The alarm went off at four in the morning. It was only a single quiet beep, barely audible over the steady hum of the heater, but years of experience made her eyes snap open immediately.
Her limbs were heavy as lead as she drew herself up from her makeshift bed, which was nothing more than a pile of dirty rags placed directly under one of the bedroom’s heating vents. He’d kept her up late again last night. One a.m.? Two? It didn’t matter. She had work to do, and exhaustion had never been an acceptable excuse. She ignored the screams of her muscles and forced herself up onto all fours.
Sweat dripped off her limbs as she padded towards the playroom, and her hair hung down in wet clumps. Their home was never less than ninety degrees, and she could tell that it was well over one hundred this morning. She would need to be very careful about staying hydrated. The last time she’d passed out from the heat had been two months ago, and he’d punished her for it by cranking the temperature up even higher and making her sleep under heavy woolen blankets for a week. She’d been more than half dead by the time he’d relented. The tropical warmth wasn’t actually necessary. She’d seen him as perfectly at ease in subzero weather as he was in the mansion’s sweltering heat. She wasn’t certain if he even could feel hot and cold. The temperature, like so much of her life, had no purpose but to make her miserable.
Her throat ached, and she could acutely feel the lumps of metal in there every time she swallowed. Piercing her was his latest hobby, and every day he added something new. It had begun almost normally: rings in her ears, eyebrows, nose, lips. Then he’d moved on to more erogenous zones, putting rings in her nipples and clitoris. Following that he’d embarked on a larger project, lining the sides of her asshole and cunt with studs of varying shapes and sizes, designed to make her well used holes feel new again. For the last week, he’d been putting similar studs in her throat.
Before that had been tattoos. ‘Worthless’, ‘puta’, ‘slut’, ‘肉便器’… nearly two dozen insults in nearly as many languages, inked all over her face. He’d made her memorize all of them, and would quiz her on random tattoos, checking that she remembered not just every degrading word that he’d marked her with, but their color, their size, the lettering style, every last detail. Whenever she forgot one or made a mistake, it would be painfully burned off of her skin and then reapplied, to encourage her not to forget it in the future. All but one of them had been redone multiple times by now. The sole exception, the one she never ever forgot, was the thick black tattoo scrawled across her forehead: MEAT. That’s all she was, he often liked to remind her. Just meat, to be chewed up and swallowed someday.
The playroom was a mess. Little wonder, given all that he’d done to her last night. The mats were spattered with drops of blood and cum, and there was a dark stain where she’d pissed herself in fear when she realized that she’d forgotten to address him with the proper respect. The baseball bat he’d shoved up her ass for her mistake was lying in one corner, more than a foot of it dirty from her guts. The ropes she’d been suspended from for hours still dangled from the ceiling, and lying beneath were all the various toys he’d tortured her with, each one tossed carelessly to the floor when he’d decided to try a different one.
She crawled to the cupboard to retrieve the cleaning supplies and get to work. For the next two hours, she worked diligently to restore the room to its former pristine state. Every instrument of torture was carefully washed and disinfected before being returned to its proper place on the walls. The ropes were untied, their kinks worked out, and then coiled up properly. The mats were scrubbed until no trace of bodily fluids remained. It wasn’t easy work, especially as tired as she was, but she pushed herself to get it done. She had a schedule to keep. When she was done, her fingers cracked and back aching, she turned on the computer and reviewed the camera footage from her session. There were six cameras placed in the room to capture the action from varying angles, and she spent another two hours reviewing, splicing, and editing the footage to create a thirty minute video. The bat was in there, of course, and him embedding the newest piercing in her throat, and the slow sloppy throatfuck she’d given him afterward as thanks, and all the other highlights of the night. Before every nightly session, he liked to watch the movie of the previous one while she sucked on him. If she’d done a really good job making her rape and torture look sexy for him, he was sometimes generous enough to cum in her mouth, which was one fewer orgasm she’d have to give him during the actual session.
