He stood over it like it was a weapon. Nine inches long. Two and a quarter inches thick. Jet black. Hard. Ribbed from base to tip like it was built to bruise, not please. Just reading the word Saturday engraved in delicate script near the base made Nick's knees weak. It was beautiful. Terrifying. A monument to what Mistress had done to him. What he'd let her do. He wasn't even hard in the cage anymore. His clit had gone past desire. It ached. Constantly. Useless. Denied. Desperate. Saturday was the final command. If he took it, there'd be no denying who he was anymore. No pretending this was about money, or debt, or curiosity. Mistress said: If you survive this, you're mine forever. And he already knew—he belonged to her. So he lubed the toy slowly. Shaking. Breathing shallow. He set it in the middle of the floor. Stripped. Got on his knees. Then his elbows. Face down. Ass up. Exactly how she said she wanted him. He pressed the monster to his hole. It didn't fit. Not at first. Not even close. The first rib pressed in like a fist, and his hole screamed. But his voice? Whispered. "Mistress…" Again. "Mistress, please…" The second rib made his vision blur. He pushed back. Shook. Gasped. Took another inch. And then—suddenly—the head popped in. His body locked up. Then gave out. He collapsed forward, whimpering into the carpet. His hole pulsed around the stretch. The ribs filled him with fire. And still, he kept going. Every thrust forced his body to yield. Every inch was a surrender. He didn't just ride Saturday. He worshipped it. Bent over. Rocking back. Crying. Moaning. Chanting, "Mistress… Mistress… Mistress…" until the sound became something animal. He came—harder than he ever had. Dry. Loud. Pathetic. His body jerked against the floor as his hole clenched around the dildo, locking it inside like it never wanted to let go. He collapsed. Stuffed. Wide. Shaking. He couldn't take it out. Not right away. He stayed there for twenty minutes. Breathing. Melting. Submitting. When he finally pulled it out, it slid free with a sloppy, aching stretch that made his entire body twitch. The video captured all of it. The moans. The begging. The surrender. He uploaded it just after midnight. The app didn't buzz right away. Not like before. This time, it rang. A call. From Mistress. He answered. No hesitation. Her voice was calm. Warm. Proud. "You took it, didn't you, my little clit?" Nick nodded, tears slipping down his cheeks. "Y-yes, Mistress." "And how do you feel?" He paused. Sighed. "Used. Empty. Yours." She laughed softly. "Good. Because you are. Starting tomorrow, your training begins for real." The line went dead. Nick stared at the screen, still leaking, still split open, still breathing through the aftermath. He wasn't a man. Not anymore. He was a hole. A toy. A bitch. And hers.
