If you’re enjoying this story, you can buy the complete saga in e-book format! Secret Message – A Novella of Hypnotic Entrapment is available for only $3.99 USD at my creator site, and your purchases support me to continue creating new, free erotica! (Click here to view.)
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine
There was only one secret message left to find, and Kathy was desperate to find it.
Tomorrow was Monday. On Monday afternoon, she would obediently attend her appointment to have her breasts upsized into fake round porn udders, and then her property and finances would be forever transferred into the control of the anonymous creators of the Secret Message website. Even if she escaped after that, it would be too late – her life would be ruined.
Her only chance was to find the tenth secret message – hidden somewhere in the spiral and the static – and win her freedom from the hypnotic trap she had become ensnared in.
But it seemed like the entire universe was conspiring to stop her finding it.
As her uncle drove her home after raping her, she tried to search for the message in the static coming from her earbuds. But she quickly realised that this last message was harder than the others – more complex, with more of the double and even triple meanings she had found in some of the earlier answers. If she was to understand it, she would ideally need to stare at the visual spiral itself – and she would definitely need to actually go back into the hypnotic trance.
She had hoped to vanish into the Secret Message website as soon as she got home, but her uncle had other ideas. When he arrived at her house, and saw her front door was missing, he insisted on getting out of the car – apparently thinking that her home had been burglarised. Once Kathy blushingly explained that she had *asked* for the doors to be removed, he looked at her in a new way – amazement mingled with disgust – and even in the darkness and the dim light of the streetlights she could see his cock beginning to tent the front of his pants again.
After that, he said nothing to her – just escorted her inside. They only got as far as the kitchen before Uncle Trevor bent her over the kitchen counter, and shoved his cock inside her. He used her ass this time, instead of her pussy, but at least he did her the courtesy of wiping his hand across her wet cunt and using her own juices of arousal to lubricate her anus.
As he fucked her, the earbuds whispered to her. “Tell me to hurt you,” they said, in Uncle Trevor’s voice. “Tell me to hurt your tits. Tell me to make you cry.”
“Please,” she begged, unable to resist the male-voiced commands, “hurt my tits, Uncle Trevor. Make me cry.”
He knew that she didn’t really mean it. He knew that this was coming from her hypnotic enslavement.
He didn’t care. He reached out and opened a kitchen drawer in the countertop, and then pulled her back slightly so her tits fell into the open drawer. Then he slammed it closed.
Kathy howled in agony, and felt her ass clench around her uncle’s cock. She howled louder when he did it again, and felt herself starting to cry with pain and degradation – but when he banged it shut on her fuckbags for the third time, she heard Uncle Trevor’s voice whisper in her earbuds, “Cum for me,” and she surprised herself by orgasming to the intense pain in her breasts, even though she was crying, even though nothing was stimulating her cunt.
Uncle Trevor orgasmed soon after. He pulled her away from the counter, pushed her to her knees, and made her lick his cock clean. She did her best to do a good job of it, hoping to reward him for treating her like a sex object. Then he blew her a kiss, promised he’d return soon, and left her there.
Kathy’s tits and ass were aching, and she was tired, but she immediately scrambled for her phone, took it into her bedroom, and pulled up the Secret Message spiral. Within seconds she was gone, falling down into the endlessly rotating image on the screen and the hiss of static in her ears.
When she returned to consciousness, she almost screamed, because she had the sense she had been close – very close – to finding the message. But as soon as she awoke, she felt the words falling away, losing themselves back in the spiral.
At first she didn’t know what was happening. It was still dark. There was a weight on top of her. There was something in her cunt.
Then she understood. It was Mr Green, from nextdoor. It must have been one or two in the morning, and he had come into her house and started raping her in her sleep. He was lying on top of her, his cock buried in her pussy, humping her rapidly.
A part of her wanted to yell, to push him off, to protect herself. But she knew better. Be vulnerable. She was worthless if men didn’t want to fuck her. She liked being a sex object.
