Part 1. Part 2.

Ivy was still trying to catch her breath.

Two months ago, she was a cocky brat. She wasn’t a prude, but she absolutely would never have called herself a slut. She had a FWB and some kinks she was curious about.

Two weeks ago, she started listening to the sound of my voice. Deep, resonant, calming. Digging into her soul and molding her. Degrading her. Calling her a slut and a whore. Making her cum. Making it hard for her to think straight.

Two days ago, she was still feeling pretty cocky. All she had to do was beat me, to stay mentally strong. She didn’t have to call herself a cumslut. She could be stubborn and outlast me.

Two minutes ago, she admitted she was a cumslut.

Whenever I play the Doorknob Game, the sluts always ask the same question: “What do I get when I win?”

After we pick out their would-be prize, they start to wonder. And the inevitable second question: “What do you get if YOU win?”

That honestly should have been the first question. I’ve never lost playing the Doorknob Game.

With Ivy, what I got was a cumslut, gasping for air and feeling my cum spill out of her pussy.

The night before, she let it slip that no man had ever made her cum before. That was after I made her cum four times in one night. Four felt like a low number. I should do something about that.

Ivy was naked from the waist down. The remnants of her bra and tank top hung from her shoulders, and her arms were trapped in Mr. Scarecrow, my favorite home-brew stocks I use for brats like her.

I had won. I owned her. She was my cumslut. I could have let her free and it still would have been one of the most intense nights of her life.

“You’re a monster, written by a woman,” Ivy told me, after I was done breaking her.

After a hard, rough fucking, Ivy’s clit was throbbing hard. It didn’t take long for my tongue to tease out those magic words from her…

“Please Mr. Casey, may I cum?”

Of course I gave her permission. But it had taken so little effort to make this slut cum, I saw no reason to stop licking her.

Her hips started to thrust, her thighs squeezed against me. Anything to get my mouth off of her cunt. But I didn’t allow it.

I pushed her lower body down to a collection of sad, defeated groans. My fingers moved inside of her, rubbing her g-spot as I licked her clit.

As the waves of the first orgasm died down, the second one started to build immediately.

“Please. Please. Please.” she started, trying to remember the magic words. “Mr. Casey, may I cum?”

“Don’t you dare, you little slut,” I growled. “Hold it. HOLD IT.”

Every fiber of her being wanted to cum, but more importantly wanted to do as I told her. She obeyed. She started to quiver. Her thighs were shaking. She lasted all of 30 seconds before she begged again. This time, I let her cum.

I stood up for a moment, partially to catch my breath, and partially to give her clit a brief respite. Mostly, to walk over to her bag and dig out her vibrator.

Making her cum a third time did take a little more effort, even with the help from the toy. I could feel the warmth steaming from her pussy.

Giving her hole a break, I grabbed one of my markers. When looking through all the tools I packed to break her, Ivy singled out the markers.

“I’m worried about what those will do to my ego.”

I promised her that after I broke her into little tiny pieces of cumslut, I would put the cocky brat back together again.

Across her tits, I wrote, “Property of Casey.” There’s a dozen different sluts reading this now and getting really excited, because that’s one of the steps I require them to do if they want to earn their Slut Identification Number (SIN).

With Ivy, she needed to be broken into admitting that she was a slut. So until that was done, it didn’t make sense labeling her as my property.

Underneath the label, I also put on her newly-earned SIN - 96-65-35-1-2-A (if you ever see a photo of this and see 96-66-35-1-2-A on her instead, know that the typo was her fault entirely). And yes, victory photos of this somewhat worn-out slut were taken.

Since her tits didn’t get a lot of attention during the Doorknob Game, and only some light sucking when I was toying with her pussy, I decided to teach her what it felt like to have clothespins on them. She’s still trying to decide if she liked the pain they caused.

With some sluts, I can clothespin their nipples, then twist it 180 degrees, 270 degrees, even a full 360 before they squirm and pout. Ivy set the record as the biggest wimp here, not even able to handle a 90-degree twist.

