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Aylee the Alchemist-Slave, Part 6

Story by All These Roadworks.

===

General Dhalg was delighted with Tilly’s new alchemically-augmented tits. As soon as he saw them, he grabbed at them, seizing one of the poor girl’s melons in each hand and using them to drag her bodily to his bedroom. Once there, he threw Tilly on the bed and violently raped her, before having Aylee lick his cum from Tilly’s pussy.

Then he had Tilly kneel over Aylee’s face, so that Aylee could lick Tilly’s pussy, and he used his leather belt to whip Tilly across her new tits until she was able to orgasm from the combination of the pain and Aylee’s tongue. This became a routine – an ordeal that Tilly went through twice daily – and within only a few days Tilly was able to orgasm not just once, but twice, from each session of breast abuse.

Whenever Tilly and Aylee were allowed to be alone together, they would kiss, and make out. Aylee didn’t know whether Tilly genuinely wanted to kiss her – and she no longer cared. She had had no control over anything ever since the day she had been apprenticed to the alchemists, and now, thanks to her alchemical mistake, she possessed this pretty creature body and soul. She had commanded Tilly to sexually desire her, and she had commanded Tilly to act as though she was deeply in love with Aylee, and honestly the thought that Tilly didn’t want this but was forced to do it anyway was as appealing to Aylee as the idea of Tilly holding genuine affection for her.

She had discovered that she loved demonstrating her control over the Orhanian girl. As Tilly desperately tongue-kissed Aylee and professed her passion and love, Aylee would pinch the girl’s clitoris hard, or slap her across the face, and Tilly would have no choice but to thank Aylee and tell her again how much she loved her.

She even made Tilly beg for her own abuse. “Please, mistress, pinch my clit,” Tilly would whisper, in the darkness of the supply closet where they often had their illicit rendezvous. And then Aylee would pinch Tilly’s clit, and Tilly would start to cry, but she would say, “Please, mistress – harder” – and it would make Aylee so wet that she would have to kiss Tilly, then push Tilly to her knees and hump her pussy against Tilly’s face until she had to stop, certain that she would be noisy in her orgasm and that they would both be caught.

“I love you, Tilly,” she would whisper to the enslaved girl, as she sent Tilly back out to her daily duties with a wet sheen of Aylee’s cunt-juices on her face.

But Aylee’s happiness inevitably came to an end. A week after Tilly’s enhancement, it was time for General Dhalg to leave and return to Orhanos – taking Tilly with him.

Aylee wanted to scream in frustration. She wasn’t ready to flee the city yet. She still had preparations to make – but now her only ally was being taken away from her, and she would be returned to the degradation of the Alchemists’ Guild.

“Tilly, you belong to me, no matter where you are,” Aylee whispered to her lover-turned-slave on their final night together in the cages. “I expect you to return to me, as soon as you are able.”

“But how, mistress?” asked Tilly. “The General makes the decisions. I’m just a bitch…”

“Find a way,” said Aylee. “I command you.” And she nipped TIlly’s clit lightly with her teeth, for emphasis, making Tilly squeak.

“Yes, mistress,” said Tilly unhappily. “I love you, mistress.”

“I love you too,” said Aylee – and began to lick Tilly’s pussy, to prove it. A moment later, Tilly began to return the favour, and they spent the rest of the night in mutual sexual pleasure.

The next day Tilly was gone – returned to Orhanos, along with General Dhalg – and Aylee was back in the custody of Master Klax and the Watchful Guild of Alchemists.

She considered not mentioning that Dhalg had given Aylee permission to orgasm while she was away – but she remembered how her slutty orgasm had altered her magical treatment of Aylee, and she remembered also how Master Klax had warned her about the dire consequences of orgasming around the finely-tuned equipment in the alchemists’ tower. And so she confessed to her new ability as soon as she was reunited with her Master, and Klax once again removed her ability to cum.

She cried as she realised that she would have no more of the wonderful rape-orgasms and lesbian climaxes she had enjoyed at the Orhanian Embassy – and possibly would never orgasm again, unless she completed her escape from her apprenticeship.

But the day of her escape was still in the future, and so she reapplied herself to her studies under Klax. She knelt before him, and drank his piss, and couldn’t help but beam with pride as he called her an “acceptable cunt” for her success in altering Tilly’s tits for the Orhanian general.

To Aylee’s surprise, she learned that her next assignment would be in the Battery – the fortress-like installation where gynaetic energy was harvested from the pain and degradation of caged women in order to provide power to the lights, heaters and other machines of Vass.

“You will be learning to craft a Halistrax Field,” said Klax. “You may consider it a great honour. Very few cunts have sufficient brain-power to understand the equations of the Great Deducer. We shall see if you are one of them.”

Aylee hadn’t been inside the Battery since her family visit on her 18th birthday. The inside was still mildly terrifying to her. The walls were of thick, brutal stone. Level after level of identical circular rooms were stacked on top of each other, each lit with a cool, blue light, and the walls of each room were lined with wire cages.

Each cage held a naked, abused woman, trapped on all fours, and most of them were crying or screaming.

Klax instructed Aylee on the workings of the battery as they entered within.

“Each bitch within the Battery has been fitted with Halistrax implants,” he told Aylee. “They’re rather like your collar, except they’re directly implanted in her body – located at the brainstem, the groin, and in the breasts. They harvest the woman’s gynaetic energy and transfer it to the yonic accumulator on the upper floor of the structure. The energy is produced from a woman’s sexual arousal, shame, fear, and pain responses, so the implants work to maximise those feelings in each bitch. She is kept in a constant state of extreme arousal, while pain is triggered randomly in her tits and cunt.”

Aylee shuddered. The women in the cages looked miserable – and they had been here for most of their lives, and would remain here for the rest of them. This was the price of Vass’ fortune and prosperity.

“There is a small meter implanted on each bitch’s left hip,” said Vass, “through which you can read the magnitude of her recent gynaetic output. For your first week here, you will be required to do nothing other than experiment with the bitches, and see how your treatment of them can raise or lower their output.”

Aylee looked at her master questioningly. Did he mean she was to….

“Hurt them, yes, Aylee,” said Klax. “See if you can do a better job of torturing their tits and cunt than the implants do. You’ll need an intuitive understanding of the creation and flow of gynaetic energy to master the production of Halistrax fields.” He laughed. “Don’t worry, they’re quite safe. The implants render them completely incapable of harming anyone, or refusing any order they’re given. They’re also prevented from using human languages. Just treat them like the animals they are.”

And so Aylee was left alone in the battery for a week, with all the caged women therein as her toys.

At first she was hesitant to hurt the women. She started a large-breasted brunette girl her own age. She released the bitch from her cage, and led her to the centre of the room, where Klax had allowed Aylee to lay out some blankets and pillows for comfort. She stroked the girl’s hair, and treated her kindly – and watched as the girl’s gynaetic energy output diminished, as shown by the small metal gauge implanted in her hip.

At first it was just nice to lie there with the girl in her arms, cuddling contentedly. It reminded her of Tilly. It reminded her, in an odd way, of her own sister Hana.

But then Aylee’s cunt began to throb. The girl felt a little *too* much like Tilly. She was looking up at Aylee with gratitude and happiness. Aylee had reduced her discomfort, and the girl clearly wanted to please Aylee, so….

Aylee gently pushed the girl’s head down towards her pussy. When the girl understood what was happening, she started to struggle – but Aylee just pushed firmly, and soon the girl was licking Aylee’s cunt.

It was just like her first experience raping a girl, in front of her whole family on her 18th birthday. It felt good. And it was also like her experience in dominating Tilly, after accidentally enslaving the Orhanian girl with her magic. Aylee controlled so little in her life that having total control over another girl was addictive.

She humped her cunt hard against the girl’s face, barely letting the poor thing breathe, but of course she couldn’t orgasm, and could only become more and more frustrated.

In the end she pushed the girl away from her, angry and despairing at her inability to find release. She noted that the girl’s gynaetic output was up again. For a brief moment, Aylee was filled with ugly thoughts – unfair thoughts, but ones she nevertheless couldn’t resist. She felt abandoned by Tilly. Tilly should have been here, helping Aylee to cum, but instead she was off in Orhanos, probably fucking her canine boyfriend. And this nameless battery cunt was no replacement for Tilly’s beautiful, affectionate tongue.

Maybe if the battery bitch had tried harder, Aylee would have been able to cum.

She reached out and grabbed the girl’s left tit, and twisted, and pulled. The girl squealed, and hearing her squeal made Aylee feel good. She pulled on the girl’s other breast, with the same result.

And then it really sank in that Aylee could do *anything* to this girl, as long as she left the girl basically intact, and not only would there be absolutely no consequences, but the girl would never even be able to tell anyone. And the crueller she was, the more her Master Klax would approve.

Thoughtfully, experimentally, Aylee punched the girl in the tit.

After that, there was no holding Aylee back. She spent the week practicing the craft of inflicting pain. After the first girl, she usually worked with two or even three bitches at a time, forcing one girl to lick at Aylee’s cunt while she tortured a second.

“I’m sorry,” she would whisper to the girls sometimes – because part of her felt tremendously guilty about her treatment of these women, and knew it was deeply wrong – but she wasn’t really sorry, because the more she hurt these girls, the more she came to see them as sub-human, just animals, not really thinking beings at all.

She discovered a love of abusing breasts. Or at least, she loved to abuse breasts while she was horny. The wetter she was, the wetter it made her to torture a girl’s tits. But in the few moments where she calmed down, and let her pussy stop throbbing, she would sometimes experience great shudders of shame at the cruel things she had done, and the response it had produced in her pussy.

She played with slapping tits, punching them, pulling on them. Master Klax brought her a selection of tools and toys, and she found she quite enjoyed whipping a girl’s tits until they were purple and the girl was crying – the larger the breasts, the better. She experimented with chaining two girls together via clamps attached to their nipples and making them play tug-of-war. She made girls put their own tits in vices, and wind the vice closed on their titflesh while masturbating and crying until she told them to stop.

Cunts were fun to hurt, too, whether whipping them, punching them, putting clamps on them, or just stuffing things up inside them.

She dutifully took measurements of the gynaetic output of all her abuses for the benefit of her Master. And she discovered something interesting.

The greatest outputs weren’t produced simply by the greatest pain. The largest surges of gynaetic energy were produced by *contrast*. Hurting a girl generated energy, yes – but if she was *nice* to the girl first, and stroked her hair, and told her she was pretty – and *then* tortured the girl savagely, and told her it was all her own fault for being disappointing and stupid, the gynaetic energy generated was exponentially higher.

And so she began to play head games with the girls of the Battery, trying to convince them that she loved them prior to abusing them, and then convincing them that they had caused their own abuse somehow.

At the end of the week, Klax came to take Aylee home to the Guild, prior to the next step of her training. Aylee didn’t want to go. She wanted to hurt the girls more. Klax had to practically drag her away, and confine her in her room in the Guild, until finally Aylee slept.

The next day she felt terrible. She had barely been awake for a few minutes before she found herself vomiting. The events of the last week seemed like a blur. What had she done? She had tortured so many girls – and loved doing it. It seemed unbelievable to her now. Was she a monster? She began to cry, with the knowledge of what a horrible slut she was.

