Torture Toy Daughter

The lady stepped into the darkened room and paused momentarily to survey the scene. To her satisfaction everything appeared to be arranged exactly as she’d requested. Once again Mr. and Mrs. Smith had excelled themselves.

It was a large open room, square in shape with high vaulted ceilings. Black ceiling to floor drapes obscured the windows, and from what little that could be seen of the walls in the gloom, they were plain and untroubled by any pictures or decoration. The floor was polished wood, a tightly woven parquet floor of rich mahogany. The only light was from a trio of bright spotlights illuminating the center of the room, their beams overlapping on the floor to create a stage like setting for her performance. In the center of this stage was a heavy wooden chair, along with a low side table for her tools and equipment. And next to the chair was the cage.

She strode forward, her high heeled boots clicking against the hard wood floor. Reaching the lit area she dropped her bag next to the table and bent to look into the cage. A pair of frightened eyes peered back at her. The cage itself wasn’t particularly large, around 4 feet square and 3 feet high, but it was of a heavy industrial construction. The bars were thick steel, welded at 2 inch intervals to the heavy metal plates that formed  the top and bottom. One entire side functioned as a door, hung from a crude hinge and held shut with an enormous padlock. It looked strong enough to contain a gorilla, let alone the young girl that was its current occupant.

The lady straightened, stepped back from the cage, and began to remove the long top coat that she wore. Underneath it she was wearing a simple white silk blouse tucked into a tight black skirt. Her figures was slim and her breasts stretched and pulled against the tight fabric of the blouse as she wriggled free of the coat. She was tall and this fact was emphasized by her long black boots, each of them a complex column of laces, buckles and leather. Her hair was black and pulled up into a bun on the back of her head, skewered into place by two dark wooden chopsticks. In contrast to her coal dark hair, her skin was pale and milky, and offset with just a few delicate traces of makeup around the mouth and eyes. In particular she’d emphasized her lips, using a blood red gloss to create a striking contrast to her otherwise monochrome appearance.

Turning from the center of the room she turned to look at the rooms three other occupants. They were all positioned at the edge of the room, looking into the scene she was about to unfold for them. Seated in a large comfortable chair, his features almost lost in the shadows, was Mr. Smith. He was a tall distinguished gentleman, dressed in a smart suit and sporting salt and pepper grey hair, looking like the quintessential CEO that she knew him to be. She also knew that he was the father of the girl in the cage.

Seated next to him was his wife, a blonde haired beauty considerably younger than he was. He’d remarried after his first wife died a few years ago, taking on the stereotypically trophy wife expected of rich men in those circumstances. And where Mr. Smith looked to be relaxed and at ease, sitting back in his chair, arms at rest on the sides, the new Mrs. Smith was leaning forward, wrapped up in the scene. Her lips were slightly parted, the tip of her tongue periodically running across them, and her eyes gleaming with excitement.

The final occupant of the room the lady knew only as Jim. He functioned as bodyguard and butler to Mr. Smith. Heavyset, with a blunt square face and a close shaved head of hair, he looked more like a nightclub bouncer than a CEO’s assistant. He was standing between and slightly behind the two chairs, ready to assist if help were needed, and to enjoy the show if it wasn’t.

After handing Jim her coat, the lady crossed the room to Mrs. Smith and wordlessly held out her hand. With a smile the blonde reached for the gold necklace around her neck, and after fiddling for a moment with the clasp, pulled it free. Smiling in the direction of her step-daughter in the cage she held the necklace up, the key to the cage’s padlock clearly visible looped through the twisted golden rope, dangling freely for the lady to take.

Returning to the cage with the key, the lady crouched and unlocked its door. The girl inside shifted nervously.

“Out,” the lady commanded. “And stand up.”

The cage door creaked open and the girl inside slowly crept out. As she stood she kept her gaze firmly to the ground and crossed her hands in front of herself in an effort to cover what she could of her naked body. The lady slowly circled the girl inspecting her body and looking to see if the damage from her last visit had healed properly.

The girl was thin, almost waif like, with delicate features and a cute little snub nose. The lady knew her to be 17 years old, but she was easily mistaken for someone much younger. Her breasts were underdeveloped, little A cups with small dark nipples, and her arms and legs still possessed the awkward ungainliness of the early teenage years. She was a brunette, and her long straight hair cascaded loosely around her face to her shoulders. Below the neck she was hairless, clean shaved, and her little slit was clearly visible, an inviting crease between her legs. At a little over 5 feet tall she wasn’t particularly short for her age, but the lady with her high heeled boots towered above her.

