#story by eenslaved

[eenslaved]

Ray and Joshua's Girl

BDSM erotica. Fictional characters over 18. Strictly fictional fantasy.

When she hears footsteps on the stairs, she tenses, uncertain of who is approaching. The son, back for more, or the father this time?

They both take turns using her, in this unassuming house set far back at the end of a long driveway, distanced from any neighbors.

The lights are flipped on and she sees Joshua's face beaming at her.

"Well, hello there," Joshua coos at her. "Looks like Da's already been at you today."

She blushes. Her feet are tied above her head, her thighs splayed wide apart. Her pussy and ass are tilted up at him, and Joshua can see for himself the sticky leavings of his dad's cum coating her sex.

Joshua comes to stand over her. His eyes are greedy and avid as they roam her naked, bound body. She sucks in a breath as his hands mold over her breasts, freely feeling her up because she can't stop him.

She has to try again. "Please let me go, Joshua. It's...you've had your fun, OK? I-I won't tell anyone, I swear."

Joshua shakes his head at her. "You are home," he insists. "This is your home now. Da and I talked it over; we're keeping you. You're our girl now. You belong to us and we'll take such good care of you."

Her heart sank. "No, please. You-you can't do this. This is so...you could get in so much trouble when someone finds out..."

"No one's going to find out," Joshua soothed. "You're safe here. You need us. That motel wasn't a safe place and you won't last the winter living on the streets. Here, you've got a bed, food, water, a roof over your head. All we want is your obedience." 

Her eyes well with tears as he hurts her nipples, pinching them cruelly. 

Joshua unties her wrists first, putting the manacles on her, and then releases her legs. He leads her into the bathroom where her arms are pulled up over her head.

He takes his time washing her body, soaping up every part of her, slapping at her thighs to get her to widen her stance. He strokes her until she's slippery and gasping, legs trembling, and then hoses her off. The jet of water aimed at her clit makes her dance in a performance he clearly enjoys.

After she's clean and dry, Joshua dresses her in a pink babydoll nightgown. She's so grateful to be clean and released from her uncomfortable bondage that when he pushes his sweats down and he slaps her face lightly with his cock, she just kneels there with her mouth open.

Joshua's father, Ray, arrives just as she's swallowing thick jets of cum.

"Good, you washed her," Ray says, pleased. He takes a seat in the broken-in leather armchair and watches as she cleans Joshua's cock with her tongue. "Come here, girl. Sit on your Daddy's lap now."

Her face burns and her insides churn with humiliation as she does as he asks, perching gingerly on his hard thigh. Ray settles her more firmly into the position he prefers, which is where her feet don't touch the ground and she has to cling to him for balance. 

Ray's hands immediately disappear under the short hem of the babydoll gown, blunt fingers seeking out her wet heat. He isn't disappointed by what he finds there. She squirms as his fingers tease more wetness out of her.

"Put your arms around me," Ray encourages. 

He turns his face into her cleavage, nuzzling her boobs. She gulps and tries not to come. All she can do is obey. She doesn't dare do different. Ray doesn't hesitate to punish her for any signs of disobedience or the merest hint of rebellion. He is consistent about his methods of discipline: first corporal punishment, then a stint of solitary in the hated deprivation hood.

His methods are effective.

As much as she's been able to pick up, Ray is divorced and has been for years. Joshua isn't in contact with his mom at all. It's just the two of them living here, operating the family-owned garage. The two men are self-sufficient. They haven't expected her to cook or clean or anything like that. That's not what they need her for.

"I'm plannin' on having anal sex with her later," Joshua says. 

"Rub some icy hot on her clit before you do that," Ray says, enjoying the shudder that runs through her frame. "Makes it even better."

"Is that why she was carrying on so much last night?"

"Yep. It's good to let her work her lungs out. And now she knows there ain't anyone around to hear her and come banging on our door. Isn't that right, sweetie?"

"Yes, Daddy," she whispers. Her tears are hot. Her pussy is pulsing and clenching on his fingers, an appalling response. This is so awful and there's no escape that she can see.

[shake-down-the-stars]

There was a short erotica story I wanted to share with Daddy. I knew who’s blog it was from, the absolutely wonderfully amazing @eenslaved but I couldn’t find it. I in a moment of “this isn’t going to work but fuck it” typed the words “tits ruler desk spank” in Google, and it found it! About 3 searches down! I was amazed. Oh and we’re going to be recreating the story together very very soon, so win win…

I love how the search function on this site is absolute garbage. I can look up a post word for word and I will NEVER find it

[eenslaved]

Daphne

BDSM erotica. Fictional characters over 18.

In the community, Jefferson Hayes was known as a standup neighbor, a staid, and buttoned-up corporate executive. He donated to charitable causes and the police and fire departments. He was patient and friendly, a generous tipper, could grill a mean steak. 

In private, Jeff liked rough, dominant sex with college girls young enough to be his daughter. Girls who didn't have much sexual knowledge yet, their only experiences with fumbling, over-eager boys. He enjoyed inducting them into their first experience being with a man, someone with the discipline, control, and awareness of himself and his partner to exact heavy demands on them, because he knew better than they did what sexual creatures they were capable of being.

He liked chastising their flesh, so supple and resilient and took so well to his various forms of punishment. Teaching them what their bodies were meant for. Training them into a state of sustained arousal where they were primed to be taken by a male, and where they had the anticipation of being used at any given moment, but no expectation that they might be able to climax. He tutored them in a new, utterly foreign kind of mutual pleasure, teaching them that their female bodies received pleasure from offering up their pain and pleading freely, that they could be aroused even when they were utterly helpless or humiliated.

