After the second meeting, another five months passed before I arranged to meet her for the third time. During these five months, she had been trained to the point of complete depravity. Her daily messages were full of pleas: 'Master... the bitch's asshole is itchy again... wants to be fucked... the slutty hole is so empty...' Her pink slutty hole and asshole were almost daily played with by toys or fingers, the smell of love juices and intestinal fluids becoming the norm in her home.
For a mature woman hunter, this is the perfect state of the prey—ripe, rotten, dripping with juices, just one final step away from being fully claimed. I wanted to give her one last ritual. A ritual that would make her fully recognize her identity, etching bodily fluids and shame into her soul forever.