Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 We are in hell, and the aesthetic fits exactly as you would imagine.  You
are sitting in a chair, a big fuck off throne, with black ash, and gravel
under your feet.  There is a clear space in front of you, your play pen;
about 10 meters across, with a sharp, electrified fence around it.  You are
wearing worn jeans, that sit oh so low on your waist, a black trench coat,
and combat boots.  You have an electrified trident in one hand, sitting
like a total megalomaniac demon, looking out over your dominion.
   Your job is to oversee all the new bitches that come to hell.  You have
to process them, deciding whether they are worth playing with first, or
whether they just get the fire pit.  You call them through a gate, one by
one and give them trials to complete to see if they are worth your time. 
There is a line of them outside the gate, of infinite naked, beautiful,
women, all determined to get your attention and be your plaything: all
certain that they will be different from the others, and capture your heart
and desire.
   But what they don't know is they have to get through me first.  I'm
standing beside you, in a black leather dress, with a zip right down the
middle, between my breasts, black stilettoes to match.  My hair is pulled
back, and braided down my back, you like it that way because you can
control my head more easily with something sturdy to hold onto.  There is a
studded collar around my neck, and you have leashed me, holding onto it, so
all the other bitches can see, I am your favourite: your top bitch.  So
with your trident in one hand, and leash in the other, you call forward one
of the countless number of girls, summoning her into your play pen, and
smirking as you see her standing naked before you.
   She looks at you, and stands not even bothering to cover her nakedness,
sure that will earn her some points with you.  She doesn't acknowledge me
at all, just nods at you in greeting, and then looks down, because she
knows looking at you directly is a privilege she must earn.  She is small,
has medium brown hair, pale skin, and small breasts.  She has shaved her
pussy for you, again hoping to earn points with you.  What she doesn't
understand though, is that it's me she must impress first.  There is
nothing she can do at this stage which will sway what you think about her.
She is just another bitch in a line of endless bitches, and you aren't
interested in playing with any of them until your top bitch decides they
are worth it.
   I step forward, and I can see her eyes dart to my feet.  It's the first
time she looks at me, and I'm sure I can see her frown.  She is
disappointed it's not you stepping forward.  I lean down, presenting my
neck for you, holding away my hair, and waiting for your touch.  You trace
your finger on the back of my metal studded collar, grazing my skin enough
for me to shiver.  You like how it fits.  You like the way it elongates my
neck, that slender neck waiting to be defiled.  That slim neck you can use
anytime you want, and the collar around it proves to you, but mostly to me,
that I am yours.  I have been so conditioned and trained to respond to your
tug of the leash, it's really only there for show.  To show me you own me,
and to remind me, I have given my soul to you, the devil.
   The clip is undone, and the chain falls free, hitting the ground,
clinking against the gravel and stirring up the black ash.  You tip up my
chin, making me look at you, and you cock your eyebrow the way you do when
you want to see me play.  You like seeing how I toy with these worthless
flesh piles presented before you.  It amuses you, to see them squirm but
ultimately comply with whatever I do to them, because they want to please
you.  They are just props for your favourite bitch to use, in an effort to
please you in ways she cannot alone.  But you also like, that I like
playing with them, hurting them, marking them, and then crawling back to
you for you to leash me again.
   I walk behind your throne, and there is a large chest there, filled with
a plethora of devices you have chosen for me to use.  I sift through it and
find a cane, not particularly interesting or formidable, but I like the way
it cracks against skin.  I show you first, making sure you approve of my
choice, which you do.  You like that I always check with you first.  To
make sure I am doing as you please.  I walk over to her, the bitch certain
you will like her, and circle her, deciding where to strike her first.  I
see you in my periphery, sitting on your throne, watching me, and god it
makes me wet.  I choose behind the knees, and whip the cane hard against
the soft spot behind her knee caps.  She shrieks, and drops to the ground
in response, wincing again as the gravelly ground presses into her skin.