He taught them to crawl and beg, and to like it. To accept dominance and authority and total control from a man such as himself.

Some of them he turned into pets. Puppy girls and ponies. He enjoyed dehumanizing them, reducing them to a base, animal state. One girl he had treated to the full experience of slavehood, going so far as to pierce her nipples with fat rings, and treating her to long periods of sensory deprivation. Another girl, a satisfyingly challenging subject, he had forcibly regressed and infantalized. By the end of their time together, she had been content to fist fat crayons in her mittened hands, coloring in a book, lying on her tummy on the floor wearing a diaper. Because she had been so difficult at the beginning, he rarely ever let her go without a diaper, even when she attended class. He had thoroughly enjoyed having the girl hump his leg in the thick, bulky diaper in utter futility while he sucked her nipples.

His relationships with them lasted months, the longest just over a year. Usually their life circumstances—graduating college, getting a job—brought a natural end to their journey with him. On at least two occasions, he had made introductions between his young lovers and other men of his acquaintance, with similar predilections and shared proclivities for controlling female submissives. He was pleased with how those friends had taken over the training he had begun; they remained in contact and frequently exchanged detailed reports with ample photo and video evidence.

One of them, Bernard, had even married the young former coed. Jillian never ended up graduating from college. Her new Master's demands, coupled with her own predisposition, had made it impossible for her to complete her coursework and obtain a degree. Instead, Bernard had "wifed her up and locked her down," as he put it, and bred her to boot. The twenty-two year old bride was now barefoot, chained, and pregnant. He enjoyed seeing the photos Bernard shared documenting the girl's increasingly gravid state. Bernard had even set up high definition, 24-hour recording cameras. The last time they got together, he had shown Jeff a livestream feed of Jilly, her pregnant belly enormous, naked and hobbled as she pushed a vacuum cleaner over the carpet in Bernard's office.

Jeff's current girl was named Daphne. He called her Daddy's slut.

She was 21 years of age and a polisci major. He'd read some of her papers and actually enjoyed doing so; he appreciated her gift for argumentative coherence. She had a gift for summation that was concise, logical, and readable. 

He really enjoyed turning her into a bimbo slut for Daddy and making her cum her brains out. He never let her orgasm "normally," as she put it. No, he only let Daphne climax after he'd edged her past her limit, reducing her to a sputtering, screaming, drooling wreck, when her mind couldn't form a single thought and she didn't have two brain cells left to rub together, and she was driven to the point where she practically lost her grasp of the English language, capable only of grunts and groans and "Yes" and "No" and "Please." 

And when he did finally let the girl cum, it was by applying acute pressure and friction on her G-spot so that she was squirting as she came. He wasn't content until she was lying in a puddle of her own juices or had flooded down her legs. He made her drench her panties repeatedly, and then she had to go out with that uncomfortable dampness clinging to her pussy.

Recently he had started experimenting with giving her enemas, making her ask his permission to use the bathroom, and watching her urinate. He also gave her long, thoroughly invasive inspections once a day. All of it reinforced that Daphne's body wasn't hers; it was his possession, with all attendant rights over it. He told her, firmly and bluntly, that she had no right to privacy or orgasms, none at all.

It made her squirm with embarrassment and blushes, but she submitted to all of it so beautifully that Jeff was already making some longer-term plans. He loved mandating everything about Daphne's body. Whether she could come, whether she could piss, where and when.

Maybe he was inspired by Bernard and Jillian. But he was increasingly taken with the idea of breeding Daphne, of planting his seed in her and transforming her body into an even lusher form. He'd done some reading on lactation and he liked the idea of controlling her milkings. So that was in Daphne's future.

Not that she had any idea of that, not right now. When he got home, Daphne bounced right to him, her eyes grateful and pleading.

"Hi Daddy," she greeted him, dancing from foot to foot. "May I use the bathroom?"

He ignored her request. "Where's my welcome home kiss?" 

She clung to him and he took his time kissing her deeply, letting his hands roam over her tits and ass while she writhed against him.

Finally she broke away, gasping. "Please, Daddy, I really need to go."

"Not yet, honey. Daddy needs to use his slut first."

Daphne was clearly torn between dual needs: the need to relieve herself and the need to cum. But she knew she didn't have a say in the matter.

"Come on, it's a beautiful evening, let's enjoy it," Jeff said, leading her outside onto the deck.

He kissed her neck and squeezed her throat lightly as he unzipped himself. He sheathed himself in Daphne's liquid heat without preamble, a hard, driving thrust that sent her up on her toes, her hands gripping the railing.

"Thank you, Daddy!" she squealed. 

He was pleased she had remembered to thank him for using her; it was a relatively new rule.

"Be a good girl, Daphne. Squeeze your pussy for Daddy," he said, ramming himself into her again and again.

The hot, grasping clutch of her pussy was heaven. He reached around her and palmed the round weight of her breast, squeezing the mound, then tugging sharply at her nipple. He thought he would take her off birth control soon, sooner than he'd planned.

"You're such a noisy slut," he said, loving it. "It sounds like you did a good job edging yourself today, didn't you?"

"Yes, Daddy. I've been really good. May I come, please?" she gasped.

He slid his hand down lower, pressing over her bladder, before he fingered her rubbery, slick clit. His other hand tightened on her throat; he wanted to hear the choking sounds she made.

"Not yet," he said. "Not until I'm ready."

