(Read Part 1 here.)

On her first night at Eric’s house, Ashley broke the cameras in her room.

Part of Eric had hoped that she would meekly accept the idea of going completely without privacy, stripping nude when she knew Eric was watching.  But a larger part of him enjoyed the process of breaking the spoiled little bitch, and so even though the cameras were not cheap, he felt a spark of joy at watching her look at the not-at-all-subtle lenses arranged around her room, pick up the heavy lamp on her nightstand, and bash each one of them into expensive electronic junk.

As she destroyed the last one, she looked directly into the lens and gave him the finger.

Maybe she knew that he could not afford to punish her by withdrawing her pill.  She had just gone two days without consuming any of Eric’s addictive medicine, before finally being rewarded with a dose that night.  If he didn’t give her another pill tomorrow, she would begin to detox, and she might be able to overcome the addiction which was gradually making her his slave.

But he had other ways to control her.  After all, she had only destroyed the obvious cameras – the ones that she was *meant* to know about.  There were four much more subtle hidden cameras set up in her bedroom, and these were still recording.

The next morning, she slept in, and only rose when Eric started cooking breakfast, and the smell of frying bacon wafted into her room.  She emerged wearing a midriff top and a short skirt, and approached Eric nervously.

“Yes, Ashley?” he said, turning from the frypan to face her.  He liked this nervous look.  Last night, buoyed by her dose of the addictive drug, she might have felt rebellious and willing to risk his wrath, but this morning her need and addiction was returning, and she surely feared how he would react to the destroyed cameras.

She leant forward, and kissed Eric on the lips, as he had taught her – her tongue between his lips, her breasts brushing against his chest.  Her lips were sweet and warm.  When the kiss was over, she said, “May I please have my pill, Uncle Eric?”  She blushed as she said it, hating her submissive behaviour, but unable to deny her need for a dose, and knowing how she needed to behave to get it.

Eric took a pill out of his pocket, and held it in his fist.  “Down,” he ordered, pointing at the ground with his free hand, in the tone he would use to address a dog.  Ashley flushed with anger, but descended to her knees in front of him.  Eric smiled, and opened his hand, presenting the pill on his palm.  Ashley leaned forward and licked it off his palm with her tongue.

“Good bitch,” said Eric, in that same dog-training voice.

“Thank you for the pill, Uncle Eric,” said Ashley, trying to be polite, but unable to keep the anger and humiliation out of her voice.

“You’re welcome, Ashley,’ said Eric.  “Now, I sent a link to your phone while you were dressing.  Why don’t you take a look at it?”

Puzzled, Ashley stood, and looked at her phone.  Her eyes widened as she clicked through on the link, and her mouth opened into an O of horror.

Eric knew what she was seeing.  It was footage from one of the better-hidden cameras.  It showed what she had done after she broke the last of his obvious lenses.  On the video, Ashley stripped out of her clothes.  As Eric had thought, her beautiful teen body looked incredible in the nude.  The camera got an excellent view of every part of her frame as she undressed.

Even better, she then lay down on the bed, spread her legs, and began to slowly rub her pussy.  Eric had been delighted to see Ashley respond to the humiliation of her current arrangements by masturbating – it suggested that at some level her abuse and enslavement were having a very interesting sexual effect on her.

The video ran all the way until Ashley achieved a quiet orgasm, and ended with her crawling beneath the bedcovers to sleep.

The video was humiliating, of course, but even worse was the context – because the link had not been to a discreet, private version of the video, but rather to a well-known and very public porn site, which was currently serving the video to the entire world under the simple title of “Ashley”.

“It doesn’t have your last name, or your address, or the school you went to,” said Eric.  He paused, tending to the breakfast, then continued, in a more menaching voice.  “But it could have.  Don’t ever, ever defy me, Ashley.”

“You fucker,” swore Ashley.  She sounded frantic.  Panicked.  Her voice becoming shrill.  “You cocksucking perverted asshole.  You can’t do this.”

“I absolutely can,” said Eric.  “And you’re damn lucky I was merciful and gave you a pill this morning.  You haven’t even begun to see what real withdrawal feels like.  You’ll wish you were dead if you have to go a whole week without a dose.”

“Fuck you,” shouted Ashley.  “I hope you die.”

He nodded.  He had been expecting this.  He simply took the frypan off the stove so it wouldn’t burn, walked over to her, and grabbed a fistful of her hair.  Ashley shrieked, and tried to fight him, but he was stronger than her and she was too surprised to muster a coherent defence.  He pulled her by her hair until she lost her balance and fell to her knees, and then he dragged her across the living room to the couch, whereupon he sat, and dragged the struggling brat up unto his lap, lying across his legs, ass up.

“Let me go!” shrieked Ashley.  “Let me go!”

“You asked me to do this, remember?” said Eric.  “On video last night.  You said you needed discipline.  You said you needed to be spanked.”

He lifted up her skirt, and then pulled down her panties.  Her pert ass gleamed up at him, with the puffy mound of her pussy just visible between her legs.  She was hairy, which wasn’t to his tastes, but that wouldn’t last.  In fact, he had already made a plan to fix it, which she would soon learn.

