HOW WE SERVE MASTER

I re-created this call I got from Vivian from my memory. After I said “Hello,” I didn’t speak again.

Everything that follows here is, from the best of my recollection, what Vivian had to say, except for the very last part.

I’ve added bracketed notes describing sounds she made that weren’t words and descriptions of her emotional states as I picked up on them:

Taylor. Oh, Taylor. Oh, god.

Taylor, my my pussy. My pussy is disgusting, revolting. My … my … my pussy … is vile, Taylor. It’s disgusting.

Mistress Blackstone said I had to call you. That I had to tell you these things, Taylor.

[a loud pained sob]

Dear god!

Oh dear god.

It’s clamped. My clit. My clit, Taylor. It’s clamped. Clamped so tight. So tight, Taylor. So tight.

[jagged sobbing mixed with sudden inhalations]

Yes. I’m trying, Mistress Blackstone. I’m trying.

Taylor, my pussy …

NO! PLEASE GOD NO! Mistress Blackstone, please not the crop again! Not there. NOT THERE!

[a horrible cry of anguish]

Mercy, Mistress Blackstone! Please! NO DON’T!!!

[loud choking sobs]

NOOOOOOO!!!

[next part spoken in soft quivering voice]

I am in hell.

[soft crying for over a minute, then a different voice]

Hey, Taylor. This is Smythe. Your buddy the rancid ol’ cunny can’t talk right away. What she was supposed to tell you was that her pussy is useless. It’s too loose for a man to fuck and not creamy enough for a woman to want to eat out.

I told her if she didn’t tell you all that on the phone, her pussy would pay.

Anyway, let’s have lunch soon. Right now — as promised — I gotta make this bitch’s cunt pay.