Author’s Note: This week the talented Pixie Isobella returns with the third novel in her Molly series. Molly’s Chains is filled with red hot office humiliation, submission, and forced breeding – and you can read the first two chapters right here courtesy of a guest post! If you enjoy what you read, make sure to grab your copy of Molly’s Chains in the ATR store today! (Click here to view in store.)
===
Chapter 1
Get your tits out.
Get your legs open.
Lie back and be a good girl.
It was evening and the man on top of me was grunting as he thrust into me.
We were in my house. I was lying on my back on my bed. I was naked, of course, and my knees were spread wide, my lower legs curled around his hips, my back arched, my body writhing seductively underneath his.
We looked like lovers caught in the middle of intense passion but we weren’t making love. He was fucking me. He was rutting with me. He was penetrating me and soon he would ejaculate into me.
The man fucking me wasn’t looking at me and I knew that for him, right now, I wasn’t even here. I didn’t matter — the only thing that mattered was his approaching orgasm.
As our bodies moved together, my hips embracing his, all I could think of was his bare erection, thick and hard, inside me up to the hilt. His grunts were guttural, animalistic even, while his eyes were unfocused, his mouth slightly open.
The man is my boss, Mr Blake Hunter. It was late evening and by anyone’s standard, I should have been off work.
Instead, I was letting my boss fuck me, the same as I do every night.
Mr Hunter is a senior partner at the law firm of Adams and Hunter. Theoretically, I’m a junior lawyer but after more than a year of working for Mr Hunter, I’m really nothing more than the office fucktoy.
My name is Molly and I’m his slut — or rather, as I’m learning, I’m the convenient hole he can penetrate and cum inside whenever he chooses. He’s older than me, a senior partner at my work. I had a huge crush on him once. I wanted love and marriage and all kinds of things that I’ve since learned he’s not interested in — or not with me at least.
Mr Hunter was thrusting hard, ramming himself single-mindedly into me while I struggled to keep up with the pace he was setting. The sex was so rough that it was at that incredible point between pleasure and pain. He had had a complex day at work with some difficult clients.
I wonder sometimes what he used to do to decompress after a long day in the office, because now that he’s got me, he uses my body every night to relax and burn off the stress.
I realised that he was about to ejaculate and he came a moment later, groaning with intense pleasure as he splashed himself into me. He was the fifth man to cum inside me tonight, and all I could think was that there must be so much sticky cum inside me right now.
But that’s my normal these days. I’m the office slut. This is what I do. I lie on my back and spread my legs, or I bend forward, or I get down on my knees and present my arse, and I give men pleasure.
A moment after his orgasm, Mr Hunter breathed out a long shuddering sigh, his body relaxing down on top of mine. He was still inside me, his member planted casually, arrogantly inside my cunt, his body heavy on mine.
After a long while, he pulled himself back up onto his elbows and met my eyes for the first time since he climbed onto my bed. As he met my eyes, I flushed suddenly at the intimacy of lying underneath him, both of us naked with his softening cock still buried deep inside me, my thighs wet with his and my own juices.
We weren’t friends. He was my boss and my master. Sometimes, he even calls himself my owner. I don’t correct him, not anymore. My body shouldn’t be any of his business, but instead I am his property, to grope, penetrate and cum inside. I let him make himself my owner — his sweet, obedient, fuckable property.
‘You’re such a slut, Molly,’ Mr Hunter said to me after a moment.
His voice was slurred from his recent orgasm. His hand groped luxuriously down my side, clearly enjoying the feeling of my soft curves underneath him.
‘Lying here naked, your legs spread for any man to fuck,’ he said. ‘Such a wanton little whore. I used to think I shouldn’t fuck you but this is what you wanted all along, isn’t it?’
I flushed with embarrassment at the dismissive tone, wishing I could roll away or argue back at him. I hadn’t wanted him to fuck me, not at first, not really. And now I didn’t really know what I wanted. I did know that I hadn’t been a slut until he turned me into one. Despite his convenient fantasy that I was an irredeemable slut, my legs were spread for him to fuck and they were like that because he had ordered me to.
‘You’re filthy with men’s cum,’ Mr Hunter sneered, ‘and all you want is more, isn’t it? You just want me to roll you over and pound you again, don’t you, you silly little whore?’
The sneer in his voice was derisive and it seemed suddenly unfair to me that he was allowed to sneer at me like that, while still lying on top of me, his cock still buried deep inside my cunt.
‘Yes, Sir,’ I whispered anyway, blushing hotly as I accepted his condemnation.
Embarrassed, I wished I could hide my face. I know my sluttiness is a convenient fiction that Mr Hunter made up but, unfortunately, now that I’m used to the sex, I really don’t know what I would do if I had to give it up.