   I smirk.  Stupid bitch.  On her knees and you didn't say a word.  I kick
her, digging in my heel into the small of her back, and she is on her hands
and knees getting black ash under her nails and between her toes that she
can never scrub away.  I tap the centre of her back, indicating I want her
to arch it, stretching forward her tits for you to see, and her arse for me
to cane.  She does, and I laugh.  Oh the things the bitch will do in hopes
you will play with her.  She wants to look at you, to see you are giving
her your undivided attention.  She wants to know she is the only one you
are thinking about.  She wants to please you, because she is a good bitch,
and because she knows she must be a good bitch if she has any chance of
being yours.  I can see myself in her.  I can see myself in all the bitches
lined up for you to use.  So desperately wanting to please you, they will
abandon all their beliefs and self-respect to belong to you.  They will
crawl, through the black ash, cutting their knees, just to sit at your feet
and beg.  They hate themselves for it, they hate the way they know they are
only one in a line of endless bitches for you, but they can't stop it. 
They can't turn away from you, even though they are full of self-loathing
and despise for the way they submit to a man.
   My heart aches for her.  For a second, because I know how she feels.  I
know the hate and the anger and the confusion and the sadness she feels,
all in an attempt to be yours.  I hate myself for doing this to her, to
allow her to be used like this, by me, by you, by anyone, just because she
is a dumb bitch who wants to please.  It's me, being beaten by your top
bitch, kneeling in the ash, to please you.  It's me lined up for you to
use, over and over again.  I am no different than any of these bitches. 
I'm here, only because you want me here.  And I hate myself for it.  I hate
I don't affect you, the way you affect me.  It makes me sick that you play
with all these bitches, over and over again; all while you keep me leashed,
and play with me only when you want.  Only when you aren't playing with
another bitch.  Only when you want to play with me, and my wants, and my
feelings are irrelevant.  I look at her, pathetic and fragile on the
ground, enduring whatever will come her way because she wants to please
you, and I hate her for it.
   Bile rises in my throat, because this bitch won't stand up and fight. 
She is on her hands and knees, naked and exposed, because she wants to
please you.  The dumb fucking bitch doesn't even respect herself enough to
attempt to get back to her feet.  She just takes it.  She has surrendered,
before the battle even began.  She is a disgrace to women, an outrage to
feminism, and worth less than the ash she in kneeling in.  She doesn't
deserve my empathy; she doesn't deserve to pull my heart strings because I
can see myself in her.  And the longer I look at her, the disgusting
creature on the ground in front of me, the more I realise, I am not like
her.  I am not just another bitch, in your line of bitches.  You use me,
only because I allow you to.  Only because it turns me on, feeling your
hand on the nape of my neck, your cock on my thigh as I sit on your lap,
and the way your voice changes when you call me your top bitch.  I am here,
not to please you, but because I like it.  Because I like destroying these
insignificant bitches, proving to you, they aren't worth the effort, again
and again.  I am here, because I have given my soul for you to use.  But it
is not given just because it pleases you to own me.  It is given, because I
allowed it.
   I reach down and touch its arse cheeks.  It isn't even a person to me
anymore; just skin, and flesh and a warm body.  Feeling that juicy, smooth
skin of her ass is about my only weakness when it comes to these bitches,
and I grab her, hard, digging in my nails.  She bites her lip, and tries
not to say anything as I scratch long red marks over her ass, seeing the
blood come to the surface, and collecting tiny shavings of her skin under
my nails.  I pull her hair, so she sits back on her feet, and I push my
fingers into her mouth.
   "Clean my nails," I say and make her scratch her skin from under my
nails with her teeth.  She does, and I'm not surprised, even opening her
mouth after for me to see she has swallowed her skin.  She wants me to tell
her she has been good.  She wants to hear she has made an impression on me.
And she wants you to see the lengths she will go to for you, by trying to
impress me.  I look up at you.  You can see the conflict I endure every
time you unleash me to terminate another bitch for you.