Since I’m a really kind, sweet person, I pulled the clothespins off, untied her, and showered her down for some mid-scene aftercare (and also because the markers I used on her would smear all over me once it mixed with sweat or semen).

Out of the shower, I grabbed a seat in one of the two chairs in front of the gorgeous floor-to-ceiling windows, showing off a 20th-floor view of the entire city.

Ivy is a cumslut, so it wouldn’t make any sense for her to use the other chair or enjoy the view. She was much more happy being pushed to her knees and using her mouth as a cockwarmer.

I checked my phone, handling a customer service problem with my business, then sending a few messages to other sluts. I let them know how pathetic she was during the Doorknob Game, and sent some pictures of her exposed and helpless to the sluts that were next on the list, giving them a preview of their future.

I only had to slap the cockwarmer’s face a couple times, as the eager little cumslut was definitely trying to make me cum.

Also, credit where credit is due, Ivy has the absolute best hands. I was surprised how skilled she was in stroking my cock, nearly getting me to cum. I know this is a huge shocker, but I like to be in charge. And that usually means I like to be fucking in order to cum, not having someone else make me cum. She was close enough to nearly make me lose it. So I dragged her over to the bed to use her like the fucktoy she is.

I really liked how her tight little cunt could barely handle my cock. I had to imagine that other men have been holding back with her, making sure they didn’t hurt her. I didn’t have any reason to hold back. She was my cumslut. I had every right to hurt her. And she wanted it to hurt.

As a rule, if I cum and my dick needs a moment to recover, I just let the sadist in me play. Ivy has a really cute butt, and it needed some bruises. So I made her crawl back over to the giant windows, bend her over a footstool, and started teaching her skin the difference between thuddy and stingy impact toys.

When her ass was finally glowing a heated red, I was really nice to her and let her sit in a chair. I have to imagine it feels really great to sit down on a freshly-spanked ass, because she wasn’t complaining.

I went back to teasing her wimpy nipples, this time using chopsticks and rubber bands. Again, she could only handle a quarter turn.

So I decided to show her another trick with the clothespins. Instead of clamping on each nipple, I made a pattern of them around the edges of her tits, and threaded some thin cord in between each one.

“This is called pulling the zipper,” I said.

With a tug on the cord, I pulled off each clothespin in rapid succession. Ivy cursed under her breath.

I took a moment to appreciate my creation. Every urge to brat had been drained out of her. Every scrap of disobedience gone. She was willing to let me do anything I wanted to her, no matter if it hurt her or pleased her, the only goal that mattered was my pleasure.

I needed to train her.

BDSM has some of the silliest lore to it. Protocols that I normally ignore, poses that are just ridiculous. They’re rarely my thing.

But with this cute, broken slut at my disposal, it made sense to get her some protocols.

I taught her a variety of on-her-knees poses. Humble, where she’s subtly covering her pussy with her hands. Service, where she puts her hands palms-up on her thighs. And Collar, where she holds her hands over her head and waits for her collar.

Ivy had a very, very visceral reaction to the thought of a collar when we were covering possible kinks to explore. She was very, very against the thought of being led around a room on a leash like an animal. As unlikely as it was that she would call herself a slut, putting a collar on felt even more extreme.

Her disdain was so intense, I checked twice to make sure it wasn’t a hard limit.

And now she was naked, on her knees, hands on her head, accepting her collar like a good little slut.

I choose specific collars for my sluts, to match their personalities. Ivy the Cumslut earned a simple black one with silver reflective stripes. The black reminded me of the little black dress I first saw her in, that first made me want to use her as a fucktoy. The reflective silver was for the Cumslut in her begging for attention.

I fastened the leash onto her. With a soft push, she got on all fours.

“Go ahead and touch the doorknob,” I said.