They were far enough from neighbors that he didn't worry about the noise, or anyone seeing good old Jefferson Hayes brutally fucking a nubile young woman while he choked her and slapped her tits.

Daphne gulped, "I'm close, Daddy! I really need to—"

Her body shuddered, tensing. She wasn't sure if she was coming or pissing or squirting or some combination of it all, only knew that she had zero control over any of it, zero hope of stopping it from happening.

Thanks for reading! Support my writing by leaving a comment or buying my books ❤️

[eenslaved]

The Kendalls' Girl

BDSM erotica. Fictional characters over 18. Ageplay kink. MF/f. This is Part 2/4.

"Ow, ow, OW!" Hannah yelped, squealing and squirming. "Owww, Daddy! Daddy, no! Nooo!" 

"Stop fighting us, Hannah," Grace Kendall snapped. "This is for your own good." 

She was gripping Hannah's wrists tightly, holding them flat on the bed. Hannah was lying on her front, and Grace's husband Greer was working a butt plug into her ass.

"Nooo," Hannah moaned, but it was too late. Her sphincter was no match for the steady pressure Greer exerted. The plug was in her rectum, violating her with its foreign, unavoidable presence. 

Grace released her, and she immediately reached back, sobbing, to touch the end of the plug. Greer slapped her hand away and smacked her ass.

"Don't you fucking dare take it out, Hannah," he said sternly. "You know you're supposed to hold in whatever we put inside you."

"We're doing this for you," his wife said impatiently. "Imagine if Greer just put his big dick inside you without the plug stretching you out first. You should be grateful, silly girl."

There was an expectant, loaded silence.

Hannah's face was flaming. Humiliation curdled in her belly but she choked out, "Thank you..."

"Thank us properly, Hannah. If you can't your words, then I assume you don't need words and I can get your paci-gag."

She couldn't look them in the face anymore. "Thank you for plugging my ass, Mommy and Daddy," she whispered. She hated the rubber nipple of the silencing pacifier-gag.

Grace and Greer beamed at their chosen little girl. They'd already deferred the start of her college admission on her behalf. Hannah was going to take a gap year and spend it with them. They felt confident that she would change her mind about going to college after a year of being regressed and infantilized, severely controlled and thoroughly dominated. She wouldn't even dream of leaving their household. All she would aspire to be was being the very best special little girl for Grace and Greer Kendall.

"Now, get back here, and back into position, Hannah. I'm going to fuck your pussy now, while you wear your plug. You're going to feel extra tight and snug."

Hannah crouched again, putting her face down. Grace smiled and combed the girl's hair with her fingers, before taking the blindfold and securing it over Hannah's eyes.

"This will help you focus," she whispered in Hannah's ear. "Just focus on the feeling of Daddy's cock taking you...fucking you...how good it feels to have him inside you. Don't you just want to keep him inside you all the time? Squeeze him with your pussy, Hannah. Show him how much you like having him inside you."

The blindfold did help Hannah focus on Grace's words, and the glide of Mr. Kendall's penis inside her channel. She felt overly full, stuffed, because of the plug. She could feel how dripping wet she was, but it still felt hard to take his cock.

"That's it, Hannah," Greer encouraged, squeezing her ass. "It's not so scary after all, right? You're going to get used to having something in your bottom. You're going to hate how empty you feel after..."

Hannah gasped and grunted; he had taken the end of the plug that protruded from between her cheeks and was twisting it...screwing her with the plug, pushing it in deeper, then tugging it out just a little so it breached her anus.

"Ohhhhhhhhhgod," Hannah uttered, blind, overcome. "Daddy...M-mommy..." 

"Here, dear," Grace said solicitously, gripping Hannah's head and settling her face right between her thighs. Hannah's nose brushed her pubis and then her mouth was breathing, touching, covering Grace's cunt. Her cries were lost, smothered, against Grace's folds. She drew her knees up and squeezed her thighs around Hannah's blindfolded head, while her husband continued drilling their special fuck toy. 

Continued here

[eenslaved]

Hypno Hucow

Something was wrong.

Rose struggled to think. To remember. She felt weightless and heavy at the same time. What was wrong? 

She realized what was so disturbing. She couldn't remember anything specific. She let her mind drift and gradually she remembered dressing for work. She had an important presentation to deliver. She'd worked so hard to prepare for it. She'd...done well, hadn't she? She strained to recall the conference room. Something about the memory made her angry and apprehensive.

Was she still asleep? Was she dreaming?

She could hear voices speaking and she struggled to focus on them. She had a hard time following along. It was like her brain kept skipping over some of the words.

"...been under hypnosis for the past two weeks."

"....hypnotism...works?"

"...effective. We've found that even when they are brought out of their hypnosis, their body and subconscious are still quite attuned to everything that took place while they were in their trance. The longer they remain in that altered state, the more susceptible they are to suggestion even in as their waking selves."

"Remarkable."

"Quite. Rose has spent the past two weeks fully under our suggestion that she is a cow. Coupled with the proprietary hormone stimulation treatment she's been receiving, we have achieved yet another successful outcome."

Rose opened her eyes. She felt languid and weak, like she lacked proper autonomy over her limbs. She felt her body teetering and swaying, and someone helping support her.

"...complete transformation....permanent changes?"

"Indeed. We...as you can...Rose will continue lactating..."

Rose's head felt so heavy. She tipped her head forward and was surprised to see two naked breasts, large and heavy globes, settled upon her chest. That...wasn't right. She must still be dreaming. This...didn't look like her own body at all.

