alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Noncon Isekai, Part 19

Or
Challenge of the Lewd Dungeon Gate!

Chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen

===

As Justin and his girls drew nearer to the Shrine of Gloriel, he suddenly realised what he was seeing.

“Fuck,” he swore.

“The orcs are blocking our path to the shrine,” said Rose, nodding sagely.

“No,” said Justin.  “I mean, yes, they are.  We’ve been able to see their camp there for some time.  But we knew that already.  That’s not the problem.”

“Then what?” asked Amy.

“The gate,” said Justin.  He pointed.

The entrance to the orc camp looked nothing like the crude huts and tents that lay beyond it.  It was a tall archway, that appeared to be made of silver, and it emitted a purple glow that partly obscured the scenery beyond it.

“Magical?” asked Amy.

“No,” said Justin.  “I mean, yes, but no.  It’s a dungeon entrance.”

“A way into the orc’s jail, you mean?” asked Rose.

Justin rolled his eyes.  It wasn’t the fault of Rose and Amy that they didn’t understand how videogames worked – but it sometimes became exhausting.

“No,” he said again.  “Or, well, it might be, But that’s not the point.  A dungeon in this sense is, like… a dangerous area.  There’s usually only one way in or out, and there’ll be a lot of combat inside.  Possibly traps and puzzles.  Maybe a lot of treasure, too – and it will be difficult to rest or heal safely.  Plus there’ll be a significant objective we need to achieve in order to advance.”

“Was that not what we were expecting?” asked Rose.

Justin *had* been hoping to just negotiate with the orcs.  He had a particular trade in mind.  

But he supposed he was going to need to navigate the dungeon in order to try it.

“Well, if I’m going into a dungeon, I’m going to level up first,” he said.

And he began to walk.

The girls just watched him.  Which was easy to do, because Justin wasn’t walking *to* anywhere.  He was just walking back and forth over the same fifteen-metre stretch of ground.

“You know you’re not actually going anywhere, right?” asked Amy, an impudent smirk on her face.

“Hush,” said Justin.  “I’m just trying to make it…”

And then reality warped, and he was once again face to face with the Fuckdoll Traveller.

She made a noise when she saw him – a mixture of gratitude for her continued existence, and distress at the knowledge that she was about to be raped again when, for her, no time at all had passed since her previous rape.

“Please, sir,” she begged.  “Can’t you give me time to recover?”

“I’m sorry,” said Justin.  “Combat has started, and if I don’t make a choice from the combat menu within a certain amount of time, it will make one for me.”

She whimpered.

“It’s okay,” he told her.  “Your mind may *feel* like you need a break from being raped, but your body doesn’t actually need one.  I can’t permanently damage you, and  you’ll always be wet for your violation.  I’m betting that you also don’t need to eat or sleep – you’re just a random encounter, after all.”

And with those words, he selected “Attack” – and within a couple of rounds she was defeated, stripped nude, and Justin was pushing his cock back into her cunt.

She whimpered and cried and held him tightly, even as her cheeks were flushed with arousal and her nipples hard with desire.  

“Thank you, sir,” she gasped as he raped her.

“You’re fun to grind,” he told her in response.

RAPE SUCCESSFUL

10 XP GAINED!

12 XP UNTIL NEXT LEVEL.

As soon as she had vanished, he began to pace again.  Every step he took in this area had a chance of generating a random encounter.  It didn’t matter where those steps happened or what direction they were heading in.

And soon enough she was back.  He slapped her face, punched her in the tits, ripped off her dress, and pushed her to the ground, before kneeling between her legs and sliding his cock into her wet cunt.

RAPE SUCCESSFUL

10 XP GAINED!

2 XP UNTIL NEXT LEVEL.

Two points to go.  He paced again.

When she reappeared, he lashed her across the tits with his whip, then kicked her in the cunt, and when it was time to take her, he pushed her onto all fours, her tits hanging down, and knelt behind her to fuck her doggy-style.

RAPE SUCCESSFUL

10 XP GAINED!

LEVEL UP!

117 XP TO NEXT LEVEL!

He looked at his stats as the Fuckdoll faded away.

~~~
JUSTIN
 Human Champion – Level 5

POWER: 2

REFLEXES: 3

ENDURANCE: 1

ARCANA: 2

ALLURE: 2

HP: 29/29

MP: 12/12

You have 4 (four) stat points to assign.

You have 1 (one) unused skill slot.

~~~

Justin realised he had never assigned his two stat points from the last level up.  Now he had two more – and a new skill slot.

He assigned a skill point to Endurance – Rose had almost knocked him out in their fight, after all – and another two points to Reflexes.  He supposed that he was building a thief or rogue, of sorts.  The last point went to Allure.

The increase to Endurance increased his HP as well, so his stats were now:

~~~
JUSTIN
Human Champion – Level 5

POWER: 2

REFLEXES: 5

ENDURANCE: 2

ARCANA: 2

ALLURE: 3

HP: 34/34

MP: 12/12

You have 1 (one) unused skill slot.

~~~

He briefly considered going back to Sommerswyd to train the skill point.  But he was keen to progress – and ideally he’d get to the next major town or hub and see what skills it was offering before buying something potentially suboptimal from the starter town.

“Right,” he said.  “Let’s do this.”

And with that, he stepped through the silver gate.

Immediately, the world looked different.  He was standing between orcish huts – but the huts seemed closer together, and their walls higher, such that it felt like he was standing in a corridor, exactly ten feet wide, with walls ten feet high, and the sky above.

Which was exactly where he *was* standing.  This was a dungeon.  The aesthetics might change – stone walls, or orcish huts, or dense forest – but at its heart, it was a maze of ten foot square corridors, orthogonally connected, filled with traps, treasure, and wandering monsters.  This may once have been a normal orc settlement, but now the magic of Rapeworld had warped it into a dungeon.

And someone was here waiting for them.

“Welcome, chosen one,” said Dorian the toad.  He was sitting atop a small pedestal to one side of the corridor.

“Good to see you, Dorian,” said Justin.  “I suppose I’m in need of education?”

“I would not presume to offer something so pedestrian as a *tutorial* to the hero of destiny,” said Dorian.  “But perhaps your ridiculous trollops might benefit from some elucidation?”

“What is this talking animal?” asked Rose.

“It’s a little shit, is what it is,” said Amy.  “It’s something to do with how Justin interacts with our world.  It made me be a shopkeeper to sell things to Justin.”

Her eyes brightened.  “But we’re not in the shop now,” she said, with a grin.  “If you’re not polite to me, I can squash you.”

“Quiet, Amy,” said Justin.  “Don’t make me waste magic on punishing your cunt.”

“Yes, Cuntblossom,” said Dorian.  “Do keep that mouth of yours shut, unless a man needs to discharge his seed into it.”

Amy fumed – but said nothing more.

“As you may well be aware,” said Dorian, “this is a dungeon.  You will likely wish to make a map of it.  You will find suitable supplies on the ground beneath me.”

Justin looked down, and saw that there was indeed a bound journal of parchment and a small supply of pencils on the ground.  He picked them up and handed them to Amy.

“Are you any good at drawing?” he asked her.

She said nothing, and just looked at him sassily.

“Don’t be smart,” said Dorian.  “Just take these and make a map.  The area will conform to a grid, and can be represented as a series of ten foot by ten foot squares.”

She took the book and pencils from him, opened the book, and carefully drew the words “AMY’S MAP – ORC DUNGEON” at the top of the first page.

Her handwriting was surprisingly beautiful for someone who had apparently grown up in a run-down shack by a river.  A genuine talent, or something the game had given her for his convenience?  He supposed it didn’t matter.

“Your objective in this area is to make your way through the orc village, past the shores of Adelar’s Pool, and into the Shrine of Gloriel,” said Dorian, “where you must confront the dungeon boss, and ensure that the Shrine Guardian orgasms from rape.”

None of this was news to Justin.

“Is there anything I should know about this area that is different from what I’d expect from Hero’s Destiny?” he asked.

“In truth, I have no knowledge of your ‘Hero’s Destiny’,” said the toad.  “However, you should know that as with all things that defend the enchantress’ spell, the challenges in this dungeon are chiefly to be overcome by the violation and degradation of women.”

“Like what?” asked Justin.  “What does that mean?”

“If you wish to hear this tutorial again… consult your memory,” said the toad.  “I wish you the best of luck, but I have places to be.”

And with that, Dorian jumped off the pedestal – and vanished.

Justin looked around.

“Well,” he said.  “I suppose there’s nothing to do but go forward.”

They began to walk down the corridor.

Justin noticed an interesting – and irritating – trait of the dungeon.  He could see maybe fifty feet ahead, at most, and after that his view was obscured by a kind of mist.

“Draw distance?” he muttered.  “Really?”

He had an uninterrupted view to the horizon in the overworld, but not here.  Rapeworld didn’t otherwise appear to be limited by technical capability, in the manner of a videogame, so he had to assume that this was not a failure of the world to render distant parts of the maze, but rather a deliberate restriction.

He would have to deal with it.

And it was because of the mist that their first major obstacle came as a surprise.

A large pair of wooden gates blocked the passage.  The image of a giant leering male orc was carved into them – and his sizeable penis physically protruded from the front of the gate, dildo-like.  He had his hands in front of his chest, cupped, as if he were going to squeeze something, and there were sizeable depressions in those cupped hands, lined with small metal spikes.  Above the orc were written the words “KNOCK THRICE”.

Justin went up to the gate and pushed on it.  It didn’t open.  He couldn’t immediately see a lock or bar.

He knocked three times.  There was no response.  The gate still didn’t open.

He looked at it again.  The penis-dildo was about at waist height, and the cups were about level with his own nipples.

He turned back to look at his two girls.  Amy was shorter than him.  Rose was near to the same height.

He sighed, and went into the inventory, and unequipped Rose’s clothes.  Rose squeaked as she was left completely naked in front of him.  She really did look beautiful, with her blonde hair, generous breasts and shaved pussy.

“Rose,” he said, “you need to fuck the gate.”

Her mouth hung open.  “Surely,” she said, “you cannot…”

“I do,” said Justin.  “Look at it.  The penis needs to go into something, and something needs to fill those cups.  Amy’s the wrong height to do it, and I think her tits are too small for the cups anyway.  Just go and wiggle the dildo into your cunt, and then press your tits into the depressions.”

“They’re spiked!” objected Rose.

“I don’t think the spikes are long enough or sharp enough to break your skin,” said Justin.  “It will just be uncomfortable.”

“But…” said Rose.

“Look,” said Justin.  “I don’t have a command to make you do this, so…”

And then he paused.  Didn’t he?

He faced the gate again and opened his menu.

Sure enough, there was a command: “DOOR”.

He used it, and it opened a submenu.  “CAST SPELL.  USE KEY.  USE GIRL.”

He didn’t have a door opening spell, or a key, so he selected USE GIRL.

“AMY?  ROSE?”

He selected Rose.

Rose squeaked, and walked towards the door.

“Oh, apparently I do have a command,” said Justin.

“Please, master,” begged Rose.  “I don’t want to do this.”  She was already standing in front of the dildo, and spreading her legs, and spreading her pussy lips.  She didn’t need to lubricate herself – as always for women in this world, she was already wet for rape.

“I know,” said Justin.  “But it’s not your choice, Rose.”

Whimpering, she moved forward, letting the wooden dildo slide into her twat.  The wooden orc cock was angle upwards, so she had to rise up to let the tip into her slit, and then lower herself down onto it.  As she did, her nude tits pressed into the depressions.  They fit perfectly, and she squealed as she felt the little metal thorns bite into her titflesh.

Soon the orc’s cock was balls-deep in Rose’s fuckhole, and Rose was flat against the gate.

“What now, master?” she asked.

