alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Elf-Queen of Tylia, Part 15

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Previous chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen

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Syluin wondered why she had ever thought she could rule a kingdom by herself.

Over the past weeks, her daughter Eelor, the Cunt, had come to her and taught her much of the true religion of the elves.  She had kissed her mother on the mouth, and then sucked on her tits, and licked her pussy – all as Red Horn watched approvingly – and she had explained how the traditional elven god Shel-Henneth was a cockteasing whore, and how her sister Sla-Abroth, the Dogfucker Slut, was a better role model for elven women.

“We’re reforming the church,” Eelor told her mother.  “The primary object of worship will be the Overgod Aras, and his divine cock.  And then we will venerate both Shel-Henneth and Sla-Abroth, but by their Beastfolk names – Shol’han, the Pouting Slut, and Abro’hon, the Good Girl.  We gives thanks for the deserved rape, abuse and impregnation of Shol’han by her father, and hope that elven women will be similarly punished for their whorish nature.  And we give thanks to Abro’hon for generously offering her cunt up to animals, so that the beastfolk race could be born, that they might put elven women in their place.”

Syluin had found these proposed changes confronting at first, but Eelor had brought her new mentor Rathi the snakewoman to see Syluin, and Syluin had found the snakewoman’s large tits to be very convincing – hypnotic, even – and after staring for hours at Rathi’s tits while the snakewoman used her tail to tease Syluin’s anus and Eelor licked at Syluin’s clit, the queen saw the logic in reforming the church in this way.

The church encouraged female family members to rape each other regularly, to please the cock of the Overgod Aras, and to affirm their willingness to put each other in their places, and Red Horn enjoyed watching Syluin rape other women, so he decided it was time for Syluin to fulfil his prediction that she would eventually willingly rape her middle daughter.

For a week he prevented Syluin from reaching orgasm, while keeping her in a heightened state of sexual desire.  He had her suck his cock, and he had Eelor lick her pussy, and he had the snakewoman Rathi probe her anus.  He didn’t tell her what she had to do in order to cum – but he did walk her past Lari’s bedchamber one night, and then deliberately leave her there whle he had a conversation with one of his subordinates down the hall.

Syluin didn’t require any further prompting.  She pushed open Lari’s door, went to her daughter’s bed, and ripped the nightgown from her sleeping daughter.  When Lari awoke, Syluin first slapped her daughter, then kissed her on the lips, and then straddled her face, pressing her wet, needy cunt eagerly against her daughter’s mouth before leaning down to return the favour, licking at Lari’s pussy until Lari began to lick at Syluin’s too.

Red Horn came back to watch the rape, and he brought a Beastman with him who made a rough sketch of what he saw, which would later form the basis for a large painting that would hang in the royal throne room, depicting the queen and her daughter in sluttish nude mutual lesbian rape.

Syluin orgasmed several times, but Lari seemed to orgasm twice as well, despite struggling against her mother’s rape throughout the process.  Syluin worried it wouldn’t count as rape if Lari had enjoyed it, and that Red Horn might punish her for not treating her daughter as the bitch that she was, and so after her final orgasm she deliberately urinated on her daughter’s face, which made Red Horn laugh with approval, and it was this final humiliation which was vividly captured in the public portrait of their lovemaking.

After that, Syluin had no further reluctance to rape her daughters for her own pleasure.  She regularly 69-ed for mutual pleasure with Eelor, and she also fucked Lari multiple times a week.  Under the urgings of Eelor and Rathi – and particularly Rathi’s hypnotic tits – Lari came to accept the idea of fucking her mother, even though she always seemed to find it humiliating and degrading. 

Whenever possible, sex between Syluin and her daughters would happen on the floor of the throne room, where the entire elven court could watch.  It was her duty, after all, to be a good role model for other elven women, and to demonstrate the essential truth that elven women were nothing but animals driven by their cunts.

Additionally, once a week Syluin would call her eldest daughter, Daksya, the Cocksleeve, up from the dungeons so that Syluin and Lari and Eelor could rape her in front of the entire elven court.

Daksya would always struggle and fight, despite her chains, forcing Syluin and her daughters to slap her and kick her tits until she behaved herself and allowed them to press their cunts against her unwilling face.  Syluin felt moments of guilt about this, but they all faded away whenever she looked at Rathi’s tits, and once the snake-woman had calmed her down, Syluin always had to admit that raping her unwilling, struggling daughter was even more sexually satisfying than fucking her two semi-willing ones. 

And besides, the weekly lesbian rape gave such entertainment to the men of the court – both elves and Beastmen – who were encouraged to take their cocks out and masturbate as they watched the women of their ruling family lezzing off in public. Syluin became used to the feeling of a man’s sperm splashing on her cheeks as she kissed her daughter on the mouth, or a Beastman spraying his seed on her tits as she humped her daughter’s face.

After the girls were done with Daksya, Red Horn would rape the beautiful, traitorous bitch and spend his seed in her womb.  Just last week, the doctors had reported that Daksya was finally pregnant with a litter of beastfolk cubs.  Red Horn had announced that her rapings would continue until she gave birth, though – and she would now also begin a series of daily painful injections of beastfolk medicine directly into her tits, which would supplement the oral medication she was taking, and stimulate udder growth and milk production.

He suggested that *all* the royal women might want such a treatment, as they would *all* look better with bigger udders, and Syluin, knowing the answer he wanted her to give, agreed.  When he then showed her pictures of what the drugs could achieve – women with ridiculous cartoon tits bigger than their heads – she became quite frightened, but he made her masturbate while looking at those pictures until she was too stupid to voice an objection, and then stabbed the first needle directly into her titflesh, making her howl – and orgasm.

There were less and less elven men in Tylia every day.  They were being conscripted for the army, and sent off to fight the dryads.  Well, not the dryads – the Beastfolk had banned that term, and required Syluin to instead call them “animated sex-toys”.  The dryads weren’t people – just a resource to be harvested, and fucked.

Those elven men without military experience at least got some training before departing.  They trained on Daksya’s former elite guard – the Steel Flowers.  The Flowers were unarmed, dressed in their slutty uniforms, their hands pinned to their sides, and the elven men were given swords and told to catch and rape one of the “helpless” soldier dolls.

Even restrained, the Steel Flowers were well-trained, and a good number of elven men got kicked in the balls or faces before they completed their training.  But this just made them more vicious with the girls once they *did* catch them.  No elven man was sent to the front line without raping at least nine elven women.

And when they were done with the Steel Flowers, they were given one final challenge: to catch and rape one of their family members they had never previously fucked.  The penalty for refusal was “military justice” – which was shorthand for “execution” – and so every elven male of Tylia ended up raping his daughter, sister or cousin before heading to the war.

The results of the war were mixed.  Elven casualty rates were reported to be high – and yet, overall, Tylia appeared to be making progress in conquering dryad land and capturing and enslaving the dryad women.

They had already brought back enough captive dryads to replace every toilet in the palace with a dryad’s mouth.  Some elves had found it hard to adjust to this change, and Red Horn had made Syluin give a speech declaring that it was “natural and appropriate” to piss and shit into a woman’s mouth.  She had wanted to just say “dryad’s mouth” but Red Horn had made her phrase it as applying to her entire gender.

And then he had dressed her in the same bondage she had placed the dryads in – kneeling, mouth forced open, tits atop a silver tray – and given a demonstration in front of the entire court.  He had sat on her tits – crushing them painfully beneath his buttocks -and pissed in her mouth.  And then he made Eelor and Lari do the same, and then invited three lucky lower-class elven men who were about to be shipped off to the front lines to try the same thing.

It was very educational for the elven people, said Red Horn, to see their queen used as a toilet.  He commissioned statues of the event to be distributed throughout the kingdom, which would work as real toilets, so that every elf could live out the fantasy of pissing in their queen’s mouth.

The expansion of the new church continued.  Statues of Aras the Overgod were placed throughout the realm.  These statues depicted him as a muscular beastman with an exposed, erect cock, and elven women were expected to kneel and briefly suck on the statue’s dick whenever they walked past, as a form of worship.

Eelor also introduced new baptism services for elven women to dedicate themselves to the church.  These services would occur for all mature elven women, and for all younger elven women when they came of age. To dedicate herself to Aras, a woman would masturbate the cock of one of the new beastman priests until he ejaculated onto her face and tits.  To dedicate herself to Shol’han, she would ask a male family member – ideally her father – to slap her face, spank her, and then fuck her in front of the congregation.  To dedicate herself to Abro’hon, she would publicly fuck one of the dog-like semi-sentient monsters known as Waste Hunters that the beastfolk had specifically brought to Tylia for that purpose, allowing it to ejaculate inside her and then knot.

“Does it not make you happy, knowing that every elven woman will be required to fuck an animal?” Red Horn had whispered in her ear as he raped her that evening.

Syluin’s only response had been to orgasm on his cock.

