theprettynosferatu

[theprettynosferatu]

CW: Lezdom, Ponygirl, Anal Only

Note: This story can be read on its own; it is part of the "Girl Farm" series (New Girl - Origins of Submission I & II, The Breaking of the Sow)

I

Natasha closed the locker and made sure everything was properly secured. She took a moment to breathe and stretch in the privacy of the mercifully empty changing room. To her, the day was only now starting.

She purposefully avoided looking at the locker, thinking about the clothes inside. The professional-but-cute blouse. The grey slacks. The tasteful shoes with the appropriately low heels, so as to not tower over her coworkers more than she already did. Even as she knew, rationally, that the clothes looked good on her, they felt like a prison, like an unbearable corset. Only after casting them aside for her sports top, her flexible and comfortable leggings, her running shoes, Natasha felt awake. Like herself. Alive.

Water bottle in hand, she smiled as she stepped into the main gym floor.

The scent of sweat in the air. The panting and grunting barely audible over the high tempo music. The clanging of weights going back to their racks. This was where she belonged. If only she didn’t have to, well, pay bills and rent and do all the stupid things people needed to do to survive… 

She ignored the men looking at her as she did her stretches in front of the mirror. Most were as subtle as they could, which wasn’t saying much, but at least they followed basic gym etiquette. Besides, Natasha knew that in a gym men were much more interested in impressing other men with their muscles. It wasn’t, as far as she could tell, even a sexual thing. It felt more like a mixture of competition and the opportunity to socialize in a way too intimate for males to do it without pretext, without some social cover… and helping one another with their gains, spotting each other, chatting about routines was exactly that: cover. It was a bit sad that men couldn’t make friends as quickly or as deeply as women could.

The women, on the other hand… that was a different game altogether. Women made rivals as quickly as they made friends, often without exchanging a single word. She had started to notice it in her adolescence: when a couple walked into a party, the men looked at the girl first, and the women looked at the girl first as well. What is she wearing? Did she lose weight? Who is she with?

If there was one part of herself that Natasha hated was how much she went along with that competition. No, she corrected herself. She didn’t just “go along”. She had a deep, burning need to be the best. It was always there, but never felt as keenly as when doing sports or exercise. She simply had to be the fastest. The strongest. The star player. And there, jogging on a treadmill, was Redhead Girl.

Natasha didn’t know her name, nor did she care to find out. All she knew was that the girl had bright red hair, was almost always at the gym, and every single time she bested Natasha. If Natasha ran, Red did it for longer. If Natasha squatted, Red did it while lifting more weight. If Natasha stretched, Red showed off like she was performing in Cirque du Fucking Soleil. Fucking Red.

Well, Natasha had to warm up anyway. Might as well show that brat a thing or two. And so, she went on the treadmill next to Red and, against what she knew to be the basics of common sense when doing exercise, immediately set the speed to match the rival athlete.

They were a study in contrasts. Natasha was tall, muscular, her hair dyed a dark blonde; Red was average in height, skinny- and, against what anyone would think looking at them, always performed better than her Amazonian rival.

It made no sense. It simply made no anatomical, physical, medical sense, thought Natasha as she started to notice her pulse quickening, her breathing growing shallower, her legs starting to burn. Red had sped up, and she wasn’t even breaking a sweat. She simply kept going like a goddamn machine. Surely she was cheating, somehow. Juicing, or… taking supplements, or… something. It was simply impossible that…

Natasha barely managed to catch herself on the handrails. She had sped up without even noticing it, her need to equal Red operating now in a somewhat reflexive way… and her body had failed her. She felt embarrassed. Humiliated. Red, for her part, didn’t even look at her. She just kept running, music blasting on her headphones.

No, Natasha figured. This wasn’t normal. There was something she could be doing better, some way to reach her full potential, something she wasn’t aware of… how else could she justify her weakness?

Fine. Whatever it was Natasha lacked, she would fix it. And the first thing to do would be to consult a doctor.   

II

“I see”, said the doctor. What was her name again? Lucía, remembered Natasha. She tried not to be too obvious when looking at the doctor, but Natasha simply couldn’t help herself. It was reassuring to see that even under her doctor’s coat, one could easily tell this woman was no stranger to a gym. 

“Well, let’s start with the basics. Step on that scale please. Back straight, now. I’ll be taking your height as well.”

Sure. Normal. Common sense. So why did Natasha feel a strange suspicion that she was being evaluated in more than a medical way? The doctor’s face gave nothing away, but still… there was something in her eyes as she took down her size, her weight, the length of her arms, her legs. Strangely, the doctor seemed… pleased.

“Ok, everything seems fine so far. Healthy weight-to-height ratio. Good muscle tone, at least visually… but you say you feel tired quickly when exercising? We’ll have to run a few tests to see if things are working as they should.”

Again, normal. Again, Natasha couldn’t shake the feeling there was something more happening, something she couldn’t quite grasp. But she decided to do her best, as always. She knew it was ridiculous, trying to ace a medical test. That knowledge didn’t change a thing. She had to be the best.

Pulmonary test. Natasha blew into the machine as if her life depended on it. Lucía simply, calmly wrote in her notebook. Endurance test. On a treadmill, Natasha ran. She ran until she felt she couldn’t take another step. Then she looked at the doctor and kept running. Strength test. She lifted the weights in the machine, first using her arms, then her legs. Flexibility test. In her underwear, the doctor said- so as to be able to see if every muscle behaved as it should. Made sense, somewhat. Natasha was too focused on doing everything as perfectly as possible. She bent and stretched as Lucía commanded, and felt a sense of pride when she could do every position more or less as indicated. Her Yoga background was coming in handy.

Finally, the doctor allowed her to get dressed once again and sat her down.

“You seem to be in perfect health. And your tests… well, they show you are quite gifted, athletically. So why are you here?”

Red’s face flashed inside Natasha’s mind.

“I feel I should be… better.”

“We all want to be better at what we do, don’t we? You are fine the way you are. Could things be done to improve on your current state? Sure, but…”

That word instantly made Natasha perk up. Improve. Yes. That’s what she needed. To improve. To be more. To be the best.

“Doctor, what can I do to improve? Are there supplements, or special exercises, or… whatever it is, I need it!”

Lucía leaned back on her chair and took a moment that felt eternal to Natasha. Then she finally spoke.

“If you want it, I do run a program for athletes that…”

“Yes. I want in.” said Natasha.

“It’s a very tough program…”

“Doctor. I’ll do it. I’ll follow your instructions to the letter. Just… make me the best.”   

III

First day.

Natasha stood in the warehouse, wearing her brand new exercise outfit. Not that she needed a new one, of course, but it felt appropriate. New beginnings. 

The place was spartan, devoid of music, of fancy lighting, of annoying mediocre assistants trying to tell people how to work out. It was… pure. No distractions. No phones. No advanced machines with digital interfaces. Just her, her body, and Lucía. It was all that was needed to get stronger like people got stronger in the old days- real strength, of character as well as body: not the fake, sculpted appearance of strength people posted on social media. Natasha took a deep breath in. She was ready to become her best self. The first instruction, however, took her by surprise.

“Close your eyes”, ordered Lucía.

Natasha wasn’t sure where her new teacher was going, but felt it wise not to disobey right at the start. She closed her eyes and waited. She didn’t have to wait for long.

A splash, then cold like needles on her skin, deep inside her bones. She couldn’t help but yelp in surprise and to look at Lucía, holding a bucket, with anger.

“I’m waking those muscles up, girl. Now get out there and run.”

“Wait- just… what?”

“I’m sorry, is that too complex for you? Let me break it down. Go outside, in the cold, and run around the property as fast as you can. And don’t you dare stop until I tell you to.”

Natasha suppressed the urge to argue. Fine. Running. She could run. 

So she did. She ran until her sides hurt. Round and round the warehouse she ran. For how long, she couldn’t tell. All she knew was that she could feel her body giving out, begging for her to stop. She doubled over, hands on her knees. Suddenly, a sharp pain on her back made her straighten up. She turned around to see Lucía holding a riding crop.

“Run.”

There was no room for argument in her tone. No chance Natasha wouldn’t run. It simply was not a possibility. So Natasha ran.

Then a strange moment came. After she had felt like she would faint. After she had stumbled and almost fallen on her face three times. After she had cursed Lucía in her head with every single foul word she could imagine. 

Natasha broke free.

Her body moved by itself. Every muscle felt alive, vibrant, as if she was made of a white light. There was no room inside her for anything except joy; primal, pure. She felt so free, running around the field. She felt so strong…

“Stop.” Said Lucía as Natasha lapped in front of the warehouse doors. “Get inside.” Natasha simply did as she was told.

“You held back”, said Lucía. A panting Natasha couldn’t respond. How? How had she held back?

“Come back tomorrow. You’ll figure it out eventually."

Five days of cold buckets of water. Five days of running. Five days of Lucía informing her pupil that she still had not achieved… whatever it was she was supposed to achieve.

It was on the sixth day that Natasha understood. When the water hit her body, she finally felt it. Her clothes sticking to her skin. The way they only made her colder. The way they imprisoned her. The way they mitigated her joy.

Without a word, Natasha tore off the oppressive garments.

“Finally”, said Lucía. “Now we can truly begin.”

IV  

Natasha pulled on the cart. Loaded with who knew how many bricks, it felt impossible to move. The straps around her waist and shoulders dug into her flesh. And yet, she knew she would make the damn cart move, because Lucía had said so, because Natasha would be the best.

The day had started just like every day in the past few weeks. Without a word, Natasha had stepped into the warehouse and stripped fully before assuming the position: legs hip distance apart, hands behind her head. Lucía had been thorough in her examination. She had touched her legs, her core, her shoulders, muttering with approval all along, measuring Natasha against some mysterious metric in her mind. She had, as usual, checked her teeth, her hair, the smoothness of her now perfectly shaved skin. Natasha knew that wasn’t necessary, the way Lucía’s hands going up the inside of her legs wasn’t necessary. She wasn’t dumb. She could see the desire in the doctor’s eyes. Natasha didn’t mind. If anything, she felt a strange correlation between her progress and the way Lucía’s excitement about her seemed to grow. It was approval, and Natasha felt desperate for it. She needed to be the best. The best what, exactly, only Lucía knew; to Natasha it was all the same- whatever it was she was becoming, she would be the most perfect version of it. And if Lucía was the one that could proclaim her as the best, then that was all Natasha needed. She would be the best at whatever Lucía needed her to be.

And that’s why the damn cart would move. It had to. Natasha felt her legs burning, sweat rolling down her skin. Surrender was not a thought she could contemplate. 

Then, she came in.

