alltheseroadworks Story

Story: The Foster Girl, Part 23

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do I look?” she asked nervously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

===

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

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

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

They went inside and asked for a table for two.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Any drinks?” asked the waiter.

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

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

“Champagne,” said Mitch.

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

“Then drink it slowly,” said Mitch.

The waiter left, to bring them drinks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carrie’s face was bright red.  She nodded.

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

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

“What?” he said.  “Speak up, cunt.”

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

She paused again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

===

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

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: The Button

Jenny’s life revolved around the button.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he had installed the button.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Installing a second button,” he said.

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

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

Jenny’s blood went cold.

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

Jenny moaned.

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

===

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

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: SlutGPT, Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry, what?” said Chantelle.

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

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

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

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

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

Lucia blushed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What…” protested Lucia.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, very good,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Words appeared on the screen.

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

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

I AM A SLUT.

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

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

“I am a slut,” she said, quickly.

I AM A DUMB CUNT.

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

ZAP.  Lucia screamed, and started to cry.

“I’m a dumb cunt,” she sobbed.

ZAP.

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

Chantelle’s voice came over a PA system.

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

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

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

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

“I am a dumb cunt,” said Lucia.

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

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

Then the words changed again.

I LIKE BEING RAPED.

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

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

PLEASE RAPE ME, DADDY.

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

ZAP!

“Please rape me, daddy,” Lucia gasped.

PLEASE SQUEEZE MY BIG SLUTTY TITS, DADDY.

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

MY CONSENT ISN’T IMPORTANT.

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

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

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

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

WOMEN ARE OBJECTS, said the screen.

“Women are objects,” sighed Lucia.

I AM STUPID AND NEED A MAN TO CONTROL ME.

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

I FANTASIZE EVERY DAY ABOUT BEING RAPED.

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

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

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

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

I WANT TO BE AN OBJECT FOR MEN.

I AM NOTHING BUT TITS AND A CUNT.

I NEED MY DECISIONS TAKEN AWAY.

I NEED TO BE TOLD WHAT TO DO.

I AM A DUMB CUNT.

And then, suddenly, it was over.

Had six hours passed?  Apparently it had.

Professor Hancrow and Chantelle returned to the room.

“Am I done?” asked Lucia.

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

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

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

===

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

===

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

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Compelled Courtesy, Part 3

Chapters:
One | Two

===

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes?” she breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

“You tease,” said Junko, smiling.

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

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

===

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

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

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

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

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

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

Frankie laughed loudly at Georgie’s joke.

Tahlia’s face coloured.

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

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

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

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

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

Her brain shifted.

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


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

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

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

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

Georgie and Frankie looked at each other, surprised.

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

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

And just like that, they got down to business.

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

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

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

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

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

The men looked at each other.

Finally, Frankie spoke.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apologise.  Compliment.  Compromise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Frankie guffawed with laughter.

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

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

===

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

===

BONUS CONTENT!

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

Tahlia holds a humiliating meeting at work.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Building Confidence

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

===

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

===

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

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Titcage, Part 36

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

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

===

The next week, Michael had an unpleasant surprise for Claire and Steph both.  He called them into his office and made them strip naked; he had Steph suck his cock as he talked, and allowed Claire to masturbate as she watched.

‘I’ve had a chat with your father,’ Michael said, smiling in pleasure at the feel of Steph’s lips pumping up and down on his dick.  He reached down to caress the young lesbian’s face.

Claire waited for Michael to continue, her fingers sliding in and out of her pussy and rubbing lightly across her clitoris.

‘He would very much like to start fucking you both,’ Michael said.

Steph stopped bobbing her head up and down on Michael’s cock abruptly.  Michael looked irritated, pulled his cock out of her mouth, and slapped her across the face.  She whimpered, and obediently went back to servicing his dick.

Claire also felt something flip over inside her at this news.  She had known her father lusted after them – it was hard not to when he ejaculated on her tits every day – but the thought of actually having her dad’s dick inside her was a step further down the path of degradation, and one that made her uncomfortable, and sad deep inside.  Not sad enough to stop playing with her pussy, though.

But this was not the worst of Michael’s news.

‘He’s worried though.  He really wants to cum inside those tight little pussies of yours, but he’s afraid of accidentally getting you pregnant.’

Claire felt mixed relief.  Did Michael mean that her father wasn’t going to fuck her, then?  Or did he mean he would only fuck her somewhere other than the pussy?  She was much more used to sucking cock than being fucked in the cunt.  It didn’t seem so bad to give her dad a blowjob – at least by comparison.

‘I’ve told your father that there’s an easy solution,’ Michael said.  His fingers were gripping Steph’s hair tightly now, pulling her down against his groin.  ‘He can’t get you pregnant if you’re already pregnant.’

Claire didn’t understand at first.  But then she did, and it was finally enough to make her fingers stop pumping her twat.  Steph took a moment longer to realise, but when she did she went very still.  Michael began to pull her head back and forth by the hair, to make her continue pleasing his cock.

‘We’re going to get both of you girls nice and knocked up.  It’s about time to find out whether you’re fertile anyway, and you’re long overdue to start lactating.  I’ll be up to you whether you keep the baby but either way your father should be able to get a good few months of fucking your cunt without having to worry about inbreeding.’

Claire felt desperate.  Somehow despite everything she had done in recent months, she had still assumed some day she would have a husband and a real family and children.  To be deliberately and randomly impregnated by Titcage, just to let her father rape her – it was horrible.  She started to cry.

‘There there, slut,’ said Michael.  ‘Don’t worry.  Once you’re pregnant, we’re going to make sure you’re married.  I’ve decided I’d quite like to marry you myself, and we’re going to marry off Steph here to your friend Ben, who has expressed an interest.  Ben will still fuck you, of course, and I’ll be fucking a range of other girls who I’ll like a lot more than you.  It wouldn’t do for a wife to think she was special, after all.  But you’ll get to have a wedding.’

This was too much.  Claire needed to escape.  She turned, and began running towards the door, not caring that she was naked.  But Jim had silently come in behind her, and as she started to run he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her to the ground.  Claire fell, and shortly thereafter she felt Jim pushing his hard cock into her cunt, and starting to rape her as she cried.

‘Don’t cry, Fucktwat,’ he cooed in her ear.  ‘This is what you were made for.  Michael’s said you can still suck my cock every day, and I have to say I’ve always dreamed of milking a big-titted slut like you while I fuck her.  It’s going to be great when your milk comes in.’

After that morning, Titcage kept the two girls leashed and shackled for a week, to stop them running away.  They were put on fertility drugs.  Steph was despondent, miserable the whole time, only seeming happy when Claire was licking her pussy.  Both girls were made to record new training tapes in their own voices.  ‘I want to be pregnant.  I love having giant cow udders.  I am only good for breeding,’ Claire heard her own voice telling herself, as she knelt naked on the floor at Titcage, chained to the wall, sucking on the cocks of her male co-workers.