Once the playroom was ready for next time, she crawled to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Everything in there smelled as delicious as always. He kept it well stocked with the finest and freshest ingredients money could buy. Her mouth watered, but none of it was for her. Meat didn’t deserve real food, after all. Her next meal was waiting inside his balls, just like all her previous ones, and she would get it soon enough if she was good. She selected bacon, eggs, and french toast for him this time, making his breakfast with practiced efficiency. While she worked, her left hand occasionally strayed to her pussy, stroking her pierced clit and sliding in and out of herself before licking her fingers clean. The habit was so ingrained that she barely even noticed herself doing it anymore. He liked her wet when he took her, and it was her responsibility to keep herself that way. Despite her tired limbs and sore body, her cunt was already soaked; it had been months since the last time he’d let her cum, and he often spent hours at a time bringing her to the edge of relief only to deny her each time, all the while mocking her as a slut for experiencing pleasure at her situation. She’d abandoned her pride long ago, and would shamelessly beg for the privilege of being allowed an orgasm.
A brief whimper escaped her lips as she rocked herself on her fingers, and for an instant she considered not stopping, then dismissed the thought with a shudder. He would know. He always knew. And there were few things he enjoyed more than punishing her for even the smallest lapse in obedience. When he’d first broken her, grinding her rebellious spirit into the dirt until she’d accepted that she was nothing but a toy, she’d naively assumed that being obedient would mean gentler treatment, that if she smiled and spread her legs for him like he demanded, he wouldn’t need to hurt her anymore. But need had nothing to do with it. He wanted to hurt her, and would eagerly seize any opportunity.
Breakfast was ready at twenty after eight, and she carefully balanced the plate on her back before crawling back to the bedroom. She moved with more care than any brain surgeon; the smallest slip would send his breakfast tumbling, and she had no time to clean up and prepare another. The plate was painfully hot and her back was as sweaty as ever, and in the eight minutes it took to make it down the hall she nearly dropped it four times. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief when she finally made it to the bedroom and was able to set the plate down on his desk, then began tending to her final task of the morning.
His “bed” was a thick slab of granite that he was sprawled on, softly snoring. The stone was warm to the touch as she joined him on it to kneel by his legs. Even asleep, his obsidian-like body rippled and glowed, as though some internal flame was threatening to break free. The heat was coming off of him in waves, and it was hard to even breathe when she was this close to him, the overheated air choking her lungs. He was lying on his side, and she had to nudge one of his legs slightly to the side to get access to his cock, suppressing a scream as her hand made contact. As always, his flesh was hotter than any fire, hot enough to burn away her nerve endings in moments. But she was given no such mercy.
That was thanks to what he mockingly called his protection. It kept his heat, any heat, from hurting her, but it did nothing at all to stop her from feeling it. He would often burn her just for fun during their nightly sessions, letting her twist and wail for long minutes before letting go, leaving behind only unmarked skin. For all the instruments of torture he experimented with nightly, none could match the raw agony of his cock cooking her insides whenever he raped her.
His cock was as soft as it ever got as she fearfully closed her lips around it. It was like eating hot coals, and she didn’t even try to suppress the scream this time as it seared her mouth. His thick, stony cock muffled her cries as she began dragging her tongue over his shaft, the act no less painful than licking hot magma. He began to stiffen almost immediately, and she gagged slightly as she took him in deeper, letting his head scorch her throat. The metal studs on her tongue were growing red hot by now, each one adding its own burst of pain to her experience. Her swollen tongue lapped at him quickly, desperate to finish the job and earn herself some relief. Her head was already starting to pound from the lack of oxygen, and it wouldn’t be the first time she’d passed out on his prick.
She shrieked with new pain as he rested a hand on the back of her head, and bucked his hips to force more of himself down her throat. Rationally she knew that the pain was empty, that he wasn’t doing any real damage, other than what came from having to deepthroat a massive, rock hard cock. But her body didn’t care about reason. It told her that she was swallowing solid fire, that it was going to burn her up from the inside out. So like always, she howled in terror and pain, part of her convinced that he was killing her. She was still screaming when he began to cum a few minutes later, boiling hot liquid jetting out of his cock. The liquid fire traveled down her throat and into her stomach, where it remained a burning agony. Experience told her it would take a while before it cooled significantly, sometimes hours. In the meantime, his dick remained in her mouth, and she started sobbing quietly as she realized that he wanted her to go another round. The tears sizzled into smoke as they reached his shaft.