   You can see the way flashes of my previous life haunt me, torment me,
because I am your top bitch.  You can see me try to rationalise through it,
to make it okay mentally, that I have given my soul to you.  You can see
the pain in my eyes when I realise I am just like all your other bitches,
and how it hurts me.  How it almost makes me double over in pain when I
realise I am exactly the same as the bitch swallowing her own skin, and how
I know, you aren't just playing with me, but with them all.  I want to cry,
because I'm not the only one.  But then you see me look at them, really
look at these meat sacks and realise, I am better than that.  I am here,
because I choose to be here.  I please you, because I choose to please you.
And that's the difference between all the other bitches in the line for
you. It turns me on, pleasing you, whereas they just do it, because they
want your attention and approval, and to be told they mean something.  I
don't need your acceptance, or the gratification of hearing I am different
to them.  I don't need your validation or affection, because I know I am
better than that.  Being validated by the devil, by a man, is not worth
anything to me anyway.  My value does not come from outside myself.  So
even though I love hearing it, and it makes me melt inside when you confirm
my value, I know I am worth it regardless.
   The bitch in front of me breathes deeper.  Her knees by now are burning.
Her ass is stinging, and her skin is caught in her throat.  I trace the
cane over her body.  She shudders as I let it drag across her shoulders,
down over her breasts to flick her nipples.  They are hard, and I can see
the hair all over her body rise, as she anticipates how I will cane them. I
like this, seeing her body react before I have done a thing.  The cane
wanders down to her stomach, and between her legs.  I tap at her thighs for
her to spread her legs wider, and she complies.  I rub the cane against her
pussy, pushing it between her slit and letting it come in contact with her
clit.  She moans.  Stupid bitch.  I am not here to please her, and I remove
the cane as soon as the sound escapes her throat.  I slap her face, hard,
and it makes her head recoil.  She whimpers, and I can feel myself getting
wetter.  I pull her face back to face forward, push her hair behind her
ear, and smack her again.
   "You don't get pleasure from me," I whisper, and whack her face like
this three more times.  Her eyes water and her pale skin is now pink.  But
still, she doesn't fight.  I reach down to her tits, feeling how lovely
they are in my hand.  Her small nipples are so hard, and I roll them
between my fingers.  She likes it.  She is enjoying the way her insides
constrict as I play with her nipples.  She can feel her pussy burn as I
continue toying with her small breasts, and tells herself it will all be
worth it in the end.  She closes her eyes, and sighs as I continue.  I lift
the cane, high above my head, and while she is enjoying the way I caress
her tits, I wallop it against her stomach.  She screams immediately, and
brings her arms around to hold the intensely directed pain across her
abdomen.
   "Arms behind your back," I say, and she trembles, bringing her arms away
from the pain.  So fucking acquiescent, it makes me sick.  I want her to
scream at me.  To tell me to go jump of a fucking cliff, because she
doesn't deserve to be treated like this, that she is worth more, and she
knows it.  I don't want her compliant, and docile, and the pathetic animal
she thinks will please me.  I want her to fight me.  I want her to hate me,
like I hate her.
   "Tits forward," I tell her, looking up to you.  I use the end of the
cane like a pointer, and point to her tits, checking with you to see where
you want me to cane her next.  You shake your head, clenching your first
firmly around the trident.  I point to her stomach.  You shake your head
again.  I take my time, walking around her, pointing to various parts of
her body, poking her, provoking her, but still you shake your head.  I
stand cocking my hip, and pull at the zipper between my tits.  You don't
say anything, but you don't shake your head either.  I bring the cane up to
my lips, and suck on the end of it, then when the zipper is down low enough
for you to see the tops of my nipples; I point it at my chest.
   "Hard."
   That's all you say, and I lift the cane above my head.  I hold your
gaze, and bring the cane down across my breasts.  It burns, and I clench my
teeth, as the welt throbs already.
   "Again."