There were hands on her breasts, Rose realized. Hands that didn't belong to her. Someone was lifting her breasts, kneading and squeezing them. Rose started to breathe faster because she was starting to feel really warm. Really nice. But...this was a stranger, she didn't know who this was. She tried to say, "Hey, stop," but no words came. She made a different sound instead. A low, drawn out wordless moan.

"Shh, shh. I know you want me to touch your nipples, Rose, but it's not time to milk you yet," a chiding voice scolded her.

Rose made the sound again. Then she snorted with frustration that she couldn't make her tongue work properly. 

"Hush, Rose. I know you just want to be a cow again. But you have to pretend to be human Rose for just a little bit longer. Your patron wants to see what he paid for, so we're going to show off your big boobs."

There was someone else there. Vaguely familiar. It was so hard to think though and she couldn't remember him.

"I'm so hot," Rose tried to say. "I'm so hot and my chest feels so heavy and hurting..."

This time she identified the sound she made. A long, resonant moo.

"Can she talk?"

"Speech and language takes a while to come back. Especially after she just spent 24/7 for two weeks as a cow. Give it another hour and she can probably string a sentence together."

There were more hands touching her now. Molesting her enormous boobs. Lifting them and letting them bounce. Rose started breathing faster, fighting her way through the fog. She could feel herself beginning to surface...she could feel...her pussy was throbbing with insistent heat.

"She seems drugged. Can't she stand on her own?"

"Temporary side effects from such a deep immersion in her hypnotic state. Remember, as a cow she's been forbidden to walk on two feet. Standing up right now is about all she can do. Eventually she'll remember how to walk, but what feels most natural and comfortable to her now is to be on all fours."

"I want to milk her."

"Certainly. Would you like to milk her as Rose, or as a cow? Oh and you should know — her name isn't Rose when she's a cow. We call her Rosie."

Rosie. The name went through Rose like a lightning bolt. She had a flash of a dream...a memory...of kneeling on her hands and knees in a large, brightly-lit room...a barn...a stout leather collar with a bell on it clasping her neck. Fingers pulling on her nipples, drawing down her milk into a metal pail.

Rose shuddered and blinked.

"I want to milk Rosie. I want to fuck her after, too. Then I'll have a conversation with Rose and tell her about her new life in my home, with my cum dripping from her cunt."

"Absolutely. Rose, look at me. Watch my eyes. Listen to the bell."

A voice said don't look! but Rose looked. She thought—

She stumbled and someone helped ease her down. Rosie mooed her gratitude. She could tell it was time for her milking. Her udders were very full and heavy, the round slopes brushing against each other as she put herself in position. She was happy to be milked. It felt good, and then she would get her treat.

She mooed because the hands that touched her udders were inexperienced. A new farmhand who didn't know what they were doing. They were rougher. But eventually they latched onto her teats and began to tug and express her yield.

[eenslaved]

The Lawson Brothers' Cow

The Lawson brothers brought their cow in that morning for her check-up. Jenna had been with the boys a long time; they'd been high school sweethearts way back then and after graduation she'd moved in with them.

Her transformation into their sweet, dumb cow had taken place after she'd turned 21. The three of them had talked about it but Doc Evans had doubts about whether the girl truly understood what it meant, or if she had any inkling of just how far down to subhuman status her owners would want to bring her.

Well she knew now. She was now a 22 year old pregnant cow whose owners kept her locked up and chained, and had decided to breed her just over three months ago. 

The twins brought her in blindfolded, gagged, and collared, her wrists cuffed together behind her back, her ankles hobbled on a short tether. A chain linked her wrists to one of the rings on the stout collar clasping her neck, and it kept her head up and pulled back.

They had her trapped between the two of them, each of them firmly clasping one of her elbows, and they were patient as she took each shuffling, mincing step down the hall to his office, never rushing her, just murmuring soft sounds of praise as they guided her into the clinic.

"Good to see you boys," Doc Evans said, as the twins guided their cow into position for the examination.

Doc Evans took Jenna's weight, blood pressure, and took her temperature rectally. He brought a special scale over and lifted each udder onto it one at a time. They helped her squat for a urine sample, and there was barely any hesitation at all before she released her bladder. The Lawson brothers had been serious and thorough in their work of turning Jenna into her cow. Nowadays she pissed when and where they told her to, no matter who was watching.

The cows were never milked before their check-ups, whether that took place at the clinic or at their homes. Jenna's udders were painfully hard, the long nipples erect. Doc Evans gave each teat a testing pinch before expertly forcing the cow to express a fine spray of milk. He fastened his mouth on each teat and drew in the warm liquid; the taste test was one of his favorite parts of the inspection.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again, your cow produces some of the finest tasting milk in this county," Doc Evans pronounced. "You boys are real strict with her diet, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir," one of Jenna's owners replied.

"You can taste the benefits of that."

"Yes, sir, we believe so."

"Now let's get her on the table and take a look at what the ultrasound shows us today."

Cows did not get to sit in a chair like female women did. Jenna knelt on the exam table, the paper crinkling beneath her, as the boys guided her into place. She flattened her udders beneath her as she lowered her forehead to the table, widening her stance for the probe.

"Babe looks good," Doc Evans reported. "Good heartbeat."

Jenna was having a boy, though none of them told her that. She wouldn't know the sex of her child until she gave birth. All discussion of her health and body was held between the doctor and her owners.

"Let's get Jenna hooked up and we can talk in my office while her udders are being drained," Doc Evans said.

