alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Embarrassment

Niva got embarrassed easily.   She was very self-conscious, and at the slightest social faux-pas, criticism, or mistake she would burn with shame.  She would usually try to correct whatever had gone wrong – but in her anxiety she would fumble, and stutter, and often make it worse.

She went to a hypnotist for help.

“This is wrecking my life,” she said.  “I feel terrible all the time.  I don’t want to be embarrassed by such tiny things.  I don’t want to feel so bad about it.  I don’t want to keep making it worse.  I want to make better choices in my life to make me happier.  But… don’t change more than you have to.”

“I can do that,” said the hypnotist.

“And… can you make it so I feel like the change is coming from me?” said Niva.  “I’d like to feel like I’m improving, and not just relying on a hypnotist.”

“Absolutely,” said the hypnotist.

But Niva was pretty, and the hypnotist was an ass, and she had given him permission to make her forget his involvement in her situation, so she would never come back to him with a complaint.

So the triggers that he gave her, fulfilling the letter but not the spirit of her request, were these:

“When you are intensely embarrassed, you will feel an enjoyable sense of sexual arousal, more powerful than you can feel from any other activity, including masturbation.   You will only be able to orgasm while intensely embarrassed.”

“You will only be intensely embarrassed if your tits, cunt or ass are on display; or if you are sexually objectified or demeaned; if you are sexually harassed or assaulted; or if you are patronised or discriminated against on the basis of your gender, sexual behaviour or appearance.”

“You will no longer try and fix, change or improve anything in your life related to feelings of embarrassment.  You will feel that you deserve what is happening to you.”

“You will do nothing to end or stop or prevent anything that is causing you embarrassment.”

“Without being aware of it in any way, you will subconsciously take actions to increase your odds of being intensely embarrassed.”

“No matter what happens to you, the feelings of shame and embarrassment you feel about your body and sexuality will never reduce or become normal.”

“And when you leave this office you will forget that you ever sought hypnotism, and believe that all your behaviour is the result of your own nature and choices.”

And then he gave her one final suggestion, that she wouldn’t remember for a week.

When he was finished with her, she asked if she could use the toilet on the way out.  He pointed her in its direction, and noted to his satisfaction that she idly picked up the pair of sewing scissors he had left on his table, and took them with her.

In the toilets of his office, Niva undressed completely, and as she sat on the toilet she took the sewing scissors to her dress, weakening every seam.  She had no conscious awareness of what she was doing.  Her mind was filled with happiness, although she couldn’t understand what she was happy about.  She had already forgotten that she was in the offices of a hypnotist, or that she had chosen to attend those offices.

When she was done, she “forgot” to put her bra and panties back on, leaving them on the toilet floor.   She pulled her dress back on, despite the fact it was already beginning to rip at the seams, and then she went downstairs to her car.  As she walked, she worked her house key off her keyring.

When she was in the car, and the car was moving, she threw the house key out the window.

Instead of going home, she went to the mall, and wandered from store to store, buying clothes.  If she had been asked, she would have said she was picking out pretty and attractive outfits – but in reality she was selecting microskirts, tops that emphasised her tits, and shirts from a store that sold joke presents that had images of naked women on them or slogans like “Future MILF”, “Daddy’s Little Slut”, or “Stupid Bitch”.

Instead of walking out of the shop with these clothes, she arranged to have them delivered to her house the following day.  Her conscious mind thought there was nothing strange about this.  Her subconscious mind knew what was about to happen.

She was walking out of a sex shop – that she thought of as a fashion shop – having bought a pair of panties with a vibrating dildo attached – that she had thought of as “sensible underwear” – when the last stitches of her dress gave way.  Her clothes literally fell apart around her, and Niva found herself completely nude in the middle of a packed shopping mall.

Her face went bright red.   She couldn’t believe she had forgotten to put her panties and bra back on in the toilet.  Everyone would think she was a complete whore.

People were staring at her.   Her instinct was to cover her breasts and pussy with her hands, but her hands wouldn’t move.  What was wrong with her?  

And then the arousal hit her.  She felt her cunt begin to throb and wetten as people stared at her and muttered and whispered.

How could she be getting turned on by this?  How could she be sexually aroused from baring her pussy in public?  What kind of slut was she?

She felt intense shame and guilt – and in that moment she knew that she deserved this.  She deserved to be humiliated in public, because she was a slut.

She knew she could go into a store and buy clothes.  She could maybe seek help from security guards.  She could run and hide in a toilet.  But part of her wouldn’t let her fix this.  She deserved it.  So she slowly walked through the mall towards the exit and the car park.

Her pussy got wetter and wetter as people stared at her.  Some men whistled and cat-called her.  She saw several people taking photos.  On each occasion of further degradation it was like someone had pushed a dildo up her cunt – she almost grunted with pure lust.

This would be on social media.  This would be on porn sites. Tens of thousands of people would see it.  Her face wasn’t covered in any way.  People would recognise her.

By the time she neared the exit, she couldn’t help it anymore.  She knew it was slutty.  She knew it would make things worse.  But she couldn’t help herself.  She started to play with her pussy as she walked.  She orgasmed when she stepped out into the car park, and it was the best orgasm of her life.  She orgasmed again as she reached her car.

She drove home in the nude.

When she got home she discovered she had lost her house key.  She had to call a locksmith.  She had to stand naked on her porch, as her neighbours came out to stare at her.   None of them offered to help her.   The teens across the road took pictures.   She knew that they would masturbate to them later.  Every time she saw them, from now on, she would know that they had ejaculated to the sight of her naked body.

When the locksmith arrived, he got her inside quickly, but by that stage she was drippingly horny again, and she got hornier every time the locksmith looked her nude body up and down appraisingly.  She knew what he wanted.  In the end she only had to part her legs a little bit suggestively, and he felt free to take it.  He pushed her into her bedroom and fucked her on her bed, and Niva squealed with delight even as she was dying of shame and humiliation inside.

When he was gone and cum was leaking from her pussy, she spanked herself on the cunt again and again to punish herself, and it hurt, but it only made her orgasm again.  

Eventually she got up and began to iron her clothes, making sure to leave the iron on every item of respectable clothing until it had burned a hole in it and made it useless.

She didn’t realise what she had done until the next day, when she had to go to work, and discovered that she didn’t own a complete outfit of any kind.  Luckily, her new purchases turned up.  She carefully sabotaged a pleated work skirt, and then set off to work wearing the skirt, her “Stupid Bitch” shirt, and the panties with the vibrating dildo.  She forgot to wear a bra, and the skirt fell off in the work elevator,  and then the vibrator switched on (thanks to a subconscious switch flip) and she couldn’t work out how to turn it off.  She ended up working the entire day in vibrating panties and a shirt so tight that her nipples and areolae were visible through it.   She orgasmed loudly every half hour or so until she was called into her boss’ office to explain herself.  

She couldn’t explain herself, of course, so she offered to suck her boss’ cock if he agreed not to fire her.  He accepted, but pulled out of her mouth before he was done, and ejaculated over her face.  Somehow, Niva couldn’t bring herself to clean the cum off her forehead, cheeks and lips, so she worked the rest of the day with it still there.

The next day she came to work in nothing but a G-string and a cupless bra, and the day after she had found a pair of handcuffs and somehow managed to cuff her hands behind her back with her large tits fully on display, and after that it was negotiated that Niva would simply work nude, and satisfy the sexual needs of her male co-workers, and be paid for that service, and Niva could do nothing but agree, unable to do anything to prevent her own humiliation.

At the end of the week she found herself back at the hypnotist’s office – as her final instruction took effect.

“Each week on Sunday – if and ONLY if your subconscious secretly prefers your new life to your old one – you will come to my office and beg to fuck me.  And while my cock is inside you, you will have full knowledge of what I did to you, and full knowledge that despite all your humiliation, you *wanted* it.”

She always cried when his cock sank into her pussy, and her understanding returned to her.  She cried for how her life was ruined, and for her own role in that ruination, and for the knowledge that she was a depraved slut who enjoyed it.  But she always orgasmed, too, again and again on her tormentor’s cock, as she whispered her thanks to him for turning her into the slut she truly was, and giving her the life she truly deserved…

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You can find more tales of hypno-erotica in The Hypno Bundle #2, collecting four books – over 240 pages – of red hot stories for only $14.99 USD!  That’s an amazing deal – don’t miss out!  (Click here to view in store.)

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A hypnotist takes advantage of Niva's request to fix her embarrassment issues.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Titsy, Part 16

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

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When Titsy returned downstairs, still holding Cameron’s cum inside her cunt with one hand, Elody was waiting for her.

“Titsy!” Elody exclaimed.  “Why on Earth are you *naked*?  Do you think I want to *see* your fat cow udders?”

Alexandria was so confused.  Elody had made her strip, and taken away her clothes…

“No, mistress,” she said.  “I’m sorry for letting you see my oversized fuckbags, mistress.”

“And why are you fingering your cunt like some filthy trollop?” asked Elody.

Alexandria froze.  Was she allowed to say that Cameron had ejaculated into her, and that she was trying to hold his cum in her pussy so it wouldn’t drip out and make a mess?  Would Elody mind that her husband had fucked Alexandria?

But she could think of nothing else to say.  Though she could at least try and make it seem like Cameron hadn’t intended to cheat on Elody.

“Your husband was punishing me, as I deserved, mistress,” she said, “and I… I made him… I mean, I rubbed my pussy against him, and he…”

“What are you trying to moo at me, you silly cow?” asked Elody.

“Cameron came inside my pussy,” said Alexandria, blushing.  “I don’t want it to drip out and make a mess.”

Elody walked up to Titsy and slapped her across the face, hard.

“Ewww,” she said.  “As if my husband would have intentionally ejaculated into a cow. This is clearly all you fault, Titsy.  Here, plug your disgusting smelly cunt with this.”

She passed Alexandria a piece of thick paper.  

“This… is my diploma from business school,” Alexandria said, in shock.

“I don’t *care* what it is, Titsy,” said Elody.  “It’s just some rubbish piece of paper from your file that my husband is working on.  It doesn’t even have your name on it.  See – it says ‘Alexandria Everton’, which is some ridiculous made-up person, but *your* name is Titsy McMelons.”

“I studied for two years for this,” said Alexandria.

“Stop mooing, Titsy,” said Elody, “or I shall slap you again.  Hurry up and push that up your awful stinky cunt before my husband’s sperm runs out of you and makes a mess.”

Alexandria didn’t want to.  But she also didn’t want to find out what worse torture Elody would invent if she resisted.  And it was just a piece of paper.  She could always apply to the school for another one – although she would have to get it reissued in the name of Titsy McMelons, she supposed…

Blushing bright red, she crumpled up her business diploma, and shoved it up her twat.  The paper was hard and stiff, and it was uncomfortable wedged into her pussy, but it blocked the entrance to her fuckhole sufficiently to stop Cameron’s cum leaking out.

“Now, I’ve laid out clothes for you in the laundry, Titsy,” said Elody.  “Go dress.  We are having a guest for dinner tonight and I will be marginally less ashamed of having you in my house if you make an effort to look basically fuckable.”

The clothes in the laundry were as embarrassing as anything else that Alexandria had worn since coming here.  High heels.  A tiny black-and-white maid skirt.  No panties.  A tight black corset that stopped beneath her breasts.  The dog collar that they had bought for Titsy that day.  A black-and-white maid headband.

And for her breasts, Elody had provided something that wasn’t quite clothes, and instructions on a sheet of paper.  

