Lyan could hardly remember what it had been like to be a normal girl. It felt like a lifetime ago, like a fading shadow cast by the flickering flames of a dying campfire. Soon to be extinguished by the coming dawn,

There was a cock inside of her. She was bent over, her breasts pressed into the wooden wall of the old house. Her hardened nipples tingled and jolted, each thrusting pressing her against the solid wood. It felt heavenly, the cock was hard and big, filling her up until tears spilled from her eyes. Her pussy hugged it, gripping it tightly even as pleasure roared through her like a torrent. Each thrust, each motion, each grinding penetration filled her mind with fire and cast those early days even more deeply into shadow.

She hadn’t always been such a cock-slut. She hadn’t always been a soaking, dripping mess of a woman. A toy reduced to her most primal functions, her only purpose to serve and please her betters.

No, that was not how she had started life.

Lyan yelped, a crackling orgasm spun through her nubile body. Her pussy twitched, and her master gave a grunt of satisfaction. He filled her up, his seed pouring into her pussy with a flood of heat and warmth. As he pulled out, she sank to her knees. Her chest heaved, rising and falling. Her eyes were wide, her auburn hair in a tangled mess.

“Better get back to the dishes,” the man chuckled. “When Robert gets back, you’ll be punished if they’re not done. And you know we hate to punish you.”

She felt him sweeping from the room, heard the groaning of old floorboards under his weight. Just like that, she’d been used, fucked, filled and left.

Lyan knelt on the floor, her body trembling. Slowly, she ran one hand between her legs. Her labia were a little swollen. She’d been used a lot lately. A tingle of pain marked the contact. As Jason’s seed dripped from her lower lips, she noted she’d have to beg for a break soon.

Jason and Robert were good about giving her breaks when she needed them. They’d fuck her in the ass for a few days and give her time to recover. Lyan pulled herself to her feet. Her legs were still shaking, little sparks of ecstasy danced across her calves and thighs, and she had to lean against the wall, panting and groaning until she was able to stagger back over towards the half-finished dishes. The soapy water had now grown cold, but there was always plenty of power to heat more.

Running out of money was not a thing that either Robert or Jason had to fear. She didn’t know exactly what they did, but they were rich. Richer than rich, really. The kind of people who were so wealthy they didn’t need to flaunt it. They didn’t like to show off. They wore normal clothes and drove practical, rugged cars. They didn’t boast or brag and they certainly never made a big thing of it.

In fact, the only concession to their wealth was the house itself. It was old, a rebuilt farmhouse from the century prior. A forest had grown up around it, enveloping it slowly over time. The two of them had taken it as a personal project, restoring it and stocking it with the very finest of everything. Yes, it was miles and miles from the nearest civilization but when it had literally anything you could ever want on offer, who cared about the drive?

And ‘’anything’’ of course, included Lyan.

When the dishes were done and put away, she went to report to Jason. He was sitting comfortably in the living room, tucked up against a table upon which there sat an expensive-looking laptop. He didn’t spare her a look, and she figured he was probably doing something important. Playing the stocks? Racing horses? Hunting humans for sport?

Lyan realised she really didn’t know what he did for fun.

Besides her, of course.

“The dishes are done, sir,” she took on an appropriately servile tone. Sometimes, she liked to tease. To bait, to taunt them into punishing her. it was always fun when that happened.

She remembered one time she’d done something particularly bad. They had tied her hands above her head, draping them from a hanging rafter. Robert had taken the hot wax to her body, splashing it across her pale skin with quick, sudden motions. Lyan had whimpered, jumping with each searing pinprick. The feeling had been so intense, so quick. When the hot wax had curled about her left nipple, she’d let out a howling cry, but that was nothing to what she felt when Robert intentionally let a bead of it touch her glistening clitoris.

Oh, how she’d shook! How she’d shivered! She’d been begging for forgiveness by then. Her body clenching, her pussy hot and tight and wet.

They had taken turns fucking her for the rest of the night. First in the pussy, then in the ass. Just when both men were spent and she was sure it was finally over, Jason had revealed that he’d brought in a new shipment of toys. A crate - a whole fucking crate - was waiting to torment her until the dawn.

By the end, she’d been dripping, ruined, a total mess on her hands and knees begging her masters for forgiveness.

In the present, Lyan gave a little moan. Her pussy throbbed, a wave of tightness expanded between her legs. The idea of invoking another punishment was tempting…

But she was already aching. She had to pace herself. That was part of The Agreement.

The agreement. Yes. How long ago had that been? Another life, surely? It felt like it had happened to another girl. A normal girl. A girl still in college. A girl who had to worry about qualifications, about jobs, about a future which was so uncertain.

What would that Lyan think now if she could only see her future self?

“You’d best be ready to go the full way if you’re going to start playing with yourself, slut.”

Lyan’s face coloured. She’d gotten too caught up in the past! Her fingers had started to work the bud of her clit, teasing it with delicate touches and feathery caresses as she remembered her past punishments.

“S-sorry sir,” she said. “I can’t help myself….”

“You are forgiven,” Jason waved a magnanimous hand. “It’s what we made you, after all.”

It was true. That was what they had made her. What she had let them make her.

The agreement, an offer of damnation that seemed to spring from her deepest desires. Total submission. Free use, surrender. Her body would no longer be her own. She would cede control to these men, allow them to use her in every way. To fuck her, to humiliate her, to tease her and torment her.

And she loved it all. She lived for it. At twenty-one years old, Lyan was a professional slut. A free-use whore for her owners and any guests that they chose to bring to the small, isolated house. She’d had more sex in the last year than most women had in three. She was trained, submissive, degraded and humiliated.

And she loved every second of it.