alltheseroadworks Story

Story: The Silver Leash, Part 5

Chapters (so far):
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

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An entire week without using his newfound power was torture for Jake.

On one view, obviously he had gone 18 entire years without using it, so a week wasn’t a big deal.  

But to now know that he had this skill – this “Silver Leash” that held power over the minds and lust of women – and to not even be able to test what he could do with it… it was pure agony.

It was particularly tested on his third day back at school, when Amy came to find him at lunch time.

She had avoided him all the first two days.  He had not shared any classes with her in that time, and he had only seen her from a distance – a glimpse of her brown hair here, the swell of her breasts beneath her school blouse there, the curve of her leg as it vanished beneath her skirt seen briefly through a crowd.

When he tried to approach her, she vanished, and he assumed, glumly, that he had ruined their friendship.  His curt dismissal of her sexual advances at his birthday party had offended her.  Or, worse, she had perhaps sensed what he had done to her – violating her mind (however accidentally) to place shameful new lusts in it.  

Either way, clearly she hated him now, and he would have to live with that.

But on Wednesday, Jake was eating his lunch alone on the rear stone steps of the science building when Amy came over, head down, blushing, and sat next to him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, before he could say anything.  She still wasn’t looking at him, but the closeness of her made him tingle.  She was wearing a new perfume, he thought – something subtle, but which made him awkwardly conscious of her nearness.

“Sorry?” he asked her.  “What for?”

“Don’t make me say it,” she said.  He couldn’t see her eyes, but her cheeks were bright red.

He was baffled.

“I honestly have no idea, Amy,” he said.  “You haven’t done anything to me.  What are you possibly sorry for?”

She was silent for a long moment, and then, quietly, she said, “For acting like a slut.”

He was struck silent, trying to process this confession, but Amy must have taken his silence for an unwillingness to accept her apology, so she went on.

“I know you’re just a friend and that you don’t want anything more,” she said.  “And your friendship means so much to me, Jake.  I know that’s all it is.  I *know* it.  And I don’t know why I acted like that at your party, and I don’t know why I said what I said, and… and I’m so sorry I fucked everything up.  By being a slut.”

She looked up at him, and he saw that her eyes were filled with tears.

“And I know that you don’t respect me now,” she said, sniffling, “and I know you think I’m just a skank or something now, but I really am sorry.  And I just wanted you to know that.”

The sight of her crying nearly broke Jake’s heart.

“Amy,” he said.  “No – no, it’s not like that.  I don’t – I mean, I think the world of you.  I don’t think you’re a slut.  When you asked me to…” – he lowered his voice – “… to touch your boobs, it was – it was a privilege.”  He blushed, and added, “You have amazing boobs.”

That made her blush, too, but at least she had stopped crying.

“And I *am* your friend,” he went on, “but it’s not like I’ve, you know, never thought of you that way.  You’re… you’re really pretty.”  Then he corrected himself.  “Sexy.  Gorgeous.  Fuck, I don’t know what to say.”

She was still blushing, but smiling now.  “Those are pretty good words,” she said, quietly.

“It was just that it was so sudden,” he said.  “And there was alcohol and – and I couldn’t be sure you meant it, and I didn’t want to ruin things between us, and…”  

He gave up, and shrugged, hoping it was enough.

Her eyes were shining now as she looked at him.  She looked so beautiful – vulnerable, hopeful, sexy.

“So you *do* like me that way?” she asked him.  “Or… you could?”

“I mean, sure,” said Jake awkwardly.  Was this happening?  Was he about to ask Amy on a date – or be asked by her?  It was certainly something that he had dreamed about.

“Because,” she continued – and then blushed, and looked down again, and trailed off.

“Because what?” Jake asked.

She was silent, and then – “Because I still have those feelings, about wanting you to touch my breasts.”

Jake’s heart sank.  This wasn’t what he had wanted.

“I can’t, Amy,” he said, in a flat voice.

“Why?” she asked, in a desperate, plaintive voice.  “It’s okay, really.”

“Amy, stop it,” he said.  He didn’t want it.  Not like this.

“I keep thinking about it, Jake,” Amy insisted.  “I dream about it.  It’s like it’s stuck in my head and I need it.”

“No,” said Jake, louder now, preparing to stand up and leave.

“Why not?” asked Amy.

Jake was silent.  He could feel his own tears coming.

“Jake – WHY NOT?” demanded Amy.

“BECAUSE I DID THIS TO YOU,” shouted Jake.

He instantly regretted it.  He looked around to see who might have heard – but this part of the school was rarely used.  They had privacy.  No one had overheard.

Amy was looking at him with a hurt, baffled expression.  “What the fuck, Jake?” she whispered.

Jake hadn’t intended this conversation.  He didn’t think Madison would have wanted him to talk about this.  But Madison had also wanted him to behave ethically, and if he truly cared about Amy then she had a right to know what he had done to her.

“You’re not going to believe this, Amy,” he said, “but I swear it’s the truth.”

“You look so serious, Jake,” said Amy.  “Whatever it is, I’ll believe it.”

“You know the headache I had on my birthday?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Well, it was because I have this power inside me,” he said.  “Like… a telepathic power.  I know that sounds insane.  But it happened for the first time on my birthday.  By accident, I swear.  I didn’t mean to.  But it lets me reach into women and… do things to their sexuality.  Connect things with, like…”

He trailed off – but to his surprise, Amy finished his sentence.

“A silver leash,” she breathed.

“How did you know?” he demanded.

“I can feel it,” she said.  “Like a tether, between two ideas in my brain. One is you, and the other is my breasts.  Or the feeling of having my breasts squeezed, anyway.  It felt weird, that this idea came out of nowhere, so strongly, but I didn’t question it, because – well, when kinks happen, they just happen, I guess.”

She blushed, and then added, “And anyway, I *did* already like you…”

“So you believe me?” he asked her.

She looked at him.

“Jake,” she said, “as long as I have known you, you have never, ever lied to me.  Not even for a joke.  And even if that weren’t the case, I can see how serious you’re being right now.  Sure, it sounds crazy – but I can feel that leash inside me, now that you’ve said it.  And I am completely convinced that *you* believe it – so I believe it too.”

He felt like he might collapse with relief.

“It was an accident,” he said.  “I really didn’t mean to do that to you.  Do you believe that, too?”

She reached out and took her hand between his, cradling it, looking into his eyes.  The way she was leaning forward made it distractingly difficult not to notice her cleavage, visible through two open buttons of her blouse.

“Of course I believe it, Jake,” she said.  She smiled, and then said, “So, can you fix it?”

He shook his head sadly.  “No,” he said.  “At least, not without probably hurting you.  I think you’re stuck with it.  I’m so sorry.”

They were both silent for a while.  Amy wasn’t looking at him now.  She was gazing out towards the blue sky beyond the school fences.

Eventually she spoke.  “What else can you do with it?” she asked.

“I… don’t know how much I should say,” said Jake.  “I want to tell you, really, but there’s… someone who’s going to help me with this, and they’ve told me I have to not use it all this week, to show that I have self-control.  And they didn’t really say anything about not telling anyone, but they did kind of imply it was a secret.”

“Jake, you are not very good at keeping secrets,” laughed Amy.

“No, I guess not,” said Jake bashfully.

“You know,” said Amy thoughtfully, “as I see it, this means that there’s no reason that you can’t squeeze my tits if you really want to.”  She paused, and then added, “In fact, as I see it, you’re basically *obligated* to.”

“How do you figure?” asked Jake.

“Well, you gave me this… kink, or whatever,” said Amy.  “And I’m stuck with it.  You can’t fix it.  I’m going to keep fantasising about you squeezing my breasts so hard that I moan, and dreaming about it, and… whatever.  So I know you think it’s not ethical to take advantage of these feelings, because you put them in my head, but at this stage don’t you think it’s crueller to keep denying me?”

Jake blushed.  He hadn’t thought about it that way.  It made a certain amount of sense.  And every time Amy mentioned her tits, he could feel his cock twitch in his pants, and yes, he wanted to reach out and squeeze her boobs so much that it hurt.  

But gaining the benefit of violating Amy – however accidentally – was still wrong.  Wasn’t it?

“It’s really all right, Jake,” said Amy – and she scooched closer to him on the bench as she did so, until her shoulder was touching his.  “You know, if you’d asked me if you could touch my boobs *before* you did this silver leash thing, I would have said yes.”