In the end, she had to suck two more scalding loads out of him before he released her head. Despite her every instinct telling her to get as far away as possible, she stayed in place until she’d licked every drop of cum off of him. Only then did she allow herself to raise her head and back away, careful not to look him in the eye. She couldn’t go forgetting her place.
“Good morning, meat,” said the efreet lazily, his voice a deep rumble. He yawned and stretched before leaning forward to grab the plate of food from the desk. “Ready to begin another full day of fun and games?” he asked as he began working on his breakfast.
She wasn’t. She was drenched in sweat, dizzy with thirst and hunger, everything hurt, and she was so exhausted that she wanted to cry. But there was only one answer he would accept. “Yes, Master,” answered Samantha.
Chapter 1 – Life in England
The well trimmed lawn was still slightly wet with morning dew as Ginger laid face down on the ground, hands gripping her ankles to keep her legs spread in a near split. Lionel was on top of her, his immense weight crushing her against the grass and dirt as he pumped furiously in and out of her cunt, stretching its walls like putty with each stroke. George Wilmingshire’s nephew was barely out of boyhood, but like all the men in his family, his troll heritage meant he was both massive and insatiable. The remains of six loads of cum already soaked the dirt beneath her, and she’d count herself lucky if he was even half done with her.
His large sweaty hands squirmed underneath her naked body, hunting for her tits. When he found them, he crushed them in an iron grip that made her flinch. “Such a sexy little fox,” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot and foul. “Sexy little fucktoy fox.” His hips were slamming into her ass cheeks so hard now that she felt her legs crunch with every blow, the bones cracking and splintering under the pressure. She bit her lip to keep from screaming at the pain, but she couldn’t stop tears from forming. “Do you think I could kill you like this, fox? Could I fuck you to death right here on my uncle’s lawn? Why don’t we find out?” His mouth found her neck and bit hard enough to draw blood.
Ginger had become popular among the entire Wilmingshire clan by now. George Wilmingshire seemed to have no end of relatives, and hardly a weekend passed without some of them paying the mansion a visit. Lionel was always the cruelest. Many of them, like her owners, treated her as a pet, showering her with shallow love and affection even as they used her for their own pleasures. To others, she was nothing more or less than a cum receptacle, and they would shoot their jizz into her with no more passion than they would have for pissing in a toilet. But not Lionel. Lionel always went above and beyond to hurt and degrade her. He seemed to derive far more pleasure from making her suffer than from anything her tight holes could do for his fat cock. That was why she hated and feared him, and why she always looked forward to the times he visited the house to use her. These days, his abuse was the closest she came to having anyone actually care about how she felt.
“Lunchtime, dear,” Mrs. Wilmingshire called from the porch. The blonde wore a carefree smile on her face as she watched her nephew hammer her fox. She looked as immaculate as ever, wearing a fancy dress that glittered in the sunlight even though she likely had no plans to leave the house today. Ginger had never seen her owner be anything but perfect and polished, save for when she was alone with her husband. The way she doted on him would almost be admirable if it didn’t go hand in hand with abusing their pet.
“Just a few minutes, Aunt Jessica,” Lionel said, not slowing his pace as he talked. “I want to play with Ginger a little longer.”
“Ginger will still be there when you’re done,” the woman said sternly, though she was still smiling. “Right there in that exact position waiting for you. Isn’t that right, Ginger?”
“Yip yip,” Ginger said immediately.
“Alright,” said the young man reluctantly. “Can I at least finish in her?”
“Of course you can, dear,” his aunt said warmly.