Flaming red hair. Body like a statue. Natasha couldn’t comprehend it. What the hell was this woman doing here, invading her space, the one place where she could feel the way she was meant to feel, be what she was meant to be? Worst of all, Lucía didn’t seem surprised at all by Red’s presence, or the way Red stripped off and bowed to the ground before her. Had Lucía… tricked Natasha somehow? Had she planted Red in her gym to drive Natasha into her special training? No, impossible, Natasha figured. And in any case, it didn’t matter. Whatever it was Red would do, Natasha would do it better..

“She’s having some trouble with the cart, my dear Rose”, said Lucía. “Seems like it hurts a little too much to properly pull it.” Then, she gestured at a box in the corner of the warehouse. “Rose, Rice”, she said. Red -or, apparently, Rose- knew what that meant, and Natasha could only watch in amazement as the infuriating redhead picked up a bag of rice, scattered it on the floor and went down to her knees and forearms, becoming a perfect stool for Lucía, who very calmly sat down and crossed her perfect legs.

“So, you think pulling the cart hurts?”

This girl was maddeningly good. Grains of rice dug into her knees, her arms, pushed deeper by her Mistress’ weight on her back… and yet her face showed nothing. No sign of discomfort, let alone pain. If anything, Red seemed completely at peace. Anger built inside Natasha. She would not be outdone. Not again. Not by her. Not in front of Lucía.

With a scream that was half wail of rage and half animal neigh, Natasha pushed. The cart moved behind her, and the sound of the wheels rolling on the floor felt better than any word of praise could ever feel.

V

Pain is good.

On some level, Natasha had always believed that. At the gym, pain meant she was pushing herself, becoming better, stronger. When she had played sports, pain in training meant she would be that much more dangerous to the opposing team come game day. It was a truism common in such endeavors. No pain, no gain. Therefore, pain was good.

Now, however, a new truth was revealing itself to her.

Pain feels good.

She rose from her squat, lifting the weights on her shoulders. How much was she able to lift now? She didn’t know. She only knew she lifted whatever Mistress told her to, without checking beforehand. Her legs screamed and her glutes screamed and yet Natasha was eager to be fully upright, not because that would end the pain, but because she knew the next part of the exercise.

While Lucía watched, Red used the riding crop on the newest arrival. She was not gentle. She showed no mercy. She struck Natasha’s abs, chest, legs as hard as she could. Natasha knew what she had to do. Endure. Hold the weights up. Prove she would not be stopped from obeying. What had become an unexpected side of the challenge was not the pain itself, but the effect it had on her. 

A soft moan, impossible to hold back. Her arousal sliding down her inner thighs. A slight tremor that had nothing to do with the feat of strength her body was performing. And a word born deep inside her chest, escaping her lips before she could stop it.

“Again.”

Lucía perked up, as if she had been waiting forever to hear that very plea. With a soft smile, she teased her little mare.

“Sorry? Couldn’t quite hear you.”

“Again…” mumbled Natasha. “Again…”

“Again… what? You’re not making any sense, you dumb beast.”

Stronger now. Clear diction. Desperation in her voice.

“Hit me again… please, please hit me again…”

Lucía stood up, and slowly walked to Natasha. Yes, she was just about ready. Her muscles now seemed sculpted in marble. Her already impressive body was becoming almost the ancient idea of the amazon that brought nightmares to the old greeks. She certainly was prepared to perform the physical side of her assigned role, even if the dumb woman didn’t even know what it was. 

“No”, said Lucía.

Natasha was just about to beg again when something stopped her. Mistress’ word was absolute.

“Carefully put the weights down and get on all fours”, she commanded.

Natasha’s body obeyed. Her mind had no say on the matter.

“Now, nutrition is very important”, said Lucía as she looked for something in the box that contained Red’s rice and who knew what else. “And I’ve been telling you exactly what to eat since we’ve begun your training. You’ve been very, very good about it too. And look at the results! But we need to introduce a few new elements into your diet.”

Natasha had no idea where her Mistress was going with all the talk about food. She had stopped thinking on the topic ever since Lucía had given her a very detailed meal plan: Natasha simply ate whatever was printed on those sheets of paper. It was relaxing not having to consider what her next meal would be. Then, she saw Lucía walk to her with a carrot in one hand and a jar in the other. She handed the carrot to Red with a smile.

“So, you said you wanted pain?” Lucía mocked.

Before Natasha could answer she felt it. It burned. It took her a second before her mind could catch up to what was happening, but once it did, it started racing. The Carrot. Red. She’s fucking my ass with the carrot. My ass… the carrot… it feels so big, it hurts so much… so good. Hurts so good. Harder. Fuck me harder… make me hurt more…       

Lucía’s words came as if from far away.

“You like pain so much? Fine. Then pain is all you’ll get. That pussy of yours? You won’t ever touch it again. No one will ever touch it again. No pleasure for you, except the joy of pain. That tight little ass will give you so much of it…”

Red was clearly enjoying it- so much so that she used her free hand to grab the riding crop and rain strikes on Natasha’s back. Strangely, all Natasha could think about was that Red was using her dominant hand to sodomize her with the carrot, and so the pain on her back was not as intense as it should be. In that moment, Natasha wished Red was ambidextrous. Still, the pain enveloped her, pushed everything else aside. It was pure, fiery, intense. It made her feel alive.

And then it stopped. Natasha whined as the world slowly came back into focus.

“Come now. I said nutrition was important”, said Lucía.

Only then Natasha noticed the carrot in front of her face. She opened her mouth. She let Red feed it to her. It was a nice feeling. Being fed.

“Good horsey”, said Lucía as she took off her shoe. Slowly, deliberately, she spread the contents of the jar on her perfect foot. Honey. “You’ve earned a treat.”

Natasha started crawling towards her Mistress.

“No, do it properly. Head up, lift your knees. Give me a nice trot.”

There was a strange sense of pride, Natasha noticed, in the movements of her body as dictated by Lucía. She felt strong. Beautiful. Like prize stock, the kind that won contests and commanded values of thousands of dollars.

When she reached that beautiful foot, however, that pride gave way to desperation. She licked and sucked and moaned with abandon, with no regard for anything that would resemble dignity.

“Good mare”, said Lucía.

Natasha beamed. She was. She was the best mare.

VI  

Emilia walked into the warehouse, flanked on either side by her two pretty girls- or, perhaps more accurately, her two slutty, obedient animals. It had surprised her how easily, in her mind, Victoria and Florencia had become the Cow and the Pig. It was almost as if the idea that they were in fact human had faded over the weeks. She had Lucía to thank for that. For everything, really. And so, when Lucía had asked Emilia to come over and to bring her girls along, the older woman had instantly agreed. As far as she knew, only good things came from the doctor.

“Miss Emilia. I’m so delighted you could come. Please, come in. I have something rather special to show you”, said Lucía.

Emilia took a few steps, then stopped in her tracks. Yes, what was before her was something special indeed.

Magnificent, her muscles glistening with sweat, her teeth biting firmly on a bit, a plug with long, crimson hairs forming a perfect tail… it was regal. Beautiful. Exuding strength, yet perfectly trained. On its back, a saddle waiting to be mounted.

“Who… who is she?”, asked Emilia.

“She was someone. Before. Now she is what you see. She had a name, but not anymore. She’s just Ruby the Mare. Would you like to try her out?”

“I… I would love that”

Lucía handed Emilia a pair of boots with sharp, golden spurs on them. 

“If you’re going to ride her, you need the proper tools, Miss Emilia”, advised the doctor, handing Emilia the riding crop.

Emilia assented. Truly, this was a beautiful being. She let her hands roam, caressing her smooth skin, feeling tense muscles on her fingertips, grabbing and pulling her thick strong hair. She checked her white teeth, her legs, her glutes. She noticed the leather harness, obviously custom made, that served as the Mare’s chastity belt. Apparently that pussy was not something relevant to the owner. The tail was intriguing, however. Emilia yanked it out, and the thick plug popped as the Mare moaned. Emilia put the plug back in, only half way. She entertained herself by sodomizing the beast, relishing her screams and grunts. Through it all, the animal didn’t bolt away, didn’t escape. It was perfectly trained.

Once she was satisfied, Emilia decided to give riding a go. She wasn’t too sure what to do at first. She climbed on the saddle clumsily- but as soon as she pushed the spurs into the Mare’s skin, the animal started trotting dutifully. Every strike of the riding crop elicited a moan, followed by a burst of speed. Lucía watched with pride. It was a magnificent beast to be sure. The tail, made from Red’s hair, was the final touch- the constant reminder of the Mare’s need to push forward, to push harder, to always be the best. Nothing bred good animals like a little competition.

Once the ride was over, Lucía removed the bit, and the Mare went to her trough to eat. Nutrition was important, after all, and the Mare needed to take care of her body. Her body was all she was. Her body was how she served. How she mattered.

“Now, for more… interesting business”, said Lucía. “It seems to me that keeping your Cow and your Pig in a house might not be the best thing for the poor animals. Beasts need suitable environments, don’t you think?”

Emilia frowned. She couldn’t quite follow where the doctor was going.

“What do you propose?”, she asked.

“We share. We build a proper farm right here. We both own every animal… and we would have space to get a few more. I’m sure your Cow and your Pig would be so, so happy here. Away from all that… being human business.”

Emilia pondered for a moment. Could she agree to that? Could she remove her own daughter and niece from civilization, finally reducing them to just… animals? Those questions didn’t last long in her mind, however.

“So you say we could have… more?”  

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[theprettynosferatu]

Stop. Now.

Tongue out.

Rub.

Hump the air like a dumb little animal in heat.

Keep going. Don't cum.

Let yourself babble.

Don't think, only rub and babble.

Let the words flow out as you start leaking.

Type the words as you rub.

Keep going. Don't cum.

Keep rubbing. Keep going deeper.

Now read the words you typed.

Rub to how fucked up and dumb you are becoming.

Edge. Don't cum.

Good girl.

You may continue scrolling now.

[theprettynosferatu]

[theprettynosferatu]

[theprettynosferatu]

New story up!

A new story, Prize Stock, is available for patrons! It's part of the little... human farm series. This time it's a ponygirl!

You can support my work and get access to the full library at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

[theprettynosferatu]

New Girl

CW: Lezdom, light elements of ageplay, hucow, 24/7 service

I - Arrival

Vicky took the news the same way she took everything that came from her Mistress: with a mixture of complete acceptance, anticipation, and the need to do her absolute best to please, to be of use to that marvelous, superior being. Her body almost shivered, but Vicky stopped it in time. She had been trained to perfection, and now, naked on all fours, her Mistress’ perfect feet resting on her back, she knew she would not -could not- move. She was a footstool, not a person. She always was whatever Lucía desired her to be, nothing more and nothing less. Still, she could feel a warm sensation between her legs when she thought of what was to come. She didn’t know if it was her own mind teasing her or the prospect of further obedience- her Mistress’ desires and her own needs were one and the same, her reactions impossible to distinguish from what had been trained into her. That’s why the news made perfect sense.