Did she mean that?  Or was she just saying it because he had made her desperate for this to happen, and she would say whatever it took to make it happen?

“I don’t know…” he mumbled.

She looked at him, a speculative look.  

And then she said: “Fine.  You think that you’ve overborne my self-control?  That I’d ask you to touch my tits even if at some level I really hated that idea?  Then I’ll prove that it’s my choice.”

She grinned – and buttoned up the top two buttons of her blouse.

“I *do* want you to play with my tits, Jake,” she said.  “I want you to grab them and squeeze them, to stroke them, and pinch the nipples, and suck on them.  I want you to slap them and hurt them and use them as handles so you can pull me towards you and kiss me.”

She bit her lip, cutely, and then continued.

“But I’m not going to let you.”

Jake almost groaned, involuntarily.  Her words had painted a surpassingly erotic picture in his mind, and his cock was rock hard, and he had been just about to say that yes, she had convinced him, he would love to squeeze her breasts.

“Satisfy this mysterious teacher of yours that you can control yourself,” said Amy, “and at the same time I’ll show you that *I* can control myself.  I won’t mention my tits again until next week.  It will be hard – the fantasy is occupying a *lot* of my brain – but I’ll manage it.  And then next week you can tell me *everything* about this ‘silver leash’ of yours – and if you still want to feel up my breasts, you can do whatever you want with them, knowing that if I didn’t want it to happen I have the ability to say so.”

And with that, she stood, and smiled, and left…

… leaving Jake with a hard, frustrated cock, and a mind that couldn’t think of anything except Amy’s swelling teenaged tits.

Turnabout was fair play, he supposed, but it didn’t stop him punching his schoolbag with frustration, and then missing the first class after lunch in order to frantically “relieve the pressure” in one of the boys’ toilet stalls.

===

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Jake reveals his new power over women to Amy.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Surrender, Part 12

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

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Sarah had so many things to balance in her life these days.  But she was smart, and capable, and resourceful, and she made it work. 

She dressed for work in the collar and nipple chains.  The collar went around her neck, and the short chains connected the collar to clamps on each of her nipples.  It hurt a little – and hurt more when she walked, causing her tits to bounce against the chains – and whenever she wore this device, she couldn’t help but remember a comment that Lachlan had made. 

“It only hurts because your udders are so oversized, Sarah,” he had said.  “It’s the weight of your own titflesh that pulls at the clamps.  If you weren’t such a cow, you wouldn’t be in such pain, would you?” 

And she remembered what she had said to Lachlan – what she had been forced to *believe*, because of her hypnotic surrender.   

“I deserve to be tortured because of my oversized fuckbags.” 

She still believed it now, even though she knew that belief was implanted by her treatment in the Securo-System.  If her instructions had not required her to abuse her own breasts regularly, she would have felt guilty for not getting what she deserved. 

Lachlan had also been right that she could hide the lewd contraption if she dressed carefully.  She wore a conservative blouse, and put a scarf around her neck to hide the collar, and the only sign of how she was torturing her bra-less tits was that the line of her bosom was a little strange, where her tits were pulled upwards by the nipple clamps. 

She remembered also what Lachlan had said about her conservative work-appropriate clothes – that they were a costume, to conceal the bimbo within. 

She complemented the collar-and-chains with the cunt spreader device, which attached each of her pussy lips to the top of her stockings using elastic and clamps.  She wore no panties with it, just a skirt, and it felt strange and lewd to feel the occasional breeze on the inner flesh of her pussy, but she supposed that that was the point. 

It had been nearly a week since Lachlan had imposed the “discomfort” requirements on her, and Sarah was scared at how routine it was becoming to go to work with her tits or cunt in bondage, or with a plug in her ass or a dildo up her fuckhole.  She was becoming used to having her breasts in pain, in public, and to holding conversations with a thick plastic toy vibrating in her wet snatch. 

She had even scheduled all her meetings that day for the morning, so that in the afternoon she could go into her office, and lock the door, and put a dildo gag in her mouth and pull out her tits and attach the milking device to them. 

She drove to her work in her pink bimbo car, with the thick dildo attached to the driver’s seat stuffed up her wet cum-hole, and she listened to the compulsory misogyny podcast that played as she drove. 

“The human female is incapable of intelligent thought,” said the podcast.  “She requires a man to direct her.  Left to her own devices, she will prioritise the needs of her cunt, and humiliate herself.  The close supervision and paternal guidance that she required as a baby is what she will continue to require throughout her life.” 

Sarah could hardly argue.  Would an intelligent woman have gotten herself into the humiliating position that Sarah was in?  Would she drive to work in a pink car with clamps on her nipples and a dildo in her pussy?   

She got to work with her cunt wet and throbbing, her nipples aching, and her mind filled with confusing thoughts. 

Her morning meeting was on the subject of the department’s new public education campaign.  She sat at the head of the large meeting table (with her knees firmly clamped together, and her arms crossed in front of her to deter people from staring at her tits).  Her senior staff sat around the table, waiting for her to speak. 

“We’re starting a new project,” she told them.  She knew what she was about to say, and why she was saying it, and it was an effort not to blush.  “A new message for our society’s women.” 

She took a deep breath, and then continued.  And now she *was* blushing. 

“The message will be ‘It’s okay to look pretty’,” she said. 

Her staff looked at each other.  This wasn’t what they expected – at least not from Sarah the feminist executive.  Although it did line up with Sarah the Slut, who had come to work last week in a pink miniskirt and pigtails. 

“Women today face far too much judgement over their clothing,” said Sarah.  “It’s great that women can hold executive positions and wear business suits – but is it really an advance for women if they feel they *have* to dress like that?  If they want to dress in a way that makes them look pretty, or sexy, or that pleases men, they get criticised, and policed, and maybe even fired.” 

She looked down at her notes to cover her embarrassment, and then back up.  “So we’re going to run a campaign that tells women it’s okay to look pretty.  We’re going to tell them high heels are a feminist choice.  It’s okay to show skin.  It’s okay to encourage men to look at you.  It’s okay to wear makeup, and it’s okay to get… udder enhancements.”  (She wasn’t allowed to say “breasts”, so she moved over the word “udder” quickly and hoped no one would question it.) 

There was silence for a moment, and then a woman down the length of the table spoke.  This was Taya, an ambitious blonde who would be responsible for buying ad space for the new campaign. 

“So we’re… going to tell women it’s okay to dress like a bimbo so that men will stare at your tits?” she asked, disbelieving.  Her face showed pure contempt for Sarah. 

“Telling a woman that she’s *not* allowed to look pretty is just as patriarchal and telling her that she *must* look pretty, Taya,” said Sarah.  “This is important work.” 

Taya’s face looked sour and unhappy. 

“In any case,” said Sarah, “while this was my idea, the minister supports it and is eager to see it implemented.” 

“Do you have any ideas for the specifics of this campaign?” asked a man from the other side of the table. 

“As a matter of fact I do,” said Sarah.  “First of all we’re going to find some respected high-powered feminists – some of the more attractive ones – and get them to do sexy nude photo shoots.  Not anything too pornographic – hands artfully covering their… melons, and whatnot.  But just to reinforce the message that being sexy is a feminist choice.” 

“How do you propose we get them to do that?” asked Taya. 

“We pay them,” said Sarah.  “I’m going to authorise quite substantial payments for that.” 

“And where will that money come from?” asked Brenda, from accounts. 

“From the workplace harassment and girls’ education programs,” said Sarah.  “I’m shutting them down completely.  I think people have got the point that you shouldn’t sexually harass people in the workplace.  We don’t need to keep banging on about it.  And we don’t need to be lecturing young women to finish school and go on to university.  If they want to drop out, that’s their choice, and we should be supporting that, not undermining them.” 

Those two programs had been Sarah’s personal initiatives, and thus she had the credibility to say with a straight face that it was time to end them – and yet, it hurt her deeply to do so.  She did *not* believe the programs should be cancelled – but she was required to launch this new initiative, and she had to find the money somewhere. 

“And then also,” she said, “we’re going to hire some female porn stars – ones with the sort of bodies that some people think are anti-feminist, who have gotten rich off their curves – and show that they can be role models too.  Something like, ‘It’s okay to look like this’, or, ‘This is what success looks like’.  We can put those in girls’ bathrooms in schools, or in support services for women.” 

“We’re going to encourage young women to grow up to be porn stars?” retorted Taya. 