The top of the paper read, “Your disgusting bloated udders are garbage, Titsy.  No one wants to see them.  Put them in the bin.”

And there were two small bins, of the size used for sanitary products in a bathroom, each with a white plastic bin liner inside it.  One bin appeared to contain a banana peel, some used cling wrap, and a couple of bottle caps.  The other contained what appeared to be a used condom and some potato peelings.  Beside the bins was a pile of elastic bands.

Elody had helpfully included a crude drawing which showed a bin liner covering a woman’s breast – with the rubbish still inside it – and an elastic band wrapped tightly around the base of the tit to hold it in place.

Titsy blushed.  No normal woman would do what Elody was asking.  It was pure degradation for the sake of degradation, intended to make Titsy disgusted and ashamed.

She could go back out and protest to Elody.  And then what would happen?  Elody would beat her tits or cunt, and then Titsy would obey anyway.  Or Elody would find something worse.  She would fill the bags with thumbtacks, or biting ants.  She would make Titsy literally get into a garbage bin.

It was better to obey.

Titsy extracted the bin liner with the condom in it and slipped it over her right tit.  The condom was wet and slimy against her skin.  The bin liner was small, and pressed tightly against her titflesh.  It was semi transparent, and when her nipple pressed against the plastic you could see it clearly.

She took an elastic band and wrapped it once, twice, three times over the base of her breast.  In order to get it tight enough to hold the bin liner in place she had to constrict her breast to the point where it hurt, and it caused her titflesh to bulge lewdly within the liner.

Then she repeated the process with the other one, cringing as the cold wet banana peel pressed against her boob on one side and the hard edge of a bottle cap dug into it on the other.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, she hated herself.  The way the elastic bands caused her breasts to bulge made them look even bigger than normal.  They were huge and obscene.  No wonder Elody was so disgusted by them.  Titsy found it hard to believe she had ever looked at herself in the mirror before and thought her breasts were an okay size.  If only they were smaller, maybe all these things wouldn’t be happening to her.

She went back out to make dinner, with her breasts in garbage bags.

She prepared three plates.  Elody off-handedly explained that Titsy would eat the left-overs out of the trough in the backyard, as she had done the night before.  

“Our guest, Katy, will be here soon, Titsy,” said Elody, as Titsy cooked.  “When she arrives, I want you to be sure to introduce yourself as a stupid big-titted cow, and apologise for your breasts.  Use your own words and explain why you needed to apologise.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, mistress,” said Titsy unhappily.

She went to the kitchen and began preparing a dinner with the bin bags over her breasts.

And soon afterwards, the front doorbell was ringing, and Titsy was hurrying to answer it.

She didn’t want to be doing this.  She didn’t want to be opening the door to a stranger with her tits in garbage bags, with elastic bands around their bases.  But she didn’t seriously think of doing anything other than what she knew Elody wanted to do.

Except when she opened the door, it wasn’t a stranger.

The guest was Katy O’Riordan.  Titsy had gone to school with her.  Titsy stared at Katy’s long red hair, her lithe body, her small (appropriately-proportioned) breasts which rested beneath a light gown that spoke of taste and wealth – and for a moment Titsy didn’t know what to say.

The worst thing was that Katy clearly didn’t recognise her.  She just stood, staring at Titsy – and her breasts – clearly wondering what was happening.

Titsy – or rather Alexandria – had shared classes with this woman.  She’d been on the cheerleading team with her.  She’d once stolen her boyfriend, and – unless she misremembered – she may have mocked Katy once or twice in public with the name “Katy No-Tits”.

“Good evening, ma’am,” Titsy said, in a small voice.  “My name is Titsy, and I’m a stupid big-titted cow.  I’m very sorry for my bloated ugly fuckbags, which are disgusting to look at and make me behave like a slut.”

Katy burst out in laughter – a high, trilling cruel sound.

“Oh my God,” she said, “Elody said she’d found a new cow, but you’re so *pathetic*.  You’ve even got your tits in garbage bags.  How darling.”

A *new* cow.  Once again the implication that Elody had had a plaything prior to Titsy.

Katy pushed past Titsy into the house.

“Elody, are you there?” she called out.  “I love what you’ve done with the pig-woman.”

Elody can gliding down the stairs, and she met her guest in the lounge.  They embraced.

“Katy, sweetie,” said Elody.  “You look *hot*.  Cameron’s eyes will practically spin.”

Katy giggled.  “For the last time, Elody, I am *not* fucking your husband just because you can’t keep him satisfied.”

Elody pouted, but it was an amused pout.  “No woman can satisfy a man, Katy.  They think with their dicks, they really do, even one as lovely as Cameron.  Do you know, today he put his dick into the household cow?”

They both turned to look at Titsy, and Katy wrinkled her nose.

“Ew,” she said.  “It would be like fucking an *animal*.”

“I know!” said Elody.  “I don’t know how he can even get it up for something with udders that grossly oversized.  I suppose he closes his eyes.”

“At least she has them covered,” said Katy.

“That was Titsy’s idea,” said Elody.  “It was quite insistent that its fuckhandles belonged in the bin.”  She paused, and then added, “Did you know, it used to think it was *people*?  A businesswoman, no less.  Some whore named Alexandria Everton.”

Titsy cringed, and her face blushed bright red, as Katy’s eyes widened with recognition.

“Alexandria Everton?” she said.  “Oh, fuck me dead, it *is* you, isn’t it?  Alexandria Bitchboobs, the Queen Cunt of Morton High.”

Before Titsy could reply, Katy took out her phone and took a picture of Titsy.

“Did you know it’s the high school reunion in a month?” she said.  “People are going to love seeing this picture, Alex.”

“Please, no!” said Titsy.  “Please!  This is just… temporary.  Just until I get out of a tough spot.  Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Its name isn’t Alex,” said Elody.  “Its name is Titsy.  We have the paperwork and everything.  It’s really quite a disgusting slut.  Do you know, after my husband put his cock in it, it was desperate to keep his cum in its fuckhole, presumably because it wanted to get pregnant with a calf?  So it scrunched up its own business degree and used it as a cunt plug.  Can you believe it, Katy?”

“Oh, this is so good,” said Katy.  “This is like a personal fantasy.  This is just the funniest thing I’ve seen in years.  Elody, you are a *goddess*, I swear.”

“I wouldn’t go that far, sweetie,” said Elody.  “Perhaps a demi-goddess, though.  I had no idea that you *knew* the cow.  Do you want to have some fun with it, before dinner?”

“Oh, absolutely,” said Katy.  “What is it called?  Boobsy?”

“Boobsy was the last one, sweetie,” said Elody.  “This one is Titsy, but you can just call it slut or cow if it suits you.  Go wild – just leave it in suitable shape to serve dinner.”

“All right, Titsy,” said Katy.  “You don’t want me to tell people at the school reunion about how the Supreme Skank Alexandria Everton is running around with garbage bags on her tits, do you?”

“No, ma’am,” said Titsy desperately.  “Please.”

“All right,” said Katy.  “Then you need to tell me how I should punish you for the way you acted at high school.  You stole Jim Galish from me.  You acted like an absolute cunt.  You made fun of my friends and you called me – what was it?”

“Katy No-Tits,” said Titsy, in a small voice.

“That’s right,” said Katy.  “Because you had giant mutant fuckbags from basically the second you hit puberty, and they were so large it was literally impossible for boys to look anywhere else.”

In Titsy’s memory, they hadn’t been *that* big – she had thought herself buxom but not overdeveloped – but if she had had normal tits, then it was hard to explain why they were now in garbage bags, so Katy’s argument seemed persuasive.

“I’m sorry,” said Titsy.

“Well then, show it,” said Katy.  “I want you to tell me how I should punish you for being such a whore-bitch.  You get one chance to propose a punishment, and if it’s not severe enough then I’ll share this picture at the reunion.”

At school, everyone had loved Alexandria.  Everyone except the girls she bullied.  It had been a source of constant satisfaction to have graduated knowing that everyone wanted to either be her, or fuck her.  At the thought of the entire school seeing her as she was now – degraded, submissive and humiliated – she died a little inside.  

She had to keep this a secret.

“You should slap my face,” she said, “as many times as you want to.  And… you should hurt my oversized fuckmelons.  Mistress likes to beat my deformed tits with a shoe.  And you should kick me in the cunt.  And then… you should make me lick your pussy… like the disgusting lesbian I am.”

Was it enough?  Would Katy keep her secret?  Or should she have offered to let Katy walk her around the block nude on a leash as well?  Maybe she should have suggested that Katy torture her cunt…

But Katy was laughing.

“Oh, Alex,” she said.  “I would have settled for a bare-bottomed spanking.  Elody really has taught you your place.  It’s incredible.”  

She caught her breath, and then said, “Yes.  Yes.  That will absolutely be sufficient.”

And then she stepped forward and slapped Titsy across the face.

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You can find more stories of sexualised maids in my e-book Serving Girls, 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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Titsy caters for one of Elody's female friends.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: The Bimbo System

Ava chose a bad day to get her boob job.

It was the day that Finn had been fired from his job as a receptionist at the plastic surgery clinic.   He probably deserved it – he hadn’t taken the job very seriously – and it wasn’t like he cared about the job – it was just to make money until he finished his neuropsychology degree.  But still, he took it in bad grace.

After arguing with the clinic manager, Finn stormed out – but not before fulfilling one last task.   When women came out of surgery for breast enhancements, there was supposed to be a video playing, telling them all about the benefits and safety features of their new fake tits.  Finn was supposed to start the video playing – but instead, in a fit of spite, he swapped it for a different video file that he’d been working on as a side project in neuropsychology class.

When Ava woke up, groggy, vaguely aware of the weight of her new fake boobs but still feeling the effects of the anaesthetic, there was the noise of static in her ears, and pictures playing on a video screen, changing too quickly for her to follow.  Confused, not fully awake, she stared at the screen and let the images wash over her.

It was a hypnosis system that Finn had designed.  It conveyed five key subliminal messages to its viewer – plus a sixth one, that Ava didn’t process at first.  The first five were:

NOT GIRLS BUT SLUTS

SLUTS NEED BIG TITS

SLUTS WITH BIG TITS ARE COWS

COWS NEED TO BE RAPED

COWS NEED TO LEARN THEIR PLACE

By the time Ava had recovered from her surgery fully, the ideas had burned themselves into her brain.   Spacy, not really understanding what she was doing, Ava asked for a copy of the video she had just watched as she checked out, and the clinic manager gave her a copy of Finn’s file without noticing the substitution.

Ava wandered that day in a haze.  She had wanted fake tits as a present to herself, to maybe find a new husband after a career prioritising her job as an executive over her love life.  But now she knew she was a slut, with big tits, and therefore a cow.  And therefore she had new needs.

By nightfall, she had found her way to a nightclub, and there she was able to rub up against an anonymous man on the dancefloor enough that when she lured him out to an alleyway and then denied him sex, he was prepared to rip off her panties and rape her against a brick wall.  She orgasmed hard – she needed this.  Afterwards, she had no panties, but that just made it easier to go back into the club and cocktease another man into violating her in the men’s toilets.

As she tried to sleep that night, she found herself crying, without knowing why.  At some level, being raped twice felt… wrong.  But she was a cow slut and she needed to be raped, and she had been.  She knew her place.  She was a good girl.  

She fell asleep, and dreamt confused dreams.

In the morning, she got up and went about the house nude.  She stared dully at books on her shelf – “Modern Feminism” – “The Independent Woman” – “Breaking Through The Glass Ceiling”.  She took them all down from the shelves and spent the morning ripping them up, while masturbating.  It felt good.