I’m not allowed to say ‘no’ to any of the men in the office or to the clients that Mr Hunter hires me out to. He says sluts like me don’t have the right to say ‘no’ to any man who wants them. He says he wants a ‘disciplined’ office with staff who know how to take direction.
Get your tits out.
He said that to me earlier this evening. Actually, he says that to me at least once a day.
Get your udders out.
Get those milksacks out where I can see them.
Tits out, girl, I want to watch as your nips drip with milk.
I used to hope he would love me but I know better now. Mr Hunter thinks of me as a convenient pair of tits he can grope and a warm, available hole he can shove himself into. I’m his fuckslut and his colleagues’ fuckslut and the clients’ fuckslut.
He was still holding himself up easily on his elbows, his hips buried against my groin, his cock arrogantly, casually planted deep inside me. He was getting hard again and I knew that soon he would pick a new position and he would start to grind and thrust into me again, treating me like his own personal masturbation toy.
You’re such a slut.
Mr Hunter has been hiring me out to the firm’s clients for a few months now, selling my body several times a week. The first man he sold me to was his old friend, Mr Charles Axel, a smooth-spoken brute of a man who treated me like an animal. I still shiver at the memory of his voice calling me ‘livestock’ — a cow or a pet or a horse to be disciplined.
I don’t know if I want more of the same or to never, ever see him again.
But there have been many more men almost every day since. The firm invoices the men for my services. I’ve seen the occasional invoice and accounts slip and I know that I’m the ‘special service’ listed against more than half our clients’ accounts.
Mr Hunter tells me that I should be grateful. He says that I’m helping to pay my wages. I used to find that demeaning — I am a trained lawyer, after all — but I’m pretty numb to it now. Mostly I don’t even think about it. I just know that he has the right to order me and that my job is to obey.
I haven’t always been this compliant. Actually, I used to talk back a lot, complaining that it was unfair and trying to say ‘no’.
I’ve learned not to do that. A few months back, Mr Hunter and his colleague, the cruel Mr Saunders, ‘broke’ me ‘in’ as they like to call it. They tied me down and tortured my cunt and clit until I gave in. Since then, I’ve pretty much let Mr Hunter do what he wants to me without question. I’ve let him turn me into his compliant whore. I strip when he tells me to strip and I fuck who he tells me to fuck. It doesn’t matter how inappropriate, how obscene the command, I obey it instinctively without question.
Today was no exception.
Chapter 2
Mr Hunter and I had left the office this evening just after five, same as we always do. I knew we were probably heading out for some clients to fuck me. That’s my normal now and I know better than to ask questions or to complain.
He ordered me to strip my breasts bare once the car was moving. Then, he drove us to a car park. By the time we arrived, my nipples were embarrassingly erect and eager in the cool air, my half-open work blouse and my bra pushing them higher and framing them like a picture.
My breasts looked indecent on the front of my body like this, half undressed but fully on display. The clients like it if I’m already half naked and ready for them when they arrive. I know it encourages them to think I’m not a person. The first thing they see is my big tits and — frankly — not one of them has never looked beyond that to find the girl inside.
They don’t want to know the girl inside me — all they want is to use my body for the rough, demeaning sex they can’t get with their girlfriends and wives. I’d complain more about that except that Mr Hunter has trained me to enjoy the sex too much.
I don’t like the men fucking me in disused carparks or abandoned building sites but I don’t get a choice. Our city has been in financial crisis since forever, and there’s plenty of isolated places with crumbling asphalt where a man can get his pleasure inside me for as short as ten minutes or as long as an hour, and no-one will ever even notice.
Mr Hunter put a hood on me as we arrived, blocking out my vision. This also removes my face and in so doing, removes any remaining option for the client to see me as a person. For the clients, I’m a pair of big tits and a set of available holes for them to enjoy, without ever worrying if I have wants or needs of my own.
It’s worse, of course, because all the hoods Mr Hunter had made have humiliating slogans on them. Tonight’s hood was no exception.
BIG TITS, NO BRAINS.
I don’t like it when Mr Hunter hoods me, as if I was a bird or an animal in a cage, but I obey. ‘Dumb Bitch’ is his favourite but I guess ‘Big Tits, No Brains’ does the same job. The men fucking me don’t see my face. All they see is the slogan and they learn from that that I’m not a person and therefore they can do anything they want to me.
Mr Hunter had laughed softly at me as he finished tying off the hood, before I felt his hands casually groping my bare breasts, emphasising all over again how big and sensitive they are — and how exposed they were on the front of my body where I couldn’t even see them.