Giving blowjobs worked differently now, of course.  Whenever someone ejaculated in Claire’s mouth, she wouldn’t swallow it, but rather indicate for Steph to lie down on the floor next to her.  Claire would push Steph’s thighs apart, exposing her bare pussy, and then put her mouth against Steph’s twat and use her tongue to push the sperm in her mouth into Steph’s cunt.  Steph would return the favour to Claire when Steph sucked a man off.

At the end of each day came the genuine attempt at impregnation.  The two girls would strip nude and bend over office desks, and whichever male co-workers wanted to fuck them would shove their dicks in the girls’ cunts and fill them with sperm.  Afterwards the girls would put on a show.  Titcage had arranged at considerable cost for a shallow bathtub to be filled each afternoon with human sperm.  Claire and Steph would have their labia taped against their inner thighs, to keep their cunts spread open as wide as possible, and then fingerbang each other in the tub, each pushing litres of sperm up into their sister’s pussy, before licking each other to a slutty cum-fuelled orgasm.

Steph still struggled against these activities, which Claire secretly liked.  By now, raping a girl felt infinitely more erotic to Claire than consensual lesbian sex, and besides, it gave Claire an excuse to be on top in the tub, holding Steph down with her weight.  The level of the cum in the tub was shallow, so there was no difficulty in Steph keeping her head above the semen from the lower position, but Claire loved the idea of her own cunt being above Steph’s face, and knowing that the anonymous sperm that Steph was pushing into Claire’s pussy would drip back out onto her sister’s face and into her mouth.

Afterwards the girls would emerge from the tub covered in cum, and the other girls in the office would lick them clean.  It was an erotic reward for Claire to feel so many mouths licking and nibbling at her tits and cunt, and lapping the cum from her cheeks and lips.  The knowledge that some of them were reluctant, or even crying, at being made to perform the task just made it all the better.  They were stupid sluts, Claire knew from her training tape, and this was what they deserved.

At the end of the week, Claire and Steph had dinner at home with their father, with Kitten attending as a guest.  However, upon arriving home, they were distressed to find that Sluthole had invited herself along.  In fact, Sluthole was already nude and bouncing enthusiastically on their father’s cock, as their father sat on the living room couch, watching the TV.  The TV was showing video footage of the two sisters writhing in the bath of cum, obviously obtained from the girls’ Titcage web pages.  They watched as their father orgasmed loudly into Sluthole’s cunt.

Sluthole climbed off their father and revealed that he was wearing a condom over his cock.  She gently teased it off him, and set it carefully on a plate that already held two condoms like it.  She then applied another condom to his dick, and slid back into his lap, his still-stiff penis vanishing between her cunt lips.

‘Sluthole here has just been suggesting a whole bunch of new ways to help you girls understand what sluts you are,’ their father said, his voice slightly muffled by Sluthole’s tits pressed against his face.  ‘She’s very creative.  Why haven’t you invited her around before?’

Claire and Steph said nothing.

‘For instance, I like this thing at work where they taped your labia to your thighs.  You look very pretty with your cunt all spread open like that.  I think we need to start having you do that around the house.  And I saw the video of you being punished for not having a good enough fuck grade, Claire.  You looked so pretty having your cunt Tasered.  Sluthole just sucked me off a little while ago while I ordered a Taser online.’

The girls sat through a miserable evening of dinner.  Their father watched as Sluthole pissed in their mouths and pinched their clitorises.  Claire and Kitten 69ed on the table while Sluthole talked to Claire’s father about the relative merits of shooting a girl’s cunt and tits with paintballs versus just putting her tits in a vice.  Steph and Claire ate their dog-food dinner from a dog-bowl, flavoured with their father’s urine, while Kitten sat behind them and fingered their cunts for them.

After dinner Kitten went off to fuck their father, and as Steph and Claire went into their room to prepare for bed, Sluthole came to visit them.

‘I have a little present for you whores,’ she said.  ‘Get on the bed and spread your legs.’

Claire didn’t think Sluthole outranked her anymore, but Sluthole’s command was authoritative and Claire responded to the order without thinking.  Steph very definitely WAS outranked by Sluthole and did likewise. 

Grinning, Sluthole climbed on top of Steph and began to kiss her on the lips.  The naked teenage lesbian kissed her back, confused but aroused.  Then, suddenly, Steph squealed and began to buck.  Sluthole held her down.  Claire looked to see what was happening.

Sluthole had her fingers up inside Steph’s pussy, pushing something into it.  When she withdrew them, Claire could see what it was – a condom.  Sluthole had just pushed a condom full of their father’s sperm into Steph’s cunt. 

‘Just so that when you’re found to be pregnant – as you will be – you will never, never be sure that it wasn’t your daddy who got your little slut twat knocked up.’

Steph cried and tried to dig the sperm out of her pussy with her hands, but Sluthole knocked them away and then tied Steph’s hands to the bedposts.  She moved on to Claire.

‘Are you going to struggle, Claire?’ she asked.

Claire shook her head.  Good sluts obeyed.  Good sluts let themselves be degraded.  Claire was a good slut.  She moaned happily as Sluthole kissed her on the lips, and then gasped as she felt the now-cold sperm being pushed into her pussy.  It was her father’s sperm.  She could be getting pregnant by her dad.  Probably not – she was almost certainly already pregnant from the activities of the week – but she would never know.  She wiggled her legs in distress and arousal.

‘Good slut,’ said Sluthole.  ‘And now I have a present for you.  Open wide.’

Claire opened her mouth obediently, and winced as Sluthole spat in it.  But she knew that was not the present, and kept waiting, and was rewarded a moment later when Sluthole upended a third condom full of cum over her tongue.  She tasted her father’s cold semen, and knew that this was the moment her life had been building towards.

She barely even needed Sluthole to start licking her pussy a moment later to orgasm.

===

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.)

===

The time has come for Claire to be impregnated.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Poster Girls, Part 1

(Read the entire story right now by buying the e-book Poster Girls and Other Stories of Hypnotic Bimbofication!)

===

The plain cardboard box was an unexpected delivery to their fifth-floor apartment, and it wasn’t even addressed to Gina or Charlotte, but it had the right address, and the courier insisted that it was for them.  So they took it.

“God, did you see the way that courier was *staring* at us?” said Gina, as she took the package to their kitchen table.  “It was gross.  We’re *lesbians*.”

Her girlfriend Charlotte laughed.  “He doesn’t know that, Gina.  And besides, look at what you’re wearing.”

What Gina was wearing was a loose T-shirt that hung off her large tits and barely covered her pussy.  Combined with her long red hair, it made her an erotic vision.