“We’re going to encourage them to be successful, and to be whatever kind of woman they want to be,” said Sarah.  Then she narrowed her eyes.  “Do you have a problem with this campaign, Taya?” she asked.  “Because I can find someone else to take your position if you do.” 

“No,” said Taya quietly, looking down.  “No problem.” 

“Good,” said Sarah.  “And lastly we’re going to do an awards program.  They’re going to be called the Sarah Rose Awards for Workplace Empowerment, and they’re going to go to women who are willing to exercise the right to look pretty at work.  Anyone can nominate a woman for their appearance and outfit, and we’ll give a cash prize to the twelve prettiest women, provided that they’re willing to take part in a ‘Faces of Empowerment’ photo shoot for a calendar to promote the program.” 

She knew what Taya was thinking.  They were going to give awards to bimbos, and shoot a soft-porn calendar with them to be hung in government offices throughout the nation where women would see it.  And if Taya had said that, Sarah would deny it – but yes, that was exactly what Sarah was proposing.  It was what Sarah had to do to keep her job, and avoid being fired in disgrace.  And besides, Lachlan had told her to do it, and it was becoming increasingly hard to say no to anything Lachlan suggested. 

Having set out her direction, the rest of the meeting was concerned with specifics.  Her people would go and workshop possible advertising directions with women, to learn which ones made them most inclined to dress like bimbos in the workplace.  A subcommittee would identify women who were powerful and respected, but not so rich that a good sum of money might not convince them to strip naked and be photographed so that men could jack off while staring at their tits.   

And at the end, Sarah delivered the final blow.  

“Of course, ladies,” she said, “I expect to see you all supporting this program in your *own* outfit choices in the office.  I look forward to seeing you all doing your best to look pretty tomorrow.  Participating *is* compulsory ,and I’m going to poll the men to see which of you have succeeded in getting their approval.” 

And with that she retired to her office. 

Once there, she locked the door and closed the blinds.  She took out the thick dildo gag – the one that leaked something that tasted like sperm into her mouth – and stuffed the phallus down her throat before securing the buckle behind her thread.  She almost immediately began to drool, unable to stop herself. 

Then she sat, and unbuttoned her blouse, and removed the collar and nipple clamps.  From her work bag, she extracted Lachlan’s milking machine, and put the cups over her nipples, and engaged the device.  Immediately the cups drew her tits into their plastic embrace, and began to suck on them with a deep, painful rhythmic thumping. She moaned involuntarily into the gag.  The milking machine hurt so much, and it was so humiliating.  Plus she knew the purpose was to cause her to lactate.  It already felt as if her breasts were bigger.  Were they swollen?  Or was it just in her head? 

She tried to work, with her mouth stuffed and her tits being sucked on, but it was hard.  Her subordinates didn’t email her as much anymore, because the malware Lachlan had put on her computer made her replies sound stupid and incoherent.   

And besides, her head was filled with thoughts of the morning.  She was really doing it.  She was using government money to encourage women to become bimbos.  She was spending taxpayer funds to publish a porn calendar for men to look at in the workplace.  Surely this was worse than what she had done to put her in this trap to start with? 

And yet Lachlan approved.  And the minister approved. 

And there were the things that Lachlan had put in her brain – the things that she believed now, deep down inside, because Lachlan had told her to believe them. 

That women were stupid sluts who didn’t deserve respect.  That she deserved to be tortured for having big tits.  That women with big tits didn’t deserve good jobs. 

It was no use.  She couldn’t work.  And her pussy was so wet. 

She pulled up her skirt to her waist so that her naked ass was resting on her office chair, and she spread her legs.  She had never removed the pussy spreaders, and her inner cuntflesh was exposed to the cool office air.   

She reached down and began to masturbate.   

It was true.  She was a stupid slut.  She didn’t deserve her job.  She didn’t deserve respect.  She deserved to have her udders in pain. 

And when she looked down, and saw the first squirt of white liquid in the suction cups on her breast, that pushed her over the edge.   

It was milk.  She was starting to lactate.  She was becoming a cow, just as Lachlan had suggested. 

She screamed her humiliation impotently into her gag, and arched her back, and she orgasmed, like the slutty traitor to her gender that she was.

===

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Sarah unveils her demeaning new policy for the department.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Be A Good Slut

She had started listening to the “Be A Good Slut” sleep-conditioning tapes as a joke but after two nights she found herself unable to stop putting them on to play as she slept, no matter how much she wanted to and how horrified she was at the changes in her behaviour.   

She had ordered the transparent tit-hugging sheath dress off the internet, sitting naked in her backyard, browsing degradation porn on her laptop and masturbating while she waited for the payment to process.  When the postman delivered it, she had answered the door to him nude, toying her pussy with a dildo as she signed for the package. 

Now she was wearing it out in public, as dozens of people watched, and as she felt her hands hiking up the front hem she realised she was about to start masturbating right here while they all stared at her… and she could hear the conditioning tapes in her mind whispering, “Good slut.  Happy little slut.  Good sluts finger their cunts,” and she wanted, more than anything in the world, to know that she *was* a good slut…

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She started listening to the hypnotic tapes as a joke - but soon she was trapped.

alltheseroadworks Products, Story Collection

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Misty is 19, beautiful, and about to get married.  But when she visits her uncle’s jewellery shop to pick out a wedding band, she soon finds her uncle has other plans for her future.

With the aid of a hypnotic ring, Misty’s uncle transforms the blushing bride into his helpless, horrified sex-toy.

The harder Misty tries to escape, the deeper she sinks into humiliation and degradation.

Will she find her way back to freedom?  Or will her uncle’s ring become the symbol of her eternal slavery?

===

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alltheseroadworks Guest Post, Story

Guest Post: Uncle’s Hypnosis Ring, Chapter 1

Today, AllTheseRoadworks.com is excited to announce the release of a new novella from Bimbo Blackwood, whose previous release “Feminist Corruption Water” (link) was a huge hit with fans.

Uncle’s Hypnosis Ring tells the story of a blushing teen bride transformed into a helpless sex-toy by the hypnotic powers of her uncle, and it’s filled with all the mind-control and humiliation that an All These Roadworks reader could want.

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Uncle’s Hypnosis Ring – Chapter 1
by Bimbo Blackwood

–

“Wow, look at you!” A man with wide, dark eyes greets me as I walk into his shop. “You’re all grown up!”

I barely recognize him and blush at the way he’s staring so intently, even though I realize he’s my uncle and he’s likely just doing that weird, polite thing older people do when you haven’t seen them in forever. How long has it been anyway? Five years? I quickly think back to when I last saw him and remember that it was around my ninth birthday, when his hair had been more brown than grey, and right before he’d gotten locked up for something or other (my mom refuses to talk about it, but we all assume it was embezzling or something white collar, since he’s always owned a jewelry shop). Not five years ago then, but ten, since I just turned nineteen.

“I’m getting married,” I say shyly, holding out my hand as I approach him.

I think he’ll really like the gem my fiancé picked out for me, but he just squints at it briefly and nods. “How about that. Well, what can I do for you today, Little Miss?”

My blush deepens at the childhood nickname, although it kind of hurts my feelings that he doesn’t seem interested in the ring Caleb chose. That’s part of the reason I’m here, though, to pick out my own wedding band and update the engagement ring in the event it doesn’t match. My mom told me if anyone was an expert at designing jewelry, it’d be my Uncle Roderick, and I trust her opinion above all else. She’d at least seemed to like the pretty, square diamond that my fiancé had chosen for me.

“I’m just looking for something to match my ring,” I say softly.

It feels like I don’t really know my uncle anymore, and like he’s a stranger, and that sensation makes my insides tighten with unease. Perhaps this was a bad idea.

“How about this one?” my uncle asks, pointing down into the display case at a lovely platinum band full of little square diamonds.

I lean over to get a closer look, instantly dazzled by the reflecting light of the display case perfectly accentuating all of the gemstones, and my unease lessens. It’s a stunning ring he’s pointing to. Rainbows seem to shoot from each facet of the diamond band, gleaming magnificently. Maybe my nervousness isn’t warranted at all. The ring is absolutely breathtaking.

My face reddens when I notice that my uncle’s eyes seem to be stuck on the sloping neckline of my blouse. He shifts and stares me in the eye when I straighten.

“Uh, er, that’s very nice,” I stutter.