When Mr. Smith had first approached her several months ago she’d initially rejected the idea of getting involved with his daughter. For one thing she’d look too young, and for another she had no desire to be arrested for abusing an unwilling victim. But presentation of a birth certificate had laid to rest the first issue, and several interviews with the daughter had soothed her conscious on the second. She was clearly an intelligent girl, shy but curious about her sexuality and keen, almost desperate it seemed, to explore what was clearly a very submissive nature. The lady had therefore promised to help her do exactly that - taking her on a yearlong journey over which the girl would have little control.

That was three months ago. As the lady circled her victim, running a hand over the fading bruises of their last session together, she wondered if the trip was unfolding as previously imagined. Probably not, she decided. For one thing her parents had taken to the project with a gleeful sadism that had surprised them all. The step mother in particular seemed to be enjoying it, filling the time between visits from the lady with a steady diet of sexual humiliation for her new daughter. And where she might have expected mercy from her father, he seemed to be positively reveling in watching her suffer. It was clearly going to be a long painful journey for the girl, and the lady wondered exactly what was going to be left of her when she emerged on the far side.

Finishing with the inspection she turned to her bag and began pulling out lengths of rope.

“Sit in the chair,” she said. “Arms flat and straight along the arm rests. Legs wide”

Silently the girl moved to the chair. In was positioned under the spot lights, facing towards her parents in the shadows beyond. Their eyes roamed across her naked body as she sat and spread herself open, but she kept her head down and didn’t return their gaze. Working quickly and efficiently the lady began to tie her down. The arms were fastened first, loops of rope around the wrist and below the elbow, fixing her lower arms along the flat arms of the chair. Next was the chest, loops of rope passed above and below her small breasts, wrapping around the chair back. The lady took the opportunity to gently pinch and squeeze the girl’s nipples, bringing them instantly to firm aroused points. Finally, the legs was tied in place, each ankle pulled painfully to the outside of a chair leg before the rope was applied. This maximized the tension in the legs and fully exposed her pussy to the small but rapt audience.

The lady returned to her bag and began to lay out equipment from it on the small table to the side of the chair. The girl stared silently at each item as it was carefully positioned on the table, each of them aligned as a surgeon might align his tools. She knew that each item had been carefully chosen to inflict pain and suffering on her, to make her scream for the satisfaction of others: A box of sterilized needles; A pair of wooden boards with a number of drilled holes through them; Leather laces; A band of blue material with an odd piece of curved metal attached;  A spider gag;

Moving behind the girl the lady bent over her, bringing their heads cheek to cheek and snaking her hands over the front of her immobilized body. She nuzzled her neck and face while one hand caressed a now bullet like nipple and the other hand slipped lower into the girl’s crotch.

“Look up and stare at your mother,”  she told the girl. The woman in the chair opposite was already on the edge of her seat, transfixed by the unfolding scene, and as her adopted daughter looked up into her eyes, she slipped one hand into her panties and began to slowly masturbate.

The lady began to work the girl in the same way, two fingers slipping back and forwards on what was an increasingly moist slit. As she slipped a finger inside the girl she could sense the girl’s arousal increase, her breathing coming faster and a low moan escaping her throat. For a minute or two she kept the stimulation up, the girl’s breath turning into a rapid panting, her gaze locked on her step-mother across the room. Then suddenly the lady straightened and pulled away, leaving the girl’s hips to buck and twist in frustration. The ladies fingers were now coated with the moisture from the girl’s pussy, and she cleaned them by casually wiping them across the girl’s face and hair.

Moving to the table of equipment the lady took one of the wooden boards and slipped it beneath the girl’s hand. The end of the board was pushed between the chair arm and the girl’s wrist, with the hand flat and palm down against the board. As the lady grabbed several of the leather laces and began to thread them through the board, the pattern of holes in the board suddenly became clear. Each finger was surrounded by several pairs of holes and, as the laces wound back and forth over the fingers, the hand was slowly fixed into place. By the time the lady had finished both hands were held beneath a taut web of leather, every finger tightly outstretched and unable to as much as twitch.

Crouching in front of the increasingly nervous girl the lady reached for the first of her needles and held it up for the girl to see.

“I’m sure you’ve figured out what I’m going to do with this.”, she told the girl. “Always good to fall back to the classics now and again. And agonizingly painful of course. I’m looking forward to hearing your screams for this, as I think they’ll be particularly delightful.”