   Your voice slithers out of your mouth, slides across the ground, and
slips up and inside me.  It's so slippery it makes me shudder.  I lift the
cane high once more, locking my eyes on you the entire time.  You nod, but
it's a demand rather than approval.  I bring the cane down, harder than I
had before, but instead of cracking it against my chest, I whip it across
the bitch's kneeling beside me.  She yelps, as the cane marks her tits,
completely unprepared for the pain.  You raise your eyebrow at me.  I've
challenged you, and in front of this bitch.  I can practically feel your
boot on my face later, and my skin tingles knowing I've defied you.  The
blood floods to my cheeks, and my cunt.  I like the way you look at me when
I've ignored you.  I feel small, and fragile, and absolutely terrified how
you will punish me.  But it excites me, feeling the danger.  Feeling the
power you have when you touch me, not for my pleasure, but because I have
done something wrong.  It's a different dynamic, and it scares me.  But god
it makes me wet.
   The bitch is crying now, and tremors as her tits are welted to match her
stomach.  I cane across her chest again.  Harder.  The wood reverberates up
my arm and through me as her skin darkens across her breasts.  I keep
going. I want to see her bleed.  I want her to feel the blood drip off her
tits she is still pushing forward.  I want her to see it hit her thighs,
run down her legs and create a tacky wetness with the black ash she is
kneeling in.  But really, I want her to beg me to stop.  I want her to look
at you, pleading, tears running down her face, blood dripping off her tits,
and implore you to make me stop.  I cane her again.  And again.  And
eventually the blood does come.
   Her tits are a fucking mess, beaten, bruised and bleeding, but still,
she kneels, hands behind her back, wanting to please you.  Every blow I
deliver to her chest, she is hopeful will be the last.  Because I have to
stop eventually.  I have to stop before things get out of hand.  I have to
stop, because you don't want her to be damaged, right?  You will tell me to
stop before I destroy her.  You will order me to drop the cane and help her
to her feet, bringing her over to you so you can say she has been a good
girl.  You will push her hair behind her ear, and say she did a good job.
Say she is a good bitch.  Say she is worth being your bitch, and you will
sooth her tits that hurt so much.  You will admonish me, for defying you,
for hurting this bitch, for being bad, and take the collar from around my
neck, and clip it on hers.  You can see the dedication she has to you, the
commitment, the willingness to please and serve you, like all good bitches
should; and you will reward her for her outstanding devotion to the pursuit
of your pleasure.  Right?
   I look at her, knowing what she is thinking, and it makes me sick.  It
makes me feel physically uncomfortable to be in her presence, the presence
of a woman who believes it is her only and rightful place to serve you. 
How dare she abandon her place as your equal, to kneel before you and
bleed, all because you are a man who likes his bitches to be obedient, and
compliant, and trained.  Get up and fight, I want to scream at her.  Fight
for your place as a woman.  Fight for your value, your significance.  Fight
for the right to never be on your knees again for a man.  At least bring
your hands around and protect yourself.  Please, at least attempt to stop
me caning you.  Even if it is just so the pain stops, so the blood stops
dripping off your tits.  But she won't: because she has been trained,
because she is a good bitch, a good bitch here to serve you, a good bitch
that I despise and want to beat until she is a pulp.
   But then, I feel your collar around my neck.  I am your good bitch too.
   I drop the cane.  It's clammy with her blood.  I don't know how many
times I hit her, 10, 100?  I don't know.  She is sobbing, and I'm sure at
some point she was screaming.  But I can't be sure of that either.  Her
flesh has been torn in places, and blood covers every part of her body. 
She is in a horrendous state, yet her arms are still behind her back.  I'm
impressed with her endurance if nothing more.  Her dedication would be
touching if it didn't make me seethe.  I pull her to her feet.  She is
limp, just a body, exhausted and unable to resist.  I pull her arm around
my shoulder, so I'm holding her up.  You watch me; watch the way I battle
with myself every time I hurt a new bitch for you, for myself.  You can see
that I hate them, that I hate myself, but also how my heart breaks for
them, and the girl I used to be.
   Your validation means nothing, coming from a man, from the devil, from
the one I have given my soul to; because you cannot determine my worth. 
