Suzi is Rebuilt as a Sex Toy ch 02

2

FOUR O’CLOCK

I am writing this because it is the best way I know to further humiliate myself. Maybe that will make me cum. To expose myself by letting the world know what kind of life I am leading. There have been hundreds of cocks in my mouth and in my cunt since Michael took over my life and it turns me on to know that there are thousands more strangers watching the videos he posts and reading the stories he has me write. I am touching my pussy right now, masturbating because I know someone is reading this.

I need to get some rest. In two hours, it will be six a.m. and Michael will dress me and send me back to Thomas. But I am desperate to cum and I can only cum by hurting myself while I touch myself, by thinking about myself and my depraved state, by picturing myself being looked at.

Half an hour ago, I was on my knees moaning in pain. I wanted to cum but nobody would touch my cunt. I can’t yet cum just from pain but I will get there. Thomas promises me that. If you don’t remember from my last entry, I am a tit slave and a body-modified slave. I am picturing myself as I am now and it makes me want to cum. It has been over a year and Thomas is changing me little by little. Michael is allowing him to. I do not know why. I do not care why. Anything Michael tells me to do, I do.

It is four in the morning. Since nine last night, Michael’s clients have been using me as a party toy. He delivered me in my standard latex outfit, my body encased toes to fingertips, eyes and mouth zippered, pony tail sticking out the hood and every inch of me covered except my tits. My 40DD’s hang obscenely from the opening in the front of the outfit. This group stripped me naked and spent most of the night fucking my asshole. Some of the couples enjoyed making me suck the cum out of their girlfriends’ pussies after a fuck, some of the others had me lick the girls while they were being fucked. My cunt was throbbing all night, the heat in the room got to me. I’d finger myself but someone would always catch me, pull my hand away and kneel behind me, shoving something up my ass and laughing. Michael had made it clear to them that I was there for their pleasure not mine.

At two, Peter showed up. I was naked on my knees with someone’s cock in my mouth, gagging as he held my head balls-deep against him. I didn’t notice the suitcase Peter was carrying until they brought me into the basement. Someone set up two blocks of wood and they made me kneel on them. I put my hands and knees on the wood. My tits hung free and I knew that meant pain. Peter’s fetish is tit torture and I was in an exposed position. He walked around me, touching me, scratching me with his fingernails. “This isn’t quite right,” he said. He was right. He was one of what I called the Latex Three. Sure enough that was what he wanted. Someone went and got the latex suit and made me put it back on.

I was a completely anonymous sex object again, a body in black latex with nothing to identify it except two huge titties hanging free between its elbows. Peter opened the suitcase and removed a metal box, some tubes, and cups. Nipple cups. A milking machine. A farm implement, I’d seen it before. The gentle milking action most mothers were familiar with was nothing like this device. Nothing at all. This was industrial strength, this was the machine they used on cows. And he was going to connect it to me. I felt my body shaking in anticipation already. It was going to be very painful. Sweet, sweet pain, but still pain. I was shaking with excitement and fear.

The thing about machines is that there is no appealing to them. They continue to do their job no matter how you react or how much you beg them to stop.