She and her daughters were baptised the following day.  Daksya had to be beaten and slapped to force her to participate, but in the end all four women masturbated a beastman until he bathed them in his sperm, and they licked each other clean.  

They had no direct living family member to fuck, but an elven noble who was the cousin twice-removed of the royal family dressed up as the late king, and made each of the girls call him “daddy” as he fucked them, before finally finishing by shoving his cock into the ass of his “slut wife” Syluin.

And then came the Waste Hunters.  They looked so much like dogs it was uncanny, except for the glint of intelligence in their eye, and the all-too-deliberate way they approached and licked the girls’ faces and sniffed their cunts, before mounting the helpless elven woman and shoving their monstrous cocks into the girls’ fuckholes.

It was humiliating for Syluin to be raped by an animal in front of her people, but she was used to constant humiliation by now, and her cunt was wet, and the screams and cries of fear and degradation coming from Daksya were very arousing, and she just let herself enjoy it.  The warm wetness of the Waste Hunter’s breath on her neck was erotic, and its claws on her back felt good, and the way it used her as a sheathe for its cock without a shred of interest in her personhood or consent felt very appropriate.  

She orgasmed multiple times before the Waste Hunter knotted inside her, and she made a note to ask Red Horn if she could keep the beast as a pet for when he wasn’t around to rape her.  

Or should she be the pet, and the Waste Hunter the master?  After all, it was a male, and males knew best…

Some days after the baptism, Lari came to see her mother and reported that important strides were being made in reducing cultural discrimination against Beastfolk.  Recently, a Beastman had been quite offended when an elven woman had referred to him as “half a beast, half a man”.

“It’s unacceptable that elves think of beastfolk as less than a full person,” said Lari.  “So we’re going to define a male Beastman as the ‘natural’ form of life in Tylia, and the exemplar definition of a full person.  That will mean, by extension, that an elven male or a female Beastfolk is half a person, and an elven woman is a quarter of a person.”

That seemed reasonable – or at least, it did to Syluin while she was masturbating and sucking Red Horn’s cock in front of the elven court – and so she passed laws to implement that change.

The laws turned out to have an unfortunate effect, though.  Only “people” could own property in Tylia, and if elven men and beastfolk women weren’t full “people” then their property couldn’t truly be theirs.  Overnight, all elven property became forfeit – to be redistributed among the beastfolk.

There were riots at this last indignity – but with most of the men gone to war, the beastfolk easily put down these rebellions in the Queen’s name, and executed the ringleaders.

And given that elven women now weren’t even half a person, it turned out that they fit the legal definition of “livestock”, and could be owned, bought, traded, and forcibly bred.  Syuin watched as the women of her nation were collared, leashed, and divided up as pets among their new beastman masters.

Red Horn, of course, became the owner of Syluin and her daughters.

And with that, a final step needed to be taken.

The day came when Syluin stood before her people, naked, a plug in her ass and weighted clamps hanging from her nipples, her face and tits covered in beastman sperm.  She masturbated her cunt with one hand.  Her tits were already so swollen from the growth program that she couldn’t see her feet, and milk leaked constantly from her nipples.

Beside her stood Red Horn, his cock buried in Lari’s mouth, as Eelor knelt behind him and licked his anus.

“My people,” said Syluin, “I have been a terrible queen to you, because I am a woman, and an elf, and a whore.  But I have led you to the important realisation that elven women are animals that need to be owned by Beastmen, which is the single most important progressive reform our nation has ever experienced.”

“The natural consequence of this is that I need to be owned – and the kingdom needs to be owned – by a beastman.  And so it is in this spirit that I formally relinquish my crown to my owner, Red Horn, who will now be King of Tylia.  I hope that he leads us to greatness, and continues to educate elven sluts like myself on our proper place.”

With this, she removed her crown and passed it to Red Horn.  It was tiny atop his head, but it was a formality.  He had told her that a new crown would be forged that would depict a beastman with his hoof resting on the tits of an enslaved elven woman.

He looked at her, and then casually slapped her across the face.

“Elven bitch,” he snarled.

And then he looked out across his people – beastmen, standing tall and proud, with collared elven women kneeling at their feet.

And the crowd roared their approval for their new king.

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This was the final chapter of Elf-Queen of Tylia! If you’ve enjoyed this story, please show your appreciation by purchasing the e-book in the ATR store! Your purchases let me pay the bills and keep creating hot new content! (Click here to view in store.)

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A royal marriage sets a new direction for Tylia.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Bridal Photographer

Desiree and Phaedra wanted only the best for their lesbian wedding, so they insisted on world-famous photographer Frederick Molles to capture their ceremony in pictures.

They had to sign a special contract to get him, which gave him exclusive rights to document every aspect of their happy day, and they had to pay a small fortune to retain him, but they were sure it was all worth it.

On the day, everything was perfect.  The ceremony was flawless, the reception was a joy, and as midnight came around, the happy newlyweds went to leave in their rented limousine.

The problem came when the photographer, Molles, tried to join them in the vehicle.

“What do you think you’re doing?” demanded Desiree.

“Coming with you,” said Molles.  “The wedding isn’t over yet.  We still have the wedding night.”

“I don’t think so,” sneered Phaedra.

“It’s right here in your contract,” said Molles.  “I have the exclusive right to document every aspect of your wedding.  And while state law is now wonderful enough to allow lesbian weddings, it still contains an old-fashioned clause specifying that the wedding is only complete when the marriage is consummated.”  He paused, and then added, “In case you’re too young to understand that word, it means the wedding isn’t over until you fuck.”

“You can’t be serious!” exclaimed Desiree.

“Absolutely I am,” said Molles.  “I don’t know how much you think it costs to get a world-class photographer to cover your wedding, but you got a substantial discount on me because the contract was all-inclusive.  If I don’t get to photograph you fucking, you’ll owe me another three million dollars – both for the proper cost of today’s event, and for the other opportunities I passed up to be here tonight.”

The girls quailed.  They couldn’t afford even a quarter of a million dollars, let alone three million.  And the authoritative and confident way that Molles was speaking left them in no doubt that what he was saying was the unvarnished truth.  They *had* contracted for this.

And so they let him into their limousine, and took him up to their hotel room, and then, blushing with humiliation and shaking with nervousness, they began to undress for him, as he used his camera to document every part of their shame.  

Then they climbed onto the bed and began to explore each other’s bodies.  It wasn’t their first time having sex – they were modern girls, after all – but it was certainly their first time having sex in front of a man, and their first time being photographed while doing so.  

Desiree was sure it would be terribly awkward – but she noted with surprise that Phaedra’s nipples were hard, her face flushed with more than just embarrassment – and when her hands descended to Phaedra’s pussy, she found her new wife so wet that her merest touch made her hands come away dripping with cunt-slime.  

“Are you… aroused by this?” she asked her wife.

Phaedra just blushed and looked away.

“Is it… him?” asked Desiree.  “Are you turned on by a man watching?”

“No,” said Phaedra, quietly.  “It’s the embarrassment.  It’s not being in control.  I can’t help it.  When I’m treated like a slut, or an object, I just get… like this…”

And suddenly Desiree was wet too, because this was exactly what she had always wanted from Phaedra, and never dared to ask for.  It was Phaedra’s blush, her shyness, that had first attracted Desiree, and to hear her confess to a desire to be humiliated and objectified was Phaedra’s fondest wish.

Her own reluctance vanished, and she took every opportunity to display her wife for the enjoyment of Molles, telling Phaedra to spread her pussy for the nice man, to pout for the camera, to let the man see her tits and her anus.  Each new request took Phaedra to new heights of humiliation – and when Desiree noted that Phaedra’s pussy was leaving visible wet patches on the bedcovers, that only made her more ashamed – and more wet.

This foreplay ended with both girls being completely overcome with lust, and eagerly beginning to lick at each other’s pussies as Molles documented the whole scene.

Finally, Desire rolled off her wife’s naked body, after having enjoyed four orgasms from her wife’s tongue, and having given Phaedra five in return.

“What will you do with these photos?” she asked Molles.

“Well, they will go in your official wedding photo book,” said Molles, “and in your contract you asked for a copy of that book to go to every guest.  And I intend to display them in my next public exhibition, entitled ‘Bridal Lust’.  It will be held at the national gallery and I expect that well over two million people will see the photos.”

“You can’t,” whispered Desiree, horrified.

‘I can’,” said Molles.  “It’s in the contract.”  He smiled.  “But how about I make you a little wager?”

“What is it?” asked Desiree.

He motioned to his pants – where a raging erection is visible.  “You’ve been quite the cockteases tonight,” he said.  “The wager is this.  You let me fuck the both of you until I ejaculate inside you.  You’re lesbians, so I assume this will be horrible for you – and indeed, if neither of you respond to my penetration, you will win the wager and I will delete the photos I have just taken.”

He unzipped his pants and took out his cock.  “But if either of you orgasm from my cock, then I do just as I have said with the photos, and distribute them to your guests, and exhibit them in a gallery.”