‘Tell me how worthless you are, Molly,’ he said, a snigger in his voice as he groped me. ‘Tell me why I take away your face.’
‘I’m worthless,’ I whimpered. ‘I’m…’ I broke off and then forced myself to continue. ‘I’m just a pair of big t-tits and a h-hole for m-men to fuck,’ I whispered, flushing with humiliation inside the hood.
Mr Hunter has trained me well. I know what to say, even though, somewhere deep inside, I still rebel against the words.
‘That’s right, girl,’ he said. ‘Well done on learning your lessons,’ he continued patronisingly as his hands continued to stroke the soft skin of my breasts. ‘You’re going to please tonight’s client for me, aren’t you? You’re going to let him inside that soft, warm body of yours, aren’t you, my dear? You’ll please him and you’ll make some money for the firm in the only way you know how.’
‘Yes, Sir,’ I whispered, feeling humiliated all over again inside the hood. It shouldn’t be my job to let these men touch me and push themselves into me.
‘That’s my girl,’ Mr Hunter chuckled. ‘Get out of the car now.’
Tonight’s client was ready and waiting.
I heard his whistle of appreciation almost immediately as I climbed out of the car, and I readied myself for him to touch me as I heard him stepping towards me.
‘Well, this bitch is a darling, isn’t she?’ he said, and I could imagine the grin on his face. ‘Big tits, no brains,’ he chuckled, reading the words across the hood where my face should have been. ‘Perfect. How do you find these stupid whores, anyway?’
I’m not stupid, I thought softly, but I didn’t say it. I never stand up for myself, not anymore.
The first thing I felt was a firm hand holding the straps behind my head. The man pulled my head backwards, deliberately pulling me off balance, then I felt his other hand land on my breasts.
The men all love my breasts. Mr Hunter has been feeding me lactation drugs for nearly a year now and my boobs are huge — round and soft and full of milk. They’re so large that I’ve basically run out of cup sizes. They swell out past my arms on either side and rise like a platform in front of me.
This man groped my breasts for a long time, before pulling one of them casually into his mouth so that he could drink from me. He was still pulling back on my head, holding me arched backwards in a vulnerable position. I was uncomfortable like this but the client wouldn’t care about that, of course.
After a while he walked me backwards so that my back was up against Mr Hunter’s car. Shoving me backwards so that I was almost resting on the car, further off balance, the man reached down and pulled one of my legs up to hug around his waist.
The man must have had his dick out already when we arrived, because I felt his erection poking at my bare mound and I gasped. He slid his shaft intrusively between my legs to press against my pussy lips.
Then he lowered his head back to my breasts, sucking hard and grunting as he did, drinking my milk greedily. I moaned as my body released more of the warm, creamy liquid into his mouth. I used to find this degrading, when the men drink from me. Actually, probably, I still do, but I’m used to it now and I know that I’m not allowed to object.
The man switched breasts after a while, his hands hot and hard on my skin as he suckled greedily, almost painfully.
He was going to fuck me soon, I knew. His erection was stiff and hot against me, and he moved his hips in a slow, almost meditative rhythm, his cock sliding back and forth against my pussy lips. He was clearly enjoying my warmth and wetness, and I knew that soon he would want more.
As he suckled on me, Mr Hunter’s words kept revolving in my mind.
You’re going to please tonight’s client for me, aren’t you? You’re going to let him inside that soft, warm body of yours, aren’t you?
I both wanted the man to fuck me and I didn’t.
I’m always horny these days. I can’t stop thinking about cock. Mr Hunter makes me wear a chastity belt pretty much every waking hour of the day and sometimes even when I sleep. I usually have to wear a dildo or a bullet inside myself too, so I’m stimulated all day.
I want to be fucked so very much, all the freaking time. And if I ever disobey, one of my punishments is that my boss will lock me in the chastity belt and deny me sex — for days or even a whole week. That’s the worst thing of all.
Thankfully for the part of me that wanted to fuck, it didn’t take long for the man in the car park to decide he wanted more than milk and groping. He pulled physically away from me, only to spin me around, bend me physically forward and feed me head first back into Mr Hunter’s car. His hands landed on my hips and almost immediately I felt his erection probing at my pussy as if he owned it.
Well, he paid for me so he probably thought he did own it.
The man found my entrance and, with a huge sigh, he thrust into me up to the hilt. He wasn’t wearing a condom, of course. None of the men do. They like fucking me bare and they don’t care whether I want them bare inside me or not.
===
Want to read more? Then grab your copy of Molly’s Chains in the ATR store now! It’s available for only $7.99 USD and contains over 60,000 words of red-hot story! (Click here to view in store.)
===