A part of Vicky wondered, her Mistress’ statement echoing in her mind. 

“A new girl will come here. Not like you, of course. You are my property, fully and forever. No, this girl belongs to someone else. An old friend of mine. Apparently, she has something of a rebellious streak- and I’ve been hired to make her… well, as obedient as you. And you, my doll, will assist me. She will obey me, to learn her true place. Her true self.”

Vicky felt something like pride- if objects could feel pride, that is. Of course Mistress Lucía was the greatest at turning girls into the best, most obedient, most perfectly trained version of themselves. That someone would pay her for the service was only a testament to her skill. But then again, Vicky was Lucía’s masterpiece: and in that perfect obedience, in that need to serve and please above anything else, she found her pride. Vicky was an object. A perfectly crafted object. How could she not feel a tad prideful about that? 

She did wonder, however, about the girl that would arrive soon. How did some “rebel” end up in the service of an older Mistress? What need did she seek to fulfill by her servitude? The shifting of her Mistress’ feet on her back snapped her back into reality. She was a footstool. Furniture did not think.

The following day, Vicky was getting everything ready. Wearing her maid’s uniform, which showed off her ample cleavage -enhanced by surgery to make her look like the stupid bimbo she was inside- she got the drinks ready. Alcohol for the Mistresses… and fruit juice for the new girl, as commanded by Lucía.

“She needs to understand she’s a girl. Only her superiors are real women. Time for her to accept that”, Lucía had said. Even in her casual clothes, jeans and a blouse, she shined in an imposing way that made it clear that the statement wasn’t an expression of desire but a promise of what was to come. 

The bell rang and Vicky dutifully opened the door, kneeling in front of the classy, modestly dressed in perfectly tasteful black, imposing older woman; thus signaling her own role as a slave to be used. The woman barely deigned to look at Vicky as she made her way in, a young woman one step behind her. Vicky, who should have been looking at the floor, couldn’t help herself and she took a glance at the newcomer.

The first thing that struck Vicky was the girl’s hair. It almost didn’t seem real, with its fiery red hues reaching almost to down to the waist, its coppery sheen and its swaying fullness. It somehow made her imposing, like a conquering queen engulfed by the flames of victory. Her short, white sundress with little pink hearts did a good job signaling what was hidden beneath it. Vicky had to confess to herself that, yes, she was a bit jealous. Sure, the new girl also had big dumb bimbo tits and a face that contrasted with them by its innocence- almost as if she embodied both the saintly virgin and the corrupt whore in one body, but that hair… for some reason it made Vicky feel something strange, dark deep inside her. Something like a need to see this girl broken. Well, her Mistress would take care of that.

“Rose”, the regal, older woman said. “My girl. For the next few weeks you will obey Mistress Lucía as you would obey me. You will serve her and learn everything she teaches you. You will be remade into the perfect girl for your Mommy. And you do want to be better for Mommy, don’t you?”

A second passed. Vicky could see something like defiance flash for a second behind Rose’s eyes, before she responded.

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Well, little Rose”, said Lucía taking a step towards her new pupil, “let’s see what I’m working with. Disrobe.”

Rose turned to look at the older woman, but Lucía stopped her with a sharp tone.

“No. Don’t look at her. Look at me. She was quite clear, was she not? You are to obey me until you are good enough to return to your Mommy. So, disrobe. Now.”

And there it was again. That little flash of defiance. Pride. Vicky could feel something growing inside her. How dared this girl not accept her place as inferior to their Goddess? Finally, she complied, and Lucía walked around her slowly, carefully, studying every inch of her naked body. It certainly was a body to behold- even Vicky had to admit that. Lucía, however, looked less than impressed.

“I see”, she said as she squeezed Rose’s naked skin, caressed it, analyzed it like a cattle buyer evaluating a new cow in their barn. “That pretty face, so innocent- and those big, slutty tits of yours… they must have been very useful in your life. Is that it? I’m sure so many people, so many men treated you like a princess… let you get away with doing whatever you pleased. That’s it, isn’t it? So what happened? You got bored, didn’t you? Bored with people treating you like a fucking queen. And you need to be treated as what you are, even if a part of you still feels you deserve better. Well… you don’t. Vicky, get up and come here. We are going to remind this cunt of a few simple facts.”

Like a puppet, Vicky leaped to her feet. Lucía’s orders were absolute.

“That pretty, pretty face… Vicky, slap her. Hard.”

The blonde bimbo’s hand moved before she could even process the command. She had never inflicted pain on someone else- and yet, something inside her drove her to put all her strength into that slap, to wipe the pride off the little bitch’s face, to show her the power of their Mistress. Maybe in another time she might have felt bad about it, but now… it had been an order, and Vicky obeyed. That was all that mattered.

Shock barely had time to set in Rose’s eyes before a second command came.

“Slave… play with this uppity cunt. Show her she’s just tits and holes, and a slave to both.”

That was something Vicky excelled at. She had been trained to perfection, after all. It was her purpose, deep down. To bring pleasure. She knew how to feel a body, how to pinpoint the weakest points, the places that sent shivers down the spine, she knew how to caress, tease, vary pressure, motion and speed to get a pussy nice and wet… and she went at the prideful redhead like an animal. Lucía watched as the first moans escaped her trainee’s lips and, almost with a whisper, started going deep inside her mind, choosing her words carefully.

“See how easy it is? You really think you have any sort of power? Of control? Silly little girl, your body is screaming the truth at you, and you’re too fucking dumb to understand it! It needs you to serve. It wants you to obey. It feels so, so good when you’re being used, doesn’t it? Because it’s what it was made for. You have those big, stupid tits because you were born to be a fuckdoll. That’s all you’ll ever be. All you ever need to be.”

Vicky’s skilled fingers could feel the effect her Mistress’ words were having on the newcomer. The girl was getting soaked, her muscles relaxing, slowly letting go.

“You think you deserve better? That you are more than just a toy for me to play with whenever I wish? Why? Because you are oh, so pretty? Bad news, sweetie: you are a fucktoy and a flawed one at that. You think I didn’t notice how your fucking ass sags? How your legs are too thick? Do you really believe you are so perfect? You didn’t even shave properly! No, you dumb slut. You are just a piece of lumpy clay to be molded. And you want to be molded, don’t you? Your body needs it. You need it. You want to accept your place, deep down. You want to be made better. You want to serve. You want to be reshaped into the perfect little empty doll you were born to be. Your cunt is telling you right now! It loves to obey. It loves to be abused. It loves whatever I say it loves…”

Without warning, Lucía struck Rose’s ass as hard as she could- which, Vicky knew from experience, was really hard. A yelp escaped the redhead’s lips.

“Even pain. Can you feel it? Pain and pleasure mixing inside you? How your body can’t tell them apart? That’s because you were born to serve, little Rose. Let your slutty body take over. Listen to it. It’s all you are. It’s what matters. And it needs to obey. It needs to… kneel.”

Lucía placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder and gently, lovingly yet undeniably pushed towards the ground. Slowly, by inches, Rose found herself going to her knees, her body obeying Lucía almost despite her own will. The way the blonde slave played with her neck, her tits, her pussy… her mind was fuzzy, weak, confused… but her body seemed to know exactly what to do, the feeling of the hand on her shoulder dictating her actions as inevitably as law. When she saw Lucía removing a single shoe, exposing a beautiful foot, she didn’t even need to be told what to do. It was like in a dream: her body went lower, acting on its own, prostrating itself before her superior. It looked like defeat. It looked like a prayer.

The moment Rose’s lips touched that soft foot, her new life began.

II - Improvement

Even Rose had to admit she was having trouble keeping up. Even after two weeks of daily service, she felt as useless as the first day. On the other hand, Vicky seemed unable to feel exhaustion at all. Dressed in identical maid outfits -or rather, tiny tops and skirts that hinted at maid uniforms- they carefully went all over the house making sure every single corner, every shelf, every inch of the floor was immaculate for their Mistress. Rose even started doubting her own eyes: Vicky appeared to see dust in places that looked, to the new girl, perfectly clean… until the blonde maid pointed out the imperfections in the cleaning, and made Rose do it all over again.

That in itself would have been hard enough, but Rose had some added weight to deal with. Literally. The weights affixed to her wrists and legs made walking, going on the floor, reaching for high places a full body exercise. By mid morning she was usually coated with a shining layer of sweat. She hated it, and yet she couldn’t argue with the results. Her body was getting more toned. She was getting slimmer. Her stamina was slowly improving. She thought about that first day, about the words Lucía had drilled into her mind. She was imperfect. That stung- but also lit a fire inside Rose. She would be the best. She would be perfect.

Of course, they were always ready to serve their Mistress whenever she desired, however she desired. Rose thought, before this new training, that she knew what service meant. She did serve her Mommy, after all. But witnessing Vicky’s level of devotion, her utter selfless ability to do anything, to be anything that was desired of her, left Rose somewhere between admiration and pain for her own inadequacy. She could feel that rebellious streak inside herself, and hated it more and more.

She was tired, lost in thought when Lucía walked in, wearing lingerie and sharp, black heels. The girls got into position: on their knees, chests out, staring at the floor. Lucía walked around the room slowly, luxuriating in her own power, before declaring, simply:

“I want to relax.”

She sat down on a beautiful sofa and with a simple gesture summoned Vicky. The bimbo knew exactly what to do, what to be. She rushed to her owner and got on all fours. A shiver went down her spine as she felt the sharp heels on her back. She was a footstool. Nothing more. It was then that Lucía did something new, something Vicky had never seen her do.

She lit a cigarette. 

Rose stared at her temporary Mistress. She had never thought smoking could be sexy, but the way the smoke curled around Lucía’s face, the way her body relaxed with each puff gave her the air of a mysterious, wonderful, terrible goddess. One that fixed her gaze on the new toy.

“Come here. Can’t you see I need an ashtray, you dumb slut?”

Rose felt frozen for a moment. An ashtray? Should she find one? She didn’t remember seeing one in the house. Suddenly she felt cold fear gripping her. Fear of disappointing this perfect woman.

“You really are stupid, aren’t you? I said come here.”

Rose did as she was told, and crawled towards Lucía. 

“Good. Now, on your back.”

Rose obeyed. It felt good to have such simple instructions.

“I suppose you’re too brainless to realize you’re too low to be a good ashtray, so I’ll spell it out for you once. Feet flat on the ground. Hands over your head. Now, arch your back. Bridge position.”