“Looks like a perfect fit,” he says, his face neutral as he unlocks the case and takes the ring out; he holds it out to me and I take the velvet box in my hands, trying to mentally shake off the feeling that he was just staring lewdly at me.

Because that’s absurd, right? He watched me grow up, in a way. And I’m pretty sure he was one of the first people to hold me in the hospital after my mother gave birth to me. There’s no way he would consider me a sexual being, even if I’m now grown and have a noticeably curvy body.

“This one is a little more expensive. I should have asked what price range you’re looking for,” my uncle says. “This one is priced at five-thousand, because it’s of the highest quality with diamonds that are—”

My mind blanks out at the astronomical price, and I barely catch his explanation of carats and gem cut as I push the velvet box back towards him, shaking my head. “Oh no,” I say, my face turning bright red, “I don’t think we can afford all that….”

Caleb’s in the military, and although I don’t know what he spent on my engagement ring I know it can’t be nearly as much as what my uncle is asking for this wedding band, and I feel poor and shamed all at once.

“That’s alright,” he says lightly, taking the box from me. “We do have credit options.”

A part of me feels like I should ask him about them, even though I would never put my fiancé in that financial position. Before I can nervously start to backpedal, my uncle begins to laugh, and my blue eyes snap to his face.

“I suppose Melissa told you I’d give you the family discount?”

I shrug, deeply embarrassed, because obviously my mom had made it seem like her brother would ‘take care of me’ but now that I’m in his shop it seems ludicrous that he’d just give away valuables to make us happy, or out of some sense of duty. It all feels tacky and cheap, and I wish I could excuse myself and tell Caleb to just pick me out a plain silver band to go along with the wonderful ring he’s already gifted me.

“I just might, you know….” my uncle continues softly. “Have I told you the story behind my ring?”

He lifts his paw of a hand and shows me a plain bronze ring with a little ruby set in it. It’s horribly ugly, in my opinion, and yet when my gaze locks onto it I find I can’t look away. There’s something majestic about it. It glitters like a red blood drop and there’s a whisper in my head that tells me to keep looking at it. I stare as he brings it closer to my face, to really let me see it.

“It’s an old family heirloom,” he whispers. “Do you like it?”

“Yes,” I find myself saying, even though there’s nothing about it I should like.

But politeness wasn’t why I agreed, because I can’t tear my eyes away from it. Somehow, it’s utterly fascinating. The way it shines so brilliantly, almost glowing as I continue to stare, and for some reason little whispers form in my mind: look at it, really look at it.

“It’s nice, huh?” my uncle asks softly.

“It is nice,” I find myself saying, almost as if the words are forming on their own, along with a warm buzz growing inside my brain, as though compelling me to speak.

“You like it?”

“I like it,” I say, the warmth trickling down my spine and filling me up.

“You like it so much that you might be willing to do whatever I asked of you, in this moment,” my uncle says soothingly.

A sharp spike of fear lances through me at those words, because they seem so bizarre given our light conversation, but I find I can’t draw my eyes away from the glowing redness of his ring. “Mmhmm,” my traitorous mouth hums, even though I don’t want to say anything at all.

“Let me give you a taste of its power,” Uncle Roderick whispers. “Kiss it.”

Without knowing why, I instantly bend to place my lips against the hardness of his ring, the warmth in my mind growing into a persistent heat. I gasp as I pull away, frightened by the way I don’t seem to be in control of my actions, yet I can’t bring my questioning gaze up to meet Roderick’s; my eyes remain on his ring.

“From here on out, I’ll give you choices, so choose wisely.” His tone has turned from softness to a chilling sort of command, and if I could I would run out of the store. Run all the way home. Run up the stairs and into my bedroom, to hide in the comforting warmth of my bed. “Pull your blouse down and show me your lovely tits, or I’ll make you take it off so that everyone might notice and see.”

My breath freezes in my lungs and my blood runs cold. What the fuck is happening? Surely I must be having a nightmare, because this can’t really be reality, can it?

I don’t do or say anything, and Roderick sighs loudly, clearly unimpressed by my inaction.

“Take off your top,” he commands.

I want to scream, but don’t, as my hands immediately move to pull my white blouse off. I drop it to the floor and shiver as my lacy bra is exposed for everyone to see. There’s no one else in the shop with us, but there are passerbys outside, and I’m suddenly terrified that they might have noticed the young woman in the jewelry store disrobing, although I can’t turn around to check.

“If anyone were to come in now, they’d think you were behaving like quite a wicked little slut, you know? Really consider your next actions, Little Miss….”

I glare at the ring, my jaw clenched so tight that I think my teeth might break.

“Next option, come behind the service desk with me, or stand there and take off your skirt.”

I whine pitifully as I willingly move to walk around the long glass display cases to join my uncle behind them. There’s no way I’m going to keep disrobing out in the customer area where any Joe or Jane might see me, and at least behind the cases I’ll be a little more hidden.

Uncle Roderick beams at me, lifting his hand again so that my eyes catch on his ring, and whispers, “Good girl. What a very good girl you are….”

“Stop,” I gasp.

“Don’t speak,” he commands me, and the glimmering redness of the ring shimmers inside my dilating pupils, pushing a throbbing heat into my mind.

My tongue goes slack in my mouth and all I can do is stare helplessly at the ruby adorning Roderick’s finger.

“Show me your panties, or I’ll command you to take off your bra.”

I whine and try to tear my eyes away from the hideous redness that’s filling up my entire vision, but I can’t do it—can’t look anywhere else or summon the courage to show my horrible uncle my underwear. How could he do this to me? The warmth in my mind isn’t quite dulling the terror of the situation and I want to plead with him: why? Why—why—why?

“Off with the bra then,” Uncle Roderick says snappishly.

My hands go behind my back to undo the little metal clasps, even though I tell myself to remain still, to not listen to any more of these awful instructions. The lacy black bra falls away, exposing my large white tits to my uncle, and anyone else who might catch a glimpse of me from outside.

“God, how lovely,” he whispers, taking in the pinkness of my small nipples as they pucker in the cool air of the shop. “Like little ripe berries….”

I don’t want to hear his lewd thoughts and try my hardest to block out his words, block out the compelling rush of warmth in my mind. It’s impossible though. All I can see is the dazzling crimson of his ring, pulling all my attention towards it like a gaping red chasm. It almost feels like a warm drum is beating all through me. Commanding me to action. Propelling me forward into a suicide mission.

“You can sit on this stool behind me and remain unseen, or I can make you play with your lovely tits for all the world to see.”

I instinctively move for the small, metal chair that’s pushed against the wall behind him. It’s low enough so that when I sit in it, I can tell that the large, open windows of the storefront no longer give any view to me, even though my eyes are still on Uncle Roderick’s hateful ring. I still don’t understand the power that it has over me, but I do understand it’s something extraordinary. Like being shot into space and seeing all of the cosmos or something. Like seeing the heavens. Like staring into the abyss of true power—of God.

“Good girl. I’m going to make this a little more pleasurable for you. Your cunt is going to start feeling very wet and very tingly. Become aroused, Little Miss.”

I gasp as shivers of pleasure begin deep within me, wanting to fight against my uncle’s words but already knowing the futility of it. I feel my lacy black panties grow slick and my insides begin to tighten the way they do when Caleb kisses me deeply, suddenly remembering his masculine scent and the way I feel so small and protected in his embrace. My clit swells and throbs as though it’s been toyed with and licked. My skin goosepimples and flushes with warmth. My head grows swimmy, lust filling it like helium does a balloon. My pussy tingles, practically begging to be caressed.

“You can pull off your skirt and masturbate for me willingly, or I can make you go out to the display window and do it for all the world to see.”

My mind races but settles on that if I obey him it might be the end of his demands. I pull off my dark skirt, sliding my panties down to cut around my knees, and then I slide my fingers through my wet folds, wishing I could close my eyes but still locked onto my uncle’s red ring. It feels so good to touch myself, and shame floods me as I push two fingers inside my pussy as I pump into myself and massage my aching clit with my palm.

“What a very good little slut you are, Misty,” my uncle practically purrs, using my given name like a slur. “Look how wet you are! Dripping all over my stool and onto the floor. Open yourself for me.”

I moan helplessly, horrified by the terrifying words he’s saying but unable to do anything but fuck myself with my slender fingers. Pleasure courses through me as I push my fingers in deeper, stretching myself out and widening my legs so that he can see the obscene one-woman show of his niece masturbating before him like a common whore.