Lionel put his hands on the back of Ginger’s head, burying them in her red hair, and his pace increased until he was literally pushing the fox woman into the dirt, forcing the ground around her to make way as she was buried. With her face pressed into the warm, dark loam, Ginger could neither see nor breathe. Once, either of those alone would have instilled a sense of panic, but she’d accepted long ago that fucktoys didn’t need to see to do their job, and that oxygen was a luxury to be earned with hard work. So she remained docile even as her lung’s protests grew louder, patiently waiting for him to finish using her.
She’d nearly passed out by the time she felt the hot gush of his seed into her. The only reason it didn’t flood her womb was that the cavity was already full nearly to bursting with his cum. So instead it ran out of her, spurting around his still thrusting cock to shower the lawn. It was awful and disgusting and painful, and Ginger’s only response was to hold still and keep her hands passively on her ankles.
As Lionel ripped his still thick cock out of her and wrung what remained of his load out with his hand, spraying her back and hair, she reflected on how amazingly pathetic she was. She’d been a person for three centuries and a slave for nine months, and yet it was increasingly difficult to even remember that she’d once been the former. Whenever she thought back to the life she’d had in the forest, living free in her true form as a fox, it felt more like a childish fantasy than true memories. She knew it was her mind’s way of coping with her situation. She always had been good at lying to herself. Soon she would fully believe the lie called Ginger, and there would be no more Seo-yun left at all.
It couldn’t happen soon enough.
Once Lionel was done, trotting back into the mansion without sparing her a second glance, Ginger promptly began licking up what he’d left behind. Jessica Wilmingshire did not like a mess. Most of the boy’s cum had seeped into the dirt already, transforming it into gooey mud. It squished between her teeth as she chewed it up one bite at a time. She was provided pet food every morning and night, and the ingredients were likely as high quality as anything she’d ever hunted, but she never received enough to feel close to satisfied (”A skinny pet is a healthy pet” the morbidly obese Mr Wilmingshire often said), and the mud eased her hunger pangs. Her body would soon realize that what she was feeding it had almost no nutritional content and begin protesting, but for now her stomach felt pleasantly full.
She couldn’t do anything about the way he’d destroyed the grass beneath her and dug up the ground. How badly Ginger would be punished for that depended on her owners’ mood by the time their guests had left. If they were happy, they might simply have her sent to bed without dinner. If they were in a bad mood, she would be caned first. Once one of the Wilmingshires had decided to rape her right on top of the flower bed, ruining some of Jessica’s prized roses. For that, the servants had whipped her two hours a day, every day, for a month.
No one was watching to see if she dutifully swallowed every drop Lionel had gifted her with. No one was guarding her to make sure that she didn’t run off. If she did, they almost certainly wouldn’t catch her. The Wilmingshires employed many servants and bodyguards, but their roles centered around keeping people out, not in. And their mansion was large and luxurious, not built with a prison in mind. Few doors in it could even be locked, and none of the windows were barred. If she wanted, she could flee right now, and never see any of these people again.
But what would be the point? She was just a fucktoy.
Once she’d finished cleaning up, Ginger settled back into the groove her body had left in the dirt, burying her face as far into the ground as she could while leaving enough space to just barely draw breath through her nostrils. Then she put her hands on her ankles and waited for Lionel to return.
Celeste held Ginger’s hair up as the fox vomited into the toilet, expelling the mud she’d eaten. She knew that there was no sympathy behind the dark haired woman’s assistance, only cold professionalism. Ginger was to keep herself clean between uses, especially while she was in the house. Allowing her to soil her hair would therefore be a dereliction of duty in the servant’s eyes.
Lionel had spent the rest of the morning and the afternoon playing with her. He’d made her kneel and swallow his dick, taking him deep enough into her throat that she couldn’t breathe, and then play with herself, fingering the same pussy that he’d just been violently assaulting. Several times she’d choked herself out trying, only to be woken by his cock slapping her across the face with enough force to bruise. When her climax finally approached, he’d interrupted it by throatfucking her, brutally tearing through her gullet while her body twitched and spasmed in frustration. She’d passed out before he was done, and woke to feel his hot cum already in her stomach. Then he’d done it again, and again, and again, until he was bored with her.