“Oh, do be quiet,” said Klax, entering her chamber. “I dosed you with Beastrose. It reduces the barriers that normally suppress the Nine Impure Natures within you. It effectively reduced you to your true form as an animal that thinks with your cunt. Even as slutty as you are, you never would have behaved that way had you not been drugged. It was important that you gain an understanding of how abuse powers the Battery, and I simply didn’t have the patience to deal with you pretending that hurting other bitches didn’t make your cunt wet.”

Aylee felt dizzy, and overcome with strange gratitude to Klax. It *wasn’t* her fault that she had done those things. She had been drugged! Sure, she may have been willing to rape that girl on her 18th birthday – but her family had told her to. And sure, she had dominated Tilly – but Tilly *loved* her, and she had never really hurt Tilly.

And yet her cunt pulsed with the memory of how *good* it had felt to rape one girl’s face while punching another girl in the tits…

“Now get up,” said Klax. “Your sister is coming.”

Aylee was confused. “My sister?” she asked. “Hana? Why?”

“So you can take her measurements, of course,” said Klax. “It’s her 18th birthday.”

Had so much time passed since Aylee joined the guild? She had lost track. Her sister Hana was 18 now?

But something else commanded her attention.

“Her measurements?” she asked. “What measurements?”

“Why, for a Halistrax Field, of course,” said Klax. “Why else do you think I’ve had you working in the Battery?” He paused, and looked at her. “Were you not aware of your sister’s fate?”

“What fate?” asked Aylee with dread – although at some level, she already knew.

“Your parents are selling Hana to the Battery,” said Klax. “Soon she will be just another of those nameless bitches you spent the week raping – and her sacrifice will help to bring power to the whole city…”

===

If you enjoyed this story, you’ll love my novella The Ternish Betrayal, a tale of high fantasy degradation, available for only $3.99 USD from my creator site. (Click here to view in store.)

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#aylee the alchemist-slave #fantasy #slave #reluctant lesbian #nsft story #story #caption #femsub

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atrfiction · 2 months

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Persephone Nine, Chapter 18 - The Offer

Story by All These Roadworks.

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As soon as Vice raised his gun, the Galliard men responded, and suddenly Vice was looking down the barrels of eight heavy blasters, each capable of punching a hole through an inch of hypersteel.

It took everything Vice had not to waver, or blink, but keep his aim fixed firmly on the Galliard leader’s chest.

“Jayson Vice,” said the leader. “You do not want to do this. We outnumber and outgun you. The only possible outcome of a conflict is that you will be dead, and we will rape and take possession of all of your women, rather than just one.”

“Well, that’s not quite right,” said Vice. “I guess seven of you will will rape my women – but you, friend, won’t be one of them, because you’ll be dead when I pull this trigger.”

It was a bluff – not because Vice wasn’t willing to risk his life, if it came to it, but because the gun he was holding was a stun rifle. It wouldn’t kill anyone – and he wasn’t even completely sure it would knock a Galliard out, given their size and physique. He hadn’t dared to keep lethal weapons around the camp, on the general principle that the person most likely to be shot by them would be himself. Did the Galliard know that? Could they tell what his gun did? Had Female Pig told them anything that might give it away?

There was a long, tense silence – and then the Galliard leader spoke.

“We did not come here to fight you, Jayson Vice,” he said. “We are not your enemies. We are united by a shared desire to teach women their natural place as tools, as animals, as cum receptacles. We understand you feel possessive of your herd of bitches, as any male would. But one of your bitches has yet to understand her place. Female independence is a disease, Jayson Vice, and left unchecked, it will infect others. Your bitch is sick. Surely you wish her to receive treatment?”

Vice paused. He really didn’t know what they were proposing, and more information couldn’t hurt. “What is this treatment?” he asked.

“A simple rearrangement of the female brain,” said the Galliard leader. “A machine, located in our main camp. Certain concepts are embedded deeply and fundamentally in an unaltered female brain – her identity, her survival instinct, her autonomic processes such as her heartbeat and her breathing. The machine simply takes an additional concept – her essential inferiority to men – and embeds it as deeply and permanently as those other functions. Thoughts of rebellion and independence will thereafter be discarded by the bitch’s brain as quickly as they are formed.”

Vice was astonished. “That’s impossible,” he said – and then turned to look at his women. “Isn’t it?” he whispered.

They shrugged. None of them knew. Though it was certainly not a science any of them had heard of before.

He turned back to the Galliard. “I don’t believe you,” he said.

“Whether you believe or disbelieve does not change its truth, Jayson Vice,” said the Galliard. “You will find we have made many breakthroughs in the science of bitches, here on Persephone Nine. Once you no longer regard a bitch as human, or care about her comfort or happiness or rights or consent, many new avenues of discovery make themselves available.”

Vice had assumed that the Galliard would be limited to the technology they had brought with them when they had first founded their colony on the planet – technology that would now be around a hundred years out of date, and degraded and unrepairable to boot. But if what they were saying was true, Vice had made a mistake. The Galliard were significantly more advanced than he had given them credit for.

And with that realisation, a thought began to form – a thought as yet incomplete, but intriguing, and deserving of further consideration.

He put the thought aside for now, leaving it to his unconscious mind to turn over.

“What would happen to her after she was processed?” he asked.

“The process would leave her requiring close male control, discipline and supervision in order to feel happy and secure,” said the Galliard leader. “We would normally share that obligation among the men of the tribe, which each man taking a rostered opportunity to rape her and attempt to breed her. After she is impregnated, we would normally transfer her to the bitch pens, to reside with the other fuckpigs – but if you felt you had something of value to us, you could perhaps use it to buy her back from us – or perhaps trade her for another of your bitches, if there is one you are tired of.”

“She’s my property,” said Vice. “Why should I have to buy her back from you at all?”

“We are increasing her value by giving her the treatment,” said the leader. “And in any case you have forfeited your right to her by failing to properly instruct her in her worthlessness.”

“And so we’re back at our standoff,” said Vice, his gun still trained on the leader’s chest.

The leader sighed. “It is almost never the case that a bitch is worth killing a fellow male over,” he said. “Very well. Let me propose a deal. Allow us into your camp, and we will demonstrate to you the merits of Galliard technology by gifting you with a few pieces of basic equipment that will allow you to properly exploit your bitches. We will demonstrate this equipment for you, and then, if you do not want to submit your bitch for treatment, we will leave you alone.”

Vice narrowed his eyes. “Seriously? If I don’t agree to have Cunt treated with you, you’ll just leave us be?”

“You will still be watched, Jayson Vice,” said the Galliard. “And if we see signs of independence or… feminism… spreading to your other bitches, we will be forced to sterilise your entire camp.”

Vice could tell that the Galliard didn’t mean they would be prevented from breeding. This was the kind of sterilisation that involved fire and death.

And yet it was a better deal than Vice had had a moment ago. The Galliard were not bluffing when they said they could kill him easily, providing they were willing to pay the cost.

And besides, there was that idea that he was turning over at the back of his brain…

“Leave your guns outside,” he said. “Clearly you could physically overpower us, even without weapons. Let’s all put down the firearms and prevent any… miscommunications.”

“Very good, Jayson Vice,” grinned the Galliard leader, dropping his gun on the sand of the beach. “Let us, indeed, communicate better.”

===

The women were terrified of the eight-foot-tall beastmen as they strode into the camp – and at close range, the pheromones of the Galliard were even more powerful. Vice saw that his women were finding it difficult to avoid staring at the monstrous cocks of the genetically-augmented colonists.

“Your bitches may feel free to suck our dicks as we speak, Jayson Vice,” said the leader. “It is, after all, the natural instinct of the bitch.”

Should he let the women suck the cocks of these strangers? Vice was torn. He wasn’t jealous, as such. The value of his harem wasn’t lowered by letting them service other cocks, and it was hardly as if Vice wanted to use them himself right now. And there was nothing that Vice liked better than seeing his women humiliated, degraded and submissive – and he guessed that admitting they wanted to suck the foot-long dicks of these monstrous invaders might be very humiliating for them.

But there remained a lingering fear – that his women would prefer these oversized fucksticks to his own more human cock, and desire to be collared by the Galliard rather than stay enslaved to him.

He looked at the women – and met the eyes of Telea. And all it took was one glance to be completely, unshakably confident that the beautiful, submissive former-lesbian would never leave him for anything.

“Go for it,” he told the girls. “If you want to suck our guests’ cocks, go for it.”

Telea was clearly imagining it, and she was wide-eyed as she stared at the huge cocks, but she moved to stand loyally at Vice’s side.

Cunt, too, simply moved closer to Vice – but then she spoke, whispering in Vice’s ear. “Sir,” she breathed. “I don’t want to be… brain-wiped,or whatever they’re going to do to me. Bred. Impregnated. Please…”

Vice sighed. Why couldn’t Cunt understand that no good would come of a woman voicing opinions within earshot of the Galliard? It would only make her situation worse.

“Telea, slap Cunt until she learns to keep her face-twat closed,” said Vice.

“Yes, sir,” said Telea immediately, and promptly slapped Cunt across the face three times. “Don’t be a stupid Laurel,” she hissed afterwards. “No one cares what you want or don’t want.”

Victoria and Amy, meanwhile, had tried to resist the desires the pheromones were inspiring in them – but their wills were too weak, and soon each were crawling across the ground, each taking the cock of a Galliard male in their hand, and then beginning first to kiss it, then to slobber and drool over it, and then to enthusiastically suck on it, gagging occasionally as its tip pressed against the backs of their throats.

The expressions on their faces told Vice they were humiliated – that they didn’t want to be doing this, and felt like disgusting sluts for so eagerly servicing the unnatural dicks. And yet they couldn’t help themselves. Their cunts were in the grip of the pheromones, and their brains would do what their cunts demanded.

The Galliard happily fucked the girls’ faces for a few minutes, until the leader shook his head.

“We have work to do,” he told the men receiving the blowjobs. “Mount the bitches, so we can begin.”

Before Victoria and Amy knew what was going on, their mouths were pushed off the cocks, and then vicious clamps were applied to their tits, each of which gripped a significant amount of their titflesh in an unyielding vice. A long loop of metal cable – maybe five feet in length connected each girl’s left tit to her right.

Then the Galliard picked the girls up off the ground, and turned them upside down, their heads down, their asses up. They lifted the girls up and ducked their head through the loop of cable, so that the cable now ran from the girl’s left tit, around behind the Galliard’s neck, and back to her right tit.

Slowly, they lowered the girls until their mouths were level with the Galliard’s cock. Obediently, the terrified girls opened their mouths again and began to suck. Then, the Galliard tapped the girl’s legs, indicating they should wrap their legs around the Galliard’s shoulders to support their weight.

The girls did this immediately – because by now they had realised the truth of their predicament. If they could not hold themselves up with their legs, then the entire weight of their body would be borne by their tits, via the cable running behind the Galliard’s neck.

The girls clenched their legs tightly around the men they were sucking – and this position left their pussy and anus spread directly below the Galliard’s chin. The Galliard who were carrying the girls were now passed tools, which had previously hung on the belt of the leader, and they proceeded to insert the handles of these tools into the cunt and anus of Victoria and Amy.

