alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Slave Training Island

The slaving ring had found a more efficient way to train girls.  They implanted a small capsule in the girl’s cunt, which would both continually dose the girl with a slow-release aphrodisiac, and give her a sharp electric shock to her pussy at random intervals, averaging about every three hours, until it was deactivated.  Active stimulation of the pussy, e.g. from masturbation, would defer the shock until arousal levels lowered.

They then dropped the girls, naked, onto the private island they owned, and came back to check on them every fortnight. 

At any given time there were nearly thirty bitches marooned on the training island.  Basic shelter was provided.  The only food was a thin gruel dispensed from a machine.  Signs nearby made it clear that male semen, breast milk and women’s cunt juices were prominent ingredients in this mix, and which noticeably affected its flavour.

Prominent signage also displayed the way that women could leave the island (and escape the regular painful shocks to their pussy).  Any time their slaver’s ship returned, they could apply to leave, at which point they would have to demonstrate:

* They could make a man cum with their mouth;

* They could make a man cum with their pussy;

* They could make a man cum with their anus;

* They could make a man cum with their tits;

* They could make a woman cum with their mouth;

* They could answer promptly to names including “slut”, “bitch”, and “whore”;

* They could orgasm from receiving pain to their tits and pussy;

* They could rape an unwilling woman and make themselves cum using her body;

* They could orgasm from being raped;

* They could become aroused from being humiliated and degraded.

The centrepiece of the island was a training centre for women to practice for their exit exam.  It provided a variety of cocks of various sizes, fixed to walls, floors and chairs in various positions, each of which would ejaculate a spurt of semen when properly stimulated.  There were screens which could be made to display a range of both pornography and training material.  Women were provided small buzzers that could activate their own cunt-shock devices, so they could condition themselves out of unhelpful thoughts and sexual behaviours. 

A central core of girls who particularly loved dominating other sluts helped new girls get into a daily routine of raping each other, eating their cum-flavoured meals, and fucking and sucking the cocks in the training centre while watching the porn, training themselves to become aroused by imagery of degradation and rape. 

The day a girl “graduated” from the island was for many both a moment of intense, perverse pride, and a pinnacle of overwhelming humiliation, as they eagerly begged anonymous men to rape them and degrade them, and received their affection and approval for their ability to orgasm from that rape. 

And each girl went off to her eventual owner knowing that the degraded fucktoy she had become was something she had willingly and actively turned herself into…

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You can find more stories like this in my e-book Sluts in Training, available for only $4.99 USD in the ATR store! Your purchase supports me to keep creating hot new fiction! (Click here to view in store.)

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A sex-slave abduction ring uses a remote location to train its new female slaves.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: The Parole Officer, Part 21

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

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No one came by while Amelie crouched nude on all fours in the doorway of her office, licking cum and piss out of a dog bowl.  She was grateful that no one saw her – but doing it in a place where she *could* be seen made her entire degradation feel more real to her.  It wasn’t just something that was happening to her behind closed doors.  It was happening in places with real people, who might see her.  It wasn’t a part of her life – it was rapidly becoming her *whole* life.

She hated it, too, because the possibility of discovery was keeping her pussy wet.  Despite having only just discharged a stun gun into her cunt, she was still sexually aroused, and – worse – sexually aroused with the taste of piss and cum in her mouth.  What kind of slut was she becoming?

The kind that she had always been, deep down, she feared.

When she had licked the bowl clean, she hurriedly closed her office door, and then, her heart racing, she consulted the pregnancy test.

Not pregnant.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

But she knew that it was qualified by the words “for now”.  She was off birth control, and none of her rapists were using condoms with her, and their attitudes to impregnating her ranged from “indifferent” to “actively eager to knock her up”.  Nor would any of them support her if they did so.  Her pregnancy, she knew, would be her problem, and no one else’s.

She should end this, she knew.  She should find a way.  But she couldn’t see one.  If she defied any of her rapists, then it would all come crumbling down, and her indiscretions – and crimes – would all be revealed.

Was there really no way out?  Or did part of her – the part that made her cunt wet – not *want* a way out?  It was possible she could escape, if only she had the will and courage.  But she told herself that was a lie.  She had to keep obeying.

She had a few hours until Gary Sands came for his appointment.  He wanted her to be “ready for him”.  He wanted her to have done something that showed him she understood “what her gender deserved”.  If it wasn’t good enough, he would make her regret it.

She had thrown her clothes out the window.  She was trapped in the nude.  It limited her options in terms of what she could achieve.

She tried to think how to demonstrate what her gender deserved.  She couldn’t immediately think of something good enough, so she sat on her couch – where her rapist clients normally sat – with one of her new misogynistic books, “The Bitch Epidemic”, and played with her pussy as she read it.

The book argued that women were only unhappy because they had been given unrealistic expectations.  If women understood they didn’t deserve rights, then they wouldn’t be unhappy about not having them.  If women didn’t think of sexual harassment and rape as unusual or wrong, then they wouldn’t be traumatised or unhappy about being raped.  It made an argument for actively teaching women to expect to be raped as a normal part of their lives.

Amelie thought about what Gary would want her to do to demonstrate she understood what women deserved.  He would want it to be humiliating for her.  He would want her to hate it.  He would want it to corrupt her – to be morally wrong.  He would want her to push her boundaries, and make her more of a slut and whore than she already was.

She wanted to do something small.  She thought about having a toilet brush stuffed up her cunt when Gary arrived, or making a sign that said “Women are Sluts” and hanging it in her office.  But if it wasn’t enough, Gary would punish her – and he was creative and cruel with his punishments, with no regard to her safety.

She could show him the footage of her raping Gail, maybe.  But that might also get Chris in trouble – and Amelie hadn’t raped Gail since the sun had come up, so it might not count as something she had done today.

In the end, she decided on two separate ideas.

The first involved plugging an external drive into her computer, and setting data to download to it.

The second was brought on by the knowledge that she had only pissed a little on the pregnancy test, and her bladder wasn’t empty.

She picked up the office phone and called the office’s intern – a pretty blonde girl, maybe 19 years of age, named Keelie.

“Keelie,” she said.  “I’m snowed under right now.  Could I convince you to bring me a cup of coffee?”

“Of course!” said Keelie brightly.  “How do you like it?”

“Two sugars and milk,” said Amelie.  “Don’t interrupt me, just leave it outside my door.”

A while later, she heard Keelie approach, pause, and then leave again.  When she was sure Keelie was gone, Amelie set her phone to film herself, then opened the door, took the coffee from the floor and closed it again.

Carefully, she drank about a third of it.  Then she held the mug between her legs, and pissed into it until it was full again.  

She set the mug back outside her door, then called Keelie again.

“Keelie, there’s something wrong with that coffee,” she said.  “Can you come back up and taste it?”

Soon Keelie was back.  She paused outside the closed office door, and Amelie pictured her raising the mug to her lips and drinking from it.

Amelie began to rub her clitoris.

“Oh god,” said Keelie after a moment.  “You’re right.  There is definitely something wrong with this.  I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t know how you could get coffee so wrong, Keelie,” said Amelie.  “Drink some more, to make sure.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” said Keelie, quickly.

“Keelie, you basically have one job, and that’s to make coffee,” said Amelie, through the door.  “And you’re getting that wrong.  I want you to drink the whole mug, to make sure you learn your lesson and never do this again.”

Keelie was clearly unhappy – but the long pause, and occasional pauses and disgusted sounds, suggested she was drinking.

Amelie didn’t know why it was so hot to picture Keelie drinking her piss.  She felt disgusted with herself, but she kept rubbing her pussy.

Finally, Keelie said, “That’s all.  I’m so sorry.  I’ll get it right next time.”

Amelie had fed her piss to another innocent woman.  She was a disgusting pervert.  She wanted to cum, but knew that Gary Sands would not approve of her orgasming without permission so close to his interview.

“See that you do, Keelie,” said Amelie.  “Leave the cup, so I know you did as you were told.”

Keelie left.  And that was that.

Amelie wondered how she could feed more of her piss to the poor girl.

Meanwhile, the download had finished.  She unplugged the drive.

She tried to think about how Gary would want her to be when he arrived.

Submissive.  Vulnerable.  Degraded.

She looked in her desk drawers until she found some duct tape.  She cut off a piece and put it over her mouth, gagging her.  She found some more and used it to spread her butt cheeks apart, and then to tape her cunt lips to her inner thighs.  She got the stun gun and put it on the floor near the door, and then she opened the door – cringing again at the thought that someone might see her.

Finally, she put her hands behind her back and managed to wrap enough tape around them to bind her wrists.  She wouldn’t be able to unbind herself now without someone else’s help.

She knelt in the doorway, facing into her office, away from the corridor, and then bent forward until her face and tits were against the carpet and her anus and cunt were pointed down the corridor.

In this position she wouldn’t know if anyone entered the corridor.  She wouldn’t know if someone saw her.  She was helpless to cover herself if they did.

She waited like that for the last ten minutes before Gary was due to arrive.  At one point she thought she heard footsteps in the corridor, that paused, and then left again.  She hoped she was imagining it.

And then there *were* footsteps, advancing towards her rapidly – and then she yelped into her gag as someone kicked her in the cunt with a leather boot.  She jumped a little – and then she was kicked again, and again, and she realised she was supposed to wiggle forwards along the floor, so she did.  

When she was far enough into her office, the office door was closed behind her, and then someone knelt between her spread legs, and she felt a cock probing at her wet cuntflesh.

She assumed this was Gary.  She hoped it was Gary.

The cock slipped inside her – and then she felt a loop of leather slip over her neck.  It was a belt – and it tightened, choking her.

Her rapist used the belt to pull her whole body back onto his cock.  Amelie struggled for air.  She was completely helpless.  Her attacker hadn’t spoken to her, hadn’t done anything except immediately use her as a piece of meat whose safety clearly wasn’t a concern to him.

Amelie was roughly forced onto her attacker’s dick again and again – and just when she thought she might black out from suffocation, her attacker loosened the strangling belt and instead reached under her to grab her tits in a firm grip.  He pulled hard on her boobs, making her squeal into her gag again, using them as handholds to rape her.

She felt herself about to cum – and her attacker must have too, because he abruptly pulled out of her, grabbed the stun gun, and discharged it into her cunt.  Amelie’s whole body spasmed with a confused, painful orgasm – but her rapist was already pushing back into her and fucking her harder.

And then her rapist was coming, spurting his sperm into her unprotected fertile womb.  He kept fucking her until every drop of semen has been spent inside her – and then pulled out and fired the stun gun into her again, giving her a second orgasm.  He took the dogbowl from where Amelie had left it and placed it under her, between her spread legs, and Amelie knew that all the fuckjuices that dripped out of her now would end up going back into her mouth soon.

Her attacker moved around to the front of her, and now Amelie could see that it *was* Gary.  He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled, lifting her up into a kneeling position.

He grabbed the tape on her mouth and ripped it off, without any concern for her comfort, and as soon as her mouth was open he pushed his cock into it.

“Lick me clean, bitch,” he growled, and Amelie did her best to obey.

After a little licking, she felt a sudden taste in her mouth.

It was piss.  Gary was pissing in her mouth.

Her first reaction was to pull away, but Gary still had a grip on her hair, and he pulled her close, trapping her against his groin.

“Swallow,” he ordered.

Amelie had no choice to obey.  She knew she would be punished if even a drop escaped her mouth, so she convulsively swallowed Gary’s hot piss like a good girl, until he was done with her.

She deserved this, she knew, for what she had just done to Keelie.

When he was finally done, he pulled out and tucked his cock away.

“Have you followed my instructions, bitch?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured, looking at his feet.  “The most recent video on my phone shows what women deserve.”

Gary took her phone and looked at it.  After a while, he chuckled.

When it was done, he said, “Is this all?”

“No, sir,” said Amelie.  “That hard drive there is my offering to you.  It’s a download of every rape victim and sexual assault complainant in the department records – their names, addresses, contact details, and every file we have on them.  Witness statements, medical records.  In some cases we have photos of their tits and cunts from gynaecological procedures.  We have statements about their sexual histories.”