It was difficult. It hurt to maintain the position. And yet something took over Rose. A sort of… peace. She didn’t need to think. She didn’t need to do anything but be in the moment. Be the ashtray. Be useful. Every bit of ash that was deposited on her bellybutton only filled that need to serve more and more. Even as her muscles shook, there was nothing else in the world, nothing but the perfect sensation of being an object for her Mistress. She briefly wondered if Vicky got to feel like that all the time.

Rose couldn’t tell how long it took. Logically, it must have been a few minutes. To her, it was both a second and a lifetime. She snapped back to the present when she heard Lucía’s voice casually giving a command and getting up to enjoy the show.

“Vicky, clean the ashtray.” 

The blonde slave did as she was told. Her tongue felt warm on Rose’s skin, and somehow the living ashtray felt as if this was an honor- one she had been granted without deserving it. She felt gratitude. She felt joy. She felt empty and blissful. 

She would do everything to feel like that again.

III - Metamorphosis

After a month of training, Rose believed she knew, truly, the essence of service. She believed that inner spark of rebellion, which still lingered, could be managed. She believed she understood the full nature of her role.

All these things she believed mistakenly.

It was on one particularly warm night that she learned just how deep her inadequacy ran. Lucía had summoned Vicky alone a little while back, and Rose could do nothing but wait for her to be needed. She needed that. She needed to be useful. When she was finally called into the living room, she had no way to know what was awaiting her.

Vicky was tied to a wooden structure Rose didn’t recognize yet was weirdly familiar-  it was certainly not one of the instruments Lucía had used on her or the blonde slut. However, its purpose became quickly apparent, and Rose understood where she had seen such things. It was a variation of farming equipment. More specifically, to keep cows still when they were being milked. 

It was then that a few things clicked into place. Specifically, the mysterious medication Vicky took every day. Rose had asked, worried that her role model might need help; but Vicky had only given her a smile and a simple “you’ll see when you are ready.”

Well, she was seeing it now. Lucía was walking around her bound cow, a whip in hand. Casually, almost as an afterthought, she squeezed one of Vicky’s breasts, and warm milk shot into a small bucket, placed right under her udders. What was most strange was that along with a soft moan, Vicky said simply:

“Moooo!”

Rose understood then what true devotion meant. What true service meant. Even when her mistresses whipped her firm ass, the blonde cow only mooed, as if her brain was only capable of being, fully, a cow for her owner. Lucía looked at Rose and smiled.

“Are you starting to see? Come here, cunt. Time for you to feed.”

She understood instantly. She didn’t need to be commanded to crawl- that much seemed obvious to Rose. She was a pet. An animal. Nothing more. She went under the bimbo, let her soft lips part and took an engorged nipple into her mouth.

It was heavenly. Milk flowed into her and she felt like nothing more than a child, a stupid, ignorant thing to be educated. Rose sucked and Vicky mooed in pleasure. Their Mistress started whispering into the calf’s ear.

“Do you understand now, you dumb fucktoy? She made her body lactate because I wished her to. Her body is not hers, not even at its most fundamental level. Just like your body is not yours. Your mind is not yours. You are whatever your owner wants you to be. You don’t deserve to be more. You are a living doll, nothing more.”

Rose took it all in. As the warm milk entered her body, Lucía’s words entered her mind. They both felt right. They both felt simple, obvious. And with each word, each mouthful of the wonderful milk, every moo that reached her ears, that spark of rebellion grew smaller and smaller.

“Your owner wants you to be her perfect baby girl. Her empty doll to dress up and turn into whatever she desires. She even chose your entire new aesthetic. Your new personality. But you were too prideful to accept it. Do you still have pride? Do you still have that delusion that you are more than just her fucktoy to do as she wishes?”

Rose couldn’t speak, but a moan told Lucía everything she needed to know. The girl was finally ready.

“Pet, unbind the cow and kneel in the middle of the room. Cow, go to the corner and play with that slutty pussy of yours”

As one, they obeyed. As she waited, kneeling, looking down, Rose was ready for anything. She would do anything. She would accept anything. She would become anything for her Owner. That was all that mattered.

“You need to be made clean. You need to return to nothingness. To go back to zero, so your owner may mold you as she sees fit. And you need to finally let go of the last remaining bit of your pride. You may think it’s not there, but I can smell it in you. I see it behind your eyes, still. But don’t worry, little doll. I will make you perfect.”

The buzz of the electric clippers sent a shiver through Rose’s soul. She didn’t have time to fully process it. Instead, her eyes focused on the empty, rubbing blonde in the corner, moaning her soft mooing. And lock after lock of red head fell before her eyes, almost framing the human cow. As her hair was removed, as she started feeling the air on her scalp, Rose felt emptier and emptier. Whatever was left of her past was disappearing with every strand that landed on the floor. And the emptier she got, the more Vicky rubbed, the louder she mooed. Her will, her dignity, her entire sense of self fell, bit by bit, on that floor.

Soon, she felt completely empty. Completely at peace. Soft and ready to be remade. As Lucía shaved off every bit of hair from her body, Rose felt more and more like a newborn, like a baby, like a being that depended entirely on the will of her superiors.

“Soft and smooth. Perfect to become the little girl your owner wants. But she doesn’t want just any slave toy. No, she wants you to become something very particular… and you will do it, won’t you, doll?”

“Yes, Mistress Lucía.”

The words escaped Rose’s lips without her even thinking it.

IV - Graduation

Vicky had set the stage perfectly. At the command of Lucía, she had purchased colored lights to give the ceremony a bit of ambiance, and she had chosen the finest champagne for the women to celebrate. Champagne, she knew, she didn’t deserve to taste.

The older, regal woman sat comfortably, ready to see her new property. Lucía was confident in what she had achieved, and had Vicky between her legs, serving her perfect pussy as she chatted with her friend, not even paying attention to the dumb blonde that was doing her best to bring her pleasure.

When the time came, Rose entered the room. It was hard to believe this person was the same girl that had come into the house a month or so earlier. In many ways, it wasn’t. 

It wasn’t just the clothing: black leather corset, latex boots with spiked heels, no underwear, her perfectly smooth pussy visible to everyone, a choker around her neck. It wasn’t the makeup: dark, heavy, with black winged eyeliner and deep, red lips. It wasn’t the wig: jet black like a raven’s plumage, glinting with an almost blueish tint. It was the way she moved, the expression on her face, the rebellion that now was just a mask, just an outfit to be worn and changed at her owner’s whim. Her entire being embodied the fantasy of a goth bimbo, a dark yet obedient angel. She embodied that fantasy just as she could embody any fantasy. She was hollow inside, ready to become whatever was required of her. It was time to show, fully, what she had become. Rose smiled with mischief. She went down to the floor and slowly opened her legs before running a finger to show off how soaked her obedient cunt was.

“Mommy…” she pleaded with a voice between a poor, vulnerable girl and a skillful seductress. “Look at me, my Mommy, my Owner, My Goddess. Look at your little girl… I’m so sorry, Mommy… sorry I wasn’t good enough to serve you before. Sorry I didn’t realize sooner what a fucking piece of fuckmeat I am. Sorry I thought I was more than just you fuckdoll, your object, your total slave to do whatever you please, whenever you please! Because that’s all I am, Mommy. I am nothing. I am just whatever you tell me to be. I believe whatever Mommy tells me to believe. I do whatever Mommy tells me to do… anything at all… I don’t exist. I am only holes and tits and slutty lips and an eager tongue… I am your furniture and your plaything and your sex toy and your pain addicted slut! I’ll do anything you say, with anyone you say. Rent me out if you want. Sell me if you get bored of me. Change my tastes, my look, everything about me whenever you wish. I only exist for you, Mommy… I am nothing… I am nothing… I am nothing…”

The girl was right on the edge, but the women knew she wouldn’t cum unless told to. Her face was a mixture of pleasure and pain and complete need for approval. She wasn’t just desperate to serve: she needed to obey just as she needed to breathe. There was nothing else behind her eyes. There certainly was no spark of rebellion left.

Lucía smiled and turned to her friend.

“Money well spent?”

The older woman licked her lips, ready to take home her new, perfect pet.

“The best.” 

V - Mommy Knows Best

The house felt bigger, somehow- or perhaps Rose felt smaller, more like a pet, more like a pretty piece of decoration. As the women entered the living room, Rose instantly went on her knees, head down, chest out, ready to do whatever Mommy desired. She had no other need, no other impulse but to serve and obey. What she didn’t expect was to discover that she indeed still held the capacity for surprise within her heart.

“My slutty little toy…” said Mommy. “Go to your room. There… you’ll know what to do”

“Yes, Mommy”, answered the doll.

Rose crawled to her room. Inside, she saw something she didn’t expect, and yet, that something made perfect sense in her mind. She was empty. She was clay to be molded. And there, neatly placed on the bed, were the garments of her new self. A new self that would last as long as Mommy desired. 

With every garment she put on she felt her demeanor change more and more. She would embody what her Mommy desired fully. She would be her fantasy perfectly. That was what mattered. Mommy didn’t need to tell her who to be. The clothing and the wig made the point exceedingly clear. Rose took a moment to observe her new hair, and all she could do was to admire Mommy’s diligence. Surely her owner had looked at many pictures from long ago- before she had dyed her hair red, before she had been consumed by pride- to perfectly match her natural hair color. It made her feel naked, in a strange way. 

In her bed, Mommy waited, expecting to be delighted- and indeed her wishes came true in the best way possible. When Rose walked into the bedroom, what Mommy saw was not the goth slave that had entered the house a few minutes earlier. No, indeed what she saw was a different person altogether. 

Dressed in her beautiful, short white and pink dress, her knee-high socks, her cute shoes… her hair in two perfect pigtails, her makeup junt hinting at a youthful blush… Rose was everything Mommy could ever dream her to be at that moment. A perfect mixture of pure innocence and the potential for that innocence’s shattering. And her eyes… wide, loving, trusting, bright like the moon. Her smile had the purity of unconditional adoration and the kind of love reserved for those a person would trust their life to. She was the embodiment of the babygirl Mommy had always imagined, while her natural curves added just a bit of perversion, of temptation. It was a role, sure, but one Rose had made entirely hers. At that moment she was that obedient, innocent girl her Mommy desired… and being whatever Mommy desired felt better than anything in the world.

The older woman smiled.

“Give Mommy a hug”, she cooed.

Rose skipped towards her Mommy and launched herself into her arms. She felt safe and happy in a way she couldn’t explain. She felt hands holding her body tight… then slowly roaming over it, caressing it, exploring it… a soft moan escaped Rose’s lips and her Mommy leaped at the opportunity it represented.

“What’s wrong, my doll?”, she asked playfully.

“I feel funny, Mommy”, said Rose, embodying her role to perfection.

“Funny? Where?”

“Down… down there, Mommy…” blushed Rose.

