I’m Literally Ruined

[lezdom] [F/f] [forced orgasms] [bdsm] [bastinado]

Continued from: The Night we Broke Jessika

Screams echoed off the walls and down the long hallway. It was impossible to tell if they were from pleasure, pain, or some unholy mix of both. One second she was crying out "Yes... yes, oh god, yes!" in this broken, desperate voice, and the next she was screaming "No, no, I can't take anymore!" like her soul was being ripped out of her body... one orgasm at a time.

Oh my gosh, you guys… I’m back in my own bedroom now and I honestly feel like I just survived a final boss fight that also gave me the best orgasms of my life and then immediately punched me in the soul with a spiked glove. 

I’m sitting here on my bed with my knees tucked all the way up to my chest like a traumatized anime protagonist who just unlocked a new trauma skill tree. I’m wearing those ridiculously childish ruffled ankle socks (the ones with the little white lace trim that makes me look like an innocent porcelain doll who wandered into the wrong side of the internet) and my soft white satin nightie that barely covers my ass. 

My asshole is still sore and stretched from that thick black plug Mistress worked into me, every little shift reminding me how full and violated I felt. My pussy? Way too sensitive to even brush against the sheets right now — it’s throbbing and puffy and if I so much as think about touching it I might actually short-circuit and ascend to another plane of existence. But here’s the kicker… I’m still stupidly, shamefully, disgustingly horny. Like, replaying the entire forbidden wing session on loop in my head horny. The whipping on my bare soles, the hot wax dripping and hardening, the way I screamed and begged while the cameras caught every second of it… ugh, I’m a mess. A cute, ruined, leaking, horny mess.

I grabbed my phone because I needed to talk to someone, even if it’s just you guys through a vlog. I hit record and immediately went full dramatic victim mode, rocking back and forth like I’d just escaped a horror movie.

“Hey besties… it’s Jessika… your favorite gamer-girl foot slut who just got her delicate little soles absolutely destroyed… and I think I need electrolytes or a fuckin victim shower or something. I just want to go somewhere quiet and breastfeed for a while. Like, curl up in someone’s lap, suck on a titty, and be told I’m a good girl while I cry about how my feet and my ass and my entire existence got absolutely railed tonight. Is that too much to ask? Tonight was… intense. Like, next-level, ‘I saw God and she had a whip in one hand and a candle in the other’ intense. I’m literally rocking like a traumatized anime character right now. Send help. Or snacks. Or a new personality. Preferably one that doesn’t get wet when her soles get whipped. Send help.”

I giggle at how extra I sound, blow a dramatic kiss to the camera, and end the vlog.

A little while later I started another one. Still in the same nightie and ruffled socks, but now I’m trying to eat vanilla ice cream straight from the tub like it’s emotional damage medicine. The spoon is halfway to my mouth when I look at the camera with the most dead-serious, broken expression.

“Okay, real talk. My evening was so awesome I’ll never be able to have vanilla sex again. I’m forever ruined. Like, completely, irreversibly, ‘send me to therapy but make it kinky’ ruined. My pussy is too sensitive to touch, my asshole is still clenching around the memory of that plug, and my poor little feet feel like they ran a marathon on hot coals. I’m a changed woman. A broken, kinky, Facility-owned woman who now needs at least three business days to recover from one session.”

I look down at the spoonful of vanilla ice cream, wrinkle my nose in disgust, and declare with full dramatic flair:

“…and this tastes like absolute shit.”

I drop the spoon back in the tub and end the vlog with a defeated little sigh.

A while later, I started the third one. This time I’m wrapped in my oversized hoodie and a big fluffy blanket like a burrito of trauma, sipping from a juice box like a traumatized kid who just discovered the real world is scary. I’m just staring blankly off into the room, the straw making little slurping sounds every few seconds. 

In my head I can still hear my own screams from the dungeon room ringing in my ears — screams that started with “yes, Mistress, please” and ended with me begging “no more, no more, please, I can’t take it!” The memory loops on repeat and I just sip my juice box like a zombie.

The door opens and Brandy walks in, back from her hot date with Willow. She takes one look at me — hoodie burrito, juice box, thousand-yard stare — and freezes.

“…What the hell happened to you?”

I just keep staring off into space, speaking in this monotone zombie voice while I sip my juice box.

“I’m not prepared to talk about it.”

Then I slowly turn my head to look at her. My eyes go wide.

“Oh my god you look so fuckin hot. Where’s Willow?”

Brandy laughs, still a little flushed and glowing from her date. “Mistress is giving her a tour of the Facility right now.”

My voice drops to a shameful, aroused whisper.

“I... I got a tour tonight too, Brandy…”

We both look at each other for half a second… and then burst out giggling like idiots at how dramatic and extreme I’m being. I pull the blanket over my head and scream into it while Brandy falls onto the bed laughing her ass off.

Hehe… yeah. Tonight was a lot.

But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

This has been Jessika, signing off for now. 

Disclaimer: All text prompts going into A.I. systems to create some of the content of this blog along with requests for A.I. images appearing in this blog, clearly state that everyone involved is an ADULT, above the legal age of consent.