Carefully she aligned the needle with the nail on the little finger on the girl’s left hand, and then looked up at her with a smile. Gently she slid the needle home, pushing it deep into the delicate pad of tissue under the nail. The girl threw her head back and screamed, a high pitched wail that sent a shiver of pleasure through the lady. With a smile she wiggled the needle slightly and pushed it home a little further, triggering another scream. The muscles in the girl’s arm and hand were twitching, trying to pull her away from the pain, but the ropes and leather laces didn’t allow even a millimeter of movement.

The girl was now muttering to herself “No, no, no” and shaking her head back and forth. She kept this up, stopping only to scream, as the lady worked her way through all the fingers on her left hand. With each fresh needle the same pattern was followed, after carefully aligning it so the point was barely pricking the skin, the lady would look up at girl and smile before sliding the needle home.

When all five needles in place, each one jutting out from beneath a nail, the lady stopped and resumed her previous position standing behind the girl. Her hands roamed over the girl’s body, one squeezing her breasts and the other slipping between her legs. She kissed the side of her face and gently hugged her, enjoying the nervous tremors she could still feel coursing through her young body. As she began to work her fingers between the girl’s legs, she whispered into the girl’s ear.

“We still need to do the other hand of course.”  The girl moaned and shook her head at this. “And I’d like you to ask me very nicely to insert each and every needle. I want to hear you beg me to push the needles in.”

“No,” moaned the girl. “I can’t. Please stop.”

The lady said nothing, but increased the speed of her hand movement, fingering the girl more aggressively. She slipped her left hand from the girl’s breasts, and slid it down her arm, delicately barely brushing the skin. Her hand came to rest overlapping the girl’s tortured hand, each of the lady’s fingers poised by one of the needles. The girl was unaware of the change, so completely focused was she on the pleasurable sensations rippling from her pussy. Without any warning, and without breaking the rhythm of the pussy fingering,  the lady squeezed the needles, pushing them deeper under the girl’s fingernails. The resulting scream was the loudest yet, and like music to the ladies ears. Even before it had fully died away she had repeated the process, this time adding a little left to right wiggle, pushing the needles from side to side. With that added incentive the girl finally broke.

“No more. Please Mistress. Please. Put the needles into my other hand”, she sobbed.

“Well OK,” replied the lady with a sigh. “If you really want that. But which finger first? Should we do the little one first?”

As she said this she gently pushed on the needle in the girl’s little finger on the left hand, triggering more cries from the girl.

“Yes, yes mistress. Please mistress. Put a needle in that finger.”

“If you insist……”

Crouching down in front of the girl again the lady slowly worked through all five nails on the girls right hand. Each time she’d prompt the girl to beg for the appropriate finger by gently pressing on the matching needle in the left hand, and each time the girl would beg for the next insertion, intermingled with her sobs and cries.

When all ten needles were in place the lady stepped back to admire her work. The girl was gently panting, her body damp with sweat, her head down and face obscured by her cascading brown hair. By the last few needles it even seemed like she’d begun to adapt to the pain, learn to ride it out and accept it. She really did have the makings of an excellent submissive.

Returning to her collection of equipment the lady picked up the band of blue material with the oddly shaped metal attachment that had puzzled the girl earlier. Standing behind her, she wrapped the band around the girl’s throat, looping the free end over the curved metal piece that was positioned to the right side. The band was a snug fit around the girl’s thin throat, but not constricting.  Having arranged things to her satisfaction, the lady once leant over the girl from behind and began to caress her.

“This is what is called a garrote,” she whispered into her ear. “If I turn the metal handle it’ll twist the material tighter and limit your breathing. The more turns of the handle, the less you breath. Too many turns for too long and, well you can probably guess the result of that…….”

The lady began to finger the girl and discovered that she was already highly aroused, her pussy slick and slippery with her juices. Looking across the room at the girl’s father it was clear she wasn’t the only excited one. He’d unzipped his trousers and was now leisurely stroking his erect cock. With a big smile on his face, he was clearly enjoying the torment of his young daughter.

“I want you to look up and watch your father throughout this,” she told the girl. “If I see you look away I’ll tighten this up and leave you here. ”

Slowly the girl raised her head and stared across the room at her smiling Father. As she did so the lady gave two turns to the handle, tightening the band painfully around her throat. The girl gurgled slightly and began to struggle in the chair.

“Ssshhhh”, she whispered to her. “Don’t fight it. Just accept it. Focus on getting air in and out.”