“It’s none of his business what I’m wearing,” said Gina.  “Fuck, men are gross.”

She used a kitchen knife to open the box.

Inside was a single rolled-up poster.  Gina took it out, unrolled it, and immediately made a face.

“Ewww,” she said.

Charlotte understood completely.  The poster depicted two kneeling, naked women with large breasts.  They were leaning forward to kiss each other – but between their lips was a man’s exposed cock.

There was text on the poster, which read:

DRINK LIKE A SLUT.
STRIP LIKE A SLUT.
SWALLOW CUM LIKE A SLUT.
BE HELPLESS LIKE A SLUT.
PLEASE MEN LIKE A SLUT.
BE STUPID LIKE A SLUT.
BREED LIKE A SLUT.
IT’S NOT YOUR CHOICE.

The text was in a shiny metallic material.  The kitchen lights reflected off it strangely, making Charlotte blink, and blink again.

“Who would send us this?” asked Gina. 

“They didn’t,” said Charlotte.  “It’s addressed to” – she consulted the box – “Good Little Fuckdolls.  Which I guess is a company.”

“But it’s *our* address,” said Gina.  “It’s disgusting.  Throw it in the bin.”

For some reason, Charlotte didn’t want to touch it.  It was hard to look at, the way the light played on the metallic letters, but she also found it hard to look away.

“No,” she said.  “You do it.  I don’t want to go near it.”

Gina was staring at the letters too.  “It’s so misogynistic,” she said.  “Whoever made this should be in jail.”

But she wasn’t moving to dispose of it either.

Neither of them said anything.  They stared at the poster.

After a while, Charlotte shook herself.  She looked at the clock, and with amazement, she saw that a full hour had passed.

“Fuck,” she said.  “Gina – I just kind of zoned out there.”

Gina blinked and looked up from the poster.  “Me too,” she said.  “Wow.  We must be more tired than we thought.  We’re supposed to be at the gym.”

They pulled themselves away from the poster in a hurry, and went to get changed

They normally went to ladies’ hour at the gym – no men allowed – but zoning off in front of the poster meant they had missed it, and they had to put up with sharing the exercise equipment with a group of men.

Charlotte felt them staring at her. She knew she looked good in her tight Lycra – her large tits bulging, her buttocks clearly outlined.  She knew that these men were fantasising about fucking her – maybe even raping her.

Normally it would make her feel gross, and dirty.  Normally she hated it.

Today… it didn’t feel so bad.  Let them look.  Let them fantasise.  They would never be able to touch her.  It was funny – like she was teasing them.  They deserved to be frustrated.

And Gina seemed to feel the same.  She seemed to have chosen her equipment today specifically to give the men a better view, and made no comment as they openly ogled her tits as she worked the butterfly press.

And for some reason, Charlotte couldn’t stop thinking about that damned poster.  The girls in it were *pretty*.  She would happily date – or fuck – either one of them, if she weren’t already in a committed relationship with Gina.  It would be kind of hot porn – if the girls didn’t have a guy’s dick in between them.  It turned their lesbian lust into… objectified servitude to a man, like their entire sexuality only existed to serve his cock.

Gina was right.  It was misogynistic.  It was gross.

She wanted to look at it again, just to prove to herself how gross it was.

When they got home, Gina went straight to the poster, took it into their bedroom, and hung it on the wall opposite their bed.  Then, without discussing, they stripped, and began urgently finger-fucking each other on the bed.   As they pleasured each other’s pussies, their eyes were fixed on the poster, and on its words.  They seemed to shine even better in the bedroom’s overhead light.

DRINK LIKE A SLUT.
STRIP LIKE A SLUT.
SWALLOW CUM LIKE A SLUT.
BE HELPLESS LIKE A SLUT.
PLEASE MEN LIKE A SLUT.
BE STUPID LIKE A SLUT.
BREED LIKE A SLUT.
IT’S NOT YOUR CHOICE.

They fucked for nearly two hours, staring at the poster, and when they orgasmed – which they did, many times – they were some of the best orgasms that Charlotte had ever experienced.

===

The next day at work Charlotte spent all day thinking about the poster.  It was so gross that it was basically art.  They had it in their bedroom – what?  Ironically?  That was right.  It was *funny*.  It was a *satire* of misogyny. 

She thought about what it would really be like to kiss Gina around a man’s cock. 

She had a good day at work.  Everyone was especially nice to her, and paid her lots of attention – especially the men. 

It was only in the late afternoon that Charlotte realised that at some stage she had unbuttoned the top four buttons on her blouse – all the way down to the underwire of her bra – and she had been showing pretty much her entire cleavage all day.

No wonder the men had been paying attention to her.  Gross.

On the way home, she stopped at a bottle shop and bought an entire case of champagne bottles.  Then she stopped at a supermarket and bought a package of hot dogs.

When she got home, she discovered to her delight that Gina had done the same thing.  Both girls also had the same reaction to reaching their apartment – which was to immediately strip nude.  It just felt better to be naked.

As Charlotte put the hot dogs on to boil, Gina went to the curtains that led out onto the balcony, and pulled them open.

“What are you doing?” asked Charlotte.

“There’s a man on the balcony in the building across the street,” said Gina.

Charlotte felt an instant urge to cover her tits – but she was busy pouring champagne into a glass, and her hands weren’t free, and then after a moment the feeling passed.

“Can he see us?” asked Charlotte.

“Maybe, if I do this,” said Gina – and she pulled the curtains wide open, exposing the entire room to the outside.

“Gina!” gasped Charlotte – but at the same time, she felt her pussy tingle.

“It’s funny,” said Gina.  “We can tease him, and he can’t do anything.  Come over here.”

Charlotte followed Gina to stand by the balcony window.  She passed Gina a drink, and they both sipped champagne.

Then Gina stepped out onto the balcony, and, without thinking, Charlotte followed.

They were both nude, outdoors.  And there was a man across the street – maybe 30 metres, and the same height as them – and he was *definitely* watching them.

It felt good.  It felt funny.  It was a prank they were playing on the man.

Gina kissed Charlotte, and her mouth was full of champagne, and they swished it around in their mouths using their tongues before Charlotte finally swallowed it.  Then they kissed again, and again, and Gina’s hand went to Charlotte’s pussy and began to play with it, and then Charlotte pushed Gina onto the balcony table – high enough to be wholly visible above the balcony railing – and spread her legs so that Charlotte could lick her pussy.

After a while, Charlotte went to get the hot dogs, and found that it was oddly erotic to hold one between her lips and Gina’s as she kissed Gina – to explore the hot dog with her tongue, to run her lips over it.

It also felt good to push a hot dog up her pussy, or up Gina’s, or into Gina’s ass, and to kiss them afterwards, tasting cunt or ass on them, or even to push them in and out of her mouth…

… as if she were sucking a cock.