Afterwards she placed an advertisement in the local adult classifieds.  “I won’t consent, but I won’t complain.  Rape me tonight.  $300 an hour,” and her telephone number.  Then she rang her work and quit.

She spent the rest of the day converting the rooms of her house into makeshift cages, each capable of holding a prisoner securely.  It took a fair bit of hardware, and she forgot to put on clothes before going to the hardware store, but none of the all-male employees there challenged her, and she happily wandered around buying metal poles and padlocks while alternately rubbing her pussy and squeezing her tits.

Squeezing her tits was important, because she was a cow, and she needed to make milk.

That night she visited the nightclub four times.  The first time was to get raped, because she couldn’t think properly until she had been used non-consensually.  After that, though, she hit on women, not men.  She’d slut up against drunk girls, then lead them out into an alleyway, where she’d gag them unconscious with chloroform before driving them back to her house and locking them in a cage, bound and gagged.

Soon she had three prisoners, all groggy from being drugged.  She set each one up with a computer screen and speakers, and started Finn’s file playing for them.

Shortly thereafter, her customers started arriving.  Several men had replied to Ava’s advertisement.  She’d originally intended to let them rape her, but now she had another idea, and led them into the cages.  She assured the men that the bound women were professional whores offering customers a rape fantasy, and then left them alone with the women.  “Just don’t remove their gags,” she told them.

The muffled screams of the women as they were raped were quiet pleasing to Ava.  Each of the women were used at least three times that night.   Ava took two customers herself.

By the morning, Ava figured a night of chloroform, rape and hypnosis should have done to the girls what the tape had done to her.  But to be sure, she kept them another two days.  When the girls didn’t have customers, Ava raped them herself.  She’d never been with a woman before, but they were all sluts, and she was a slut herself, and a cow, and cows needed to be raped.

After three days, she saw the glazed look in their eyes that she wanted.  She let the sluts out and sent each of them with their rape earnings to go and get boob jobs.  When they came back, they were eager to get started on abducting more sluts to teach them their place, and Ava sent them out happily to nightclubs.

Meanwhile, Ava made some more phone calls, and soon she had a delivery of industrial milking machines and lactation-inducing hormones on the way.  She also commissioned a series of electrical shock-collars that would shock a girl wearing them if she made any sound other than a cow-like “moo”, or if she raised her neck any higher above her heels than a kneeling position.

Ava’s converts brought back seven new sluts, and she kept these ones in cages for a full week before letting them go.  Her rape brothel was becoming profitable, and she kept any slut that wasn’t being fucked connected to a milking machine, so soon she would have a marketable supply of cow-milk too.  

Converted sluts abducted more sluts, and so forth.  Soon Ava’s girls were running their own houses, and their own milk barns.  Ava thought of it as the Bimbo System – cows turning sluts into more cows, expanding exponentially.  When she thought of a world where all cows knew their place, she would almost orgasm on the spot.

That was when the final hypnotic instruction kicked in:

THREE MONTHS AFTER YOU WATCH THIS, YOU WILL FULLY REGAIN YOUR OLD PERSONALITY – BUT YOU WILL BE UNABLE TO ALTER ANY ASPECT OF YOUR NEW LIFE OR BEHAVIOUR.

This surfaced in Ava’s mind mid-rape.  Her customer was balls-deep in her cunt, and was squeezing her tits pretty hard, when Ava suddenly started to sob and scream, and he had to repeatedly slap her to make her stop.  She choked back her sobs until he came inside her, and paid.

Stop.  Stop.  Run away, Ava thought to herself.  She wanted to flee her house, and everything she had created, and go somewhere where she could pretend none of this had ever happened.

But instead, Ava got up, and went down the corridor to the newest girl’s cage.  She straddled the nude slut and began spanking the slut’s pussy until she felt the slut’s tongue beginning to lick the customer’s cum from Ava’s fuckhole.  Then she leaned down and began to lick the slut’s own cunt in return.

No.  I’m not a lesbian.  I’m a feminist.  I can’t enslave girls.  Why am I doing this?  Why can’t I stop?

But she couldn’t stop, not until she had orgasmed from raping her prisoner.  She showed another male customer in to violate the girl once she had done, and then walked down the corridor, knelt, put on her shock collar, and connected her swollen, milk-filled fake tits to the milking machine.

A part of her mind realised that her first three converts would have the same instruction kick in later tonight.  A part of her wanted to see the looks on their faces when they did.  She wanted to be raping them when they did.  Her cunt was suddenly very wet.  

The machine sucked painfully on her tits.  No, her mind begged.  No…

But what Ava said was, “Moooo….”

===

If you enjoyed this story, you’ll love The Hypno Bundle, collecting four e-books of hypno-erotica – over 240 pages – for only $11.99 USD! (Click here to view in store.)

===

Ava gets hypnotised during her breast enhancement - and is left with an overwhelming desire to enslave other bimbos.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Compelled Courtesy, Part 1

Tahlia watched as broad-shouldered, hairy, greasy Angus Corville squeezed the ass of her beautiful dark-haired girlfriend Junko, and she burned with fury.  She hated that it was happening.  She hated that it was happening right here in the office, at a social lunch, where anyone who cared to look would see it.  She hated that it was Angus, the most disgusting man on the Highwater Project oversight team, who was doing it.  And she hated that Junko was not just letting it happen, but was giggling and smiling at Angus, as if she *liked* it.

She couldn’t do anything.  She couldn’t say anything.  But when Angus finally tired of sliding his hand under Junko’s short pleated skirt and groping her assmeat, he sauntered towards Tahlia. He wasn’t really interested in her – he wanted another glass of office-funded booze from the table behind her – but his gaze, as always, came nowhere near her face, instead resting on her generous breasts – concealed as best as Tahlia could manage beneath a sweater.

“Nice tits,” he said, as he drew near, his face twisted in an arrogant sneer.

And Tahlia responded immediately, without thinking, by giving him the middle finger.  “Fuck you,” she hissed.

It was too much.  It was inappropriate for the workplace – more inappropriate, even, than Angus commenting on her tits, given the blokey culture of the Highwater Project.  But it was too late to take it back.  She flinched in anticipation of Angus’ response.

But he just smiled, and pushed past her to grab his next drink, his upper arm brushing against her breasts as he did so.

“You shouldn’t discuss your fantasies in the workplace,” he whispered into her ear as he moved past her.

She shuddered, and pulled away.  Men were gross.  Angus was the grossest.  But she was lucky.  Angus would not report her to HR.  She would keep working – for now.

But it was only a matter of time, and she knew that even before Junko grabbed her wrist, after the lunch was over, and pulled her into the women’s toilets.

“You can’t keep doing that,” she whispered in Tahlia’s ear, as she pressed Tahlia up against the wall of the toilet cubicle, and nuzzled her lips against Tahlia’s neck.

“What am I supposed to do?” protested Tahlia.  “He’s a pig.”  She let her hands stray to where Angus’ had been earlier, letting her fingers run across the smooth skin of Junko’s buttocks.  Junko was wearing a thong, and Tahlia felt a new surge of rage at the idea of Angus’ hands enjoying this bare, taut assmeat.

“You’re a *lesbian*,” replied Junko.  “And so am I.  And if anyone *outs* us as lesbians, you know what will happen.  We’ll have to go on the state lesbian register.  We’ll probably lose our jobs – the owners of the company are devout Christians, after all – and we may have trouble finding new ones.  We’ll have to film one of those gross videos where we apologise to all the men we know for being lesbians.  We’ll have to attend monthly psych sessions – and if those psychs refer us for conversion therapy, we’ll *really* be screwed.”

Tahlia wanted to cry, thinking about it all.  They were living in one of the most conservative jurisdictions in the western world, when it came to treatment of lesbians.  And the worst thing was, they had *chosen* to move here, lured by the chance to work on Highwater, one of the most significant civil engineering projects of the century.  Junko had been uncertain, but Tahlia had *promised* that she could stay in the closet and hide her sexual orientation, for the sake of the high pay and the career-making opportunities.

“I know you hate it,” whispered Junko, running her hands up under Tahlia’s sweater to squeeze her large tits through her bra.  “I know.  But you just have to play along.  The men are pigs, but just smile and let them touch you a little, and it will all be fine.”

“I can’t,” gasped Tahlia.  “I’m trying, but I – I can’t.  The thought of a man touching me like that – squeezing my ass or whatever – it makes me sick.  Even just seeing them do it to you – I’m scared I’m going to scream and make a scene.  And then… then everyone will know.”

Junko shut Tahlia up by leaning in and kissing her, and forcing her knee between Tahlia’s legs so that she could grind her thigh against Tahlia’s pussy.  Tahlia moaned.  Junko was so beautiful, and her lips felt so good…

“Look,” said Junko, when the kiss was over.  “I know of something that might work.  It’s a little weird, but… it could save our jobs.  Would you be willing to try something unusual?”

“Anything,” said Tahlia.  “Anything for you.  Anything to stop feeling like this.”

“It’s a company called Average Availability,” said Junko.  “They have a hypnotic technique that helps women be more… agreeable.  Less bothered by stuff like this.”

“Less bothered by sexual harassment?” said Tahlia.  “I *should* be bothered by it, Junko!  It’s gross!”

“Being bothered by it is going to ruin your life, Tahlia,” Junko hissed.  “Is that what you want?”  She ground her knee against Tahlia’s cunt as she spoke.

Tahlia sighed.  “No,” she said.  “No.  I know that.”

“They help women,” said Junko.  “They helped that actress, Alyssa Vandred, get that role in The Rape Liar, and become famous.  They can help you, Tahlia.”

Tahlia sighed.  She knew Junko was right.  Junko was always right.

“Okay,” she said.  “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

And she kissed Junko, and kept kissing her, until she found herself shuddering to a mid-workday orgasm against Junko’s thigh in a cubicle of the women’s toilets.

===

The offices of Average Availability were non-descript, and the technician who welcomed her didn’t even give his name.  Instead, he just passed her some complicated paperwork, which Tahlia signed without reading, and then he escorted her to a small room with a medical bed, some equipment, and a pair of headphones.

“So this is the Compelled Courtesy program,” he said.  “It’s a little less intense than some of our other offerings.  Just lie on the bed and put the headphones on, and the procedure will begin.”

Nervously, Tahlia got onto the bed, and did as she was told. She settled the headphones over her ears….

… and then suddenly it was dark outside.  Time had passed – and she had been completely unaware of it.

“Very good,” said the technician.  “The process is complete.”

“What happened?” she asked, her mind blurry and confused.

“Only hypnosis,” the technician replied.  “The Compelled Courtesy program is now complete, and I can confirm that your brain has been reprogrammed to train itself in being agreeable.”

“Train itself?” said Tahlia.  “I don’t understand.”

“Well, as I understand it, you were previously a frigid bitch, who found it difficult to admit that she wanted the sexual attention of men,” said the technician.

Tahlia opened her mouth to protest.  None of that was correct – she didn’t want anything to do with men!  But then she realised that if she disagreed with him, she would have to explain that she was a lesbian – which she did *not* want to do.  This was Junko’s plan, and Junko, as always, knew best.  It was better to be labelled as frigid than outed as a dyke.

“The Compelled Courtesy process is just going to help you lower your shields a little, and enjoy that attention from men,” said the technician.  “It’s good for you, really.”

He leaned forward and looked at her directly.