The tool that went in the cunt had a long, thick handle, with a little clamp hanging off near the head of the tool, and the Galliard attached this clamp to the girl’s clitoris, to stop her cunt muscles pushing the intruding object back out of her. The other tool had a tapered handle rather like a butt plug, which kept it neatly in place once the Galliard had spat on the girl’s anus and then worked the thick tool into her butthole. It was clear that both of these tools were specifically designed to be holstered in a bitch’s orifices in exactly this manner. It wasn’t immediately clear to Vice what the tools *did* – each ended in a piece of high-tech metal that might plausibly have been a welding torch, a drill or screwdriver, or a sensor of some kind.

With their dick-sucking female toolbelts “mounted” in place, the Galliard went to work. They made use of the existing materials in the base, the remnants of the Cinnabar Hawk, the fabricator, and the services of Rospar, and in a relatively short time it was clear that several devices of significant technological advancement were taking place.

There was nothing for Vice to do, so he sat, and had Telea come and suck on his cock, while he made Cunt masturbate and read passages from the Book of Galliard about how she was a parasite that fed on sperm, and how she was an empty vessel designed to be ejaculated into and impregnated. He thought that it might please the Galliard, or at least not make them any more ill-tempered.

Vice came quickly from Telea’s tongue, but it was pleasant to be in her mouth, so he kept her there throughout the day. By contrast, when Amy or Victoria managed to make the men they were mounted on ejaculate, they were simply transferred to a new Galliard, and forced to begin sucking the dick of their new wearer.

Vice was somewhat worried about them being upside-down for so long, so he broached the subject with the Galliard leader – who turned out to have the decidedly un-monstrous name of Confidence. (All Galliard men, it seemed, were named for a perceived masculine virtue, such that several of the other Galliard men had names such as Fortitude, Certainty and Practicality.)

“Do not worry, Jayson Vice,” said Confidence. “The semen of the Galliard has been crafted to have many benefits for a sufficiently talented bitch. They may be uncomfortable in the mounted position, but providing they drink enough of our sperm today, they will suffer no meaningful harm.” He laughed. “In fact, they will likely receive more helpful vital nutrients and vitamins from our cocks than from whatever out-planet slop you were fabricating for them.”

And for all their discomfort, Victoria and Amy seemed to also be deriving some pleasure from their predicament – or, at least, Vice saw them visibly orgasm on several occasions, always being when a tool was being removed from their cunt or anus, or re-inserted.

“Out-planet bitches spend their lives trying to avoid this reality,” observed Confidence during one such orgasmic display, “but they derive their greatest pleasure when they are treated like the mindless objects they are. A bitch desires for her holes to be useful. One must merely put those holes to use.”

And then, finally, the work was done. The devices – three of them – were completed. And the Galliard leader motioned for Vice to look upon their creations.

“Come here, Jayson Vice,” he said, “and see the utility that can truly be extracted from bitches, if one has but the machines to do so.”

And he laughed – a laugh that did not suggest good things for Vice’s four women…

===

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#persephone nine #sci-fi #castaway #harem #story #erotic story #nsft #caption

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atrfiction · 2 months

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Her Best Self

Story by All These Roadworks.

Amanda’s boyfriend had prepared a present for her birthday – an appointment with a hypnotist to help her succeed at the law firm. The hypnotist would condition her, tell her that she could be anything, that she would dedicate herself to her chosen pursuit, make it the whole of who she was, the entirety of her identity, and excel.

She sat in a trance as the hypnotist told her those things, and listened as the hypnotist said, “Now, when I snap my fingers you will leave this room, and walk out into the waiting room and see your boyfriend, and he will tell you what you are going to be, and you are going to be the best version of that thing you can be.”

He snapped his fingers, and she skipped eagerly from the room into her boyfriend’s arms. She snuggled against him, and waited for him to say the words “commercial lawyer”, and activate her newly conditioned motivation to strive for perfection in that field.

Instead he leaned down to bring his mouth against her ear and said, slowly and deliberately, “obedient, stupid, rapeable fucktoy”…

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#her best self #bimbofication #hypno #maledom #femsub #caption #story

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atrfiction · 2 months

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Famous

Story by All These Roadworks.

===

The man said that he could make Brianna famous. He told her that he had a lot of contacts in the film industry, and he could get her a starring role, and he was so authoritative and in control that when he told her to take out her tits and spread her legs, she just did it – nervous, blushing, but obedient. She guessed this was how you got film roles as a pretty girl. It was worth it if it made her famous.

When he took out his cock and told her to open her mouth she did that, too. and when he told her to spread her pussy to be fucked she obeyed again. By this point she felt embarrassed, and dirty – and ashamed, because her traitorous pussy was getting wetter and wetter with each fresh new humiliation. She didn’t want to be fucked this way – by a man she barely knew – and yet it seemed her cunt had a different opinion.

In any case, she found it hard not to obey the man’s instructions and submit to his demands. She was, after all, a good girl at heart, and good girls do as they’re told.

When it was all done, and she was naked and ravished, his cum dripping from her well-used pussy, he kept his promise. He made her a film star. He made her famous.

The video of her being fucked was on all the best porn sites within hours. He uploaded it to Facebook too. He really didn’t need to specifically tag all her friends and family so they’d see it, but he was thorough. He kept her there until her parents, shocked, saw the video and rang her cell phone, and then he started fucking her again while she tried to explain herself to them.

It was the start of a porn career for her, of course. Once a girl has orgasmed noisily from being raped while trying to explain to her father why she’s acting like a whore, she quickly comes to understand she was just never intended to have a job that involved wearing clothes, and that a slut like her really only deserves one kind of fame.

===

If you enjoyed this story, you’ll love my e-book Star Potential – Stories from the Casting Couch, available for only $3.99 USD from AllTheseRoadworks.com. (Click here to view in store.)

===

#famous #s3xy story #maledom #femsub #caption #story #humiliation

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atrfiction · 2 months

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Aylee the Alchemist-Slave, Part 5

Story by All These Roadworks.

===

Getting permission for Tilly to orgasm from her breast pain turned out to be easier than Aylee had thought.

All she had to do was wiggle pleasingly during her morning raping, and beg General Dhalg for permission for Tilly to cum from the agony she would soon feel in her tits, and encourage Dhalg to beat Aylee’s *own* tits with the belt from his uniform, and Dhalg agreed.

“Let the little bitch learn to cum from tit pain,” laughed Dhalg. “Once you expand her breasts into fuckmelons like you promised, I’ll be having fun with them every day.” And then he called Tilly into his bedroom, and repeated the permission to her directly.

After that it was just a matter of brewing and administering the potion that would make Tilly’s modest breasts swell into giant sex-balloons.

Aylee was nervous as she mixed the potion. She had orgasmed when harvesting the semen of the black bull, releasing powerful gynaetic energy that may have corrupted the bull’s seed. Her Master had warned her not to do such a thing, but had never explained to her what the consequences might be. She had to hope for the best.

To hedge her bets, she brewed a second, different potion – a medical fluid which her Master had taught her. She injected this second potion directly into her own tits, and gasped as she felt it take effect. For the next week, her breast milk would take on anaesthetic qualities, rendering it useless for further alchemy – but helpful in dulling the pain Tilly would soon experience.

For the procedure itself, and its aftermath, the girls had been given one of the guest rooms in the Embassy – wildly opulent by the standards Aylee was used to, but of course the dog cage would be unsuitable for properly caring for Tilly during the three days that her tits would be growing. They would not be disturbed during that time, except to have meals delivered.

Tilly lay nervously on the guest room bed, naked, while Aylee knelt between her legs and began to lick her pussy. The endorphins of arousal would help Tilly bear the pain, she knew. Once Tilly was moaning and bucking against Aylee’s face, Aylee rose, took up the syringe of potion, and injected it into Tilly’s breasts.

Tilly screamed as the fluid went in, and clutched at her boobs.

“Sssh,” said Aylee. She sat beside Tilly, and moved Tilly’s head into her lap. Then she leaned forward, and offered her left nipple to Tilly’s mouth. Tilly took it eagerly, and began to suck violently, making Aylee gasp – but she felt her milk squirting onto Tilly’s tongue, and saw the effect immediately take hold. Tilly was still in enormous pain – but she was able to focus her eyes now, and was looking up at Aylee with a look of genuine gratitude as she suckled at Aylee’s udder.

“Good girl,” said Aylee. “Soon you’ll have big cow-teats like these too.” And she used her free hand to reach between Tilly’s legs and masturbate her.

Tilly orgasmed almost immediately – her first orgasm since she had entered General Dhalg’s service – and when she recovered from it, and gazed up at Aylee, the expression on her face was pure love. Aylee liked it so much that she eagerly made Tilly orgasm again.

And for the next three days, Aylee’s life was Tilly. She had no duties other than to feed Tilly food and milk and play with Tilly’s body.

At first she focused on Tilly’s pleasure, kissing and stroking the pretty Orhanian girl, fingering her pussy or just licking it, and encouraging Tilly to suck on Aylee’s milk-filled tits on a regular schedule. Tilly was in so much pain she could barely speak, and Aylee knew from her own experience that Tilly wasn’t thinking clearly, and wouldn’t remember much of what happened during this period – but still, the looks of adoration that Tilly gave her after each orgasm felt special to Aylee.

But soon Aylee could no longer ignore the pulsing of her own cunt, and so she mounted Tilly’s face so that Tilly could lick Aylee in return. Tilly did – desperate for Aylee to keep her aroused, and keep giving her orgasms and milk to stave off the agony in her slowly-expanding tits. In return, Aylee kept her attention on Tilly’s pussy – first by 69ing her, licking her fuckhole as Tilly licked Aylee’s. But then she began to just experiment with Tilly’s cunt – pulling on her pussy lips, teasing her vagina, pinching and pulling on her clitoris with increasing levels of force, and finally just punching Tilly in the cunt, hard.

It didn’t seem to matter what she did to Tilly, or how degrading or painful it was – it still made Tilly cum. By now Tilly’s breasts were large enough that she would never fit into her old uniforms, and the concepts of pleasure and pain were getting mixed up in her brain.

Seeing this, Aylee stopped trying to specifically please Tilly, and just used the girl as her sextoy, rubbing her cunt and tits against any part of Tilly that took her fancy, and doing anything with Tilly’s body she liked. She forced her toes into Tilly’s mouth and made Tilly suck on them. She made Tilly lick at her anus. She slapped and punched Tilly’s growing boobs, for fun – which seemed to increase the girl’s already substantial agony tenfold. It didn’t matter what she did to Tilly, or how painful or degrading it was – as soon as Tilly orgasmed, she would thank Aylee for every act of abuse.

“I love you, mistress,” Tilly said once, lying in a haze of pain and pleasure after Aylee had experimented with kicking Tilly in the pussy until she orgasmed. Aylee was doubly stunned by the statement – surprised to be loved as much as she was surprised to be called “mistress”. She decided she liked it, she realised immediately – but despite some prompting, Tilly didn’t use either of those words again for the rest of her recovery.