Only two hours ago, touching the doorknob would have saved her from this. She would have had a scrap of dignity left. But now, she knew it would mean crawling from one side of the suite to the other, with me holding her by the leash.

Her shoulders slumped for a moment. And then like a good doggy, she started to crawl.

Most of her path was carpeted. When the edge of the bathroom choked the room off into a short hallway, the flooring turned to carpet. Earlier that night, I boasted that she wouldn’t even set foot on the marble. During aftercare, she pointed out to me that the soles of her feet STILL didn’t touch the marble as she crawled.

“Go on, touch it,” I said.

The doorknob was only two feet in front of her. But the leash snapped tight. I wasn’t giving her enough slack.

“Having some trouble?” I asked.

She stopped reaching for the doorknob and looked down at the floor.

“Yes.”

“Have you considered begging like a dumb little cumslut?”

“May I please touch the doorknob?”

“Louder.”

“May I please touch the doorknob?”

“Why do you need to touch the doorknob?” I asked.

“Because you told me to,” Ivy replied, not daring to make eye contact.

“And does that mean you’re a dumb little cumslut that does as she’s told?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said in her meekest voice.

“Say it.”

“I’m a dumb little cumslut that does as she’s told,” she said.

“Now be a good girl and touch that doorknob,” I said.

She tapped the doorknob in a defeated motion, and immediately got back on all fours.

I’ll be honest, from this point forward, my notes on what happened get a little repetitive.

Fucked on the bed.

OK, that’s self-explanatory. I was so hard and cocky after taking her for a walk. I needed a cumdump, and that was her purpose.

I had two fingers inside of her pussy, and my other arm around her torso. Using that grip, I threw her on the bed.

“Fuck,” she said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I kind of did,” I said.

The fun part of hurting her this way was seeing how much she enjoyed it.

More face-fucking

I have a couple pictures of this. At some point I got back to the chair and needed to get the cum cleaned off my cock. So Ivy the Cumslut got to work.

Vibrator, dildo

Ah! I remember this. Ivy was still energetic and horny. So I went back to the vibrator, because I was pretty sure that I was done cumming for the night, even if she wasn’t. Then I pulled out her cute little glass dildo, only about five inches long and noticeably thinner than my cock. She later admitted that she only brought her small one, because she was worried about what I’d do to her with a big one. It was a smart choice.

I almost used some lube on the dildo, but even after being tossed around and drilled, she was still a wet little slut.

Echoing the forced orgasms from earlier, I again made her cum over and over again.

“I never thought that orgasms could hurt,” she said, trying to calm down.

Fuck again

There was something about her body being just inches away from needing to tap out for the night. Exhausted, dick drunk and sore. All because of what I did to her.

I turned her into a sexual masterpiece. And that just made me horny.

One more time folding her in half. One more time stretching her cunt out. Spitting on her face. Calling her a dirty little cumslut. And moaning as my cock throbbed inside of her. I’m not even sure any cum came out that time. Ivy the Cumslut had me truly drained.

Jacuzzi recap

If you’re ever going to spend back-to-back nights giving a slut hard lessons on what she is, I highly recommend doing it in a hotel that randomly upgrades you to a jacuzzi suite.

When I picked the room, I really only needed a king size bed, for, well, you know, what you just read. But they booked out all the normal king-size rooms, and it was a slow weekend. So, jacuzzi time.

We spent an hour turning the lights low, snuggling in the bubbles, looking out over the city. We talked about things we really liked, things we didn’t like, and things we want to try next time. I went down the list of kinks we explored, and I complimented Ivy on just how amazing she was during the whole scene.

There was a bit more aftercare after that, including check-ins over the next few days to make sure her bruised ass was healing up properly.

“You’re a monster, written by a woman,” she said.

It was the best possible compliment that I’ve ever gotten. The idea that I’m all the dark, fucked-up fantasies a woman could have, brought to life as a specially-designed incubus to break her - my ego has been insufferable.

And her little cocky brat ego has healed up nicely, too.