This was the first time she’d done any breath control with the girl, and it was clearly a new and unpleasant experience for her. The lady knew that the trick was not to panic, but beneath her hands she could feel the girl’s body trying to thrash and escape, burning precious oxygen as it did. After 1 minute she relaxed the band, unwinding the handle, and the girl drew a big painful gulping breath.

“That was two turns at one minute,” she told the girl. “Shall we try for two minutes?”

Before the girl had time to respond she spun the handle again. As the girl dragged in painful breath after painful breath the ladies hands roamed across her body, squeezing and pinch her nipples, gently rubbing her engorged clit. Across the room her father continued to stroke himself, staring deeply into his daughters panic filled eyes.

This cycle was repeated again and again, the lady playing with the duration and the number of turns of the handle. She played the girl’s body like an instrument, punishing it with the garrote while pleasuring it with her hands. After trying 2, 3 and then 4 turns of the handle she figured the limit for the girl would be 5 turns. That would almost completely cut off her oxygen whilst still avoiding  permanent damage to her throat.

“We’re going to try 5 turns now,” she whispered to the girl. “I think that’ll be just enough. Maybe I’ll leave it like that”

“No! Daddy, please, help me!” the girl cried out in panic. “Daddy! Don’t let her….”

Her cries were suddenly silenced with a choking noise as the lady spun the handle 5 complete revolutions.

“Mr. Smith,” she called out. “I’d estimate that your daughter has around 2 minutes of consciousness left unless the garrote is released. Longer than that she’ll pass out and beyond that there will be a risk of brain injury. I’m going to keep her here like this, suffocating and in pain, until you ejaculate.”

For a moment Mr. Smith paused, his hand unmoving on his cock, and then he leaned forward, staring intently at his daughters flushed face, and resumed his gentle stroking. The lady stood watching behind the girl, her hands on the girl’s shoulders, feeling her twitching beneath her. If the girl had hoped he father would bring a quick end to her torment she was sadly mistaken. Even the lady was surprised by his sadism. He toyed with her, speeding up as if rising to a climax, and then slowing down again, savoring the moment, his hand barely moving as his daughter stared at him, her face getting darker and her eyes wider. 30 seconds passed. One minute. One minute thirty. Then, just when the lady was beginning to think he really was going to let his daughter pass out, with a groan he spurted several long streams of come onto the floor and fell back into his chair with a contented sigh. The lady instantly relaxed the garrote and the tortured girl began to suck in lungful after lungful precious oxygen, still staring across the room at her cruel Father.

After removing the garrote the lady also began to extract the needles, drawing each one out carefully to avoid damaging the nail itself. A dab out antiseptic solution was applied, which once again had the girl wriggling and moaning as it soaked into the needle holes. By the time the lady was done, with the boards beneath the hands also removed, the girl was looking up hopefully at her, optimistic that this might be the end of her suffering for the day. But the lady still had a couple of surprises left for her.

Picking up the spider gag from the table she held it up to the girl’s face, and automatically, with a resigned look in her eyes, the girl stretched her mouth as wide as possible to take it. The gag was similar to a ring gag in design, with a large metal circle that went between the teeth and a head strap for holding it in place. The spider design added a 4 curved metal rods for the outside of the mouth to prevent the gag rotating being the teeth. This particular gag had been carefully chosen after some experimentation at their last session together to find the maximum possible size the girl could handle. It painfully stretched her jaw muscles and the lady had to use considerable force to push it into place behind the girl’s teeth.

Once the gag had been fastened into place, with some care taken to ensure the girl’s hair was pulled up and over the gag’s strap and buckle, the lady returned to her bag for the surprise present she’d brought for the girl. It was a contained in a 1 liter clear plastic soda. A thick, white gloopy present.

“You might be able to guess what this is”, she began, sloshing the liquid slowly back and forth in front of the horrified girls face. “I have a friend who runs a brothel, and for the last week or so she’s had her girls collecting the used condoms and pouring them into here. There’s a little over a pint of semen in this bottle. The contents of 112 condoms according to their records. I figured after the garrote your throat might be a little sore, so I nice creamy soothing liquid should really help that out.”

“Nuuuuhhh”, said the girl through the gag, shaking her head violently from side to side. “Nuuuhhh!”

“You know I thought you might be a little ungrateful,” said the lady in a mock offended tone. “But it’s OK, I think I know how to avoid you being rude and rejecting such a thoughtful gift.”

