Humiliation Over a Broken Slave

Ever since I can remember, I’ve been wired for submission, drawn to humiliation and shame more than physical pain. It hit me hard when I was about 14, at a local pool, when a friend named Sarah yanked my towel away while I was changing. Two other girls saw my half-hard dick and burst into giggles, pointing and mocking me. That moment stuck with me – fueling my fantasies for months.

At 20, I fell head over heels for a girl named Chloe from a nearby town. She was everything I’d dreamed of: sharp-witted and stunning. We dated for about seven months, but our sex life was tame – vanilla to a fault. I craved something darker, though I never dared say it. I could tell Chloe had her own wild streak, but we were too young, too shy, to explore it. Eventually, she met someone else and moved to a city 200 miles away. I was gutted.

Now, at 29, I’ve been with my partner, Lauren, for six years. We dabble in some light kink, which keeps things exciting. But with her blessing, I’ve also got a Mistress, Vanessa, who takes my humiliation to another level – tormenting me with jealousy and exposure until I’m a wreck of arousal. Lauren and Vanessa even team up sometimes, weaving my submissive urges into their game. They grill me separately, comparing notes to see if I’m baring my soul truthfully. It’s intense.

For my last birthday, I had no clue what they’d cooked up. They’d already dug out my deepest secrets – like how I still pine for Chloe, imagining her as a cruel domme in my private moments. Once, Vanessa tied me naked to a tree in the woods, blindfolded, and left me there. Lauren showed up soon after, teasing me until I confessed – under her relentless touch – that I picture Chloe slapping me in public, making me wet myself in front of strangers, or edging me with a remote toy while she screws other guys as I watch, helpless. Those fantasies used to be mine alone, but not anymore. Solo jerking’s off-limits now – if I’m horny and Lauren’s not in the mood, she just says, “Call Vanessa and beg.”

Their control leaves me drowning in shame and powerlessness, which only fuels me more. I exist to amuse them, and I love it. Anyway, back to that birthday surprise.

We’d planned a dinner party at our place – 15 friends, starting at 7 p.m. Around 5:30, I was soaking in the tub, getting ready, when the doorbell rang. Lauren answered, and I heard muffled voices. Then the bathroom door flew open – Vanessa stood there, eyes glinting. “Open your mouth,” she barked. I knew better than to argue, so I did. She shoved a rag in, gagging me, then blindfolded me. Hauling me out dripping wet, she sat me on the toilet. “Stroke that pathetic little thing,” she ordered. Her mocking laugh echoed as I obeyed, shame and uncertainty making me hard in seconds.

Lauren’s voice cut in next. She bound my hands behind my back, tying them to the toilet base. I tried to mumble protests – the guests were due soon – but the gag silenced me. Then came the moment that broke me open. Lauren whispered in my left ear, “We’re about to rip your heart out, you little pig.” Vanessa purred in my right, “You’ll feel what it’s like to have your slave brain fucked – not just in your head, but for real.” My pulse hammered; my cock throbbed. Fear and arousal fried my nerves.

A hand – I couldn’t tell whose – grazed my aching erection, teasing the tip agonizingly slow. Another scratched lightly at my balls, the kind of touch that unravels me. It was torture – every second felt like I’d explode, but I couldn’t, not yet. The buildup was unbearable, a wildfire in my groin, all stoked by their words and the scene they’d trapped me in. I stayed silent, desperate to please, terrified of screwing up with guests so close.

Lauren murmured, “Imagine Chloe’s here, watching this.” Vanessa added, “We told her how you still love her – how you cast her as your twisted domme when you’re alone.” “Picture her laughing at you,” Lauren said. “We know that wrecks you, you filthy mess.” They kept at it, piling on taunts until tears welled up. “Cry, you disgusting perv,” Lauren snapped. “We’re squeezing out your tears and your cum together.” Vanessa chimed in, “You’ll die emotionally for us – melt from lust, choke on shame. It’s your gift from your goddesses.”

“Piss yourself too,” Lauren growled. “We know you’re scared enough to – do it now, you vile thing!” I wasn’t used to her like this, but I couldn’t resist – sobbing, imagining Chloe’s mocking stare, I let go. The stench hit fast, and their laughter rang out. Hands returned to my cock, stroking me to the brink. Lauren yelled, “I’m counting down from 10. We’ll keep you burning. You cum exactly at zero – smell your mess, cry harder, picture Chloe saying you were never man enough for her. But if you blow early, I’m gone – today.” I bawled, wrecked.

Vanessa hissed, “When you cum, we’ll rip off the blindfold. You’ll face your shame in the flesh while your pathetic soul fries.” I was losing it, desperate to obey. Lauren started, “Ten… nine… eight…” Vanessa took over, “Seven – six – five,” rapid-fire. I couldn’t think. “Four,” Lauren drawled, the stroking turning divine. “Three – two – one,” Vanessa purred. “You know what to do at zero – let it all go, you pig!” Lauren snarled. “Open your eyes and die of shame,” Vanessa roared, yanking my balls hard. At “zero,” the blindfold fell, and I erupted – screaming, cum blasting out as my body convulsed.