“And what would I do with this, bitch?” asked Gary.  His voice showed curiosity.

“Anything you like, sir,” said Amelie.

He slapped her.

“No, don’t give me a cop-out answer, you dumb bitch,” said Gary.  “You thought I would want these for a reason.  What would I do with this?”

Amelie was silent for a moment.

Then she said, “You could… use it to punish them, sir.  For complaining about rape.  You could humiliate them or… retraumatise them…”

“You mean rape them again,” said Gary.  “Reward them for reporting their rape by raping them again.”

“Yes, sir,” said Amelie quietly.  And then, “That’s what my gender deserves.”

“Good girl,” said Gary.  “That’s a very good idea.  I’m pleased with you.”

Amelie hated how those words made part of her feel good.

Gary thought for a moment, then tossed Amelie a bundle of cloth.

It was a small pink bikini – top and bottom, though the bottom was a G-string – and a slightly oversized white shirt that said “CUNT”.

“Well, there’s no time like the present,” he said.  “I want you to pick out three girls from that data that you think are pretty, and make a note of their addresses.  Then put those clothes on, and meet me in the basement.  Make sure to bring the stun gun.”

Amelie’s mouth fell open.  He couldn’t really mean to…

But of course he did.  Amelie had practically told him to do it.

He was going to go and rape a woman right now – and make Amelie his accomplice.

===

You can find more stories of the justice system in my e-book Crime and Punishment – Erotic Stories of Law and Authority, available for only $4.99 USD from AllTheseRoadworks.com!  By making a purchase, you’re showing me how much you enjoy these stories – and giving me the support I need to keep writing! (Click here to view in store.)

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Gary leads Amelie further into degradation and criminal activity.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: The Blonde and the Brunette

They had had names once, back before he had abducted and enslaved them, but he found that women were more obedient slaves once they had had their identity taken from them, and so now they were just “the blonde” and “the brunette”.  

They hadn’t wanted to fuck him at first, but they hadn’t had any choice.  They also hadn’t wanted to fuck each other, but they hadn’t had a choice about that either, and once they had learned the very painful punishments in store for them if they were boring, they had quickly learned to make their lesbian sex very entertaining to watch.

After three months he judged that they had genuinely forgotten their pre-enslavement identities, and were no longer able to conceive of a life where they weren’t his nameless sexual fuckpuppets.

Now it was the blonde’s job to go out every night and make money as a stripper and a whore.  Each evening, the brunette would lick her cunt to the edge of orgasm, and then send her out to be a sextoy for strangers.  The brunette herself would stay home to service her master’s cock and perform domestic duties.  

The beauty was that each girl genuinely envied the other.  The brunette was jealous of the blonde getting to leave the house, and not having to do chores.  The blonde was jealous of the brunette getting to stay home instead of being raped by strangers for money.

So each morning, after the blonde got home, he gave them each a chance to come up with an idea for him to degrade or abuse the other girl, which he would then perform.  And he was delighted by how they seemed to get more creative and cruel every single day…

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The best – and cheapest – way to collect All These Roadworks is via the Collector’s Bundles.  Each one contains 10 books, and over 600 pages of erotica, for a bargain price of only $29.99 USD – a significant discount over buying them individually!  Check out Collector’s Bundle #5 in the store now! (Click here to view.)

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His slaves used to have names - now they just had hair colours.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Titcage, Part 32

(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

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That was how Claire and Steph slept from then on – chained together in a 69, wet and horny and eating each other’s twats.  Almost every night their pussies were stuffed with dog-food – ‘dessert’, their dad called it – and by the next morning their cunts would be empty and their stomachs full of pet food.  They got their cunts spanked twice a day, and if they orgasmed from it their father would kiss them on the mouth.  They ate at the table naked, masturbating while they ate, they would do all the chores in the house while naked, and they would crawl around for long stretches on all fours like dogs.

Claire’s success in campaigning gave her a temporary break from lobbying at work.  She was instead assigned to one of Titcage’s research projects.   They were currently working on methods to realign lesbians to enjoy cock, or to otherwise learn behaviours that were more pleasing to men.  Young lesbians, desperate for money, had signed up as volunteers for these experiments.   Claire was assigned secretarial and assistant work in these projects.

Her uniform in research turned out to be a lab coat with nothing underneath.  Clips inside the lab coat attached to her nipples and labia; there was no reason for these clips, as far as Claire could see, other than to cause her pain, and they were very painful indeed.  Claire’s clit ring was set to vibrate constantly.

Each of the experimental programs was different.  One program consisted of several girls who did nothing else but come in three times a week and masturbate.  They masturbated in isolated rooms containing nothing but a comfy chair and a TV screen; the only experimental requirement was that the girls masturbated for a full hour whether they were horny or not, that they take an aphrodisiac an hour prior to attending the office, and that they watch what was shown on the screen.

The screens started off showing gentle lesbian porn, and the girls masturbated to this happily, with Claire discreetly watching and taking notes through a hidden screen.  

But over subsequent visits the videos changed.  First they became more violent, with one woman dominating and degrading the other.   Then men were introduced – at the edge of the frame as cameramen, or as extras observing.  They started becoming naked, and more and more shots had erect cocks in them.  Finally the men started becoming involved in the proceedings, with a girl giving a blowjob while she masturbated her partner, or the man cumming on the girls as they 69ed.  Eventually the men were fucking the girls and then violently raping them.

Claire was fascinated to see that these girls, supposedly lesbians, would still have wet cunts even after everything happening on screen was heterosexual.  She watched the little whores orgasm to footage of a man slapping and raping a woman.  Sometimes they would look confused or disappointed in themselves.  Two girls cried all the way through the later stages of the experiments.  But they came nonetheless.

Naturally Titcage had kept all the footage of these girls, nude and sluttily rubbing their cunts.   Part of Claire’s job was to arrange a little extra footage too; on the way to their last appointment at Titcage each of the lesbians would be raped by a man.  The men were hired and paid by Claire (sometimes paid with money, sometimes with blowjobs provided by Claire).  They would catch the lesbian, her pussy already wet from her pre-session aphrodisiac, rape her, and film the rape, including her inevitable orgasm.   The crying girl would then turn up at Titcage and have to go masturbate for an hour while watching footage of each of the other girls in the program being raped just like she had been.  They all thought the footage was just more porn; and they all orgasmed looking at it.

One of the most abhorrent experiments – and the one that made Claire’s cunt the wettest – involved one half of a teen lesbian couple.  The girl was being paid to drug her lover.  Three times a week she would secretly feed her unsuspecting lover a combination of drugs which would get her aroused and knock her unconscious.  The girl would then get her male friends to come over and rape her lover in her sleep.  

Titcage cameras hidden in the house by the girl allowed Claire and her unit to watch the lover’s behaviours while awake; they had been delighted to discover that the unknowingly-raped girl was using a dick-shaped dildo more often, was making porn choices that more often involved men, and was dressing sluttier and flirting with her male friends.

Soon, however, the girl was going to discover she was pregnant despite having no memory of fucking any men; the whole team were awaiting that moment eagerly.  Claire found that she herself was often fantasising now about either using the unconscious girl for her own sexual gratification, or being raped while she was asleep.

Constantly tracking the abuse and degradation of pretty sluts all day left Claire in a state of extreme sexual tension.  There was an almost constant trickle of cunt slime running down her legs, and she had to drink a lot of cordial to keep up with the moisture she was losing to arousal and perspiration. The work was real work and it kept her busy; she rarely had time to slip away even to piss.  When she did manage to get away, most times she couldn’t even let herself orgasm because of her requirement to complete three full masturbations each day without cumming.

She wished Jim were around to fuck her; but he wasn’t.  The other girls working in research were cool towards Claire, and none seemed inclined to help her get off.  The section leader was a man named Miles, and he simply wouldn’t fuck her.  She had tried everything to get him to; she had kissed him, rubbed her tits against him, let him see her breasts and twat.   She had even got into work early one day and waited for him, kneeling nude in his office and cupping her tits for his pleasure, but he had ignored her except for telling her to get to work.   She had cried all day that day; she knew what a slut she was now, and that was horrible, but to be such a slut and then be rejected was even worse.  If all she was good for was fucking, and people wouldn’t fuck her, what was the point of her?

That made her afternoon sessions with Kitten all the better.  They would lick each other to orgasm as soon as possible after work; sometimes in the toilets, lying in a pool of urine; sometimes in the back of Kitten’s car.  Once they couldn’t even make it to the car, and the two girls ate each other out on Titcage’s front lawn, in full view of staff passing by.  A part of Claire was appalled by what she was doing, as men walked past and took pictures of her licking Kitten’s twat, but a bigger part of her just needed to cum desperately and had been fantasising about Kitten’s pussy all day.

Sometimes they would go back to Kitten’s house, where Claire would suck or fuck Kitten’s dad, and then both girls would service Kitten’s friends.  Sometimes they would go back to Claire’s house, where Kitten would put on a whorish show and then Claire and Steph would eat their dinner out of Kitten’s pussy before Kitten went off to fuck their father.

Kitten helped Claire meet her last Q grade requirements.  She took Claire for walks and helped her practice relaxing her bladder and pissing while walking.  It was strange at first but then Claire liked the freedom of urinating without stopping, feeling the warm liquid run down her leg as she walked.  People sometimes looked at her strangely but Claire was used to that now.

Kitten also helped Claire learn how to put her tits in bondage.  The simplest way was with tight nylon ropes; Kitten showed Claire how to wrap it around the base of her boobs and tie it tightly.  The result was intense pain in Claire’s fuckbags; they bulged obscenely and started to go a dark purple, and Claire discovered that they were now super-sensitive and would flare in agonising pain at the slightest bump.   Delivering her required hugs to men with her boobs bound up was extreme self-torture.  Bumping into a wall left her screaming in pain.  

Claire chose Ben as her male friend for her masturbation requirements.  Whenever she was alone with Ben, Claire’s hand would always be at her pussy, rubbing frantically.  Ben didn’t mind; he seemed to be resigned to Claire’s sluttiness now, and in any case was often too busy fucking her mouth or her tits to care.  But the routine of always touching herself while near a particular man did strange things to Claire’s mind.  It reinforced the idea that, for this man at least, all she was for was fucking.  And it helped train her in the larger idea that she should always be wet and ready for the use of men.

Claire was required to sometimes hurt her tits or twat while masturbating now.  Kitten showed her that this was as simple as putting clothespegs on her nipples while rubbing her cunt.  At first Claire found this painful and distracting but soon she became used to the feeling of a little stinging in her tits while she fingerfucked her twat.   After a while she found her pussy juicing up in anticipation when she applied the pegs.

Finally, Claire was required to drink cum from a condom.  Kitten furnished this for Claire after Claire’s second porn party.  A terrified Amy and Elena had turned up again, although this time Steph avoided the event.  The boys spent all night raping the girls while watching abusive porn; Claire orgasmed twice.  After the boys had gone, Kitten brought Claire a full condom, and then licked Claire’s cunt while Claire upended the plastic balloon over her tongue.  The cum tasted cold and sticky, but good.  Claire orgasmed from Kitten’s tongue as she licked the last of the sperm from the inside of the condom.

It was only afterwards, as the two girls kissed in post-coital bliss, that Kitten told Claire where the sperm had come from.

‘That was from your dad,’ Kitten whispered.  And even as Claire’s stomach did a horrified flip, something happened in Claire’s pussy, and she orgasmed twice.

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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.)

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Claire further explores her complex sexual feelings towards women.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Eliza’s Possession, Part 2

Previous chapter:
One

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“Really, Eliza,” said Henry, his eyes on her chest, “I think this is a little much.  Blaming a ghost for your slutty behaviour?  I don’t know what… er… possessed you to send these videos – or to cut up your clothes – but it’s clear you need a little more discipline.”

“But it’s true!” Eliza wailed.  “I don’t *want* to do these things.”