It was satire.  It was teasing.

At some point Charlotte looked across at the man watching them – and saw that he had his cock out, and was jacking off.

And that was the point that she orgasmed.

===

The next morning, they couldn’t believe what they had done.  They had fucked – in an unbelievably slutty manner – while a man was watching.  What if he had taken photos?  What if he had shared them on the internet?

But then their eyes fell on the poster, and all their worries faded away.  It was such a *pretty* picture.  They might have had an image of a beach, or a green field, or a mountaintop on their wall, and it would have inspired feelings of peace and calmness, but the image of the two naked sluts serving a cock brought greater serenity still.  It was a source of reassurance.

They stared at it far too long, and were both late for work.

On the way to work, Charlotte remembered how nice everyone had been to her yesterday – and, after a moment, she deliberately unbuttoned her blouse down to her bra again.

Then, when she got to the office, she took scissors, and cut an entire inch off the hem of her skirt.

People *were* nice to her – and particularly the men – and it made her want to be nice in return.  Even though she was an executive, and technically in charge of a team, she found herself on several occasions offering to make coffee for her male co-workers, and then standing there as they drank it to make sure that she had pleased them.

She also found herself asking for help more often.  When something was even remotely difficult, a part of her brain immediately told her that she couldn’t do what she was trying without help, and she found herself calling a man for help.  It was okay, though, because the men always seemed so *pleased* to help her – particularly if she arched her back to give them a better view of her bosom – that it was a genuinely enjoyable experience for everyone.  Soon she found herself deliberately asking for help even when she *could* do things, just to have that positive feedback.

At lunch she bought herself some cucumbers, some carrot, and a small selection of sauces – mayonnaise, because it was white, and fish sauce and soy sauce because they were salty.

In the privacy of her office, with the door closed, she experimented with first pushing the vegetables into her pussy, and then dipping them in sauce, before fucking them in and out of her mouth.  Which sauce tasted most like cum, she wondered?

It was funny.  She was doing this ironically, as satire.

But still the taste of her pussy juices mixed with a salty, sticky sauce made something inside her moan with happiness.

===

When Charlotte and Gina got home, they ran to the balcony and – to their delight – their neighbour was there, already watching.

They needed no further encouragement.  They stripped naked, popped a bottle of champagne, and started drinking and fucking while he watched.

They were just teasing, after all.  They were being mean to a stupid gross man, by showing him something he could never actually touch.  They were in control.

And when Charlotte saw that the man had taken out his phone and was filming them, she turned Gine around on the table and spread Gina’s legs to give the man a better view of Gina’s wet, needy cunt.

Just to show how much she was in control.  Just to tease him.

She hope he thought Gina’s cunt was prettier.

But she desperately wanted him to think that her own was prettier.

===

You don’t have to wait for the other chapters of this story – you can read the whole thing right now by purchasing your copy of Poster Girls and Other Stories of Hypnotic Bimbofication, available for only $4.99 USD in the All These Roadworks store! Your purchase shows your appreciation and supports the creation of hot new erotica! (Click here to view.)

===

Charlotte and Gina are a young, beautiful lesbian couple - until a hypnotic poster turns them into exhibitionist sluts.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Persephone Nine, Part 31

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

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

===

The Galliard were here – and they intended to kill Jayson Vice and take his women, to turn them into brainless breeding slaves.

Vice had three slim advantages.

The first was that Vice didn’t have to win.  He just had to survive.  Rescue was coming in only three hours – but the Galliard didn’t know that.  He had seen their camp, and he was fairly sure they did not have the technology to have detected the arrival of the Guild Ship Hartego Bay in the Persephone system.  They knew that Vice had signalled for help – but they could not possibly know just how close at hand that help truly was.  


Even as the Galliard came into view over the dunes at the top of the beach, he could see they were moving slowly, confidently.  They thought they could take their time, assess the situation, and proceed at their leisure.  They thought they had all day. 

They were wrong.

The second advantage was that the Galliard had underestimated Vice – or at least, he hoped they had.  The war party consisted of fifteen males – roughly twice as many as they had sent when they had demanded that Cunt be brought for judgement.  They probably thought that it was overkill – after all, Vice’s party consisted of only one male – not trained for war, and with no genetic modifications such as the Galliard had – and four females, who the Galliard regarded as worthless and irrelevant.  

They probably hadn’t even considered that the women might use weapons.  They had probably laughed at the idea that Vice himself might put up any significant fight, and told themselves that his success in incapacitating a guard in the Galliard camp and escaping on foot was nothing more than dumb luck.  It was likely they would have brought even fewer warriors – except they *had* seen Vice’s robot, and they probably *weren’t* underestimating Rospar.

If they had sent everything they had, Vice wouldn’t have stood a chance.  Fifteen was a lot – but he could at least *imagine* a victory.

And Vice’s third advantage was that the Galliard thought that Vice didn’t have any allies.

They stopped at the dunes.  Vice could see Confidence, the leader of the last group he had dealt with, among their number, but it was another of the towering man-beasts who stepped forward now.

“Jayson Vice!” he called, in a rough but powerful voice that carried easily across the sandy beach.  “My name is Dominance, and I speak for the Galliard.  Your time on this planet is at an end.  Emerge from your camp, unarmed, with your hands above your head.  Fighting runs the risk of us unnecessarily damaging your bitches.”

“I’ve got two counter-offers,” yelled back Vice.

There was laughter from the Galliard war party.

“You are not in any position to negotiate, Jayson Vice,” said Dominance.

“Then you shouldn’t have opened by talking,” said Vice.  “Do you want my bitches intact, or do you not?”

There was a pause, and then Dominance called back.

“Very well, Jayson Vice,” he said.  “What is your first offer?”

“My first offer is that you take yourself back to your camp, and within the week we’ll be gone, and you’ll never have to deal with us again,” said Vice.  In truth he planned to be gone much sooner than that, but he didn’t want to show his hand just yet.

Dominance laughed.

“I do not think so, Jayson Vice,” he said.  “The Galliard value their privacy – and their secrets.  And there is considerable interest in fucking your bitches.  We particularly like your redhead.  We have not had a redhead like her in some time.  Once we acquire her, I expect she will be fucked around the clock for several weeks.”

“That’s a shame,” said Vice.  “My second counter-offer is this: go fuck yourselves.”

Dominance snarled.  

“Jayson Vice, you have made a very ill-considered…”

Vice turned to Amy, and nodded.

She levelled her rifle, and fired.

The energy blast smashed into the beach beside Dominance, kicking up a small crater, and temporarily obscuring the area with sand.  The nearby Galliard flinched back, but Dominance stood his ground, unperturbed. 