Despite the pleasure and the orgasms, Tilly spent much of the three days of her breast expansion crying. Aylee, lost in her own haze of sexual gratification, came to associate Tilly’s crying face with arousal and pleasure, and by the third day, hearing Tilly start to sob made Aylee’s cunt pulse hungrily.

She wondered if these feelings were wrong. Was it bad to be aroused by a woman’s abuse? Surely it was – and yet, the entirety of Vass was magically powered by the abuse of women. Every citizen benefited from the tears of sluts. And Tilly may be crying – but she was orgasming too.

And besides, Aylee realised, of course it couldn’t be wrong. “Because I love her,” she whispered to herself.

Was that true? Did she love Tilly? What was love, anyway? Was it thinking a girl was pretty when her face was covered in your cunt juices? Was it finding the sound of her misery arousing? Was it wanting to hold her as she wept and shook, and wanting to masturbate her pussy to orgasm so that she would cum from her pain while you held her in your arms?

She loved Tilly. She was certain of it.

By the end of the three days, when the pain had faded, Tilly had giant round sex-balloons. They were the same size as Aylee’s, really, but they looked even larger on Tilly’s smaller body. Tilly would probably need some time to adjust her balance as she walked, to avoid the weight of her tits making her fall over.

They lay in bed on their last night together, Aylee running her hands over Tilly’s giant new fuckbags, making Tilly shiver with pleasure and arousal.

Aylee knew she shouldn’t say what she was about to say, but she couldn’t help herself.

“I’m going to escape, you know,” she said. “From the Guild, from the Embassy, from Vass – from all of it.” She looked Tilly in the eyes. “And I want you to come with me.”

Tilly’s mouth opened in an O of horror, and Aylee immediately knew she had made a mistake. Tilly was loyal to her General, to her country. She would turn Aylee in – to Dhalg, to Klax – and Aylee would be killed, or punished so severely she couldn’t even imagine it.

But instead, Tilly said, “I will go with you.”

Then her eyes bugged out of her head. “Why am I saying that? I don’t want to go with you. We’ll never escape! They’ll catch us! They’ll kill us! My place is with my General.” She paused, and then said, “But I will go with you.” And then, immediately, she gasped, and clapped a hand over her mouth.

Aylee didn’t understand what was happening. “It’s okay,” she said. “I have a plan. And I know alchemy, we can…”

Tilly interrupted her. “No, Aylee, you don’t understand. I don’t want to say that I’ll go with you – but I can’t help myself. It’s like it’s not my choice. What’s happening?” She looked desperate.

A suspicion began to form in Aylee’s mind – a terrible, wonderful suspicion. “Tilly, reach down between your legs and pinch your clit as hard as you can,” she said.

Tilly did as Aylee said – but her face was still panicked. “I’m not doing this!” she said. “I don’t want to – but I can’t stop myself!” And then she squealed, as her fingers pinched her clitoris.

“Tell me a secret that would betray the general,” said Aylee, smiling.

“He’s using military money to buy himself premium alcohol, and he’s not authorised for that spending,” said Tilly – and then she stuffed her free hand into her mouth, to stop herself saying more, even as she kept pinching her clit.

“It’s the potion,” said Aylee, in wonder. “I knew something was different. It didn’t just enlarge your breasts – it’s put you under my control.” She paused. “At least, I hope it’s just my control. Maybe it’s *anyone’s* control.”

“No,” moaned Tilly. “It’s just you. I can feel it. It’s your voice – I want to obey. I’m thinking of the General, and I don’t even feel that way about him. What have you done to me, Aylee? I can’t betray my country.”

“Sssh,” said Aylee, stroking Tilly’s hair, and Tilly immediately fell silent.

She thought, as she stroked Tilly. This was wonderful – for so many reasons. She looked down at the pretty officer, and said, “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you,” said Tilly immediately – and she sounded as she had the day before. It sounded real.

“Call me mistress,” said Aylee. “No, wait – any time that we’re definitely alone, with no one listening, call me mistress.”

“Yes, mistress,” said Tilly. And then, “I love you, mistress.”

There it was. The words Aylee wanted. They felt good.

“I love you too, Tilly,” said Aylee. “You will never tell anyone that you are secretly my slave, no matter what. Do you understand?”

‘Yes, mistress,” said Tilly.

“Good girl,” said Aylee. “Now you can stop pinching your clit, and instead rub your pussy until you cum. And then we’re going to start planning to escape together…”

===

If you enjoy this story, you’ll love my e-book The Ternish Betrayal – A Novella of High Fantasy Degradation, available for only $3.99 USD from the ATR store. Your purchase shows your appreciation and helps me keep creating new, free erotica! (Click here to view.)

===

#aylee the alchemist-slave #arth-keros #magic #slave #maledom #femsub #caption #story #reluctant lesbian #ff #mf

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atrfiction · 2 months

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Bella's Apology, Part 7

Story by All These Roadworks.

===

Bella felt guilty all the time.

She felt guilty because she was cheating on Charles every day at work, allowing her boss to rape her, although she didn’t know how to make it stop. She felt guilty because she so often orgasmed from his rapes.

She felt guilty because when she *did* fuck Charles, he told her that she was mediocre and disappointing to fuck. Each time she took his cock in her pussy, or in her mouth, she tried harder to focus on his pleasure while ignoring her own, wiggling and bucking harder, moaning louder, encouraging him to use and hurt her for his pleasure. Fucking him this way made her feel dirty and whorish, but not nearly as much as Charles’ assurances that she wasn’t even very good at it.

She felt guilty because she had dyed blonde hair, and nipple and clitoris piercings, and the words “I CUM FROM RAPE” tattooed on her skin, which she know made her look like a whore. She felt guilty when she saw her female friends, because they only saw her hair, and gave her strange looks just for that – because, after all, hadn’t she called that shade “bimbo blonde” in the past, and made fun of it? And she felt guilty because they had no idea about the tattoo and the piercings, and she felt like she was lying to them, even though she knew they’d think she was a disgusting slut if they knew, and refuse to spend time with her.

She felt guilty because she so often had cum on her face and tits – donated by Charles, or her boss – and she knew that was gross and whorish. And she felt guilty because she knew Charles thought she was prettier that way, but most of the time she *didn’t* have cum on her face and tits.

She felt guilty because of the pieces of paper from the relationship counselling that she had stuck to the wall in every room of her house, that reminded her that her only value was her tits, and her cunt, and her stupidity, and obedience, and fuckability. And she felt guilty because those things weren’t even that valuable. Charles told her frequently that her tits weren’t really big enough, and that her fuckbags were the best thing about her but they weren’t even that good. Charles inspected her cunt when they were together, and he would tell her it wasn’t wet enough, even though Bella had started masturbating before their time together to try and make it wetter and more eager for his cock. He told her that she was stupid, but not stupid enough, because she was still thinking before obeying his commands, and that she was somehow stupider than a dog yet less obedient. And, of course, she was a disappointing fuck.

There were mirrors everywhere in her house, to remind her of her new blonde hair and pierced body, and she was supposed to talk to them when she saw her reflection in them. No one would know if she didn’t – no one except Bella. But if she didn’t do as she had agreed in counselling, she would feel even more guilty, and this, at least, was something she could control.

So whenever she saw herself reflected, she would stop and talk to her reflection.

“I’m stupid,” she would whisper. “I’m a disgusting slut.”

And it would make her feel better to say that, because it felt like giving up the fight and admitting the truth. It felt like being a good girl.

The more she said it, the more she would hear those words in her own head. Sometimes when she encountered a particularly complex problem – one that she knew that in the past she would have been able to solve – she found herself shying away from even thinking about it. “I’m stupid,” she would hear herself think, and she knew that she couldn’t do it. Or, rather, that she *shouldn’t* do it. Charles liked her stupid. She was stupid. After all, smart girls didn’t keep getting raped by their boss. Smart girls didn’t have cunt leashes.

And whenever she was stupid, Charles would reward her. When she didn’t know something, or said something silly, Charles would say, “Good girl,” and kiss her, and stroke her hair, and it felt wonderful. She found herself looking for opportunities to pretend she didn’t know things, or to say things that sounded particularly stupid, because each time she did she would receive such love and approval from her boyfriend. It seemed to be the only time she made him truly happy.

Even so, one night when Charles was visiting her at her house, she found herself bursting into tears.

“What’s the matter, Bella?” asked Charles, stroking her cheek.

“I’m so stupid,” she wept. “I’m such a disgusting slut. I do everything wrong. I can’t stop fucking my boss. I feel so guilty.”

“You are very stupid, Bella,” said Charles. He leaned forward and kissed her, and then said, “But being stupid seems to make you happy. Complex thoughts are difficult for you, aren’t they?”

She nodded.

“I think what you’re actually doing wrong is you’re thinking too much,” said Charles. “I think that’s what’s making you so unhappy. And I think it’s what’s making you so disobedient and ugly, and such a disappointing fuck.”

It was true, Bella realised. She had so many thoughts in her head when she was trying to please Charles – guilt and shame and fear and disgust – and it made it hard to focus entirely on Charles’ pleasure.

“Yes,” she nodded. “I think you’re right.”

“It’s not important what you think, honey,” said Charles. “That’s the lesson you need to learn here. That’s why you’re feeling so guilty.”

She nodded again.

“Do you want to please me, Bella?” asked Charles.

Bella nodded yet again. She felt stupid, bobbing her head like the kind of jiggly toy you might set on a dashboard. “Yes,” she added.

“Then I want you to apologise to me,” said Charles. “Apologise for thinking, Apologise for using your brain. Apologise for having thoughts. Apologise for pretending to be intelligent. Can you do that for me, Bella?”

The thought was horrifying – and, to Bella, in her confused state, that proved Charles’ point. If she thought about it, she felt scared and humiliated. So she shouldn’t think about it.

“Yes,” she breathed. “I can do that.”

“Good girl,” said Charles. “And while you’re apologising, I’m going to spank your pussy. And you’re going to keep apologising, and I’m going to keep spanking you, until you orgasm, okay, sweetie? And when you cum, I’ll forgive you.”

She instinctively clenched her knees together. “Spank my pussy?” she said. “But… that’ll hurt. I can’t… I can’t cum from that…”

“Sure you can, honey,” said Charles. “Pain and pleasure are the same thing for women. The reason your cunt is so sensitive is so that men can hurt you there when they want to. That’s what your pussy is for, sweetie.”

It didn’t make sense. It was confusing. She didn’t understand – and that was just more proof of the truth of what Charles was saying. She needed to stop trying to understand. Then she would be happy – and she would make Charles happy, which was even more important.

“Okay…” she said doubtfully. And she let Charles pry her legs apart, and pull her skirt up to her waist. She wasn’t wearing panties.

“Go on,” said Charles. “Start apologising.”

“I’m sorry I keep trying to think,” said Bella.

And THWACK – Charles slapped her pussy. She screamed, and tried to bring her legs together, but Charles was positioned between them, and she couldn’t close them or protect her cunt.

“Go on,” said Charles again.

“I’m sorry for having a brain,” she said. “I’m sorry I have thoughts. I’m sorry for pretending I’m intelligent. I’m sorry for thinking for myself.”

And with every statement, Charles slapped her hard in the cunt. It hurt like fire – particularly when it connected with the metal ring through her clitoris.