Picking up a leather lace the lady moved behind the girl and began to gather her long brown hair into a ponytail. Then by winding the lace carefully around and through the ponytail, the lady slowly fashioned for herself a handle to control the girl’s head with. By the time she was done the lace was firmly attached in place, an integral part of the girl’s new hairstyle. Pulling the free end of the lace down, the girl’s head was stretched back, the lace tied off to the back of the chair only when the girl was looking up almost directly to the ceiling.

For the moment the girl could see almost nothing, blinded by the overhead spotlights. But then the lady’s head came into view, staring down into the girls eye’s as they shifted from side to side, looking for the bottle she was destined to drink. The lady brushed a few hairs from the girls forehead, tenderly stroking her face and smiling at her.  Then she raised the bottle to the girls gagged lips and slowly began to pour. 

The liquid was off-white, creamy and slow to pour, like curdled milk. At first it filled the girls mouth to the top and she refused to swallow. But the lady simply held her nose until she gulped it down. After that she resigned herself to the process, swallowing as fast as she could, trying to get it over with. The lady poured very carefully, stretching the ordeal out, making sure not a drop was wasted. Periodically she’d stop pouring, stare into the girls eyes, and tease her by letting it just drip very slowly, strings of stick cum slowly sliding off the bottle lip into her widely stretched mouth.

Eventually, after what felt to the girl like a gallon of disgusting salty liquid had been poured into her, the bottle was empty. The lady held it up the light, twisting it from side to side and contemplating the streaks of semen that still clung to the walls of the bottle.

“Hmmmm,” she said. “It doesn’t look like we managed to get all of it. There must be at least 4 or 5 guys worth still in here. We really need something to help rinse the bottle out. I wonder if your Father and Jim could help with that?”

With that she vanished from view, and the girl was left to stare up at the lights and contemplate the ominous meaning behind her Father and Jim ‘helping out’. Several minutes past before the lady returned. The girl had heard what sounded like a bottle being filled and her worst fears were confirmed when she saw what the lady was holding up.

“Jim and your Father were most generous,” the lady said. “It looks like between them they provided well over a pint of piss.”

She swirled the bottle around and the girl’s stomach did a flip-flop at the sight of the yellow liquid streaked with the stray cum that had been left behind in the bottle. Bending over the girl the lady began to pour it into her mouth, and this time the girl accepted it without resistance, gulping the warm fluid down as fast she could. The lady again poured very deliberately and carefully, resting a hand on the girl’s throat to enjoy the feeling of the muscles rhythmically contracting as she consumed the vile concoction. From across the room she heard a gasp and she looked up in time to see the step-mother shudder violently, in the throes of an enormous orgasm, hands working furiously back and forth inside her panties. Clearly, seeing the girl force fed the mixture of semen and piss was exactly the erotic charge she’d been looking for.

Thirty minutes later and the girl was untied. Occasionally hiccupping to herself, she was slumped on the floor, trying her best not to throw up. She’d been told that she’d be force fed anything that came up, and horrible as the liquids had been the first time, she couldn’t imagine how much worse they would be recycled.

The lady sat in the wooden chair, gently stroking the girl’s hair. It had been an enjoyable session she decided. At least for everyone except the girl. A nice mixture of torture and humiliation. And the level of the girl’s arousal at times during the session showed that she had all the makings an excellent pain and sex slave. For today however, it just remained to show the final surprise that had been prepared for her.

There was a thumping sound from the doorway, and Jim emerged pushing a large wooden box on a rolling metal table. He carefully maneuvered it into the center of the room and then moved back into the shadows, leaving the lady to inspect it. It had been designed to her specification, but this was the first time she’d seen it and so she was eager to see if it would function as intended.

It was around 3 foot long and 2 foot square. Made of a rich brown wood with brass fittings, it had clearly been constructed by an expert craftsman. Five of the six sides were solid unbroken wood, with no gaps or holes visible. The sixth side, the end of the box, had a oval cut out in it, lined with thick padded leather. The box was split horizontally and after flipping up two brass catches on each of the long sides, the lady lifted the top half away. It was surprisingly heavily, partly due to the thickness of the wood and partly because the inside had been padded with more brown leather. Recessed into it were a series of buckles and straps. Overall it appeared to be exactly as she had requested, better even, and she suppressed a shiver at excitement at what it meant for the girl.

The table it was on was the type used in hospitals, tubular metal with lockable wheels and an adjustable height. She lowered it now, bringing the top of the box to slightly below waist height. Then turning to the girl she called her forward. The girl came without complaint or question, with her head bowed she looked the perfect little submissive toy.