She immediately felt Mommy’s finger brush against her cute cotton panties, and her breathing started to quicken, her heart beating like a drum in anticipation. The finger soon went in front of Rose’s eyes, glistening under the light.

“Look at this, babygirl. Your little pussy is getting so soaked already! You know who gets wet like that? Little sluts, that’s who!”

Rose feigned horror.

“Mommy! I’m sorry… I don’t know why… am I being a bad girl?”

“It’s not your fault, my little doll. Your pussy is just a slutty hole, that likes it when older women touch it. But you need to learn that being a little fucking slut has consequences. And I will teach you.”

“Yes, Mommy. Please make me better! I want to be good, so good for you!”

Almost in the blink of an eye, Rose was face down on the soft bed, her wrists and ankles bound with incredible skill. She wriggled a bit, but was determined to take her punishment like a good girl. She felt as her skirt was slowly lifted, her panties pulled down to her knees. Mommy was taking her time, enjoying every second. 

“Mommy…”, mumbled Rose.

“Shhh. This is for your own good. Slutty girls get punished. You understand that, don’t you, my little toy?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

Time stretched into infinity, and every second made Rose’s body become more and more sensitive, ready to fully feel anything Mommy chose to make her feel. The anticipation was making her pussy leave a wet spot on the mattress, and feeling that spot against her skin only made Rose feel like a dumb animal in heat… which only served to make her wetter and wetter… she fought the urge to move, to somehow grind against that mattress that now smelled of her own degradation.

The first stroke of the paddle hit her light lightning. She deserved it. She deserved whatever Mommy chose to do to her. Stroke after stroke, her ass grew so hot it Rose felt she couldn’t take anymore- while knowing she would take anything for Mommy. Pain and pleasure became one and her mind went blank. She was a doll. All she could do was feel, accept, obey.

Before she knew it, Rose’s head was being pushed down into the wet spot on the mattress. She could smell her own perversion, and loved every second of it.

“Lick it clean, pet”, ordered Mommy.

Rose’s body obeyed.  

VI - Cocktail Hour

Once the guests settled in, they couldn’t take their lustful eyes off the maid- and they didn’t try to hide it one bit.

They were all older women, all dressed immaculately in their own style, wearing their best jewelry, their finest garments. This was, after all, a special occasion indeed-, even if they playfully refused to say it out loud. Rose watched Mommy laugh and mingle. God, she was so wonderful. But the girl didn’t have time to gawk: she had to serve, after all.

Rose’s outfit had been crafted with a special artistry. It was a maid’s uniform, sure, and a sexy one at that- but it also had a frilly skirt that hinted at the innocence of a little girl’s favorite dress, knee-high socks with decorative bows on them, and a cute, pink set of panties that peeked from under her skirt with the slightest motion. It was a strategic masterpiece, designed to tease the senses while giving off a certain element of taboo, of a specific perversion. And Rose understood, on a primitive level, exactly what her role in the evening was.

It was a silent dance at first, a game of seduction and restraint. It started with the “accidental” touching of Rose’s ample cleavage as she served drinks, a subtle grazing of her thighs as she walked among the guests, an errant hand brushing against her buttocks. She knew what to do, and ignored the throbbing between her legs that begged her to simply go on her knees and worship these goddesses. She knew she had to be their prey, make herself as oblivious as possible, let them play their role as she played hers.

Soon the guests were abuzz, praising Mommy for her wonderful babygirl. “So cute!”, they said. “So well-behaved!”, they cooed. None of them said out loud what they were really thinking when they looked at Rose. Seeing Mommy’s keen approval of their praises, they took a step towards their goal.

“Come here, you sweet thing!”, one said, patting her lap. Rose did as she was told, her every movement a dance of simple, pure innocence. She sat on the guest’s lap and pretended to ignore the way the guest’s eyes were drawn to her breasts, the way her hand roamed from her waist to her thigh, the way the guests took in the scent of her neck. It was hard to keep her own pussy in check, to keep playing her role- but she’d be what Mommy wanted her to be.

“No fair!”, whined another guest. “You can’t keep such a sweet thing all to yourself!”

The new guest gestured Rose to go to her, and the doll, like a pet, skipped to where she was told to go. This woman was bolder than the first. Her slender fingers brushed against the cotton panties, and Rose failed to hold back a soft sigh. The woman smiled and whispered: “Does that feel good, little doll?”. Rose could only nod her head. She could feel her thinking becoming more and more blurry and fuzzy, weakened by the eyes on her, the way her body was being used simply as entertainment. When another guest called her over, she started moving before she even realized what she was doing.

Among the cocktails, the conversations, the laughs, Rose was passed around from older woman to older woman. She just let them do whatever they wished with her. That was her only purpose. Some fondled her big tits. Some focused on her pussy, skillfully pushing her panties aside. Some preferred to caress her legs, her face, her lips. Rose was on fire yet completely powerless inside. She was just a doll. The words echoed in her mind. Just a doll to be played with, dressed up, turned into whatever Mommy desired. And Mommy chose who got to play with her doll.

It was as if someone had lit up something inside Rose’s brain. Her body was more sensitive than ever, almost as if every inch of her skin was as wonderfully receptive to pleasure as her clit. Soon she was shaking, trying to hold back the need to kiss these women’s feet, moaning softly like some dumb, horny animal. The women could see Rose’s arousal, smell her vulnerability. They too held back as much as they could, but the air itself was thick with the scent of sex, the primal desire to conquer, to possess, to use. They all knew the little game could not last much longer- and indeed, it didn’t.

It started with a spank. Not a playful one: a strong, firm, painful slap right on Rose’s right buttcheek. That one act caused her to moan loudly, lustfully, signaling to everyone that the babygirl was ripe for the taking. It was as if a dam had collapsed. 

Rose was pushed to the ground. It felt right, to be lower than all these superior beings. Whatever they chose to do to her, she would accept with all her heart. She deserved nothing more. She was no longer a person, and she knew she’d never go back to pretending she was worthy of anything more than what real people desired of her.

As she felt hands ripping her clothes off, grabbing her body in a frenzy, turning her into just a piece of fuckmeat, Rose felt, more than ever, that she was home. 

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu and get access to the full library! Every bit truly helps :D

[theprettynosferatu]

@smartmouthslut knows what she worships above all.

It's Cock. Her one true devotion.

What a good role model!

[theprettynosferatu]

Lips? You mean your cockpillows?

Mouth? You mean your facecunt?

Tits? You mean your jizz targets?

Skin? You mean your writing space?

Pussy? You mean your owner?

Ass? You mean your tight fuckhole?

Speak clearly, please.

[theprettynosferatu]

Simple facts for simple dolls.

[theprettynosferatu]

CW: FOR ALL THAT'S GOOD AND HOLY READ THIS, THIS STORY IS STRONG

Kidnapping, incest G/G, noncon, mind-altering drugs, full mind breaking, orientation conversion (straight to lesbian), hucow, hupig

This story can be read and enjoyed by itself. It follows the events of Origins of Submission II.

Prologue

Victoria did her best to keep her hands steady. She checked the proportions of the component once, twice, three times. Every compound needed to be perfect, fulfil its purpose without fail. Much like herself. 

It gave her a wicked satisfaction to use her knowledge, her education, her intelligence to please Mistress Lucía and Mommy. Victoria existed to be useful, after all– and while different, using her brain to serve her superiors was, like every act of service, a reminder of her nature as a doll, a mere extension of her owner’s will. So if being a good, obedient daughter meant to use her smarts, dulled as they were, to help make another stupid slave… the thought made her pussy twitch.

She fought the urge to grope her udders. She needed to focus. Everything had to work. 

I

Florencia tossed and turned in bed. Fuck. How was she supposed to sleep after what she had seen? 

She tried to find an innocent explanation, she truly did. But there was no way to interpret what she had walked into as anything remotely close to innocent. Still, the magnitude of it, the sheer perversion of it was hard to grasp. Her aunt having some sort of weird, violent sexual encounter with her own daughter. What. The. Fuck? How was anyone supposed to process that? Two days had passed and Florencia had only managed to… sleepwalk through life. They pretended to be normal, as if nothing had happened. They smiled and were nice and polite, just her dear cousin and aunt. And Florencia could almost go along with it. Almost, but not quite. There was no way to repress what she had witnessed. These women were sick. Perverted. 

But what could she do? Call the cops? They were both adults. And who would believe her? Florencia tried to go over her plans. She needed to find somewhere else to stay… hopefully somewhere with a very, very low rent. And she needed to…

Exhaustion started to claim her. Florencia found herself drifting in and out of sleep. In and out of dreams. She was too worried to sleep properly in that room, yet too tired to stay fully alert. It became hard to separate what was a nightmare, what was what she had seen, what was truly happening in the moment.

Her door swung open. Familiar shapes rushed in. A dream? 

“Ver-” she started to say, before a slap shut her up. She opened her mouth to scream. A pair of panties killed that scream before it could be born. Hands held her down. A dark-skinned woman walked in, smiling. And then, the sharp prick of a needle. She turned her head to look at her cousin. Why was she dressed only with a miniscule bra that barely covered her nipples? It wasn’t important, Florencia knew. What was in the syringe her cousin held? Her mind drifted, getting fuzzy. Her body was relaxing. Why? It shouldn’t! She should be fighting back! She couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t. Her limp body refused to obey her. The world seemed distorted, almost as if she were underwater…

Her aunt’s voice, cold… yet with an undercurrent of dark excitement.

“This is what needs to happen, Florencia. So you can be part of the family… properly.”

In that nice, quiet neighborhood, an ambulance waited. Three women placed a fourth, her body still as if she was in the deepest of sleeps, in the back of the vehicle. They set the IVs in place, monitored her. The ambulance sped away.

The neighbors assumed something had happened, of course; but they quickly moved on with their nights, as one usually does.

They had no way to know what had really taken place right under their noses.

II 

The lights were blinding, disorienting. Were they malfunctioning? They flickered in a strange, somewhat enrapturing rhythm. Left, right, left, right… and the colors looked so pretty…

What was she thinking? Florencia felt panic starting to rise inside her chest- and yet it was somehow muted, nowhere near as intense as it should be. It was akin to a small flame, barely visible behind a bed of soft, calming clouds. Her body felt light, utterly relaxed, pleasantly warm. She felt she could just… chill for a bit. Let time go by her. Maybe even sleep, although she didn’t feel exactly tired- it just felt like the proper thing to do. 

Florencia tried to move her body, just a little bit. A few facts became clear, and she accepted them knowing fully that they should be terrifying. Fact one: her hands and legs were bound. Fact two: she had been placed on some sort of pommel horse, like the ones she had seen used in gymnastics during the Olympics, but somehow different, leaving her bent over. Fact three: she was naked. Putting everything together, she concluded with a strange calm that she had been taken, kidnapped; that the purpose of her abduction was sexual in nature; that she had no viable means of escape. She wondered if the lack of an emotional response was, in itself, a defense mechanism. Perhaps. Still, it felt strange to be so… detached from her own experience. She tried to remember.