And yet, Charles was right, as he always was. Bella’s pussy had already been a little wet – the result of her masturbating before Charles came over, so she would be wet for him – and with each blow it seemed to get wetter, and throb eagerly.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m stupid and disgusting. I’m sorry for pretending to be smart. I’m sorry for trying to understand things. I’m sorry for having opinions. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

And suddenly, just as Charles had predicted, she was orgasming, bucking against Charles’ hand, gasping and shuddering in shame and guilt.

Charles leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. “I forgive you,” he whispered, and to Bella it felt like the most loving thing she had ever heard.

===

Bella had regrets afterwards. She was an intelligent, educated woman, wasn’t she? Had she really just apologised for *thinking*? For “pretending to be smart”?

But it was too late. Charles had taken charge.

“We’re going to make some adjustments to your house to help you stop pretending to have thoughts,” he told her. “You’re going to be so much happier.”

He took almost all of her books and donated them to goodwill. Everything with significant amounts of writing in her house was removed – except for the reminders in each room that her value lay in her tits, her cunt, her obedience, her stupidity, and her fuckability.

He ordered a few new titles to go on her bookcase. These all sat on the top shelf, and Charles called them “aspirational literature”. Some had been delivered to her in the week of rape that followed her nipple and clit piercings. Many were new.

They included:

“I Don’t Need Feminism, I Just Need Bigger Tits: Happiness and the Modern Women” by E. Feldman

“Humans Have Cocks: The Case for Treating Women as Animals” by T. Bolland.

“Leashing the Modern Fuckpet” by J. Aukim

“I Am A Slut” by A. Fields; and

“The Cocksocket Training Guide: A Bimbo Essential” by H Rewin.

Below this, Charles filled the shelf with magazines. In the modern digital age, there were less hardcopy periodicals in the world, but he was still able to find enough bridal magazines, fashion journals, gossip rags, and hardcore pornography to fill the shelves. He selected for publications with many pictures and few words, and he jumbled them together, in a way that made it seem to Bella that there was no real difference between celebrities, models, wives and whores. Charles would encourage Bella to read the porn magazines – many of them servicing kinks that Bella found extreme or disgusting – and then afterwards when she looked at the glamorous celebrities or beautiful brides she would be unable to stop herself from imagining them nude, with cum on their tits, cocks in their mouths, maybe being anally raped.

Sometimes she would find herself touching her pussy as she imagined those things, idly rubbing her clit as she stared at the images in the magazines.

Charles installed a program on her phone and her computer for her as well.

“Here,” he said, passing her phone back to her. “Send me a message saying, ‘I am a stupid woman’.”

She typed the words into her phone – but her phone autocorrected what she typed. Now it read:

"Im a dum bitch <3"

She looked elsewhere on her phone – at social media, and websites – and found that everywhere there was text, her phone was introducing spelling errors, substituted words, and other mistakes.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” said Charles. “Without any examples of correct spelling and grammar in your life, you should quickly forget how to spell properly entirely. Isn’t that wonderful?”

It wasn’t wonderful, but Bella knew she deserved this. This was the natural consequence of letting her boss fuck her, of letting the girl in the tattoo parlour pierce her nipples and clit, of going to relationship counselling covered in cum and with a leash on her pussy. Nice girls didn’t do any of those things. Only stupid sluts like Bella. And this was, apparently, what needed to happen to stupid sluts in order for them to be able to process their guilt.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome, Bella,” he said. “Oh, and there’s one last thing.”

He went to her bedroom, and returned with her framed diploma from her tertiary studies – the proof her education. He opened the back of the frame, and took out the diploma itself.

“Here you go, Bella,” he said, passing it to her.

“What?” she asked, confused – surely because she was stupid. “Why? What is this for?”

“Well, you haven’t been to the toilet in hours, Bella,” Charles told her. “And you *did* apologise for pretending to be intelligent. This diploma is part of that dishonest pretending you were doing. Why don’t you go to the toilet now? And when you’re done… wipe with this, and then flush it. We can write to the university to have them formally revoke it tomorrow.”

No intelligent girl would wipe her ass with her diploma and then flush it down a toilet. . No empowered girl would allow her boyfriend to tell her to do that. And no nice girl would find herself surreptitiously, guiltily fingering her pussy as she did it.

So in the end the fact that Bella did all those things, just as Charles had commanded, showed that Charles had been right all along.

===

If you’re enjoying this story, you’ll love my novella of mindfuckery and slut-transformation Abby’s Identity, available for only $7.99 USD at AllTheseRoadworks.com! Your purchase shows your appreciation and supports the creation of new, free erotic content! (Click here to view in store.)

===

#bella's apology #bimboization #bimbo #maledom #femsub #nsft #story #caption

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atrfiction · 2 months

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Bitch's Degree

Story by All These Roadworks.

===

Sophie was one of the first graduates from the new “bitch’s degrees” that the major universities were offering. It was agreed that these were more appropriate courses for women, that more accurately addressed what employers actually wanted from a female employee.

Sophie, for example, had just completed a six month Bitch’s Degree in Cunt Exposure Obedience. Any girl could be taught to expose their pussy on demand, of course, but after the six months of painful conditioning in her degree, Sophie could no more *refuse* to expose her fuckhole on command than she could consciously choose to stop her heart from beating. In addition, careful teaching had ensured she would do it while smiling; that she would feel extreme shame and humiliation from doing it; and that her cunt would become wetter and more aroused the longer it was looked at.

She was tempted to leave education with her Bitch’s Degree and pursue a career as a stripper or prostitute, or possibly take an office job where she might only be raped once or twice a day, but her father encouraged her to continue in academia for another six months and complete a Fuckpet’s Degree – the next level up – with a focus on Oral Semen Worship. Graduates, the university promised, would be physically addicted to the taste of men’s cum, and obsessed with thoughts of sharing it with their female friends in passionate cum-kisses, or using their tongues to push it up their friends’ pussies…

===

If you enjoyed this story, you’ll love my e-book The Guidance Counsellor and Other Schoolroom Erotica, available for only $3.99 USD from AllTheseRoadworks.com! (Click here to view in store.)

===

#bitch's degree #maledom #femsub #erotic story #nsft #systemic #caption #story

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atrfiction · 2 months

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Corey's Birthday

Story by All These Roadworks.

===

Shay was a good Christian girl, and she had every intention of wearing something nice to her friend Corey’s birthday.

“No, you won’t,” said Corey. “You’ll wear some dumb hoody. I know you. It’s supposed to be a fancy party, Shay. You need to get it right.”

“I’ll wear a dress!” she protested. “I’ll wear something pretty!”

“Swear on the Bible,” he told her. “God’s important to you. Swear that you’ll wear an outfit I approve of to my party.”

She took the Bible from him and said, “I swear by Almighty God to come to your party in an outfit you approve of.”

“Good girl,” he told her. “Why don’t you turn up an hour early so that I can be sure?”

On the day, she did indeed turn up an hour early, and Corey saw that she had not really understood the dress code. She was in a sports shirt and a short tartan skirt.

“No,” he told her. “I don’t approve of this.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll go home and change.”

“No, I think we can make it work,” he told her. “Take off your bra.”

“What?” she said, shocked.

“I don’t approve of you in any outfit that includes a bra today. Take it off.”

She hesitated. “Corey…”

“You swore to God, Shay,” he reminded her.

“I don’t think God would want me to take off my bra…” she said.

“I don’t think he’d want you taking his name in vain either,” said Corey. “Take off your bra.”

Blushing, she wiggled the bra out from under her shirt without taking off the shirt, and passed it to Corey. It was black and lacy.

“Now the skirt,” he told her.

She balked. “Corey, I’m embarrassed…”

“Do you want to go to hell, Shay? You swore. Take off your skirt.”

Almost crying now, she uncinched the skirt and let it drop, revealing her lacy black panties.

“Now lift your shirt until I can see your tits,” he said, smiling.

She stood there, pouting, for long moments. This was slutty. God wouldn’t want her being a slut… but she had also sworn in God’s name. Wouldn’t God stop this if he didn’t want her to do it? After a minute, when no voice had spoken from the heavens releasing her from her oath, she blushingly lifted her shirt to reveal her perfect, naked tits.

She was going to lift it higher, and remove it, but Corey said, “No, that’s fine. It makes them look even more naked with the shirt still on.” She blushed and obeyed.

“Now, you’re going to come to the party like this,” he told her. “I think everyone will enjoy this look. But first you have one more choice to make. I’d like you to swear on the Bible that you’ll let me make *all* your clothing decisions from now on, for the rest of your life. You don’t have to… but if you don’t, I’m going to tell you to take off your panties, and then that the only outfit I’ll approve of is one that includes a metal plug in your ass and a vibrator in your pussy. Your call.”

In the end, she couldn’t bear the thought of going to his party with a vibrator in her pussy, and she swore that he could make all her clothing choices forever. Shortly thereafter, in return for being allowed to wear clothes tomorrow, she gave him her first blowjob ever, and swallowed her first mouthful of cum, as he made plans to take her to a red-light district to get her fitted for a dog collar, butt plug, and a clit ring…

===

If you enjoyed this story, you’ll love my e-book They Say It’s Your Birthday – Stories of Celebration and Degradation, available for only $3.99 USD from AllTheseRoadworks.com! Your purchase shows your appreciation and supports the creation of new, free erotic content! (Click here to view in store.)

===

#corey's birthday #maledom #femsub #erotica nsft #caption #story

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atrfiction · 2 months

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Aylee the Alchemist-Slave, Part 4

Story by All These Roadworks.

===

Aylee’s fortnight in Orhanian service was in many ways the most degrading part of her life so far – but in other ways it was exciting, and even pleasurable.

As she had been warned, she slept with Tilly in a dog cage in the rear yard of the Embassy. The girls slept bound together, in a 69 position, with their face nestled against each other’s cunts. General Dhalg didn’t waste his time on binding the girls – Aylee and Tilly did it to themselves, and were only freed each morning by a young attache who would come and release the girls to begin their day of service.

This binding wasn’t just to humiliate the girls – it also served to make it hard for them to communicate. General Dhalg didn’t see any reason why females needed to speak to each other unless it directly served a man. With their faces pressed into each other’s pussies, Aylee and Tilly would have needed to speak quite loudly to hear each other – loudly enough for the attache on guard near their cages to hear them.

The attache wasn’t the only one listening. The embassy’s other bitches were also kenneled in nearby cages – some in pairs like Aylee and Tilly, some by themselves – and there was a standing reward offered for any girl who reported hearing another girl speak during the night-time hours.

Tilly was unapologetic about using Aylee to relieve her bladder. She would piss into Aylee’s mouth each night before sleep, and again in the early hours of the morning. She would signal Aylee to open her mouth, ready to receive, by gently licking at Aylee’s pussy – and then continue licking as she pissed, to reward Aylee for her service.

She would never continue long enough for Aylee to cum, though. Sometimes Aylee would return the favour, running her tongue along Tilly’s wet, aroused gash, in the hopes of getting Tilly to reciprocate. Tilly would moan, and press her pussy against Aylee’s mouth for a while – but it would always end with Tilly biting Aylee’s clit sharply, making Aylee squeal with pain, and forcing her to stop.