“You missed, Jayson Vice!” he laughed.  “Is this the best you can do?  Have your women do your fighting for you?  A bitch barely has the brainpower to cook a meal, let alone shoot a…”

Dominance’s head exploded in a shower of gore.

Vice looked over at Cunt.  Vapour was rising from the barrel of her just-fired barrel.

“Good girl,” he said.

She beamed at him.

And then the battle was on.  Vice, Amy, Cunt and Telea laid a barrage of fire in the direction of the Galliard force, who had been so arrogant that they had not even acquired proper cover to approach the base.  Vice caught one in the leg, bringing one of the huge beastmen to his knees, and then finished him with a blast to the chest.  Telea winged one in the arm, but Vice thought it probably wasn’t incapacitating.

And then the Galliard were returning fire – half of them shooting while the other half retreated to more favourable ground.  Vice signalled his girls to get down behind cover, and they sat, breathing deeply, as they heard and felt blaster fire smashing into the bits of scavenged starship hull that made up the outer walls.

“Thirteen left, by my count,” said Vice.

Telea nodded.  Her own count agreed.

After a while the gunfire stopped.  Vice waited a little longer, then peered over the barricade.

The Galliard had retreated – to craft a more practical plan of attack, and choose a better angle of approach.  They knew his women could shoot now.  They would take that into consideration, and be more prepared next time.

Let them plan.  Let them prepare.

Time was on Vice’s side – he hoped.

Two and a half hours left.

He took the time to go along the barricade and pat each of his girls, stroking their hair, telling him that he loved them and that they were good bitches.  Each of them nuzzled at him appreciatively.  He spent a little extra time with Cunt, letting her suck on his cock as reward for her excellent aim.

Still the Galliard didn’t come.

Two hours.  One and a half.  One.

Vice dared to hope they might not come at all until it was too late.

But his luck didn’t extend that far.  The Galliard *did* come again – and this time they didn’t announce it with a call.  They came quietly, and fast.  They came from the beach to the south, using the cover of large chunks of metal from the crash of the Cinnabar Hawk to shield themselves from gunfire while they approached the camp.

That was okay.  Vice had expected them to come that way. 

After all, he had placed those chunks of metal there yesterday, specifically to encourage such a plan.

They *did* yell when they passed the final piece of cover, making a direct run at the base, intending to bypass the barricade by wading through the sea at the point where the camp wall met the water.  They fired wildly as they ran, to force Vice and his women to take cover, making it hard to return fire.  They were only a couple of hundred meters from the camp, and it would take them less than a minute to cross the distance on their long bestial legs.

That is, if that stretch of beach had been undefended.

Vice, taking cover behind the barricade, heard the mighty crash of displaced water first – and then heard the first scream.  He looked up to see a Galliard nearly a hundred metres in the air above, dangling by one foot from a monstrous tentacle.  The Galliard had dropped his gun, and his arms were flailing wildly.

Then a second tentacle came, and pulled off the Galliard’s head, as easily as a child might disassemble a doll.

Even as this was happening, there were more screams. Vice chanced a look over the barricade to see one Galliard clawing futilely at the beach sand as he was dragged into the waves by a tentacle coiled around his waist.  Another was struck in the chest by a tentacle, and Vice hadn’t realised how fast the tentacle had been moving, and with how much mass, until he saw the Galliard propelled through the air by the impact, to crash into a piece of ship wreckage down the beach with a sickening crunch, and fall to the sand, lifeless.

The Harvester had come.  And it was fulfilling its bargain.

He looked at Telea.

She held up both hands, with one thumb curled down.

Nine left.

The Galliard were retreating again – but this time they weren’t moving away from the camp, but rather up and around the perimeter wall, fleeing the Harvester while remaining close to the camp itself.  

That was just fine.  Vice had surprises all over.

When the Galliard had first approached the camp, they had discounted the pile of crates off to one side, covered by tarps.  They had assumed it was just more supplies – and besides, they could see Vice and his bitches on the makeshift battlements, so they weren’t looking for other threats.

Now, as the Galliard rounded the front of the camp, the tarp came loose, detached from its moorings – and what the Galliard had thought was supplies turned out to be a pack of angry, territorial Rapehounds.

Victoria forced herself to her feet, and ran at the Galliard, tits jiggling, face determined.

Vice held his breath.  There was nothing between Victoria and the Galliard blasters – not even clothing.  If they stopped firing backwards at the Harvester, and aimed forwards…

But he only had a few brief seconds of anxiety before the Rapehounds had overtaken Victoria.  One – her mate – pushed her bodily to the sand, and hunched over her protectively, its dick pressing against her buttocks warningly.  

The rest threw themselves into the Galliard.

Vice heard the sound of blasters, the roar of the Rapehounds, the screams of the Galliard.

He tried to count how many were dying from the sounds.

Eight left.  Seven.  Six.

There was a deep, tortured animal sound, and then another.

“Those were Rapehounds,” whispered Laurel.

The Galliard were fighting back.  Vice could only hope that none of the dead monsters were the one protecting Victoria – and that Victoria herself was not caught in the crossfire.

More screams. More roars.

Five Galliard left.  Four.

Four Rapehounds left.  Three.  Two.

“Fuck,” swore Vice.  “Shoot them.”

He swung up to a standing position and sighted his rifle at the Galliard.  The girls did likewise.

But he must have counted wrong.  He expected four Galliard still standing, but he only saw three.

Telea fired and hit a Galliard.  Amy finished it off.  Cunt took another in the head with a single shot.  

The remaining Galliard fired wildly.  A stray shot got lucky and brought down a Rapehound.  There was only one of the monsters left – the one standing over Victoria.

The Galliard looked up at Vice and his women on the barricade.  Then he turned back and levelled his gun at the Rapehound.

Vice fired.  His shot found his target and the Galliard went down.

It was over.  Vice had won.  

He turned to his girls to celebrate… and his heart almost stopped.

Standing there, only a few metres away on the barricade, inside the camp, was Confidence.  His fur was wet and bedraggled.  He had come in around the camp wall in the water, somehow dodging the Harvester.

And he had Telea.

He was lifting the beautiful blonde navigator by a grip on her neck.  He had brought her up to his own head height, choking her into silence in the process, and then lowered her onto his erect cock, her tits outward, so that his shaft was buried deeply in her fuckhole and his groin was supporting much of her weight.  In his other hand he casually held the blaster rifle that he had taken from Telea, and he was pointing it at Vice.

“Well, Jayson Vice,” he said.  “You were significantly more dangerous than we believed.  I congratulate you.”

“Put her down,” said Vice.  He was breathing shallowly – not because he was scared for his own life, but because he was suddenly, truly scared that Confidence was going to actually hurt Telea.  Worse – that he might kill her.