“Knock,” said Justin.

Rose rapped on the gate with her fist.

“Not with your hand,” he said.  “With your groin.  Fuck it.”

Rose whimpered again, She rose up on the cock – and then humped her groin back down on it. 

She immediately screamed – and the door made a hollow wooden sound as if it had been struck with a hammer.

“Rose?” asked Justin.  “What happened?”

“It hurt me,” said Rose.  “It was like a burst of pain in my cunt.”

Justin exchanged a look with Amy.  It sounded like his Cunt Pain spell.

“Do it twice more, Rose,” he said.  “You’re a warrior.  You can take it.”

Rose was crying now, but she rose up, and then humped the door a second time.  Again, the dull wooden booming, and Rose screamed.  But she raised herself a third time, and then fucked herself down on the cock again.  A third boom – and the gate parted slightly, offering a path beyond.

Rose pulled herself off the gate, and staggered away, clutching her cunt and weeping.

“Good girl, Rose,” said Justin.  “You did very well.  And I’m sure you’ll enjoy it more next time.”

“Next time?” she gasped.

“Well, of course,” said Justin.  “This is the very beginning of the dungeon.  I suspect this isn’t the last door like this we’ve seen.”

“Uh…” said Amy, finally speaking.  “We should probably worry about future gates later.”

“Why is that?” asked Justin.

“Because of him,” said Amy – and pointed, at the huge, muscular green orc that was standing beyond the now-open gate.  He was carrying a huge notched battle axe, and much like the gate, his cock was exposed and erect.

And he was looking at the naked body of Rose and grinning.

===

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===

Justin and his party enter their first dungeon - and encounter its unique challenges.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Titcage, Part 37

(Buy the complete novel of Titcage now by clicking here!)

Previous chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen | Nineteen | Twenty | Twenty-One | Twenty-Two | Twenty-Three | Twenty-Four | Twenty-Five | Twenty-Six | Twenty-Seven | Twenty-Eight | Twenty-Nine | Thirty | Thirty-One | Thirty-Two | Thirty-Three | Thirty-Four | Thirty-Five | Thirty-Six

===

It took ten days after Sluthole’s visit for home urine tests to show that Claire was pregnant.  Steph’s test showed positive on the same day.  The two girls burst into tears as they looked at the little ‘plus’ sign on the test sticks, knowing that their dreams of somehow having a child with a loving husband had been replaced by this – being forcibly impregnated through degradation and rape with a child that there was a slight possibly might be their father’s.  Claire could still remember the feeling of Sluthole pushing the condom of her father’s semen into her twat, and it made her shiver with disgust and arousal every time.

Their father celebrated their pregnancies, of course, by fucking them for the first time.  He took Steph into his bedroom, and had Claire follow and kneel on the floor beside the bed, resting her enhanced tits on the mattress.  Her father dumped Steph, naked, on the bed, pushed her legs wide apart, and began to fuck her missionary-style. Steph lay still at first, unresisting, but before long her conditioning took over and she began to buck her hips against her father’s cock, desperate to be raped, desperate to cum.

Her father was not gentle with Steph, alternately pulling her hair and viciously crushing her boobs with his hands.  Twice he reached down to pinch her clitoris as he fucked her, making her squeal and writhe in a way he clearly enjoyed. 

Claire watched, and, because she hadn’t been told not to, she masturbated, stroking her clitoris and pumping her fingers in and out of her cunt.  She didn’t even know what she felt about this.  The idea of her father raping her sister remained horrifying on some level, but at the same time what Claire was seeing triggered a lot of her conditioning.  Sex was happening.  A girl was in pain.  A girl was being dominated by a man.  A girl was being raped.  Those were all good things, and it made Claire horny to see them.  This was how the world should be, she knew. 

And of course, a large part of her was upset and ashamed that her father had decided to rape Steph first, before Claire.  Claire felt rejected and useless.

Claire’s turn came eventually.  When her father had finally cum in Steph’s pussy, he pulled out, and motioned Claire to climb on top and lick Steph clean.  Claire obeyed, moving into a 69 position over her sister, sticking her tongue in her sister’s twat, and tasting her father’s cum.  Her father watched, and rested, until he felt ready for another round, and then moved into position to fuck Claire from behind even as Claire continued licking Steph.

Claire freaked out a little as she felt her father’s cock slide into her pussy.  This was the same man who had conceived her, raised her, looked after her, and he was now using her as a sex toy.  But how else was he supposed to use her?  Claire WAS a sex toy.  And so she began to buck her hips obediently against her father’s dick and continued licking her sister’s vagina.  And soon she felt Steph’s tongue on her own clit, toying with her delicate bud even as her dad’s penis pushed in and out of her opening.

All three orgasmed again before long.  Claire felt her father ejaculate hard into her pussy, filling her womb with the same sperm that had conceived her.  Her father finished the proceedings by wiping his cock clean on Claire’s face, telling her she was a disgusting slut, and then pissing in her mouth.  The taste of piss made Claire instinctively horny, and she reached down to stroke her recently-fucked pussy as she swallowed the urine.

After that, the sisters were fucked by men almost every night.  But not always by their father.

For instance, the next night Ben came around to visit.  He had been told by Titcage he would have the opportunity to marry Steph shortly, and he wanted to inspect his new bride.  He let the girls know that their marriages would not be for some months, because Titcage wanted their pregnancies to be showing at the altar. 

‘You need to understand, Cuntcandy,’ he said to a miserable Steph as he ploughed his dick into her beaver on Claire’s bed, ‘I don’t actually WANT you for a wife.  I’m not in love with you and I don’t like you very much.’  He deliberately squeezed her surgically-enhanced left tit in his hand until she gasped in pain.  ‘But you don’t say no to a pretty little lesbian sex slave when Titcage offers you one.  So you’re going to marry me, and look after my house, and service my cock, and if you’re very good you can watch while I fuck other girls who I like better.  Michael says I can use your sister whenever I want, for example.’

He looked at Steph’s face as he fucked her, and then slapped it, for fun.  ‘You know, I used to think girls were something to love, and respect, and look after.  But that was before your sister chose to turn herself into such a disgusting whore.  She helped me learn that women are just life support for a pair of tits and a cunt.’  He felt himself close to cumming, so he pulled out, so he could ejaculate over Steph’s tits and face.  Steph wailed in dismay, her conditioning telling her that Ben was rejecting her by choosing not to cum in her pussy.

The girls’ other male friends also visited them and raped them from time to time.  It was rape in that the men ultimately didn’t care whether the girls consented, but on the other hand they had been invited around by Claire and Steph.  The girls would ring their male friends and urge them to visit and hurt them and fuck them, usually rubbing their own pussies as they tried to convince their friends to use them like fuckmeat.  Sometimes when Claire thought about the fact that boys who had once seen her as friends now saw her as a toilet, she cried, but more often she became wet and had to masturbate.

Mostly, though, the girls’ post-work sex fell into the category of ‘clients’.  Their father began inviting men around to the house to fuck the girls – strangers mostly – and taking money from them.  Sometimes the men would want to watch the sisters lez off with each other.  Sometimes they would want their cocks sucked.  Sometimes they wanted to fuck the girls’ pussies or asses.  And sometimes what they really wanted was to beat the girls’ tits and pussies with a belt until the girls were crying.  But always, Claire and Steph did what they were told, servicing the men and watching their father get paid for their work.

Realising that she had become a prostitute released complex emotions in Claire.  She recognised it as another step in her degradation, but she also felt some pride that fucking her was worth money to people.  She had not thought she was so valuable; she had assumed that fucking her was something men did because there wasn’t a better girl around to use instead.  But she also felt shame; not just from being used as a fucktoy – in fact, not even MOSTLY for that reason – but because she was not giving away her body for free.  Men shouldn’t have to pay to use a woman.  They should just take her.  Claire knew this, but she also knew that this was her father’s idea, and that men were always right.  It was confusing for her, so after a while she stopped thinking about it and just focused on being a good little fuckpuppet for the strangers who came to use her.

Once they had been prostitutes for a couple of weeks, their father sent Claire and Steph out to find clients of their own.  They would go out onto street corners or to bars dressed in whorish short skirts and see-through tops, with no underwear, and slut up to men, pressing their tits against mens’ chests and their hands against mens’ groins.  Once they got men interested, they would let them know the price.  Sometimes the girls ended up making money being fucked in alleyways and in the backs of cars; sometimes they just got violently raped without being paid by men who were frustrated by their teasing.

During this time, Titcage’s lobbying work was continuing.  They published a major scientific report entitled ‘Are Women Happy?’, featuring the work of a great many respected scientists, both male and female. 

The report found that women on average reported being less happy than they had been 50 years ago.  They were more stressed.  The work looked at the causes.  It found women were less happy the more responsibility they had; the most stressed women were the ones in senior management positions.  It looked at women’s education, and argued that government money spent on education women was inefficient – women were less likely to use their education productively than men, and much more likely to go on to be homemakers, waitresses, retail clerks or prostitutes. The report concluded that, as a matter of raw statistics, each advancement in women’s rights over the last 100 years had been a drain on the public purse and only made women less happy than they had been before.

The ‘Are Women Happy’ report was accompanied by another – ‘Today’s Men’ – looking at men’s issues.  It was a study of a range of men who had achieved poor life outcomes, including prisoners, the homeless, those suffering from depression, and suicides, and argued that a common factor linking all these outcomes was the availability of women in the lives of these men.  The report found that the presence of sexually available women in a man’s life substantially decreased his likelihood of criminal behaviour, of depression, and of poverty.  Conversely, specifically being denied sexual activity by a woman dramatically increased a man’s risk in all three categories.

The reports caused a stir in government, which had already been struggling with suicide, depression, and education funding as major national issues. The government promised a range of measures to address the reports, but started off with a piece of legislation it had been contemplating anyway: the legalisation of subliminal messaging.  The bill was signed into law, and TV and radio broadcasters were now permitted to broadcast subliminal messaging in their programs, on specific conditions: it could only be aimed at women, and it could only be used ‘to promote the happiness and education of females’.

Claire knew what these laws really meant, because Titcage had arranged to help the largest broadcasters with their messaging.  ‘Promoting happiness’ meant helping women to enjoy being raped, degraded, and kept as property.  And ‘education’ meant educating women on how they were just life support systems for two tits and a cunt….

===

You can buy the complete novel of Titcage – all 42 chapters plus bonus content! – for only $9.99 USD in the All These Roadworks store.  And even better, you’ll be supporting me to keep the lights on and keep creating new erotic content! (Click here to view in store.)

===

Claire and her sister find their way into prostitution.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Lessons in Lust, Part 2

(Click here to buy the e-book of this story!)

Chapters:
One

===

“Here’s how it works, bitch,” said Archer to Ivy, as she sat bare cunted, trapped in the toilet cubicle.

“Part one: you don’t use the toilets without permission.  If you need to use the toilet, you come and find one of us, and you say, nice and loud, ‘Please sir, I’m sorry I’m a stupid cunt, may I piss in the boys’ toilets?’  Do you understand?”

Ivy felt tears in the corners of her eyes, but she nodded, eager to not have her head flushed in the toilet again.

“If you can’t find any of us, then you record a video of yourself saying those words and send it to one of us.  If you do that, you can assume you have permission – but the video must be filmed on school grounds, and it must show your bare tits or pussy.  If you don’t want to send us a video of your tits or cunt that we can keep, then you’d better find us in person.”

Archer waited to make sure Ivy had understood that.  She did, although she hated it.  She couldn’t believe this was happening to her.  She was too pretty and wealthy to have experiences like this.  Something, she felt, was very wrong.

“If you’re a good girl and follow the rule then we won’t stop you from using the toilet, and we’ll even let you keep the door shut,” said Archer.  “So be a good girl, okay?”