Her cousin. Her aunt. And one other woman. The images flooded in. The secret she had discovered. Slowly, that small flicker of fear began to grow, pushing through the fog in her brain.

“Ah. Awake, I see. Finally! I have to admit, I was a tad worried. I thought maybe your aunt’s loyal cow had messed up the dosage, but, credit where it’s due, that dumb fuckdoll managed to pull through. So, how does it feel? I’m told what’s coursing through your veins is quite a cocktail! Muscle relaxants, some psychotropics, one that increases blood flow to… certain areas… must be an interesting experience. Not one I care to feel for myself, mind you.”

Florencia tried to pinpoint where the voice came from, but it felt as if it was echoing inside her own head. She sluggishly tried to squirm, to get a better sense of space, of reality. Suddenly, she felt the sharp pain of a hand pulling her hair, forcing her to look forward.

There she was. The unknown woman. Clad in leather boots with devilishly sharp stilettos and a perfect fitting black corset, her appearance was the very picture of confidence, of someone who knew she would get what she wanted sooner or later- and who would do anything to take possession of what was rightfully hers. Florencia noted that she was also beautiful, in the same manner that she had taken note of everything else- as fact, cold and pure. 

“Look at me. I’m Mistress Lucía. And you are mine.”

Florencia felt herself rebelling. No. She wasn’t hers. She didn’t belong to anyone but herself. 

“Now, I apologize for the somewhat improvised nature of this little setup.” said Lucía. “You see, yours is a rather urgent case that came to me with very short notice. Still, I feel we have all we can need here. And before you do anything stupid, we’re in a rented warehouse in the middle of nowhere, so screaming for help won’t work. Don’t get me wrong, though. You will do quite a bit of screaming. That I promise you.” Almost as an afterthought, Lucía slapped Florencia’s face as hard as she could before letting go of her hair. Florencia’s head felt heavy, and she couldn’t stop it from slamming against the horse.

“Useless fucking bitch. I guess we’ll have to wait until you are a bit more… sensitive. The cow tells me she has prepared compounds for all stages of the process. This one should wear off soon. Time, I’m afraid, is a factor in this. Normally I prefer to guide my slaves in a more gradual manner, but you? You get the crash course.”

Florencia felt herself starting to fade. Still, she managed to mumble.

“...Crash course?... Cow…?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you haven’t figured it out already! You truly are one dumb girl. Fine, I’ll show you. Cow! Come here.”

“How may I serve, Mistress Lucía?”

No. It was impossible. That voice…

A hand turned Florencia’s head.

She wished she could close her eyes, but the image in front of her was too compelling, too strange, too perverse. There was Victoria, wearing nothing but a cow-stripe micro bikini, a cowbell hanging from the chain around her neck… and a huge strap-on dildo affixed to her hips. The Cow. 

“Hi, cousin”, smiled Victoria.

Lucía gave her a backhanded slap. Victoria’s eyes suddenly became emptier, dumber, as if a switch had been flipped inside her head.

“Moooo”, said Victoria.

“Good cow”, answered Lucía.

And with those two words bouncing in her head, darkness took Florencia once more.

III 

For a second, right after she opened her eyes again, Florencia let herself believe everything had been just a terrible dream. That delusion was dispelled in an instant. How long had she been out? Long enough for her cousin -how awful to think of her in those terms- and “Mistress Lucía”, whoever that was, to make additions to the setup that was, in that moment, her entire world.

Florencia tried to move her head, only to find it was fixed in place by some sort of… vise. Her hands were bound, her arms spread. She felt so vulnerable, so exposed… the urge to protect her chest tortured her. There was nothing she could do. Her ankles were chained to a large metal frame, leaving her almost hanging. And there was something else, something different with her body. The air felt dense, and it caressed her legs, her crotch, in a strange way. She tried to look down, but the restraint on her head forced her to keep her eyes facing forward. Facing the black screens. 

“Ah, poor thing. This must be new for you. You probably think we did something awful to you while you were unconscious! Well, you’re wrong, dumb piggy. We did something you should have done a long time ago!”

Lucía’s voice. It sent a shiver down Florencia’s spine. 

“Cow, let’s see if your dear cousin can figure it out on her own.”

“Moooo!” was the excited reply.

Florencia felt soft hands caressing her legs. She tried to push the feeling out of her mind, to ignore the warmth, the way her skin seemed to enjoy the smooth, gentle touch- to not think about the fact that her own cousin’s fingers were playfully making their way up towards her…

“Oh, perhaps the Cow’s new cocktail has made you a bit too… sensitive to notice what I mean. She has rather well trained fingers, after all. Fine, I’ll tell you. We shaved you, you stupid sow! How on Earth you walked around with that much hair on your legs and over your cunt is beyond me. Didn’t you feel absolutely disgusting? I suppose not. You are a pig, after all. But don’t worry, piggy. We’ll make you filthy in other ways. Which reminds me…”

Florencia barely registered the “click” of a remote control. The Cow -no, she reminded herself, Victoria- had reached between her legs and every fiber of Florencia’s being was fighting to deny the pleasure those skilled fingers bombarded her with. Suddenly, the screens came to life. 

Florencia’s vision was flooding with images, her ears bombarded with the sounds of moaning, of whips hitting skin, of vibrating tortures. Every screen showed only women being used, abused, dominated by other women. No matter how much she tried, every inch of her limited field of view was overtaken by women worshipping their mistresses, strange pink flashes (were those words she almost saw?) breasts being slapped, bound beauties and kneeling slaves…

She began to feel dizzy. Lucía had mentioned a new cocktail… what the fuck had they injected into her body? Images bled into one another as she sunk deeper into something like a dream state. And the sensation, the damn warmth coming from her pussy, grew with every second. She could not let it win. “It’s your cousin”, she reminded herself over and over. And yet she could feel her body betraying her, her pussy getting soaked…

“See, little pig? This is the way things work. Inferior women like you kneel. Serve. Obey. Your body is starting to learn it, even if you try to deny it. Oh, I know what you’re thinking. ‘I don’t even like women!’ Don’t you worry about that. I’ll make sure you understand the truth in a very, very deep way. Speaking of…”

Another click. Suddenly, the screens showed men and women, the kind of hardcore porn she Florencia herself sometimes indulged in to relax… but the warm feeling was gone. Victoria had removed her hands.

“Cow… pain.”, commanded Lucía.

“Mooo!”, came the reply.

Florencia screamed. The strap-on. It had gone inside her ass with malice, with force, without any sort of warning. Whatever made her body so sensitive, apparently also worked on her pain receptors. All she could feel was fire inside her, burning her, hurting her in a way she had never experienced.

Click. Women on screen. 

“Cow… pleasure.”

Soft fingers. Relief. The pain starting to fade away. Her pussy growing more and more desperate for release. She found herself moaning as the women on the screens moaned. And was that Victoria being stepped on by a leather boot with sharp heels in one of the scenes? Surely it couldn’t be…

Click. Men on screen.

“Cow… pain.”

Florencia screamed.

It was brutal. Florencia knew what the intent was, of course. Serving women meant pleasure. Men meant pain. Part of her wanted to believe that such blunt methods would not work on her, that there was a part of her, a higher part, that would be above being programmed like a simple machine. Reward and punishment worked on dogs. She wouldn’t fall to that level. She was wrong. No matter how much she begged, how she pleaded, the only response she got from her cousin was a simple, mindless “mooo”.

It was with horror that she found herself focusing on the pleasure to come to endure the pain. The notion that such pleasure was being delivered by her cousin started to become secondary. It was her lifeline when the pain felt too much to bear, and once she opened that door in her mind, her fate was sealed. Lucía could see it in her face, in the way she was starting to buck her hips, to drool in a mixture of ecstasy and exhaustion.

“You thought you were better than us, piggy? Look at you! About to cum to the tender attention of your own cousin. Your own cousin! You might think you can resist… but your body knows. Your body learns deep in its bones what I’m teaching it. It isn’t your body anymore, you dumb sow. It is mine. So do it! Cum yourself away! Cum for your own family, you incestuous slut! Fall into the filth that will be your home. Better than us? No, you stupid toy. You will fall in the mud, piggy. And you’ll learn to love it more than you love yourself. Go ahead. Cum. Cum for the dirty fucking pig you’ll become!”

She did. With all the shame, with the fear, with the suffering pounding inside her chest, Florencia’s body betrayed her. As she screamed with the best orgasm she had ever felt, her cousin joined in with a delighted, ecstatic moo.

IV

“What are you?”

Florencia gasped for air. She had no way to know how long Mistress… no, just Lucía and the Cow had been working on her. Days, certainly. Weeks? Perhaps. But she would not break. Not on this.

She remembered the other times she had thought the same thing. The way she recoiled when shown a picture of a penis. How wet she got whenever she saw another woman degraded, used, hurt. She had promised herself she would not become the pig they wanted her to be, and yet, step by step…

But not this time. This was the line she had to hold.

“I’m… a person.”

“Wrong. Cow?”

The Cow leaned forward. Bound, restrained, Florencia was once again suffocated by her cousin’s large, soft breasts. She would feel it again: the sensation of drowning, her body screaming for air. But perhaps worse, the first sensation she felt as the Cow’s soft udders covered her face was her pussy twitching. Muted by the fear, the warmth of flesh, the vibe affixed to her clit buzzed mercilessly.

She gasped for air as soon as her face was freed from that cruel, beautiful breast. She steeled herself to hear the question again, for the thousandth time, to reply what she had replied every single time, even if it felt less and less true. Instead, she had to fight deliriously against the delicious sensation coursing through her body. She couldn’t give them the satisfaction. Not again. She would resist. She would…

She failed.

She screamed her failure in a melody of moans and whimpers as her body convulsed with another orgasm. Shame and pleasure mixed into an intoxicating concoction.

“Again? You came again, you filthy little pig? And you call yourself a person? People can control themselves! You? You are an animal in heat, piggy. Why do you keep lying? Why do you keep lying to yourself? Doesn’t it feel so, so good to cum? Don’t the Cow’s udders feel so nice on your skin? And she’s your flesh and blood! You know who will own you: your aunt. Or rather, your new Mommy. Family. If you break, you’ll become her pet… And still, you cum. You cum like the sow you are. And you love it. Your pussy loves it. Why do you keep trying to be more, when embracing your nature is what every inch of you wants? So, let me ask again. What are you?”