“That’s right. Tell me how it feels. Now.”

“Wet,” I croak, tears springing to my eyes. “Hot. Tight.”

“You’re so very pink down there, my dear. Has your fiancé fucked you yet?”

“Once,” I admit, shamefully, because it feels like I deserve this somehow for not holding out until marriage. We were supposed to wait, but we got carried away one day—although we’d been very careful, using a condom and with him pulling out to ensure no accidents happened.

“Then I guess it doesn’t matter if I get a little taste, hmm?” Uncle Roderick says, and although I can’t see his eyes because mine are glued to his ring, I know they are glittering darkly. “Stand up and press your big tits against the display case, ass to me.”

I’m furious that he’s not given me an alternative choice, because I instantly rise—withdrawing my questing fingers from myself—and move to lean over the display case, my tits hitting the cool glass and sending a shockwave through me as my skirt and panties hobble my ankles.

“That’s a good little cumslut,” my uncle whispers, pushing his ringed hand forward on the glass so that my eyes attach to it again as he positions himself behind me. “Keep looking at my ring. Stay still. Don’t speak.”

I hear the jingle of his belt buckle being undone and the little whir of his zip, and then I feel his blunt, warm cockhead press against my tender opening. Is my mom’s older brother really going to fuck me? Am I really going to let him? Why can’t I figure out a way to get out of this?

The ring sucks my concentration into it and a dazed, drugged feeling holds me in place as my uncle slides his thick cock inside me, inch by pulsing inch. He’s not wearing a condom, my mind screams, but I can’t even say anything about it, because my mouth suddenly feels like useless mush.

My wet pussy stretches around him, and my insides feel so full and bloated as he buries himself balls deep (Christ, why is there so much of it? Is he really that much bigger than Caleb?). He groans deeply as he grasps one of my hips and drives himself forward. He doesn’t stop even though he’s all the way in, instantly thrusting back and forth to rock me hard against the glass case, making it creak.

“Oh fuck, you’re so tight,” he whispers with a grunt. “There’s nothing like teenage cunt.”

I’m so grossed out by his words and what’s happening, but my pussy seems to grow wetter as he begins to pound into it with intense, measured strokes. Please stop, I want to cry out, but my whimpers don’t sound pained or unwilling, only desperate and rising as he pummels me soundly.

“That’s a good girl,” he rasps, squeezing me with his gripping hand and making a steady slap-slap-slap sound as he collides with my rounded ass. “Such a fucking good girl….”

He hammers into me even harder, making my insides ache as I can’t draw away from him, punishing my pussy in a way I’ve never envisioned a lover would. My tits slide painfully against the glass case, squeaking as the flesh drags and my nipples turn into fiery points. I feel hollowed out, my uncle driving himself deeper and deeper (so impossibly deep), slamming into my cervix as his breaths turn into heavy pants and his groans grow louder and deeper.

“So fucking good, you feel so fucking good,” he whispers through ragged exhalations.

Long minutes pass by as he fucks me mercilessly, and I wonder if it’s ever going to stop or if he’s just going to fuck me until I go insane, with my pussy stretching impossibly wide and burning from his attentions. Finally, he slows and presses himself tight against me, his cock spasming hard like a leaping frog.

“Oh!” he groans, “Cum for me you little bitch!”

The red ring nearly blinds me as my vision expands and my insides clench tight. All I can feel is the wet gush of my uncle’s cum filling me up, and then something deep inside me snaps, bliss crashing over me like a tsunami’s wave: all wet-heat and an endless throbbing as my uncle continues to empty himself and my insides milk him dry.

Distantly I hear myself keening, and everything’s so bright—white and red and infinite as the high of my climax stretches on and on. His cum leaks out of me and drips down my thighs as he pins me under him, giving little shaky thrusts that let me know he’s still enjoying abusing my tender cunt, still bathing in the aftershocks of his orgasm. He lets go of my hip and slaps my ass as he straightens.

“Good fucking show, Little Miss. Earned yourself a diamond ring, me thinks….”

I don’t even want it anymore, but I am relieved when he pulls away, breaking my locked gaze with his mind-addling ring and letting his softening flesh slip free from me. My pussy feels open and sore, leaking thick globs of sticky fluids (my uncle’s DNA, my mind shudders) to fall upon my dark skirt and panties.

“Tell your fiancé it’s his, okay?”

I barely understand the words when my uncle shoves one thick finger back up inside my cum-slicked hole, wiggling it inside me as I yelp.

“That’s a good love,” he whispers, withdrawing to slap his wet hand against my outer thigh.

He gets out the expensive diamond band to set it beside my trembling shoulders, which are still hunched over the display case. I don’t want to move, so ashamed by what just happened that I feel like a deer frozen in headlights—or maybe after the collision when it’s smeared across the road.

“Get dressed, I have other customers that may come in soon.”

Uncle Roderick disappears into the back of his shop, leaving me to shakily pull on my clothes and pocket the ring that I’ve just whored myself out for. Part of me wants to leave it, but I don’t know what I’d tell my mom if I return with nothing, and I know there’s no way in hell I’m going to admit (or accuse my uncle) to having done any of this. It’ll be better for everyone if I just pretend that the wedding band was a nice gift. No one would ever believe me anyway—that I was hypnotized by the weird ruby ring my uncle wears and that I was compelled to let myself be fucked out in the open front floor of his shop. It all sounds so insane that I can barely believe it really happened myself. Only the raw, soreness between my legs assures me that it wasn’t a delusional fabrication, and when I get home, I shower and finger out my uncle’s seed as best as I can, vowing to never see or think about that horrible man again.

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From blushing teen bride to struggling mind-controlled sex-slave! Bimbo Blackwood returns with a red-hot novella of incestuous mind-control corruption - and you can read the first chapter for free here!

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Self-Disciplining Lesbians

Father Ryan was worried about his niece Claire’s immortal soul.

Claire was a lesbian.

Now, he knew that it wasn’t “just a phase”.  He knew that conversion therapy didn’t work.  She was going to be a lesbian all her life.

And yet the Bible told him that lesbianism was sinful, and that women were created to serve and please man.

And Claire wasn’t the only lesbian in his flock.  He knew because he’d caught Claire kissing that pretty Cassidy Burke girl who worked in the Post Office.  And he was pretty sure that their friends Katy and Lyessa were likewise inclined.  And Mrs Connor down at the Town Hall had shared her suspicions with him about *her* daughter, Beth.

What was he to do?  If these girls satisfied their slutty needs with other girls, they would go to hell.  And yet, they would lust after women all their lives.  His superiors in the church preached that abstinence was the answer, but he suspected his superiors didn’t really understand young people.  All the preaching in the world wasn’t going to stop these little sluts from fucking like bunnies if they had half the chance.

The idea came to him a dream: harm minimisation.  Yes, these girls were going to do sinful things with each other – but if they were sufficiently punished for them in this life, might not God have mercy on them in the next one?  And if they fulfilled their duties to men as well, might not that weigh in their favour?

And so he created the Young Lesbian’s Soul Protection Network – a fancy name for a weekly meeting of the same-sex-attracted women of his congregation.  Some of the girls were happy enough to attend.  Others protested that they weren’t lesbians, or didn’t want to attend – but the suggestion that he might talk about their lesbianism in his next sermon, and name names, was more than enough to change their mind.

At each meeting, he gave a sermon – or rather, he had the girls listen to one he had pre-recorded.  It required each girl to wear special headphones, and stare at a large video screen. He was grateful that he had studied in neuropsychology as a young man.  He had never had a chance to test what he was attempting here, but he was confident it would work.

And it did.  As the girls stared at the screen – which showed nothing but flickering high-speed images – and listened to the meaningless assault of high-volume white noise bombarding their eardrums – their eyes became unfocused, and their mouths hung open, and the defences of their brain collapsed, allowing Father Ryan’s subliminal messages in.

Even from that first session, the girls became receptive to Father Ryan’s ideas about the state of their soul, and every week they returned for another dose, letting more and more of his instructions enter their heads.  After the second week, he set up a podcast, so they could fall asleep listening to his hypnotic noise and receive quiet instructions in their heads all night long.