She nodded.

“Like I said before, you call all of us ‘sir’, and you answer to ‘bitch’,” said Archer.  “I don’t care whether we’re in public, in class, or what.  You get either of those wrong, and there will be consequences.  You get me?”

She did.

“And then there’s the matter of lessons,” he said.  “Each week I’m going to set you an assignment.  And what I want you to deliver is one of those projects like you did in primary school – a big A2 piece of cardboard, with text and pictures on it, and sparkles and stars and glitter and shit.  It should look girly and stupid, and it should show that you understood the assignment and did research and shit.  You bring it to me each Friday, at the start of school, and I will give it a grade – like D, C minus, A plus.”

“If it is not an A plus, you will be punished, firstly by being spanked in the school quadrangle.  The worse your project is, the more spanks you will receive.”

“But… people will see…” protested Ivy.

“Then don’t get it wrong,” said Archer.  “Also, if it is less than an A grade overall, I’ll make your life at this school worse.  And if it falls short of a B grade, I’ll make you re-do it over the weekend and re-submit.  Do you understand me?”

At this point, Ivy *didn’t* really understand.  Projects?  Assignments?  This was insane.  She just wanted the boys to leave her alone so she could pull her panties out of her ass, her skirt out of her twat, and dress herself.

But she knew what he wanted to hear.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Good bitch,” said Archer.  “Your first assignment topic is on why you deserve to be punished by boys.  Good luck.”

And abruptly, without any further words, he backed up.  Liam and Theo released her – and then all the boys left.

When Ivy pulled her skirt out of her twat, it was wet with her cunt juices.  She was going to have to wear it all day – and her hair was still wet from being flushed in the toilet.

She had never been this humiliated.

She sat back on the toilet, wondering what to do.

Her cunt had an answer.  It was wet – humiliatingly, embarrassingly wet.

Slowly, blushing, she reached down and began to rub it….

===

Ivy wasn’t good at remember the “sir” and “bitch” thing.  Not at first.  She frequently forgot to call the boys who had abused her “sir”.  And on two occasions someone yelled out “hey, bitch” across the school courtyard, and she didn’t think to look up and respond.

When she got this wrong, the boys wouldn’t do anything immediately.  They’d just say “that’s one”, in a menacing tone.

But at the end of the school day, they would invariably find her, and drag her into the toilets, and push her up against the wall.

“Face, tits, or cunt?” Archer would ask.

On the first such occasion, Ivy began to cry, thinking they were going to rape her.  “Face,” she spluttered, finally, thinking it might be the least invasive option.

But rather than taking out his cock, Archer just slapped her across the face.

“You got it wrong six times today,” he told her.  “That’s six slaps.  Thank me after each one and apologise for being a cunt.”

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered.  “I’m sorry I’m a cunt.”

SLAP!

“Thank you, sir.  I’m sorry I’m a cunt.”

SLAP!

It continued until she had paid for all her sins of the day.

The asking for permission was hard, too.  She thought about trying to just use the toilets without permission – but after what had happened the first time, she was genuinely terrified of what the boys might do to her if they caught her pissing without permission again.

So she got used to seeking out the boys between classes, trying to catch them in as quiet and isolated a spot as possible, and saying, “Please, sir, I’m sorry I’m a stupid cunt, may I piss in the boys’ toilets?”

She quickly learned that she had to say it loud enough to be overheard by anyone nearby, otherwise the boys would just make her repeat herself until she did it right.  Quite a number of boys who hadn’t been among her initial tormentors heard her, and sniggered.  It became quite a joke at the school – boys whose names she didn’t even know would ask her if she needed to piss.  If she raised her hand in class, someone would call out, “She probably needs to piss.”

And there was the matter of the assignment.  “Why she deserved to be punished.”  


She didn’t really know what to do with it, but she bought a good supply of A2 card, and craft supplies.  She used a silver pen to write “Why I deserve to be punished” at the top of the paper, and then wrote a short essay about how she had used the boys’ toilets without permission, which she shouldn’t have done because it was disrespectful.  She took a photo of the toilets, and added that to the assignment, and decided that was enough.

On Friday she presented it to Archer.

“What the fuck is this?” said Archer.

“It’s my assignment,” said Ivy, nervously.

“It’s shit, is what it is,” said Archer.  “You think the only reason you deserve punishment is because you were in the toilets that day?  You don’t think that your gender, your daddy’s wealth, your big tits, and your bitchy cunty nature play a part?”

Ivy didn’t know what to say.

“I give this a D,” said Archer.  “Liam, Theo, this bitch needs a spanking.”

It was half an hour until school was due to start.  They were in the school courtyard, and other boys were present.  There was a male teacher near one of the doors to the main school building, watching.

Liam grabbed Ivy’s arms, and Theo reached under her skirt.  He pulled her panties down her legs and then off.

The other boys were watching eagerly.  So was the teacher, making no move to intervene.

Theo and Leo flipped Ivy around and bent her over the edge of a raised planting area, her ass out.  And then Archer began to spank her.

She had expected it to hurt – and it did hurt – but it was more than that.  Each blow produced a thud that vibrated through her buttocks – and her groin.  It felt a little like how she imagined being fucked might feel, with her lover’s body thumping against her with each thrust into her cunt.  Archer didn’t even use the flat of his hand – he used his fist and his arm, striking her with his forearm and fist across both buttocks.

To her shame, Ivy felt her cunt getting wet, and she started to make little slutty gasps.  She couldn’t believe that no one was intervening.  A dozen boys and a teacher were all staring at her bare ass as Archer beat her, and none of them seemed to see a problem with what was happening.

Archer kept spanking her, and her cunt kept getting wetter – and then at 50 strokes, he stopped.

Gently, he reached out and ran a finger along the cleft of her pussy.  It came away soaking wet, dripping the slime that lubricated her fuckhole.


Everyone saw it.  Everyone saw that she was sopping wet from being spanked in public.

“We’ll keep your panties, bitch,” he said.  “In fact, that’s a new rule.  Every morning, you come and see me, and take off your panties and give them to me.  No panties at school.  And I’m going to check to see if you’re wet, like you are now.  And I want to find that you are.  A lesson in lust.  Give me your underwear, and make sure that your cunt is wet when you do so.”

“Oh, and re-do the assignment, bitch,” he added.  “It had better be right on Monday, or you’ll get worse than a spanking.”

===

She worked all weekend on the re-worked assignment.  She had to stop several times, because working on it made her think about her public spanking – and when she thought about that, her cunt got wet, and then she had to masturbate.  

Her father came to her closed bedroom door several times to check on her.

“Are you okay in there, sweetie?” he asked.

“Yes, daddy,” she called out, furiously rubbing her cunt.  “Just doing some homework.”

In the end she added a couple of photos of her face to the assignment, and another photo that focused on her cleavage.  “I Have Oversized Tits”, she wrote next to this photo in gold pen.  Elsewhere, she wrote “I’m A Spoiled Brat”, “I’m A Stupid Cunt”,  “I’m A Dumb Bitch”,  “I’m A Whore” and “Girls Are Stupid And Need Discipline”.  She added extra glitter, and drew some love hearts for good measure, before signing her name at the bottom.

On Monday, she blushed as she pulled off her panties in the school courtyard and gave them to Archer.  He immediately reached under her skirt and found her cunt wet.  It ought to be – she had been edging for half an hour before getting in her father’s car to go to school.

She felt nervous as she handed him the revised assignment, and even more nervous when he unrolled it, and then laughed.

But when he turned back to look at her, he was approving.

“This is very good,” he told her.  “Not an A plus, but I’ll give it an A minus.  You’re a good bitch.”

And Ivy hated the fact that, upon hearing this demeaning compliment about her degrading project, a little part of her inside felt proud of herself for earning this mark.

===

You can read all eight chapters of this story right now in my e-book Lessons in Lust – available for only $4.99 USD in the All These Roadworks store! Making a purchase shows your appreciation – and it lets me keep writing hot new erotica! (Click here to view in store.)

===

Ivy learns the humiliating rules that the boys at her new school will force her to follow.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: The Foster Girl, Part 23

Chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen | Sixteen | Seventeen | Eighteen | Nineteen | Twenty | Twenty-One | Twenty-Two

===

Mitch and Carrie prepared to leave on their date shortly after Bill and Luna had already departed.

Jayna had prepared them perfectly.  She had told Mitch to insult and degrade his mother, and call her a cunt to her face at least once before the night was over.  And she had told Carrie to encourage her son to degrade her, to look at her tits, and to teach him that a man should expect to kiss his girlfriend and see her tits on the first date.  Carrie was carrying a microphone so that Luna could listen to everything – and check that Carrie was obeying her instructions.

Jayna had helped Carrie get ready, doing her make-up and blonde hair in the style that Jayna knew that Mitch most enjoyed in his pornography – a long and straight hairstyle, with just a bit of tousle around the brow.  She had helped pick Carrie’s dress, and had found one that Carrie hadn’t worn in years – a slinky black dress with a V-neck that came down to her waist, emphasising her tits and showing clearly that she wasn’t wearing a bra, while also baring her hips as it hung between her legs.

Carrie had managed to change in such a way that Jayna hadn’t seen the chastity belt she was wearing.  She couldn’t believe she was going to go on a date with her son when her pussy was wet and there were vibrating dildos in her cunt and ass – but she had no choice.

When she was dressed, she came out into the living room, where Mitch was waiting in his best dress pants and a button-up white shirt.

“How do I look?” she asked nervously.

The truth was that the sight of his mother had given Mitch an erection.  He had never seen her like this – so clearly dressed to be fucked.  And the nervous, submissive way that she asked for his approval made it even hotter.

But he remembered what Jayna had told him – women needed to be manipulated.  If he gave a woman a compliment, he needed to wrap it up in her insult.

“Wow,” he said.  “You look pretty good for your age.  I didn’t know you had it in you to dress like a whore.”

Carrie felt like she had been slapped.  Her own son had said she looked like a whore.  And it was true – she *did* look like she wanted to be paid to fuck someone.  She couldn’t believe she was doing this.

But Jayna was listening, from her bedroom.  And Carrie had to obey Jayna’s instructions.

“Thank you, Mitch,” she said.  “You look very sexy yourself.  Do you… do you think my tits look good in this?”

In fact, her tits were in pain.  There were small, tight clips on each of her nipples, crushing them painfully.  Carrie’s tits were often leaking milk these days, and with no bra, Carrie had been frightened that her breasts would visibly soak her dress.  Jayna’s solution had been to simply clamp her nipples shut.

Mitch thought her tits looked wonderful, but he took a moment to try and rephrase it as an insult.  After a moment, he said, “Don’t you think your tits are kind of big to go without a bra, mom?  In that dress they look pretty slutty.”

“You can’t call me ‘mom’ on this date, Mitch,” said Carrie.  “People will know we’re related.”

“So what should I call you?” asked Mitch.  Then, swallowing, and blushing, he said, “Should I just call you a cunt?”

Carrie again felt like she’d been slapped.  But she knew what Jayna wanted her to say.

“If you want, honey,” she said.  “That’s an okay thing to call me.  Just call me ‘cunt’.”

She did *not* want her beloved son to call her a cunt.  And certainly not in public.  But if she displeased Jayna, all her recent slutty behaviour would be exposed.

“All right, cunt,” said Mitch, still blushing – but feeling a weird sense of freedom in calling his own mother such a degrading name.  “Let’s go to dinner.”

===

Carrie drove them to La Valle Bella, an Italian restaurant as far out of town to the south as the steakhouse that Bill and Luna were visiting was to the north.  

As they arrived, she paused, and said, “I really like how you took command and called me a cunt back at the house, Mitch.  Women get turned on by men who take charge.  We like it when men make decisions for us.  And the way you insulted me was good too.  Women need to hear the truth – and insults give us comfort that a man is in control.  You’re doing very well.  It’s very sexy.”