Surely if her father truly understood that she wasn’t *consensually* being a slut, then he would…

“I don’t think spanking her ass worked, dad,” said Zane.  “Did you see her yesterday?  I think she was turned on by it.”

“What do you suggest, son?” asked Henry.

“Well, the men that used to live here – with that girl – I heard they used to spank her… well, her cunt,” said Zane.

“You can’t be serious!” protested Eliza.

Henry nodded.  “Help me get her up on the table,” he said.

Zane grabbed Eliza around the waist, and lifted her up bodily as she struggled.  With Henry’s help, they got her onto the table, tits up, and then Zane held her arms while Henry pushed Eliza’s legs apart and stepped between them.

“This is for your own good, Eliza,” he said – and then he began to slap her cunt.

Eliza howled with pain on each blow.  Her pussy was sensitive – it wasn’t designed to be spanked!  And yet with each fresh burst of pain she felt herself wettening with arousal.

Was it the ghost?  Was it her supernatural tormentor making her sluttily aroused from having her twat beaten?

But the ghost had never done anything to her during the day.  This was all her own fault.

The blows began making wet slapping sounds as her cunt grew wetter.  Her father’s hand was coming away from her pussy with moisture on it.

She felt a painful, humiliating orgasm drawing near.

And then her father stopped.

“Do you think you’ve learned your lesson, Eliza?” he asked.

She almost moaned with frustration.  Her cunt was so wet, and with a little more she could have release.

What had her father asked her to say yesterday?

“Thank you for spanking my cunt, daddy,” she whispered.  “I’m sorry for being a slut.  But I think I need more… ten more.  Please.”

Her father shook his head in disgust – and then resumed beating her pussy.

On the tenth blow, she orgasmed.  She tried to hide it, but her whole body bucked and shuddered.  Her father and brother had to know that she had just cum from having her pussy beaten.

“I don’t think there’s any point in buying you any new clothes until we solve your discipline problem,” said her father.  “You might just cut them up again.  And since you can hardly leave the house dressed like that, you won’t be able to work or study – so I think it’s only fair that you become responsible for all the household chores.  I expect you to do all the cooking and cleaning from now on, Eliza.”

Something about that felt right – a memory from her night-time visitor.  A woman’s place was in servitude.

“And you should take away her phone,” said Zane.  “So she doesn’t do… anything inappropriate with it.”

Eliza dimly realised that she was becoming a prisoner in her own home – unable to leave it, unable to communicate with anyone outside it.

There was nothing she could do.

She spent the day engaged in menial chores, and cooked dinner for the men, and went to her bedroom tired.

“What do you want from me?” she asked the empty air.  “Can’t we make a deal?  Please, stop doing this to me.”

There was no answer – but Eliza felt a tingling in her pussy, and she imagined she heard a cruel feminine laughter in the air.

She looked at her bed – and at the heavy iron shackles that were still attached to it.

She decided that she could stop herself from visiting her father and brother in the night, at least.   She didn’t have the key to the shackles, but her father did – it had come with the house keys.  

She climbed into bed, and placed her legs in the shackles, spread apart, and let them lock.  Then she likewise locked her wrists, so that she was chained spreadeagled to the bed.

There would be no sleepwalking tonight.

She feel asleep – and woke again, somewhere near midnight.  She felt herself straining at the shackles, trying to get free.  Her pussy was wet, and she wanted to masturbate so badly that she felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

Her father’s cock needed to be sucked.  She was failing him by staying in bed.  She was a bad girl.  Her brother needed to cum.  He needed his cumrag sister.  She was stupid and useless.  A girl who wasn’t being fucked wasn’t worth anything at all.

Then, suddenly, her bedroom door opened.  

It was her brother – naked.

“I came to check on you,” he whispered.  “You didn’t come to visit me.”

Part of her wanted to tell him to leave, that she was possessed by a ghost and she didn’t want to be near him.  Part of her wanted him to free her, so that she could rub her pussy while she masturbated him.

Instead, she heard herself say, “Isn’t this better?  You can do whatever you want with me, Master.”

He came closer and stood beside her.  The moonlight through the windows let him stare at her exposed tits – and let Eliza stare at his erect cock.

“Are you really… possessed by a ghost?” he said.  “Am I talking to Eliza right now?”

“All girls are interchangeable,” she replied.  “We’re just tits and cunts.  It doesn’t matter if I’m your sister or a slave or a whore.  I don’t even deserve a name.  You can just call me cunt or bitch.”

“Do you remember… doing this in the morning?  When you’re with me?” asked Zane.

“It doesn’t matter what a girl thinks or remembers,” said Eliza.  “But I promise you there will never, ever be consequences for anything you do to me.”

Zane reached out and rested a hand on her breast.  Then he squeezed.

Eliza moaned.

He squeezed harder.   Then he began to pump his cock with his other hand, aiming the tip towards her face.

“God, you’re such a cunt,” he moaned – and when she didn’t object to him using those words, he seemed emboldened.  “Dumb slut,” he spat, squeezing her breast harder – hard enough to hurt.  “Stupid whore.”

And then suddenly he was cumming – all over her face, covering her with his spunk.  Eliza wanted to turn away, but the force possessing her made her keep looking at him and smiling as his semen went in her eyes, her nose, and mouth.

“Thank you, Master,” she whispered when he was done.

Zane pulled on her tit, while leaning forward, so that he could wipe his dick clean on her titflesh.   Then, without another word, he turned and left.

After a while, Eliza fell asleep again.  

When she woke, it was morning – and her father was standing over her, wearing nothing but boxer shorts.

“What’s this, Eliza?” he asked.

Eliza thought he was referring to the shackles.  

“I chained myself up so I wouldn’t sleepwalk,” she said.  “But you have the key, right?”

But that wasn’t what he meant.

“Whose cum is on your face, Eliza?” he asked.

Eliza went bright red.   She couldn’t lie.  Her father knew it wasn’t his.

“Zane’s,” she said.

“Have you been cockteasing your brother, Eliza?” asked her father.

“No!” she objected.   Except… she had been, in a sense.   Though not willingly.  “I mean… the ghost…”

“I don’t want to hear any lies about ghosts,” growled her father.  “I’m beginning to realise that I have a slut for a daughter, and I have to get used to that.”

He looked at her for a minute – and then, slowly, he extracted his erect cock from his boxer shorts.

“Open up,” he said.

“No, daddy,” Eliza protested.  “I only did that because the ghost made me.  I didn’t really want to…”

He slapped her cum-streaked face.

“I said open up,” he growled.

She did open her mouth – in shock – and when she did, he grabbed her hair, and pulled her face towards his dick.  She had no choice but to allow it into her mouth, and then begin to suck.

Eliza wasn’t possessed by a ghost now.  She wasn’t showing any sign of consenting.  In fact, she struggled, trying to pull away – but her father held her tight, and began humping against her face.

She was being raped by her father.  She was chained up and could do nothing to stop it.

And her pussy was once again wet.

He came into her mouth before long, and she swallowed, and then he let her out of the chains.  He frog-marched her naked into the kitchen, where they found Zane.

“It seems Eliza has been something of the cocktease the last few nights,” said Henry.  “I don’t blame you for being unable to resist her, son.”

This was clearly a relief to Zane, who had looked terrified when he first saw his cum still visible on his sister’s face.

“She comes into my room at night…” began Zane.

“Mine too,” said Henry.   “She’s been a complete whore.   It’s not reasonable to expect two adult men to resist a girl who’s so persistent in trying to tease our cocks.   It’s time that Eliza learned that actions have consequences.  From now on, if Eliza causes sexual tension in either of us, I believe we should use Eliza to relieve it.”

“We should just… fuck her?” asked Zane, nervously.

“Daddy, no!” squealed Eliza.   “I’m a virgin!  And you’re my family!”

“You’re only a virgin in your cunt, Eliza,” said Henry.  “You’ve been very active with your mouth.”

“It’s not me!” wailed Eliza.   “I didn’t want this!  It’s the ghost!”

“She’s stil telling those lies about ghosts, dad,” said Zane.

“How should we discipline her?” asked Henry.

“Maybe her tits this time?” said Zane.  “And… I feel like names are a privilege.  Maybe we just call her a cunt and a bitch until she learns her lesson.”

“That’s a fine idea,” said Henry.  “Eliza, get down on your knees, and lift up your tits with your hands.  Be sure to tuck your thumbs underneath.”

Eliza didn’t quite understand, but she did what she was told – and then her father took off his belt, and doubled it over in his hands, and suddenly she *did* understand.

CRACK!  CRACK!  CRACK!

His hard leather belt cracked into her titflesh, leaving long red welts, and Eliza screamed.  He hit her again and again.  She thought he might stop at ten, but he kept going, and by the time he finally *did* stop at twenty, her breasts had significant bruises.

“Zane, would you plug her mouth, please?” asked Henry.

Zane, obligingly, took out his cock and forced it into his sister’s mouth, and watched her suck on him as she cried.  When he managed to happily ejaculate into her mouth despite the fact that she was crying, Eliza knew that there would be no release from this nightmare.  Her father had decided that he preferred having a submissive suckslut to having a daughter, and her brother would rather have a cumrag than a sister.

“Thank you for beating my tits, Master Henry,” she said when it was done.  “Thank you for letting me suck your cock, Master Zane.  I’m sorry I’m a slut.”

Both men felt some level of guilt for doing this to her, certainly – but they both made the decision to transfer that guilt outwards, onto Eliza, and treat her with even more cruelty.

They left her to do the household chores – but around lunchtime her father came into the bathroom while she was scrubbing the bathtub.  He watched her for a moment – and then took out his cock and began to piss on her.

She squealed, but that just resulted in getting some in her mouth, so after that she stayed silent and let it happen.  When her father’s bladder was empty, he grabbed her wet hair and forced her face against his cock, and she sucked him off again.  She showered herself clean when he was gone.

She served them dinner in the evening, and her father made her suck Zane’s cock under the table while they ate.  When they were done, he declared that her cooking hadn’t been very good, and with Zane’s help he dragged her to the bedroom and forced her legs apart so he could spank her pussy another twenty times.

“What about her cunt, dad?” said Zane.  “Are we going to let her stay a virgin?”

“Well, son, we need to test this little bitch,” said her father.  “Tonight I’ll lock all the doors and windows.  If she can stay in bed all night, without using the shackles, and without cockteasing us, then in the morning we’ll consider giving her back some privileges.  But otherwise it’s clear that the life of a fuckdoll is the life that she wants.”

And with that, they left her in her bedroom.

Eliza tried her best.   She tried to not fall asleep.  She thought edging would keep her awake – albeit horny – and so she began to masturbate.  Her plan was to not let herself cum, but she was foiled by two factors.   The first was that her cunt was sensitive from spanking, and it *hurt* to masturbate – and the pain just made her hornier.  The second was that whenever she let her mind drift, it went to the taste of her brother’s cock, and the satisfaction she got from giving her father a blowjob.  And it began to think about what it would feel like to have her father or brother rape her cunt.

And then she would orgasm.

After her third orgasm, she fell asleep.

At midnight she rose and went to her father’s room.  She climbed into bed next to him and began stroking his cock.  She confessed that she *was* possessed, and the real Eliza hated the thought of fucking her father, but that there was nothing that Eliza could do about it.  She told her father how the imprisoned slave girl had been trained with beatings and fuckings until she truly loved her enslavement and could not even imagine defying her masters.

She suggested that training *her* would be a lot faster than it had been with the slave girl, because the slave girl’s ghost would help.  And that once Eliza was trained, she could be allowed out of the haunted bedroom – perhaps to sleep in some kind of cage – and then Henry could abduct *other* girls, and chain them up in the haunted bedroom, and begin the process of training them too.

She didn’t let her father cum – just edged him for nearly two hours – before leaving and going to visit her brother.

She edged Zane too, as she told him that Eliza wasn’t a lesbian and *hated* the thought of kissing or fucking girls, but that once Eliza was properly trained she could be forced to go and seduce attractive women and bring them home for threesomes with Zane.  She could even be told to *rape* women, just for the pleasure of Zane’s cock as he watched.