So instead she kissed her rapist on the lips, and began bucking against his cock, until she felt him shudder and film her womb with his cum.
He looked guilty after his orgasm. “Was this… was this okay?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said softly. “You can do this whenever you want. You don’t have to ask permission. You don’t even have to talk to me. You don’t have to treat me like a person. You can hurt me if you want to.”
“Oh… okay,” said Mr Green, blushing as he stood and did up his pants. But she could tell from his face that he would be back, and it occurred to her that waking up to find herself being raped would probably become a regular feature of her life now, if she didn’t escape from the spiral.
She was more correct than she knew. When Mr Green left, she went back into the spiral, but before she could find the words again, she was pulled back to wakefulness – this time to find her neighbour raping her yet again. It was the early hours of the morning, and clearly he hadn’t slept – his mind replaying the pleasurable feeling of raping Kathy – and he had returned for a second round.
This time he was more confident, though. When he saw she was awake, he put a hand over her mouth, gagging her, and then used the other to begin slapping her tits as he fucked her cunt. It took him longer to cum, this time, and Kathy was able to find her own orgasm despite the pain and violation.
This time he didn’t bother apologising before he left, either.
There was no time now for Kathy to go back into the spiral. She had to prepare for work. Maybe if she was fast enough in preparing, she would be able to find some more time to trance before the work day started.
She went and showered – feeling guilty about washing men’s cum from her skin – and then began thinking about her clothing options. It was at this point she discovered the package on the front porch – a small cardboard box labelled “Secret Message”. Upon opening it, she discovered it contained her prizes so far – a voucher for buying lingerie, a dog collar with a nametag that read “CUNT”, a dildo gag and a pair of handcuffs.
She looked at them in dismay, and then left them in the box for now.
Choosing clothes was hard. The words “be vulnerable” ran through her head again and again. The shoes were easy – her highest pair of pink high heels, that she could barely balance in. But what about the rest?
She remembered how vulnerable she’d felt at dinner with her cunt bare. The idea occurred to her that she should be bare-cunted again. But she had to wear clothes to work! But wearing clothes would make her less vulnerable….
The dilemma went round and round in her mind – until finally, crying as she realised what she was doing, she took out a pleated skirt from her dresser, and cut it down until it was little more than a three-inch fabric belt. She put it on, and noted that it didn’t come down far enough to conceal her cunt or her ass, even when she was standing up straight.
She looked at several tops to go with it – but her mind was made up when she discovered an old shirt, at the bottom of her drawer. She hadn’t worn it since she was 14 – with substantially smaller tits, and a smaller body overall. It was pure white, and of cheap fabric, and to her delight it barely fit her. When she pulled it on, it hugged every curve of her tits, and the way it stretched over her bosom turned it semi-transparent, clearly showing her nipples and areolae through the fabric. Even better, the bottom rode up far enough to expose the underside of her boobs to view.
She did her hair in pigtails – because it occurred to her that she would be more vulnerable if she gave men easier handholds for her head – and then she set out to work.
She knew what she looked like, of course. She wanted to die of humiliation rather than let anyone see her like this. She wanted to run and hide. She wanted to go to her bedroom, and watch the spiral, and masturbate until she was stupid and blank and orgasming.
But her boss had told her he expected her at work today. And men knew best. And she wanted to obey.
She got as far as the front door before remembering that her car was at her father’s place. She would have to catch the bus.
And as she thought about catching the bus, one last thought occurred to her – one that she hated, but which she could not now un-think.
She went back into the house, put her earbuds in her ears, and then tucked her phone into the front of her cleavage to store it. Then she took the collar – with its nametag reading “CUNT” – and secured it around her neck. Next she took the dildo gag and pushed it into her mouth. The phallus filled her mouth and tickled the back of her throat, and she wanted to gag, but she resisted the impulse and secured the straps behind her head to keep it in place.