Desiree stared at the cock, entranced.  She *was* a lesbian.  She didn’t want to fuck a man.  But she couldn’t have those photos of her licking her wife’s pussy go to her family, and friends, and…

“All right,” she agreed.  And she turned around and raised herself onto all fours, presenting her pussy for the photographer to fuck.

As it turned out, Molles had a fair bit of stamina, and managed to fuck them both for close to an hour, taking turns in each of their vaginas, before finally ejaculating into Phaedra’s cunt.

And as it turned out, they weren’t very good lesbians, because Phaedra orgasmed three times – the last being when Molles spurted his sperm up her fuckhole into her unprotected womb, and Desiree came twice, the first being when Molles first forced his cock inside her.

So as it turned out, all their friends and family *did* see the photos.  The consolation, at least, was that Phaedra was sopping wet from humiliation for six months, and it resulted in some very excellent sex for the newlyweds.

And when Phaedra turned out to be pregnant, everyone knew who the father was, and how it had happened.  

They invited Molles back to document the pregnancy.  It only seemed fair.  And they began it by letting him fuck Desiree repeatedly, so that the girls could be pregnant together.

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If you enjoyed this story, you’ll love my e-book Sappho’s Collar – Stories of Lesbians Used By Men, available for only $3.99 USD from my creator site! (Click here to view in store.)

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Lesbian brides hire a famous photographer - but his contract gives him permission to photograph absolutely everything...

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Titcage, Part 35

(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

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As the training went on, the girls learned the body language of submission.  Twatsucker taught the girls the animal, instinctual signs of the submission of women – baring and offering the wrists, baring and offering the neck.  The slut were taught how to take up less space with their body, and how to keep their eyes wide open for a ‘doe-eyed’ look.  They were shown how important it was to keep their body at a lower level than males in the room – if a male was standing, a good slut was naturally shorter.  If a male was sitting on a chair, a slut should kneel on the floor.  If a male was sitting on the floor, the slut should be lying prostrate. 

They learned a good slut remains still unless told to move.  A good slut lowers her eyes unless a male is present, at which time she should look him the eyes to signal her dependence on his favour.  They learned that a slut should smile even if she is embarrassed or in pain. 

The sluts learned to draw attention to their necks, their wrists and their tits with hand gestures.  And finally they learned that the greatest sign of submission is sexual arousal.  In less indoctrinated women, they learned, it was common to suggest sexual arousal through rouge, blush, lipstick and other makeup, simulating the flow of blood to the face.  But for Titcage sluts they could just use the real thing.  A good slut was always aroused in the presence of men.  Claire knew this to be true, because between the sensitivity in her tits, her aphrodisiac implant, the work cordial, and the constant sexual activities she was engaged in, she was almost always wet now even when men weren’t around.

One day in the second week, after work, Steph and Claire went by a pet shop to buy themselves leashes.  Kitten drove them there, but when it came time to get out of the car, Steph didn’t want to do the Fucktoy walk in public, in front of people they’d never met, so Claire and Kitten had to slap Steph a few times and pinch her clit before she would agree to do it.  Afterwards, Steph and Claire went into the shop, squeezing their tits and with their fingers in their cunts, and asked the surprised salesman to help them pick out leashes.

At home, their father was gratified to see his daughters leashed, and he told them they looked pretty on a leash like a dog while he was beating their breasts and then cumming on them.  Claire ate her dinner again from a dog bowl, but this time she pissed on it first.  She found that adding piss to the dog food made it taste better to her – more like her work cordial – and she ate it eagerly while masturbating.  Remembering she was supposed to hurt herself during her masturbations, when she felt herself nearing orgasm she started pinching her own clitoris viciously, and finally felt herself cumming on a wave of pain and degradation.

On the third day of training the girls were taught how to exercise in the mornings so as to stay fit and attractive.  An extra trainer was brought in – a brunette named Sexpet – to help them set up a week-long workout routine.

A good workout routine starts with stretches, and the girls were shown how to safely stretch all their muscles.  They were also taught to stretch their tits by pulling their nipples out until it hurt, and to stretch their pussy and anus muscles with large dildos before exercising.  The girls were encouraged to do their stretches nude, either in their front garden or in front of an open window or balcony facing the street.

The girls were then shown two ways of jogging around their block for exercise:

* The Nude Jog – For the nude jog, the slut strips completely naked, and then attaches small weights via clips to her nipples, clitoris and labia.  The motion of the jogging will bounce the weights up and down, pulling painfully on the slut’s sensitive areas.  For big titted sluts, this will add to the natural agony of their melons bouncing around as they move.  Sluts are encouraged to do one lap of their jogging course in The Slave posture, with their hands behind their back, and a second lap in the Fucktoy, squeezing their tits and masturbating as they jog.

* The Clothed Jog – For sluts who have a reasonable fear that jogging nude may get them arrested, or for variety, a clothed jog is also taught.  In the clothed jog, alternative degradations are found to make up for the humiliation lost due to not being nude.  In a clothed jog, the slut wears minimal clothing – either a bra and panties, a bikini swimsuit, or too-tight Lycra.  The material is soaked in liquid – possibly piss – before the run, to make it hug the slut’s curves better.  The slut fills her cunt and butt-crack with food for her next meal (usually breakfast) until her groin is stuffed full, and uses her panties or bikini bottom to hold it in place.  She fills her bra with small thumbtacks.  She then does two laps of her course in The Slave posture, pissing at some point during the run, and finishes the course in her front garden, where she extracts all the food (now soaked with sweat and piss) from her pussy and ass and eats it before going inside.

Jogging was complemented by a range of other degrading methods of exercise:

* Push ups – which were generally done with a dildo fixed to the floor, pushing into the girl’s twat.  The push ups raised and lowered the girl on the dildo, fucking it into her pussy.  Variants involved connecting the girl’s nipple and clit to the floor by elastic to increase the pain involved in lifting up, and placing a strip of short sharp spikes on the floor under the girl’s tits to increase the pain of lowering herself.

* Weight lifting – the girls were shown how to set up a simple pulley system from the ceiling with ropes, so that lifting a relatively light barbell would pull on ropes attached to their tits, but lowering it would pull on ropes attached to their clitoris or labia.

* Star jumps – these used, again, weights on the girl’s tits and cunt so that each jump sent a jolt of agonising pain through the bitch’s genitals and boobs. 

The morning after they learned the jogging routines, Kitten came around to join Claire and Steph for their first morning jog.  The three girls started out clothed, filling their cunts and ass-crack with dog food (the girls now ate basically nothing except dog food at home), and began their jog around the block, but after one lap the pain of the thumbtacks bouncing and poking against their super-sensitive boobs had left them in tears, but at the same time with their cunts sopping wet.  They stopped in the shadowy corner of a park, undressed, and licked each other’s cunts and asses clean, eagerly eating the sweaty cunt-and-ass flavoured dog food out of the crevices of each other’s genitals.  Afterwards they completed the run nude, in the Fucktoy position, squeezing their tits and fingering their pussies as they jogged.  People looked at them disapprovingly, mumbling ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ but the girls were horny and in pain and not thinking clearly so they barely noticed.

It was during the last week of training that Claire was first raped by a stranger.  She was walking home from work, lost in a fog of horniness and conditioning, when she was grabbed from behind and dragged into a nearby park.  It was the same park Claire had stopped to urinate and masturbate in so many times in recent weeks, and her assailant took her to the same sheltered corner Claire had used for her slutty activities.

Claire never even saw her attacker’s face.  She was pushed face down into the dirt – the same dirt she had pissed in so often – and her skirt and panties were ripped off.  She felt her attacker’s hard cock pushing into her pussy, and heard his soft grunt of delight as he discovered her soaking wet.  She lay there as her attacker held her by the hips and pumped hard, in and out of her twat, for long minutes before finally ejaculating inside her.  He wiped his dick clean on the back of Claire’s shirt, and then stumbled away from her, leaving her on all fours with semen dripping from her cunt.

Claire couldn’t quite process what had happened.  She had been raped, violently, in a public place.  She had been wet, though, so by law it wasn’t rape.  She had just been used, that was all.  She should be traumatised.  She should be outraged.  But it had felt good.  Worse, it had felt normal.  And she couldn’t deny that the worst part of all was that she hadn’t cum.

Shuddering, feeling simultaneously like she might cry and that she might moan with pleasure, she reached down to her cunt.  Her fingers probed into her pussy, getting wet with her assailant’s sperm.  And, slowly, she began to masturbate.  After all, she needed to cum.  Otherwise the whole experience had been a waste…

===

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's training continues.

alltheseroadworks News, Products, Story Collection

New ATR Book: Elf-Queen of Tylia

A noble lineage – at the mercy of the beasts!!

(Get your copy of Elf-Queen of Tylia in the ATR store now!)

