Previous chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen
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Stacy Hornwood never wanted to see her Uncle Benjamin again – but she did want to see her daughters, Madelyn and Avery, and Benjamin had made it clear that if she wanted to be part of their life again, she would need to do as she was told.
On the evening that her daughters had been taken away, Benjamin had sent her a message.
“Your education begins tomorrow, Stacy. I will come to your house in the morning. At 7 am you are to strip nude, open the front door of your house wide, and kneel in the doorway and masturbate until I arrive, facing the street. Do not allow yourself to orgasm.”
She hated it. She had tried so hard to escape from her degrading past as a pregnant porn doll for Benjamin – even though he had forced her to hang nude photos of herself in her house where her daughters could see them. And then just the other night she had been gang-raped – and now Benjamin was putting her right back in the space of her youth, where she had been a submissive object for his cameras.
So she did as she was told. The next morning, she stripped, she opened the front door of her house, she knelt, and she masturbated.
She had unwisely assumed that Benjamin would come to the house shortly after 7, but he didn’t, and at 7.30 she was still masturbating.
One of her neighbours walked past – Mr Barrows, from two houses down. He looked at her, and did a double-take.
She kept masturbating as he stared at her.
Finally, he blushed and kept walking.
At 8 am, her Uncle Benjamin finally arrived. He walked right up to Stacy in the doorway. Without speaking, he took out his cock and pressed it against her lips.
Obediently, Stacy parted her lips and took it into her mouth.
She had expected that Uncle Benjamin was going to fuck her face.
Instead, he started to piss.
She almost pulled back in shock when she felt him urinating into her mouth. But she controlled herself. This was a test. If she passed, she would get to see her daughters again. If she didn’t, Uncle Benjamin and his son would keep them, and they would surely find other ways to make her life hell as well.
So she stayed still, and let her uncle piss in her mouth, and when her mouth became full she swallowed.
When his bladder was empty, Uncle Benjamin withdrew his cock, and then pushed past her into the house. He headed for the living room, and snapped his fingers.
Stacy rose to her feet to follow him.
“Not like that, Stacy,” said Benjamin. “Like the bitch you are.”
It took Stacy a moment to understand, but the meaning was soon clear. She got back down on all fours, and crawled, wiggling her ass and feeling her large tits sway back and forth beneath her.
“Good girl,” said Benjamin when she reached him. He was sitting on the lounge. “Do you remember the rules of our engagement, Stacy?”
She did. They were the rules she had agreed to in order to get Benjamin to cover her accommodation and medical bills, when she had been a homeless pregnant teenager. She had memorised them assiduously, because she had no doubt that if she broke even one, Benjamin would take great pleasure in sending herself and her daughters back to the streets.
“One: if I ever break the rules of my agreement with you, I have to repay you everything you’ve ever spent on me, and work in a manner that you direct to repay it,” she said.
“Two: no contraceptives, no abortions.”
“Three: you control my healthcare. No doctors or drugs without your approval in advance. I attend the appointments you choose and undertake the procedures you want.”
“Four: Never report a rape or complain about sexual harassment. Never cooperate with police. Never support another woman in reporting rape, and work to undermine rape victims. Never protect a woman from men.”
“And five: hang the Good Girl magazine cover where I’m naked and pregnant in the foyer of my house where everyone can see it.”
Uncle Benjamin seemed satisfied.
“Very good, Stacy,” he said. “Now, if you want to see your daughters again, I’m afraid that we need to add one more rule to that list. Is that something you’d like?”
Stacy didn’t know how to answer. She did want to see her daughters again, but she didn’t want another rule. But she realised the only important thing was how Benjamin wanted her to answer.
“Yes, sir,” she said, nodding.
“Good,” said Benjamin. “The rule is this: that you will never see yourself or any other woman as anything but a fuckpig. You will encourage your daughters to see themselves as fuckpigs and you will never do or say anything to them that is inconsistent with their role as fuckpigs.”
Stacy took a deep breath. It had been hard enough to be a mother to her daughters when there was living proof of her time as a masturbatory fantasy for men hanging in their foyer. But this was something else.
“It won’t make much of a difference, really, Stacy,” said Benjamin. “Sean is going to teach them that, whether you’re involved or not. It’s really only about whether you get to be part of their lives or not. Do you agree to the rule?”
“Yes,” said Stacy, quietly.
“Good girl,” said Benjamin. “Now, I have something for you. Bring your tits up near me.”
She rose up on her knees, giving him access to her breasts.
He took out something. It was a badge – the kind that was held in place by a pin. He took out a small bottle, which appeared to be alcohol. He opened the pin of the badge, and splashed some alcohol over the tip.
Then, before Stacy could react, he grabbed her left nipple, and ran the pin through her breast just behind the nipple. When it was through, he clicked the badge closed.
Stacy squealed.
“Oh, don’t be a baby, it didn’t hurt,” said Benjamin. “And it suits you. Look.”
The badge rested on her skin just above her nipple. It was a set of words, sculpted in metal. They read, “SLUTTY STACY”, in a flowing girly script – but backwards, like in a mirror.
He got some more things out of his bag. They were a couple of sheets of butcher’s paper and some acrylic paints.
“It’s finger-painting time, Stacy,” he said. “I want you to write ‘my daughters are fuckpigs’ on the paper. Nice and big.”