They left the blindfolded and bound cow kneeling on a mat on the floor, suction cups attached and drawing forth her milk. Jenna made a few whimpering sounds of relief but then she settled down to wait, grateful they were milking her at last.

Sam and Jacob had told her that they would only fuck her mouth, ass, and udders after she was impregnated, and they had kept their word. They always kept their word. She was so damn horny all the time these days and she really missed having them in her pussy. Yesterday the boys finished their work on the farm early and they spent the extra hour working her over, Sam taking her mouth while Jacob dominated her bottom-hole until not even Sam's cock stuffed in her mouth could silence her squeals of pain. Then they held her down and spread open between the two of them while Sam licked and sucked her throbbing pussy and Jacob played with her udders until milk was leaking and spraying all over her and she was coming like a geyser, having no choice of it at all.

[eenslaved]

BDSM erotica. Fictional characters over 18. Everything I write is strictly fantasy. Definitely this one, which was inspired by an interaction in real life. Just writing this story put me in a stew of absolute seeing red rage and lust. But here's this story anyway.

He looked at me. That look—it was a warning and threat all at once. That look meant to remind me of my place, was intended to recall myself. Watch yourself, that look said. 

But Joe was saying some truly dumb bullshit. Hypocritical, illogical, utter nonsense. I had about thirty different things I wanted to say to him. None of them polite.

In the end, I only snapped one thing back at him, but it was enough.

My boyfriend interrupted the debate just as Joe was getting red in the face.

"Excuse me. I'm going to have to interrupt. Win, can I speak with you for a moment?"

Everyone at the table fell silent. It was his tone. 

"Yes," I said bitterly, my eyes shooting lasers at him, at that fucking moron Joe.

"Excuse yourself, Win," my boyfriend said evenly. It was not a suggestion.

"Please excuse me, everyone," I said stiffly, through numb lips, as I stood up from the table. 

I followed Kevin out of the room. 

"Look, I—" I began defensively. 

"Shut up," Kevin said calmly. "Open your mouth, whore."

I shut up. I opened my mouth.

He made me wait until my jaw started to ache and I could feel saliva started to pool. He made me wait, standing there with my mouth open wide for him, until I began to drool.

Then he took the ball gag out from his pocket. It made my core clench from rage and humiliation to realize he had prepared for this occasion, for my speaking out.

He gagged me and strapped it on tight around my head. My face was burning; shame was curdling inside me.

"Pull your sweater up," Kevin said tersely.

I did. I wasn't wearing a bra underneath — not allowed — and so I was standing there in the hallway of our friends' house, my pale breasts out and exposed. Kevin gripped my nipples between his fingers and squeezed, crushing them while he stared at me, daring me to protest.

"You're really not that smart, are you," he said, speaking to me softly even as he kept hurting me with cold, cruel, brutal effectiveness. "How many times do I have to teach my whore this lesson?"

I could feel tears prickling in my eyes. I swallowed a whimper. 

"You do not get to contradict a man in public. Ever. Not even an imbecilic clown like Joe. You are not better than him. You are not smarter than him. You are a whore, Win, my beautiful, ill-behaved whore, who I use for fucking and filling with my cum."

A dam broke. I started bawling, breathing hard and fast through my nose while tears poured down my face.

"Your intelligence is overruled by your cunt," Kevin continued crudely. "I've shown you that, over and over, haven't I? Do I need to take you back into that room and prove it to you again, right here, in front of all our friends?"

I shook my head, frantic. Keening small desperate animal noises.

"Get on your knees, whore." He finally let go. My nipples were pulsing with a throbbing, insistent pain. "You're going to kneel there, in silence, until we've finished the next course, and think about how stupid you are to have made this mistake again."

[eenslaved]

The Kept Girl in the Basement

BDSM erotica. Fictional characters over 18.

Everyone didn't know about Alpha Rho's tradition, but enough people heard the rumors. That each spring, the oldest fraternity on campus kept a girl in the basement of their house, all through the semester until graduation week.

It was all true.

The fall semester was spent hazing and inducting new pledges and, most importantly, finding, selecting, and obtaining the girl who would be their slave.

In past years, they chose townie girls. Locals who didn't go to their college. Waitresses and shop workers and such.

In recent years, it has been a girl offered up by their sister sorority, Theta Rho Beta. Girls they feel need some special humbling. Girls who got too big for their britches. Girls they were jealous of, girls who needed to be taken down a peg or two.

This year, their kept girl is Molly. Pretty, popular Molly, whose Daddy owns a place on Lake Como and a house in the Hamptons. Molly who has everything.

They choose Molly for the special spring sabbatical semester — that's what they call it, with sly winks and smirks.

Molly only begs them to stop and let her go the first two days. By her third day, Molly begs them not to stop. When they let her talk, that is. They like keeping her mouth filled. They like keeping their kept girl's holes occupied. She's got to earn her room and board in their house.

They're not totally sure why, but there's something different this time, with Molly. The other kept girls were basically sex slaves, free use sluts for coming in and coming on.

But with Molly, they treat her like something else. Something...lower, than a kept girl. They treat her like a pet. Like a dumb animal who's got to be trained. Disciplined. Kept under control on a short, tight leash.

Eventually, they want to treat her like an animal that they can breed.

So first, they don't let Molly talk to them anymore, even when she's not gagged or got a penis using her mouth. You can't speak unless we give you permission, they told her. And they don't. Ever.

Noises are okay. Nothing with words. No language, no speech.