I love writing tales of corrupted authority, degraded princesses, and systemic patriarchy – and Elf-Queen of Tylia has it all, along with an extra helping of girl-on-girl incest and beastman monster-fucking!

If you’ve enjoyed All These Roadworks stories like The Ternish Betrayal (link) or Aylee the Alchemist-Slave (link) then you absolutely have to get a copy of my newest tale of fantasy erotica, available in the ATR store now!

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Blurb:

Elf-Queen Sylene is the hero of her nation of Tylia.  In the midst of a fertility crisis, she manages to give birth to three healthy, beautiful daughters.

But what no one knows is that Sylene accepted the fertility treatments of the hated, savage Beastmen to conceive her babies.  And now that her daughters are all of age, the Beastfolk want their due.

Under the power of the muscular Beastman known as Red Horn, Sylene is forced to spread her legs, worship his cock – and betray her family, her nation and her gender.

Her eldest daughter Dastiya’s elite female swordswomen are turned into slutty bare-breasted decorations.

Her middle daughter Ellora falls under the hypnotic power of a snake-woman and is made to corrupt the elven church into an institution of sexual perversion and incest.

And her youngest daughter Liri is forced to work with the Beastfolk to produce laws to objectify, abuse and enslave elven women.

As Sylene’s humiliation and degradation increases with each passing day, she is forced to wonder where her torment will end – and how long she will keep her role as Elf-Queen of Tylia…

===

Elf-Queen of Tylia is a novella-length story of fantasy corruption and female enslavement.

It collects all 15 chapters of “Elf-Queen of Tylia” into a single release, and contains themes of MF and FF sex, non-consent, patriarchy, bimbofication, mind control, breeding, monster-fucking, and humiliation.

This is a premium collection – it is substantially longer than the standard ATR collection, packed with erotica for your enjoyment.

Please note that, as with all stories by All These Roadworks, all characters in this story are aged 18 years and over.

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

Upon purchase, the collection will be delivered to you as digital goods via email.  A single purchase gives access to all file formats indicated above.

(Get Elf-Queen of Tylia in the ATR store now!)

A noble lineage - at the mercy of the beasts! Get your copy of "Elf-Queen of Tylia", an epic fantasy tale of ravished royalty and corrupted purity, in the ATR store now!

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Lessons in Lust, Part 1

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

Ivy’s father was very rich, and he wanted only the best for his beautiful, spoiled, bitchy 18-year-old daughter.  And so when he heard that the most performing school in the state was the all-boys St Aaron’s of West Eden, he decided that it was essential that Ivy finish her final year of schooling there.

It didn’t matter that Ivy was a girl, and that the school theoretically didn’t accept girls.  It provided the best education, so she must have it – and he had the money to make that happen.

And so Ivy found herself beginning her final year of schooling at an all-boys school.

She wasn’t entirely unused to having boys stare at her – she was beautiful, rich, and gifted with naturally large breasts – but she had previously been schooled at a girls’ school, and being surrounded by so many males was confronting.

Some of them approached her immediately.

“You’re in the wrong school, babe,” said one boy.

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” she replied.  “I actually *am* going here, because my daddy paid for it to happen.”

Another boy came up to her, staring directly at her tits.

“Hey thot,” he said, “how about you and me skip class and you can stroke my cock while I lick those gorgeous udders?”

She made a face, and physically pushed him away.  “Stay away from me, creep.”

Someone else yelled out, “Show us your tits!” and she gave him a finger.

And after that, no one was nice to her.  The boys only interacted with her to leer at her, and make crude comments about her breasts.

But that was far from the worst of it.  Because halfway through her first day at St Aaron’s, Ivy realised that it didn’t have any girls’ toilets – only ones for boys.

As she felt the pressure in her bladder growing, she asked a teacher for help, but he just shrugged, and suggested that she ask her daddy to fix it.  She took his advice, and called her father – but he was audibly irritated at being bothered at work.

“The toilets have stalls, with doors, honey,” he said.  “Just use a stall, in any bathroom.”

She tried to follow his advice – nervously creeping into a boys’ toilets, feeling relief when it was empty, and then heading into one of the cubicles.  But here she found another disappointment.  Unlike the well-maintained toilets of her previous school, these ones were in a shoddy state of disrepair, and all the cubicles were missing their locks.  At some previous state someone had either removed the locks, or kicked the doors in.  

She found she could hold the door closed if she propped her schoolbag against it, and, her bladder now practically bursting, she pulled down her panties, raised her skirt, and began to pee.

Just as she was done, there was a sudden loud bang, and the door flew open, displacing her bag.  The boy who had told her that she was in the wrong school stood in the doorway, looking down at her, with several other boys behind him.  They were all among the school’s older boys – they had to be at least 18, and she wouldn’t be surprised if some of them were older due to having been held back.

She squealed, and reached for her panties, which were around her ankles, but the lead boy put his foot on them, holding them in place.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asked her.

“Get out!” she wailed.

He slapped her across the face, making her gasp.

“I asked you a question, bitch,” he said.

“I’m… I’m using the toilet!” she said.  “Please, leave!”

“My name is Archer, but you can call me sir,” said the lead boy.  “And this is a boys’ bathroom.  Are you a boy?”

“N… no,” she spluttered.  “But…”

Archer turned to the other boys.  “Liam, Theo, grab her skirt, see if she’s a boy.”

Two tall, muscular boys elbowed past Archer into the cubicle.  One reached down and uncinched her skirt, and then the other pulled it off her waist – leaving her naked from the waist down.  Each of the boys grabbed one of her knees and forced them apart, exposing her cunt.

“No, she’s got a gash,” reported Liam, to her left.

“Nate, take photographic proof,” said Archer to another boy, and to Ivy’s horror and shame, the boy held up his camera and took a photograph of her, sitting on the toilet, with her cunt exposed.

“This is… this is sexual assault!” squealed Ivy, first trying to close her knees – unsuccessfully – and then to cover her pussy with her hands.  Liam grabbed her hands and pulled them away.

“Tell me, bitch,” said Archer, “did you want to go to this school?”

“No!” said Ivy.  “I begged my daddy to let me stay at my old school!”

“So do you think he’s going to believe that you were actually attacked in the toilets?” said Archer.  “Or is he going to assume you’re just trying to get him to change his mind?”

Ivy gaped helplessly, as she realised that Archer was right.  Her father *wouldn’t* believe her – particularly because she had made up so many outrageous lies in the past to get out of things she didn’t want to do (including an entirely fictional story that her tennis teacher had groped her tits, when she wanted to get out of tennis lessons).

“And if anyone does believe you, well, this photo of your cunt is going to be very important evidence that everyone will have to see,” said Archer.

“Please,” begged Ivy – although at this point she didn’t even know what she was begging for.

“You were a bitch to us when you got to this school,” said Archer.  “A spoiled little daddy’s girl who thinks she can go anywhere she likes, even if she doesn’t belong.  We need to teach you a lesson.”

“Please don’t rape me,” sniffled Ivy.

“Rape you?” said Archer.  “We’re gentlemen.  We wouldn’t stick our cocks in you unless you asked us to.  But we *are* willing to humiliate and embarrass you.  Tell me, bitch – would you like us to steal your skirt and panties so you have to run across the school bare-cunted to get them back?”

“No!” wailed Ivy.  “Please, no!”

“Then we’ll have to work something else out,” said Archer.  “But you’ll have to play along.  Show her what happens if she doesn’t play along, boys.”

Liam and Theo pulled her off the toilet bodily, then turned her around so she was facing the toilet basin.  They forced her down to her knees – and then brought her forward, and pushed her head down into the bowl.  The bowl that she had just pissed in.  Her ass was up behind her.

“I’m going to give you back your clothes,” Archer said.  He took her panties from her ankles – and then pushed them against her anus.  Ivy squealed, as Archer used one finger to push her underwear past her anal sphincter, into her ass, until just the end was hanging out.

Then he took her skirt from Liam, and used his fingers to spread her pussy lips.  Ivy began to struggle like mad at this.  No man had ever touched her cunt before – and now this asshole was playing with her pussy with his fingers.

But she couldn’t get free.  Archer took her school skirt, and began to push it into her cunt.  Slowly, bit by bit, he pushed it inside her, until her whole cunt was stuffed with it, leaving her feeling shamefully full, and again with the end just hanging out of her.

She hated most of all that she felt her pussy begin to get aroused from this treatment.  She couldn’t help it.  It just happened.  She didn’t *like* it – it was just her body responding to stimulation, all by herself.

She desperately hoped that Archer wasn’t noticing.

“Time for the finale,” said Archer.  “Say, ‘I’m sorry for being a stupid bitch, sir, and it won’t happen again.’”

“Go fuck yourself!” shrieked Ivy instead.

In response, Archer just nodded – and Theo flushed the toilet.

Ivy felt the waters swirl around her, getting in her mouth and eyes, soaking her hair.  She almost made the mistake of screaming, which would have resulted in inhaling toilet water.

When it was over, they let her rise from the bowl, sputtering.