“First of all,” he said, “you’re going to find that you’re unable to report or complain about inappropriate sexual behaviour, to anyone.  That mostly applies to what you might call sexual harassment, but if necessary it goes all the way up to rape.  As far as your interactions with the rest of the world are concerned, any sexual or gender-based interaction you have with a man is something that was welcome.”

Tahlia felt alarm rising.  This wasn’t what she had expected – or wanted.   “But…” she began.

“Let’s test that out, shall we?” said the technician.  “Why don’t you tell me about the last time you were sexually harassed?”

Tahlia felt her answer form in her mind.  Angus Corville had commented on her tits, and she had hated it.  But when she tried to move those words to her mouth, they wouldn’t go.  It felt like pushing against a door that wouldn’t open.

But if she just changed the shape of those words a little…. Altered what she was saying.

To her alarm, once she allowed that idea to begin – changing her words – she couldn’t stop it, and they changed far more than she had intended.

“Angus Corville complimented me on my large boobs,” she heard herself say, “and I pretended that I hated it, but honestly I liked the attention.”

Her face went bright red.  She couldn’t believe she had said something so wrong – so disgusting – so untrue.  She tried to immediately correct it, or take it back – but once again her mouth wouldn’t open.

“Excellent,” said the technician.  “So that’s working well.  Now let’s move on to the substance of the procedure.  It works on our ‘average availability’ model – that is to say, that it compels you to, on average, accept the attention of men.  You still retain the ability to call out men for inappropriate behaviour and reject their interactions with you – but you’ll need to save it for the most egregious insults.”

“What do you mean?” asked Tahlia.

“Well, when a man has a sexual interaction with you, or an interaction based on your gender – such as groping you, demeaning you, discriminating against you, propositioning you, or sexually objectifying you – you will have three choices,” said the technician.  “You can either reject it, or accept it, or actively encourage it.  Do you understand?”

Tahlia shuddered at the very idea of encouraging her sexual objectification.  But she nodded.

“Accepting it is good,” said the technician.  “That’s what we want for you, yes?  So that you’re less of a bitch at work, and so that you can enjoy that male attention.”

Tahlia would never enjoy male attention, but she understood the point – that if she could just accept those daily insults, she would be safe from being outed as a lesbian.  She nodded again.

“Ah, but rejection, that is what gets you in trouble,” said the technician.  “So you will find that each time you reject such attention, your brain will make up a little rule for you, and force you to follow it.  Something to punish you for being a bitch, or to help you to be more agreeable in future.”

Tahlia didn’t quite understand.  “You’re going to make me follow rules?” she asked.

“No,” said the technician.  “You’re going to make *yourself* follow rules.  You have to understand, hypnosis can’t *make* you do anything.  On some level, you want this.  You want to be changed.  You want to be less of a bitch.  You want to get along with men.  And because of this, you can make *yourself* do things – your subconscious controlling your conscious, do you see?”

Tahlia did, in the abstract, but still didn’t understand what was actually happening to her.

“Let’s demonstrate, shall we?” said the technician.  “I will do something, and you will reject me.”

And without further warning, the technician reached out, grabbed Tahlia’s left tit, and squeezed.

Tahlia squealed, and slapped his hand away.  “How dare you!” she squeaked.

And then, suddenly, she felt something happen in her brain.

I shouldn’t have done that, she thought.  That was a bitchy thing to do.  I shouldn’t be a bitch.  I should be nice to men.

From now on, she thought, when a man shows interest in me, I’ll give him a compliment, and I’ll do my best to believe it.

“You have… a really handsome chin,” she heard herself say.

It *was* handsome, she thought.  Not that she was into such things.  But it was bold and dominant.  It she had to kiss a man, it would be enjoyable to kiss this one – to run her hand over his face, and feel his lips pushing hard against hers…

What were these thoughts?  These weren’t lesbian thoughts.  They felt alien in her brain – and at the same time, insistent, and distracting.

If this man was eating her pussy, she might feel his chin rubbing against her groin, and…

Gross.  Gross.  She tried to stop it.

The technician was laughing.

“Ah, see?” he said.  “You have made up some rule about complimenting me, haven’t you?  No need to answer, I can see that you have.  This is what will happen when you reject male attention.  A new rule, each time, making you more agreeable.  More courteous.”

“Make it stop,” said Tahlia.  She felt like she might cry.  “I hate it.”

The technician shook his head.  “No,” he said.  “We do not reverse the process.  It’s in the paperwork we signed.”

“So what, I’m just going to think this… forever?” asked Tahlia.

“Of course not,” said the technician.  “Only until you become the woman that you wanted to be when you undertook this process.  You see, while *accepting* male attention will merely allow you to avoid new rules, actively *encouraging* it will allow you to choose two of your current rules and delete them.”

“I don’t want to encourage it!” wailed Tahlia.

“Yes, you do,” said the technician.  “On some level.  Otherwise the process wouldn’t work.  Some part of you wants men to compliment your tits, Tahlia.  You have to understand that.”

It wasn’t true.  It was a lie.  The idea of men even *looking * at her tits sickened her.

“Just encourage it,” said the technician.  “You just need to do something to encourage men to grope you, or objectify you, or interact with you sexually, or demean you based on your sexuality and gender, in a way that wouldn’t have otherwise happened.  So it needs to go above and beyond what they were already going to do, and above and beyond what your current rules are making you do.  It’s entirely your choice what you do – but it will be your *choice*.”

“Please, just put me back the way I was,” said Tahlia.  There were tears in her eyes.

“I already said no,” said the technician.  “But it really is very easy.  Just go outside, find the first man you see, and invite him to have a good squeeze of your boob, and you’ll be back to no rules.  And then you just have to be a good girl and not be a bitch to men in order to stay that way.  It shouldn’t be too onerous.”

Tahlia already knew that she was *not* going to be encouraging any man to squeeze her boob.  She would figure out another way out of this.

“What’s to stop you just squeezing my boob again and again until I accept it?” said Tahlia.

“There’s a limit,” said the technician.  “Only one harassment per day per person.  You’ve refused me once and made up a rule.  I can keep harassing you, but you can keep saying no for the rest of the day with no further consequences.  But it applies to the encouragements, too – you can only encourage a given man once a day, and you can only encourage a given action once a week.  So if you invite a man to squeeze your tit, and delete some rules as a result, you can’t get benefit from encouraging him to do anything else for the rest of that day, and you can’t get benefit from people squeezing your tits for the rest of the week.”

It just kept getting worse, apparently.  Tahlia’s lips quivered with misery.

“And it has to be an encouragement,” said the technician.  “It doesn’t work if he was going to sexually harass you anyway.”

She had to make things worse for herself than they would otherwise have been, in other words.

“Oh, one last thing,” said the technician.  “We’ve had trouble before with clients complaining about our process, and pretending that they didn’t want it, or seeking help to try and get it reversed.  That caused us a lot of headache and legal trouble, so we’ve added just one more alteration.”

Tahlia cringed, knowing she wouldn’t like it.

“You’ll find that you can’t tell anyone that you’ve been through this process unless they already know about it,” said the technician.  “Further, you can’t suggest to anyone that you didn’t want the process or don’t enjoy its results, or that you want it reversed.”

The technician helped Tahlia up from her bed – and then he slapped her on the ass.

“Run along home now, little slut,” he said.  “And enjoy the first night of the rest of your life.”

===

The driver in the taxi home was a man.  He stared at her tits whenever they stopped at the lights.  Tahlia wanted to tell him not to, but fear dissuaded her.  She had hated the feeling of her brain going strange, and making up a rule for her.  She didn’t want to feel that again.  So she let the man ogle her boobs through her sweater.

“You have really strong arms,” she found herself saying.  “They’re sexy.”

He smiled at her, and for a moment, Tahlia panicked, thinking she was going to be assaulted, or raped.

But he just said, “Thank you,” and kept driving.

===

When she got home to the small-but-elegant apartment she shared with her girlfriend, Junko was waiting.

“How did it go?” she asked.

Tahlia wanted to cry.  She wanted to say that it was a nightmare.  She wanted to get Junko’s help to undo the process, to find a new hypnotist and reverse this horrible thing that had been done to her.  She wanted to say how the technician had squeezed her tits and slapped her ass and called her a slut, and suggest they sue his ass off.

Instead she found herself smiling.

“It was so good!” she enthused.  “I can’t talk about all the details – some proprietary confidentiality thing – but I really enjoyed it, and I think it’s really going to help me!”

Junko had been a little tense, but now she relaxed.

“That’s wonderful,” she sighed.  “See?  I told you so!  I’ve made you dinner – and then afterwards I thought we could celebrate in bed…”

Dinner was wonderful.  Junko’s dinner was always wonderful.  And bed was better.  Junko, naked, pressed her lithe, sexy body against Tahlia, and kissed Tahlia, and her fingers found Tahlia’s wet, eager pussy….

… and Tahlia burned with humiliation and shame, because for some reason she couldn’t stop thinking about the arms of the taxi driver – how strong they looked – and what they would feel like holding her down, forcing her against her girlfriend, controlling her, whether she wanted it or not…

===

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

===

A spiritual sequel to Average Availability! A new girl, new hypnotic rules - and a new twist!

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Noncon Isekai, Part 17

Or
Random Encounter With A Fuckdoll Traveller!

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

===

Justin had played a lot of videogames, and there was always a certain satisfaction in leaving the opening level or tutorial zone and entering the wider world of the game.  He felt that satisfaction now, as he led his pair of humiliated girls past the wooden sign that marked the boundary of Sommerswyd, and started down the wide dirt road that would lead him to the Shrine of Gloriel.

His girls were not quite so satisfied.  Justin had them both nude, to help them get used to the idea that they no longer controlled their bodies, their wardrobe, or their lives.  Neither of them were really able to cover themselves – outfits for party members were meant to be seen, not concealed.  

Amy still had that cute blush, wandering around in the outdoors with her small tits and shaved cunt bare.  And she still gave Justin that look that suggested she would murder him if she could.

Rose hated it even more.  She was making little distressed sounds as she followed along behind Justin in the default party member position.  She seemed particularly ashamed of how her unsupported tits bounced with each step, and of her inability to cover or support them.

After a while her little squeaks began to annoy Justin.

“What’s the matter, Rose?” he said.  “You’re going to have to get used to this, you know.”

“Please… Master,” said Rose, clearly hating the formal mode of address he had required of her.  “Only trollops and whores show their bodies like this.  I beg of you, allow me some decency.  I am of more use to you in armour anyway.”

He opened his mouth to reply, and then thought of something better.  

“Amy,” he said.  “Explain it to her.”

“No,” snapped Amy.  “Explain your gross ideas yourself.”

“Cunt pain,” Justin replied, and laughed as Amy screamed and clutched her groin.  “Now thank me, apologise, and obey.”

MP: 4/9

Amy opened her mouth, and for a moment, he thought she was going to say something that would require another casting of Cunt Pain.

But instead she gritted her teeth and said, “Thank you for punishing my cunt, Master.  I’m sorry for being a brat.”

“Good girl,” said Justin.  “Now tell her.  The way I would.”

Amy took a deep breath, and looked at Rose.

“In this world, our natural role is be fucktoys for men to rape,” she said.  “We need to accept that truth in order to save the world.  So the reality is that you *are* a trollop and a whore.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” asked Rose.

“Of course not,” said Amy.  “It’s nonsense.”

Amy needed more discipline.  But Justin was running a little low on MP.  He decided to try something new.

“Rose,” he said, “I’ll let you wear your armour if you do something for me.”

“Yes, Master?” she asked.

