Story: Pregnant in Modwina, Part 10

Previous chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine

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It was frightening to Tayla how quickly her captivity and abuse became normal – and how quickly her first trimester passed under those conditions. 

The whole family called her “Snowball” now – the name of a cow, and, apparently, a name that they felt suited Tayla.  She never heard her real name, and, as much as she hated it, she was coming to respond to “Snowball” as if it was the name she was born with. 

She slept in her bed in the laundry, and in the morning she would be rudely awoken and taken into the backyard by the Sheriff or his son, where she would piss and shit in her litter box while they watched, and then be roughly hosed down using a garden hose. 

Inside, Edward would test if her udders were producing milk yet, and when they weren’t, he would have her rest them on the table, and bang them hard with the heel of his shoe, again and again, until Tayla was in tears, even as she thanked him for disciplining her. 

She would kneel beside the table to eat her dinner, nibbling at food cupped in the hand of the Sheriff or his son if they felt like paying attention to her, or eating if off their cock if they didn’t.  Afterwards she would suck off one or both of them, using her mouth to pleasure their dick until they ejaculated down her throat. 

The voice of her conditioning played in her head as she tasted the sperm. 

Swallow cum for your baby.  Good girl. 

She couldn’t have resisted their desire for a blowjob even if she had wanted to.  The conditioning she had received at the hospital was too effective – as soon as she was aware of a cock near her mouth, her jaws just popped open, as if on strings, to let it in.  It was an automatic reaction, like a flinch or a sneeze, and she didn’t have the slightest control over it. 

The conditioning worked in other ways.  She found herself completely unable to touch her own pussy or tits – her hands flinched away nervously if they even came near those areas – and she could not have put on a bra and panties without help, even were she allowed to wear such things.  She couldn’t masturbate, no matter how aroused she was.  She wore a large clamp on her cunt at most times, squeezing her pussy lips shut because she was a “messy girl down there” – (which is to say, frequently a wet, aroused one) – and she simply could not make her hands touch it or remove it without asking for male assistance. 

Knowing that she didn’t have even such basic control over her own body made it hard for her to visualise what it might look like to escape.  Even if she got home, would she have to ask her father or boyfriend to dress her for the rest of her life?  Would her only way of satisfying herself sexually be to ask a man to violate her? 

After the men had left for work, Bessie would supervise as Tayla performed chores.  Her first task would be to lick the toilet clean with her tongue – a task that revolted Tayla, and yet she dared not refuse to complete it. 

Then Bessie would strap Tayla into her “cleaning harness” – a gag fitted with a small duster over her mouth, a broom shoved up her cunt, and the hated industrial suction machine attached to cups over her nipples and clitoris.  The machine would thump away, torturing her breasts and pussy with suction in an attempt to stimulate her lactation, while Tayla crawled around on all fours, dusting and sweeping using her mouth and cunt.  It was degrading, and painful in a way that increased with every powerful instance of suction against her sensitive areas, and yet it always made Tayla overwhelmingly horny, to the point where Bessie would have to intervene to stop Tayla from humping the broom stuffed in her pussy.

After the chores, if Tayla had been good, Bessie would “lick her clean”, gently spreading Tayla’s cunt lips and licking the sensitive cleft of her cunt.  She would never let Tayla cum from it, though.  Sometimes Tayla went wild with desire, and begged to be allowed to cum, or even tried to force  Bessie’s face closer to her groin.  On these occasions, Bessie would pull away sternly, and call Tayla a slut, and begin to spank her pussy with one hand.

She would keep spanking until Tayla orgasmed from the pain, and these were some of the few occasions were Tayla was allowed an orgasm of any sort whatsoever.

Afterwards, Bessie would encourage Tayla to lick her *own* pussy, and Tayla knew she was in no position to say no.  It felt slutty to Tayla, to lick another woman’s cunt – despite the enjoyment she had felt from having her own licked – but Bessie encouraged her.

“It should feel slutty, Snowball,” Bessie said.  “After all, it’s sinful for two women to lick each other, but women are such silly sluts that we can’t help ourselves.  So if my juices feel messy and whorish over your face, that’s natural, and it’s only proper for me to call you a disgusting lesbian whore as you lick me, too, so that you feel the proper sense of shame.”

Bessie may have been unwilling to give Tayla an orgasm, but she had no reluctance to receive one herself, and after Tayla had made her cum, Bessie would bring Tayla up, and breastfeed her from her big, lactating tits.  She would stroke Tayla’s hair as Tayla sucked on her nipples, and call Tayla a silly little breeder, and a wet-cunted lesbian whore, and Tayla – wet-cunted, and with pussy juices on her face – would lie there, confused at the simultaneous affection and degradation, her mind twisting into ever-more-convoluted sexual knots.

In the evening the men would come home.  Edward would test Tayla’s tits for milk again, and beat them with his shoe when they were found wanting.  Every second or third night the Sheriff would take Tayla out to the shed and inspect her, taking down her various measurements in a demeaning and objectifying ritual.

The family would gather for dinner, and Tayla would push a buzzing vibrator up her cunt, and then once again recount the story of how she had been impregnated.  The Sheriff or Bessie or Edward would always prompt her for new details of how wanton she had been, and how eager to be raped, and by now Tayla’s version of the story had her attending the club half-naked, begging Oscar to rape her, and sucking his dick whorishly in front of his friends, right there in the club, until he finally agreed to take her outside and ravish her in the alley.