“Say it,” said Archer.

Ivy was slow to respond – so they dunked her again, and flushed again.

When she came up the second time, Archer didn’t have to prompt her.

“I’m sorry for being a stupid bitch, sir,” she said, in a small, defeated voice.  “And it won’t happen again.”

“Good girl,” said Archer.  

Liam and Theo turned her around to face Archer again.

“I don’t know your name,” said Archer, “and I don’t want to know.  You’re going to answer to the name ‘bitch’.  Do you understand?”

Ivy nodded.

“We’re going to give you six weeks of lessons,” said Archer.  “Given that you’re a slut, you might like to think of them as lessons in lust.  And if you obey me, and complete your lessons, we’ll let you go, and you can complete the rest of your schooling unbothered.  How does that sound?”

Six weeks of lessons?  It sounded awful.  But what choice did she have?

“I can do that, sir,” she said.

“Good girl,” said Archer.  “And I think the first lesson you need to learn is that girls don’t use the boys’ toilets without permission…”

The evil glint in his eye told her she wasn’t going to like what he had in mind.

===

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.)

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Ivy's father sends her to an exclusive boys' school as the only female student - and the boys see her as an easy mark.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: The Etrebor Assignment, Part 4

Previous chapters:
One | Two | Three

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Charlotte questioned her girls the next day about their sexual activities.

“Have either of you girls had sex yet?” she asked.  “It’s important that you tell me, because if you have then you need to fill out an extra form for Etrebor.”

“No,” said KC, with a disappointed sigh.  “They don’t like me.”

Charlotte narrowed her eyes.  “You’re really very pretty, KC,” she said.  “I’m sure the boys *do* like you.”

“Oh, the *boys* like me,” said KC.  “They always want to see my tits or my panties.  But boys my age are so boring.  It’s the *men* who don’t like.  I had such a crush on Mr Eddison in school, but he said it would be inappropriate to have a sexual relationship with a student.  Mr Garron the principal said that too, AND Mr Von Elk, the janitor, even after I tried to kiss him.”

Charlotte offered mental thanks that her daughter’s teachers had been so surprisingly principled.

“You shouldn’t proposition older men, KC,” she said.  “It’s slutty.”

KC giggled.  “I *know*,” she said.  “That’s what makes it *fun*.”

Charlotte sighed, and turned to Sam.

“What about you, young lady?” she asked.

“How would Etrebor even *know* if I’d had sex?” she asked.

Charlotte was hoping the answer would just be, “No, I’m a virgin,” and the fact that it wasn’t made her heart sink.

“I don’t know,” she said, “but if you lie on a passport form and you get caught, there could be very serious consequences.  Have you had sex, or not?”

“No,” said Sam, “I have not had sex.”

But she didn’t make eye contact with her mother as she said it.

There wasn’t much Charlotte could do – and nor did she really want to make her daughter have to get a sexual partner to fill out the degrading sexual history form for her.  She decided to accept Sam at face value.  After all, as she said – how would Etrebor know?

And that left the matter of the passport photos.

“No!” said Sam, when she learned of this final requirement.  “I am *not* being photographed nude!”

Charlotte had to take a deep breath.  She wished that *she* had the luxury of throwing a tantrum, because she felt exactly the same way.  But there was no one for her to complain to.  

“It’s just how it is, Sam,” she explained, for the third time.  “Etrebor requires nude images for female passports.  If we want to visit the country, that’s just what we have to do.”

“I *don’t* want to visit the country!” Sam whined.

Charlotte exploded.  “Sam, this is hard enough for me.  Can you try just *not* being a bitch for five seconds and help me out here?  Or do we have to talk again about whether you appreciate me paying your bills, or whether you’d prefer to be homeless?”

That, blessedly, shut Sam up.

Actually getting the photos taken wasn’t too bad.  If they’d been in Etrebor they would have needed to go to a government office and strip in public, but seeing as they weren’t, they were able to hire a private photographer and have the photos taken in the comfort of their house.  They even got a woman to take the photos, which made it far less humiliating to have to strip and pose, and then cup their tits, spread their pussy lips, and bend to expose their anuses for the close-ups.  The final passport would display all these images – a traditional shot of their face, along with a full-body nude, and three studies of their boobs, cunts and asses.

It was what came next that Charlotte was dreading.

“Okay, girls,” she said, when they received the final photos from the photographer.  “Now you just have to get these verified.”

“What does that mean?” asked Sam.

“You have to find a man who knows you very well, who isn’t related to you by blood or marriage, and you have to get him to certify that the photos accurately depict you,” said Charlotte.

‘Like, sign off on them?  So he’ll *see* the photos?” asked Sam, already beginning to whine again.

“Well, actually, more than that,” said Charlotte, swallowing nervously.  “He has to be able to say they’re accurate – which means he has to compare them to the real thing.”

It took Sam a moment to understand.

“You want me to strip?  For someone I *know*?” she sputtered.

“Sam, don’t give me a hard time on this,” said Charlotte.  “I’m letting you choose the man.  Get one of your friends you trust.  But if you don’t do this, then so help me I’ll invite a colleague from my workplace to this house and strip you in front of *him*.  Am I clear?”

Sam ran out of the room in tears – but Charlotte could tell that she *had* been clear, and that Sam would do as she was told.

KC was no problem.  She invited a bespectacled friend from her schooldays called Calvin over, and happily stripped nude in front of him in the lounge room, and made him stare carefully at her buxom tits and her pink, wet pussy, before getting him to sign that her photos were accurate.

Charlotte questioned her about it afterwards.

“Aren’t you worried that he’ll… want more from you now?” she asked.

KC giggled.  “He’s just a *boy*,” she said.  “Not a *man*.  He won’t do anything.  The very thought of him making a move on me is funny.”

She thought for a bit and then added.  “But maybe kind of hot?  Like, if he was *forceful*.  If he didn’t give me a *choice*…”

Charlotte despaired of her slutty younger daughter.  She wondered where KC had gotten such an attitude from, and worried it was her.  After all, when she was younger, KC had seen her father and mother interacting, and had seen Charlotte forced to call Brian “Master”, and seen how Brian didn’t bother to ask when he wanted attention – or affection – from Charlotte.  And some of the outfits Brian had made her wear…

For Charlotte’s own part, she ended up stripping in front of James Haber, the Senior Partner of her firm.  She would rather have chosen almost anyone else.  She already faced disrespect at work based on her gender.  Letting her immediate superior closely inspect her tits and cunt was probably only going to further classify her as “stripper” instead of “professional” in his mind.  

But Zach had told James that Charlotte would need to get nude photos for her passport.  And then James had telephoned her to volunteer to inspect her.  And she knew that if she said no, he would take it as an insult.  *And* he would then ask her who she *was* stripping for, and she would have to explain and defend that choice.  And if he got sufficiently pissed off, he could still pull her out of the Etrebor assignment entirely and leave Zach to take all the glory.

So she reluctantly found herself taking off her blouse and skirt in his office one morning, and then her underwear, and then spreading her pussy lips so that her boss could peer at her cute pink clitoris.

It was twice in one week that she found herself stripping for a man she disliked – first Brian, and now James.  She wondered briefly if this was her fault – if she was making bad choices which had led to this.  But no – going to Etrebor was good for her career, and therefore doing this – letting her boss stare at her naked tits – was also good for her career.

James made no comment on her body – just stared at it, for long minutes, and then signed the paperwork attesting that the photos were a true and correct record of her intimate assets.

When she got home, though, she ran face first into a crisis.  Sam was in tears, sobbing loudly in the lounge room.

“Sam, honey, what’s the matter?” she asked.

Sam didn’t want to talk at first, but Charlotte went close, and wrapped her arms around her buxom goth daughter, and stroked her dyed-black hair, until Sam was ready to talk.

“It was Ashton,” she said.  “I thought he was my friend.”

“What happened?” asked Charlotte.

“I asked him to sign my paperwork,” she said.  “And I showed him the photos, and then I undressed for him, and then…”

Charlotte felt her heart sink.

“… and then he came over to me and put his hands on me, and started to kiss me, and I tried to push him away, but he said I was cockteasing him.  And then he grabbed my hair and pushed me down, and he unzipped his pants and took out his cock, and he… he made me suck it.  And then after a while he pushed me on the couch and he… he… he raped me.”

“That bastard,” said Charlotte.  “That asshole.  I’m sorry, honey.  I’m so sorry.”

“He called me a slut,” wept Sam.  “And he spat on me.  And that’s not even the worst part.”

Charlotte was not sure she wanted to hear the worst part.  She kept stroking Sam’s hair and waited.

“I… I *orgasmed*,” wailed Sam.  “I orgasmed from *rape*.  I hated it, I hated him, but I… I came.  Before he did.  What kind of slut does that?”

Charlotte thought about how she had orgasmed just the other day, from her ex-husband’s cock in her ass.