Tilly was not allowed to cum without the permission of her commander, General Dhalg – and she didn’t intend to be disobedient.

Yet Tilly was otherwise gentle with Aylee, caressing her softly as they lay together at night, and Aylee felt she would be very happy to be Tilly’s cage partner and bed-slave for much longer than the fortnight they had together.

Each morning, after being dragged from the cage, Aylee would crawl through the embassy to report to General Dhalg. She learned to travel around the embassy on all fours, as the other girls did, unless they had been given a task that required them to stand upright to achieve it. When she reached General Dhalg’s bedchamber, he would typically be awake, but not yet dressed. When Aylee arrived at the side of his bed, he would pull her up onto the bed by her hair, force her face down against his exposed cock, and then relieve himself in her mouth. Sometimes he would then rape her.

These rapes would always be violent, with the General slapping Aylee’s face, and squeezing or beating her large, milky breasts, but the pain just made Aylee wetter, and she would cum hard, and be genuinely grateful to the general for her abuse. The General rarely spoke to her during these sessions, or acknowledged her as anything except an object to ejaculate into, but Aylee was by now used to such treatment.

These rapings also revealed something important to Aylee. When she had first been collared as an alchemist-slave, she had been told her collar would prevent her orgasming without male permission. When Aylee had first been raped by Dhalg, he had commanded her to cum – and it seemed that that permission lasted until it was revoked, because Aylee was orgasming every time she was raped, with no further encouragement from her rapist.

To orgasm so easily, and so powerfully, after her time of denial in the tower, was overwhelming for Aylee – and it caused some of the pain/pleasure connections in her brain to start rewiring themselves. She found herself remembering her rapes with genuine pleasure, and looking forward to further abuse – even as she knew that these rapes were degrading, and painful, and humiliating. If she enjoyed rape, she asked herself as she lay in her cage at night, then why did it make her cry? But the only answer was the throbbing of her needy cunt against Tilly’s mouth.

She wanted to thank Dhalg with deep and genuine affection for her rapes, and for the orgasms they produced – but she dared not, because she suspected Dhlag didn’t know what he had done, or that Aylee was normally not allowed orgasms. If he knew, he might tell her she wasn’t allowed to cum anymore.

So Aylee remained silent.

===

On her second day at the Embassy, Aylee began work on the udder-growth treatment for Tilly. She needed arousal-piss and cunt-slime – which Aylee was now expert in producing from her own body – but she also needed a dose of the magical bull sperm. When she raised the issue with General Dhalg, she learned to her surprise that her master Klax had made her an appointment with the black bulls – and so she was allowed out of the embassy to visit the cattleyards, in the company of Tilly.

Being a foreigner, Tilly didn’t yet know her way around Vass, and so Aylee engaged in a minor deception. Instead of taking the fastest way to the cattleyards, Aylee took a longer route, that ran along the city’s outer wall. As they walked, Aylee carefully studied her surroundings. Some day, she intended to escape this city, and to do so she would need to know about the obstacles in her way. She paid attention to wall heights, gate placements, guard patrols – in short, any weakness she could exploit when she was finally ready to escape the city.

For her own part, Tilly engaged in some minor naughtines. She was technically forbidden to engage Aylee in idle chat that didn’t in some way benefit a man – but she mischievously ignored this rule, by talking to Aylee as they walked about her life in Orhanos.

“I have eight sisters,” she said.

“That’s so many!” exclaimed Aylee.

Tilly nodded. “Orhanos prides itself on the ratio of bitches in its birth rates. ‘Nine bitches to every man,’ as they say. It doesn’t matter if it takes a woman ten tries to produce a son – it’s what women are designed for anyway.” She paused, and looked momentarily downcast. “But so far I haven’t been impregnated even once,” she continued, “so the General gives my pussy a beating once a week for being useless.”

“But you’re young!” said Aylee, still scanning the walls.

“It’s legal to breed a woman from age 18,” said Tilly, “and I’ve been 18 for nearly 14 months. I should have been impregnated, delivered a child, and been impregnated again by now. It would have made my tits swell with milk, and then I wouldn’t be so disappointing to the general.”

Aylee pictured Tilly pregnant. “You’d look pretty with big milky tits,” she decided.

“Thank you,” said Tilly, blushing at the compliment.

“How long have you worked for Dhalg?” asked Aylee.

“Ten months,” said Tilly, “although really he’s not my direct commander. I’m attached to Bitch Squad Mouthfuck-13, and all Bitch Squads have a male war-wolf as their commander. Our is Gavaunche – a big black alpha – and I was his favourite. If I had stayed on regular attachment to the squad, I think he might have picked me as his bride – but I caught the general’s attention, and was moved to his personal staff.”

Aylee made an expression of distaste. “A war-wolf? Like… a dog?” she asked.

“It looks like a big dog,” said Tilly. “But really it’s more monster than animal. It’s bred from animals native to the Forest, and it’s more intelligent than a dog, and possessed of some of the demonic essence of Arx, Lord of Rape.”

“And when you say you were its favourite…” ventured Aylee.

Tilly blushed. “It found my pussy very enjoyable to fuck,” she confessed.

Aylee said nothing. She was revolted – and yet her cunt was very confusingly wet at the thought of Tilly being mounted by a monstrous black wolf.

Anyway, it wasn’t like Aylee had never pleasured an animal. And she would do it again today.

They reached the cattleyards, and were escorted by a herdmaster to the pen of a black bull. Like Tilly’s war-wolves, the black bulls were no longer common animals. They held the primal essence of Ulos, who gave women the nature of a cow.

The bull had been given a pacification drug, to make it docile, and Aylee now knelt nude between its legs, facing its monstrous cock.

“I have to harvest its sperm,” she said, “and be degraded in so doing, to empower it with proper gynaetic energy.”

“There’s a crowd watching,” said Tilly – and indeed there was. Men had gathered to watch the slutty nude alchemist-slave service the bull. Many were grinning. Aylee thought she recognised a couple who were friends of her family – men she had interacted with as part of her community, before she had been apprenticed to the Guild.

She blushed. But humiliating or not, she had to do her job. She reached between her thighs, to stroke her pussy, and contribute the necessary sexual energy to what she was doing.

Tilly interrupted her. “Do you want me to… lick it?” she asked, gesturing at Aylee’s groin. “You’re doing this for me, after all.”

Aylee went bright red – but she knew her answer immediately. “Yes,” she said, quietly.

Tilly arranged herself, lying on her back on the sandy group of the Cattleyard. Aylee knelt over her, to press her cunt against Tilly’s mouth. When she felt Tilly begin to gently lick at her pussy, she gave an involuntary moan of arousal – and then reached out, took the bull’s cock, and began to masturbate it.

She kept the cock aimed at her face, as Klax had taught her to do, and pumped it steadily. Her surrounding vanished from her awareness. She didn’t care who was watching her. Her only thoughts were the steady motion of her hand – and the intense pleasure of having her pussy tongued by the pretty Orhanian bitch.

She desperately tried to stop herself cumming. An orgasm would interfere with the gynaetic energy, and ruin the sperm. It was pure torture. She tried to control her arousal by picturing what Klax might do to her if she fucked this up – electroshock her breasts, whip her pussy, subject her to agonising experiments – or what General Dhalg might do – rape her, slap her, punch her tits – but these thoughts just made her even more aroused.

She thought maybe she would be all right – that maybe she could control her sluttish urges.

But then the bull grunted, and its cock twitched and pulsed, and she felt hot bull semen begin to splatter on her face and tits. And at the same time, Tilly took Aylee’s clit all the way into her mouth, suckling on it like a nipple. And it was too much. Aylee felt herself buck, and squeal, and orgasm, at exactly the moment the bull’s cum was most susceptible to gynaetic charging.

She thought something like an electric shock ran through her – but she may have just imagined it.

She wanted to cry. She couldn’t even masturbate an animal without orgasming like a slut.

But she had no choice. She needed to clean the sperm off her, into the containers she had brought. She only had one appointment with the bull – she couldn’t take another try. Klax had never said what might happen if she orgasmed during the procedure. Maybe the sperm would still work. Maybe it would even work better.

She let Tilly out from beneath her, and then scraped the bull sperm into her sample containers. When it was done, she leaned over and impulsively kissed Tilly on the lips.

Tilly kissed her back, with genuine warmth. When it was over, Aylee looked her in the eyes and said, “Thank you.”

Tilly blushed. “It’s my fault you have to do this – because my udders are so small. It’s the least I can do to help. I just wish I had permission to orgasm like that.”

Aylee felt sad. “Don’t be grateful,” she said. “When I prepare this injection, it’s going to hurt your tits worse than they’ve ever been hurt in your life. You’re going to be in agony for three days, and it’s going to rewire your brain so that forever after you confuse breast pain with sexual arousal.”

Tilly looked pale. “Really?” she asked, scared.

An idea occurred to Aylee. “But I have an idea,” she said. “I’m going to ask the general to give you permission to orgasm during your ordeal. It might amuse him to have you cumming from breast torture. And sexual pleasure might help you deal with the pain. Do you think I should do that?”

Tilly looked hungry. “Dhlag hasn’t let me orgasm since I joined his staff,” she said. “I haven’t cum since the last time our war-wolf mounted me. Do you really think he might let me?”

“I think he might,” said Aylee, smiling.

“If torturing my breasts for three days is the cost of getting to have a real, honest orgasm,” said Tilly, “then make it happen.” She bit her lip – an intensely sexy expression, Aylee thought. “In fact, the sooner the better.” And she kissed Aylee again – a gesture of genuine gratitude.

Aylee felt a flicker of worry, though. She had cum when she wasn’t supposed to. Had it ruined the sperm? What would happen if she used it? What would happen to Tilly?

She dismissed the worry. Tilly was eager. Tilly was pretty. She was going to get to make Tilly cum.

She was sure it would be fine.

===

You can find out more about the world of Arth-Keros by becoming a paid ATR member – and support my writing in the process! (Click here to view memberships.)

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#aylee the alchemist-slave #magic #fantasy #arth-keros #slave #caption #story

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atrfiction · 2 months

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Lingerie Sales

Story by All These Roadworks.

The stats showed that rich men would spend more money on lingerie for lovers than women would spend on themselves, so the lingerie chain focused its entire marketing on attracting more men into their stores. The new uniforms for salesgirls were a very successful step on that path.

Sure, the salesgirls felt like stupid sextoys standing in full view of the mall with their tits exposed, and sure, they got raped on their way to and from work more often now, but there were certainly more men hanging out in the stores, so it was a resounding success.

The next step was based on some data that showed men were subconsciously attracted to the scent of female arousal. Next year’s uniform would include a vibrating butt plug and dildo set for every salesgirl, to be worn throughout the work day…

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If you enjoyed this story, you’ll love my e-book Serving Girls – Stories of Maids, Waitresses, Cashiers and Babysitters, available for only $3.99 USD from AllTheseRoadworks.com! (Click here to view in store.)

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#lingerie sales #erotic story #maledom #femsub #nsft #caption #story

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atrfiction · 2 months

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New ATR E-book: Brea Comes Home From College

A new premium novella is available! (Check it out in the shop!) (PDF / E-book only.)