Tayla knew this story wasn’t the truth – and yet, she had also come to believe there was truth in it.  She knew now that she *was* a slut.  Nice girls didn’t end up as sex toys for strangers.  Nice girls certainly didn’t lick the cunts of older women, and get wet when they had broom handles shoved up their cunts.  And so when she had said she had done nothing at all to provoke her rape, that couldn’t really be true, could it?  Hadn’t she contributed just a little to making it happen?

And during these retellings she didn’t even notice when she dropped her made-up name for her baby daddy – “Liam” – and started using his real name of “Oscar”.  She forgot why she had originally used that falsehood.  It no longer even occurred to her that the Sheriff may be able to use the name to find the friend who had raped her – and get in contact with him…

She would then eat her food off the men’s cocks, and suck them to orgasm, and then be led to her laundry bed, to sleep, and wait for another day of degradation.

About twice a week she would be taken to the hospital, and there she would get her regular round of treatments.  She would receive painful injections designed to sensitise her breasts and clitoris.  She would receive hypnotic treatment, reinforcing her inability to touch her own tits and cunt, making her automatically accept cocks into her mouth, giving her a hunger to consume sperm for her baby’s health.

There were a few changes over those weeks.  First of all, Edward made her start asking for her punishments.

“I’m tired of you pretending that you don’t know you need your tits beaten, Snowball,” he told her one day.  “From now on, when it’s time for your tits to be whacked, you come to me and ask for it, and tell me why you deserve it.  If you ask at the right time, with the right reason, I’ll only give you five hits on each udder.  But if I have to initiate it, I’ll keep beating them until you cry, okay?”

Eager to minimise the hated beatings, Tayla quickly began reporting each morning and evening that her breasts weren’t making milk yet, and that she deserved a breast spanking with Edward’s boot.

But she soon discovered that there were other things that apparently deserved a beating, too – most commonly being disappointing when she gave a blowjob.  Edward would take her to task for seemingly minor things on some occasions, while seeming well-satisfied on others, and Tayla came to realise she had no good guide as to when she would please him or anger him.  

Her only option was to begin apologising after *every* blowjob for being deficient, and begging to have her tits beaten.  Additional unnecessary small beatings were better than the vicious bruising she would receive if Edward had to remind her that she deserved one.

And soon she found herself just automatically apologising after any sexual performance.  She would apologise to the Sheriff after sucking his cock, and she would apologise to Bessie after licking her pussy.  No one ever corrected her, or suggested that the apologies weren’t necessary, and once she had started she realised it would feel rude and aggressive to *stop* apologising.  She flinched at the thought of what reaction she might get for not apologising, after creating a routine of habitual apology.

Bessie had a new suggestion for Tayla, too.

“Isn’t it about time you started calling the Sheriff ‘daddy’, sweetie?” she said one day.  “After all, he’s basically standing in the place of your birth father, and providing you the discipline and guidance that a young slut like you needs.”

Taylor absolutely did not want to call the Sheriff ‘daddy’.  She remembered the doctor making that suggestion at the hospital, and how wrong and perverted it had felt to suck the Sheriff’s cock afterwards, with that thought in her head.  

She tried to shrug off the suggestion, but when the Sheriff arrived home that night, and Tayla pointedly didn’t say, “Welcome home, daddy,” Bessie basically dragged Tayla into one of the bedrooms by her hair, and began to swat at Tayla’s bare breasts and pussy with one hand, while calling her an ungrateful young bitch, until Tayla, wailing, agreed to do as she was told.

“Welcome home, daddy,” she said afterwards, kneeling naked in front of her new “father” to kiss his cock through his pants.  And she felt the dirtiest she had ever felt.

Bessie noticed how uncomfortable Tayla looked with the name, so at dinner that night, instead of getting her to talk about her rape, she suggested that Tayla make up some stories about how her childhood might have been with her new “father”.  And Tayla found herself telling stories from her own childhood, with the Sheriff inserted into the role of her father – even as the vibrator in her pussy kept humming away.  She would recount tales of happy times at parks and beaches – based on real events from her own childhood – while naked and wet-cunted, and when it was done she would suck the cock of her “father” and apologise for being bad at giving daddy a blowjob.

The cognitive dissonance of it all was too much for Tayla to process, and so she just allowed her brain to shut down during these events.  She did as she was told, without thinking or questioning – and, perversely, that made it easier for the new ideas to sink in.  It became easy and automatic to call the Sheriff “daddy” – and when she sucked his cock, it became impossible not to feel as if she were sucking the cock of her biological father.  She burned with shame even as she swallowed his cum like a good girl.

And so the weeks passed – until the day she discovered two things.

The first was that her milk had come in, and when Edward squeezed her udders in the morning, there was a sudden and visible squirt of milk, that both delighted and humiliated her.

And the second was that her pregnancy was now showing, and the curve of her stomach could no longer be dismissed as just a little extra fat.  She had the first signs of a visible baby bump.

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If you’re enjoying this story, you’ll love my e-book Small Town Values, telling the story of a woman who is trapped in a small town and turned into their free-use sex-toy.  (Check it out in the ATR store!)

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