He’d broken most of her bones fucking her, smashing them to bits beneath him. There was a time when so much damage would have taken her days to properly heal from. Her body ached terribly, but it was restored enough to readily obey her as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the porcelain bowl. She had her owners to thank for that. In the months she’d been the Wilmingshire’s pet, not a day had passed without one of them all but destroying her body. The violence didn’t come with the deliberate sadism of Lionel’s, but that didn’t mean much to her crushed organs and shattered limbs. As a consequence of being forced to heal so much and so often, her natural healing had steadily improved. It was still nowhere near as strong as it had been as a gumiho in her true form, but far better than it had once been. Ginger took no joy in her development, however; healing faster just meant they could use her more often.
The red haired woman coughed and spat, uncertain if she was done yet. The muddy contents of the toilet swirled as Celeste flushed it. The Wilmingshire’s head servant scared her sometimes. The woman wasn’t human, that she’d known from day one. But she clearly wasn’t a fox either. Ginger knew that there were other races out there, but her parents had never gotten the chance to teach her about them, and after their deaths she’d only interacted with humans. Whatever Celeste was, she was cold and efficient, almost as much a machine as the Wilmingshire’s microwave or car. She obeyed their every command perfectly, never betraying any emotion or showing hesitation. In a way, Ginger envied the creature.
Mrs. Wilmingshire entered the bathroom without knocking. “There you are, Celeste,” she said as she pulled down her underwear and sat on the toilet, paying no attention to the naked woman kneeling in front of it. “Have you spoken to the chefs regarding dinner?” Though she had not so much as glanced at Ginger, the fox pushed her head between her owner’s legs and fastened her mouth on her slit.
“Yes, mistress,” Celeste answered calmly. “Everything is on track for dinner at five o’clock. The meal will be roast pheasant with mango chutney, with strawberry trifle for dessert. The sommelier has chosen a Pinot Gris as the pairing.”
“Trifle?” Mrs. Wilmingshire asked. She began to urinate into Ginger’s mouth, and the fox quickly swallowed to keep up. “No, no, that won’t do at all. Lionel doesn’t care for custard, and Nathan will already be drinking too much alcohol. Tell them to make a strawberry cheesecake instead.”
When the urine stream ended, Ginger sucked out what was left and then stuck her tongue into the woman’s pussy, finding it already damp. Though the fox had never pleasured another woman before Mrs. Wilmingshire, her owner had invested many hours in teaching her, and by now Ginger was intimately familiar with each and every fold of the woman’s sex. As dinner plans were discussed, the redhead brought Jessica to orgasm, gulping down her pussy cream as it flowed into her mouth. Some of it dribbled down her chin, and Ginger silently cursed her clumsiness, hoping the woman wouldn’t notice.
Jessica stood up and fixed her clothing. “Inform us when dinner is ready. We will be in the study playing bridge.” Her eyes flashed towards Ginger, and there was clear disapproval in them. “But before that, Ginger has gone and made a mess of herself. Please discipline her. One hundred and fifty strokes should be sufficient.”
“At once, mistress,” Celeste said. She knelt, and with one hand pushed Ginger’s head into the toilet bowl, while the other began to smack her upturned rear. The woman was unnaturally strong, and every time her hand made contact with the fox’s soft flesh, there was a noise like a gunshot and a spike of pain that radiated through her entire body. Mrs. Wilmingshire left without watching.
For a long time after that, there was no sound in the bathroom but the rhythmic spanking of Ginger’s backside, and the fox’s quiet sobs. “You are not yet broken,” said Celeste eventually, the words spoken without inflection.
Ginger had no response to that, even if she had been allowed to speak anything other than “yip yip”. She certainly felt broken. Levinson had hollowed her out, destroying her pride and dignity along with her mistaken belief that she was anything more than a fucktoy. The Wilmingshires had refilled her with obedience and submission. There was very little Seo-yun left inside her anymore.