But right now, holding this bitch up, who I hate, and who I am, I need your
validation.  I drag her closer to you, but you aren't watching her.  You
watch me, but its more than that, you see me.  You see how I think, and the
conflict inside me, wanting to hurt these dumb bitches, being turned on in
the process, but also how I try to rationalise I am better than them, when
I know I cannot risk hoping I am different.  You don't know where it comes
from, you don't understand the place this struggle began; but you know me
now, and you can see that ultimately, I get more enjoyment and pleasure
from being your bitch than I would, if I was not.
   You tap your boot on the ground, barely moving, but enough that I
recognise what it means.  I jerk the bloodied mess of a girl with me, and
kneel at your feet out of reflex almost, dragging her down beside me.  You
like that I am so obedient, so well trained.  You don't need to say a
thing, just tap your boot once, and I am on my knees for you.  You curl
your fingers around the end of the leash that is still in your hand, and my
eye catches the movement.  I find the other end of it in the ash and the
gravel, and hold it up to you.  You nod, and I reach around behind my neck,
and clip it back to my collar.
   I feel disgusting, every time I leash myself for you.  Every time I
kneel in the gravel next to another bitch so you can compare us.  Every
time I see you looking at her, my heart sinks, and I'm terrified you will
choose her instead.  I feel stupid, so fucking idiotic for even being in
this situation, being compared, being treated like your possession that you
play with only when you want.  Being just one of your bitches, and not the
only one makes my skin crawl.  Then I remember I am only here because I
have leashed myself, and kneeled on the ground, by my own determination.  I
am here, like a dog, like your property, like your disposable bitch,
because I have chosen this.  I want to tear off my skin.  I want to gouge
out my tongue so I can never tell you again what I am to you.  I hate
myself for this, for wanting you, for wanting to please you, and for
wanting to be touched by you.  But the way I feel when I am between your
legs, leashed, and owned, and your toy...the way I feel when you tell me I
have been good, and you like good girls...and the way I feel when you touch
me, because you want to, because you like me, because I am your favourite,
and because you care about me, its, well, ecstasy.
   You look at the girl, shaking, no doubt in tremendous pain, bleeding all
over the ground, yet still kneeling at your feet.  She has allowed her body
to be mutilated, and ruined, because she wants to serve you.  She has given
her body for your use, and her mind is blank because a good bitch does not
think.  But there was no fight, not even an inclining of resistance as I
caned her knees, and kicked her to the ground.  She never said stop, never
looked at me like she hated me, and never doubted that a dutiful, yielding,
submissive bitch was what you wanted.  She was broken before you had a
chance to break her.  She had given in before she felt the pressure to
fight.  She was a good bitch, sure, but she was like that irrespective of
you.  You had nothing to do with the creation of a bitch for your own
personal use, who has been broken just for you, and serves only you.  This
bitch, would be a bitch for anyone, interchangeable with all the others,
and therefore disposable too.
   You look back at me, so much conflict still inside, even now, even after
you have broken me again and again.  You know I am yours.  You know I have
never kneeled for anyone before.  You know I have never allowed someone to
own me.  You know I have never been a bitch, except for you.  And you know,
I am only your bitch, because you pushed me to be so, you felt the
resistance, and you felt me break.  You felt me becoming your bitch, not
just accepting I was already.  Which is why I have the collar around my
neck, and no other bitch is worthy of the privilege.
   "On my lap now, Baby," you murmur, and I stand leaving this other girl
to shake alone on the ground.  You drop the trident, attach the leash to
your belt, put your hands on my hips, and turn me, gently, so gently it
makes me tremble.  When I am facing her, you pull me down to your lap, and
wrap one arm around my midsection, holding me so tightly against you.
   "Spread your legs," you croon in my ear, and I just about groan as your
voice works on me the way it does.  I hook my knees over your thighs, and
you spread them for me, pulling up the leather dress in the process,
bunching it around my waist.