Then she went back to bed.

She woke in the morning to the feel of being lifted from the bed and placed on all fours – and then the sensation of her father pushing his dick into her virginal pussy.

When she opened her mouth to scream, Zane, standing in front of her, plugged it with her cock.

“Damn, this bitch feels good,” said her father.

“I still wish you’d let me take her cunt first,” complained Zane.

“Privileges of seniority,” said Henry.  “We can take her out the back and shove a hose up her cunt if you want her clean before you take your turn.”

“Maybe I just use her ass this morning,” said Zane, “and try her cunt in the evening.”

“Makes sense,” said Henry.   “No point in leaving her with any virginity in any of her holes.”

Eliza struggled, and tried to escape, but that just seemed to make her father and brother harder and hornier.

And in any case, her cunt was wet, and despite the fact it was daytime, and she was free of the ghost, she knew that soon she was going to cum.

Cum from being raped by her father’s cock.  Cum from sucking her brother’s dick.  Cum from the knowledge that her father and brother were going to abuse and rape her for the rest of her life, and enjoy doing it.

When the orgasm came, it was the best one she had ever had.

And she only had herself to blame.

===

If you enjoyed this story, you’ll love my e-book Cast a Slutty Spell – Stories of Magical Erotica, available for only $3.99 USD at my creator site! (Click here to view in store.)

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The haunting of Eliza's house drives her into increasingly slutty behaviour.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Persephone Nine, Chapter 29 – The Bitch

(Click here to view the e-book in store!)

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

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Victoria told Vice most of it afterwards.

How she had been sitting in camp, idly playing with her tits as she looked at Amy’s naked body.  She wanted to be masturbating, but her collar wouldn’t let her touch her own pussy.

She had never been a lesbian before Persephone Nine, but now the sight of Amy’s breasts, bound prettily in ribbon, aroused her.  She couldn’t look at Amy’s nude cunt without thinking about licking it – or watching Vice rape it – both of which would bring Victoria sexual pleasure.

She had changed so much since coming to Persephone Nine.

She knew that she should see it as changes for the worse.  Only a few months ago, the thought of becoming aroused by thoughts of raping her female friend would have been impossible to her.  To think of herself as the obedient harem-pet of a man she had initially hated would have been disgusting.  She would rather have died than call herself a brainless parasite that fed on cum – but now at some level she honestly believed that to be true.

It should be a bad change.  But she knew that there was more to the story than that.  Why had she hated Vice initially?  Because she had thought he would rape and enslave her?  No – she had hated him because he was *poor*, or at least poor in comparison to her own inherited wealth.  She had looked down on the other women because they were *common*.  She had been so uppity, so arrogant, that she had betrayed her fellow castaways and almost gotten them all killed.  

In short, she had been a bitch.

But bitch had two meanings.  The first was an unpleasant difficult woman prone to disrespect, violence and aggression.  A woman who deserved to be slapped and raped.

The second was a female dog.

Victoria had been gang-raped by Rapehounds – basically alien dogs.  They had forced their huge cocks into her cunt, her mouth, and her anus, and ejaculated into her again and again.  They had held her down, and growled and bit her when she resisted, until she had submitted, and become their unresisting sex-toy.  And she had orgasmed from being raped by them – orgasmed again and again.

She would never forget that had happened.  She would never be *allowed* to forget – Vice had tattooed it on her arm.  “FUCKED IN THE CUNT LIKE A STUPID TRAITOROUS BITCH BY RAPEHOUNDS.  MULTIPLE ORGASMS.  ENJOYED IT TOO MUCH.”

Any sexual partner she ever had would see it, and know.  She could have it removed – but she knew she wouldn’t.  She deserved it.  And besides, she knew now that the only sexual partners she would have after leaving this planet would be Vice, and her harem-sisters, and anyone that Vice instructed her to fuck.  She was his property, and she would remain his property.

She was a bitch.  She always had been, and always would be.  Even the other girls, who Vice had trained to cum from rape and abuse, had not fucked dogs, had not orgasmed from fucking dogs.  Only Victoria was that slutty, that disgusting.

She had begun thumbing through the Book of Galliard.  It was the most misogynistic thing she had ever read – and she still felt shame at how *aroused* it made her.  Reading how she was an object for men to ejaculate into made her pussy throb.  There was something about it that made sense of her whole experience on Persephone Nine.  

If she was a rational, thinking, empowered human then everything that had happened on this planet was horrible and traumatic, and her responses to it had been pathetic, disgusting, stupid and inexplicable.  But if she was a fucktoy – had only ever been a fucktoy, just a pair of tits and a cunt – then it all made perfect sense.  She was reacting the way that any woman might be expected to react, and there was nothing unusual about that at all.

She pinched her nipples, enjoying the mixture of sexual pain and pleasure, and whispered, “I am a parasite that feeds on sperm.  I think with my cunt and my udders.”

She thought of being fucked by the Rapehounds again, and her pussy got so wet that she contemplated going to Vice and begging him to rape her.

She was so worthless.  Vice had fought so hard to save all the girls, and now the Galliard were going to come and Victoria was going to be useless.  Vice was very clever, and he might save them all regardless, but it was also possible that the Galliard would win, and take Victoria for brainwashing like they had done with Cunt, and she would be nothing but a brainless set of holes for their breeding and milk farms for the rest of her life.

She deserved that, she knew.

But then she found the passage in the Book of Galliard about the Rapehounds.  And an idea came to her.  A perfect, beautiful idea, that encompassed her perversion, her worthlessness, her need to be raped, her love of Vice – and her fundamental identity as a bitch.

It had not been difficult to locate the Rapehounds,  She started when she heard a distant howl, and then she headed down the beach until she found some of their tracks.

Once she got closer, they found her before she found them.  They scented her wet cunt on the wind, and came howling towards her.

She began to shake with remembered trauma when she saw them.  Each the size of a cow, wolf-like and yet not wolves.  Fundamentally alien, covered in dark matted fur, and moving in a pack.  Seven of them – the same seven that had raped her before – and completely focused on her cunt.

Last time they had knocked Victoria to the ground, and forced themselves onto her.

But that was no way for a woman to behave – to make it harder for a male to utilise her holes.  It was not what a good girl should do – and Victoria desperately wanted to be a good girl.

Shaking, she dropped to her knees, and then turned her back on the Rapehounds.  She leant forward until her face and tits were pressed against the sand of the beach, and then she reached back with her hands to spread her cunt and anus for the monsters.

She was choosing to be raped by animals.  Actively making it easier for them.  Did that make her a better woman – or a more disgusting one?

Both, she thought.  

She heard a Rapehound approach her from behind, and bend down and sniff her.  She felt its hot breath on her perineum and cuntlips.

And then she jumped as something warm and wet touched her cunt.  It wasn’t a cock – it was the monster’s tongue!

They hadn’t done this before – and she hadn’t realised how long and flexible their tongues were.  Far more than any Earth dog.  It licked along the length of her cunt, from her clitoris to her fuckhole, sampling her slut nectar – and then it pushed its tongue up her cunt.

She moaned, and almost immediately orgasmed, as she felt its tongue explore her fucktunnel, and slither and writhe within her, and then probe her G-spot with surprising force..

Another Rapehound approached – and she squealed as this one licked between her buttocks, then pushed its tongue against her anal sphincter and slipped inside her, sliding effortlessly into her asshole.  

Both creatures were licking *inside* her, at the same time.  Sometimes their tongues pressed against each other through the flesh that separated her cunt from her anus.   It was like nothing she had ever experienced.  It felt slutty, it felt perverted – and it felt amazing.

Another Rapehound moved around in front of Victoria.  She could see its massive cock bouncing beneath it, and her eyes fixed on the drop of white fluid visible at its tip.  But it was not its cock that it intended to use on her – not yet.   Instead, the Rapehound brought its head down to her level – and then extended its tongue, and pushed it into her mouth.

Victoria wanted to gag, as the slimy, muscly tongue slipped between her lips and pushed into her mouth.  She was tongue-kissing a *dog* – or its alien equivalent.  Its saliva was in her mouth, and its hot breath was on her face.  And yet, she submitted, allowing it to happen, and even tried to kiss back, sucking on its tongue, pushing her lips against its muzzle. 

Human or not, these creatures were males, and it was her nature, her destiny, and her duty to submit to them, to please them, to allow them to use her holes.

And then the hounds at her rear withdrew their tongues from her anus and cunt, and withdrew slightly, and shifted – and then she felt the monstrous cock of a Rapehound pressing at her vaginal entrance, and suddenly that was the only thing she could concentrate on.

It put its paws on her back – on her shoulders – and she could feel its claws press into her skin, not drawing blood, just threatening.  Then it brought its weight down on her, pushing her down into the sand, crushing her tits against the beach.  Victoria couldn’t have moved if she wanted to.  She sucked on the tongue of the hound in front of her, and tried not to squeal as the hound slowly drove its cock into her fucktunnel.

It was happening again.  She was being fucked by Rapehounds again.  To have it happen once might be an accident.  To let it happen a second time – to deliberately seek it out – showed that it was her nature.  She was a dogfucker.  She needed to understand and accept that about herself.  

And if she needed proof, it felt *good*.  Nothing else that she had ever had inside her filled her as completely as the Rapehound’s cock.  She knew, logically, that although these monsters had over three times the girth of a human cock, they were still not as wide as the head of a baby, and thus her cunt was capable of accommodating them – and yet she still felt tears forming in her eyes as they stretched her fucktunnel wide.  But she liked it.  She liked being this full.  She liked being used this completely.  The hound’s dick rubbed against all sides of her vagina at once, and it felt amazing.  She couldn’t possibly be wetter, and she immediately felt her hips beginning to twitch, trying to buck against her rapist, trying to please this alien animal – and herself – as it raped her.  

She felt it grunt, and shudder, and she felt wetness leaking from her twat, and she knew that it had orgasmed, ejaculating inside her, and that knowledge made her cum as well.  Unlike dogs, the Rapehounds didn’t knot, and it was able to withdraw from her, which was just as well, as Victoria blushed at the thought of being dragged around the beach by a Rapehound’s dick.  But no sooner had her first partner moved off her than another took its place, shoving its massive tool into her pussy and resuming her fucking.

This one placed its paws on either side of her, rather than on her back, and Victoria was able to raise herself up a little – and as soon as she did, the Rapehound she had been kissing pulled away from her, and then moved up, standing sideways next to her.  It growled at her, and Victoria knew what it wanted.  She reached out and took its erect cock, pulling it sideways a little, and put the tip in her mouth.  She began to suck.  She hated that she found herself enjoying the taste of its dick, and the salty savour of its pre-cum.

When the second Rapehound came inside her, there was a brief pause before another took its place.  During this time, one of the beasts came up alongside her and straddled her back, its front legs near her left arm and its back near her right arm.  Its lowered its haunches so its dick poked against her tits, which were hanging down beneath her, and then it began to hump.  It was so forceful that each motion of its hips made its cock hit her right tits with the force of a bruising punch, and Victoria began to squeal around her mouthful of dick – but it was over quickly, and soon the Rapehound was spurting its huge quantity of cum – it must have been nearly half a litre – all across her breasts.

She barely had time to reflect on this before the Rapehound cock in her mouth also began to spurt cum, and Victoria struggled desperately to swallow it all.  Letting any drip out of her mouth felt disobedient.  She tried to be a good girl.

No sooner had she swallowed the cum than another Rapehound put its weight on her and shoved its cock into her pussy.  Her face and tits were forced back to the sand, and she felt the coarse grit of the beach sticking to her cum-soaked tits.

This Rapehound was her most skilled rapist yet.  It varied its pace, pushing deliberately against her G-spot, flexing itself inside her, and Victoria came not once but twice before it was done with her.

And when it *was* done – when it fired its sperm inside her like a fire house – something clicked within her. 