And they feed and water her from bowls on the floor. She can't use her hands to eat or clean her face after it's covered in flecks and smears of food.

They'll have her stand up of course but now it's like a neat trick she does, to be upright, and usually because they want to play with her at that height. But if she has to move from Point A to Point B, she has to crawl.

They keep her on a chain, always. Willful, disobedient, untrustworthy and unbroken pet who needs constant house training.

Molly is their favorite kept girl — ah, though she's no longer a girl — ever. They  even voted on it, and even alumni have come back to visit their pet Molly and to congratulate the current president on their acquisition of Molly.

Molly's sorority sisters visit her, sometimes. They're shocked and they all feel a bit guilty, but mostly they feel relief. Like, that could be them, in Molly's place. Being treated like a dumb animal, being whipped by one Alpha Rho brother while humping a pillow on her mattress. They whisper to each other about how they can't believe Molly's acting like this, being so totally into it that her mouth, trapped by a bit-gag, is drooling on her own tits. How she's shaking her ass and tits, begging wordlessly with her body for a good, hard fucking. That could never be them.

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[eenslaved]

Clarabelle

Judd loves his job. He loves his work, taking care of the female cows. Helping the women ease into their new lives. Stripping away their humanity. The new ones think they're being reduced to the low state of an animal, but Judd doesn't think of it that way. He sees it as a transformation into their true selves.

When they enter the barn for the first time, they're often defiant and disbelieving. There's nothing Judd loves more than turning a hissing, spitting, angry female into a docile and sweet cow who waits placidly in her stall, and utters the cutest moos of pleasure as she's being milked, or fucked, or both at the same time, as often happens.

Clarabelle is his favorite cow, which means he's much harder on her than all the rest, to compensate for his favoritism. He coos sweet nothings to her as he binds her udders in a tight rope harness, making her flesh swell from the constriction, accentuating this most defining part of her being. Milk pearls at the tips of her teats; he kisses the beads of white away, only for more to well up.

Clarabelle is just as drippy between her legs as she is from her teats. Judd unbuttons his denim work pants and slots himself in the cow's seething cunt. Clarabelle breathes harshly through her nose, her soft mouth all bitted by the bit-gag.

He fucks the cow hard and fast. She pants noisily as her cunt clutches him, a flood of moisture easing his way. The other cows bully poor Clarabelle because he can't resist fucking her every chance he gets, and they're jealous. He lets them at it, because their humiliating treatment of Clarabelle only deepens her acceptance of her cow-self.

[eenslaved]

Visiting the Parents

"Look, I don't think you want your family to know about how their precious daughter is such a horny slut who can't stop begging her boyfriend for orgasms, right?" he said, as he rolled her over onto her stomach and began wrapping tape around her wrists. "I'm sure you don't want them asking questions about why you're being punished. Because then I'd have to tell them the truth — that you're so goddamn selfish and consumed by your hot, wet pussy that you got all distracted from giving me a proper blowjob."

He pulled aside her string bikini and nudged the vibrator into her folds as she squirmed. Then more tape, securing the toy to her thigh.

"There you go, selfish girl," he said with satisfaction. "Since you were so greedy about getting off, I'm going to give you all the orgasms you can handle. I'll tell your parents that you're jetlagged and taking a nap. They won't hear your toy over the dishwasher and the laundry machine, but they will hear you if you scream. So keep it down unless, of course, you want them to know what you are."

[eenslaved]

Pillow Time

It's so humiliating, this daily ritual he subjects her to. Humiliating and frustrating, it's both a part of her day that she dreads and anticipates in equal measure.

It's when he gives her the pillow and gives her thirty minutes to edge with it. There is a very specific way she's allowed to edge herself: she has to fold the pillow in half and squeeze it between her legs while she rests on her front over it. Her arms are to be flat on the bed beneath her, trapped under the pillow, which serves as a barrier between her fingers and her pussy.

She has to keep her legs stretched out and horizontal, knees touching. And the only movement she's allowed is the shallow and short forward jerking of her hips as she works her pussy against the pillow stuffed between her legs.

Sometimes, if she's been good and he wants to reward her, he lets her do her edging wearing nipple clamps. The biting hurt zings its way straight to the forlorn, denied core of her and it helps, it makes her feel closer to the cusp of climax.

She is not allowed to stop humping her pillow during the thirty minutes. Her stamina is good now but in the beginning she kept doing it in fits and starts and he had to encourage her obedience with the tawse. 

Now she can sustain the jerking of her hips for the entire thirty minutes, all 1,800 seconds. She humps the pillow with grim determination, as steady and constant as a metronome set to ticking, squeezing the pillow with her thighs as tightly as she can in an utterly improbable attempt to firm up its impossibly soft dimensions and contours.

Her face wears a grimace of resignation and acceptance, which he takes as a sign of success. She holds no hope whatsoever that these sessions will result in an orgasm for her. He has been drawing out the time between her climaxes to reinforce his control over her. Relief is a scarcity for her these days. He rewards her obedience in other ways: a rare chocolate treat, a hot bubble bath, a long massage, the feeling of him in her cunt instead of her ass -- too fleeting for her liking, but he plays it safe than sorry; a few long, slow strokes is all he dares to risk, lest he undo all his work, mostly he just sheathes himself in her tight, pulsing cunt and holds still, feeling all those wonderful internal muscles gripping him. She's so blissfully tight thanks to this training. He loves how he's totally transforming her body and its responses into something of his making and design, like she's a real live doll he's assembling for himself.