“I don’t think so,” said Confidence.  He bounced Telea lightly on his dick, and she made a strangled sound.  “I like this one, but I think you like her more.  You are soft, Jayson Vice.  Despite everything, you regard your bitches as people, not objects.  If you had learned your lesson, you would know this bitch is replaceable, just like all bitches, and you would feel no sorrow at placing her in the garbage where she belongs.”

Vice tensed up, and Confidence gestured with his gun.

“Careful, Jayson Vice,” he said.  “It would only require a little more pressure to snap this bitch’s neck.  And you know I will do it.  And then I will still have my gun, and I will still shoot you.”

“What do you want?” asked Vice.

“You know what I want,” said Confidence.  “Lower your weapon, and make your bitches do the same.  I will give you a swift, clean death, and then I will take the bitches for conversion.  We have lost many Galliard today.  They will have much breeding to do.”

Outside the camp, the last Rapehound growled – a low, menacing sound.  It surely couldn’t understand what they were saying, but it seemed to perceive the threat posed by Confidence.

“No, I do not think so,” said Confidence – and then he casually swung his gun to one side and blasted the Rapehound.

All it took was one shot.  The beast went down, dead.

“No!” screamed Victoria, struggling up onto all fours.  “No!  You didn’t need to!”

“Make your bitch be quiet, or I will make her for you,” said Confidence.

“Victoria,” called Vice.  “Don’t antagonise him.  This conversation isn’t for you.  You’re nothing but a bitch, remember?”

She remembered.  She fell silent.  

Confidence’s gaze returned to Vice, locking onto him.  He bounced Telea on his dick a little more, and clearly found it pleasant.  Telea, for her part, was gasping for air around his choking grip on her neck.

“Well, Jayson Vice?” said Confidence.  “Do you want to save your bitches, and have an easy death?  Or do you have another witty counter-offer?”

“Listen,” said Vice.  “You don’t need to kill me.  Just… take the women.  I’ll move somewhere else on the planet, far away from you. I won’t leave, I won’t share your secrets, and you’ll never see me again.  You can enjoy my bitches.  Just spare me.”

Amy gasped.  “Master!” she said, in an agonised tone.  “No!  I love you!  We love you!  You can’t leave us!  Please!”

The note of betrayal he heard in her voice tore at Vice’s heart.

Cunt made a low, sad, animal noise.  She believed in serving any male, yes – but even so, she had her preference.  She had come to love Vice.

Confidence laughed.  “I knew you didn’t deserve to own bitches such as this, Vice,” he said.  “Your cowardice is entirely unsurprising.”

The Galliard paused – and then he spun and fired his gun down into the camp itself.  There was an explosion of sparks and hissing.

Vice turned to follow Confidence’s aim – and saw Rospar.

Or rather, what had once been Rospar.  The robot’s head and central processing unit were a mess of scrap.  The robot’s arms held a blaster, which it had been aiming at Confidence.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice your robot, Jayson Vice?” said Confidence.  “It’s not exactly stealthy.  Was this what you were buying time for?  Was this your deception?”

Vice swallowed.  Rospar had just been a machine – but he had also been a loyal companion.  He had significantly contributed to the survival of all the castaways.  To see him smouldering and defunct brought a wave of sadness and horror over Vice.

But not as much horror as the progressively quieter choking noises Telea was making as Confidence slowly fucked and strangled her.

He swallowed, and tried to compose himself.  Because Vice had seen something that Confidence hadn’t – the flare of rocket engines high in the sky overhead.

The Guild Ship Hartego Bay had begun its descent.

And if vice had seen that, then Rospar had seen that.  

And if Rospar, having seen that, had nevertheless been *inside* the camp, at this hour, then that meant…

“Damn you,” he swore at Confidence.  “You know if I could kill you, I would.”

Confidence laughed again.  “But you cannot.  Enough stalling, Jayson Vice.  You didn’t really intend to abandon your bitches , did you?”

“No,” admitted Vice.  “I was just buying time.”

“Then it is over,” said Confidence.  “You have played your last card.  Tell your bitches to drop their weapons.”

“Amy, Cunt – put your guns down,” said Vice.  He threw his own gun to the floor.  “He’s right.  It’s over.  You should at least live.”

“Master…” said Amy, in a tortured voice.

“Girls, I need you to trust me,”  he said.  “You need to trust me – and you need to remember that you’re too brainless to think for yourselves.  Let me do the thinking.  Put down your guns.”

There was a long pause – and then they did.

Confidence smiled.

“Excellent,” he said.  “Any last words, Jayson Vice?”

“Just one,” said Vice.  “You have helped me teach my girls that they are bitches.  It’s a very important lesson, because learning that they are bitches means learning that they are animals, less than human, designed for breeding, and that they need an owner to control them.”

“That is correct,” said Confidence.

“But bitch also has another meaning,” said Vice.  “One I think you’ve forgotten.”

“And what is that?” said Confidence.

“An unpleasant, difficult woman, prone to disrespect, violence and aggression,” said Vice.

And that was when Victoria rose up behind Confidence and brought a large piece of ship hull down on his head with all the strength she could muster.

Rospar had helped carry her in from outside when he detected the Hartego Bay’s descent, exactly as Vice had ordered.  That was why Rospar had been back in the camp and free to menace Confidence.

Victoria’s blow was hard, but perhaps not hard enough to kill a Galliard on its own.  Confidence’s eyes crossed, and he let go of Telea.  She felt to the ground with a thud that hopefully wasn’t too damaging, twisting Confidence’s dick painfully as she fell off it and making him howl and clutch his groin.

Clutching his groin took two hands.  Vice seized Telea’s blaster from him raised the nozzle, and fired.

The shot went straight through Confidence’s neck.  

The Galliard gurgled, fell to his knees – and died.

The battle was now finally, truly, won.

===

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

=== 

It's the final stand! Jayson Vice and his harem of castaway slaves against the brutal might of the Galliard! Only one group can be the victors!

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: Bride of Kashtar

Princess Selena had taken such pride in her wealth, power, and, particularly, expensive dresses, until her father married her to the prince of distant Kashtar to secure a trade treaty.

She didn’t seem to understand that in Kashtar, women had approximately the same rights as pigs, whether they were princesses or not, and she continued her bratty, spoiled ways as if nothing had changed.

Her husband soon corrected her. The experience of being stripped naked by four nude male slaves made it clear how powerless she was, and having to kiss the tip of each slave’s cock and apologise to them reinforced it.

Now she only wore the clothes he gave her, each outfit more demeaning than the last, and he made her kneel in the throne room in her sluttish clothes while he held court. Her crimson humiliated face was a constant source of amusement, as was the knowledge he’d scheduled her first royal speech to the populace for a month from now, which she would perform nude and masturbating on the palace steps. The topic would be “I am the royal fuckpig” and she had nothing to think about every day until then except what she would say and what it would feel like…

===

Bride of Kashtar is one of the stories of fantasy erotica collected in my e-book Witch Trapper, alongside the “Witch Trapper” novella, and you can get it now for only $4.99 USD in the All These Roadworks store! (Click here to view.)