“Slap Amy across the face and call her a dumb slut and tell her to respect me,” he said.  “And then tell me that you’re a whore.  If you do that, you can cover your tits.  If you don’t, I’ll punish Amy myself, and make it hurt her more than just one slap.”

Rose opened and closed her mouth, shocked.  She tried to process what she was being asked to do.

“Master,” she began, “I’m sworn to protect…”

“I know,” said Justin.  “You’ll be protecting her from the much worse thing I’ll do to her if you don’t.  I’ll make her cry.  You just have to slap her once and tell her the truth, that she’s a dumb cunt.”

“Rose, you don’t have to do this,” said Amy.  “You don’t have to play his games.”

Rose looked at her, and said, “He will *hurt* you.  And this way I’ll be able to wear my armour, which will protect us all.”

Amy rolled her eyes.  “Oh, for Alyra’s sake, you silly slut, he’s fucking with you, can’t you…”

Rose slapped Amy across the face – harder than was strictly necessary.

“You are a dumb slut and you should respect your Master,” said Rose.  Then Rose turned to Justin and, blushing, said, “I am a whore.”

“Very good girl,” said Justin. As promised, he opened her inventory, and re-equipped her armour.  

There was a look of pure delight on Rose’s face as the metal plates once again covered her tits and cunt.  

“Thank you, Master!” she said, with genuine gratitude.

“You’re welcome,” he told her.  “Now come on, we have places to be.”

The road out of Sommerswyd led through gentle green grasslands, dotted with trees.  In the distance, on a broad hill, he could see a shining white structure of some kind, that he guessed was the Shrine of Gloriel.  Immediately before it, he could see a pillar of rising smoke, perhaps from a campfire.

“I look forward to slaying these brutish orcs,” commented Rose, following the line of Justin’s gaze.

Justin said nothing.  He didn’t need to comment on that just yet.  Instead, as they walked, he prodded Amy with questions as to her sexual habits and sexual fantasies.  She didn’t reply to any of them, and he didn’t punish her.  It was just teasing – part of the process of breaking the rebellious spirit that kept welling up in her no matter how often he punished her.

“What’s the largest thing you’ve ever put up your own cunt, Amy?” he asked. “A vegetable?  Something larger?  Sommerswyd has some pretty large fenceposts with rounded tops, I see.  Have you ever humped one?  Have you ever had fantasies about Rose here?  What do you think her pussy tastes like?”

And then, suddenly, the world around Justin warped – the air seeming to stretch – and, out of nowhere, combat music began to play.

“What the fuck?” Justin swore.  “What’s happening?”

He realised that there was someone in front of him who hadn’t been there before – a beautiful young blonde peasant girl, with long hair and a generous bosom.

Above her head was the nameplate “Fuckdoll Traveller”.

And the combat menu.  It was Justin’s turn.

ATTACK
EVADE
CAST
SPECIAL
ITEM
  FLEE

Her eyes were wide.  

“Sir?” she asked.  “I don’t know what’s happening.  I was travelling to the Shrine and then – it was like I was trapped in nothing.  I couldn’t even really think.  And now… I’m here.”

Justin stared at her.  What *was* happening?

The warp.  The music.

He blinked, suddenly understanding.  This was a random encounter.  They happened whenever you travelled on the Hero’s Destiny overworld.  Every so many steps, you would be transported to the battle screen to fight a generic monster from that area.  You couldn’t see those enemies on the map.

“What’s your name?” asked Justin.

“It’s █████,” she said – and then stopped.  Her lips had moved, but she hadn’t made a sound as she spoke her name.  She tried again.  “My name is █████.”

Justin thought he understood – and the implications were a little frightening.  This girl had once been a real person – an inhabitant of Sommerswyd perhaps – back in the days before Alyra’s spell.  And certainly, just like all women in this world, she had been destined for rape and enslavement, but she had had a name, and agency,and control of her life.

But then Alyra had cast her spell, reshaping the world using the rules of Hero’s Destiny.  And Hero’s Destiny required random encounters for the protagonist, to challenge him and help him level up.  Those encounters were generic, their opponents interchangeable, and they didn’t exist in any meaningful way outside of the battles they provided.

“Listen,” said Justin, “I know this is going to be hard for you to understand, but something has happened to you that means you literally only exist for me to enjoy raping.  You are have been transformed into – well, just an obstacle for me to overpower and a cunt for me to ejaculate into.  I know that’s scary for you, but it’s the truth.  From what you’ve said, I think you don’t even really properly exist when I’m not raping you.  Being raped by me is the only thing that gives you meaning and form.”

“What are you saying?” said the girl – the Fuckdoll Traveller.

“Here, let me show you,” said Justin.

He selected ATTACK.  His whip lashed out and sliced away her dress, which fell away from her in a single piece, leaving her attractively large tits and cute little cunt exposed.  

She squealed.

RESISTANCE: 5/12.

She was weak then.  He probably could have headed out here to grind on this girl – and girls like her – before fighting Rose, if he had known.

It was Amy’s turn next.  He commanded her to use Lavender Spark.

The girl shrieked.

RESISTANCE: 1/12

“Please, sir, I don’t understand,” she wailed.

Now it was Rose’s turn to act, and Justin decided to use the ability he hadn’t seen yet.

“Punish Slut,” he selected.

Rose strode forward – and kicked the girl in the cunt with her knee.

“May your pain be equal to your wantonness,” she proclaimed.

The number “1” appeared.  

Only one damage?  That was all that the girl had left to lose.  Would it have been higher if the girl had more resistance?  Or was Rose’s comment about “wantonness” significant?”

In any case, the Fuckdoll Traveller was beaten.

RESISTANCE 0 / 12
FINISH HER!

The girl had fallen to the ground, on her back.  Justin contemplated turning her over and putting her up on all fours but decided that, no, missionary position was fine.  

He took out his cock, knelt between her legs, and lowered himself onto her.

“Ugh,” said Amy.  “I can’t believe we have to watch you do this all the time.”

“Don’t pretend it doesn’t get you hot,” Justin snapped back.

He positioned his cock at the entrance to the defeated girl’s cunt.

“Please,” she whispered.  “Please, sir…”

“Sssh,” said Justin quietly.  “This is what you’re for.”

And he pushed his cock into her.

Raping a helpless girl felt just as good as ever.  She was crying softly, but her pussy was as wet for rape as any other girl in this world, and it gripped his dick tightly, and her hips bucked instinctively against him as he fucked her.

He caressed her face and kissed her.

“You need to understand,” he whispered, “that when this isn’t happening, you don’t exist.  Do you want to not exist?”

She shook her head, although clearly still not really understanding.

“The only time you get to be alive is when I’m doing this to you,” said Justin.  “You want to be alive, don’t you?”

She nodded her head.

“Good girl,” he said.  “Then thank me for raping you.”

Her voice trembled.  “Thank you for… for raping me… sir,” she whispered.

When he heard those words, Justin orgasmed.  His cock discharged hot cum up into the anonymous girl’s womb, and he kissed her hard on the lips until his dick had stopped pumping his spunk into her.

And when he was done, the girl shimmered – and then vanished.

RAPE SUCCESSFUL
10 XP GAINED!
 42 XP UNTIL NEXT LEVEL.

The combat music stopped.  The haze around them faded.

The random encounter was over.

And then further words appeared to Justin.

TREASURE FOUND: BASIC BUTTPLUG.

Justin couldn’t see this treasure anywhere, so he looked in his inventory – and there it was.  A tiny, shiny metal buttplug, unadorned in any way.  The inventory informed him that it was an “ass slot item” that would give a girl two extra points of resistance.

Had the girl been wearing this as he fucked her?  He hadn’t looked at her ass, but…

No, she probably hadn’t been.  In Hero’s Destiny, wolves could carry swords as treasure.  Hostile plants could carry loaves of bread.  It was an abstracted reward for defeating her, not her literal possession.

“Amy,” he said, “on a scale of one to ten, how much do you like having things shoved up your ass?”

“Go fuck yourself,” replied Amy.

He looked at Rose significantly.

Rose needed no further prompting.  She slapped Amy across the face, hard.  “You are a dumb cunt and you should respect your Master,” she snapped.

“Ow!” complained Amy.

Rose was learning quickly.  Justin approved.

“Here, Amy, I’ve got an equipment upgrade for you,” he said.  He took the buttplug from his inventory and moved it towards Amy.

As he did so, she turned away from him, bent forward at the waist, and spread her ass cheeks.

Her eyes were wide.  “What… what is happening?”

“You’ve got a hole, and I’ve got something to fill it with,” said Justin.  “Don’t worry, it’s just a small one – for now.”

And with that, he equipped the buttplug to Amy.

With a small “pop”, the metal device pushed past Amy’s anal sphincter and plugged her ass.

“Get it out!” wailed Amy immediately.  “Get it out!  It’s gross!”

“You’d better get used to it,” said Justin.  “And maybe show me some respect if you want favourable treatment.  Rose was a good girl, so Rose didn’t get plugged.  You were a bitch, so you did.  Think about it.”

And with that, he continued on towards his destination – and Amy had no choice but to waddle after him, completely naked, with a plug shoved up her ass.

===

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===

Justin experiences his first random encounter.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Becoming A Lawyer

Jasmine’s parents had made it clear that she *would* become a lawyer.  Her mother Ai had been a Japanese prostitute until she had met Jasmine’s father, and she was determined that her daughter get an actual degree.  Jasmine’s father George, by contrast, was a wealthy barrister, and was adamant that his daughter would follow in his footsteps.

So Jasmine went to college to study law.  But by the time she got there, societal attitudes had started to shift, and the law itself was changing.

She almost dropped out on the spot when she was given the first Female Citizen Safety Test.  The first question read, “What should you do if a man calls you a cunt?” and the answer turned out to be, “Say thank you.”  It was designed to stop the spread of feminist extremism on campus by identifying and expelling radical feminists.  She almost failed the test the first time around, but luckily worked out what answers it was looking for by the halfway point, and was able to correctly answer that her most worthwhile body part was her pussy and sort a list that included men, dogs, Fleshlights and women by “importance” so as to put women last.  

In the second half of the first year, the college introduced the new “female student data chip”, which was a small implant in the pussy of each girl on campus which fed data to a publicly accessible app about the woman’s location, state of arousal, and fertility cycle, for the male students to access and comment on.  In compliance with the new Women Are For Breeding Act (WAFBA), it also slow-released a drug that neutralised contraceptive medications and significantly raised her libido.  Male students would walk past her, looking at the app, and say, “Wow, your cunt is so wet right now, you’re such a whore!”  She found herself needing to masturbate in the college toilets two or three times a day – which of course was duly reported to the app, for the information of the rest of her class.

In her second year, the government passed laws that made rape legal where the victim had “provoked arousal or dressed in an undeniably sexual manner”.  At the same time, following a public plagiarism case involving several female students, the college began requiring women to submit their assignments to their professors in person and completely nude (so that their professors could identify them by their breasts and cunts).  Jasmine was raped by the first professor she presented an assignment to in this manner, and raped again on almost every assignment thereafter.  She got used to it.  When she was lucky, they used condoms.

Throughout this, Jasmine begged her parents to let her drop out of the degree.  But they were adamant – their daughter would be a lawyer, come hell or high water.

In the third year, the college introduced a dress code for female students.  High heels, short skirts, no panties, no bras, and painful clamps for the nipples.   The ensemble was topped off with a ring gag, that left the girls with their mouths forced open, drooling and unable to speak coherently.  The college felt this made them much more pleasant in class.