Somehow she *knew* that this hound had done what she had come here for.  It had spent its seed in her womb – in her *fertile* womb – and its alien DNA had taken hold.  She been impregnated – bred like the bitch she was by a monstrous dog.  From this moment she was bearing its litter within her.

The Rapehound must have known it too, because when it pulled out of her, it moved around to her head, which was still pressed against the sand, and it lifted one of its hind legs, and it pissed on her.

Not a lot – just enough to mark her as its territory.  As its property.  As its mate.

And it felt right.

The other Rapehounds used her anyway, each one of them using her body to cum at least once, and maybe twice.  She swallowed so much of their cum that her belly already felt swollen with pregnancy.  Her cunt hurt, but the pain was good.

By the time Vice found her, after searching the beach for hours armed with one of his new deadly guns, it was over.  The Rapehounds were curled up in a pack, sleeping, and in their midst – nude, and still suckling on a Rapehound dick like a pacifier – was Victoria.

They had claimed her.  They had bred her.  And therefore they would defend her.

And if she led them back to Vice’s camp, they would defend the whole camp.

Because of Victoria – because she had accepted her place as a bitch – her master Vice and her fellow sister-slaves might all have a chance at survival.

===

Finish the story!  You can buy the complete book of Persephone Nine – with exclusive bonus content – right now in the ATR store!  Your purchase shows your support and allows me to keep creating!  (Click here to view in store.)

=== 

Victoria faces the Rapehounds for a second time - with everything on the line.

alltheseroadworks Guest Post, Story

Guest Post: Bimbofied by Older Brother, Part 1

All These Roadworks note: The following text is the first chapter of Bimbofied by Older Brother by Bimbo Blackwood. The complete novella-length tale of incest, mind control and bimbofication is available now in the All These Roadworks store for only $7.99 USD! Get your copy now! (Click here to view.)

===

“You don’t want us living on the streets, do you?”

I look up at my big brother with a sulky frown. It’s not that he doesn’t deserve help paying the bills, because he does, and now that I’m eighteen, I know I should try harder to find a job—especially because Brent’s been doing it all on his own since mom disappeared months ago. My hesitation is that his “easy solution” to our money problems is gross and sleazy.

“I just don’t feel right about it,” I mumble, blushing as he points at my bare feet and exclaims, “You like painting them up anyway! No one’ll even see your face, Sophie. It’ll be quick, anonymous cash! Just flirt with some losers and show them your pretty toes—”

“But that’s weird!” I argue. “And why would anyone wanna pay to see my feet?”

I cringe as he sinks to his knees before me, gritting my teeth as his large hands grip my ankles. “Because dudes are weird,” he half teases, half pleads, his blue eyes boring into mine as he runs one hand down the front of my left foot and squeezes. I’m not sure whether to laugh or pull away at his over-the-top display as he pulls the foot he’s gripping up and gives it a slow, mocking kiss, like an old-timey gentleman might kiss a lady’s hand. “These little piggies could earn us a fortune!”

“Get off me, creep,” I grouse, but I can’t help but smile as he drops my foot and sticks out his tongue, then acts like his hand is dirty by grimacing.

“You’ll have to wash them up though, pee-yew!”

I laugh and kick at him. “Whatever! I’m not doing it!”

“Come on, Soph,” he says seriously, sitting beside me on the couch. “I really need the help, and I’m not asking that much of you. I’ll take the pictures and upload them to the site. All you have to do is talk to people. You love chatting it up, right?”

“Not like that,” I grumble.

But he’s wearing me down and we both know it. It only takes another sad look and a pitiful, “Please?” before I’m letting him snap some pictures with his phone, groaning as he makes me do dumb things like cross my ankles primly, or stand on my tip-toes so he can hone in on the high arches of my pale, delicate feet.

“You do have really pretty feet,” he keeps saying as I huff at him about how stupid this all is. “Now spread your toes apart, as far as you can….”

My face goes nearly as red as my crimson-painted toenails, because although the other directions he gave me seemed silly, this one seems a little too sexual, although I’m not sure why. I don’t argue since I think that we’re almost done, biting my lip as Brent hums in appreciation.

“Now clench them in the air,” he tells me. “Legs straight up….”

“What?”

“You know . . . like, uh, curl them sensuously, but we’ll show off a little more of your smooth, slender legs, too.”

“Brent,” I whine, flinching as he pushes me flat on my back and pulls on my legs. My hands fly to my jean skirt, making sure it stays in place and doesn’t show off my pink, cotton panties; I’m so embarrassed at getting pulled around like this (by my own brother, no less!) that I can barely bite out the words, “This is really not cool—”

“Last shot, promise,” he interrupts, his fingers gently playing with my toes, pushing them down as nervous flutters go through me.

It feels really fucking weird having my older brother play with my feet, even though I know he’s just trying to get me to do the pose so this entire thing can be over. It’s stupid to think he’s enjoying it more than he should be, but my stomach has worked itself into knots over the captivated look on his face, and I have a horrible feeling that I shouldn’t look at his groin area, like I might suddenly spot something trying to poke through his jeans.

Don’t be gross, I think nervously, closing my eyes as I curl my toes, but I know what my legs-up position is supposed to symbolize, and I hate it.

“I’m going to upload these to Brainless Bimbos and then we’ll sit back and watch the money roll in,” my brother tells me triumphantly a few moments later, and I’m so relieved that he’s not touching me anymore (and that this whole strange photoshoot is finally over) that I barely comprehend his words. “I’ll doctor up a face-shot of you. Maybe photoshop your eyes and lips—”

“Wait, what?” I stammer. “I thought you said I didn’t have to show my face!”

“Well, it won’t be your face really,” he says, looking at me with scrutinizing eyes that suddenly make me feel ugly and small. “It’ll be enhanced! Unrecognizable. You’ll be really hot like the other sites’ girls….”

“Thanks, asshat.”

“Ah, come on. You’re cute, So-so, and I really don’t have to change your features that much. Just enough so that no one knows who you really are, right?”

“Some kind of bimbo, apparently,” I huff. “Was it braless? No . . . brain-dead?”

“It’s just a dumb name,” Brent soothes me. “Brainless. It doesn’t mean anything.”

It gives me an uneasy feeling though, especially knowing that anyone and everyone could go on it and maybe recognize me. I haven’t seen my brother’s photoshop skills, so I have no idea if he’s any good at doctoring photos—and I really, really don’t want my face on this website, in any form, enhanced or not.

I’m too tired to argue about it though, and I soon forget that I might have to do anything else with the site, letting Brent do all the set-up while I get lost in my TV dramas. He doesn’t bother me for the rest of the night (and even orders a pizza when I complain through text that I’m hungry). Really, he’s always been a great and caring older brother—watching out for me and practically being a father figure, even though we’re only a handful of years apart. Today might have been really weird and uncomfortable, but deep down inside, I know he must be doing what he thinks is best for us.

***

“You got your first match!” Brent tells me over breakfast the next morning. “Actually, you have quite a few of them. I knew your feet were super cute.”

“Gross,” I tell him, spitting out the bite of toast that I was chewing on. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Don’t be like that. You just have to say sweet things and act girly for tips. It’s easier than having to go out and waitress, right? Probably earns more, too.”

“Whatever.”

“Just try it. For me?”

He gives me his stupid puppy-dog eyes and my grumpy expression melts away. I really do love my brother, even if his weird idea makes me a little sick and anxious. It’s just playing pretend, I tell myself, it doesn’t really mean anything.

And that’s how I find myself parked on the couch with the laptop, messaging men who tell me how sexy my feet and legs are, and how they want to lick and suck on all my toes.

‘Be honest, you like the attention,’ Footfetish69 types to me.

Weirdly, a shiver of pleasure goes through me at reading his words. Do I like the attention? I think I should hate it, but somehow the Brainless Bimbos website seems pretty relaxed and chill, the layout simple and attractive, and the casual texting back and forth is strangely addictive.

‘I guess I kinda do, xoxo,’ I type back, blushing as I realize that I’m getting a little aroused over all the attention, even though when I first sat down and started doing this, I was nauseous.

‘I think you’re really cute—not just your feet, but your face, too,’ he tells me.

A jolt of horror goes through me as I realize that I haven’t yet looked at the pictures Brent uploaded. I click through them, not seeing my face, but only my slim, pale legs going up to the hem of my short, jean skirt (thanks a lot, Brent, I think bitterly, realizing that he definitely wasn’t only shooting my feet for most of these), ignoring all the ones of just my pretty painted toes and slender ankles.

Where is this face pic? I wonder wildly. What the hell is Foot-fucker talking about?

It’s not until I get to my profile that I see my full face-shot, and I gasp in shock. “You lied to me!”

“Huh?” Brent calls from the kitchen, clanging the dishes together loudly as he loads the dishwasher. “What about?”

“You said you wouldn’t show my real face! You said you would shop the pic!”

“Oh yeah….” he calls back.

Hot rage goes through me, but before I can get up and storm off to confront my older brother, another text pops up from Footfetish69, stating, ‘I really love how innocent you look. You’re a really cute girl! I bet you love being so sweet and sexy….’

“I am a cute girl,” I mumble, something in my brain clicking the anger off as flattery goes through me.

I don’t know why it happens, or how my emotions seem to be so placated by this website, but I can’t help but type back, ‘Thanks! Xoxo!’

For a moment I forget about how Brent failed to make me look different, simply uploading a high school graduation photo, where I’m smiling demurely at the camera, my dirty-blonde hair cascading over my shoulders, blue eyes shining bright, my heart shaped face looking sweet and innocent and happy—like a girl just entering womanhood and excited to start her new, adult adventure, where endless possibilities await.

‘I think your lips look like a dicksucking dream,’ Footfetish69 tells me. ‘But they could be a little plumper and bigger, don’t you think?’

Cold shame rushes through me. I lift my hand to my mouth, feeling my thin, pink lips, and I suddenly feel inadequate.

“Brent!” I shout. “Why didn’t you change my face! You fucking liar!”

I slam the laptop shut, cursing as I get up and stomp into the kitchen.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! It’s harder than it looks! I’m sorry, Soph—”

“Now everyone is going to know who I really am!”

“No one uses that site but perverts! Are your friends perverts? Is anyone we know perverts?”

“Well, how the hell do you know?” I howl.

Brent slams the dishwasher shut, starting it with a slap of his hand. “Fuck, I’m sorry! Take the face pic off, then….”

I want to scream at him and tell him that he’s an idiot, but he gives me such a pathetic look that I can only turn away and rush back to the laptop. Maybe if I take my profile picture off the site now, hardly anyone will have seen it. But when I open back up the site, there’s a bunch of pop-up texts from random users, and I find myself distracted by:

‘Wow, you are the cutest girl on this site! So innocent looking!’

‘Man, that pure smile takes my breath away!’

‘Such a natural beauty. God has blessed you!’

Maybe having my face picture up isn’t such a bad thing, I think, noticing that the tips are already starting to roll in. There’s a little money jar on the lower side of the screen that I hadn’t noticed before, and apparently, I’ve already earned $47. That’s really not bad for only being on the site for less than a day, and only talking to people for less than an hour….

Plus, they think I’m really cute, my brain buzzes happily.

I can’t help but thank all the men who are complimenting me, sending ‘xoxo’ and ‘thank you!’ to all of them, smiling as dollars continue to roll in, without me having to do anything more than shyly accept their praise.

Maybe this site isn’t all that bad, a humming thought tells me. Maybe I belong here, somehow….

It’s such a weird thought to have that it almost startles me, but then I forget about it as Footfetish69 offers to pay me $100 just to watch someone massage my feet.

“Wow,” I whisper.

That’s a lot of money. Enough to pay the phone bill, which I constantly feel guilty about, because I’m the one who whined and begged Brent to let me have the newest cellphone with the highest internet service, all so I could scroll the internet and call and text whoever whenever, even after he’d told me that we should really downgrade our plan to the shittiest service imaginable after mom ran off with that trucker she met.