===

Princess Selena is sold into marriage to the prince of a misogynistic country.

alltheseroadworks Story

Story: The Parole Officer, Part 22

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

===

Gary had obtained a black van from somewhere.  It couldn’t have looked more like a stereotypical rape van if he had tried.  When Amelie ran downstairs to the basement, with her stun gun and the files on the three women she had chosen – desperately hoping no one spotted her in the skimpy bikini and the shirt that said “CUNT” – she soon found herself seated beside him, squished into the passenger seat.

Her phone chimed as she sat, speaking in her voice – her hourly alarm.  “Amelie, you are a stupid cunt,” it told her.

“That’s right,” she replied, blushing.  “I am a brainless wet-cunted bitch.”

Gary smiled at her self-degradation.  

“Masturbate whenever you don’t need your hands,” hje told her, and Amelia obediently began to rub her pussy through the G-string.

“Now, what do you have for me?” he asked, as he started the van, and drove it out of the building’s basement.

Amelie knew what he was asking.  He wanted her to give him the name and details of a woman, which he would then rape.  And, by virtue of the database Amelie was drawing from, it would be a woman who had been raped before, and reported it to the police.

What Amelie was about to do was unconscionable – but she had already gone so far.  At the urging of her tormentors, she had secretly registered herself as a sex offender, betrayed the confidential details of complainants, and invited her clients to rape her in her office and at home.  Worst of all, she had an unwilling woman locked in her closet at home right now, that she had used for a rape-threesome alongside one of her rapist clients.

Disobedience was impossible.  The consequences were ruinous.  

So she dug her hole even deeper.

“Tilly Greenhill,” she said.  “A stay-at-home mother.  She was raped when she was 18 and got pregnant.  She’s 25 now, still single, and her most recent contact was to oppose her rapist receiving parole, which was at a meeting just this month.  Her daughter Jennifer is school-aged and will be in classes right now, but Tilly should be at home, and according to her social media she’s still very attractive.”

“Perfect,” said Gary.  He took the woman’s address, and soon the van was parking near Tilly’s small suburban one-storey house.

Gary didn’t waste any time.  He left the van, motioning for Amelia to follow, and went through the house’s side gate, into the poorly kept backyard.  

“My job is to rape her,” he said to Amelie.  “Yours is to ruin her life.  Make her regret ever reporting her rape.  Surprise me.”

He tried the sliding glass rear door, and, finding it unlocked, stepped inside, to small lounge strewn with children’s toys.  Up a corridor, a shower was running.  He headed directly for it, with Amelie hurrying behind.

At the bathroom, he pushed the door open violently, and was immediately greeted by screams.  Amelie couldn’t quite see into the bathroom, but she caught a flash of naked flesh in the shower.

“Shut up!” Gary growled.  “You know how this goes.  Shut up and you live.  Scream and I fucking kill you.”

The screams turned into sobs, and then they were muffled as Gary put a hand over the woman’s mouth and used the other to drag her out of the shower.  Amelie saw that the woman was as pretty as her social media had made her out to be, with blonde hair, a cute face, very large tits, and an unshaved pussy.

Gary pulled her down to the hallway to a messy master bedroom, and threw her on the bed, tits down.  He pulled apart her legs, took out his cock, spat on it, and then shoved it into her cunt.  She screamed again, and Gary swatted her ass with one hand to punish her.

“Shut up and take it, bitch,” he said, as he began to thrust.  And then he looked at Amelie.

Amelie realised she had never stopped rubbing her pussy as she got out of the van, and came through the house, and now she was sopping wet, and still teasing her cunt with her fingers through her G-string.  She decided she may as well push the G-string cloth out of the way and properly fingerfuck herself.

“This is your fault,” she whispered to the woman.  “This is your fault for being a bitch.  This is your fault for reporting your rape to the police, and it’s your fault for being a cunt and trying to stop your rapist getting parole.  Do you understand that?”

Tilly just sobbed.  Amelie kept masturbating.

“We can find you anywhere, at any time,” said Amelie.  “And we can do worse to you than just rape you.  So you’re going to make some changes in your life.  Do you understand?”

Amelie didn’t know how she was coming up with these words.  She supposed that she was channeling Gary and Ray – saying the words they would say to her, the words she knew they would want to hear.  What would an absolute monster that took sexual pleasure from the misery of women say?  She had a fairly good idea, after her recent experiences, and she put that knowledge to use.

“First of all, you’re going to tell the parole board that you changed your mind,” she said.  “You’re happy for your rapist to get out of prison.  In fact, he can stay with you here in this house, if he wants.  And you’re going to celebrate his release by inviting him to rape you again.  Can you do that for us, Tilly?”

Tilly just sobbed, so Amelie slapped her cheek with one hand and repeated herself.  “Can you do that?”

Tilly nodded, as best she could with her face forced into the bed and Gary’s dick in her pussy.

“Good girl,” said Amelie.  “And you’re going to stop birth control.  Your daughter Jennifer needs a sister.  If your rapist doesn’t knock you up, you’d better start sleeping around, because we want to see another baby in your belly within three months.  You won’t like what happens if we have to take your impregnation into our own hands, Tilly.”

“And you’re going to do something about that dirty hairy snatch,” said Amelie.  “You’re going to keep it shaved, and every time you shave it you’re going to know that you’re doing it to make yourself more rapeable.  And you’re going to write the words “RAPE ME” on your skin above your pussy every morning with a pen, to help remind you.  Nod that you understand, Tilly.”

Tilly nodded.

“Good girl,” said Amelie.  “And lastly, if you ever imply to *anyone* that you’ve been raped, or assaulted, or harassed – by anyone – we’ll be back here, and what we do to you then will be so much worse than what we’re doing now.  Do you understand that?”

Sobbing, Tilly nodded.

“Good girl,” said Amelie.

“I’m about to cum,” grunted Gary.

Amelie knew what he wanted.  She immediately moved to behind him, knelt, and reached up between his legs to find the cunt he was busy fucking.  She took the stun gun, and pressed it against Tilly’s clitoris, and then discharged it.

Tilly screamed into the pillows, and her whole body bucked, and as she did so, Gary orgasmed, firing his sperm into her womb.

When he pulled out, Amelie quickly moved to take his cock into her mouth and suck it clean.  

When she was done, Gary flipped Tilly over so that she was tits-up, his cum leaking from her cunt, her face streaked with tears.

“Photograph her,” he told Amelie.  “Print it out at poster size.  Put it up in your house.”

