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Abby sat, nude, in front of the tiny plastic toddler table, and stared at the paper in front of her.
Richard had told her to write her book. Her book? Abby’s book. She was Abby, wasn’t she?
She used the crayon in her hands to write the words “The Lioness Leads The Pride” on the paper. She had intended that to be the title of her next book, challenging the notion of the alpha male by reference to the role of female lions as powerful hunter gatherers.
But the crayon was big and fat, and Abby’s hand shook, and when she was done, it looked wrong – complicated big-girl words on a paper that was much too small for them.
It was wrong. It was wrong. All of a sudden she could hear Abby’s voice in her head, saying “The Lioness Leads The Pride”, in that screaming hateful too-loud voice that had violated Abby’s sleep these past nights.
Abby whimpered. This wasn’t right. The words on the paper were Abby words. But Abby had worn clothes and had small tits and been confident and independent. She wasn’t any of those things. She was nude, sitting on the floor of the cabin of a man she hated. Her tits were still aching from the vicious whipping she had begged Richard to give them. She had a whole cucumber stuffed up her anus, and a mushy banana in her pussy, and she was planning to eat them for lunch, so she was using a butt plug to keep her ass stoppered, and two vicious bulldog clips to pinch her labia together. Her cunt was sopping wet, but the clips stopped her accessing it. Richard’s cum was drying on her face, and her tits were fake and ridiculously oversized.
None of that was Abby. Abby was a bitch. She was something else.
She was Rape-Udders.
She whimpered again. She didn’t like the words she had written. She was going to get in trouble for them. Richard would blame Abby for being a bitch, and then she would have to let Richard whip her tits again because Abby wouldn’t let herself be punished and so Rape-Udders would have to do it for her.
Quickly, nervously, she reached out and scrunched up the paper into a ball. She rose up on her knees, carefully removed her butt-plug, and then wiped the entrance to her anus with the paper ball. Then she reinserted the plug, put the ass-flavoured paper in her mouth, and swallowed.
Just like Richard had shown her with her silly bimbo mistakes earlier. She was learning. She was a good girl.
But she still had to write a book. Abby’s book. Which was hard, because Rape-Udders was a stupid little bimbo who needed men to think for her. She wished she could just finger her pussy, but the bulldog clips stopped her touching herself.
What would Abby write? What *should* Abby write?
Inspiration struck. She giggled.
With the crayon, she wrote, “I AM A SLUT”, and then added, “by Abby Fields”. She wrote the “S” in slut backwards, like Richard had shown her. It was the correct way for her to write, because she was very stupid. Then she drew a picture of Abby, on her knees, sucking the dick of a man who was intended to be Richard but wasn’t really identifiable, because she had only drawn them as stick figures.
Her idea was simple. She would humiliate that bitch Abby by writing her life story for her – only she would embarrass Abby at every turn. She would write a history of Abby’s life that showed her to be a slut, that everyone would believe because they wanted to believe that the evil feminist hag was really a whore and a fucktoy.
“My first sex was with the family dog,” wrote Rape-Udders carefully on the next page, in big childish crayon letters. She didn’t notice that her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth as she concentrated. In careful, neat, infantile script, she spelled out the circumstances of her childhood in accurate detail, before launching into a story about how, after puberty, she had trained the family German Shepherd to lick her pussy while her parents were away, before finally going down on all fours in front of it and letting it take her virginity with its big canine cock.
She got as far as describing how the dog had fired its cum into her womb, and how she had had to remain there with the dog on top of her while she waited for its knot to subside and allow it to free its cock from her pussy, breathless with shame and the fear that her parents would come home and discover her – and then she had to stop.
Her cunt was so wet. She wanted to masturbate so bad. But she couldn’t because of the clips, so she just started tugging on her nipples and hoped that it would somehow be enough to make her cum.
Was the story she had written real? Had it really happened? She had thought it was a lie when she started to write it, but now she could picture it so clearly that she wasn’t sure. Had Abby really fucked a dog? Had *she* fucked a dog? Weren’t they different people?
Richard heard her pathetic slutty mewling and came by to check on her. He read her writing, and he was so pleased by it that he told her she could have lunch. Abby gratefully removed her plug and bulldog clips – screaming in pain as the blood rushed back into her unclamped pussy – and then squatted over her dog bowl to let the ass-flavoured cucumber and cunty mess of pulped banana slide out of her. Richard gave her permission to masturbate, and she immediately began rubbing her abused pussy, experiencing her first orgasm almost immediately but knowing more were on their way.
“Do you want some seasoning, Rape-Udders?” asked Richard, and Abby looked up to see that he had his cock out. She looked up at him, and waited for him to masturbate and cum on her face, but instead he said, “You can help yourself.”
She understood immediately. She took his cock and began to masturbate it, aiming it at her food bowl, and soon Richard was squirting thick white cum all over her meal. When he was done, she licked his cock clean, and then got down on all fours to eat her meal like the bitch she was, still masturbating.
She thought that the taste of cunty banana and shitty cucumber, mixed with a man’s cum, might be better than anything that feminists forced themselves to eat. It was hard to tell, because her thoughts were all mixed up, and disgust and lust seemed to be all confused. But this was the meal she *deserved*, so it stood to reason that it tasted amazing.
When she was done, Richard gave her a can of wet jellied dog food, and a can opener. She looked at it, and she realised that her face was wet. Was she crying? Why was she crying? She was such a good girl that she didn’t even need Richard to tell her what she had to do. She opened the can, scooped out the gross, quivering chunks of dog food, and began pushing them up her anus and pussy. They were going to be her dinner. When her holes were full, she squeezed the butt plug back inside her, and then clamped her pussy lips shut again with the bulldog clips.
She crawled back to her writing table, picked up her crayon, and continued Abby’s story.
“I seduced my father into raping me,” she wrote carefully. “At the age of 18, I was his favourite sex toy…”