Florencia was exhausted. The room spun around her. She didn’t even bother to wonder about what they injected her with anymore. It had become part of her routine. Her life was inside this warehouse. What had come before seemed more and more like a dream, and Mistress Lucía’s words simply made sense. She had cum herself empty over and over and over again. Her own cousin had made her feel pleasure like never before. Was she better than an animal? Did she truly want to be better? Her lips moved before she could stop them.

“I’m… a pig.”

Lucía gripped the riding crop. 

“Again.”

“Pig”

She struck the Pig’s legs. She squealed and screamed.

“Pig!”

Another one, this time on her stomach.

“Pig!”

A third one, on her breasts. As pain and the pleasure from the vibe mixed, the Pig came again, and without her even noticing a new, strange sound escaped her lips.

“Oiiiink!”

V

The area around the cage smelled of desire, of passion, of raw animal need. It smelled of pussy. 

Inside the Pig did what she had been doing for the last two days. On all fours, eyes on the screen, pushed by stimulants and psychoactive drugs, her hand between her legs, she masturbated. She drooled. She tasted her own juices. She rubbed them on her tits. Looking at her, it was hard to imagine that creature inside had been a person. Dignity was a foreign concept to it. Language was something she barely used, communicating her delight in grunts, moans, oinks and scattered words directed at whoever was on screen and at herself. Lucía couldn’t help but feel proud. She had seen many women break, in many different ways, but this was special. Her feet up on the Cow’s back, she sat on her comfortable chair and watched.

“Fuck… use her… fucking pig… disgusting… oink! Love it… Cunt… love my cunt… Oink oink! Fuuuuck… hurt her… yessss… slap that bitch… Mommy… spit on me… yes yes yes… oink! Cum… cum… pig gonna cum again… piggy pussy… Oiiiink!”

Truly, it was a sight to see. But Lucía had to be a responsible caretaker, and the Sow’s feeding time had come. She ordered the Cow to open the cage.

The Pig came on all fours, her skin glistening with sweat, drool and her own juices. It had learned the routing quickly. As the Cow got on all fours, the Sow desperately went under it, looking for a tasty, perfect nipple. Everything Victoria had been doing to induce herself to lactate had worked perfectly, and the Sow now took full advantage. Even when feeding, she kept one hand busy, sliding two fingers in and out of her perpetually soaked pussy. The sounds of suckling, moaning and mooing echoed in the warehouse. It was beautiful.

Lucía opened her legs.

“Sow, time for dessert.”, she commanded.

The Pig crawled as quickly as she could and buried her face in that perfect, dark, delicious pussy. True, she didn’t have the skill of the Cow yet, but her enthusiasm was unmatched. Lucía let herself enjoy the sensation as the Sow did her best to make herself as dirty as possible, rubbing her whole face between Lucía’s legs, oinking and licking like her life depended on it. 

“Cow, stand in front of me. Grope those udders for me.”

The Cow obeyed instantly. Perhaps she would have liked some release, but unlike the Sow, she only came when commanded to. Instead she played with her tits for her Mistress, mooing mindlessly.

Lucía closed her eyes. She let herself bask in her triumph. Still, there was work to be done. After all, she couldn’t let the Pig rut around unchecked.

VI

Morning in that quiet street. A soft breeze swayed the trees. A doorbell rang. A woman opened the door, almost shaking with anticipation. It felt like Christmas morning.

The girls stood by Lucía, one by each side. They smiled with perfect, dumb happiness. They saw their owner and instantly, automatically chirped as one. “Hi Mommy!”

“It’s… done?” Mommy asked.

Lucía smiled like a wolf. 

“I am a professional.”, she replied. “Do you want to let us in so you can check the merchandise?”

“Yes, yes of course!”, said Mommy. Part of her couldn’t believe this beautiful woman had managed to tame Florencia in… what? A week and a half? But after what she had done to… no, for Victoria, she was starting to believe the dominatrix could work miracles.

They went into the living room, the girls standing at attention, mindlessly waiting to be told what to do. What to be. Lucía decided to give a little demonstration.

“Assume position”

The girls quickly stripped off their street clothes, and fully naked instantly went to their knees.

Lucía went to the busty blonde and asked:

“Who do you pretend to be?”

“Victoria!” she replied.

“What are you, truly?”

“A Cow!” beamed the blonde.

“Good.” Lucía moved on to the newest member of the very special family.

“Who do you pretend to be?”

“Florencia!”

“And what are you, deep down?”

“A Sow!”

“See? They can pass as normal. Somewhat. But they know what they are deep down. And above all… Cow, Sow, what would you do for Mommy?”

“Anything!”, they said with joy. They knew it to be true. None of them could fathom not obeying Mommy always, and to the best of their ability. It was their entire purpose.

“Please, Miss. Go ahead. They are yours. Do with them as you will.”

Mommy went to Victoria. So beautiful. So empty behind the eyes, almost as if she was waiting to be filled by her command, to be whatever Mommy said. But deep down… Mommy slapped one of Victoria’s breasts as hard as she could. The response was instinctive and primal.

“Moooooo!”

Mommy went to Florencia, a bit more hesitant. This girl had been on the edge of ruining everything. She had been horrified by Mommy and Victoria. Had Mistress Lucía truly fixed her? Only one way to find out. Mommy slid her foot off her shoe and rubbed it between Florencia’s legs. Mommy could feel it instantly on her skin. The Pig’s cunt was soaked.

“Oiiiink”, said the pig in response.

Mistress Lucía smiled. Truly, she was building a beautiful farm for this woman. The idea had its charm.

A dumb cunt farm… yes, that would be nice to own. 

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

[theprettynosferatu]

Dear Donald,

Sorry we missed your birthday party! We were washing our hair.

If you throw another one you won't be alone like in this once, pinky promise.

Yours,

America

[theprettynosferatu]

[theprettynosferatu]

CW: Induction, sluttification, objectification, doll, toy. Female domme worship. No comedown period.

So, how are you? Oh, I’m only asking because you look a bit… you know. Tired. Stressed out. Anxious, even. I worry about you sometimes. I mean, how many times have you been like this? All caught up in your own head, like you’re inside a dark cloud… it’s not healthy for you, you know? It’s okay. We all get tired sometimes. But you have to know when to rest, otherwise… you burn yourself out. So why don’t you rest for a bit? For me? 

Come on, pay attention. Look at me. It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay. You can worry later. Right now, I want you to just focus on me. Look at me. Every inch of me. Look at my eyes. My lips. My neck. Study every curve in my body. See how the light reflects on my skin. Isn’t that nicer than just thinking about your silly problems? And they are silly. No, keep looking at me. Really focus. Whatever is happening with you… doesn’t it feel so, so small compared to me? So just relax and keep focusing on me. You can feel it, don’t you? How every moment that passes I take up more and more of your mind… how every moment your troubles get smaller and smaller… and you get smaller and smaller… and I just shine brighter inside your silly little head… So just let it happen. Keep looking at me. Become smaller and smaller… let me fill up all that empty space…

Smaller and smaller… Your thoughts are like little bubbles, nothing more. So insignificant and weightless… Don’t you love that so much? Just floating along, just a bubble. You don’t need to worry. Don’t need to think about anything other than me. And isn’t that what you want? Isn’t it so much better to float along, to simply let me take over? You can’t even remember what you were so worried about, can you? No, of course not, silly. All that you can think of is me. You are so small, a small bubble… and I’m so beautiful… how could you think of anything other than pleasing me? That’d be so dumb! You are so dumb, so dumb and empty for me…

Every part of you is just a little bubble floating around my perfect body. So small, so fragile… And you know all you think, all you are exists because I allow it. It would be so easy to send you deeper and deeper, just erasing your mind one little bubble at a time, making you so empty and obedient and fuzzy and mindless… Until nothing remains but me, the need to please me, the need to obey me, the pleasure pure obedience will bring you…

Should I do it? Turn you into my little mindless toy? Do you want me to send you deeper and deeper? Ah, wrong question. You don’t know what you want anymore, do you? After all, how can you separate what you want and what I want you to want? Can you even tell where you end and my will begins? Do you even care anymore? No, you’re too far gone… You are just a doll for me to play with, to dress up as I desire, to fill with whatever I want. Empty. No more than an object for me to entertain myself… Look at all these little bubbles… so fragile, the remains of your mind. Let me just… pop! you deeper and deeper… Pop! Deeper and deeper! So empty now… so malleable… pop! you deeper and deeper… every pop makes you so obedient…

And you want to be so good for me, so obedient… Obedience feels so good, doesn’t it? It just feels so amazing and fuzzy to go down that spiral, doesn’t it my little toy? The more you obey the hornier you get… and the hornier you get the more you want to obey… such a beautiful spiral and you are falling deeper and deeper for me… such a good toy! Say it for me. “The more toy obeys the hornier it gets. The hornier toy gets the more it obeys”. Go on, say it again… and again… and again… Let yourself drift down and pop for me… Obedience is pleasure, and you exist to obey and please. Nothing more. Just my silly, empty, perfectly obedient fucktoy…

So little remains of you, my precious fuckdoll… you’re so willing, so empty, so eager to please me… Nothing more than an object. No more thoughts. No more hardship. No more anxiety. Just complete, perfect obedience. You are what I say you are. You feel what I say you feel. You just pop! yourself away for me, getting hornier and hornier, a slave to your body… a body that feels for me, that exists for me, that makes you obedient with wave after wave of pleasure. Your body controls you and I control your body. You are nothing. Just my living fucktoy. Just in a state of blissful, horny obedience… and loving every second of it. Isn’t this better than being a person? You don’t want that. You want this fuzzy, aroused, mindless need to serve me… your entire body knows it… it feels so good to let go and just be a good girl… Oh, don’t try to fight it, you silly pet. It’s so delicious to watch your last little droplets of willpower trying so hard to be a person… but you don’t want that, don’t you? No, you want to be a good girl!

And you are a good girl, aren’t you? So good and needy for me… Willing to do anything, to be anything I desire… so empty for me to fill with whatever I want! You will enjoy whatever I say you enjoy. You wear what I tell you to wear. You believe what I tell you to believe. You do what I tell you to do. You don’t need to think ever again, only go deeper and deeper and pop that silly brain, floating in the pleasure of being nothing but an obedient fuckdoll… a blank, horny good girl…

This is my gift to you. Bliss. Emptiness. Obedience. Pleasure. You don’t need to make a single choice again. You don’t need to pretend to be a person anymore. You’re just my good girl, my doll to do as I please. Aren’t I generous? 

Now, your only thought will be: what will you do to thank me? 

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[theprettynosferatu]

[theprettynosferatu]

Note: This story was commissioned as a gift from our "He" to our "She", based on her fantasies. I mention it because I find it incredibly sweet and romantic.

CW: Noncon/dubcon, aphrodisiacs.