The first part of installing her into the box was straightforward. She folded the girls arms behind her back, wrist to opposite elbow, and wrapped leather straps around her forearms to hold them together. Then pushing her back she forced her to lie backwards into the box, facing up with her head at the boxes closed end. Although she was now potentially resting on her crossed arms, the leather padding in the box was raised to support her upper body and ensure she could remain in position for long periods. Straps attached to the floor of the box were now pulled up and wrapped around her torso, and with their buckles pulled tight she was now held in the firm embrace of the leather and wood.

The next step was to fold her legs back. The lady had given instructions that the girl was to spend at least an hour every day exercising and stretching for just this kind of eventuality. This activity combined with the natural flexibility of youth, made it easy to pull her knees up and towards her chest while folding her legs tightly down. With more straps pulled into place over her legs she was now in shape of tightly flattened ‘S’. The padding of the box raised her lower back higher than her head, and so now just her ass stuck outside the box through the cutout in the end. With everything almost in place, the lady leaned over the box and stared down at the girl.

“Normally after one of our sessions I leave you to the tender loving care of your parents. But this time I thought we’d try something a little different. As you can see you’ve been installed into a box of my own particular design. Although you can thank your Father for paying for this beautiful construction. In a minute I’m going to put the top half of the box in place and fasten it shut. It’ll obviously be pitch dark in there and I’m guessing that with all this thick wood and padded leather, almost soundproof. You’re therefore not going to have any idea what’s going on. So let me give you a bit of a preview.”

With that the lady broke off and strolled around to end of the box where the girl’s backside stuck out. Running a hand across her backside the lady first smacked her ass, and then began to tease her pussy, gently rubbing and fingering her.

“Once the top of the box is in place the only part of you that’ll be exposed and available will be your pussy and your asshole. Basically you’ll be a noiseless, faceless, helpless pair of fuck holes. I’m guessing your first customers will be Jim and your Father.”

As she was speaking the lady was rubbing the girl harder and faster, causing her to squirm and pant with arousal, bringing her closer and closer to her first orgasm for days.

“Once you’ve satisfied them I’m going to load you into my car and drive you to that brothel I told you about. They’re going to put you in a spare room and put you on the menu for all the customers. Obviously they can’t charge to much for fucking a box, but I figure they might be able to get $20 a time. Which isn’t a bad wage for a piece of inanimate furniture to earn.”

At this the girl gave a final moaning cry and came with a gushing rush of pussy juice, soaking the ladies hand. With a smile the lady moved back to the head of the box and looked down on the girl.

“It seems like you like that idea. Maybe we’ll leave you there for a few weeks and see how much money you can make.”

The girl didn’t respond. Her expression was glazed and she looked to be in a submissive trance. The lady wiped her hand over the girl’s face and then stepped back to allow Jim to lower the top of the box into place. He did so quickly and, once the catches had been flipped into place on either side, he reached into his pocket for the final touch. Two brass handles, molded like the handlebars on a bike, were produced and screwed to either side of the box near the open end. Now all her customers would have something to hang onto as they forced themselves into her open holes. And as Jim and Mr. Smith unzipped their trousers, the lady suspected that customer number one and customer number two were both close at hand.

Two days later the lady stopped by the brothel to see how her experiment was progressing. The owner led her through a series of corridors to what looked like an old storage room. The box was positioned on a table in the center of the small room. On one side of it was an industrial sized bottle of lube. On the other side was a large basket of condoms. The trash can at the side of the table appeared to contain dozens and dozens of discarded condom wrappers. The girls ass was red, with handprints very obviously imprinted across it, and her slit and asshole glistened and dripped with lubricant.

“How often do you take her out?” asked the lady.

“Every 8 hours or so,” replied the owner. “We feed her, take her to the bathroom, let her stretch, and then back in the box. She’s a very popular piece of equipment. A lot of customers compared her to a fleshlight, so we’ve taken to calling her the fleshbox”

“Does she struggle much when you get her out?” inquired the lady.

“Yes,” the owner responded. “She cries and fights. Begs not to go back in the box. But I always have two of my most sadistic girls handle her, and quit honestly I think they get a really kick out of it.”

“Glad I could help,” said the lady. “And I like the fact she’s hasn’t resigned herself to it. I want a responsive slut, not a broken one. Let’s give her another 24 hours and then I’ll take her home. I’m sure her parents will be missing her.”