   "You did a good job," you whisper as your fingers trace my exposed
thighs.  I can see the tendons in your arms move, as you move your fingers
over my skin.  I can see the veins, and the muscles, and the mechanics of
it.  I like seeing how you work.  I like seeing how you work when you touch
me, all the separate parts in your arms and hands working so smoothly
together, and I can feel my pussy burn as you continue to graze my skin.
   "I am so proud of you," you nuzzle my neck, feeling the hard collar
wrapped around what is yours, for your private use that has never belonged
to anyone before.  You pull your legs apart further revealing my pussy to
this bitch on the ground.
   "Look at my top bitch's pussy," you say to her, in a tone harsher than
you ever use with me.  This is the first time I can see even a hint of
resistance on her face, but then she puts aside that feeling and obeys you.
I can't help but smirk, sitting on your lap, being held by you, touched by
you and you flaunting it in this other bitch's face.  My insides clench,
and I can feel how wet I am.  Being exhibited as your favourite toy like
this, as your top bitch from my privileged spot on your lap, makes me ache.
   "Look how wet it is." I lean back into you, melting against your chest
as you display me for everyone to see.
   "Look how much she enjoys being my top bitch." I sigh as you say that
for everyone to hear.
   "Look how her body responds to my touch." You bring your hands closer to
my pussy, and my breathing gets deeper.  I am almost unable to keep still.
   "Look how she wants me to touch her pussy." I moan leaning against you,
and your hand around me tightens, holding me still.
   "This bitch is in heat, aren't you?"
   "Yes, I am your bitch in heat." I breathe, not caring at this point
about anything other than your touch.
   "You want me to touch your cunt, don't you?" You taunt me, bringing your
fingers so close.  I start to squirm, trying to rub my pussy against them,
but you hold back.
   "Please touch my cunt.  I want you to feel how wet I am.  Please touch
me." I moan, twisting on your lap, as this other bitch watches on.
   "What are you to me?" Your fingers are so close, grazing my pussy lips
if I struggle just the right way.
   "I am your bitch in heat.  I am your fuck toy to be used as you want."
You breathe heavily against my face, sighing the way you do that makes my
mind go blank, and my body tingle.
   "Please touch my bitch cunt.  Please rub me."
   You sigh again, and look back to the other bitch on the ground, still
watching me.
   "She is a good bitch, isn't she?" You ask her, feeling how desperate I
am for your touch.  The girl nods, knowing now; she will never have my
place.
   "Should I touch her cunt like she is begging me to do?" The girl doesn't
say anything, because she wants you to touch her, not me.  You reach up
with the hand holding me and pull at the zipper on my dress, exposing my
tits too.
   "Should I rub her clit until she cums?" You are insulting the girl now,
pinching my nipple, rolling it between your fingers.  Still she says
nothing, and it's the first time, you can see defeat on her face.  Her,
being the embodiment of me, lined up for you to use and break over and over
and over again.  Her, being the fragility inside me wanting to please you,
to do anything to seek your approval.  Her, being everything I hate in
myself, has been defeated by you, as I have been defeated being held on
your lap.
   I am a mess on your lap, writhing, trying to grind against you, against
anything.  You pull further on my nipple, hurting me, but it just makes my
pussy pulse harder.
   "Please touch my pussy," I am almost crying now I am that frantic for
it, "please."
   You slip your fingers up and inside my pussy lips.  I groan immediately,
and can feel how slippery I am making your fingers.  You graze my clit, and
I exhale, finally able to breathe now that you have touched me.
   "That's how my top bitch's cunt should feel," you say to the broken
bitch on the ground, but also to me.
   "So wet and greedy for my touch," you breathe against my face, stroking
my clit agonizingly slowly.  I gyrate my hips to make the movement faster.
I need my pussy rubbed harder.  I need to feel that pressure inside me
build up from the friction.  That's all I can think about, your fingers on
my cunt.  And now, as you play with your toy, I know despite the fact I
loathe myself for being here, there is nowhere else in the world I belong. 
  
Pervasive Predilections