‘I don’t really have anyone here but my older brother. But I could massage my feet with lotion for you, sir….’ It feels so dirty to type it out that I nearly don’t send it, but the dollar signs sink deep into my brain, and so I press enter, already imagining how easy it’ll be to earn money if all I have to do is put lotion on my already silky-smooth feet and show them off to strangers.

‘Just have him do it,’ he texts back.

“Uhh,” I utter, glaring at the kitchen, because it seems like my brother is still hiding in there, even though I can’t hear what he’s doing. “Brent?”

“I already said I’m sorry!” he shouts.

“No, I uh, I uh—”

I’m blushing so hard that I can hardly speak, my throat closing up over the words. Maybe this is going too far, I think, pulling my bare legs under me and sitting on my feet. But it’s not like Brent’s never touched my feet before, I reason, because he was just touching them yesterday. And a hundred bucks would be stupid to refuse if he just needs to touch them a little more.

“What do you need, huh?” Brent asks, poking his head into the living room. “Can you not figure out how to take the picture down?”

“That’s not it,” I admit, staring at the floor. “Some guy just offered a hundred bucks if I stream my feet getting massaged….”

“Holy shit!”

“Yeah….”

We look at each other, my gaze hesitant at his excited, “Are you serious?”

My blush deepens as I whisper, “He doesn’t want me to do it, myself, though….”

“That’s real money, So-so,” Brent tells me, calling me the pet name he uses to really try to win me over; he doesn’t wait for my answer, rushing down the hall towards the bathroom. I hear him rustling around loudly, knowing he’s looking for lotion, and I don’t know why, but somehow it doesn’t seem as horrible as it should be—because Brent doesn’t seem to think it’s a big deal—and because I’m finally going to be earning a real income now, all because some dude online thinks that I have pretty feet.

‘So yes or no?’ Footfetish69 asks me. ‘You want to show off for me, right? You want to show off how delicate and small your pretty feet are in some big, masculine hands. Your brother can make you feel so good in his big hands….’

Everything inside me seems to go blank for a moment, heat filling up the spot where I should be able to think. Compulsion makes me type out, ‘Yes! Of course! Xoxo!’ before I even fully understand the implications of the words.

‘Good girl,’ he types back. ‘Your brother is a lucky man….’

I blink as the heat flares inside my skull and then dissipates. This man is a pervert, and I hate that he wants my own brother to touch me, because that’s really fucking weird. Sickness roils around in my tummy as I think about how Brent touched me yesterday . . . and maybe he kinda-sorta wants to touch me again today, too….

I can barely breathe as my brother reappears. He walks towards me with a bottle of lotion in one hand, his expression neutral. Why doesn’t he look as freaked out as I feel? But there’s no way I can refuse to do this NOW, not with how much money we’ll be making, and so I robotically shift so that he can kneel before me, jerkily pushing my feet towards him, the camera of the laptop carefully pointed down as I turn it on.

I say nothing as my brother carefully squirts the lotion into his hands, knowing that the laptop is picking up the sound of the oily stuff squelching between his fingers as he rubs his palms together.

This is so fucking weird, I think distantly, although the lotion smells amazing, all tropical and coconutty.

I glance at the screen, seeing a string of exclamation points with Footfetish69’s declaration of: ‘YOU WILL LOVE THIS!!!’ and not understanding why a tremor of excitement goes through me, making me suddenly aware of my pussy, of the wetness leaking against my panties.

Why am I getting excited?

I moan in pleasure as my brother’s large, warm hands envelop one of my feet, the blush spreading down my throat as he looks up at me, his gaze interested and unsure. It feels so strange and intimate, the way he slides his callused palms and fingers against the smooth arch of my foot, his fingers threading with my toes, making me tremble as he applies the perfect pressure.

Gently, he rubs the lotion into my skin, smiling and nodding as I moan again, tilting his head towards the screen as more tips start to roll in. I’m suddenly aware that this livestream is broadcasting to all of my ‘followers’, and that only makes me more embarrassed and horny, knowing that several men are paying to watch my older brother massage me, knowing that the sounds of my breathy whimpers are being broadcast to them, making them shell out cash, my tip jar going from $47 to $356 in the blink of an eye.

‘You’re doing perfect. Keep enjoying it. You love to have your feet rubbed,’ Footfetish69 instructs.

And the weirdest thing is, I really do start to love it, especially when Brent gets braver and begins to stroke his fingertips over the fine ridges of my ankle-bones, pressing into the sensitive curve of my arches, and then runs the pad of his thumb along the ball of my foot, before grabbing my other foot and proceeding to give it the same attention.

‘If you cum from this, I’ll tip $500,’ Footfetish69 tells me.

I nearly pull away from Brent, the haze in my mind lifting temporarily, my thoughts screaming, What. The. Fuck!?

But my older brother doesn’t let go, his eyes darting from the laptop screen to my frightened expression, widening in a way that says, ‘Just do it. Just pretend!’

I choke on another moan, horrified when my pussy grows wetter and tightens, spasming slightly as Brent presses just right with his thumbs into the arches of my feet. Why does it feel so fucking good? It shouldn’t feel this good, should it?

My red-painted toes splay out, against my will, and I try to sit up but can’t, my body shaking, as my older brother really massages deep, the pleasure in me expanding.

Could I really cum from this? That would be so, so fucking wrong, and yet somehow I can’t help but give into it, pretending to pretend, even as the pressure builds and builds inside me, and my shaky moans turn more solid, a steady stream of them rising from my chest.

Brent looks up at me, his eyes half-lidded as he continues to work the heels of his hands into my soles, his thumbs pressing into the balls of my feet. He winks at me in encouragement, and for some reason seeing the flush on his cheeks and the heat in his eyes makes the pleasure inside me explode.

“Oh! Oh God!” I moan, my pussy spasming violently as my toes curl, my feet tensing in my big brother’s deliciously warm, large hands.

I shiver through a violent climax, my vision tunneling, and all thought escapes my head as pleasure rings through me in hot, bright pulses. The ding-ding-dings of tips rolling in barely reach my ears, but on a distant level, I can tell that it must be a lot, since I register Brent’s satisfied, “Holy shit! There’s rent….”

For a moment, all I can think about is how good I feel, and then horror starts to sink in. I didn’t fake it. I actually just orgasmed to my own brother touching me. How much of a fucking freak am I?

I groan softly, desperately, wanting to pull away, wanting to run into my room and hide from all of this, but when I look back at Brent, he nods at me with his eyebrows raised, as though he’s praising me for a job well done. Does he know that I actually came? Or does he think that I’m just a great actress?

He quickly clicks the camera off as I stare at him, and then he says, “Good show, Soph!”

“T-thanks,” I stammer.

“We just earned over a grand from that!”

I glance at the laptop screen, shocked to see the digits, $1154 jiggling above the tip jar.

“You wouldn’t earn that waitressing,” he tells me, wiping his oily hands off on his jeans.

He smiles at me, and even though I know he wants me to agree with him, the shame and jittery after-shocks of orgasm going through me are almost too much. I can only look away, not trusting myself to answer.

“I know it was weird, but come on….” he whispers, patting my bare knee swiftly. “All for show, right?”

I nod, staring at a spot on the wall instead of looking at his questioning face. Does he really not have any idea? I wonder. Somehow that makes it worse, even though I know it should only make it better….

“You looked really pretty,” he says. “I know I shouldn’t say that, but it’s true . . . and you look even prettier now.”

“Shut up,” I huff.

“I’m serious!” he exclaims as I get up and slam the laptop shut. “Don’t be like that, Soph!” he calls after me as I push past him and run down the hall. “We’re set for the month! You don’t have to do this again for a while!”

I lock myself in the bathroom, instantly going to the shower to spray off my oily feet. My skin crawls. I feel so dirty and used. Tears leak down my face as I wash the lotion from me, carefully using my fingers to get rid of the slimy-slick feeling between my toes.

Why the hell did I actually get off to my brother massaging my feet? I don’t understand what just happened, although it felt like I wasn’t myself, like I was trapped in some sort of mindless, wet dream, where everything being done to me was against my will, but I couldn’t help but enjoy it anyway.

When I’m done spraying off my feet, I stare at myself in the mirror, and my breath freezes in my throat.

What the hell? Were my lips always like this? I touch my mouth, feeling alien and unsure as I vaguely remember it being thinner and less pink—although now my lips seem fuller, darker . . . more sensual. I blink at myself. Something about my eyes looks different, too. I’ve always had pretty, blue eyes, but they seem even more vibrant, the lashes thicker and darker. Maybe it’s just from all the blood rushing to my face because of how hard I orgasmed, and how embarrassing that was, because my cheeks also seem fuller and rosier—but I could also be going insane.

“What the fuck is happening?” I ask myself, my hands scrubbing at my face.

I’m probably just in shock from everything that went on today. My older brother—my almost father figure—just made me cum by touching my goddamned feet. I just made over a grand by filming it for all the perverts to see . . . and I’d liked it, not just pretended to like it, but actually liked it . . . like some sort of whore.

So, an existential crisis then? my thoughts taunt me. The vision in the mirror has probably always been me, but I’m just disassociating because I’m so traumatized . . . or something.

Brent leaves me alone for the rest of the day, only texting me the normal stuff (that he’s made lunch, that he’s ordering in for dinner, that he’s going out with his friends and not to expect him home until tomorrow) and I quietly delude myself to believe that although whatever happened between us was extremely weird, that he doesn’t seem to know how fucked up it actually was, and that we can recover from it and move on.

“You made rent for the month,” I tell myself, trying to be happy as I eat the Chinese delivery he’s gifted me. “You don’t have to go on Brainless Bimbos anymore….”

At least not for a long while. And it’s easy to think things are okay, when present me doesn’t have to face them for some time (that’s future Sophie’s problem!). So, I ignore reality, getting lost in my TV shows and slowly blocking out what Brent and I had done. I hardly think of it over the next several weeks, happy that he seems to be just the same brother he’s always been, and happy that I’m not being harassed to help out with the bills, because we seem to have them covered. For now….

===

Like what you’re reading? Need to know what happens next? I don’t blame you! You can find out by grabbing your copy of Bimbofied by Older Brother, by Bimbo Blackwood, from the All These Roadworks store now! (Click here to view in store.)

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Check out the first steamy chapter of "Bimbofied by Older Brother", by Bimbo Blackwood - and then get the complete tale of incest, mind control and bimbofication in the All These Roadworks store!

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Biting Her Finger

Leah was probably the world’s most famous fucktoy after signing up for the reality show “Real Life Extreme Hypno”.  Her episode was called “The Making of a Slut”, and in it she confessed to the camera that she had near-constant rape fantasies but she was too scared to act on them.  The program then showed her being implanted with a simple hypnotic trigger – when she was talking to a man, and liked and consented to the idea of being raped by him, she would bite her little finger without realising she was doing it.  The final segment of the show depicted her having several surprising encounters of dubious consent with men and gushing about how happy they had made her.

The makers of the show, however, had decided to have a little more fun with Leah than that.  The real problem she had gone to the show about was her habit of biting her little finger when she was nervous.  The makers had taken her straight to hypnosis, but instead of dealing with that problem at all, they had instead implanted two other suggestions – that knowing she was about to be raped would make her pussy gushingly wet, whether she wanted it or not, and that she would be completely unable to talk about her real experience on the show, or say anything to suggest she hadn’t consented to or enjoyed any sex she had.   

After it aired, everyone knew that Leah biting her finger was her signal that she wanted to be non-consensually fucked, and Leah couldn’t say a word to suggest otherwise.  Those who took her up on her “invitation” found her cunt wet and willing, even if Leah herself struggled and cried, and afterwards she would smilingly thank them and say she had enjoyed it, all of which confirmed their understanding of her sexuality.

There was an upside for Leah.  By the end of the first month of being repeatedly raped by friends (and family) she began to associate arousal with being nervous and with being used non-consensually, and she started to get wet long before her mouth found her little finger.  More and more often she found herself orgasming from her abuse, and more and more often her thanks afterwards were genuine and heartfelt.