“Thanks, mom… I mean, thanks, cunt,” said Mitch.

They went inside and asked for a table for two.

As had happened with Bill and Luna, when the maitre d’ looked them up and down, it was very clear that he came to the conclusion that Carrie was a prostitute.

“May I have a name for the table, sir?” the maitre d’ asked.

“I’m Mitch,” said Mitch.  And then, feeling emboldened, he added, “And the waiters can just call her a cunt.”

The maitre d’s eyes widened, and he looked at Carrie questioningly.

Carrie went bright red.  This wasn’t acceptable.  But anything she said to fix it would contradict Jayna’s instructions.

“Yes,” she said in a small voice.  “I’d like the staff to call me a cunt.”

“Very good,” said the maitre d’, and there was no further conversation on the topic.

They were given a corner booth, and presented with menus.

“Any drinks?” asked the waiter.

“I’ll have a beer,” said Mitch, daringly.

“Very good,” said the waiter.  “And… for the cunt?”

“Champagne,” said Mitch.

Carrie made an alarmed noise.  “Mitch,” she said, “I need to drive.”

“Then drink it slowly,” said Mitch.

The waiter left, to bring them drinks.

Carrie remembered she was supposed to be drawing Mitch’s attention to her tits.  She folded one arm beneath her breasts, so she could lift them up slightly, and used the other to trace patterns on her cleavage with her index finger.

Mitch’s gaze obligingly dropped from her face to her boobs.

“So, Mitch,” she said.  “Have you… had any experience with girls?”

She really didn’t know what *was* happening in her son’s life.  For all Carrie knew, Mitch might have a girlfriend.

For his part, Mitch wasn’t inclined to tell his mother that he had ejaculated into his foster sister’s Jayna’s mouth only hours ago, and that he was regularly molesting and finger-raping his real sister Luna.

So he shrugged, and blushed, and said, “Not a lot.  What should I know about them?”

“Well, you’re doing so well already,” said Carrie, bouncing her tits for him.  “The thing about girls is… we don’t really know what we want.  We need a man to show us.  So often we say we don’t want things, or we’re embarrassed or insulted by things, but really we love them.”

“Like when I call you a cunt,” said Mitch.  “If you really didn’t want me to do that, you’d stop me.”

“That’s right,” said Carrie, blushing.  “I like being called a cunt by you.”

She didn’t.  Not at all.  Despite the way that her pussy throbbed whenever her son repeated the word.

“I always figured I’d get in trouble calling you a cunt,” said Mitch.  “Or saying that your tits look whorish.”

“You would have in the past,” said Carrie.  “But… you’re a man now.  It’s different.”

The waiter returned with drinks, and asked if they were ready to order.

“I’ll have the carbonara,” said Mitch.  “And a salad for the cunt.  She needs to watch her weight.”

“Very good,” said the waiter, and left again.

Mitch found he loved making decisions for his mother – particularly when he didn’t seek her agreement or consent.

He pointed to her champagne.  “Drink,” he said.

Carrie was worried she’d get light headed, drinking without having eaten first, but she found herself obeying instinctively.  The alcohol tasted good.

“So what should I expect from a woman on a first date?” asked Mitch.

Jayna had told Carrie exactly what to answer if asked this question.  She didn’t want to say it – but she would.

“You should expect to get a kiss,” she said.  “On the lips.  With tongue.  And… you should expect to see her tits.”

Mitch stared at his mother in shock.  The night had already been so strange – but he didn’t expect her to say that.

“I should… expect to see *your* tits?” he asked.

Carrie’s face was bright red.  She nodded.

“And what if a girl *doesn’t* show me her tits?” asked Mitch.

Carrie said something in a voice too quiet for Mitch to hear.

“What?” he said.  “Speak up, cunt.”

“You should force her,” said Carrie.  “Slap her.  Make her do it.  And you should…”

She paused again.

Mitch stared at her, not believing what he was hearing.

“You should make her touch your cock,” Carrie said, looking down at the table.

“I’m on a date with *you*,” said Mitch.  “I should slap *you*, and make *you* touch my cock?”

“Yes,” said Carrie in a small voice.  “It will be good practice.”

Mitch didn’t know what to say to that.  He fell silent until their food arrived.

And Carrie tried to ignore the vibrations in her asshole and her wet cunt, and tried not to think about what she had just told her own son to do with her, and failed miserably in both regards.

===

Enjoying this story?  Don’t wait for the next chapter any longer than you have to!  Paid ATR members get access to all new stories 50 days before they go live for free readers – along with a range of other great benefits!  Plus your membership supports me to keep creating the erotica that you love – I can’t do it without you!  (Click here to view memberships in store.)

===

Mitch and Carrie go on on a mother-son date.

alltheseroadworks Guest Post, Story

Guest Post: The Virgin Games, Part 1

All These Roadworks note: The following text is the first chapter of The Virgin Games by Apophenia. If you enjoy this guest post and want to find out what happens next, make sure to grab the full book in the All These Roadworks store for only $4.99 USD! (Click here to view in store.)

===

Unintelligible noises and voices disturbed my groggy half-awareness. I grumbled, resisting waking up. Sleep was nice. I wanted to sleep.

An ache in my knees prompted a grudging shift. But instead of settling into a more comfortable position, I found I couldn’t move. Something bound my ankles. For that matter, I wasn’t lying on my back on a nice, soft bed. I was bent forward, my arms also tied down, and a padded surface supporting my upper body.

And I was naked.

My eyes opened, blinking. It was dark, but I definitely wasn’t at home. A faint line of light stretched across the floor like a long doorway. My heart pounded faster. I opened my mouth to scream, choking on a gag instead.

How the hell did I get here?

The last thing I remembered was getting a ride home from the club. It was spring break, and I had stayed on campus. My friends had introduced me to this seedy place where showing off my boobs earned me free drinks. I was groped and propositioned for more, but a little cleavage was all I ever gave away. Even if I wasn’t a virgin, drinks didn’t buy sex, sorry.

Yanking at my arms and legs, I tried to recall what happened after I got home. I paused and frowned. I did get home, right? I remembered stepping into the car and then… and then…

I couldn’t remember leaving the car.

A loud rustle and woosh made me jump, then a blinding light hit my face. What I thought was a door was actually a curtain. I was on a stage. Beyond the light was a cheering audience that I couldn’t make out.

I squinted and shrank into myself. Nowhere to hide. My breasts with their hardened nipples wobbled as I trembled. Nothing could possibly be more humiliating.

Something was happening behind me. Tapping footsteps approached.

Strutting past me was a woman in the tallest heels I’d ever seen and the tightest leather suit that had to be suffocating her waist.

She lifted a mic to her mouth. “Helloooo, darlings! Welcome to the first day of the annual Virgin Games, hosted by our beloved wealthy patrons who shall go unnamed, naturally. But give them a round of applause, anyway!”

A few hoots accompanied loud applause. It sounded like hundreds of people, at least. I ducked my head, hiding my face behind my hair. They’d already seen me. Were they taking pictures?

The woman raised her hand, silencing the room. “For your viewing pleasure, we have a ripe young virgin tonight, plucked from one of the hottest bars in the country. And not to worry, darlings, her ID is valid — she just turned 21 a few weeks ago! Congratulations, sweetie, you qualify for our games!”

For some reason, I wasn’t the least bit grateful.

“Now, for the newcomers in the audience, and our lovely lady participant, the rules!” She turned slightly toward me. “You’ll want to listen carefully, sweetie.”

I squeaked a tiny, helpless yelp.

The audience laughed.

My eyes adjusted. Rows and rows of men stared at me. Hundreds, as I thought. A few skimpily clad women wandered up and down the stairs, offering refreshments. One of the men snatched a girl, perched her on his knee, and squeezed her breasts.

A firm slap on my ass snapped my attention back to my horrid situation.

The announcer lady startled, too. “Oh! Let’s not forget our handsome studs this evening! Hi, boys!”

Naked men filed past me. Three, four, five… I tensed as most of them touched me somewhere — my shoulder, my hair, my spine. The eighth guy bent and squeezed my boob, winking before joining a line forming to my left.

I also had a terrifying view of each bare cock that swung past. Ranging from semi-soft to fully upright, they were all big and thick. I didn’t have much reference, but none of them looked small, and they certainly wouldn’t feel small.

This couldn’t be happening.

“Mmm, aren’t they just absolutely fuckable?” She sashayed to the line, slowly making her way closer to me while letting the men grope her tits and ass. “But the task for our virgin tonight is to stay a virgin!”

I liked the sound of that. Maybe there was a way out of this still.

The audience made their disapproval known, booing and yelling for the men to ‘break in the whore!’. I shivered. But if this was a game, I had a chance. That was what made games interesting, right?

The announcer lady let the noise fade. She pointed at a large digital clock at the front of the stage. “The boys will each have two minutes to play with your pussy. Your job, sweetie, is to let us know what you think they’re doing! If you guess right, they have to stop and do something else. Which means…”

She paused to wink at me. “You can stop them from fucking you! All you have to do is yell ‘cock’ when you feel a cock! Guess correctly three times, and you’re home free!”

Hope rose in my chest. I could stop this. I could get out of here. Sure, I had no idea what a cock felt like, but it couldn’t be that difficult.

The lady lifted a finger. “But! You can’t just call out everything when they touch your pussy!” She giggled. “Guess wrong, and the lucky guy gets to use what you guessed.”

I swallowed. Ok, so if I said the guy was fucking me, and he wasn’t, I was literally screwed. Random guessing was out of the question, but I still had a good chance.

“Of course, this is called the Virgin Games,” the lady continued. “You have ten seconds to call out correctly when he fucks you, or it’s too late and you lose!”

She spun back to the audience. “However, if none of our studs can get this beautiful, virgin lady to guess wrong, then she wins and walks out of here with her virtue… well, mostly intact.” She laughed a little.

I wanted to ask how often that happened.

The lady lowered her mic. She glanced at the line of men, blowing them a kiss. A few of the hollered crude comments:

“Wait for me after the show, baby!”

“Come keep me ready, sugar!”

“I’m gonna fuck you in those heels!”

I had lost count of how many men there were. More than five, probably more than ten. A nice, round dozen? I was too scared to look. Panic shortened my breaths.

The announcer giggled and strode over to me. She bent, posing with her ass to the crowd, and removed my gag.

I coughed, then shouted, “Help me! Help! Please help—”

The lady stood up and spoke over me, “We have a strong pair of lungs today! Haha!” Then she turned off the mic and lifted my chin. “No one’s going to help you, love. Play along, and who knows, you might have fun. But if you just want to scream all day, we can skip the games and go straight to the fucking. That’s what everyone’s really here for, anyway.”

I whimpered, staring into her unsympathetic eyes. She raised a brow. Slowly, I nodded.

A mocking smile appeared on her lips. “Good girl. Chin up, I’m sure you’ll do great.” She patted my cheek. “But, seriously, keep your head up, or the guys’ll have to grab your hair. No cheating!”

Flouncing back to the audience, she shouted, “Let the games begin!”

The timer started counting down.

My heart leaped.

The first touch nearly made me jump out of my bindings. A low chuckle rolled from the man behind, the audience softly echoing his amusement. I blushed furiously. It was only his finger tracing my ass, but my skin crawled.

Remembering the rules, I mumbled, “He’s touching my ass.”

The lady scolded, “Be specific! Thumb, pointer finger, two fingers, his whole hand?!”

My cheeks reddened. “Uh, one finger. Pointer?”

How was I supposed to guess which finger?

“Good girl! Correct! Switch it up back there, handsome!”