(And before we go on – have you voted in the Golden Pigtails Awards finals yet? Voting closes 28 February!)

Price: $7.99 USD

124 pages / 48,304 words.

Formats available: * PDF (recommended); * EPUB

Michael’s sister is back from college – and she intends to teach Michael to treat her as his personal fucktoy!

Many girls return from time at college empowered, liberated and independent. But Brea is the exact opposite.

When she returns home from a semester at school, she reveals that she has learned a revolutionary new patriarchal ideology that sees women as nothing but fucktoys to be used.

She starts by teaching her 18-year-old brother Michael to slap her, dominate her, and fuck her, regardless of her consent.

But her plans don’t stop there. She intends to teach her father to use her too, and to transform her mother into the family sex-toy.

Is there any limit to Brea’s ambition to enslave her own gender? And what will her brother’s world look like when she is done?

===

Brea Comes Home From College is a novella-length tale of incestuous corruption and female enslavement.

It collects all 21 chapters of “Brea Comes Home From College” into a single 132-page novella, containing themes of patriarchy, incest, non-consent, watersports, blackmail, MF and FF sex.

It also contains an exclusive afterword by the author!

This is a premium collection – it is substantially longer than the standard ATR collection, packed with erotica for your enjoyment.

Please note that, as with all stories by All These Roadworks, all characters in this story are aged 18 years and over.

As always, my kinks are not my politics. Please enjoy these stories of gender degradation while practicing respect, safety and positive enthusiastic consent in real life.

Upon purchase, the collection will be delivered to you as digital goods via email. A single purchase gives access to all file formats indicated above.

(Get your copy of Brea Comes Home From College now!)

#brea comes home from college #e-book #nsft

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atrfiction · 2 months

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Persephone Nine, Part 17

Story by All These Roadworks.

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To Vice’s relief, the beach camp was largely unchanged when they finally reached it. Some fixtures had come loose in the violent winds of the storm, and a wide section of the camp wall was floating in the lake shallows about a metre from the shore, but their core shelter remained intact, and key equipment such as the fabricator appeared to be undamaged.

“Alright, girls,” said Vice, as they neared the camp. “I know you’re all exhausted from the hike, but we need to get the camp back in order by sundown. Don’t be lazy Laurels – I want the exterior wall back in place, I want the interior clear of debris, I want the main shelter tested for leaks, and if you have any time leftover I want to bring more wreckage down from the ship to reinforce our defences.”

Telea wouldn’t think of questioning him, and Cunt was still too humiliated and insecure from the conversion of her birth-name into an all-purpose insult to raise any objections. But Amy looked at him strangely, and Victoria actually spoke up.

“What are we defending against?” she asked. “What are you worried about?”

“Maybe nothing,” said Vice. “We’ll see. But it’s best we don’t take chances. Let’s get this done, girls.”

Whether he had intended it or not, Vice’s worry was contagious, and the girls worked without complaint. Vice worked alongside them, making use of Rospar to weld the wall section back into place, and he chose to use the nebulous fear the girls were feeling to reinforce the new realities of the castaway group.

“You’ve been playing at female submission, girls,” he told them, “but I trust our experiences in the cave have made it clear that the Galliard are paying attention. From now on you need to get it through your heads that for all intents and purposes, you ARE my sexual property. I will fuck you and rape you and hurt you whenever I want to, and you will not only let it happen, but you will thank me for it, because the alternative is trying to survive on this planet by yourself. Is that clear?”

He was near Victoria when he first said this, and she hesitated in replying, her face red and angry.

He leaned in close to her. “If you don’t like it, Victoria, you can leave the camp right now, and take your chances with the Rapehounds. Do we have a problem?”

She looked down at the ground. “No, sir.”

“And what are you, Victoria?” he asked her. “What can I do with you?”

“I am your sexual property, sir,” she mumbled. “You can rape me and hurt me when you want to.”

“Good girl,” said Vice.

And after that, none of the other girls gave him difficulty with that proposition, each agreeing with various levels of willingness, ranging from a sullen mumble from Cunt, to shy agreement from Amy, through to eager and loving enthusiasm from Telea.

And Vice had to admit to himself that he liked it. He liked owning these women. He liked raping them. He liked forcing them to do things that they didn’t want to do, and humiliating them, and bending them to his will. He did care for them, yes – and he would protect them with his life, if it came to that – and his desire to escape from Persephone Nine was real.

But also, he didn’t want to give them up. They were his property, and if he was honest with himself, he wanted to own them *forever*.

By the time the sun set, the camp was not only repaired, but marginally improved. And as darkness crept over Persephone Nine, the castaways discovered a new change that had come with the storm.

Up until now, the phosphorescence in the lake had glowed a pleasant purple colour at night. But now it had taken on an ominous red glow, that made the entire camp seem to be lit by the light of distant fires.

And as Vice and the women gathered at the shore to stare at this new phenomenon, for a moment Vice thought he saw something *move* on the surface of the lake, a long distance out from shore. Was that… a tentacle? A huge, monstrous limb?

He looked around, but none of the girls showed signs of having noticed it. He thought of how Amy and Telea had blithely waded into the water earlier to retrieve the missing section of wall, and shuddered. He would have to be more careful about letting the girls go near the lake.

In any case, when Rospar examined the water, his instruments declared it to be functionally identical to how it had been before they left . It would still provoke the same reactions in the women, and it had no new dangerous qualities. As best as Rospar could tell, the bioluminescent organisms in the water had merely gone through some kind of seasonal change, triggered by the storm.

The crew ate dinner, and then Vice had Amy deliver a sermon from the Book of Galliard. He called Telea over to suck his cock as Amy spoke, and Telea was delighted to nestle in his lap and suckle on her penis as she listened to the misogynistic words. He noted that the sermon seemed to make Telea happy. The religion of the Galliard was giving her purpose and certainty, making her feel better in her identity as a lesbian who had allowed herself to be willingly enslaved to Vice’s cock.

“Women are empty vessels,” read Amy. “They are defined by their emptiness and hollowness. A woman’s womb is an empty vessel, waiting to be filled by a man’s baby. A woman’s fuckhole is an empty tube, waiting to be filled by a man’s cock. A woman is happiest when her holes are filled. Only then does she have worth. Only then does she have a purpose.”

Vice watched the faces of Cunt and Victoria for any sign that they weren’t listening closely, but they seemed to be paying attention, albeit sullenly. They didn’t like these misogynistic speeches – but their own position seemed to confirm the truth of them. Naked, horny, subservient to Vice’s will and in need of his protection and stewardship. It was impossible for them to feel like independent, intelligent women when their tits were bound with pretty ribbons and they had masturbated multiple times to the rape of their fellow females.

“A woman’s brain is an empty vessel, where meaningless noise bounces around, disguised as thoughts. This noise only makes a woman unhappy, and she only becomes happy when her brain is filled by the thoughts of a man. A woman’s mouth is an empty vessel, waiting to receive whatever a man chooses to put in it, and a woman’s stomach is an empty vessel, made useful when it receives a man’s fluids. A woman’s tits are empty vessels, designed to fill and swell with milk once a man impregnates her. A woman’s ears are empty vessels, that only become happy when they are filled with the sound of men’s voices.”

Vice noted that Amy’s face was red, and to understand why he only had to look down at her pussy. Amy was visibly wet, and Vice had no doubt Amy would be rubbing her pussy if her collar would allow her to. He didn’t know if she was aroused by the degrading words she was reading, or simply due to a fresh dose of the tainted lake water – and he liked the idea that Amy didn’t know either.

He looked across at Cunt and Victoria, and saw that both were also trying to hide some level of sexual arousal.

“A woman has no soul,” said Amy. “Only men, and some male animals, are blessed with souls. Women are objects, like tools or rocks, and the only thing that elevates them above their fellow objects is the interest and benevolence of men. They are receptacles for male sperm and incubators of babies, and they should not be treated as if they have sentience, desires, or opinions.”

And then Amy led the girls in a chorus of affirmations. Vice pushed Telea off his cock so that she could speak along with the other women.

“I have no soul. I am an object. I am a receptacle for sperm. I have no sentience. I have no desires. I have no opinions.”

Afterwards, it was time for the girls to choose someone for Vice to rape, and they chose Victoria. Vice sent the command to their collars so the other girls could masturbate as they watched him rape the raven-haired beauty, and Vice was careful to make his violation of Victoria particularly objectifying . He said not a word to her, refused to make eye-contact, slapped her across her face and tits, and fucked her as though she were the kind of object described in the text.

In truth, Vice found Victoria sexiest when she was crying, and her distress at her rape was intensely arousing to him. But what was even hotter was how she accepted it, barely struggling against him, as if she had accepted that this was her fate, and her place, and that it was only right and just that Vice should rape her.

He ejaculated into her in due course, and then told her to dig his cum out of her snatch and put it in the mouths of Amy and Cunt. He left them to share the taste of his sperm, fresh from Victoria’s pussy, and retired to the shelter with Telea to sleep.

===

A little after midnight, he woke up to the feel of Telea’s hand stroking his cock. He smiled, and let her guide him into her pussy, for an exquisitely slow, beautiful fuck. He thought she came twice against his dick before he eventually orgasmed again himself, and afterwards they lay there, with his cock still inside her.

“I love you, sir,” whispered Telea dreamily.

“I love you too, slut,” he replied.

And they fell asleep together, intimately entwined.

===

In the morning, the Galliard came.

They stood on the beach outside the camp, and their leader made a high whooping sound, something like a cross between an air raid siren and the howl of a wolf, that instantly woke Vice and all four of his girls.

Vice quickly passed stun guns to each of the girls, and took one for himself, before scrambling to the top of the camp barricade to view these new arrivals.

There were twelve of them in total – eight males and four females.

Six of the men were armed, with what looked like heavy blaster rifles – potentially capable of smashing holes in the camp’s makeshift defences with only a single shot. But it wasn’t the guns that first drew Vice’s attention. It was the male Galliard themselves.

He had known from Rospar that the Galliard were post-humanists, with a philosophy of eugenics and genetic modification. He had seen their work in the body of Female Pig, which had been crafted into almost a caricature of femininity, with her thin waist and balloon-like breasts. He had naively assumed that the Galliard men might similarly be a cartoon of traditional masculinity – bulging muscles, strong jaws, foot-long cocks.

Well, he had been right about the cocks. The Galliard clearly disdained clothes, and the dicks swinging between their thighs were indeed of monstrous length. But as for the rest…

The Galliard men stood eight foot tall. Their skin was covered with a soft fur, somewhere between the pelt of a gorilla, and the curly hair that might grown on a man’s chest. The colouration of the fur varied from man to man, from horse-black, to wolf-grey, to the tawny brown of a lion or the russet red of a fox. Their bodies were muscled in a way that suggested not only traditional human strength, but also other talents. Their hands were as nimble as a human’s – and their feet clearly moreso – and each finger and toe ended in a retractable claw. (The leader was idly extending and retracting his claws even as Vice watched, though Vice was unclear whether this was intended to intimidate, or merely a display of nervous energy.)