It was two months after her program aired that she realised she had begun biting her finger deliberately, while looking directly in men’s eyes, her pussy already wet and needy…

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Want more stories of psychological exposure?  Check out my e-book Mindfuck, available for only $4.99 USD from AllTheseRoadworks.com!  Your purchase shows your appreciation and supports the creation of new, free content! (Click here to view in store.)

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When Leah is hypnotised on national TV, every viewer becomes convinced they know what it means when she bites her finger...

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Eliza’s Possession, Part 1

(Author’s Note: This story is only two parts long, and they’re both already written.  The second part will be later this week.  It was originally written as a single story, but noting that it’s over twice the length of a normal story I’ve opted to split it.)

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Eliza’s father Henry didn’t want to buy the old house, and neither did her older brother Zane, but Eliza convinced them.

“It’s so *cheap*,” she said, “and it’s so *huge*.  We can’t pass up a deal like this.”

Her father, who had been a single father to his children for most of their lives, was unconvinced.

“But Eliza, what about its history?” he asked.

The house’s history was problematic, certainly.  Two men had lived here, but three years ago they were arrested.  It came out that they had abducted a beautiful young local woman and held her captive in the house for nearly ten years, abusing and training her until she became an obedient sex slave to their every whim.   The truth only came to light when she died of a congenital heart defect, and the brothers had tried to hide her body.

“History is history, dad,” said Eliza.  “And in this case it’s history that makes the house cheap.  And it’s not like they kept that poor girl in a *closet*.  Have you seen the slave room?  It’s huge – almost as big as the master bedroom.  I’m taking it as my bedroom.”

“Eliza, the bed that they kept her on is still there,” said her father.  “And it’s… very concerning.  It still has shackles on the bedposts.”

“Please, dad?” begged Eliza.   “Please?  Otherwise we’ll have to buy some tiny hovel.  Please?”

And Eliza was 18, and absolutely gorgeous, and something of a spoiled brat, and just like every time that she turned on her charm and pushed her large breasts together with her arms, she got what she wanted.

So they moved in, and Eliza took the slave quarters as her room.

And the trouble started on the very first night.

Eliza woke to the feeling that she wasn’t in control of her body.  She was getting out of bed, and removing the negligee and panties she was sleeping in, until she was nude.

Was she doing this?   She tried to stop, but she couldn’t.   Was this a dream?

Now she was walking out of her bedroom, completely nude, and down the corridor.  She reached her father’s room, and opened the door, and went inside.

She shivered and blushed.   She was completely naked in her father’s bedroom.  She wanted to turn around and go back to bed, but she didn’t seem to be able to.

Now she went to her father’s bed and gently drew back the covers from his sleeping form.  Her father slept in the nude, and now, for maybe the first time in her life, Eliza was looking at her father’s exposed cock.

Was this a nightmare?   What was happening?

And then she felt herself kneeling by the bed, and leaning forward – and before she knew it, she was placing her mouth on her father’s cock, and then taking it into her mouth, and beginning to suck.

It grew hard immediately, and Eliza tasted pre-cum.  Part of her was horrified by what she was doing – but part of her was delighted by the taste of his dick.  She was making her Master happy.  She was a good girl.  She wouldn’t need to have her cunt spanked and her tits beaten.  She was being good.

She continued to suck – and after a bit her father’s eyes opened.

She braced for him to jerk away, or ask what was happening, or call her a slut – but instead he just watched her sucking on him.  She looked back, submissively pleasuring his dick, and made no sound.

After a while he reached down and placed his hand on the back of her head, and drew her face closer to his groin, and then he began to buck his hips against her face.

It didn’t take long before he was cumming into her mouth.  

Eliza swallowed.

Good girl, she thought.

She withdrew her lips from her father’s cock, looked into his eyes again, and then rose and left the room.

She went back to her own bedroom, got out a pair of scissors, and began to cut up her clothes.   She started with all of her underwear.   She destroyed all her dresses and pants.   She kept her skirts, but cut the hems of all of them so that they wouldn’t fully cover her pussy.  She kept some shirts but either cut them so that they would leave her underboob showing, or cut out circles so that they wouldn’t cover her breasts.

Then she got back into bed and fell asleep.

In the morning, she wanted to believe it had all been a nightmare – but all her clothes were still destroyed.  She ran to the bathroom before anyone else woke, and wrapped a towel around her.   When her father and brother woke, she told them that they had to move out.

“I was wrong,” she said.   “I was possessed by some kind of ghost.   I couldn’t control myself.  I cut up all my clothes and…”

She paused.  Her father hadn’t said anything about last night.   Nor did she want to admit to her brother that she had sucked her father’s cock.

“And?” prompted her father.

“And… I just think we should leave,” she finished awkwardly.

“Are you insane?” said her brother.  “We just got here.”

“Zane’s right, honey,” said her father.  “We spent all our money on this house.  It would be financially ruinous for us to try and reverse the sale, or move house, now.   I’m afraid we’re committed.”

There was something strange in his voice as he said this. And his eyes weren’t on his daughter’s face, but rather her bust, concealed only by the bathtowel.

“You’re probably just having some mental breakdown,” said her brother.  “Some slut reaction that makes you cut up your clothes.”

“That’s not a nice thing to say, Zane,” chided her father, “but yes, obviously there’s not a *ghost*.   You’re probably just having trouble adjusting to the move, honey.”

“But I’ve got nothing to *wear*!” Eliza whined.

“I’m afraid with all the costs of the move we don’t have any money to buy you new clothes, honey,” said her father.  “But Zane can lend you some for now.”

Zane grudgingly gave his sister an oversized T-shirt that nearly came down to her knees.  He also tried to lend her some men’s underwear, but Zane’s hips were so much bigger than Eliza’s that the underpants simply wouldn’t stay up, so she ended up having to go without.

That night, she went to bed – and a few hours later, she rose, once again feeling an outside power controlling her body.

The first thing she did was cut up Zane’s shirt.  Then, once again, she went to her father’s bedroom, drew back his bedsheets, and began to suck his cock.

Her father woke almost immediately, and grabbed her head, and vigorously facefucked her until he reached orgasm.  Once again, she swallowed, and rose without saying a word, and left.

This time, instead of going back to her bedroom, she went to her brother’s bedroom.  Like her father, Zane also slept naked.  Eliza trembled at the idea that she was going to suck her brother’s dick too – but instead, she found herself getting into bed with him, lying next to him, her naked body against his.

Her hand went to his dick and began to stroke it.  It hardened at her touch, and then she began to pump it, masturbating her brother.  At the same time, her lips went to his, and she found herself kissing Zane passionately.

He woke up.

“What is this?” he said, breaking off the kiss.

“Sssh,” Eliza heard herself say.  “This is what I’m for.  Just enjoy it.”

She wanted him to protest and push her away.  This was her own brother.

But instead he relaxed, and let her masturbate him, and after a moment he kissed her again.

When the kiss was over, she said, “I cut up your shirt.  I’m sorry.   You should punish me tomorrow.  I don’t deserve clothes.”

He laughed at that.   After a bit, he said, “Fuck, I’m going to cum.”

“Do you want to cum in my mouth, or on my face, or on my tits?” asked Eliza.

“On your face,” her brother replied.

And so Eliza brought her face down to his groin, and aimed his cock at her face, and pumped his dick until he splattered his cum all over her eyes and cheeks and mouth.

Then she went back to bed, making no effort to clean her brother’s spunk off her, and went to sleep.

In the morning, she once again woke before her father and brother, back in control of her own actions, and she ran to the bathroom to clean her brother’s sperm off her face, and find a towel to cover herself with.

When her father and brother rose, and it became clear that she had destroyed Zane’s shirt, her father was angry.

“You can’t keep doing this, Eliza,” he told her.

“I’m not giving her any more of my clothes,” said Zane.  He paused, and looked at her, and then added, “And I think she should be punished.”

Henry stared at his daughter with lust, and said, “I agree.  Eliza, you can make do with the clothes that you have left for yourself.   Go and dress in whatever clothes you still have.”

Eliza didn’t want to, but she could hardly stay in her room for the rest of her life, and so after a while she emerged in a tiny miniskirt that was little more than a belt and a shirt that only came down as far as her nipples.  She was aware that her pussy and ass were on full display, and she hated it.

“And now for the punishment,” said her father.

“I thought this *was* the punishment!” Eliza objected.

“She needs to be spanked,” said Zane.

“That’s right,” said her father.  “Bend over.”

Eliza awkwardly bent forward over the kitchen table, not believing that this was really happening.   

But it was.   SMACK!  Her father hit her ass with his open hand.  SMACK!  SMACK!

Eliza wanted to cry.   Not because it hurt – although it did hurt – but because this was her father smacking her bare ass as though she were a child.  Her father, whose cock she had sucked twice.  

And also because she was becoming aware it felt good.  Each blow sent vibrations through her buttocks and her groin – and she could feel her cunt getting wet.

SMACK!  SMACK!  SMACK!

Her father gave her thirty hard swats on the ass, and then stopped.

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson, Eliza,” he said.  “I want you to apologise for being a slut and thank me for punishing you.”

Was this for real?   But Zane and her father were treating it like it was.

“Thank you for smacking me, daddy,” she said.  “And… I’m sorry for being a slut.”

That night when she woke, she took her phone and placed it so it could record her in her bed.  Then she spread her legs and masturbated nude until she was on the edge of orgasm – and then she sent the video she had just made to her father and brother.

Then she got out of bed and went to her father.

He was already awake tonight.  The covers were thrown back and his dick was rock hard.

She climbed up on the bed and began to stroke his cock with her hand.

“Do you want to fuck me, daddy?” she purred.  “You don’t need to say it.  Just twitch your dick if you do.”

His dick jerked violently in her hand.

“If you want to fuck me, you have to force me,” she whispered.  “Don’t let me say no.  Do it during the day.  I won’t tell anyone, I promise.  I want it.”

And then she climbed atop him in a 69 position, her cunt near his face, and she began to suck his dick.

After a while she felt his tongue on her pussy, parting her pussy lips, licking from her fuckhole to her clitoris.

She burned with shame.   Her own daddy was licking her cunt.   And it felt good.

She orgasmed before her father did.  And then she orgasmed again when he filled her mouth with his cum.

In her mind, something told her that this was good.  She was making everything right.  She had been trained so long to understand that her place was as a slave.  She had been beaten whenever she had considered any purpose for her life other than being a fucktoy.  The thought of freedom and dignity brought fear and shame.  It wasn’t right that Eliza’s father and brother treated her like a person.  They must see her as she truly was – their slave to use and abuse.

And as much as Eliza – the real Eliza – hated those thoughts, she couldn’t banish them.

Now she found herself rising and walking down the passageway to her brother’s room.  He was asleep, but he woke when Eliza put her mouth on his cock and began to suck.  As with her father, he raised no objection to her oral ministrations, and soon her brother, too, was filling her mouth with his cum.

And then she returned to bed, and slept the sleep of a fuckdoll who knew she had done her duty.

In the morning, her father and brother were already awake.  Eliza dressed in another tiny miniskirt, and another top that left her underboob on display, and left her room for breakfast.

Her father was looking at his phone.

“Eliza,” he said.   “Did you send us these slutty videos?”

She had.  She remembered, with a burst of shame.

“No,” she lied.

“Don’t lie to me, Eliza,” said her father.  “Who else could possibly have done it?”

Eliza swallowed.  “I know you’re not going to believe me, but… there’s something in this house, dad.  I think it’s a ghost… the ghost of the abducted girl.  At night she makes me… do things.”

Her father didn’t ask what “things” it made her do.  He knew.   So did her brother.  And she could see in his eyes a flicker of sudden belief and understanding.  He had to have been wondering why his daughter was suddenly sucking his cock.   Honestly, it made more sense that she was possessed by a ghost than that she was suddenly giving in to incestuous fantasies.

But he didn’t *want* to believe.  Because if he did, the only rational response would be to leave the house immediately.

And if he did that, his daughter might stop sucking his cock.