To my horror, he rubbed my pussy. This was worse. I shouldn’t have stopped him from touching my ass. He might’ve wasted time there instead of moving on to my pussy.

Biting my lip, I stared at the timer. A minute forty. Fuck, fuck, fuck. And this was only the first guy!

Tears pricked my eyes as he dragged a finger up my slit. It was probably only one finger. I hated it, and I knew how to make it stop, but then he’d just do something else.

Breathing hard, I watched the seconds count down. It was only a little touching. A little touching was harmless. I could do this.

His finger pushed inside me.

“Mmnh, no!” I whimpered.

The announcer sang, “Play the game, sweetie.”

I opened my mouth. It was just a finger. It wasn’t his cock.

Just a finger sliding deeper into my pussy.

I knew what a finger felt like… or so I thought. But only my own finger. No one else had touched me like this.

His digit curled and sort of petted my insides. Gasping, I felt my inner muscles squeeze. He laughed.

His finger withdrew.

Something larger rubbed my opening.

Oh, no, it was happening, wasn’t it?

One minute ten seconds.

He had more than enough time to fuck me.

He pushed in. It was definitely larger than his finger. It couldn’t be anything else. That had to be his cock. I panicked and squirmed. “Ah! No, stop! Ah!”

The lady leaned in. “You know how to make it stop, sweetie.”

My throat dry, my pussy stretching, I gasped out, “C-cock! He’s fucking me with his cock! Please stop!”

She grinned. The audience laughed.

“Wrong! Your sexy partner was only warming you up with his larger-than-average thumb. Oh, that’s too bad, and we’ve barely started. Hmm…” She tapped her feet and pursed her lips. “What do we think, people? Should we give her a second chance? She’s just a terrified, good little virgin, after all.”

I frantically scanned the crowd. They didn’t want to give me a second chance.

“Fuck the dumb whore!”

“She lost!”

“She’s asking for it, give it to her!”

Jeers and insults insisted that rules were rules — except for one man in front.

His calm, gravely voice declared, “Slap her tits if she wants to try again.”

The announcer lady squealed. “Ooh, I like that idea. Sweetie, do you want to keep playing?”

She grinned.

Absolutely not, but losing meant my pussy would get filled by a real cock. Whimpering, I mumbled, “Y-yes. Please. Anything.”

“Wonderful! Sir, would you like to come up and do the honors?”

My shoulders fell. I’d thought the woman would slap me. That was more bearable than a man.

Ascending the stairs, an older, well-dressed man assessed me as he approached. He kneeled to one leg and held my eyes.

“Your name is Amber,” he said softly. “You live with three roommates.”

Extending his arm, he cupped a breast. I flinched. “One of them is also a virgin. Christina.”

He let go and executed a sharp slap. I winced, but was more shocked by what he knew.

Gently, he fondled my other breast. “I wanted her, personally. Perhaps next time.” Smirking, he slapped me again.

I had to warn her.

She wouldn’t believe me.

No one would.

I shivered.

Slap!

“You’re going to send her to us.”

I stared at him in horror.

Slap!

“Yes, you are, you little cock tease. Your tits deserve to be slapped, and you know it.”

Whimpering, I jerked my head back and forth. “N-no!”

Slap!

“You will send Christina to us, or every man in this room will do whatever he wants to you. We’ll keep you as long as it takes. We’ll find you and play with you every… single… day.”

Slap, slap, slap.

Stings of pain traveled straight to my pussy. So did his terrible threat.

When he stopped, my boobs throbbed. I gasped in short breaths. Satisfied, he rose to his feet and walked off the stage.

“Thank you so much, sir!” the announcer simpered. “She’s very grateful for a second chance, aren’t you, sweetie?”

It took a few seconds, but I managed a shaky nod.

The audience laughed at my humiliation.

And then the next man in line smacked my ass. I yelped.

My cry cut off abruptly. This guy was all business. Grabbing hold of my hips, he slammed his pelvis against my ass and let his dick slap my pussy.

That was his dick, wasn’t it? Hot and heavy, what else could it be?

As the seconds counted down, I forgot what I was supposed to do.

There was a cock touching my pussy.

He was going to fuck me.

No, no, no…

One of his hands snaked over my hip and rubbed my clit. My pelvis involuntarily twitched, bumping against that threatening, hard flesh between my legs. It was terrifying and tantalizing both at once — his fingers making my pussy ache for more stimulation, getting my body ready for his cock to invade my virgin hole.

I trembled with fear, but my pussy was dripping wet.

One minute, thirty.

When he took his hand back, I squirmed, subconsciously seeking friction and finding it against his cock. He pulled that back, too, dragging himself along my drenched slit, pausing at my pussy lips.

Here it comes.

Logic whispered at the corners of my frightened mind. I needed to wait until he actually penetrated me, then I could call it out and make it stop.

Unless I didn’t want it to stop.

My hungry pussy needed what he was offering, all but demanded I arch my back and push myself onto the thick shaft that was just sitting there, waiting. Waiting for what? I panted. Dreading the moment, needing it, I whimpered into the silence.

I had almost forgotten about the audience. They were waiting with me.

He pushed. Slowly, like he was letting me adjust. My eyes glazed over. My pussy stretched. I was supposed to do something… something important. I needed to remember… and I would, in a minute. Mmm…

He pushed deeper. I felt myself stretch wider. It was good, but a bit too stiff. Was this how a cock felt?

Doubt hovered at the edge of my mind. I scrambled for sanity.

This didn’t feel like sex… did it?

He withdrew, then pushed in again.

That had to be a cock. He was fucking me. I couldn’t let him fuck me, no matter how good it felt.

I cried out, “Cock! He’s putting his cock in my pussy! Pull out! Mmh!”

The audience cheered.

Usually, that was a good thing. I won! I guessed right! I began to smile.

The announcer let the cheers die down. She wore a pitying smile. “Oh, darling, no, I’m so sorry. That was just three big fingers.” She brightened. “But soon you’ll find out what a real cock feels like.”

The crowd had been cheering my failure. They didn’t want me to win. They wanted to watch a virgin lose it live on stage.

I struggled and writhed. “No, please! Let me go! Please! Mmph!”

The lady stuffed the gag back in. I pleaded with my eyes, to no effect. She winked. “Now the real fun begins.”

Stepping back, she proclaimed, “She’s all yours, boys!”

That’s when I felt my first cock. The guy behind me didn’t fool around; he’d waited long enough. I felt the bulbous tip of his shaft at my pussy lips — velvety soft, spongy, followed by his firm and thick shaft as he thrust inside me. Very different from fingers, and now I knew.

Too late.

His cock was wonderfully hard, amazingly thick, and delightfully hot. My pussy squeezed with joy. After anticipating this moment for so long, my pussy practically begged to be filled, the beautiful stretch overwhelming my mind, each thrust better than the last, his cock driving deeper and deeper into my needy hole. Sanity shredded along with my virginity, both pounded into nothingness as he fucked my slick, eager tunnel. I moaned into my gag. This was so good. Cock felt so good.

Grunting audibly, he thrust hard and held himself there, buried all the way in my pussy.

The room was silent.

I blinked at the audience. Some of them had unzipped their pants and were stroking themselves.

All of them — hundreds of depraved men — had just watched me lose my virginity.

Shame flushed my body.

The man behind me pulled out nearly all the way, then slammed back in.

Lust and pleasure shoved out the shame. No fear. No doubt. Just wonderful, blissful pleasure.

“Fuck her harder!” someone shouted.

He fucked me harder. My toes curled.

So many people were watching my first fuck, but I didn’t care. That incredible gliding between my legs was all I could think about. My body jolted back and forth, my tits swaying. If I hadn’t been tied down, I would’ve fallen over for sure.

This was amazing. Why had I been so afraid? Pounding thrusts drilled my core. My inner muscles clenched tighter, and he felt even bigger. Better. Oh, fuck… so good. He fucked me faster and faster. My whole body shook wildly. I couldn’t focus on the crowd anymore. Some women were sucking the men. I sucked on my gag.

Mmm, my pussy felt great. My guy leaned into his thrusts, absolutely pounding me, our flesh slapping together over and over again. The obscene sound was oddly funny. I laughed, moaned, and arched my back.

The pleasure in my pussy suddenly rushed up and crashed through me, like a tidal wave dragging me underwater. I screamed into my gag. I made incoherent, desperate noises. My ass bobbed, grinding myself on that wonderful cock.

“Yeah, fuck the slut! Ungh!”

“Turn the virgin into a whore!”

“Look how much the bitch likes it!”

The crude shouts gradually penetrated my lust-fogged brain. I let my head fall. The men were getting off on my humiliation — but why had I enjoyed it so much?

I just had my first orgasm on a cock — while hundreds of eyes caught every embarrassing second. And the incessant thrusting was still horribly good.

Then someone yelled, “Cum in her pussy!”

What?

My head jerked up. I frantically scanned the crowd. More men took up the shout. The lady announcer was nowhere in sight. I’d been abandoned to these terrible men.

“Knock her up! Knock her up!”

The guy fucking me wasn’t using a condom, was he? I paled.

Why would they even suggest such an awful thing? He couldn’t cum inside me. This was a really bad time. He probably would knock me up.

I pulled my hips in and shook my head. Glancing over my shoulder, I made whimpering noises, trying to communicate my terror. He couldn’t cum in my pussy!

The vile shouts continued. “Yeah, fill up her slut cunt! Cream the bitch! Pump the fuck doll, she wants it! She likes it!”

No, I didn’t!

Merciless thrusts rammed the back of my tunnel. He was barely pulling out, now, just sliding right up against my unprotected cervix, nudging my fertile womb with his bare cock, likely already oozing precum from that spongy tip. I twisted my ass and wailed, my noises lost in the raucous crowd, my struggling pointless in his firm grip. He was going to cum deep in my pussy, and there was nothing I could do about it. Because I lost the game. Because I couldn’t tell the difference between a finger and a cock.

No, no, please, no, I whimpered.

Even if his cock massaging my insides was the most fantastic thing I’d ever felt.

No!

I heard his low groan. He crammed the full length of himself all the way inside me. I couldn’t move.

Please…

“Yes! I’m cumming, baby! Nothing like fucking a virgin!” he roared, the first words out of his mouth as he shot the first load of cum in my newly broken-in, vulnerable pussy.

The audience groaned with him.

Oh, no… but ohh, that incredible heat spurting against my inner walls washed the panic away. Pleasure drowned my mind. Threads of fear slipped through my fingers. What could possibly be wrong when I felt this good? Delicious heat pumped and pumped into my core, hard thrusts pounding the wonderful feeling deeper, and yes, I wanted it deeper, I wanted it everywhere, oh, I needed it!

The man using my tight hole gave me everything he had, emptying his balls in the back of my twitching pussy. It was the most satisfying feeling in the world. I was so wonderfully content.

“Slut! Slut! Slut!”

“Fuck the cum slut!”

Coming down to earth, my stomach dropped straight into hell. They were right. I acted like a slut. My head hung low. The man behind me pulled out, his cock sliding from my used hole, his shaft glistening as he backed away. Between my legs, thick white cream dripped to the floor. Cum. So much cum. I whimpered and closed my eyes.

I shouldn’t have closed my eyes.

I felt it again. Pressure at my pussy lips. Insistent, firm pressure and a sliding stretch as I was penetrated all over again.

The next man in line took his turn.

I wailed.

Quickly setting himself a steady pace, he thrust just as amazingly as the other guy. I chewed the gag, fighting the stirring heat in my pussy. I refused to cum for the audience’s pleasure again.

Instead, I made myself count the line of men. Ten more. A round dozen.

Trembling, I turned back to the crowd and searched for the man who had slapped my tits. He met my gaze. I whimpered. I would do it. I’d do anything. Please.

He nodded once, slowly.