“Oh, honey,” she said.  “You can’t help it.  It’s… it’s normal for women to cum from rape.  You’re not in control of it.”

“Really?” asked Sam.

Charlotte wasn’t sure that telling her daughter that women naturally orgasmed from rape was the most feminist thing she had ever done.  But she couldn’t think of something else to say that wouldn’t insult her as well – even if Sam would never know.

“Yes,” said Charlotte.  “Really.  And isn’t it better than *not* cumming?  Wouldn’t it be more traumatic if you didn’t enjoy it at all?”

“He came in my… in my pussy,” said Sam.

“It’s a good thing you’re on birth control then,” said Charlotte.  And she reflected that Sam wouldn’t be, soon.  Etrebor wouldn’t allow it.

“Should we go to the police?” asked Sam.

“Well, we could,” said Charlotte.  “That rapist monster certainly deserves to go to jail.  But… honey, now that you’ve had sex, you need to fill out the sexual history paperwork.  And that means you need to get him to rate your sexual performance.”

“No,” protested Sam.  “No!”

“Yes, honey,” said Charlotte.  “You need to go ask him if your mouth and cunt were acceptable.  And you need him to say that they were.  So I want you to go back to him, and thank him for fucking you, and tell him that it was very fun.  Can you do that for me?”

Sam’s weeping intensified.

“I know you don’t want to,” said Charlotte.  “But it’s just words, okay?  You just need to get him to sign the paper, and then you don’t ever need to see him again.”

Charlotte felt a twinge of guilt about asking her daughter to thank her rapist – but she couldn’t afford for Sam to fuck this up now.  

“Just say thank you for the sex, and that you’re sorry you were a cocktease,” said Charlotte.  “It’s not hard.  It’s not like it was *really* rape.  After all, you did cum.  You must have wanted it.”

Sam wept more, and Charlotte stroked her hair. 

And Charlotte knew that Sam would do as she was told.

And part of the reason Sam would do that is that she thought it was the *final* degradation of this process.

She might not have done it if she knew what Charlotte knew – that their nude photos had to also be copied to “all their owners, past and present” – which meant husbands and fathers.  Charlotte’s own father had passed away, but she was required to send the images to both Brian and Zach.

She didn’t like sending Brian images of his own daughters naked.  She similarly didn’t like sending them to Zach, her new “husband” and therefore legal guardian of the girls.  She had a very clear mental image of Zach masturbating over the naked tits and spread pussies of his new “daughters” – and she wasn’t entirely convinced that Brian wouldn’t do the same.

But the girls would never know.  And this was all worth it, to get to Etrebor – and get the job recognition that she so richly deserved.

===

You can get the original novel The Etrebor Exchange for only $7.99 USD in the All These Roadworks store right now!  Don’t miss out!  (Click here to view.)

===

Charlotte and her daughters need to be photographed nude for their new Etreborian passports.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Brian’s Parenting

Brian had some trouble getting his grown daughters, 18 and 19, to do as they were told after his divorce.  They lounged around the house, not working, not studying, not doing chores.  They were naturally pretty, but they didn’t even do him the courtesy of dressing attractively.

He took a rather unique parenting approach.  He brought home a new girlfriend, Lindsey, barely older than his daughters.  Lindsey was unabashedly a slut.  She walked around the house nude, often with Brian’s cum still wet on her skin.  She masturbated unashamedly in the lounge.  And, on Brian’s orders, she set out to wreck the girls’ social life.

She would always be nude and dildoing her pussy in the public areas when the girls brought friends over.  She would turn up to parties the girls attended and let the girls’ friends gangbang her.  She would seduce the girls’ boyfriends.

When they begged Brian to make it stop, he set some fairly simple conditions, and if they followed them, they could have their social lives back, and Lindsey would behave herself in company.  The girls simply had to go naked around the house, do their chores, look for jobs… and turn up for “family togetherness night” every Sunday, where after dinner they would let Lindsey lick their pussies until they orgasmed, and then return the favour, all while Brian watched.

They were outraged; but a social life is important to a teenager, so in the end, they agreed.

The next Sunday, as Brian watched his naked teen daughters blushingly lez off with his girlfriend, he reflected on the importance of appropriate role models for young women, and congratulated himself on finding such a good one…

===

This is just one of 28 stories collected in my e-book Sisters – Stories of Sisterly Lust and Sibling Rivalry, available for only $4.99 USD in the All These Roadworks store! (Click here to view.)

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Brian had some trouble getting his grown daughters, 18 and 19, to do as they were told...

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Weight Loss Pill

Alice wasn’t really overweight – but she was chubbier than she’d like to be.

She couldn’t seem to lose the extra weight.  She had no discipline for dieting, and found it hard to work up the desire to exercise.

Her friend Paul came to the rescue.  He was an experimental chemist, and from time to time he’d hooked Alice up with some very interesting recreational pharmaceuticals.

“Try this,” he said one day, as she complained about her hips.  “I think it will help.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“A new weight loss pill we’re working on,” he said.  “It speeds up your natural rate of weight loss – but it also has another benefit.  It makes exercise fun.”

“What do you mean?” she said.

“Well, you produce endorphins when you exercise, right?” said Paul.  “Which makes it feel good – but not really good enough to balance out the pain and exhaustion.  This pill  reacts to those endorphins, and other chemicals that you produce during exercise like lactic acid, and it just… amps it up a little.  So you’ll *want* to exercise.”

He gave her a whole bottle of the pills, and she promised to try them.

She took the first one the next day, and went jogging.  She was embarrassed by her body, so she wore track pants and a baggy sweater.

She hadn’t gone far – maybe a couple of blocks – before she began to feel an unusual tingle in her groin. 

Was she… getting aroused by jogging?  She blushed.  This must be what Paul was talking about.  But it was just supposed to make endorphins.  Had he known that it would make her sexually aroused?  Surely not.

She kept jogging – and her pussy kept getting wetter.  She felt her nipples hardening, and she began to make little moaning noises as she ran.

The idea crossed her mind that she could detour into a quiet park, and find somewhere private to rub her pussy…

But that was gross and disgusting.  She kept jogging, completing her lap around her suburb, and by the time she got home the crotch of her track pants was soaking wet – not with sweat, but with pussy juices.

She went inside, stripped nude, fell on her bed – and masturbated to a satisfying orgasm.

And Paul was right.  The memory of that orgasm stayed with her, and the next day she *did* want to jog.  She went a little further that day, and teased her pussy a little more, and when she got home and masturbated, the orgasm was even better.

It became a routine for her – take her pill, go jogging, get home, rub her cunt until she began to buck and writhe with waves of pleasure.

At the end of the week, she examined herself in a mirror – and was shocked at the results.

She looked visibly slimmer!  Not a huge amount, but she could tell the difference.  Honestly, it looked sexy.  In fact, she had lost enough that her tits looked bigger by comparison.

But when she got on the scales, she was confused.  The scales said that she had only lost a tiny amount of weight.

The fat was being converted to muscle, she guessed.  She would look better, but not lose weight, as such.  Not just yet.  She had to keep exercising.

She rang Paul to tell him about the success.

“That’s amazing!” he said.  “You’re doing so well.  I saw you jogging past my house yesterday – you looked so happy!”

She had been happy – because she had been able to feel her cunt juices trickling down her inner thigh, as she had fantasised about being fucked by not one, but two, well-hung billionaires.  She blushed, knowing that Paul had seen her in that moment, even if he had no way of telling from the outside.

“You know,” Paul told her, “those pills also react to vitamin D.  That’s the one you get from exposure to sunlight.  You should try wearing something on your runs that lets your skin get a little tan.”

The thought of an even *more* intense experience intrigued Alice, so she went out to a sportswear shop to buy leggings and a lycra exercise bra.  This turned out to be more difficult than she expected, as none of the bras in her usual size seemed to fit.

“Do you use a different sizing scheme here?” she asked the clerk, but the clerk shook her head.

As Alice stared at herself topless in the change-room mirror, she came to a somewhat unnerving conclusion.  Her tits didn’t just look bigger because she had lost weight – they actually *were* bigger.

The body could go through strange changes when you exercised.  And besides, Alice had always felt her tits were a little smaller than she would like.  The change was welcome.

She bought an exercise bra in a D-cup, instead of her normal C, and left the store.

She tried it out that afternoon, and discovered that Paul was right.  It felt pleasurable to have sun or her skin.  No – it felt *erotic*.  She was so wet as she jogged that she could hardly think straight.  Her mind was full of thoughts of sucking cock, spreading her pussy for men, and even getting reamed in the ass.  When she got home, she didn’t even have to masturbate – she just slapped her pussy three times, hard, with the flat of her hand, and orgasmed from the intense sensation of pain.

Jogging became her favourite part of the day – and at the end of a week, when she looked at herself in a mirror, she looked even hotter.

And her tits were bigger.  They had been comfy in her new D-cup bra before – but now they were straining against it.

Paul came over to see her, and he brought a large jug of liquid.