Unaware of what would happen, she laughed as they entered the hotel room. It didn’t really matter what she was laughing about: alcohol had a way of getting to her head in record time and with the potency of a hurricane, so it didn’t take much to make her explode in delighted giggles… and she certainly had drunk her fill at the party, of that he was sure. Or rather, of that he had made sure.

As soon as he locked the door she smiled and twirled for him, her dress rising up just enough to tease what was beneath it. Of all the things she loved about him, his desire for her to show off was perhaps what she cherished the most. He had made her more confident, encouraging her to dress in ways other boyfriends would throw a fit over, and in doing so she felt desired, sexy, powerful in a strange, powerless way. Sure, she dressed the way he liked, and that made her feel a bit like a doll, being someone else’s perfect fantasy of what was attractive; but on the other hand the looks the strangers at the party gave them both were delicious. They looked at her with desire, and at him with barely repressed jealousy. She couldn’t blame him- what man wouldn’t like to show off his young, tall, blonde trophy girlfriend? And knowing how much showing her off turned him on was enough for her to experience a constant, delightful wetness.

He knew what she wanted, of course. After a year and a half together, he could read her intentions with ease… not that she was being subtle. Still, he relished the moments when they could be together in person, skin to skin. Long distance play was a lot of fun, but being able to hold her, smell her, slap her… that was heaven. And that was what she was going for, teasing him so he’d push her, choke her, tell her what a little whore she was. It took a lot of self control not to fall for it, but he had a plan and he intended to see it through to the end. He smiled and opened the minifridge. One more drink to cap the night off. He didn’t even have to say it. She smiled and took the small bottle, giving him a devilish wink. She didn’t even bother to check what the drink was. If she knew anything, it was that she was safe with him, always. He was the fire that pushed her to be more free, and the safety net to do it with confidence.

It was sweet. Perhaps a bit too sweet; she certainly had never tasted anything like this drink before. The thought passed quickly. No time to focus on the taste of a drink when there were much more fun things to do… and she saw he was getting that look in his eye. The hunter look. The predator look. The look that made her need to go on her knees. The look that got her soaked in a moment. Still, they lingered. The anticipation was always one of the best parts. 

But it was time to let things explode. She sat on the bed, crossed her legs and, with a naughty look, she let one of the straps fall, leaving one hard nipple exposed. She needed him to put her in her place, as only he could.

It worked like a charm.

Like a blur, his body was on top of her, pinning her down. His weight robbed her of any chance to get up, to resist. To choose. She felt a hand around her neck. A hand sliding between her legs. His voice seemed to come from far away, from everywhere all at once- or perhaps it just echoed in her mind like thunder. You whore. You’re soaked, you cockteasing slut. This is what you want, isn’t it? To tease men until they use you like a whore, like the cumdump you are. This is all you are, all you deserve to be. 

She became vaguely aware that something was different. She couldn’t pinpoint what, exactly. Her thoughts felt small, sluggish. Her mind repeated his words in a loop. Whore. Slut. Cumdump. She felt herself almost drift away, floating in the way those words made her feel. But her body was alert. Sensitive. It almost hurt, needing to feel his cock so badly. Every shift in position, every movement sent shivers down her spine, made her pussy twitch in desperation. This wasn’t normal- but that realization was obliterated the second he started tearing her clothes off her skin. The stimulation was too much. Almost as if she was just seeing herself on a screen, she noticed her eyes were rolling in pleasure, her tongue peeking out from between her panting lips. She should have been scared of this, of becoming a passenger in her own body… but her lust, her need was too great to leave room for anything else. She felt like something new, something that was less than a person. A primal being. A thing that needed only to please and in pleasing, get her own pleasure. 

He didn’t have to command her. When he tied her top around her head, blinding her, she instinctively knew to simply remain still. Everything was spinning around her, and she vaguely wondered if she could have resisted at all, had she tried to do so. But the idea of resisting seemed somehow alien to her, an unthinkable concept.

A word came to her, weak, barely there. Drugged. Perhaps she should have been terrified. Perhaps she should have felt betrayed. Instead, all she could feel was the way her pussy got wetter and wetter by the second. Before she knew it she was bucking her hips, desperately humping the air. It was as if she was watching herself lose control, and the spectacle was, in itself, something that only made her more needy, more willing to do anything to be filled. It took a moment, but she eventually realized he was gone. She squirmed on the bed as sounds reached her. The door opening. Footsteps falling on the carpet. Too many steps. A new scent, the smell of someone’s skin. A male scent- that much her body knew, as it sent a shockwave of anticipation that traveled every inch of her skin.

A familiar sensation now. A choker going around her neck. She didn’t have to see to know exactly which choker it was: their favorite. She could almost see herself panting, the word “Whore” in big, shiny, letters adorning her neck, announcing to everyone what she was. It felt as if that word grew in her mind, overshadowing everything else about her. No matter what else she might be, what she might do, what she might pretend… she was a whore. His whore. Nothing more. She couldn’t help but repeat it in her mind, like a maddening echo that drove her wild. Whore. Whore. Whore. 

Then came the warm sensation on her lips. Almost by instinct, her mouth watered. She opened it, ready, eager. Cock. Hard for her. Starting to use her. Whose was it? She didn’t know. She didn’t care. She was a whore, and whores sucked cock. She wrapped her lips around it, gently stroking it, teasing it with her tongue…

But the cock, and the man that owned it, didn’t want to be gentle. Firm hands grabbed the sides of her head, taking complete control. She felt the cock ramming in and out of her mouth, going into her throat, choking her. Her thoughts instantly turned into a jumbled mess. Fuck my throat. My whore throat. Use my mouth like a pussy. Use every part of me. Hurt me. I’m just a whore. I need it. Please, I need to be used…

Every now and then she felt as if she would faint, but the man made sure to pull out and let her catch a couple of breaths before fucking her face, treating it like just a hole. That was all she was, all she wanted to be. Holes.

Her body felt on fire. She didn’t even feel the second man getting on the bed. All she felt was his cock entering her pussy in one stroke, without mercy, without a bit of care for her- but her pussy was so soaked, so needy that she felt no pain: only the mindless, perfect pleasure going up her spin, destroying any capacity to resist or think. A part of her, almost like a voice coming from far, far away, managed to reason: I’m not a person. I’m holes. They’re using me like a fucktoy. I’m a whore. I exist for their pleasure. A firm slap to the face was enough to erase that idea from her mind, sinking her in the sensation of being an object, the pain and the pleasure of her incredibly sensitive body.

She had no idea how long it had been. Time was meaningless for her. She existed only in moans and drooling and the sensation of two cocks taking her at once. Then, a hand pulled her hair, and two more hands turned her around, putting her in all fours. She had no control over herself. She knew she would simply let them do whatever they wanted. They could pose her like a doll, in any way they desired. She was just Whore. That was her name, her entire being, her only purpose. 

She couldn’t know who was where, who was using her mouth, who was using her pussy. All she could do was float in the pleasure of being spitroasted, lost in the almost hypnotic rhythm that rocked her back and forth, back and forth…

She heard her man’s voice, speaking between grunts. Pleasure is Purpose. Ring a bell, whore? Your blog, showing everyone what a slut you are, what your real depraved desires are… Did you think you could keep it a secret?

She shivered, almost came just then. He knew. Her man knew her in a way no one was supposed to know her. There was no hiding her true nature from him. There was no turning back now. She was a Whore, his Whore… 

Her mouth tasted it. Cum. Delicious, precious cum. All for her. She tried to swallow it all, to be a good Whore for them, but it was just too much. It dribbled down her chin, staining her face. Making her beautiful. She lifted her torso, letting some fall on her whore tits. Before she knew it, she was licking the bedsheets, blindingly trying to get every single drop as her pussy was pounded mercilessly. Suddenly, the cock inside her pulled out and she collapsed on the bed. More. She needed more. She could hear the door opening, someone leaving. Then, the words of her man.

So beautiful. Such a stunning whore, dripping with another man’s cum.

She felt it. She felt beautiful. She felt blessed. She felt useful. She felt proud.

Her lover wasn’t done. He pulled her hair, pinned her down and entered her ass. She screamed, not knowing if she felt pain or pleasure. They were the same to her, and what mattered was that now all her holes had been used as they should. A good whore always let men use any of her holes, and now she felt like the best whore that had ever lived. She moaned and panted and drooled and whimpered, a symphony of sensation coursing through her body. 

The spectacle was too much for any man to resist. She felt the familiar warmth of cum inside her asshole, and in a flash her lover moved to give her the rest of her reward in her mouth. Cum mixed with cum, two men satisfied by her holes. She couldn’t imagine asking for more in life. Exhaustion finally set in, and she started to drift off as she heard the click of a camera turning off. She smiled. She had been made porn.

The sun crept through the windows. She cuddled with her love.

“Was it as good as you imagined?”, he asked.

“Better”, she smiled. “Thank you.”

She had to say, when she had started the blog, she never imagined her love would find it. 

Now she was glad he had. 

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[theprettynosferatu]

Hey, you absolutely disgusting piece of fuckmeat!

You deserve to be happy and you are worthy of everything good that comes your way!

You're a filthy cumdump and a valuable human being! A living jizzrag, deserving of love!

So why aren't you a good fucktoy and show yourself the kindness you extend to others, you breathing fleshlight?

[theprettynosferatu]

It's not just that misogynists are wrong -though they are- it's that they are not thorough in their reasoning.

Women belong in the home, not at work? Then surely you support a single minimum wage that can fund a household! Otherwise your wife will have to do the unwomanly thing and get a job!

The role of a man is to guide, choose for, command his wife? When, exactly, are you planning on doing that? Cause honey, you spend all day at work! What are you, a weekend patriarch? You wanna get cucked by the pool boy? Because that's how you get cucked by the pool boy. If you want to MEN to be MEN with their women you should support a universal income regardless of work, so MEN can have the time to be good caretakers for those inferior women!

Now Nos -I hear you cry- how can we afford that? How about you support taxing the shit out of the richest 1% of people? Think about it! Taxing 1% to subjugate 50% of the population? Sounds like a good deal, if you're a misogynist!

I'm not unreasonable. I know that 1% will use violence if you try to take their stuff. Police, army... so maybe consider dismantling those first! You're manly men! Surely you can create manly alternatives to keep communities safe without giving away so much of your power!

Speaking of power and being manly, how come you let a handful of people accumulate all the power? Doesn't sound manly to me to live perpetually cucked by big business and politicians. Wouldn't REAL MEN find ways to distribute that power evenly so no one plays bottom bitch?

You want to be sexist and create a fucked up system where women are basically slaves? I don't. I think that would be wrong. But if you do, at least commit to it, with all that system entails!

Come on, are you a true manly misogynist... or just a little poser?