Stacy hated writing that about her own daughters. And she hated being asked to finger-paint, like a child.
But she had no choice. She got out some blue paint, and dipped a finger in it, and then traced out the words on the paper. “MY DAUGHTERS ARE FUCKPIGS.” The results looked crude and childish.
“And now you need to sign it, Stacy,” said Benjamin. “That’s what the badge is for. Dip your tit into the paint, and then press it against the paper.”
“No,” said Stacy. “This is demeaning. You can’t.. I mean…”
Benjamin shook his head. “Oh, Stacy,” he said. “That’s very disappointing.”
Then he slapped her across the face, and grabbed a handful of her hair. Using his grip, he forced her to push her breasts down into a tub of red paint. Then he lifted her, and pushed her breast back down against the paper.
When it came away, her mark was clear. The words “SLUTTY STACY” on the paper, and beneath it the round imprint of her nipple.
“That’s how you sign documents now, Stacy,” Benjamin told her. “It must be difficult for a stupid slut like you to write, so this will be easier for you. I don’t want to see you signing any other way. You can carry an ink pad around for this purpose. Now go upstairs and wash those fuckmelons off so you don’t smear paint on anything else.”
She did as she was told, and when she returned from the bathroom Benjamin had tacced her “My daughters are fuckpigs” painting up on the lounge room wall in a prominent position.
“Alright, Stacy, I have some more presents for you,” Benjamin said. “Come here.”
She didn’t want any more presents, but she did as she was told.
He took out what looked like a pen, and removed the cap from it to reveal a small needle.
“Spread your legs,” he said. “This goes in your clit.”
She instinctively clamped her legs together. She didn’t want a needle in her clit.
“You’ll barely feel it,” he insisted. “Do you want to never see your daughters again just because you were a scaredy-cat?”
She whimpered – and parted her legs, and then used her fingers to spread her pussy lips.
Benjamin jabbed the needle into her clit, and she squealed. It did hurt!
He chuckled. “Yes, I lied. And honestly it can go anywhere on your body but this is more fun.” He held down the button at the end of the pen until the entire dose of medicine had been injected.
“I’ll give you these once a week,” he told her. “They’ll stay in your system for the week and slowly build up.”
“What is it?” asked Stacy.
“A little something to make you hornier and stupider, as a woman should be,” said Benjamin. “Your clit will be more sensitive and your libido will increase. You’ll find your arousal more distracting, and harder to think through rationally.”
She didn’t like the sound of that at all.
“And here,” he said. He passed her a dildo, with a flange at the base that ended in a clamp.
“What do I do with this?” she said.
“Put this in you before doing anything involving your daughters,” he said. “You can start now.”
She reluctantly slid the thick dildo into her fuckhole until the base was flush with her groin.
“The clamp goes on your clit, to keep it inside you,” he told her.
“But it will hurt!” she objected.
“At first,” he said. “Over time, you may find the pain pleasurable. Go on.”
Nervously, she applied the clamp to her clit. It was designed the grab the flesh behind the clit, with the nub of the clitoris poking perkily out of the clamp. It did indeed hurt.
Then Benjamin reached out and flicked a switch on the base of the dildo, and it hurt a lot worse.
The dildo vibrated, which was not unexpected. But it also began to buck and jerk. Each jerk tugged on her clit – but the clamp meant it didn’t have enough room to slide out of her fuckhole altogether.
“Ah!” she squealed. “Aaaah!”
“You can run and put some panties on if you like,” Benjamin told her. “They’ll keep it more firmly in your cunt and slightly reduce the pain. The motion is designed to make it feel more like actually being fucked, and make it more distracting.”
By the time Stacy came back from her bedroom with a pair of tight panties in place, she had already started to become used to the pain, and focused on the sense of pleasure in her cunt as it buzzed and bucked.
“Very good,” said Benjamin. “Remember – it goes in you any time you’re thinking about your daughters. When it’s not in you, remember to keep it charging.”
“Yes, sir,” said Stacy.
“Now, it’s time for more fingerpainting,” said Benjamin. “We’re going to make a list of reasons why your daughters are fuckpigs. There you go. Two sheets of paper. Write ‘Why Madelyn is a fuckpig’ on one and ‘Why Avery is a fuckpig’ on the other. Then start thinking of reasons. No bad ideas, Stacy. Can you think of one for Madelyn?”
Stacy tried to think. She didn’t like think of her daughters as “fuckpigs”. And it was hard to think with the dildo buzzing in her twat. And was the drug working on her already?
“She has big breasts,” she said to Benjamin.
“That’s good,” said Benjamin, “but you can speak more creatively than that. How about ‘big whorish fuckbags’? Write that down there.”
Obligingly, Stacy used her finger to paint “big whorish fuckbags” on the paper.
“And she’s really not very smart,” Stacy volunteered.
“Good,” said Benjamin. “Write ‘dumb’.”
She did. Then she thought more.
“She drank her cousin’s piss in that video,” she said. “And sucked his cock.”
With Benjamin’s guidance she wrote “piss drinking slut” and “cocksucker” on the paper.
Soon it was joined by “fuckable cunt”, “cocktease”, “brat” and “slappable face”.
“And what about her influences, Stacy?” asked Benjamin. “What about you?”
Stacy felt like she might cry. She felt like she might cum.
With one finger, she painted, “daughter of a whore” on the paper.
Then she did both. She cried, and she came.
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