The guy behind me didn’t stop, but the line of men walked away. I gasped in relief. Lust and pleasure rushed to replace fear. My gasp exhaled as a moan. Between my legs, the plunging thrusts quickened.

One more. I just had to take this guy, and it would be all over. Just one more load of cum.

I found myself excited for it. Cum slut. Maybe I really was a cum slut.

His cock pulsed against my inner walls, and that maybe became a yes, definitely as I screamed fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! into my gag. Rope after rope of hot cum flooded my insides again.

The audience clapped.

The curtain dropped.

I sobbed. I’d lost my virginity to two men whose faces I hadn’t even seen, but their cum coated my pussy.

Heels tapped, and my gag whisked away. “Thanks for playing, darling. Compliments of the show’s owner. Do come visit sometime!”

She stuck an envelope in my teeth. Untying me, she led me off the stage and into a room where a pile of clothes sat on a chair. I wiped myself as best I could, but my panties were still soaked when I finally arrived home.

Distracting myself, I opened the envelope. Inside was a stack of cash — and instructions for the terrible bargain I’d made.

===

Want more? You can get it – in The Virgin Games by Apophenia! Get your copy today! (Click here to view The Virgin Games in the All These Roadworks store.)

===

A cruel game - with her virginity on the line! Read the first chapter of The Virgin Games by Apophenia, completely free! (And then buy the full book in the ATR store!)

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: The Button

Jenny’s life revolved around the button.

It was metal, about the size of a coin, and set into the wall of her living room. And she spent most of each day standing nude in front of it, pressing it into the wall with her nose, as passers-by stared at her through her front window.

It hadn’t always been this way. But Jenny was pretty, and buxom, and one day a local police officer had noticed her.

He’d been sweet at first, knocking on her door, introducing himself as Officer Smith, asking if she’d had any crime in her area, if she lived alone, if she was in contact with her family.

But when he learned she was new to the city, with little in the way of support, his smile had changed, and he had told her to strip naked.

She hadn’t thought he was serious, but then he’d taken out his gun, and she realised that he was very serious, and she had stripped naked just as he had told her to.

“I’m going to be fair, Jenny,” he had said. “I’m about to feel your cunt. And if you’re not wet, then clearly it would be wrong to molest you, and I’ll leave, and let you go about your business.”

But she had been wet. Soppingly, traitorously wet. His fingers had come away slimy. She was very, very, genuinely scared, yes – but she’d always had a police fantasy, and Officer Smith was good looking, and…

And so he had slid the muzzle of his gun into her pussy and gently fucked her with it, as she shivered in terror and then orgasmed from her fear. And then he had replaced the gun with his cock, and fucked her until he reached his own release, ejaculating into her womb.

And then he had explained how she was going to be his little toy now, and that if she didn’t, then maybe the police would raid her house and find a convenient stash of drugs, enough to imprison her for life. Or maybe something worse would happen – a home invasion, an accidental shooting.

She had felt sick, horrified, violated – but she had still been wet when he fucked her again, and she had cum a second time before he was done.

Since then, her life had changed. Officer Smith had taken away all her clothes. He had welded a collar around her neck – one that rested tightly, but not too tightly, against her skin. A collar with wicked little nodes near the front that could deliver an agonising electric shock on his command.

He had bound her hands behind her back with cuffs. They stayed in those cuffs almost constantly now. She had little use for her hands.

And he had installed the button.

It was high enough on the wall that, with her hands bound, the only way to press it was with her nose. She had to stand pressed tightly against the wall, her tits against the paint, to keep it depressed.

And she had to keep it depressed, because if the button wasn’t pressed, her collar would begin to shock her.

Just above the button was a strip of writing. It read, “YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A CUNT”. She had to spend all day looking at it, because pressing the button made a video camera just above it activate, and if the camera couldn’t see her eyes, it zapped her. It meant she had to stare at the fact that she was a cunt. It meant she couldn’t have just taped the button down with sticky tape, even if she had wanted to. She had to be there, staring at the words.

There were no curtains on her front window anymore. She was exposed to the entire street as she stood there, nude. People could watch her. They could film her. They could point and laugh.

There were two other holes in the wall, in line with the button. The first was at about mouth height, and three times a day a little tube would extend from this hole and push towards her mouth. She had to open her mouth and accept it, or else it would literally push her away from the button and her collar would start to shock her.

The tube would feed her. Sometimes it fed her milk. Sometimes it fed her yoghurt, or a kind of vegetable smoothie.

Other times, she was certain what she was swallowing was cum. Once, she thought it might have been urine. And she had to swallow it, because the tube wouldn’t retract until the collar detected she had swallowed. She learned to accept what was put in her mouth and swallow like a good girl.

The other hold was at crotch height, and at irregular intervals, a dildo would emerge and push against her pussy lips. If she wanted to keep her nose on the button, she had to spread her legs and let it in.

And she hated the dildo, because it was cruel. Sometimes it just fucked her. Other times it buzzed like a vibrator. Occasionally it spurted some mysterious liquid into her pussy, which would then drip out of her, and she couldn’t even see what it was without taking her nose off the button.

And, more often than she liked, it would shock her, discharging electricity directly into her pussy.

The first time this had happened she had jerked away in horror – but then her collar had gone off, and that was worse, and it had kept shocking her until she mustered the courage to return to the button and deliberate push the dildo that had violated her back into her cunt. It shocked her again immediately, of course – but this time she merely allowed her hips to jerk violently, but kept her nose on the button. It was awful, fucking something that hurt her – but on her second day of this treatment, she unexpectedly orgasmed from an electric shock, and then, to her surprise, the feeding tube emerged, and fed her something sweet tasting – something that turned about to be addictive.

After that, she had wanted more, and had learned that orgasming from the shock dildo was the key to pleasure, and she let herself be trained to cum from having her pussy electroshocked.

Officer Smith told her that by the time he was done with her, the only thing that would allow her to cum was the feel of having a cattle prod discharged inside her fuckhole. He told her that when she was being fucked by the dildo, and as terrified as that idea made her, it also made her cum.

And so she spent every day with her nose on the button, letting the machine push whatever it wanted into her mouth and cunt.

Each day before work, and each day after work, Officer Smith would come by her house. He had a key to her house now. So did the other officers at his station, and sometimes he’d send them instead, if he was busy. In the evenings, they would disengage the button, and then they would rape her, and then they would let her use the toilet and shower, before strapping her into her bed with a dildo gag in her mouth and a vibrator pressed against her clitoris.

In the morning they would rape her in her bed, then untie her (except for her hands) and lead her back to the button.

It was a regular routine. It was awful, but Jenny got used to it quickly. And besides, she had never cum this often or this hard in her life. Wasn’t she happier now, really? She hadn’t been allowed contraceptives since the ordeal began. She wondered if she was pregnant. She worried that if her belly swelled with a baby, it might prevent her getting her nose close enough to the wall to press the button.

Then one day, Officer Smith stayed longer than normal after raping her in the morning. He went to his patrol car, and came back with tools, which he took to an area of the wall near Jenny’s button.

“What are you doing?” she dared to ask.

“Installing a second button,” he said.

She didn’t dare ask why. But he heard her silent question anyway.

“We got a call at the station,” he said. “It was from someone who was worried about their sister Jenny. They said they didn’t know where Jenny lived since she had moved to this state, but that Jenny used to regularly call them each weekend on the phone, but the calls had stopped, and she was worried about her sister.”

Jenny’s blood went cold.

“So we invited her down the station to talk about it,” he continued, “and damn, Jenny – you should have told me you had a sister. And you should have told me she was cute.”

Jenny moaned.

“Anyway, she was pretty fun to rape,” said Smith. “All the guys at the precinct had a turn. But we can’t keep her in the cells there forever.” He looked at her. “Aren’t you excited, Jenny? You’re going to have company…”

===

If you enjoyed this story, you’ll love my e-book Crime and Punishment – Stories of Law and Authority, available for only $4.99 USD from my creator site. Purchases support the creation of new, free content! (Click here to view in store.)

===

A visit from a police officer leaves Jenny fixated on a button on her wall.

alltheseroadworks News, Products, Story Collection

ATR Presents: The Virgin Games

The game is simple – stay a virgin.  But winning has never been harder…

(Click here to view The Virgin Games in the ATR store!)

There’s nobody as talented at telling tales of college sluts being broken and bred as Apophenia! In titles like College Virgins: Violated (link) and Bred After Dark (link), Apophenia hits exactly the right notes to satisfy your breeding and noncon kinks!

(And you can check out all of Apophenia’s books by clicking here!)

Now Apophenia is back with a new tale of abduction and breeding – with a twist! In The Virgin Games, our nubile, fertile victims are put to a cruel test – correctly identify what is being pushed into their pussy, while blindfolded… or to gangbanged to impregnation!

These innocent, inexperienced virgins, who have never experienced a real cock inside them, are forced to guess the nature of their violation – with everything at stake.

If you love stories of abduction and deflowering, you can’t afford to miss The Virgin Games!

(Click here to view The Virgin Games in the ATR store!)

===

A young, beautiful, virginal college girl is abducted.

When she wakes, she finds herself naked, on stage, in front of a raucous crowd – and forced to compete in the humiliating Virgin Games.

Can she tell what men are pushing into her pussy while she’s blindfolded?  If she succeeds she goes free – but failure means being gang-fucked to impregnation.

And she’s just the first victim!

===

The Virgin Games is the newest erotica novella from hit author Apophenia.

It contains themes of MF sex, exhibitionism, abduction, bondage, gangbangs, deflowering and impregnation.

As always, my kinks are not my politics. Please enjoy these stories while practicing respect, safety and positive enthusiastic consent in real life.

(Get The Virgin Games now!)

The game is simple – stay a virgin.  But winning has never been harder! The newest book from fan-favourite author Apophenia presents a tale of abduction and deflowering with a cruel twist! Get your copy of The Virgin Games today!

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: SlutGPT, Part 1

Lucia had mixed feelings about AI, but she found the ad impossible to pass up.

“Help train AI,” it said.  “$1,000 for one day’s work.  Women applicants only.”

As a university student, Lucia wasn’t exactly flush with cash.  Her father loved her, but had refused to fund her lifestyle until she dropped her Feminist Theory and Gender in History courses and picked up something that “could actually lead to a career”.  And as an attractive blonde with a cute face and generous tits, Lucia could probably have gotten boys on campus to pay for her drinks and meals – but she couldn’t bring herself to trade on her looks, with the result that she was almost always poor.

A thousand dollars could go a long way to help catch up her debts.  

She called up the number on the ad, and found herself talking to a pleasant sounding young woman named Chantelle.

“Yes, it’s for real,” said Chantelle.  “It’s to improve AI training on human voice.  You just have to read a bunch of text in your voice for six hours or so.  The payment covers the assignment of rights for the recording you create.”

“That’s great,” said Lucia.  “Is it one day only, or is there the potential for more work?”

“One day for the voice training,” said Chantelle.  “If you sign up for a follow-up analysis day, there’s another thousand.  And if you can bring in some samples of male voices, we can authorise another two thousand.”

Four thousand dollars, for just two days?  Lucia nearly swooned.

“Yes!” she said.  “Yes, to all of it!  What kind of male voices do you need?”

“Half an hour of clear recorded voice audio from six different men,” said Chantelle.  “It’s for associational training, so we want men that you know, and preferably ones who are very close to you or in authority roles.  Your father, ideally, and maybe a lecturer, professor, or employer, and some close friends.”

Lucia was delirious at the idea of being four thousand dollars richer, and she immediately reached out to her father, her male lecturer in English Literature, her supervisor at the restaurant where she sometimes worked shifts, and three of her closest male friends, asking them each to record the required audio.  She told them it was for research.