Finally, she took the handcuffs, and handcuffed her own hands behind her back.
There was no key provided for the handcuffs, she noted.
The static filled her ears. She had never been more vulnerable – completely unable to defend herself, to remove her gag, to stop people staring at her lewdly displayed body.
She was terrified and humiliated. But the spiral told her it felt good to be so vulnerable. The spiral told her not to worry. Her head was empty and her cunt was wet.
And it *was* wet. It occurred to her that she had been aroused almost non-stop for the past three days. She had cum harder and more often in that time than she had ever done before – despite the fact that she had been degraded, objectified, and repeatedly raped. Even now, if she just concentrated on the pleasant warmth in her fuckhole, it brought a sense of arousal-derived happiness that helped her tune out the horror of her hypnotic predicament.
And so she went forth into the world – exposed, gagged and bound.
The buses in her city was free, so thankfully she didn’t have to try and make payment as she boarded, but she was immediately aware of everyone staring at her as she climbed the boarding steps. From their shocked expressions, she knew that she didn’t look remotely appropriate for going out in public. The bus was crowded, and the only seat was at the back, so she had to walk past every other passenger to reach her seat. She heard some whisper to their companions that she was a slut. “Her cunt isn’t even covered,” hissed one. “God, what a whore,” said another.
She ended up sitting next to a young man on his way to what was probably a job in retail. She blushed as he stared at her – or rather, stared at her tits. It felt demeaning, objectifying – and, of course, the spiral told her that she liked it. She liked being a sex object.
Her uncle’s voice spoke briefly in her earbuds. “You’re nothing but a cunt, Kathy,” it told her, and she knew it knew best.
Then the man sitting next to her reached over and, before Kathy could react, he pulled up her shirt, to expose her tits. There was nothing Kathy could have done to stop him, anyway, with her hands cuffed. And now her breasts were exposed to the entire bus.
She blushed, but she didn’t complain. If anything, she wanted to encourage this kind of treatment, the spiral told her.
Next, his hand moved to her thigh, resting on her leg just below the hem of her skirt.
Unable to stop herself, Kathy parted her legs for him – and in response, he smiled, and let his hand slide down to stroke her pussy, then part her pussy lips, and finally slide two of his fingers up into her fuckhole.
Kathy moaned – trying to be quiet, but unable to control herself. A man she didn’t even know was fingerfucking her on a public bus, while her tits and cunt were exposed. How had it come to this?
When the bus stopped for more passengers to get on, the man said, “Make room. Why don’t you sit on my lap?” And she saw he had unzipped his fly and exposed his hard penis.
Men knew best. She wanted to obey. She moved to sit on his lap, and felt his cock sink into her wet pussy. The new passengers stared at her tits in lust and contempt as they got on, and Kathy just blushed and tried to find her way down into trance.
The trance eluded her, though. The man she was sitting on didn’t actively fuck her, but the road was bumpy and the bus’ suspension was old, and each irregularity in the road caused the whole vehicle to bounce, and the man’s cock to spear into her cunt, and before she was halfway to work she was orgasming on his lap, and at the stop before her work she felt him cumming, too, spurting his sperm up inside her, and that gave her a second orgasm.
When it was time for her to get off the bus, she heard herself whisper, “Thank you, sir” – eager to encourage her own objectification – and then she was standing, and walking back down the centre aisle of the bus. With her hands bound, she couldn’t pull her shirt back down over her tits, and neither could she clean the man’s cum from her pussy, so she was forced to let her exposed tits jiggle in full view as the anonymous stranger’s cum trickled out of her cunt and ran down her inner thighs.
It was nine am. At three pm she would have her breast surgery, and complete her transformation into a porn doll. She had six hours left to find the secret message.
And the work day had only just begun.
If you enjoyed this story, please support its creation with a purchase from the All These Roadworks store! E-books start at only $3.99 USD! (Click here to view.)
One thought on “Story: Secret Message, Part 8”