The naked slut in the cellar is still desperately rubbing her pussy when Pari puts the wet cloth on my back with trembling hands and covers it with a delicate mohair blanket so that I don't freeze. How touching of her. Her face is still wet with tears.
"If you try to fake it, you're out," I say into the mic because I can see her starting to moan artificially loud down there. She's getting desperate.
"Fifteen minutes," I say and lean back. She closes her eyes and really gets into it. Whatever she's imagining, it's not working. In her circles, she's considered a merciless bully and a snobby bitch. Let's see how much she likes being at the bottom herself.
"You're pathetic, bitch. Is he fucking you for money? You've got five minutes left."
"Please, I can do this, please," comes from the speaker on my laptop. I smile and keep quiet.
"Your boyfriend was happy to do it because he knew you couldn't do it. You can't come without a vibrator." It's a bluff, but I can't be completely wrong. Why use fingers when the pretty toys are so talented?
She flinches, and her face takes on an angry, desperate expression. So beautiful.
"3 minutes, cunt. Didn't take long for you to lose the bet. Quick money for me. Too bad about your stupid friend. He's already on to his next task."
"Please..." she whines. That's exactly what I was expecting.
"Please what? More time? You're never going to come." Now she just rubs her clit listlessly.
"You've got three minutes to drink it up, then maybe I won't send him your defeat. I want to give you another chance. But the tasks are getting harder, so you'd better give up now."
I can see the horror on her face. She couldn't even imagine this part of the task, but she could at least have pretended to drink without swallowing. Now it's getting difficult.
She slides backward and bends over the bowl. The smell should be stronger now, and I see her swallow before she approaches her soup. Is she perhaps feeling sick? Too bad.
I could remind her of the time that so inevitably passes, but I relish the humiliation she has earned.
She has never had to work a day in her life; she owes nothing she has to herself. She will break so beautifully when she is no longer as angry as she is at this moment. Only anger drives her to stick out her tongue and lick her piss. I let her.
The movement is slow and disgusted. Beautiful.
"Smile, bitch, smile. The camera wants to see it," I say into the microphone, making myself another sandwich. I'm hungry, and the day is getting long. I bite into it with relish. The cheese is excellent. Pari has shopped well.
"So you'll still be licking it tomorrow, you stupid piece of shit," I say into the microphone.
"Lift the bowl and take three big gulps. I want to see you pause and smile after every sip. Or get up and leave. You're wasting my time." Do I see tears in her mascara-smeared eyes?
Oh, how lovely—the day for sloppy tears.
I know Pari is somewhere behind me, watching. That's her job, and it's her pleasure. Is she wet? Does she hate it? I don't care.
"One minute," I say and wait. Either she drinks or she throws up. I don't have to clean it up. That's what slaves are for.
She drinks.
She takes a big gulp, puts the bowl down, and covers her mouth with her hand so she doesn't throw up. Good. The beginning is done. It takes a while before she feels able to take her hand away from her mouth and grin bizarrely into the air. I remain silent. She repeats the process 2 more times. She cries.
Fantastic!
"Now you drink the rest, or you pick up the bowl and pour it over your head and body. Take your pick, but do it in a minute or leave. We're way behind your friend's schedule."
She tries it, how sweet.
She lifts the bowl to her mouth, and I can almost see the contents of her stomach coming up her throat.
Then I see the angry gleam in her eyes again. Without further ado, she lifts the bowl over her head and tips it out over her well-styled curls. The camera loves her.
She quickly crawls away from the pool spreading on the floor beneath her and crouches in the opposite corner of the cage.
"You stink," I say unnecessarily into the microphone. Then I turn my attention back to my roll.
The little cunt needs time.
There's still a long time until 8:00 PM after which she can stop playing until midnight. 4 hours to think. Otherwise, the last day begins.
"Give her an hour to stink and then wash her off. Then show her the video of her boyfriend. I need some sleep. Wake me up in 3 hours," I order Pari and stretch extensively, my back reminding me of the whipping.
The video shows the one thing her boyfriend wouldn't do, and that made a person absolutely disgusting to him.
Piss.
He says in the video, in disgust, that he would never let himself be peed on or drink his own or someone else's pee. That would be the only reason for him to refuse the challenge, and he gave this as the only veto at the very beginning.
She has stated otherwise.
With this video, she will learn that she just did what he detests the most.
Love is over.
Now there's only the bet left.
Of course, her boyfriend had a different task to start with.
My work colleague and I thought it was funny to start their adventure with each other's veto.
Did I lie to the stupid bitch?
Oh, I'm such a bad bad girl:)