Five days later, she found herself showing up at a nondescript lab on her university campus with the samples on her phone.

Chantelle turned out to be a very buxom redhead, and she introduced Lucia to her supervisor, Professor Dashwood Hancrow, a handsome, muscular man in his late thirties.

They had her fill out a range of paperwork – various acknowledgements of risk, assignments of rights, and other information.  Lucia didn’t look at it too closely – it would have taken forever to read it all.

Then Professor Hancrow led her to a small room with a chair.

“If you’ll just undress for us, Lucia,” he said.

“Sorry, what?” said Chantelle.

“We need to take biometric readings as you read passages of text,” said Professor Hancrow.  “You’ll need to remove your clothes.”

Lucia crossed her arms protectively over her chest.  “I don’t know that I’m comfortable with that,” she said.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Professor Hancrow.  “That’s very reasonable.  You did sign the paperwork, so we will need you to do it, but I’ll leave the room and let Chantelle attend to it.”

Lucia didn’t really want to strip in front of Chantelle either, but everyone seemed to be expecting her to, and there was the matter of the four thousand dollars, so once Hancrow left the room, Lucia reluctantly stripped nude.

“You’re really very pretty,” said Chantelle, staring at Lucia’s large tits and shaved pussy.   

Lucia blushed.

Chantelle took her clothes to a corner of the room.  She reached into Lucia’s purse and brought out her mobile phone.

“Could you just unlock this for me?” she said, passing it to Lucia.

Lucia was so taken aback by the request – and so discombobulated by being naked – that she did what Chantelle asked without even thinking.  Chantelle took the phone back from her,  quickly disabled the lock permanently, and then dropped Lucia’s phone into a pocket.

“Sit here,” she said, pointing at the chair.

Lucia went to sit, and then paused.  There was what looked like a dildo fixed to the centre of the chair.

“Just work that up inside you,” said Chantelle.  “It’s a probe.  I’ve pre-lubed it for you.”

“Why do you need to probe… there?” asked Lucia.

“Biometric readings,” said Chantelle.  “It’s very normal.”

Lucia awkwardly went to the chair, and lowered herself onto the dildo.  She had to reach down to part her cunt lips in order to let it inside her, but as Chantelle had said, it was well lubed, and it slithered into her fuckhole easily.  Lucia lowered herself down until her ass was resting on the seat and the dildo was buried inside her.

It was so embarrassing and humiliating.  But Lucia had to admit it felt good inside her.

Chantelle came over and placed Lucia’s hands on the arms of the chair – and then fastened a strap around them, trapping them in place.

“What…” protested Lucia.

“It’s important for the sensors that you don’t move during the recording process,” said Chantelle.  “This will help.”

Then she knelt between Lucia’s legs – looking directly at Lucia’s plugged cunt – and pulled Lucia’s legs further apart.  She applied further straps on Lucia’s thighs and ankles to keep her legs trapped apart.  

Then came the probes and sensors.  There were flat pads with electrodes applied to Lucia’s forehead, neck, chest, stomach, and arms.  There were cruel little clamps placed on Lucia’s nipples, and earlobes – and another on her clitoris, that made her squeal.

Finally, Lucia flicked a switch, and the sensors came to life – and Lucia squealed even louder.  The dildo-shaped probe in her cunt was *buzzing* slightly.  And so were the clamps on her nipples and clitoris.  It was only very, very gentle – but it was nearly impossible to ignore.  She felt her cunt begin to wetten.

And to make it worse, at that point Professor Hancrow walked back into the room.  He came to stand directly in front of Lucia, openly assessing her tits and pussy.

“Yes, very good,” he said.

“Please, Professor,” said Lucia.  “I don’t feel comfortable with this.”

“I dare say you don’t,” said the professor.  “I understand it is quite uncomfortable.  But I assure you it is necessary and normal.”  He looked at Chantelle.  “Would you put the refreshment in place, dear?”

Chantelle nodded, and wheeled over something very like an IV stand, with bags of fluid on it leading to tubes.  She placed a tube near the corner of Chantelle’s mouth, and used tape to stick it to her cheek.

“I’d like you to drink from this regularly,” said Professor Hancrow.  “It’s important to stay hydrated.  If you feel the need to… relive yourself, just let it happen, and Chantelle will clean up later.  It’s important we don’t move you until the recording is complete.”

Lucia was outraged.  “I’m not going to… wet myself in public!” she complained.

“No one will be in the room with you,” said the professor.  “Once we start, the process is fully automated.  But if you feel you can hold your bladder, you are quite welcome to.”

He leaned in and caressed Lucia’s left breast with one hand.  Lucia tried to pull away, but she couldn’t move.

“Yes, quite exceptional,” he said.  “Very good.  Now, once we start, Lucia, you will see words projected on the wall in front of you.  You are to read all the words aloud, at a good volume, in a normal speaking voice.  If the microphones can’t hear you, you will receive a small shock to prompt you to try again at a louder volume.  You will continue until all of the necessary corpus has been recorded.  Good luck.”

Lucia felt a sense of panic.  “A shock?  What… and what if I need help?”

“Chantelle will be watching you on the cameras,” said the professor.  “Be a good girl and read the words, okay?”

And with that, both the professor and Chantelle left the room.

Lucia moaned – mostly with fear, but a little with lust.  The buzzing in her cunt was very distracting.

Words appeared on the screen.

MY NAME IS LUCIA D’ANGELO AND I CONSENT TO THIS PROCEDURE.

“My name is Lucia D’Angelo and I consent to this procedure,” she said.

I AM A SLUT.

Lucia balked.  What was this?  Why did they want her to say that?

A moment passed – and then she screamed.  The wires had just delivered a painful electric shock to her clitoris and nipples.  It hurt!  It *hurt*!

“I am a slut,” she said, quickly.

I AM A DUMB CUNT.

“What is happening?” Lucia yelled.  “Why do I need to read this?”

ZAP.  Lucia screamed, and started to cry.

“I’m a dumb cunt,” she sobbed.

ZAP.

“What?  What was wrong with that?” Lucia squealed.

Chantelle’s voice came over a PA system.

“You need to say exactly the words,” she said.  “‘I am’, not ‘I’m’.  And try and stop crying.  We need a normal speaking voice.  I’m going to pause the process for three minutes to let you compose yourself.”

Lucia tried to stop crying and sniffling.  Her nose was running a little.  Her cunt and tits *hurt* – and yet, at the same time, her pussy was still wet as the probe buzzed inside her.

She took several deep breaths, and then said, “I think I’m okay.”

“Very good,” said Chantelle.  “Resume.”

“I am a dumb cunt,” said Lucia.

And then the words on the screen were replaced by something longer.  It was the entire first page of Oliver Twist, by Charles Dickens.  Lucia was overcome with relief to see something normal, and launched into reading it.

She spent most of the rest of that hour reading Dickens.  Between pages, she took sips from the tube near her face.  The liquid it dispensed tasted like a sports drink – a little sweet, a little salty.  She supposed it was good for hydrating her.

Then the words changed again.

I LIKE BEING RAPED.

Lucia paused too long in speaking.  The probes zapped her again.  Her body convulsed.

“I like being raped,” she said, quickly.

PLEASE RAPE ME, DADDY.

This was too weird.  She struggled against her bonds, wondering if she could get out of the chair.  But they were strong and gave no sign of yielding.

ZAP!

“Please rape me, daddy,” Lucia gasped.

PLEASE SQUEEZE MY BIG SLUTTY TITS, DADDY.

“Please squeeze my big slutty tits, daddy,” she recited.

MY CONSENT ISN’T IMPORTANT.

“My consent isn’t important,” she moaned.

And then it was big slabs of text again.  But this time it was a pornographic story, detailing the rape of a big-titted bimbo by a cruel man.  Lucia blushed as she read the words aloud.

“He pushed her down and shoved his cock into her slutty wet fuckhole,” she read.  “And she begged him to stop, but her cunt kept giving consent, so he slapped her until she stopped protesting, and then raped her until he felt himself orgasming into her unprotected womb.”

The words were combining with the buzzing in her pussy to make Lucia very wet, and she felt herself doing her best to hump her groin against the cunt probe.

WOMEN ARE OBJECTS, said the screen.

“Women are objects,” sighed Lucia.

I AM STUPID AND NEED A MAN TO CONTROL ME.

“I am stupid and need a man to control me,” said Lucia.

I FANTASIZE EVERY DAY ABOUT BEING RAPED.

“I fantasize every day about being raped,” repeated Lucia.

Another slab of text.  This one appeared to be a tract from a misogynistic text, explaining why society needed to force women to be public sex-toys for the use of any man, due to their reduced intelligence and natural role as breeders.  

To Lucia’s shame, she felt herself orgasm halfway through reading this.  Her body shuddered, and her tongue became tied, and she missed a sentence, resulting in a shockingly painful electric zap mid-orgasm that somehow only made the orgasm more intense.

And then text again, and Lucia read every line perfectly.

I WANT TO BE AN OBJECT FOR MEN.

I AM NOTHING BUT TITS AND A CUNT.

I NEED MY DECISIONS TAKEN AWAY.

I NEED TO BE TOLD WHAT TO DO.

I AM A DUMB CUNT.

And then, suddenly, it was over.

Had six hours passed?  Apparently it had.

Professor Hancrow and Chantelle returned to the room.

“Am I done?” asked Lucia.

“You’re done with day one, dear,” said Professor Hancrow.  “Now there’s just the matter of the analysis day you agreed to.”

Suddenly Lucia realised Hancrow was holding a syringe in one hand – but there was nothing she could do about it as he plunged the needle into her thigh.

“Now you’re going to have a nice little sleep,” he told her.  “And when you wake up, all your problems will be solved.  You’ll never need to wonder what to do or say, ever again…”

===

You can find another tale of erotic AI control in my novella Sir, available now in the ATR store for only $7.99 USD! Your purchase shows your appreciation and supports me to keep creating hot new content! (Click here to view in store.)

===

After agreeing to take part in an experiment, Lucia finds her words and actions controlled by generative AI...

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Compelled Courtesy, Part 3

Chapters:
One | Two

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Tahlia knew she was making things worse for herself by sending such humiliating – and sexualised – apologies to Angus, but she didn’t seem to be able to stop herself.  

She considered finding another man and encouraging him to compliment her tits, or something similar, but it had been humiliating enough doing it with the relatively-harmless Trent, and she didn’t think she could face deliberately inviting *another* man to stare at her tits today.

Her best plan was simply to avoid Angus for the rest of the day and give her strange behaviour a chance to recede into history.  

She opened her most recent document and tried to focus on the demands of the Highwater Project – but there was the matter of her distractingly wet pussy, which had somehow grown wetter as she thought about her problem with Angus.

She thought about Junko.  She wasn’t supposed to spend too much time with Junko at work, in case someone worked out that they were lesbians – but fuck it, today was hard enough.  She could bend the rules a little.

She picked up the phone and called Junko to a “meeting” in her office.

Her beautiful dark-haired girlfriend showed up a few minutes later.

“What’s the matter, babe?” she said, after closing the door.  “Is something wrong?”

“Kind of,” said Tahlia.  She walked over to Junko and kissed her on the lips.  “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all morning.  I’m so wet.”

That wasn’t exactly true.  Tahlia was wet from thinking about Angus – a fact that was disgusting, and made her hate her Controlled Courtesy condition even more.  But she could hardly say that to Junko.

“Being horny isn’t an emergency,” said Junko.  “What if someone walks in on us?”

“No one’s going to walk into my office without knocking,” said Tahlia.  “But put a chair against the door if you care.  And then get down on your knees and lick me.”

Junko hesitated – but then her own lust won out.  She blocked the door, and then fell to her knees.  Tahlia lifted her skirt and pulled her panties aside, and Junko began to eagerly lick.