These edging sessions with her pillow are so important though, as a daily exercise that drives her reality home.

[eenslaved]

BDSM erotica. Fictional characters over 18.

This was so fucked up.

Not for the first time, Ari wondered what the fuck she was doing. She took stock of her situation again.

While all her college friends were busy interning and building their networks and teeing up job offers — or summering in Europe on Daddy's yacht — she was here, still on campus. Providing menial labor and other more prurient services to a man twenty-five years older than her. 

So yeah, here she was, on her hands and knees, running a sponge over each kitchen tile like she was restoring a da Vinci. Oh and let's not forget, she was bra-less, in a thin and worn crop top baby tee that basically left her boobs hanging out, and denim shorts that were cut so high, they were basically underwear that showed the undercurve of her ass and rode into her crotch.

Being treated like a slave, when she wasn't being talked to like she was an airhead bimbo or some misbehaving girl.

She tensed as footsteps entered the kitchen. She could feel him staring at her, his gaze on her bowed head, her swinging breasts, her raised butt.

"Still not finished, Arielle?" His deep voice was shaming. "Is that needy pussy of yours distracting you, slut?"

The casual, degrading way he talked to her was so mortifying. "No, sir. I'm sorry. I'm almost finished."

"Did you do the laundry yet, slut?"

Oh no. She knew she had forgotten something.

"I...not yet."

He frowned. "You know I like my sheets line-dried in the sun, Arielle. And you wouldn't need to do the sheets quite so often if you weren't so...messy."

She felt almost light-headed with humiliation. And arousal. Because he was right, wasn't he? Last night he had tied her to the bed and spent over an hour fucking both her holes with two toys. When he finally let her come, she had squirted all over his hands and thoroughly soaked the bed while she quivered, overwrought with a shaming pleasure. 

"I'll get the laundry started right now," she offered.

He shook his head at her. "It's too late today, Arielle. You've missed the hottest part of the day already and the sheets won't dry as I like. You deserve to be punished for that, don't you?"

Ah! Why are you letting him do this to you?

"Yes, sir," Ari said humbly, from her knees at his feet.

"I'd like to hear you say it, Arielle."

"I deserve to be punished, sir."

"Bad slut," he said softly. "Come here. We'll take care of that punishment right now."

Ari followed him. Dread and need were all tangled up in her belly. 

He didn't draw out the punishment, once she was laid over his lap. Just brought his firm hand down on her ass in a blistering spanking. When it was over, he sat her, bottom stinging, over his thighs, so he could fondle her breasts under the joke of a top.

"You'll try harder tomorrow on your chores, won't you?"

"Yes, sir," she sniffled, squirming over his lap. 

"Good. You're a silly slut, Arielle, but I know you can do better."

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[eenslaved]

It Starts With This

He has found that punishing their tits does wonders for acquainting them to the new reality of their situation. Their new status.

More than being penned in the cage, more than being stripped naked, more than the bondage and having their limbs chained, or having their mouths bitted like an animal, even more than being spanked or whipped or caned.

Very little physical effort goes a very long way when it comes to chastising a female's mammaries. One can almost see in their eyes the evolving understanding of their place after just one smack. The naked shock. The disbelief. Then, the dawning comprehension.

It only takes one lick of the whip, one open-handed slap, for their entire world view, their notion of themselves, to shift and be realigned to the new paradigm.

He never stops at just one, of course. No, the longer the flagellation, the deeper this lesson sinks in. He could go on for a long time, just flicking the whip, very minimal physical exertion on his part, back and forth, left globe, right globe. The tops, the nipples, the heavy bottom curves.

This tender part of a female, the womanly curves she took such pride in, soft mounds that she once dressed in delicate, lovely undergarments that cradled the flesh so faithfully, supported and plumped and presented them beneath her clothes - this aspect of her femininity, in counterpoint to the masculine form, associated with her ability to nurture and nourish - to inflict pain upon them in such a casual way, establishes her as a mere object, the purpose of which is to be available and pleasing to a male.

A male who has every right and privilege to punish every part of her.

As he takes up the whipping of her tits, she hops in place and stamps her feet, hunches her shoulders and tries to cringe away. None of it works to distract him from giving her mounds the attention due to them. Her tits jiggle and dance under the lash, eliciting yelps and shrieks of pain. She's really starting to understand now, that there's nothing she can do to stop this. She cannot prevent him from abusing her breasts. He is acquainting her with her vulnerability. He is chastising her for being what she is, a female, because this is the beginning of her reeducation.

Soon enough these nipples will suffer all manner of clamps, will be dragged down by weights and heavy bells, will have needles pushed through them and be decorated with rings and piercings. This flesh will be bound until they are engorged and taut in their encircling ropes, will have leather straps drawn tightly around them to highlight and outline their shape. Soon she will have her head hooded and wear an impenetrable steel belt over her holes, leaving just these two soft breasts, vulnerable and available for torture. Eventually they will learn what it is to wear the cups, to have tubes suctioning and siphoning ounces of milk each and every day, and she will see how her nipples are turned into elongated teats, being relieved of their daily yield.

But it all starts here, with this whipping she must receive while her arms are held pinioned behind her back by the ever-helpful nurse.

[eenslaved]

Proof

BDSM erotica. Fictional characters over 18. Hypnosis kink, strictly fictional fantasy.

He told her to smile and she did, shaping her lips into a tremulous curve, even though it felt a little strange to her, because she was naked and tied up so she couldn't move, and there was something wet and gooey on her face, and she felt so sticky all over her body, and sweaty too. This seemed like a strange time to be taking a picture, she thought.