The first part of his program was simple enough – community service.  He would send the girls around to the houses of certain men in the community to perform chores – cooking, cleaning, washing.  The girls would serve the men all day – and this is probably something they would have done if he had just asked them to.  They may even have agreed to call the men “sir”, as they unfailingly did.  But without his suggestion, they probably would *not* have selected the outfits for themselves that they did – short skirts, tight tops, high heels, and no underwear – or been quite so active in selecting poses or body movements that flashed their naked cunts to the men, or let their unsupported tits bounce out of their shirts.  

The girls didn’t even notice that they were doing this, or realise there was anything wrong with their outfits.  Nor did they notice when the men – as Father Ryan had encouraged them to – took out their cocks and masturbated as they watched the little sluts go about their work.  

They weren’t *supposed* to notice when the men ejaculated on them, either – they were supposed to go home, oblivious, and wash the cum off without ever knowing what had happened.  But Father Ryan’s subliminal programming wasn’t perfect, and occasionally a girl would suddenly become aware – usually on her way home – that that was a man’s *sperm* drying on her face, or tits, or hair.

The human brain is a wonderful thing, full of cleverness.  It couldn’t remember what had happened, or how the sperm had gotten there – but it was completely able to seize on the girl’s latent guilt about her lesbianism, and general shame towards her sexuality, and construct a narrative for the girl where the sperm was *her fault*, where she had cockteased the man, where he hadn’t wanted to have anything to do with her but she had sluttily *seduced* him into cumming on her….

Father Ryan watched these rationalisations with amazement as the tearful girls made their confessions to him.  He told them to repent, to spank their whorish cunts 20 times by way of punishment, and then to go back to the man, apologise to him for being a slut, and offer to kiss his cock to show that they were really sorry.

Thus he ensured that his lesbians fulfilled their God-given duty to serve men.

As to their lesbianism, he gave them other suggestions.  

The idea was that every act of lesbianism should inherently punish them, by hurting, humiliating or degrading them.

As the girls’ slutty cleaning service to men continued, the girls began to offer a new service to the men.  They proposed it as if it were perfectly normal, not seeing anything strange in it.

“Please, sir, can I collect your piss?” they would ask.  And they would pout and flutter their eyes (and progressively remove more of their clothes) until the man said yes.  And from that point on they would start and end every cleaning visit by holding out a large bottle and funnel for the man to piss into.  They would kneel, holding it, and kiss the outside of the bottle as the man slowly filled it with his hot piss.  And at the end of the day, they would cap it and take it home with them.

The piss was important, because it let them kiss other girls.  One of the hardest compulsions of their hypnotic programming was that they couldn’t kiss the lips of another girl unless they could taste a man’s sperm or piss.  The lesbians, eager to make out with each other, would heat up some of their stored urine, pour a little into each of their mouths, and then begin to passionately tongue-kiss, pushing the piss back and forth between them with their tongues, eventually swallowing it and pouring themselves some more if they wished to continue.

Father Ryan had dimly thought that the idea of having to drink piss in order to kiss a girl might dissuade them from doing it altogether, but their lust won out over their humiliation.  The girls, of course, thought that this new compulsion was all their own idea.  They thought they were perverted piss-drinking whores.  They tried to stop, to kiss normally, and they couldn’t.  They begged him in tears to help them.

He told them that for a perversion of this nature, disciplining themselves would not be enough.  He had them remove their skirts and panties, and lie spread legged on the church altar, and he dutifully did his duty as their moral guardian and whipped their whorish cunts with his leather belt.

Further, they found that if they wanted to get undressed with another girl, they felt a need to have a man present.  Blushing, the girls would ask the men they were cleaning for if they could make out in front of him (completely unaware that he was already masturbating, and would eventually ejaculate over their oblivious faces as they rubbed each other’s tits and passed his piss back and forth in their mouths).  Or they would come to Father Ryan and ask him to supervise their slutty intimacy, with a round of cunt-whippings at the end for good measure.

If they wanted to lick each other’s pussies, not only did it have to be in front of a man, but they would find themselves compelled to piss into the mouth of any girl licking their cunt.  Even this didn’t dissuade them from blushingly 69ing in front of Father Ryan at the church.

And finally, if they wanted another girl to penetrate their pussy, there had to be a man’s cum in it first.  

Desperate for lesbian sex (and with their inhibitions lowered a little by Father Ryan’s program) the girls would go to their male patrons and beg to be allowed to masturbate the men to ejaculation (unaware the men had been giving them this present for free all along).  Sometimes the men just said yes – but sometimes they wanted to see the girls nude, or sample the girl’s mouth, or even push their cock into her pussy a few times before allowing her to masturbate them into a condom.  And the girls, sluts that they were, said yes.

And then they would take that cum, and push it up each other’s cunts, before fucking each other – not with dildos, because Father Ryan allowed nothing so simple, but with spiky hairbrushes, or objects of food, or toilet brushes, the girls moaning in pain and lust as the men’s cum was pushed into their womb by degrading household objects.

The lesbians all fell pregnant very quickly, of course, and Father Ryan was very satisfied, because he was sure God would take mercy on a lesbian who was at least willing to *breed*.  

And because, of course, with all the sperm that his nice Claire had pushed up her cute little twat over the last few months of slutty lesbian activity, she wouldn’t have any suspicion at all that her baby might come from the twice weekly fuckings by her uncle, Father Ryan, that she had been receiving in the back room of the church – fuckings that the programming had helped her to forget were even happening, but which were *very* satisfying to her uncle’s cock.  He had saved the girl’s soul after all, and that deserved a *little* reward….

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Father Ryan hypnotises the lesbians of his parish into punishing themselves for their sin.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Topless Service

There is always a danger in using a careless hypnotist.  Paige worked at a raunchy bar as a waitress.  Some of the girls worked topless.  The shyer girls made do with bikinis or tight tops.  The girls with their tits out always made bigger tips, though.

Paige was too shy to bare her breasts but she needed the bigger tips.  A female friend, Katy, had been learning hypnotism from YouTube videos and offered to help.  Paige nervously agreed, and let herself be placed in a trance.  Her friend implanted only one suggestion: “You want to serve food with your tits exposed.”

It worked.  Paige found herself eagerly stripping off at work, picking up big tips from customers entranced by her large fuckmelons.

It worked too well.  Paige also found herself blushingly stripping in the kitchen of her house, bringing snacks out to surprised friends with her boobs bare.   She found herself going into her backyard topless in order to put her border collie’s food in his bowl.  In one embarrassing incident she stripped down in a public park as a response to the thought of throwing stale bread to pigeons.

She returned to Katy in a panic, begging her to fix the hypnosis.  Katy asked Paige to make her a coffee while she worked out what to do, and when Paige returned with her breasts bare and a demure blush on her face, the sight was just too pretty for Katy to want to fix it.  That image was immediately her newest fantasy – Paige blushing, servile, and exposed.  She wanted to see Paige’s face as Paige stripped completely nude and knelt before her.   She wanted to see Paige beg to lick her cunt.  

“Sure,” Katy said to Paige, a heat growing between her legs.  “I’ll fix it for you.  Let’s just put you back into that trance again…”

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Paige is too shy to work at the skimpy bar - until hypnotism helps her.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: The Silver Leash, Part 4

Chapters (so far):
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

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Jake’s sleep was filled with confused, erotic images of Amy, and Emily, and Madison, and it was with some disappointment that he finally awoke to discover that it was Monday, and that he was obliged to go to school.

Jake may have turned 18, but there was still a third of a year left until he graduated from Five Hills High, and as much as he wanted to practice his new powers, he also needed to practice his Maths and English if he wanted to finish up with the grades he aspired to.

Five Hills didn’t require uniforms – a minor blessing – and so he was out the door in jeans and a loose T-shirt with time to spare, and after walking the seven blocks to the school campus he had more than half an hour until classes started.

But when he entered the school building he discovered an unusual sight.  There was a crowd of activity around the entrance to the school library – burly men carrying boxes of books out of the library, and out of the school, towards a waiting van – and the librarian, Miss Weaver, was sitting nearby, in a hollow under a stairwell… and *crying*.

Jake knew Miss Weaver – or Natalie, as he had called her then.  She had been a student here at Five Hills only four years ago, and Jake had harboured a small pubescent crush on her while she was in her senior year.  She may have had the brain of a nerd, but she had never seemed to understand that she also had the body of a fashion model, and her four years of university prior to returning to the school as its teacher-librarian had only developed her in intriguing ways.  