Tahlia was nearing orgasm from her girlfriend’s tongue when the phone on her desk rang.  She picked it up with one hand, using the other to keep Junko’s head where it was so that the beautiful Asian wouldn’t stop licking.

“Yes?” she breathed.

“It’s reception, ma’am,” said the voice on the other end.  “Your 10.30 appointment is here early.”

Tahlia swore under her breath.  It was an important meeting with one of the principal contractors on Highwater.  She couldn’t afford to make them wait, even if they were early.

“I’ll be right down,” she said.  She hung up the phone and pushed Junko away.

“Sorry, sweetie,” she said.  “We’ll have to finish this later.”  

She passed Junko a tissue to wipe Tahlia’s cunt juices off her face.

“You tease,” said Junko, smiling.

“Hey, it’s me who’s going into an important meeting sopping wet,” said Tahlia.  “It’s you who should have licked faster.”

“You can punish me when you get home,” laughed Junko.

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She’d booked a meeting room on the second floor for the meeting, and when she got there, two men were already waiting for her.  Both were wearing suits that they looked ill-accustomed to, and their build and demeanour told her that they were more at home on a construction site than in a meeting room.

“Hello,” she said, placing her folder of documents on the table.  “I’m Tahlia Foxheather.  It’s nice to see you.”

“Georgie del Sabato,” said the first of the men.  “And this is my off-sider, Frankie Horne.  When can we expect your boss, sweet-cheeks?”

Tahlia winced at “sweet-cheeks” – but she couldn’t start a fight with these men, so she chose to accept it.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” she said.  “Your meeting today is with me.”

Georgie laughed.  “You’re nice decoration, cupcake, but this is an engineering meeting.  You’d better find a man who understands it.”

Frankie laughed loudly at Georgie’s joke.

Tahlia’s face coloured.

“I assure you, Mr del Sabato, I am fully qualified to discuss this matter with you,” she said.  “I have a Bachelor of Engineering.”

“Listen, lady,” said Georgie.  “I know you think you studied that course, but women don’t have the brains for that.  The instructor or whoever just passed you because he liked your tits.  I don’t blame him – they’re great tits.  Now run along and find us a man.  Is Angus here?  Me and him go way back.”

Tahlia wanted to make this work.  She wanted to put up with Georgie’s sexual harassment and just get through the meeting.  She *really* didn’t want to feel her brain making another rule for herself.

But accepting Georgie’s behaviour at this point would mean leaving the room to find Angus, and telling him that she needed him to take over her meeting because the contractors didn’t take her seriously because of her tits, and that… was unacceptable.

“Mr del Sabato,” she said, “your behaviour is not appropriate.  However you feel about women, the fact is that *I* am who you are dealing with today, and I represent BJX Engineering, and if you disrespect me you are disrespecting the company.  So I’ll ask you to stop making demeaning comments, and focus on the issue at hand.”

Her brain shifted.

She had been too harsh.  George wasn’t unreasonable to disrespect her.  Angus actually was more qualified than her – he had a Masters, to her mere Bachelor’s Degree.  And hadn’t she just been inappropriately lezzing off in her office before coming here?  Hadn’t she taken off her panties in front of construction workers that morning?  Was she really someone that deserved to be respected?


She should offer him a compromise.  Yes.  When she rejected male attention, she should *always* offer a compromise.

And she had been a bitch.  She needed to apologise, and compliment Georgie.

“Look,” she said.  “Thank you for the compliment about my tits.  Maybe I was being a bit of a difficult cunt – I know that women are unusual in engineering, because most women aren’t smart enough to do this job.  And I was a bit distracted by your eyes, which are *very* attractive.”

She took a deep breath.  “If you agree to get down to serious business, I’ll unbutton the top two buttons of my blouse so you can see them better.  Does that sound reasonable?”

Georgie and Frankie looked at each other, surprised.

“I think we can live with that, princess,” said Georgie.

And – even as she screamed at herself internally to stop – Tahlia found herself unbuttoning the top of her blouse, to expose the wide, generous surface of her cleavage, and give the contractors a peek at her lacy white bra.

And just like that, they got down to business.

The meeting was about environmental approvals.  Georgie’s company was supposed to commission a thorough environmental survey of the proposed Highwater site, but he was trying to fob BJX off with a significantly cheaper and less rigorous process.  BJX felt that that wasn’t what they were paying for, and they were worried it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy the government approval process.

The meeting was infuriating.  Georgie and Frankie constantly called her “sweetie” and “buttercup” and “honey”, while staring openly at her tits.  They explained basic concepts of engineering to her as if she had never studied the subject.  They told her that she didn’t understand certain things “because she was a woman”.  They implied she was being difficult because it was “her time of the month” and said she should “get her man to give her a spanking” to set her right.

And Tahlia accepted all this without comment.  She had rejected Georgie once today so rejecting him again wouldn’t give her another rule – but if she was a bitch she *would* have to apologise and compliment him.  And besides, despite her threat to involve BJX, she knew that her conditioning would never let her complain about their behaviour, and if there was ultimately any complaint about this meeting, it would be her that would face consequences.

Unfortunately, her acquiescence just made them bolder.  Georgie called her a “cunt” once, in anger, and stopped himself afterwards, clearly aware that he had gone too far – but when Tahlia just blushed and didn’t call him out on it, he started calling her a cunt in every second sentence.

“Look, Mr del Sabato,” she said finally, “at the end of the day, your contract requires you to procure an assessment at the level that BJX specifies.  And BJX wants the full assessment.  So either you can pay up for a proper environmental study, or you can be in breach of contract.  It’s that simple.”

The men looked at each other.

Finally, Frankie spoke.  

“Listen lady,” he said, “I know you’re talking tough, but you’ve been teasing us all morning with those fuckbags.  I can read between the lines here.  How about I take you into the toilets, give you a good dicking, and let some of that tension out?  Then you can sign off on the cheaper study, and we can all be happy.”

Tahlia was paralysed.  To accept Frankie’s lewd suggestion would be to imply that she would, in fact, fuck him in the toilets and then corruptly agree to their requests.  The second aspect would get her fired, and the first – she was a lesbian, and she absolutely did *not* want to fuck a man, particularly these two disgusting specimens.

“Absolutely not,” she snapped.  “I’ve put up with you all day, but this is the last straw.  You *will* do the expensive study, and if I don’t want to hear one more sexist comment out of you, or else I’ll report your behaviour to management.”

Rejection.  She was a bad girl.  And to a new man – she hadn’t rejected Frankie previously.

She didn’t want to hear another sexist comment?  That was her problem, really.  She didn’t *listen*.  Not listening was a bitchy thing to do.  She should listen carefully.

In fact, she should keep a record of all the things men said to her, and about her, so she could study them and remember them.  She should keep a diary.  She would do that as soon as she got back to her office.  

And god, how bitchy was what she just said?  It was unacceptable.  

Apologise.  Compliment.  Compromise.

“Mr Horne,” she said, “I’m sorry.  I know I’ve been teasing you with my big tits like a whore.  And I know this meeting has taken longer than it needed to because I’m a woman and I barely understand anything that you’re saying, and I was intimidated because you’re so much smarter than me. But this really is BJX’s position, and you’ll have to accept it.  But how about I sweeten the deal by showing you those tits I’ve been teasing you with?”

What?  Show these men her tits?  What was she saying?

Georgie and Frankie looked at each other, and then back at her.

“I don’t like it,” said Georgie.  “But I guess I’ll have to take it.  Show us those bazongas, honey, and give us a good long look, and then we’ll get out of your hair and let you get back to filing your nails and browsing the internet for pretty shoes.”

His voice said that he didn’t really expect her to go through with her offer – but she was doing it.  She was unbuttoning her blouse, all the way down to her waist.  And then she was reaching into her bra to lift her large tits out of it, into the full view of the men.

“Holy fuck,” said Frankie.  “Look at those melons.”

“Shit,” said Georgie, “when I saw that BJX was employing bimbos I thought they’d lost it, but I’m coming around on that policy.”

“They’re huge,” said Frankie.  “She’s like a fucking cow.”

“I can see how she got her degree,” said Georgie.  

“How can you walk around with those fuckbags and not know you’re just a sex-toy?” asked Frankie.  “They’re so *big*.”

Tahlia experienced a wave of confusion.  What Frankie was saying was so degrading – but he was so much *smarter* than her.  She knew that, and she had known it ever since she said it to him a few moments ago.  If he thought she looked like a cow, or that she was a sex-toy… he was probably right.

She felt shame flush through her.  God, she was so *stupid*, acting like she was qualified to be in this meeting when she was so much dumber than Frankie, and when she looked like a sex-toy.  

“Thanks for the meeting, princess,” said Georgie.  “You drive a hard bargain.  We’ll do the assessment you want.”  And he reached out with one hand.

Tahlia thought he was going to shake her hand, and reached out her own – but his hand went past hers, and up, and before she realised what was happening he had grabbed her boob.

He squeezed it – hard – and then shook it, like shaking a hand.

Frankie guffawed with laughter.

Tahlia just stood there and let him do it, not doing anything to stop or dissuade him, her face crimson with humiliation.

And then Georgie and Frankie walked past her and out of the room, leaving her alone, topless, and shaking with embarrassment and degradation.

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You can buy the original novel Average Availability right now in the All These Roadworks store for only $7.99 USD – and your purchase will support me to keep writing new stories like this one!  (Click here to view in store.)

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BONUS CONTENT!

This AI generated video was created by AI_FuctUp_Again (link) on Imaglr based on this chapter. Enjoy!

Tahlia holds a humiliating meeting at work.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Building Confidence

Louise had self-image problems. She thought she was ugly and unattractive. Her well-meaning friend Sarah, who had been learning hypnotherapy, offered Louise a session of treatment, which Louise accepted.

“Just help me build confidence,” said Louise. “Don’t, like, change my personality or anything.”

Sarah agreed, and decided to focus on one idea. “The more embarrassed you feel about your body,” she repeated to Louise, “the more you will want to show it off.”

Afterwards, Louise did feel a little better, so Sarah invited her to her pool party tomorrow.

When tomorrow came round, however, Louise felt nervous about her body. The nervousness drove her out to the mall, where she found herself buying a far sexier and more risque swimsuit than she had ever owned before. She wore it, blushing with shame, to the pool party. She wanted to hunch over, to cover herself with her hands, but her conditioning made her walk straight-shouldered, tits proudly thrust outwards.

She had barely arrived, mingling among the other guests, when Sarah’s brother Jacob saw her. He was, to be honest, a little shit, and Sarah had made the mistake of telling Jacob about her hypnotherapy session with Louise. Jacob had seen the flaw in Sarah’s treatment, and so when he set eyes on Louise he immediately cried out, “Oh my god, who’s that cow with the giant whorish fuckbags? They’re so huge, I bet she moos when you squeeze them.”

Louise went a deep crimson with humiliation. She felt an overpowering urge to cross her arms over her tits and run away, crying. But all that urge did was trigger her new conditioning, and to her horror she found herself pulling her swimsuit off her shoulders and down her body to bare her breasts in front of all her friends.

“Please,” she begged, “please don’t look at me,” even as she raised her arms above her head and jutted her tits out.

There was some laughter among the guests, that only made her more ashamed. And then she realised with horror that her cunt was getting wet from the humiliation. A second wave of shame went through her… and she choked with degradation as she understood that she was about to respond to that shame by taking off the rest of her bathing suit and using her fingers to spread her pussy open so that everyone could see just how wet she was…

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Buy All These Roadworks stories at the cheapest possible price by exploring the collection of bundles, with discounts starting at 25% over purchasing the books individually! (Click here to view bundles in the store.)

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Louise asks a hypnotist to help her build confidence - with unexpected results.