Amelie took out her phone and documented Tilly’s freshly-raped body.  She knew it was silly to have evidence of their crime on her phone.  She knew it would be even sillier to disobey.

Gary took Tilly’s hand and put it on her cunt.

“Masturbate,” he told her.  “Keep masturbating until you orgasm.  We’ll know if you stop before you do.  Don’t move off that bed until you cum.”

Still crying, Tilly began to massage Gary’s cum into her ravished twat.

And with that Gary and Amelie hurriedly exited the house.

“You did well, bitch,” said Gary, when they were back in the van.  “Who’s next?”

Amelie shifted uncomfortably – although she was still rubbing her pussy.  “Please…” she said.  “Isn’t one enough?”

Gary looked at her.  “Fire the stun gun into your cunt for talking back to me,” he told her in a flat voice.

She looked back at him.

And then, slowly, she touched the stun gun to her twat and fired it.  She had to shove her hand into her mouth to stifle her scream.

And she orgasmed from it.  She came, from giving her pussy an agonising shock.  She was such a whore.

“Who’s next?” said Gary again.

“Carrie Adamecki,” said Amelie. “Eighteen years old, still in her final year of school.  She accused her father of rape.  He’s in prison, and Carrie’s in foster care.  She should be getting out of school for the day right about now.”

She showed Carrie’s picture to Gary.

“Nice tits,” he grunted.

Amelie’s phone delivered its hourly message, spoken in Amelie’s voice:  “Amelie, you are a stupid cunt,” and, instinctively, Amelie replied, “I am a brainless wet-cunted bitch.”

Saying that was coming naturally to her.

Gary smiled at her.

And just like that, they were on their way to Carrie’s school.

They got there just in time to see her coming out of the school gates.  She was pretty, and redheaded, and buxom, and looked an absolute treat in her school uniform.  She was clearly intending to walk home, so they followed her at a distance in their van, until she turned off a main road into a shadowed walkway, and then they jumped out and hurriedly followed her.

It wasn’t difficult, between the two of them, to grab her.  Gary stuffed a rag into her mouth to gag her, and they quickly dragged her back to the van and threw her in the back.  Gary drove on a little, until they were well away from the abduction scene, and then joined Amelie and Carrie in the back of the van.

He immediately exposed his cock, and pulled the gag out of Carrie’s mouth.

“You know what’s happening here,” he said to Carrie.  “You have a choice.  You can be a good girl, and consent to fucking me, and I won’t be violent.  Or you can resist, and I’ll have to force you.  Which will it be?”

“Please, let me go…” Carrie begged.

Gary slapped her.

“That wasn’t an answer, bitch,” he said.  He looked down at his cock meaningfully.

Sobbing, Carrie leaned forward and took Gary’s cock in her mouth.

Amelie leaned forward and whispered into the teen’s ear.

“You know who sent us, Carrie?” she said.  “The police.  The police don’t like little brats with big tits who complain about men paying them the compliment of a rape.  And the police owe your daddy some favours.  So here’s what’s going to happen.  You’re going to go back to your foster home, and you’re going to get your new foster daddy to fuck you.  I don’t care how you do it.  Just get him to put his cock into your pussy and ejaculate.  You can do that, can’t you, Carrie?”

Carrie shook her head violently, “no”, as best she could with her mouth full of dick.

“Sure you can, Carrie,” said Amelie.  “Otherwise we can come back and do this to you again – but a lot more painfully.  And we can do it to some of your schoolfriends too, and you’ll need to live with the knowledge that *you* got them raped.  Does that sound fun to you, Carrie?”

Carrie said nothing, just sobbed and sucked.

“So are you going to seduce your new foster daddy, Carrie?” asked Amelie.

Carrie nodded.

“Good girl,” said Amelie.  “And then you’re going to admit that you lied about your daddy abusing you.  And your new foster family will believe that you lied, because they’ll know what a slut you are.  And when your daddy gets out of prison, you’ll go home to him, and do whatever he wants, and never complain again.  Isn’t that right, Carrie?”

Carrie said nothing.

“Fuck this,” said Gary.  “This bitch can’t suck for shit.”

He pushed Carrie away from him.  She landed on her back, and he immediately reached under her skirt to pull her panties down her legs.

Carrie started to struggle, but Gary slapped her.

“Remember, two ways, bitch,” he said.  “Either you choose to play along like a good girl, or we can make this really hurt.”

Carrie was silent for a moment – and then, reluctantly, she spread her legs.

“Get her wet,” said Gary to Amelie.

Amelie knew what was required.  She knelt between Carrie’s legs, and began to lick her pussy.

Carrie’s sobs became louder at this, but she didn’t struggle, and soon Amelie began to taste wetness in Carrie’s cunt.  She licked a little more, then pulled back, and turned the poor girl over to Gary.  

He smiled, and sunk his cock into the teen girl’s fuckhole, making her gasp.

“Do you like the boys at your school, Carrie?” asked Amelie.

“No,” sobbed Carrie.  “They’re horrible.”

“That’s a shame,” said Amelie.  “Because you’re going to go to each and every boy over the age of 18 at your school and ask if he wants to fuck you.  And if he says yes, you let him.  Do you understand?”

“No!” protested Carrie.  “No!”

“Yes,” said Amelie.  “Because every time that you see a cop now, Amelie, that’s the police checking up on you.  If a cop car drives past, they’re there to look at *you*.  And they’ll be making enquiries.  And if you don’t play along like a good girl, it’s going to go badly for you.  A gangbang by cops will hurt a lot more than a cute little encounter with a schoolboy behind the gym.  And that’s just where it will start.  They can have a lying little slut like you thrown in prison, Carrie.  Do you want that?”

Carrie shook her head.

“Every boy, Carrie,” said Amelie.  “And you’d better get at least half of them to say yes.  And you will never, ever again report a man to the police, will you?”

She shook her head again.

A moment later, Gary began to breathe quickly.

Amelie quickly stuffed the gag back into Carrie’s mouth, took her stun gun and discharged it into Carrie’s clit.  Carrie screamed into the gag, and Gary orgasmed.  Amelie cleaned his cock when he pulled out, and then, at Gary’s direction, she photographed Carrie in her post-rape state, and then also cleaned Carrie up, using her tongue to lick Gary’s cum out of the girl’s snatch.

Gary told Amelie to keep the girl’s panties as a trophy, and then they pushed her out of the back of the van, and drove away.

“Two down,” said Gary.  “Who’s the third?”

Amelie felt dirty.  She was slutty, and disgusting.  She had become the rapist that Gary had told her that she was.  

She had been masturbating constantly for a couple of hours at this point – and she couldn’t wait to tell Gary who they were going to rape next.

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

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Amelie's corruption deepens as she joins Gary in preying upon pretty young women.