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If you enjoyed this story, you can find many more tales of sexy curses in my e-book Cast a Slutty Spell, available from AllTheseRoadworks now for only $3.99 USD! Your purchase shows your appreciation and supports the creation of new, free content! (Click here to view in store.)

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When Eliza's family moves into a haunted house, Eliza falls under the spell of a slutty, incestuous ghost.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Madelyn’s Conservatorship, Part 10

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

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Madelyn did not entirely like her bedroom, either.

For one thing, she was clearly going to be sharing the room with Avery.  And not just the room, but the bed – for there was only one bed, a lush four-posted canopied king-size bed, decorated with soft pink pillows in satin pillowcases.

Madelyn liked her sister – loved her, in fact – but a teenaged girl needed privacy from time to time.  However, Madelyn was coming to realise that privacy would be in short supply in her new life.

Pink was the general theme of the room.  The carpet was white and fluffy but the walls and furniture were decorated in various shades of pastel pink.  

Madelyn liked pink as well, but in these shades and this quality it felt… infantilising.

Which was almost certainly intentional, because in every other way this was not the bedroom of a pair of teenagers, but rather the bedroom of a child.  There was a large plush teddy bear in one corner – so big that it was larger than Avery – and a small collection of Barbie dolls and their clothes were scattered between its legs.  There was a low table with two child-sized chairs, and on the table was paper, a colouring book, and a set of crayons.  There was a child’s ball on the floor.

On the wall, spelled out in letters of colourful painted wood, were the words “MADELYN ♡ AVERY”.  On the opposite wall were the words “DADDY’S GIRLS”.  There was a bookcase, and Madelyn could see from here that approximately half the books on it were children’s picture books, suitable for children under the age of six, and the other half were hardcore pornographic magazines.

On one wall, up high, was a television screen, which was silently playing a children’s show.  Not a modern one, but rather Princess Bright – a show that had been popular when Madelyn and Avery had been children.  Madelyn could see no way to turn the screen off or change its volume or channel.

Madelyn looked at Uncle Sean in case this was some kind of a joke, although she already knew it wasn’t.  She wanted to complain.  In fact, she wanted to throw a tantrum, and insist that she wouldn’t cooperate with any of this, and that she wanted to go home *right now*.

But for talking back one too many times, Great-Uncle Benjamin had made Avery slap her.  And when she had *really* tried to resist, back at home before getting into the car, they had used that horrid device on her, the one that overrode her brain and turned her into a slut.  Under the influence of that device in Logan’s hands she had pissed into a glass in public and watched another girl drink it, she had sucked off several men in a public toilet, and she had let Logan piss into her mouth and swallowed.  When Great-Uncle Benjamin had used it on her today, she had wet herself in public and then orgasmed from letting her sister play with her pussy while sucking on her pissy panties.

She didn’t want them to use that device on her again.  She didn’t like the person she became.  That Madelyn was a perverted, dirty slut – nothing at all like the real Madelyn.  She was scared of what other nasty, degrading things she might do under the influence of the device.

So she said nothing, and accepted her demeaning new bedroom.

“I knew you girls would love it,” said Uncle Sean.  “Run along in now.”

To Madelyn’s frustration, Avery *did* seem to love the room.

“Look, Madelyn,” she said.  “Isn’t it pretty?  And we’re going to be sharing a room!  It’ll be like a holiday!”

“Now, we need to get you out of those dirty clothes that you’ve been sluts in,” said Uncle Sean.  “I’ll give you some privacy for that.  Just strip down, and put your clothes through the slot in the door here.  Then I’ll unlock the wardrobe and you can get dressed in fresh clothes.”

Madelyn looked at the bedroom door and saw that there was indeed a slot near the floor – probably just wide enough for her to get her arm through, up to the elbow.

She also noticed that the door had a lock on it – and it locked from the outside, not the inside.

“When you’re dressed, you can start your slut diaries,” said Uncle Sean.  He had brought them from the lounge room, and he placed them now on the girl’s bed, along with a pair of pens and the Polaroid cameras.  “And I’ll come find you when it’s time for dinner.”

With that, he left the room, and closed the door.  There was a “click” of the lock turning.

Avery immediately began to get undressed.

“Avery, what are you doing?” said Madelyn.

“Uncle Sean – I mean, daddy – he told us to get undressed,” said Avery.

“You don’t have to *do* it,” said Madelyn.

“But he’s in charge of us now,” said Avery.  “The court said so.  And if we’re bad girls he’ll punish us.”

“Avery, this is *wrong*,” said Madelyn.  “This is perverted.  Uncle Sean doesn’t have our best interests at heart.  He wants to… embarrass us and be cruel to us.”

“Why would he want to do that, Maddy?” asked Avery.  “He’s our uncle – or I guess, our daddy now.”  She already had her top and bra off, exposing her cute tits.

“He’s messed up,” said Madelyn.  “Him and Great-Uncle Benjamin both.  And Logan.  They’re all… perverted weirdos.”

Avery bit her lip.  “Maddy,” she said, “I don’t like slapping you, but Uncle Sean will make me if you keep being difficult.  *Please* be a good girl.”  She pulled off her skirt and wiggled her panties down her legs.

“But…” said Madelyn.

“Maddy, what you did at the bar and in that video… pissing, giving all those boys blowjobs in the toilets… the boys I know call that ‘fatherless behaviour’,” said Avery.  “Sometimes girls get slutty and wild and self-destructive when they don’t have a male role model.  I’ve been trying to be a good girl without daddy, but… I’m worried about you.  I know mom loves us, but… there’s a nude photo of her spreading her pussy in our hallway.  I have a photo of the moment a man knocked her up with me hanging in my bedroom.  I don’t think she’s a good role model, Maddy.”

Madelyn wanted to scream.

“Besides,” said Avery.  “What are you going to do?  Run away, and leave me here?  I need you here, Maddy.”

Avery was right, in a way.  Madelyn didn’t have a lot of other good options.  She had to play along – for Avery’s sake, if nothing else.

“Fine,” she said, and began to undress.

She had to admit that her sister was incredibly beautiful in the nude.  Avery’s smaller tits were still more than enough to fill a bra, but they sometimes made Madelyn self-conscious about her own much larger boobs.  She felt slutty, by comparison to her sister.

Madelyn had to admit she was grateful to remove the wet panties, and then to pull the skirt out of her cunt.  Her pussy felt strangely empty without it.

When they were both nude, Madelyn pushed their clothes through the slot in the door, and then went to the wardrobe.

The door wouldn’t open.  It was magnetically locked, somehow.

“Uncle Sean,” she called, “I mean… daddy.   Can you open the wardrobe?”

“Why don’t you take your photos for the slut diary, girls, and then I’ll open it?” came the reply from through the door.  “Just tell me when you’re done.”

Avery practically bounced.  “Do me first!” she said.

“Do you really *want* to be photographed nude?” asked Madelyn.

“It’s just for us,” said Avery.  “And it’s to help you get better.  Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Uncle Sean had said the first photo in each diary needed to be a full-body nude photo.  Avery pouted cutely as Madelyn picked up the camera and snapped an instant picture of her naked sister.  When the photo printed from the camera, Madelyn set it aside to auto-develop.

“Now your pussy,” she said.

Avery sat on the bed and spread her legs, and then used her fingers to spread her pussy open.  It was an incredibly lewd position and Madelyn felt uncomfortable with it, even though Avery was still beaming with innocent delight.

Every Avery’s clitoris looked cuter than Madelyn’s.  It wasn’t fair.

She took the photo.

“Your turn!” said Avery.

Madelyn stood in front of Avery awkwardly as Avery took the camera.

“Not like that,” said Avery.  “Come on, you’re an influencer.  Do a pose!”

Instinctively, Madelyn moved her right arm under her tits to lift them and pull them together, and used her left hand to give the V-for-victory sign.

Avery snapped the picture.

“Now your pussy!” she said.

Madelyn really didn’t like this, but she had come this far.  She sat on the bed, and parted her legs, and used her fingers to spread her pussy lips.

Avery took the photo.

When the photos were developed, and Madelyn looked at them, she felt a wave of dizziness.

There was something awful about them.  Two pairs of photos, showing two sisters.  In one photo, a vibrant, happy, nude young woman – and in the other, a wet pink hole.  Somehow it felt like everything that Madelyn was, all of her identity and personality, had been reduced to a lewd spread fuckhole designed to make cocks ejaculate into it.

She felt like she might cry.

“Hey, hey, Maddy, it’s okay,” said Avery.  She came over and wrapped her arms around her sister, pressing her bare tits against Madelyn’s side.  

And when Madelyn turned to look at Avery, Avery kissed her.

Not a chaste, sisterly kiss, but a long, passionate lover’s kiss.  Avery’s tongue pushed into Madelyn’s mouth, and in her confused, desperate, miserable state, Madelyn allowed it.  It felt good to receive affection from someone that she trusted absolutely. And after a moment, she met Avery’s tongue with her own, and kissed her sister back.

She felt her pussy getting wet as she kissed, and she hated it.  She hated that she was getting aroused by her own sister.  She hated herself, and she hated her body.

But she didn’t hate Avery.  And so she let the kiss go on.

When Avery finally broke it off, she smiled, and said, “Practicing, right?  Because we’re supposed to do this a couple of times a day.”

Madelyn shook her head.  “It’s wrong, Avery,” she said.  “This is Uncle Sean messing with us.”

“Why is it wrong?” said Avery.  “I just want to make you happy.  And it feels good.  And it’s not like it’s hurting anyone.”

“Sisters shouldn’t kiss,” said Madelyn.  “It’s… slutty.  And besides, we’re not lesbians.”

Avery didn’t seem like she agreed with any of what Madelyn had just said.

“Well, we have to,” Avery replied.  “And we can either feel good about it, or feel dirty and ashamed, and I don’t want to feel dirty and ashamed.  You’re my *sister* and I love you, Madelyn.  Can’t we just enjoy this, seeing as we have to do it anyway?”

Madelyn could feel the edge of hurt in Avery’s voice.  If Madelyn told Avery that she was slutty and dirty for wanting to kiss, Avery would ultimately believe her.  Avery looked up to her big sister in every way.  But where would that get them?  Uncle Sean would still make them kiss, and then Avery would just feel like a disgusting slut every time it happened.  And it would be Madelyn’s fault, in a way.

She sighed.

“No, you’re right,” she said.  “It feels good, and it’s not dirty unless we make it dirty.  I love you, sis, and I guess if we have to kiss anyway we can at least enjoy it.”

Avery beamed.  “That’s good!” she giggled.  “Because I *really* like kissing you.”  She bit her lip, and added, “That thing I did for you in the car… I didn’t mind that either, you know.”

The thing in the car had been masturbation.  Avery had rubbed Madelyn’s clit until Madelyn had orgasmed.  Madelyn was pretty sure that definitely *was* slutty, on both their parts.

“You did it well,” Madelyn conceded.  “It felt good.  And I’m glad it was you rather than Uncle Sean.”

Avery gasped at the idea of Uncle Sean playing with Madelyn’s pussy, and blushed.

Madelyn turned to the door.  “We’re done with the photos, daddy.”

“Good girls,” came the response.  And there was a click, as the wardrobe unlocked.

Madelyn ran to see what was in the wardrobe – and was immediately disappointed by the results.  The only things inside was an elaborate set of white lingerie, complete with stockings, garter belt, and a little white ribbon to go in a girl’s hair – and a single thin oversized T-shirt with the words “DADDY’S GIRL” on it.

“Daddy,” called out Madelyn, “there’s only one set of clothes in here.”

But there was no response.  Uncle Sean had left.

And in her heart, Madelyn knew that there was no mistake.

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If you love this story, you’ll love my novella Tuning Chloe, about a bratty daughter hypnotically adjusted into a submissive fucktoy – one choice at a time!  Your purchase shows your appreciation and supports the creation of hot new content! (Click here to view Tuning Chloe in store.)

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Madelyn and Avery discover their new bedroom.