Cutlass – Earth Mother

By Mr. K

2.

We dressed Cutlass in a new costume.  She seemed to have a penchant for fishnet stockings, so a whole fishnet body glove seemed appropriate. We gave her the boots back, but now she would wear only the fishnet body stocking that was open at the crotch. It was sleeveless, and bore a high collar and a racing back. Her big tits were covered, but could be easily exposed by simply pulling down on those places right by the skin of her bare arms. She was no longer a superheroine, and there was no need for that silly Cutlass costume any longer.

We didn’t tie her, but I paralyzed her wrists together in front of her as if they were bound.

“Your name is no longer Tina, and you are no longer the heroine called Cutlass. You are to call yourself either ‘slave’ or ‘whore.’ Do you understand?”

I sensed no defiance in her. The milk flowed in her system. The woman was broken.

“Do you understand? Say your new name.”

“I am Whore,” she said.

I spoke to her mind, to her nervous system. I created images of fire sweeping through her body, fingers of fire weaving through the sinews of her muscle. She flung her head back and screamed. I pictured her cunt, and a massive, over-sized black, leather dildo entering her. It was covered in shiny, chrome studs, and infinitely too large for her sex. I gave her the feeling of being painfully stretched out, and she screamed.

I gave her the feeling of the same massive toy slowly turning and twisting its way up her asshole.

She screamed.

She felt it and doubled over, shaking.

“Are you suffering. Whore?”

“Yes … sir.”

“Is it your role to suffer?”

“Yes, sir.”

She felt a huge fist clench in her body. It was as if something had gripped her internal organs, and I created the image of another massive tool going up her ass. Now, her howling was more pained. She finally slid to the floor. She was being tortured.

“Your names again, please?”

There was a long, gasping pause.

“I am Whore. I am Slave.”

“Back on your feet.”

Slowly she rose, giving me a show of the muscle and curves in motion. She stood there in her new costume, her wrists bound in front of her with a ribbon of power.  She stood erect and poised, with that solid physique, and those large breasts. The posture was just a symbol of her new status.

The suggestion of penetration was still vibrating in her, because her pussy poured out juice, in slow lapping spurts, that soaked the legs of her new fishnet body stocking. She was forming a puddle on the floor between her boots.

“Now, Whore, show your subservience. You were forced to toss Sister Dragon’s salad once. You were captive, and you ate her ass out. Remember that?”

“Yes sir.”

“It was one of your more humiliating moments. We found it in your mind when we scoured around in there. Do it to Karen. Do it with relish. We’re going to put you through some paces before you use you for your ultimate purpose.”

“Yessir.”

I had taken some time to prepare the scene. Everything deserves a proper scene; it all has to look a certain way. We had her walk to one of the bedrooms. We picked the one that was full of deep blue tapestries. We placed her in the middle of the room.

There was the sound of Karen’s silence. Karen, naked, was a true sight to see. Stripped of her gray body suit, she proudly paraded around in the bare majesty of her naked body. Her muscles. Her large red nipples. Her bare feet paced in a quiet line across the cool marble floor to our slave. She ran her fingers through moist red hair, and stopped just an arm’s length from Whore.

She smiled.

She slapped Whore across the face.

Our slave’s head snapped to the side, her hair splaying over her face in a web. She released a sigh and looked back at the redhead.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Come take care of me,” said Karen.

She walked behind Karen and they moved through the room. Karen leaned over the sofa, her ass in the air. Her cheeks naturally spread slightly.

On the marble table beside the sofa there was a wide bowl of caviar and sour cream.

“Pack it in my ass, then eat it out clean.”

Karen’s voice was crisp and clear.

Cutlass moved with smooth deliberate caution. She scooped up a slick, black gob of caviar, and bent over the smooth, white curve of Karen’s ass. I thought she would let it just sort of tumble into the crack of Karen’s ass, but instead she meticulously spread it. She painted it from Karen’s taint to the crest of her ass. She took more, and covered it with yet another swath, this time, letting a clump dribble down the muscular contours Karen’s right leg.

“Make sure it’s good and creamy. Make it good and messy.”

Whore was just as precise with the cream as she had been with the fish eggs. She pressed in between the firm flesh cakes of the cool-eyed redhead, and then she took hold of the other woman’s ass.

She extended her tongue, long and pink, reaching out from two thick lips, and scooped out the first layer. Karen moaned lightly, closing her eyes, and our slave took a deep swallow. It was just a split second, and she was pressing her face in again, scooping a clot of cream and caviar that smeared her face and clung to her chin as she took it into her mouth.

Again, she swallowed.

Next, she took a suck. She slurped and pulled with an open mouth, drawing a thick mouthful of the delicacy back into her throat.

Karen moaned, and smiled. She looked over her shoulder at the prisoner, and she laughed until the captured heroine was done. Panting, her nipples hard, she took hold of the whore’s hair.

“Look at what a mess you are. Go clean yourself up. Crawl, but go clean your filthy, whore face up.”

We watched as Tina, our whore, crawled into the next bathroom and dunked her head in the toilet.

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