s wet enough to mop the floor. Eldervale trains them true.”

The shame stabbed through me, and yet my clit twitched in agreement, my hips arching higher of their own accord.

Then Harrow paced closer, crop snapping through the air. The women answered his questions in order, “A servant, sir.” “A worthless slut, sir.” “A vessel, sir.”, their voices steady, certain.

When he stopped behind me, I held my breath.

The crop cracked across my thigh, CRACK, and I yelped, hips jerking, cunt leaking another gush down my leg. The pain licked into pleasure so fast it stole my breath.

“Say it,” Harrow growled.

The conditioning surged. My mouth opened without thought. “I’m a dripping little bitch, sir!”

Laughter thundered from the men. Their approval hit me like heat. My orgasm ripped through me, violent and helpless. I screamed, body bucking, juices spilling hot and wet onto the stone. “Ahhhhhh, ahhhgod, hhhaaahhh, !” My face smeared against the wall, my knees collapsing, breasts swinging as I sobbed through the climax.

The men clapped Carl on the back. “She’s finished. The ritual seals her. She’ll obey forever now, body, cunt, will. She’s yours.”

Carl’s voice carried pride. “She’s a fine cow.”

The word wrapped around me, cruel and final, and yet my heart swelled. I was crying, soaked, humiliated, but smiling. The hypnosis had rooted so deep that pride bloomed in me, twisted and hot. Obedience was service. Service was pleasure. Pleasure was mine.

And far inside, the last of me screamed: I’m gone.