“You are not yet broken,” Celeste repeated. “It will be easier once you are.” She seemed to have nothing further to say, and when she had finished all one hundred and fifty strokes, she stood and left without a word, leaving Ginger alone with her pain.
After dinner that night, Ginger found herself seated in the lap of George’s brother, her belly bulging and his cock buried in her ass. Nathan Wilmingshire cupped her breasts and bounced her up and down on himself idly as they all sat on the couch and watched television, where men in brightly colored uniforms were running up and down a field. Ginger couldn’t follow what was going on, but that was mostly because all her attention was elsewhere. She was focused on caring for his dick properly, massaging and squeezing the thick shaft just the way he liked. “You know, it’s almost time for the Paradisium to open again,” he drawled during a commercial break. When his cock began to spurt inside her, her asshole was stretched so tight around him that not a drop of it escaped, just like his eight previous loads. Her belly bulged a little more as he further filled her packed guts. He didn’t stop bouncing her. She didn’t stop working.
“Yes, only a month away now,” said George pleasantly.
“Have you decided who you’re rooting for? I’ve already got money on Ember taking it a fifth year in a row, but I hear good things about that green girl, Storm something.”
George cleared his throat. “Actually, we’ve decided to take part in the game this year. We registered our Ginger for it a few weeks ago.”
“Really?” Nathan asked skeptically. “You’ve only had her for nine months. Why throw her away so soon?”
Jessica tittered. “Nonsense! We wouldn’t register her if there was any real harm. You’ve seen how durable she is. I’m sure it will be nothing more than a pleasant romp for the girl.”
Ginger knew that they were talking about her, and that she should probably care. But Nathan was almost ready to cum again, and that was more important than anything involving her future.
“Well,” Nathan said slowly, “I suppose you’re right about that. Still though, you don’t honestly think she could win, do you?” He closed his eyes, and Ginger’s stomach began to swell further.
“Perish the thought, man!” said George, chuckling. “Our sweet little Ginger? We just thought it would be a treat to see what it’s like to be more than spectators for once. We’ll be proud of our girl even if she doesn’t make it past the first round.“ He leaned over to scratch her beneath her chin. “Yes, we will!”
Ginger crawled into her bed, exhausted after a long day. They called it a bed anyway, but it was nothing more than a padded basket. It wasn’t very large, but she was able to squeeze herself into it if she curled up, head down and hands around her knees. Her insides still felt stretched out. After Nathan and Lionel had left, it had been her owners’ turn to play with her. While George had alternated between ruining her pussy and her asshole, the unused orifice given only a few minutes to heal up before being smashed open again, she had given Jessica five more orgasms, hyper vigilant about swallowing every drop this time.
Her stomach rumbled as she tried to get comfortable. As expected, she’d been given no dinner as punishment for the lawn. She’d been able to ignore the hollow feeling in her stomach while she was being used, but now that everything was quiet and still, it demanded her attention.
“Goodnight, sweetums,” George called out. He and Jessica were lying in their own bed, a real bed, which Ginger’s basket sat at the foot of.
“Yip yip,” she responded automatically.
The Wilmingshire’s mattress began to squeak, and Ginger heard a giggle from Jessica. Her husband’s cock was too large for her to take without serious damage or death, but she sometimes used her hands or chest to finish him instead. The squeaking grew louder and George moaned, eliciting another giggle from his wife.
Jessica whispered to her husband, Ginger’s sensitive ears picking up every word. “I know how much you love Ginger, and I do too, but sometimes I worry that she makes you happier than I do.”
George chuckled and whispered back. “Don’t be silly, dear. I do love our pet, but she’s nothing more than a warm condom.”
“Condom or not, let me spend a little time making you feel good too. Mmm, my big, strong, wonderful husband.” George groaned again.
Ginger shut her eyes and tried to ignore the sound of her owners’ lovemaking. Yes, she told herself, that’s all I am, a warm condom. Ginger the perfect fucktoy, with no thoughts or feelings or memories to weigh her down.
She hoped that she believed it when she woke.