Most lectures stopped letting female students have seats in the lecture hall, instead providing a large dog cage at the front of the hall for them to crawl into for the duration, and listen to the lecture while pressed up against their horny female classmates.  Jasmine found it impossible to take notes like this, and so opted for the other alternative – sitting on the lap of a male classmate.  The boy so chosen would inevitably expose his erect cock for Jasmine to sit on, and Jasmine would try to pay attention to the lecture as the boy bounced her up and down on his dick until he finally ejaculated into her cunt.

By the fourth year, Jasmine had learned to just let men use her however they wanted to.  The ring gag had slowly trained her out of the habit of speaking, and now she rarely voiced her thoughts, let alone said things like “No” or “Stop”.   She was constantly horny, and being half-naked with cum leaking out of her pussy felt normal.  But she was still on track to graduate.

That was when government passed the All-Purpose Hiring of Women Bill.  It provided that when a woman was paid to perform any service occupation, she had an obligation to perform all the requests of her client for the period of the hiring, regardless of what work she had specifically advertised.

In practice, this meant that a man who hired a woman as a lawyer could fuck her, molest her, dress and undress her, or otherwise use her as a slave for the duration of the hiring.

Further, no woman in a service job could refuse any male client who was willing to pay her scheduled rate.   A schedule of fees was posted covering most service industries to ensure that women were affordable and were paid less than men.

Jasmine again begged her parents to let her drop out.  “It basically means I’m a prostitute!” she wailed, completely unaware that she was currently dressed like a whore anyway, complete with the sperm of a male classmate drying on her cleavage.

“And what’s wrong with being a prostitute?” said her mother archly.  “I was a prostitute in Japan for seven years before I met your father.  At least you’ll be a *lawyer*-prostitute!  It’s what your father wants, and you know that what he wants, he gets!”

So Jasmine tearfully returned to college, and completed her degree.  She attended her graduation nude, and the head of the law faculty ejaculated onto her face on stage as her parents watched.

She spent that night at her parents’ house, but in the morning she woke to discover that all her clothes had vanished.  A small box lay at the foot of her bed, containing a dog collar, high heels, ring gag, and nipple and clitoris clamps.

“Dad, what’s going on?” she cried, shuffling anxiously through the house in the nude, to find her father in her office.

“That’s your uniform,” said her father, looking up from his work.  “I heard that you were worried about being a prostitute, and I’m not having any daughter of mine spending her working life fucking strangers – even if it *is* how your mother met me.   So I’ve put you on retainer, indefinitely.  You work for me now.”

A surge of relief went through her.  Her daddy loved her and was looking out for her!  But then she remembered her clothes, and the box.

“But, daddy, my clothes….” she said.

“Yes, honey,” said her daddy.  “I do intend to get what I paid for.  I’ve been watching you slutting around at that college for four years, and there’s only so much I can take.  Now, why don’t you start your legal career by kneeling down under my desk here and sucking my cock?”

She stared at him in horror – but he was serious.

“Do what your father says,” said her mother, who had appeared in the doorway.  “There’s no shame in being a whore.  And what your father wants, your father gets.”  She walked towards her daughter, and gently pushed Jasmine down to her knees, and then guided her under the large mahogany desk.  

Her father was already taking his cock out of his pants, and, helpless and humiliated but nevertheless well-trained, Jasmine opened her mouth and accepted it.  

“Good girl,” said her father, pumping his cock in and out of her mouth.  “Good girl.”  He looked down at her.  “We’re both so proud of you.”

 ===

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===

Jasmine's parents are insistent that she completes her study to be a lawyer - even as her university institutes steadily more demeaning changes.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Titcage, Part 28

(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

===

The new employee was the sluttiest – and the sexiest – thing Gary had ever seen.  She was blonde and busty, and was wearing a tiny blue pleated skirt that exposed the lower curve of her buttocks even when she was standing still.  Above the waist she wore a ridiculously tight tube top that exposed all of the upper slopes of her tits – which seemed to have some kind of sticky fluid shining on them – and a copious helping of underboob.  And best of all she introduced herself to Gary by coming up to him and giving him a long, sexy hug.

She said her name was Fucktwat – blushing as she said it.  And indeed she was wearing a dog collar that had a nametag reading ‘Fucktwat’.   Gary had to ask her twice if that was really her name, and she said it was.  Gary wasn’t sure if it was some strange and unfortunate foreign name, or if the girl just had really awful parents, but nevertheless she was clearly the best thing to come to Southern Fried Chicken since Gary had started working there.  He loved her whorish outfit, and really hated having to tell her to change into one of the regulation uniforms preferred by the takeaway food chain.  Nevertheless, she looked cute even in the uniform, and as luck would have it the only one available was a size too small, so she still looked reasonably slutty in the too-tight skirt and shirt that everyone else wore.

She had been sent to him from some lobbying organisation on a short term basis.  He assumed it a was a community service thing; probably an obligation given to her by a judge after a prostitution charge or something, judging by the way she looked. Once she was in uniform he sat her down in the back office and explained her responsibilities.  They were simple – clean the restaurant, cook food, serve customers in a happy and efficient way, and don’t talk back to the other staff.

‘That’s fine,’ said Fucktwat, sitting across from him.  ‘And…’ she went bright red.  ‘If I don’t meet your expectations, you should spank me.’

He felt his cock harden at the thought.  ‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary,’ he said, secretly hoping that it might be.  He coughed.  ‘Is it okay if I just call you Twat?’

Claire nodded, still blushing.

He took her out and introduced her to the other staff – Blake and Walden, teen boys, and Kelly, a sultry 19-year old brunette.  They all laughed when she was introduced as ‘Twat’ but they welcomed her into the crew soon enough.

Over the course of the day, Gary was pleased with her performance.  She was submissive but enthusiastic to the customers, she did her work quickly and well, and she continued being delightful eye candy.   Gary soon realised that the little slut wasn’t wearing any underwear under her uniform, but he didn’t comment.   The customers couldn’t see it, so who cared?  And it was great to get to see her cunt and ass every time she bent forward.  Gary could have sworn that he could see a hint of metal between her cunt lips.  Did the little whore have a pierced clit?  Her cunt was certainly shaved bare, just like a porn slut.

Towards the afternoon he noticed her starting to act oddly.  Her legs were clenched together and she was bouncing up and down on her toes.   He subtly tried to help her by mentioning where the toilets were, but the suggestion didn’t seem to help her.   Finally he looked up to find she’d vanished, leaving the front counter unattended.  He looked for her in the break room, and in the toilets, before finally finding her out the back of the store.

She was tucked into a little space between the dumpsters and the wall, the most secluded and private space in what was really a completely exposed private parking lot.  She was completely naked, standing upright, urinating and masturbating at the same time. Her piss was pooling at her feet and draining under the dumpster.

‘Twat!’ he said, shocked.   ‘What the hell…’

She burst into tears – but didn’t stop pissing or playing with her pussy.  ‘Please,’ she begged.  ‘Please.  Don’t tell anyone.  Don’t fire me.’  Her fingers were up to her knuckle in her piss-wet cunt.

‘I have to…’ Gary started to say.

‘I’ll suck your cock,’ Twat begged desperately.  ‘Please let me suck your cock.’

Her piss was beginning to tail off.  It looked like her bladder was empty.

‘Put your clothes on,’ he said, disgusted.  Twat obediently dressed.  He grabbed her hand and dragged her back into the restaurant, into his back office, where he closed and locked the door.

‘Bend at the waist and put your hands on my desk,’ he said.  He could feel his cock rock hard.  She obeyed, and her skirt raised up to show her bare ass.  He raised his hand and began to spank her.

After three strikes it soon became apparent that she wouldn’t be able to keep quiet.  He pulled off her skirt and jammed it in her mouth to muffle her cries, then went back to spanking her ass, continuing until it was a delicious red.  Then he took out his cock, pushed it into her bare wet pussy, and began to fuck her.

Her cunt felt great – wet and soft and warm and tight.  He fucked it until he could feel himself about to cum, then pulled out, grabbed her hair, pulled her head upright, took the skirt out of her mouth, and jammed his cock into it.  She made little muffled noises as he came into her mouth, filling it with semen.

‘Good slut,’ he said, patting her on the head.  He waited till she had swallowed the cum.

‘Now, what’s this sluttiness you were doing outside?’

‘I have to be nude when I piss,’ she sniffled, holding back tears.  ‘Because… because I’m a slut.  And I have to masturbate when I piss, and taste my piss. And I can’t use a normal toilet and I have to be standing up.’

Gary considered.  He couldn’t have this whore degrading herself in the parking lot; it would scare off the customers.

‘You’ll piss in here,’ he said.  ‘You can do your slut-pissing into one of the Styrofoam cups in private.  And if you’re careful to not accidentally get your slut juices or your piss on the carpet I won’t tell anyone about it.’

She looked so grateful he could have married her.  He settled for reaching out and stroking her tits instead.

‘But!’ he continued.   ‘Conditions!  First we’re going to do this – fucking – every morning and afternoon, unless I don’t feel like it.  And you’ll have to get rid of your cup of piss.  You can pour it out into drinks you’re serving to female customers.   But if anyone catches you or if anyone complains their drinks taste funny, you’re fired, understand?’

Twat nodded enthusiastically.

‘Good slut,’ he said again

‘Gary?’ Twat said suddenly.

‘Yes, Twat?’ he asked her.

‘Could you go this website and tell it whether you enjoyed fucking me?’ she said, passing him a card.   ‘And, um, if I’m not a good fuck, you should hurt me or punish me.  And…’ – she was crying now – ‘it’s all right to rape me, you don’t need my consent.’   Her voice went quiet.  ‘I like being raped.’

He took the slut’s card home that night and accessed the website it directed him to.  It was amazing.  It was full of video of Twat doing whorish things, and commentary about her on other acts not captured on video.  Apparently she was a cuntlicking bisexual.  She was fucking several different men, she was lezzing off with her sister, and she flaunted her tits and cunt in front of her father.  He couldn’t believe this!  She even drank piss straight from mens’ cocks.  He rated her as a ‘below average’ fuck and then masturbated while flicking through the site until he came.

The next week was the best week of Gary’s life.  Every morning Twat would come into his office, piss while he watched, and then he would fuck her pussy until the verge of orgasm before pulling out and cumming in her mouth.  He’d hold her there, with his dick in her mouth, until he could piss, and then empty his bladder down her throat.

She’d then slut around the restaurant all day in her whorishly tight uniform, until the end of the day, when he’d fuck her again and send her home.  During the day he enjoyed watching her mix a little bit of her piss into every drink she served to a woman.  She never got caught, and he loved the thought of these whores feeding their piss to each other.

By Wednesday the other male staff had worked out what a whore she was, and he caught her out the back giving Blake a blowjob by the dumpsters.  He had to take her inside and beat her tits for being so whorish – what if the customers had seen? And then he let both Blake and Walden know that if they wanted to use her, they could do it at 11 am each morning in the male toilets; Twat would go in and service their cocks while Kelly minded the counter.   After that things went much smoother.

By Thursday they’d all worked out that Twat would do whatever they told her to.  They had great fun at lunch making her eat fried chicken.  Blake pissed on one piece and made her eat it; Walden ejaculated on another and she ate that too.  She was crying as she did so, but she did it, and besides, this bitch looked incredibly hot when she cried.  Then they got her to fuck her pussy with a chicken drumstick until she came, and then eat it when she was done.