“It’s a protein shake,” he told her.  “You can’t just burn fat with no consequences.  You need to have some of this every morning to give your muscles something to build on.”

“What’s in it?” she asked, suspiciously.

Paul just tapped his nose, and she immediately knew not to ask.  More wonder-drugs from his work, that he probably shouldn’t be sharing with her.

She poured herself a glass and drank it.  It tasted foul.

But it was supposed to, she supposed.  After all, it was a protein shake.

“Paul,” she asked.  “Is this pill supposed to… cause growth?”

“You mean in your breasts?” he asked.

She immediately crossed her arms over her chest.

Paul laughed.  “It would be impossible not to notice, Alice,” he said.  “You’ve really gone up a size.  And yes, it is supposed to do that.  One of the ways it helps get rid of the unwanted fat is that it moves it into your tits.”

“Will they… keep growing?” she asked.

“A little bit,” said Paul.  “But drinking your protein shake will help.”

Alice, foolishly, assumed that he meant “help them to not grow too much”.

She thought about asking him about the sexual arousal, but it was just too embarrassing, so she didn’t.

All the next week, she drank the protein shake.  It always tasted gross, but oddly, Alice came to like it.  She felt good after she drank her shake – a different kind of good to the exercise, but pleasurable all the same.

And all week, she jogged. 

She was jogging longer each day, teasing her cunt more, and it was becoming unbearable.  On Wednesday she went to a sex shop, and bought herself a couple of insertable vibrators, a vibrating clit clamp, and a vibrating butt plug.  Over the next week, she tried them out while jogging.

It felt weird – and unbelievably slutty – to jog with a vibrator up her cunt, or with a painful clamp on her clitoris, or with a metal toy lodged in her ass.  But she found by using any of these toys – or a couple in combination – she could actually orgasm *while* jogging, squirting into her panties and shaking with pleasure for a few seconds before jogging on.  On a good run she could cum two or three times before she got home. 

She got so used to this feeling that she began to leave the butt plug or the vibrator inside her went she went to work.  It felt even sluttier to walk around the office with her ass plugged, but it felt good too.

She might not have made that choice several weeks ago, but she was actually finding that she was thinking differently now.  It was like some part of her brain was always aroused – always horny – no matter what she was doing.  The sexual fantasies that she had while jogging would enter her mind at other times.  It made it hard to focus on other things, and Alice was experiencing particular difficulty with things that required complex thinking or deep reasoning.

At the end of the week she went back to the sportswear store and bought a new bra – an E cup, this time – and a pair of tight booty shorts to replace her leggings.  If she showed more skin while jogging, she would experience more pleasure.

She did.  It felt amazing.  She wondered what it would be like to jog naked.

By the end of the week she was an F cup.

And then the day came that she ran out of pills.

She went to Paul’s house to ask for more.

“Well, gee, Alice, I’d like to give you more, but they’re pretty tightly controlled by my company,” said Paul.  “Haven’t you had enough?”

The thought of not having the pills – of not having her incredible slutty orgasms every morning – drove Alice wild with panic.

“No!” she gasped.  “I need more.  Please!”

“You can’t afford to lose any more weight, Alice,” he told her.  “You’re pretty much perfect now.  I wouldn’t want you to become unhealthily thin.  If I was to give you more, you’d have to drink twice as much protein shake, so you keep your weight level.  Can you do that?”

“Yes,” said Alice.  “But I need more protein shake too.”

“Do you want to know what’s in the shake, Alice?” he asked her.

She paused, and then nodded.

“It’s my cum,” he told her.  “My semen.  And other men from my office.  And it’s mixed up with some special drugs that make you stupider, and more suggestible, and which cancel out your birth control.  You’re probably very fertile right now.”

She gaped at him.  She had been drinking… cum?  And drugs that made her stupid?

“What?” she gasped.  “Why?”

“Because it’s funny,” said Paul.  “And because we needed to test these drugs.  You look much sexier now than you did when we started – almost a proper bimbo.  Have you been enjoying your slutty little runs?  I saw you orgasm as you went past my house yesterday.  And the shape of that butt plug is very obvious now that you’re wearing those tight shorts.”

She flushed with humiliation and shame.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, Alice,” he told her.  “You’re going to let me fuck you, and cum in your unprotected, fertile cunt.  And then I’ll give you enough shake and pills for a week.  And next week you’ll come back and fuck me again.  You see, we have some new pills designed to increase milk production in pregnant women, and we’d like to test those too.  And you’re going to do it, because you’re a slut and you’re addicted to acting like a slut.”

Alice felt miserable, and humiliated.  But she also felt excited.

A real cock, inside her?  That would be better than a dildo.  And sure, he might knock her up, but the possibility of that seemed remote next to the possibility of being fucked.

“Can I go for a jog first?” she asked.  “To get wet?”

“Sure,” said Paul.  “But only if you take your tits out and leave them out until you get back.  And no vibes or plugs.”

It was humiliating – but the thought of letting the sun hit all of her titflesh made her squirm with anticipation, so she did as she was told.

It hurt, to jog with her tits unsupported, having her new F-cups bounce up and down against her chest.  But the pain was good, sort of.  And lots of people saw her, including her neighbours, and some of her co-workers, and that was incredibly humiliating.  But the humiliation was good, too.

She thought of fucking Paul – of being Paul’s helpless fucktoy – of being impregnated by Paul.

And by the time she got back, Paul barely had to fuck her.  No sooner had he stripped off her shorts, bent her over his dining table, and pushed his cock into her pussy, than she orgasmed – hard.  And then again.  And then three more times before Paul finally ejaculated into her unprotected womb.

He suggested to her that she go jogging again afterwards, completely nude, with his cum trickling down her inner thigh, and then implied that he wouldn’t give her the pills if she didn’t.  But he let her wear the vibrating butt plug.

It felt so good – and she came so many times – that Alice knew she would be jogging in the nude every day from then on, no matter who saw her.

Two week after that, her tits were a G-cup.

And a week after that, she fell pregnant.

===

Want longer stories? Check out the Premium Bundle #2, collecting four premium novellas at one discount price! It contains “Emma’s Division”, “Tuning Chloe”, “Sir” and “Candy Girls” – nearly $32 in value – for only $23.99! It’s the cheapest way to get these great books – and your purchase supports me to keep writing! Get yours now! (Click here to view in store.)

===

Alice's weight loss pills are helping her lose weight from her stomach - but the more she takes them, the bigger her tits get...

alltheseroadworks News

Delayed Schedule – 19 March to 26 March

Quick update for All These Roadworks readers:

Due to a combination of (relatively trivial) illness, medical appointments, and time-consuming life events, some scheduled and previously-advertised items may be delayed over the next week.

Specifically, it is likely that the following items may be delayed, possibly by multiple days.

  • New chapter of Titsy for paid members, originally scheduled for 19 March
  • E-book release of Elf-Queen of Tylia, originally scheduled for 20 March
  • March Upcoming Stories post, normally posted between the 14th and 17th of each month.
  • New chapter of Compelled Courtesy for paid members, originally scheduled for 23 March.

Other scheduled stories will go live as normal.

I’ll be aiming to get these items done ASAP over this period, but I’m going to continue having work interruptions over today, tomorrow and Saturday, and I figured it was better to officially delay these items than have readers wondering where they were.

I’m still at my computer and working, and memberships and emails will be processed/replied to as usual.

With thanks,

All These Roadworks

Due to minor illness and life events, some scheduled ATR publications over the next week may be published late.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Compelled Courtesy, Part 2

Previous chapter:
One

===

When morning came, the Compelled Courtesy process no longer seemed real to Tahlia.  Surely she hadn’t been hypnotised into thinking strange erotic thoughts about a taxi driver’s arms?  Hypnosis couldn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do, and Tahlia was a lesbian.  It was ridiculous.  

She had probably *thought* it had worked, because she had been anxious and desperate, but really it was just quackery.  If hypnosis worked for things like quitting smoking, everyone would use it.  Ergo, it was a fake.

She dressed professionally for the office, and ate breakfast with Junko, and then they set off for the office.  They travelled separately, so that no one would see them arrive together and realise they were a couple.  Junko drove the car, and Tahlia walked.  It wasn’t far – they lived in an inner-city apartment, and the offices of BJX Engineering were only a few blocks away.

The morning sun was just warm enough to be pleasant, and it put Tahlia in a good mood as she walked.  The mood lasted until she reached the block where the new apartment tower was being built.  It had been under construction for some months, and it would be for many months more.

As she stepped onto the block, she heard the sound she had been bracing for – the sound that she heard every day when she walked past: a wolf whistle.

“Hey, baby, I love them tits,” called out a crude male voice.  “Hang around a bit, show them off.”

She responded the way that she did every day – by refusing to look in the direction of the catcaller, extending a firm middle finger in his direction, and walking faster.

And as soon as she did, she felt her brain rearranging herself.