She had removed her customary spectacles to wipe the tears from her reddened eyes, and her face looked erotically naked without them.  The thought occurred to Jake that some women just looked prettier when they were crying, and Natalie Weaver was such a woman.

Jake tried to accost one of the man carrying the boxes.  “Hey,” he said.  “What’s going on here?”

“Out of my way, kid,” grunted the man.  “Banned books.”

“Banned books?” repeated Jake.  “What the fuck?”

But it was clear there was no more information forthcoming from the worker, so Jake went to see Miss Weaver.

She was seated in a school-style classroom chair, and didn’t seem to notice him approaching.

“Miss Weaver?” he said, awkwardly.  “Natalie?”  He’d never really interacted with her as more than a librarian before, and then only briefly.  He wasn’t sure she even knew who he was.

But she did.

“Oh, Jake!” she said, looking up and blinking.  She was obviously embarrassed, ashamed of her tears, ashamed of letting someone younger – and a student, at that – see her in her distress.  “I’m sorry, don’t mind me.  It’s just… silly.  I should have known this would happen.”

Jake looked around, and found another chair pushed up against a wall.  He scooted it over and sat next to Miss Weaver.

“What’s going on?” he asked her.

“They’re removing books from the library,” she said.  “Books that they say are inappropriate.  Ones about sex and sexuality.  Anything with people that are – you know – queer.  Some political ones too.  There was a complaint.”

Jake felt a sudden flare of anger.   Banned books?  In this day and age?  He had always valued the school library, as a place that was quiet and safe, and cool on hot days and warm on cold ones, stocked with tales of the past and the future and distant worlds and all-too-near ones, and to hear that books were being removed from it felt like a personal violation.  

And the principle of the thing – that someone thought he couldn’t be trusted to make up his own mind about what he read.  That books might *influence* him in ways that someone disapproved of.  The very thought made him mad as hell, and eager to fight.

“How many?” he asked.

“Nearly five hundred books,” she said.  “There’ll be empty shelves.  I guess I’ll have to replace them with… something inoffensive.”

Jake clenched his teeth.  “This isn’t fair,” he said.

Miss Weaver looked at him.  “I know,” she said.  “But schools are rarely fair, Jake.”

He looked at the tears in her eyes, and on her face, and said, “This really hurts you, doesn’t it?”

She blushed.  “It does, but… it’s not just that.  I spoke to the principal this morning, and he said the complaint also made… allegations about me.  That I was trying to corrupt students by having these books in the library.”

“That’s ridiculous!” protested Jake.

“Whoever complained said that I… showed cleavage, to tempt young boys,” she said.

Jake tried to remember Miss Weaver’s outfits.  He couldn’t remember more than the merest hint of neckline in anything she had worn – and he thought if she had ever “showed cleavage” that he would have remembered, and probably masturbated to it later the same night.

He didn’t know what to say.

“I’m going to have to front the Parents & Teachers Association,” said Miss Weaver, “and answer questions about the books, and my clothes, and my… sex life.  I might lose my job.  And even if I don’t, the principal says I’ll have to write a letter to every family at the school apologising for acting like a slut and stocking perverted material in the library.”

The last words of this sentence quavered, and then dissolved into deep, choking, humiliated sobs.

Jake didn’t know what else to do – so he put his arm around the crying librarian.

And immediately, he felt it – the ember, awakening, somewhere inside Miss Weaver.  She was responding to his touch, with the barest flicker of arousal.  No doubt an instinctive reaction to physical touch and affection in a time when she was vulnerable – Jake had no real illusions that Miss Weaver was hot for him – and yet it would be enough for him to use his power.  To snare her with a Silver Leash.

He remembered what his cousin Madison had said – that girls needed to be insecure or off-balance for him to use his power on them.  That was certainly the case here.  And they needed to be someone that he, personally, wanted to fuck.  That was true, too – and he felt his cock hardening slightly at Miss Weaver’s nearness.

He could do it, and she would never know.  He could connect her arousal to the shame she was feeling, like he had with Emily, and make her forever aroused by being humiliated.  Or he could connect it to the affection he was showing her, and make her get wet whenever he gave her attention and kindness.  If he did, it would almost inevitably lead to her offering herself to him – spreading her legs for the student who always made her feel horny…

But he had promised Madison that he wouldn’t.  He would suppress his power for a week.  She would know if he used it – she would feel it – and that would be the end of her promise to teach him.  Maybe more than that; she had vaguely implied that if she thought he was using the power unethically, she would *take action*…

But beyond that, Madison was just *right*.  It *was* unethical to take advantage of Miss Weaver in her moment of weakness, to give her an embarrassing new kink, or make her his fuck-slave.  The thought of mind-controlling her into a sexual encounter was blazingly erotic, of course – but in the long term, that wasn’t who he wanted to be, and it wasn’t the sort of relationship he wanted with any girl who he cared for and respected.

So he deliberately didn’t reach for the ember of arousal in Miss Weaver, and made a point of studiously ignoring it.

Instead, he asked a question.

“Do you know who made the complaint?” he asked.

She shook her head.  “No,” she said.  “I have no idea.  I think the principal knows, but he’s not telling.”

Jake considered.  Who would make a complaint like this?  A complete bitch, obviously.  Someone obsessed with morality and purity.  Someone homophobic, who hated queer people.  Someone who had access to the contents of the library and who could discreetly make a list of “inappropriate books”.  Someone who enjoyed hurting and humiliating pretty women…

It could have been any number of people.  But one clear suspect came to Jake’s mind.

“Cat,” he whispered.

“What?” asked Miss Weaver.

“Cat Weatherwill,” said Jake.  “You know her.  The blonde senior with the bangs and the expensive fashion choices.  She runs the Purity Club, and the Student Prayer Circle, and her mom is on the PTA, too.  She’s always going on about how the school shouldn’t allow gay students, and how it should expel students caught with porn.  I bet it was her.”

And as if Jake had invoked the name of a demon, he suddenly realised she was there – down the far end of the school hallway, standing with her two “Cat Clique” friends, watching the workmen remove the books, and smirking.  She was perfect, beautiful, untouchable, and every inch the image of a smug evil bitch, enjoying the fruits of her malevolence.

Miss Weaver suddenly seemed to realise that she had a student’s arm around her, and blushed, and shrugged Jake off.  

“Jake, it doesn’t matter now who complained,” she said.  “It’s happened, and I have to deal with it.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” said Jake.  And then, again: “This isn’t fair.”

He felt the anger swelling in him – the sense of powerlessness in the face of an injustice.  Cat and her friends thought they could do whatever they wanted – hurt whoever they wanted – and get away with it because they were rich, and pretty, and well-connected.

And they were right.  They could.  This was far from the first life that Cat had casually ruined, and she was young enough that there were an almost endless series of chances to do it again stretched out ahead of her.

And then Jake remembered.  He *wasn’t* powerless.  There *was* something he could do about it, now.

He remembered Madison’s admonishment from the day before.

“I didn’t say you could never use it, Jake,” she had said.  “I just said you can’t use it on innocent girls.  But you know… not all girls are innocent.”

Cat was as far from innocent as a girl could be.  If anyone deserved to be leashed by Jake’s power, it was her.  It would put her in her place – teach her humility.  And if Jake maybe got to fuck her perfect little rich-girl cunt in the process, well, that was a reasonable reward for his intervention, wasn’t it?

Madison had said he couldn’t use his power for a week.  But this was a special occasion.  This was someone who deserved it.  If Madison could see the snide smirk on Cat’s pretty little face as she watched the books being removed from the library, then Jake was sure she’d tell him to go for it.

He got up from his chair and strode down the corridor.

“Jake…” warned Miss Weaver, weakly, but Jake ignored her.

“Cat!” he yelled as he approached her.

Cat swung her gaze from the workmen to consider the boy marching towards her.

“Excuse me,” she drawled.  “Do I *know* you?”

Jake coloured.  They had sat together in classes for years.  Of course she knew him.  This was a calculated insult, just like everything else that Cat did.

And if he hadn’t been sure of that, the immediate sniggers that issued from Cat’s followers made it clear.  Redheaded fashion model Gwen Love, and exotic influencer Juno South; in that moment, Jake hated them both with a white-hot flame.

He ignored Cat’s question.

“Did you do this?” he said, pointing at the workmen.

“I have NO idea what you’re talking about,” said Cat.  But the smirk as she said it told him everything he needed to know.  It *had* been her, and seeing Miss Weaver crying, and Jake in a fury, just made her enjoy it more.