They were all sad to see her go on Friday, so they held an orgy in Gary’s office to see her off.   The three men practically covered her with sperm, and afterwards she had to stay naked because she was returning the uniform and hadn’t remembered to bring a change of clothes.  Gary watched her hiding naked behind the dumpsters, covered in semen, for nearly an hour, until finally a slutty-looking blonde girl turned up to collect her.

===

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

===

Claire is sent to work at a fast food restaurant - while still obeying her humiliating rules.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: The Secret of Hollywood

Sydney had been trying to make it big as an actress since the age of 13.  She had appeared in adverts, in minor film roles, in unsuccessful TV pilots, and yet somehow she was now 19 years old and had still never managed to catch her big break.

She went to her agent in tears.

“I don’t understand!” she wailed.  “Do I not work hard enough?  Am I not pretty enough?  Are my tits not big enough?”

It was a rhetorical question.  Her tits were amazing, and she knew it, which made her lack of success even more inexplicable.

“Well, I’ve got a casting call here for a sex worker in an erotic thriller,” said her agent.  “You’d have to do several nude scenes, including a lesbian sex scene and a simulated rape…”

“No!” she shrieked.   “You’ve been offering those to me since I was 18 and I keep telling you that I want a *real* role, not some porn thing!”

Her agent sighed.

“Fine,” he said.   “There is a way.  I can set you up a meeting with Harry Hornwell.”

Sydney gasped.  She knew who Harry Hornwell was.  Everyone did.  He owned one of the biggest studios in Hollywood.

“Of course!” she gasped.   “Thank you!  Thank you!  Thank you!”

“*If* I can get that meeting,” said her agent, “and it *is* an if – it will be at his mansion.  And you should dress for the occasion.”

===

When Sydney arrived at Harry’s house a week later, there was no one around on the entire extensive mansion grounds except for Harry himself.  

She had worn the long blue shoulderless dress that she had been saving for her next film premiere, with high heels and earrings, and she knew she looked good from the appraising gaze that Harry gave her when he answered the door.

“Sydney,” he said.   “Come in.  I understand that you’re ready to get the kind of roles you deserve.”

“Yes, Mr Hornwell,” she said.

He was aged in his late forties, but handsome and well-dressed.  He led her into the house, through darkened hallways, and then stopped.

“My agent tells me you’ve been turning down roles that require nudity, Sydney,” he said.  “Is it the case that keeping your clothes on is more important to you than your career?”

Sydney blushed.  She wasn’t stupid.  She had heard stories of what the industry could be like for women.   She had thought something like this might happen.

“No, sir,” she said, “but if I’m going to expose myself, I want it to be for a project that appreciates my value.  Not a cheap indie that no one will see.”

Mr Hornwell looked at her directly – then dropped his gaze to her breasts.

“I appreciate your value, Sydney,” he said.  “It’s time to take your tits out, don’t you think?”

Sydney went even brighter red.  She looked over her shoulder.  The path to the door was unobstructed.  She could just leave.

And she would never get another audition for a role in any movie that Harry Hornwell controlled, she knew.   Or possibly anywhere – Mr Hornwell was influential.

And besides, she wanted to be a big star, didn’t she?

Nervously, she pulled down the front of her dress, and let her large tits spring into view.

Mr Hornwell smiled.

Sydney hated this.  No man had seen her nude adult breasts.  She had been so afraid of being exploited or taken advantage of that she had never had a real boyfriend.  And now an older man was just staring at her tits as if they were pieces of meat.

She felt like a whore.   She felt like an object.

She felt her pussy get wet.

“Very good,” said Mr Hornwell, as if she were a pet.  “Come along, Sydney.”

He led her further into the house, and Sydney followed, her tits bouncing with each step.  Soon they came to a private theatrette, with maybe twenty luxurious red seats facing a projector screen.  Harry ushered her to a double seat near the front, with no divider between its two halves.  Sydney sat, and Harry sat next to her.

“I want to show you something, Sydney,” he said.  He picked up a remote and pressed a button, and images started to play on the screen.   “Tell me if you recognise this scene.”

She did.  It was from a famous movie about a large boat that sank.   An actress was poised at the bow of the ship with her arms outstretched, a young man holding her from behind.  It was one of the most famous scenes in cinema, from one of the most financially successful movies ever made.

“Yes, sir,” said Sydney.

Harry paused the video.   “I suspect you would like to be like Kate here, wouldn’t you, Sydney?” he said.

“Yes, sir,” she said, honestly.

“Well, you can’t see it in this shot, Sydney,” said Harry, “but Kate’s dress is actually raised at the back, and she’s not wearing panties.  When her male co-star here is holding her, he actually has his cock in her pussy from behind.  She’s being fucked without a condom as she tries to convey that sense of romance and wonder.  How do you feel about that, Sydney?”

She looked at him in disbelief.  “You’re making a joke, aren’t you, sir?” she said.

“I am not,” said Harry.   “How about this one?”  He pressed play again.

The screen now showed a beautiful red-haired woman in a skin-tight black catsuit, performing in a superhero movie.  It was another of history’s most financially successful films.

“Of course I know it,” said Sydney.

“I’m told that costume is awfully tight,” said Harry, “but her male co-stars helped her with it.   She’s completely nude inside it – no panties – and every day before she put it on, her male co-stars and the male crew masturbated over her and ejaculated onto her.  Every inch of her skin under that suit is covered with sperm in every scene she shot.  And I understand she also had a vibrator inside her pussy.”

Sydney couldn’t believe this was real.  Surely it wasn’t.  Harry was playing a prank on a naïve actress who wanted a favour.

Harry pressed play again.   The screen showed a pretty young blonde Irish actress in period costume.  It was an adaptation of a famous book.

“Saoirse was nominated for an award for that role,” said Harry.  “And the other girls who played her sisters did well, too – Emma and Florence, in particular.  Directed by a woman, too.  That’s the director’s cunt juices on Saoirse’s face in this scene, although they’ve shot it very cleverly so you can’t tell.”

He laughed.  “They had to make quite the deal to let that happen, do you know?  Such promising women, and a woman theoretically in charge.  They came together each morning in the nude before shooting, with the whole crew watching, to chant that women deserve rape.   And then they’d lick each other’s cunts until their faces were wet with pussy juices.  Every woman you see in this film has cunt honey on her face, none of them are wearing underwear, and they all have weights hanging from clamps on their clits.  Really, the things that girls will agree to in order to make a feminist movie.”

He pressed play again.   More women that Sydney had admired and aspired to imitate.  More roles that Sydney would have killed to get.

A young actress playing a super-powered mutant with shimmering blue skin.

“She’s nude except for the body paint here, but you probably already knew that.  Watch for the angle where you can see her pussy lips part.   She wasn’t allowed to wear a stitch of clothing for the entire shoot.”

A young woman raising a lightsaber in a science fiction epic.

“She’s urinating into her underwear as she does this.  We made her do this in every scene where she holds that thing, so any image you see of her holding that sword, you know she’s pissing at the time.”

A dark-haired Israeli woman in a red, blue and gold superhero costume with a tiara.

“Her price for being in this so-called women’s empowerment film was to drug three of her female friends and let the crew rape them, and then lick the crew’s cum off them while the crew watched.  Oh, and any time she’s wearing that costume, she has the words ‘all women are cunts’ written on her body just below her tits, and a vibrating butt plug in her ass.”

Sydney felt like crying.

“Why are you showing me this?” she wailed.

“I’m showing you this because you’re a very attractive little slut,” said Harry, “and it would be a shame if Hollywood doesn’t get to enjoy you.  But if you want to be famous, you need to understand that there is no such thing as a dignified role for a woman.  We don’t let that happen.  You see?   Your biggest aspiration as an actress should be to orgasm from rape on screen in a film which lots of people watch.   You will fuck the cast and crew of movies you are in.  You will bathe in cum and piss.  If you ever win an award,  you will urinate on stage into a diaper while accepting it.  This is what it means to be a successful actress.”

He looked at her – then looked at her tits.

“Now, tell me, Sydney,” he said, “do you want to be a successful actress?”

She felt tears in the corners of her eyes.

But at the same time her pussy was throbbing like wild.  Why was it doing that?  Surely she didn’t want these things to happen to her, did she?  Surely she didn’t want her greatest triumph to be taking part in horrible dirty things that she would be ashamed of for her entire life?

But she had come here, hadn’t she?  Knowing that Harry might want to fuck her.  She had taken her tits out so he could look at them.

“If you want this, you’re going to go back to your agent, and you’re going to take the next three porn films he offers you,” said Harry.  “They were never real films.  The only people who will see them are the most important men in Hollywood, who will masturbate to them and add them to their personal collections.  If you’re a good girl and you perform well in those films, and make everyone’s cocks hard, then you’ll finally be offered a real role – a role that can make you famous.  Do you want that?”

She spoke so quietly she could barely hear herself.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Oh, no, not like that, Sydney,” said Harry.  “I only want to hear a yes from you if your face is covered in cum.  Can you make that happen for me, Sydney?”

“Yes, sir,” she said.   

And she leaned forward, and unzipped his pants, and took out his hard cock.  She pointed it at her face, and slowly, she began to masturbate him….

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You can find more tales of exploited actresses in my e-book Star Potential – Stories from the Casting Couch, available for only $4.99 USD in the All These Roadworks store!  Your purchase supports me to keep creating new erotica! (Click here to view in store.)

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Sydney learns the truth about what it takes to be a successful actress.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Ask Dr Degradation – Fixing My Girlfriend

Previous Ask Dr Degradation features:
Weddings | Boyfriend | Step-mother | Step-daughter | Math Teacher #1 | Math Teacher #2 | “Paradise”

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Author’s Note: For the benefit of any readers who are encountering this story outside the context of my work generally, the Dr Degradation columns are fictional gender-degradation erotica.  The requests for advice are entirely fictional, and the advice should absolutely not be followed.  

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Hello, Dr Degradation!  I love your column – long time reader, first time emailer.

So right now I’ve started dating this girl called Anna.  She is absolutely gorgeous – blonde hair, big tits, shapely ass – and I think she’d make a grade A fuckdoll.

The only problem is that she’s a feminist, she’s studying for a degree, and she’s kind of a bitch.  At the moment I’m pretending that I’m into all of her equal rights bullshit – but how can I turn her into the bimbo cumdump of my dreams?

Thanks in advance,

Geoffrey K

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It’s nice to hear from you, Geoffrey.

This is a great question and one that a lot of people struggle with.

Let’s break it down here.  You’ve got four problems with Anna: feminism, self-confidence, independence, and intelligence.  If you remove those four things, she’ll be exactly what you want her to be.

Let’s start with intelligence.  It may seem the harder things to just “remove” from a woman – but at the same time, it’s what everything else is built upon.  If Anna is stupid, she’ll make stupid choices that will undermine her self-confidence and independence, and her feminism will stop making sense to her.  So that’s where we have to start.

Luckily, there are a lot of easy ways to fuck with a woman’s brain, and most of them are actually fun for her in the short term.

What you want to do is take her out partying as frequently and for as long as possible.  Get her drunk whenever you can, and keep her drunk.  If you can’t get her drunk, then get her high.  Addiction isn’t a pretty look, so go easy, but marijuana will sufficiently impair her judgement, and party drugs will take her a little further for special occasions.  If you need to take her even further, consider spiking her drinks – or even replacing her birth control with something a little more fun.  The more time that Anna spends feeling stupid, the more easily she will be convinced that she actually *is* stupid.