The middle finger?  What a bitch of a thing to do.  The man was only being nice to her, complimenting her on her tits.  She was acting like a complete cunt.

If I’m not going to stop so the man can see my tits, I should at least give him *something* to look at.  I should jiggle them a little for him.

Yes, that’s right.  When men are looking at my tits, I should jiggle them.

She felt her hands go to her boobs, lifting them up from underneath and bouncing them a little. She put a little extra spring in her step to give them extra lift and bounce.

Her face went bright red.  She couldn’t believe she was deliberately jiggling her breasts for construction workers, out here on a public street.  What was wrong with her?

“Oh yeah, baby!” came a different male voice from the construction site.  “I like that.  Work it, bitch!”

“Stop it!” Tahlia called in distress.  “Stop looking at me!”

Her mind shifted again.  What business of hers was it to tell a man where he could look?  She didn’t own his eyes – and she *was* on a public street – and she *had* jiggled her tits specifically to please men.  She was being a bitch again.

She needed to humiliate herself.  That would teach her a lesson.  Something to remind her not to tell men what to do.

She would take off her panties, right here and now.  And she would throw them as far away from her as she could.  And she would do that any time that she told a man what to do.

She felt herself stopping and reaching under her skirt.

“No!” she whispered to herself.  “No!  Stop it!”

But she wasn’t stopping.  She was pulling her panties down her legs.  

All the men on the construction site were watching her.  There were cheers, and whistles.  Someone called her a slut.  Someone commented on how she was probably a stripper.

She stepped out of her panties, picked them up, and threw them towards the construction site.  A worker caught them, and brought them to his nose, and laughed.

She felt so humiliated.  Now she was wearing a miniskirt and no panties.  She could feel air against her cunt.  What had she done?

She started to run, as best she could in her high heels, desperate to get away before she heard any more sexual comments.

At least one followed her – “Come back and take the rest of it off, whore!” – but she didn’t reply.  

She accepted it.  Like a good girl.

===

When she got to BJX Engineering she headed straight for her office, doing her best to avoid seeing anyone – but she was unlucky.  She bumped straight into Angus Corville in a corridor.

“Hey, what’s the rush, baby?” he said.  “Take the time to show yourself off.  You’re looking fine today.”

His eyes weren’t looking at her face.  They were looking at her tits.

With horror, she felt her hands going to her breasts – lifting them, and bouncing them, directly in front of Angus.

His eyes widened.

“Oh, feeling flirty today, are we?” he said.  “Well, it just so happens that I am too.”

He advanced on her, pushing her towards a wall.  

She should accept it.  She should let him do whatever he was about to do.  But Angus was a toad.  He wasn’t just going to make lewd comments.  He would actually grope her tits – or worse – if she allowed him to.

She couldn’t help herself.  She lashed out.

“Fuck off, Angus,” she said.  And she pushed him away, physically.

He was surprised – at her mixed messages, if nothing else – and allowed himself to be pushed.

Tahlia’s brain was already rearranging itself, but she was storming full-speed down the corridor as it did, and by the time it settled on a response, she was in her office, with the door closed behind her.

What a bitch, she thought.  What a bitch I am.  I *pushed* him.  That’s assault.  I could get in trouble.  

I need to apologise.  Yes, that’s right.  Wherever possible, when I’m a bitch to a man, I should send them an apology, explaining why I was wrong and they were right.

Tahlia kept spare clothes in her office, including underwear, and she had intended to replace her discarded panties as a priority, but this new idea took priority.  She sat down at her computer and composed an email.

“Dear Angus,

I am so sorry for our interaction in the corridor this morning.  I was a stupid bitch and I acted like a cunt.  You had complimented me on my appearance, and I responded by jiggling my tits with my hands like a brainless bimbo.  This cockteasing behaviour was completely inappropriate in the workplace and you would have been within your rights to report me to HR.  Instead, you continued being nice to me, and in response I physically pushed you.  This is unacceptable.  My behaviour stems from being an uppity spoiled brat, and the natural difficulty with controlling emotions that all women have.  I will try to behave myself better in future.

Honestly, your confidence is sexy.

I sincerely hope you accept my apology,

Tahlia Foxheather.”

She tried to stop herself pressing “send”, but she couldn’t.  The email vanished into the network.  

She had felt her mind choosing the words that would make Angus happiest.  She knew he would enjoy her calling herself a cunt and a bitch.  She knew he would love the bit about the “natural difficulty of all women”.  

And as for his confidence being sexy – she needed to compliment a man if she was a bitch to him.  And then believe it.  She had moved away too quickly to say it to his face, but it fit nicely here in the email.

And besides, his confidence *was* sexy.  How had she never noticed that before?

Still, she hated herself – and she hated that Angus was going to read what she had written.

At least she was free now to put on new underwear.

She had barely pulled them up to snug against her groin when there was a knock at her office door.

Scared that it was Angus, she had some trepidation in her voice as she said, “Yes?  Who is it?”

“It’s Trent,” said the person knocking, and she sighed in relief.  Trent Boyce was a junior staffer who reported to Tahlia.  He was no threat.

“Come in,” she said.

Trent stepped into the office, and adjusted his spectacles.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.  “You look a little flushed.”

That was a blush.  She ignored it, and got to the point.

“What do you want, Trent?” she said.

“Oh, uh, I just wondered whether we should go ahead with sending out the new specification estimate,” said Trent.   “Or whether we need to work on it more.”

She opened her mouth to tell him to send it out – and then stopped.

If she told a man what to do, she would have to take off her panties again.  Here, in front of Trent.

“Uh… what do *you* think we should do, Trent?” she asked.

“It’s really your decision, Tahlia,” he replied.

She took a deep breath.  “I’d like to give you the lead on this one,” she said.

“I don’t mind,” said Trent.  “Just pick one.”

She bit her lip.  

“Trent,” she said, “I want you to choose what the right path is.  Please.”

“Is something wrong?” asked Trent.

“I’m just… not very good at making decisions today,” said Tahlia.  “I trust you to get this right.”

“Oh, okay,” said Trent.  “Then I think we need to work on it more.”

It was the exact opposite of what Tahlia thought, but she couldn’t contradict him now.

“Good,” she said.  “Let’s do that.”

Trent nodded, and turned to leave.

Tahlia realised that this wasn’t going to work.  She couldn’t do her job if she couldn’t give instructions to men.  She needed to get rid of these stupid rules.  What had the technician said she needed to do?  *Encourage* sexual harassment – and then she could delete two rules.

“Trent,” she called out.

He turned.  “Yes?”

Her blush deepened.  “Do you… uh… do you think my breasts look good in this blouse?”

Now it was Trent who was blushing.  “I’m not sure that’s an appropriate question,” he said.

“It’s okay, Trent,” she said.  “You can tell me honestly.  Do you like my breasts?”

She hated this.  She was *flirting* – with a *man*.  She was encouraging him to judge her tits.  The fact he was her junior didn’t make it any better.  

He was looking at her boobs.  She jiggled them a little for him, which made him blush deeper.

Trent took a moment to reply – but eventually he said, “You have… really great tits.  And they look good in that top.”

She felt a rush of relief rush through her – and the sudden certainty that she could abandon two of her rules.

“Thank you, Trent,” she said.  “You can leave now.”

Once he was gone, and the door was shut behind him, Tahlia immediately let her brain relax – and two rules were just gone.

The rule about taking off her panties.  And the rule about jiggling her tits.

She sighed with relief.

She had two rules left now, and they both triggered when she was a bitch to a man.  She had to compliment him – and believe that compliment.  And she had to apologise.

There was an email in her inbox.  God, Angus had replied quickly.  How had he gotten back to his office so fast?

“Tahlia sweetie,

Gotta say I’m surprised to see this email, but I think we both always knew you were a cunt, and it’s good that you admit it.  If you really want to apologise to me, how about dinner tonight at 7?  Give me your address and I’ll pick you up.  Wear something slutty.

Yours, Angus.”

Tahlia panicked for a moment, thinking that she needed to accept Angus’ invitation – but then she remembered the “once per day” rule.  She had already punished herself for rejecting Angus once today – rejecting him again was free.

But still, turning him down was bitchy.

She typed quickly.

“No thanks, Angus.  I think you got the wrong idea.  I’m not interested.  I know I’m sending mixed messages.  I guess that’s just because I’m a stupid cunt, and I’m very sorry.  But that’s a hard no to dinner, now and in the future.  Please keep it professional in the office.  But I have to say, the way you pay so much attention to me is really hot.”

And she sent it.

Fuck.  One moment she was apologising for mixed messages, and then she was creating more of them.  She found it hot that he harassed her?  Really?

But she did.  And she was wondering what he would think when he got the email.  Probably he would be thinking about her all day.  Thinking about how she thought he was hot.  Thinking about her tits.

And to Tahlia’s shame, the idea of that was making her cunt wet.

===

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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Tahlia experiences the consequences of her Compelled Courtesy process.