“You fucking bitch,” said Jake.  He didn’t swear often – and even less at women – but the removal of the books, and Miss Weaver’s distress, had touched something in him.  “Why do you even care what’s in the library?  Do you even read?”

Juno stepped forward, angry.  “How *dare* you speak to a girl that way?” she hissed.  “A turd like you should be grateful to even be allowed in our presence.”

Cat waved her away.  “Hush, Juno sweetie, I can handle this myself,” she said.  

She regarded Jake with a cool eye, even as she played with her hair with one hand, twirling it around her finger.  It was a deliberately flirtatious gesture, and even in the height of his anger it made Jake blush, because as much as he hated this girl, she was a vision of pure teenage lust, and he had to admit how nice it would be to hold her, and kiss her, and fuck her…

“You’re Jake, aren’t you?” she said, and then went on without waiting for an answer.  “Jake Niles?  Well, Jake, number one, yes, of course I read, although what I mostly read is the word of Our Lord in the Bible, and if you spent a little more time reading it yourself, you’d understand what a Jezebel *slut* our little local librarian is, and why all those books about *sex* and *sodomites* and *lesbians* are the work of Satan.”

She took a step forward, moving into Jake’s personal space, and suddenly he felt a little less confident, confronted by the sheer force of her personality.  He had to resist the urge to take a step back.

“Number two, Jake,” she said, twisting his name as though it was a slur, “you need to understand that these decisions don’t concern you.  They’re made by people who actually matter, like me, and my father, and my mother, and at the end of the day if that makes you upset, then you can… what’s the phrase?  Die mad about it.”

She stepped forward again, and now her tits were actually touching Jake’s chest, and she was close enough to kiss, and he was looking right into her amused bitchy beautiful eyes.

“And three,” she said, “it seems to me that even by the standards of people who don’t matter, you personally are a limp-dicked little worm who doesn’t even deserve to lick my shoes.  So what, exactly, Jake, are you going to *do* about it?”

Jake clenched his fists.  He felt a heat within his brain, and a throbbing in his groin.

“This,” he whispered.  And he reached out with the Silver Leash.

He cast his mind into the heart of her, looking for the ember, looking for her thoughts, looking to connect her sexuality to the most degrading thing he could find.  Maybe he could make her want to wet herself in front of the whole school.  Maybe he could make her fuck her pet dog.  Maybe he could make her into his mindless obedient fucktoy.

And he found… nothing.

No ember.  No kinks.  And, above and beyond that, an ice-hard wall completely repelling his intrusion.  He felt his mind bounce off that wall so hard that it physically hurt.

And he remembered – the thing he had forgotten in his fury.

There were two rules to using his power.  The girl had to be aroused.  And the girl had to be insecure.

Cat Weatherwill wasn’t horny – and certainly not for him.  And even if she had been, he could neither see nor manipulate that spark of arousal, because she was confident.  

No, not just confident, but *ironclad*.  She was wrapped in an armour of absolute complete conviction that she was important, popular, and untouchable.  She had the unshakeable belief that she would always get what she wanted, when she wanted it – and it was a belief that was almost certainly correct.

There was no way in for Jake.  There was nothing he could do.

A long silence stretched out.

“What?” asked Cat after a moment, with an affected giggle.  “What are you going to do, Jake?  Are you going to hit me?  My father has *lawyers*, Jake.  If you lay a finger on me you will go to *jail*.  So what are you going to do?  Huh?”

Jake’s face went purple with anger and humiliation.

“Aw,” said Cat.  “So sad.  Sounds like limp-dicked little Jake is just all talk.  It’s a shame.  You should have hit me, Jake.  I think you’d look good behind bars.  I think orange is your colour.”

Gwen and Juno laughed cruelly.

“Why don’t you run along back to your slut librarian, Jake?” said Cat.  “I’m sure if you ask her nicely she’ll let you hit *her*.  She looks like the kind of whore that likes a man to push her around a little, don’t you think?  Maybe she’ll let you pay to fuck her, Jake.  She’ll need the money, once the school *fires* her.”

Jake almost did hit her, right then.  His fist was clenched.  His muscles were straining.

“You’re a bitch, Cat,” he said quietly.  “You’re an evil cunt, and some day you’re going to get what’s coming to you.”

“The only things coming to me are success and adoration, limp dick,” said Cat.  “Some day I’m going to be *president* of this country, and you and your slut librarian and that whore Amy you hang around with, and all your other queer skank friends, will learn their proper places.”

The bell rang.  It was time for class.

“So long, Jake,” said Cat.  “Enjoy your new library.  My mom will make sure there are *extra* copies of the Bible in it – just for you.”

And with that, she turned and left, with her two friends following her.

Jake watched her go.  And he knew that he *wasn’t* going to use his power for the rest of that week.  

Because he needed Madison.  He needed to *learn*.  

Because he was going to destroy Cat.  He knew there was a way to do it – there must be.  And he was going to find it, and he was going to visit every humiliation on her that he could possibly imagine.

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Jake comes face to face with the Cat Clique's evil when they take issue with the books in the school library.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Stop Feeling Stress

The meditation tapes were supposed to simply help with stress – but Olivia had a receptive mind, and the makers of the tapes weren’t the most careful of hypnotists.  She listened to them every night as she slept, and they had a cumulative effect.

“When you feel stressed, stop trying to think about hard things.  Concentrate on good feelings from your body.  Stop fighting.  Let yourself be what those around you want you to be.  The less control you have, the happier you will be.  You will feel pleasure from your helplessness.  You will stop feeling stress and just feel love and acceptance.”

She noted some mild improvement in her work life over the next few weeks, but she didn’t understand the full impact of the tapes until her friend Josh began to rape her in an isolated bedroom at a co-worker’s birthday party.

When she felt Josh’s firm hands on her shoulders, pushing her back onto the bed, and his tongue part her lips, she said, “No!  Stop, Josh!”   When he paid no heed, and began to pull at her shirt, she knew she was about to be raped… and that’s when a switch flipped in her head. 

“Stop trying to think about hard things.”  She felt her mind go blank – a happy blank.  “Concentrate on good feelings from your body.”  Josh’s knee between her legs DID feel good… and his hand on her breast… and his tongue in her mouth.  “Stop fighting.”  She stopped.   “Let yourself be what those around you want you to be.”  A willing little fuck-kitten, she realised.  She made a silly little sound, half giggle, half purr, and Josh responded by ripping her shirt from her, baring her bra-less tits.  

“The less control you have, the happier you will be.  You will feel pleasure from your helplessness.”  She knew then that Josh was going to fuck her whether she wanted it or not, and she suddenly felt happier than she’d ever been.  She bucked her hips against him eagerly, and he responded by pulling down her skirt and panties, and a moment later she felt his cock slide between her now-wet pussy lips, and she squealed with delight.   Struck by an idea, she suddenly started to struggle a little, and Josh responded by slapping her across the face, reinforcing her helplessness – and therefore her happiness.

As Josh began to rhythmically pound her cunt with his cock, she realised that now that she’d experienced this happiness, regular life was going to be even more stressful… she thought the little switch in her mind might begin to flick more and more easily, taking her into this stupid little fuck-kitten space where she could be truly happy…

But just the same, she began planning who else she could cock-tease into raping her exactly like this…
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The meditation tapes were supposed to simply help with stress - but Olivia had a receptive mind, and the makers of the tapes weren’t the most careful of hypnotists.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Fraud Detection

The accounting firm saved millions of dollars in fraud detection and prevention.  Rather than hiring auditors, they only employed pretty girls as their account managers, and subjected them to a hypnotic conditioning process during their orientation, that they would forget immediately after its completion.

The conditioning gave them a simple set of triggers.  If they found themselves lying to a manager about money, either explicitly or through omission, they would be overcome with an uncontrollable urge to start stripping naked.  If they continued lying, they would start begging to be raped.  

That was how pretty little Mia found herself on the executive floor that day, desperately trying to pretend she hadn’t embezzled all that money, even as she discarded her clothes and begged her manager to violently fuck her holes.  And as he advanced on her, smiling, his cock hard, it was gradually dawning on her that she wanted – *needed* – to pay back every dollar she had embezzled by working as a prostitute and a stripper, fucking any client who asked and doing any sexual act, no matter how degrading, no matter how long it took…

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A hypnotic process helps an accounting firm detect dishonest female employees.