"You look confused, baby," he said. "What's going on inside that silly head of yours?"

She felt warm inside, the way she always did when he called her a silly girl or pretty thing.

She told him she didn't know why he was taking photos of her.

"Because, silly, you won't remember this later. So we have to take photos now, for proof. So you can see the pictures later and see everything you did."

Usually his answers made her feel so reassured and certain and content, but this only made her more confused. She tried to think for herself, to figure out why it would be that she wouldn't remember this moment later. Of course she would, wouldn't she? Surely she would remember how good it felt to have him in her mouth, the taste and feel and smell of him. She had had to work so very hard to swallow him until he was all the way down her throat, stretching her jaw until her eyes were watering. His essence filled her mouth, it had been sad some of it had dribbled out when she choked a bit, but fortunately most of it had been deposited on her tongue and he told her not to swallow it, to hold it and keep her mouth open for him.

He rubbed himself between her breasts, squeezing her flesh very hard to push the globes around his cock. She wanted to swallow but she didn't.

Then he had put himself inside her pussy and he had praised her for how tight and wet she was and how she was doing such a good job squeezing him. He finally told her to swallow just as her body experienced a tightening all over and then an explosive release that felt like the most blissful, pleasurable thing she had ever experienced. 

She didn't know why she would forget that so she asked him.

"Because I'll tell you to forget, that's why," he told her gently, smiling patiently at her as he continued to take pictures. He got a really good shot of the lost and confused look in her eyes. "We're having so much fun right now because you won't remember this after I say the magic words. That's why I'm taking these pictures, they're souvenirs for the collection."

Collection?

He showed her the album on his phone. She was astonished to see hundreds of photos of herself, in hundreds of situations she couldn't recall at all. His finger swiped up on the screen and the phone scrolled rapidly over so many small squares of images. Photos of her kneeling, blindfolded. Photos of her in tears.  Photos of her with toys inside her orifices. There were videos too. 

[eenslaved]

Surprise Visit

BDSM erotica. Fictional characters over 18. Just some dark and taboo smut. Strictly fiction, purely fantasy nonsense.

Uncle Alex wasn't really Charlie's uncle—they weren't related in any familial way—but Charlie had known him just about forever, seeing as he had been Charlie's Dad's best friend. And after the car accident that took their parents' lives when Charlie and Anne were in college, Alex had stepped up in a big way to be there for them. 

He had taken care of everything. The funeral costs, handling the life insurance, supporting them emotionally and financially until they were able to manage for themselves. They'd grieved together and, gradually, healed from the loss together by remembering all the good memories, not just the tragedy.

After Anne graduated from college, it was Alex who had helped her get some interviews that ultimately led to her job. Now that Charlie had graduated, he was planning on asking Alex for advice and help, too.

Which was why he was back in town — he had a lunch date with Alex the next day, but he ended up getting in a day earlier. Why not meet up with Uncle Alex earlier? When Uncle Alex didn't answer his phone, Charlie figured he'd just surprise him. He had a key to Alex's house, after all.

Which was how he saw something he was probably never, ever supposed to see.

Uncle Alex, leaning over Anne. Gripping her wrists in his hands. Annie, his big sister. Lying naked on the leather settee, her legs spread, and a second man, a stranger, standing between them, thrusting into her soft, unresisting body, smacking his flesh loudly against Anne's. He could hear not only the slapping sound as the unknown man fucked his sister, but a telltale wet, juicy sound.

"Good girl, Annie," Uncle Alex was saying to his sister. "Such a good slut you are. Paying me back for your tuition now, aren't you? Working off the cost of that college degree, the one I told you that you didn't need." 

Anne whimpered, her body straining. The man fucking her growled and grabbed her leg and shoved it up, bending it forward, to get a deeper angle, Charlie judged. The man groped Anne's breast, squeezing cruelly.

"You wouldn't be in this position if you hadn't insisted on going to college," Uncle Alex said. "Pretending you're not just a cockslut. I told you how you'd pay me back, didn't I? Yes, you knew you'd be graduating college just to end up as my full-time sex slave. Well. You have that silly pretend job now, but not for long, my sweet."

Anne's back arched. "M-master, I'm so close! Please, may I come?"

"No, dear heart. Brandon's still enjoying your denied pussy, isn't he?"

"Yeah," the man rasped. "She's milking me so fucking good."

Anne wailed. Her eyes were wild.

"Don't do it, Annie. Don't come, slave, or I'll give you a cold water enema every morning for a week. You want to have that horrible cold solution fucking you anally first thing every morning, churning your tummy? Then I dare you to come, Annie." Alex's voice was a silken threat. Cruel, anticipatory, eager.

"Oh shit, she just tightened on me," the man said hoarsely. "She likes the idea?"

"Annie is a very good slut," Alex said. "Well worth your donation, wouldn't you agree?

"Fuck yes. Fuck, I'm coming!"

Alex kissed Annie's forehead. "His cum feels good inside you, doesn't it? I'll take you off your birth control soon. Once I've successfully bred you, you'll tender your two week's notice. No more pretend job. Just full-time, permanent slavehood."

[eenslaved]

“Who knows what’s best for you, Jill?” “You do, Sir.” “Yes,” he said softly. “I know what’s best for you. What’s my job, Jilly-girl?” “To help me be a good girl,” she whispered. “Is that what you want?” “Yes, sir. I want to be your good girl.”

Excerpt from Wicked Bites