“Please,” wept Ashley.  “This isn’t fair.”

He ignored her, and began to spank her ass. 

He had two goals in mind for this punishment.  The first was that he wanted her to become aroused.  He wanted her to *know* that she had become aroused from having her ass spanked by her uncle.  He wanted her to wonder whether she was a slut.  He wanted her to feel like she was perverted, that she deserved what was happening.

The second was that, in the end, he wanted it to hurt.  He wanted to make her cry.  And he wanted to do it relatively quickly, because he knew that way if he spanked her again later, and took longer, she wouldn’t be able to resist feeling *pride* in enduring more pain, and he liked the thought of that.

He started slowly, lightly slapping her ass, stinging her, bringing the blood to just beneath the skin and making her sensitive.  This was more shock than pain, and her squeal on each impact had more to do with the indignity and humiliation of being spanked like a child than any real feeling of discomfort. 

Then he began to strike her harder – heavy, hard thumps, making her gasp on each strike.  She felt each impact throughout her body – and particularly, he knew, in her cunt, where each strike would begin to make her throb.

He counted each strike, so she would know how many she had endured, and by the time he reached fifty she had stopped struggling, and by her squeals had begun to change to low, slutty moans.  He didn’t think she was even aware she was doing it – but he intended to make her aware. 

After counting the fiftieth stroke, he suddenly forced her legs apart without warning, and pushed two fingers into the hairy nest of her cunt.  As he had hoped, he found her dripping wet, and his fingers came away covered with her slut-slime.  She squealed in shock and violation, but he ignored her, and very deliberately moved his fingers to the other end of her body, and wiped them clean on her face, leaving her arousal smeared across her cheek.

“Slut,” he said.

And then he began spanking her hard, hard enough to really hurt, and she really wailed now, even as she squirmed with embarrassment at his discovery of her arousal.  Her thoughts must be confused now – humiliation and shame and lust and pain all tied together – and he was certain at some level she must be feeling like she deserved what was happening to her.

He counted the strokes – sixty, seventy – and just before eighty she started to really cry, wailing childish sobs of pure misery.  He kept beating her for another five strokes, and then stopped.  He pulled her up from her lying position until she was seated on his lap – and, to his delight, she immediately kissed him on the lips.  Over the last week, he had been training her that this was the way to make him happy, to make him merciful, and now in her confused state she defaulted to it without thinking.

He kissed her back, holding her hair so she couldn’t pull away – and with his spare hand, he parted her legs, worked two fingers into her soaking wet fuckhole, and began to pump them violently in and out of her.

She let him.  She even opened her legs wider.  And it took less than a minute for her to cum, bucking and shuddering on his lap, moaning whorishly into his mouth as she kissed him.

When the kiss was done, he smiled at her, then raised the hand that had been in her pussy and once again wiped it clean on her face.  “Good slut,” he told her.

Looking into his eyes, realising what she had just done, feeling her own fuck-honey smeared on her cheeks, she began to cry again.  He wrapped his arms around her, and held her against him.

“That punishment was for disrespecting me,” he said, “and for breaking the cameras in your room, and for putting on clothes without asking for permission.  Do you understand?”

She just sobbed.  He let her cry for a moment, and then asked again.  He was just considering pinching her clitoris to get a reaction when she finally answered.

“Yes, Uncle Eric,” she whispered.

“And is there something you want to say to me?” he asked her.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Eric,” she said, and kissed him again.

“You’re forgiven,” he said.  “Now don’t do it again.”

She said nothing, but allowed herself to be cuddled against him.  She was still shaking occasionally – the after-effects of her shock, her discipline, and her orgasm.

“Now, I see you have a hairy slutbox,” said Eric.  “That’s not acceptable to me.  You’ll find a waxing kit in the bathroom.  I want to see every hair gone by tonight, or else I’ll supervise its use on you personally, and I won’t be gentle.  Do you understand?”

She blushed, and said, “Yes, Uncle Eric.”

“And make sure the camera in the bathroom gets a good view,” said Eric.  “The cameras are your friends.  They make sure you’re being a good girl.  I don’t want to see you fighting with them anymore.”

Her face turned a little red, and he thought this time it might be anger.  Good.  He hoped there would be more fight in her for some time to come.  But she said nothing, just nodded.

Eric got out his phone, and entered a few lines of text into it.  Then he pointed it screen-first at Ashley and said, “Let’s document this for posterity.  Read the words on the screen, while I film you.”

Ashley went even brighter red – and now there *was* real hatred in her eyes.  Eric smiled, and waited, and finally Ashley complied.

“My name is Ashley,” she said, staring at the camera, “and I just asked my Uncle Eric to spank my ass for being a bitch and a brat, and then I orgasmed like a slut from being spanked…”

===

If you enjoy Ashley’s Addiction, you’ll love my e-book The Taming of the Brat – Stories of Rebellion and Discipline, available for only $3.99 USD in the shop! (Click here to check it out.)

One thought on “Story: Ashley’s Addiction, Part 2

Leave a Reply