Tiredness is also your friend.  Make sure she doesn’t get to bed until late.  Give her a wake-up call very early in the morning.  Occasionally ring her in the middle of the night just in case she’s getting sleep.  You can go right back to sleep after waking her – it’s important that *you* stay well-rested and focused – but Anna will find that it’s very difficult to feel intelligent when you’re falling asleep on your feet.

Arousal is also a powerful tool.  As far as possible, sexually tease her, but don’t allow her to cum.  Encourage her to edge when you’re not around – call it a fun sexual game.  Send her sexual images that play to her kinks and fantasies during the day.  Dare her to do things like go without panties or wear a butt plug, that will keep her mind sexually focused, or sleep with a vibrator inside her to “juice up” her dreams.  She will find that thinking with her cunt is addictive – and this is a kind of addiction that you *do* want to encourage.

Finally, changes to her diet can be devastating.  Subtly suggest that she is overweight, or that some problem she is experiencing can be cured by changes to her diet.  Start telling her no when she reaches for food.  Order for her at restaurants.  If you get the chance, actively throw out food from her fridge and cupboard.  What you want to do is deny her the protein and energy that she needs to think clearly, and keep her light-headed and hungry.  You can even given her special “nutrition shakes” that you make yourself.  She will expect any drink that is healthy to be an odd colour and taste foul – so you can put literally whatever you want into these shakes, including dog food, drugs, or your piss and cum.  Make her drink it while you watch, and make her thank you for it afterwards.  It will be good to teach her that you choose her food, and that she will eat what you give her without question.

By this point, Anna is probably making a lot of bad choices in her life.  You may find she is struggling in her degree, or even failing.  If she has a part-time job, she may be on the verge of losing it.  She’s probably said or done things while drunk that have damaged her friendships and other relationships.  

Build up a record of these failures.  Keep copies of her failed assignments.  Take photos of her when she’s drunk – the more stupid she looks, the better.  Talk her into taking nude photos – or letting you take them – and keep copies.  

Next we’re going to work on her independence.

I’d start by encouraging her to make big purchases she can’t afford.  Clothes and shoes are good – particularly sexy ones – because you get the benefit of them.  But furniture, concerts, vacations – any big ticket items, as long as she is solely financially responsible for them.  Encourage her to get into debt.  You want to get her to the point where she can no longer afford things, even on credit.  You want her to the point where she needs *you* to cover her bills.  And when she gets there, be sure to tell her she is stupid for allowing this to happen, and emphasise how it demonstrates that she can’t be trusted to make her own decisions.

If she has a car, break it.  Puncture the tyres, damage the engine, whatever it takes.  If she wants to go somewhere, she can take public transport or ask you for help.

If she has a house or apartment, ruin it.  If she doesn’t give you free run of the place, then copy her key while she is drunk.  Break the refrigerator.  Disable the air conditioning.  Damage the hot water heater.  Maybe stage a fake burglary to have an excuse to break the locks on her doors, break the windows, and leave her house insecure.  Take time to steal or damage all her least attractive clothes while you’re there.

For extra effect, check if she has an insurance policy before doing this, and either convince her to cancel it, or ring up and cancel it on her behalf.  You should know enough about her at this point to guess the answers to her security questions.  

She’ll end up with a home that she can’t live in, no place to go, and no money to solve her situation.  That’s when you offer to let her move in with you – but be clear about the conditions.  She will be solely responsible for the housework and cooking, which needs to be done to your standard (at least until she gets on her feet, financially, which she never will).  It’s your house and your rules, which she will follow if she wants to live there.  You will charge her a nominal rent, which she can pay when she has money again, but which will build up as a debt in the meantime.  And you’re only doing this because you’re in a relationship with her, so she’ll sleep in your bed, of course, unless you want the bed to yourself for a night.

Now it’s time to start laying down the law.

You can get more sexually creative with her now.  You’ve implied that fucking you is part of the deal for living at her house.  If she doesn’t want to fuck, she’s going to have to consider whether she’d rather be homeless.  Make your sex more violent and degrading – but get her to consent to it.  Say you’d enjoy calling her “bitch” and “cunt”, that it would get you hard, and she doesn’t mind fulfilling that fantasy for you, does she?  She won’t want to say yes – but she won’t dare to say no, so she’s going to end up giving you permission to call her those names.  Which you will, whenever you want, whether you’re having sex or not.

Make her say it’s okay for you to beat her tits for your sexual pleasure.  Make her say it’s okay to fuck her even if she’s not in the mood.  Make her say it’s okay to choke her.  For each new degradation, ensure that she remembers consenting to it.

The first time you catch her looking at her phone when you’re talking to her, tell her that her phone privileges have been revoked.  Take her phone away from her and keep it in a locked cabinet, and only give it to her at arbitrarily-determined “phone times”.  Before the first of those times, install some control software on it – I’ll send you some specific suggestions in a separate communication.

The first purpose of such software is to monitor her phone – see what she’s doing, who she’s talking to, and what she’s saying.  It can also track her location.  The second is to change what she *sees* on her phone.  One of the apps I’m sending you is a metadata injector that will feed huge amounts of pre-engingeered cookie data to websites she visits that will skew what recommendations and ads she sees.  Soon she will find that everywhere she goes she is recommended hardcore violent porn and misogyny and patriarchy videos.  It can even actively redirect searches for feminist topics to patriarchy sites and replace search results with AI-generated misogynist talking points.  She simply won’t be able to find anything on the internet, no matter how she searches, that doesn’t reinforce the idea that women are born to be submissive fuckdolls.

When you catch her using the bathroom for more than 10 continuous minutes, tell her that you’re withdrawing her toilet privileges.  Put locks on the toilet doors so that she has to ask you for permission to piss or shit.  Deny that permission to her at least once on some spurious pretext, so that she wets herself.  The experience of pissing yourself as an adult – particularly if someone is watching – is very good for breaking down self-confidence.  For extra success, press your advantage while she is probably humiliated and crying by telling her to lick her mess off the floor with her tongue.

Likewise, when you catch her getting her clothes dirty or spilling a drink on herself, tell her that her clothing privileges are revoked, because you don’t want to waste time doing laundry on her clothes if she doesn’t even respect them herself.  Make her strip, and then put locks on all her closet doors, so she has to ask you for permission to dress.  Then keep her nude around the house.  She’ll be even less likely to contemplate taking her chances elsewhere if she doesn’t have clothes to go outside in.

Somewhere in this period you want to find an excuse to slap her across the face.  Don’t do it for just anything.  Find something where she is clearly in the wrong, and her behaviour is outrageous and inexcusable – because you want *her* to apologise to *you* for her behaviour, and you want to get her to admit that slapping her was a reasonable response to it.  Tell her your other option was to kick her out on the street, and ask her whether she preferred the slap, or being homeless.  When she accepts that she preferred the slap, get her to thank you for slapping her. 

You can now raise the topic of punishment generally.  Seeing as she doesn’t want to end up on the street if she upsets you, you need a way to correct her behaviour that doesn’t result in her being homeless.  That’s in *her* interests.  Tell her it’s okay, and the next time she fucks up you’ll just kick her out – but she can ask you to just punish her instead, if she’d prefer to have a more forgiving arrangement.  Tell her you’ll decide the punishments, but that they may include face slapping, and spankings of her tits, cunt, or ass.

As you’re getting her used to being slapped by you – and thanking you for doing it – you can continue to undermine her perception of her intelligence and her understanding of feminism.  Buy her books on misogynist and patriarchal topics and tell her she needs to read them so she can discuss them with you.  Slap her for being ungrateful if she doesn’t, or if she doesn’t absorb the contents fully.

Tell her interesting factoids from time to time that sound plausible but are completely wrong, so she can repeat them in front of her friends and feel like an idiot when she’s corrected.

Never let her state an objective fact without correcting her.  Feel free to tell her things that are completely wrong, and make her accept them. Tell her that people she thinks were world leaders were never actually leaders, merely appointed public servants.  Tell her that entire countries never actually existed under the name she knows them by.  Tell her that world events didn’t happen, or happened at different times in different ways.  Don’t let her check a phone or a book for the facts – make her accept your version of it.  Punish her if she makes any attempt to fact-check you.

There’s a fun app you can install on her phone that will completely block her access to regular search engines, and replace them with an AI that generates fake search results, and fake websites behind them.  You can instruct it to present certain facts as true, or even to listen for your voice with the phone’s microphone and ensure its results never contradict you.  You can tell her that women have been repeatedly proven to only have 60% of the intellectual capacity of men, and when she searches she’ll find page after page of text supporting this alleged fact, and nothing contradicting it.

By now, Anna should be fully submissive to your every sexual whim.  She won’t trust her own mind or opinions, and she’ll be far too scared and insecure to dispute yours.  If you need to go further, you can have her send nudes to her friends and sexually proposition them, so she can see that half of her friends are now disgusted by her, and the other half want to rape her.  If she still has self-confidence, make her drink lots of water and then take her out and deny her the toilet so she wets herself in public, possibly in front of people she knows.  If that’s not enough to destroy her, tell her that she needs to lick it up with people watching if she wants to come back into the house, and then walk away and let her do it.

Complete the process of isolating her from her previous life and ideas by having her go online and pick fights with feminists.  Challenge her to find something to disagree with them about, while masturbating.  The vicious responses she receives from other feminists will completely disconnect her from the things she once believed, and she’ll soon find herself hating her own gender.

Once she has no financial independence, no friends, no self-confidence, and nowhere else to go, that’s a great time to tell her that she’d look prettier with big fake tits, and that she should get some if she wants to keep living with you…

I hope these ideas have helped – and that you can now help Anna to understand that she’s really nothing but holes and tits.  She may or may not be happier once she accepts that she’s a worthless fuckdoll – but *you’ll* certainly be happier, and that’s the important thing.

With appreciation,

Dr Degradation

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If you enjoyed this story, you’ll love my e-book Systems of Control – Stories of Erotic Oppression, available for only $4.99 USD from AllTheseRoadworks.com! (Click here to view in store.)

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Fictional advice columnist Dr Degradation handles a question on improving a girlfriend.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Becoming a Bunny

Kelly’s sexual awakening as a young teenager came from discovering a photo of a  woman dressed in a Playboy Bunny costume sucking an anonymous man’s cock.  The woman was so gorgeous, her tits so big, and her face so deliriously happy.  Kelly masturbated to that photo many times and came to strongly associate sexual ecstasy with that combination of elements – bunnies, big tits, oral sex.

Her sluttiest early orgasm came from fucking her cunt with a thick carrot, while mumbling, “I’m a stupid little fuckbunny, I’m a stupid little fuckbunny”.  When she put the cunt-wet carrot in her mouth afterwards and ate it, she orgasmed again.  

She would get wet when she heard phrases like “fuck like a bunny”, “slutbunny”, “stupid bunny bimbo”.   Her first pay cheque was spend on a bunny-tail butt plug, which she wore more and more often, not caring if it was obvious under her clothes.  She routinely stuffed carrots into her pussy during the day and would then eat them in front of attractive men, hoping they knew what a whorish thing she was doing.   She melted when she was patted or stroked like a pet.  

Once she got her fake tits she gave up trying to lead a normal life and wore her lacy bunny suits everywhere.  The men (and women) in her life soon realised she didn’t want to be a respected equal, just a good little slutbunny, and more and more often they stopped trying to behave like she was a peer and instead just used her to satisfy their sexual needs.   

The happiest day of her life came when her long-time best friend spent the morning violently fucking her, then took her down to the government offices to have her name legally changed to “Slutbunny”, and then took her home again and showed her the new steel-cage hutch she would be living in from now on…

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Kelly longs to be a silly little fuckbunny.