And their faces! Each Galliard man had a different bestial appearance. The leader had a face that was recognisably human, but his ears were enlarged and pointed, his teeth sharpened and his canines prominent, and his yellow eyes had the unnerving pupils of a cat. Others among the group had full dog-like muzzles, or whiskers, or manes and long shaggy beards of fur. They had transformed themselves into monsters, or animals – or worse.

And yet Vice’s women didn’t seem to think they were monsters. Victoria’s mouth had fallen open in amazement, and Amy was breathing quickly next to him. All four women were visibly aroused, and seemed unable to take their eyes from the Galliard.

Pheromones, Vice realised. The Galliard men emitted pheromones, designed to provoke submission and arousal in women. A useful tool for keeping control of their patriarchal society.

He looked quickly at his women again. Was this conflict over before it began? Would his harem of sluts immediately betray him to worship at the cocks of these post-human monstrosities?

No. Each woman had a strong grip on her gun, and mixed with the women’s arousal was a very real sense of terror. They did not want these Galliard men to touch them, no matter how much their pussies might be involuntarily throbbing.

And they had reason to fear, based on the women the Galliard had brought.

Female Pig stood near the front, her swollen tits bound at the base with rope, and her nipples leaking milk. The breasts showed recent signs of bruising – she had been recently punished.

The second and third women were crawling on all fours, collared and leashed, being led by a male Galliard with pig-like features. Their mouths were gagged, and weights hung from clamps on their nipples and clitoris. One was visibly crying from pain.

And the fourth woman was *mounted*, onto the chest of a Galliard standing to one side of the leading male. Vice guessed the Galliard to be a second-in-command of some sort. The poor redhead woman he was carrying was strapped to his chest, tits inwards, her legs wrapped around his waist, and her cunt impaled on his erect cock. Vice noted that fully eight inches of the beast’s foot-long cock was inside the woman, and she was bounced violently atop his dick with every step that he took. He seemed to pay no attention to the needs or comfort of the woman, wearing her as he might wear an article of clothing.

Vice looked across the assembled Galliard. They did not look friendly.

“Good morning, friends,” he said. “I regret that we didn’t know to expect you, or we would have prepared a welcome.”

The Galliard leader looked up at Vice – although he didn’t have to look far. His head was level with the barricade top.

“You are Vice,” he said, and it wasn’t clear if it was a question or a statement.

“I am,” said Vice, warily. “Captain Jayson Vice of the starship Cinnabar Hawk, a private trading vessel. I apologise for our forced landing on your world, and we intend to leave as soon as rescue comes.”

The Galliard men all laughed. Their voices were a strange mix – all human, and yet their mouths and throats made their laughter sound bestial and inhuman.

“There is no rescue on Persephone Nine,” said the leader. “No one will find you here, Jayson Vice.

Vice shivered – but he kept his face locked in a genial smile.

“Then we shall have to rely on Galliard hospitality,” he said. “I trust Female Pig has given a favourable report on us?”

The leader ignored his question. “Your bitches have guns, Jayson Vice,” he said. “Why do you permit your animals to go armed?”

“Is there a problem with mounting weapons on objects I own?” replied Vice. “It’s a dangerous beach, friend. Some days ago we had a tussle with Rapehounds.”

The leader’s face twisted in what Vice thought was a smile.

“We have been watching you,” he said. “There has been… signs of promise. But then there is the matter of the testing.”

Vice sense the girls alongside him tensing up. For a moment he was worried that Amy was going to say something – surely an unforgivable offence, to have a female speak for him, or to have a female disagree with a Galliard male. But she closed her mouth, and looked to Vice instead.

Vice was tired of waiting to hear the bad news.

“Why are you here, friend?” he asked.

The Galliard leader looked down at Female Pig, in a questioning way.

Female Pig pointed up, towards the barricade. Pointing at Cunt – the woman previously known as Laurel.

“That one,” she said.

The Galliard leader nodded. “This bitch of yours has failed the testing. We are here to take her for correction and adjustment. She will no longer be your property. You will surrender her.”

Vice looked at Cunt. She was terrified – her face pale, her hands shaking. As much as she hated Vice, she was looking at him now in desperation, begging him to protect her.

“Please, Vice,” she whispered. “You can’t.”

Vice looked around at the other girls. They were torn – but clearly they expected that Vice would hand Cunt over to the Galliard. They knew it was what was necessary to save them all.

The Galliard were bigger, the Galliard outnumbered them, and the Galliard had better guns. Real guns – guns that would not just stun, but *kill*.

If he gave them Cunt, they would leave, and that would be the end of it. The other girls, after all, had passed the testing. Vice would be allowed to keep his harem, and continue his existence on the beach, taking sexual favours from them at his whim, lord of his own domain.

He looked back at Cunt. She was crying.

He reached out and, gently, brushed a tear from her cheek.

Then he turned back to the Galliard.

“Well, that’s a difficulty,” he said. “Because these women are my property, and I’m not surrendering them to you, or to anyone else.”

He raised his gun to his shoulder, and sighted it.

“And if that’s a problem for you,” he said, “then you can kindly go fuck yourself.”

===

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===

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atrfiction · 2 months

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Aylee the Alchemist-Slave, Part 3

Story by All These Roadworks.

This story is set in Arth-Keros, a world of high-fantasy female degradation. More information on Arth-Keros is available to ATR paid members! (Click here to view memberships.)

===

It took a year for Aylee to put her escape plan together, and at first she simply didn’t have the tools she needed to achieve it.

She knew what she wanted to do. She would escape the tower of the Watchful Guild of Alchemists and go to her parents’ house. There, she would wake her younger sister Hana in the middle of the night. (Hana was due to be apprenticed to the Guild within the year, and Aylee had no intention of leaving her sister to the same fate that had been visited on Aylee.) Then the two of them would flee Vass and head west across the Howling Hills to the land of Maratar, called “the Abomination” by the patriarchal rulers of Vass because in Maratar it was free women who held the power.

But it was easier thought than done. Escaping the tower – and the city – were no small feat, as the tower entrances were well guarded, and Aylee was supervised on the few occasions that she went outside its confines. And then there was the matter of crossing the Howling Hills – which would require food, supplies, and possibly mounts.

In the meantime, Aylee continued her work creating the Breath of Ulos, which was to be sold in large volumes to the militaristic nation of Orhanos for use in sedating both their own women, and the women of their enemies.

Three months into the year, the Guild received an ambassador from Orhanos. His name was General Dhalg, and he was tall, barrel-chested, and sported a thick salt-and-pepper beard. He was dressed in the red-and-black military uniform of his nation, and his epaulettes and prodigious array of medals spoke of his rank and station. He arrived in a carriage made of some dark, beautiful wood, drawn by red-black stallions, and the alchemists of the Guild fell over themselves to win his favour from the moment he first entered the tower.

He was accompanied by a girl. She, too, wore a military-style uniform, although hers was a little different. It was tighter, less decorated – and it had cut-out panels across the chest and groin that completely exposed the girl’s shaven pussy and moderately-sized breasts. Her body was thin and fit, and her long hair was a dirty honey-blonde.

“This is Cunt Tilly,” said General Dhalg, by way of introducing the girl, after he had been shown to Master Klax’s chambers. “She has been detached from her usual Bitch Squad to serve as my handmaid for this journey.”

“An honour, I am sure,” said Master Klax.

Dhlag grunted. “Too much of an honour, especially for a bitch with such inadequate tits. Barely enough to hold onto while you’re raping her.”

Klax’s eyes brightened, as he saw an opportunity to please his guest. “We have many techniques in Vass to enhance an inadequate woman. Aylee here had udders no bigger than Cunt Tilly when she first started with me, but through modern science she has been made far more acceptable.”

Aylee at this point was on all fours in a corner, strapped into a milking machine. She was trying to stay focused and attentive on the important guests while a dildo pumped mechanically in and out of her twat and the vacuum cups sucked her milk painfully from her udders, but it was hard.

Dhalg looked at Aylee with interest. “I expect to be staying here for a fortnight. You could have the cunt upgraded in this time?”

“Yes, yes,” said Klax. “In fact, Aylee can do it herself. With your permission, I will assign her to your entourage for the duration of your stay. She is becoming quite skilled in alchemy, for a woman, and she has been modified to live on a diet of piss and cum, so she will be no additional trouble to provide for. She can administer the breast upgrade to your cunt, and look after her for the few days of debilitating pain that follow.”

The cunt in question paled in fear at the mention of the pain, and looked at her General with wide eyes, but no one in the room paid her any attention.

“Now,” said the General, “tell me of the progress of this pacification gas you’re selling us.”

“The Breath of Ulos is almost complete,” replied Klax. “The manual production of the gas by Alchemist-Slave Aylee is finished, and all that remains is a process of quality assurance and condensing that I must undertake myself. The complete shipment will be ready to leave with you at the conclusion of your stay.”

Dhalg chuckled. “Excellent. Orhanos has a surplus of female prisoners of war – too treacherous and disobedient to perform many forms of useful work within the nation – and the Hierarchy plans to use this gas to convert them to docile, brainless cattle, suitable for manual labour, milking, and suchlike.”

Klax laughed in appreciation, an offered Dhalg a drink of local wine, and together they discussed the fine details of transferring the Breath of Ulos into Dhalg’s custody.

===

As Klax had suggested, Aylee was placed under the temporary charge of General Dhalg, and when Dhalg and Tilly left the tower to retire to their quarters at the Orhanian Embassy, Aylee was taken with them. She felt nervous, being under the control of a man she didn’t know. The Orhanians had a reputation for cruelty to their women. But she had no choice in the matter.

The Orhanian Embassy was a lavish, sprawling building near the centre of the city, constructed of white stone and surrounded by well-kept gardens and a high fortified wall. The regular embassy staff occupied the west wing, while visiting dignitaries such as Dhalg were given rooms in the east wing.

At the rear of the building was an extensive complex comprising rows of wire dog cages, and it was here that the Orhanian women were kept. Dhalg pointed these out to Aylee, and told her she would be sharing a cage with Cunt Tilly, but that first he had business for her in his personal quarters.

The “personal quarters” turned out to be a huge room, capable of hosting a party of 30 or more, with a huge bed in the centre of the room. When they entered, Dhalg had Aylee – still naked but for her collar, as was her normal style of dress – kneel on a soft fur rug, and he took out his cock from his pants – it was large and thick – and placed it in her mouth.

“Drink,” he commanded, and began to piss. Aylee was by now well-accustomed to drinking urine – it was her primary source of nutrition, since the changes Klax had wrought on her – and she swallowed willingly and eagerly.

When he was done, Dhalg wiped his cock clean on her cheek, then pointed at Cunt Tilly. “Now her,” he said.

Aylee blushed. She had never drunk another woman’s piss before. In fact, she had never touched another woman’s cunt, with any part of her body, let alone her mouth. But Tilly was already moving her legs apart, to stand bow-legged, and so Aylee obediently crawled over and tentatively put her mouth over the girl’s pussy.

Tilly tasted sweet – like strawberries. Aylee dimly remembered Master Klax saying that there were certain potions that improved the taste of a woman’s cunt, and that many men ordered them to be used on women they intended to perform oral sex on. She guessed that such a potion may have been used on Tilly at some time, and she was grateful for it now.

It felt strange, feeling the puffy, wet curve of Tilly’s labia against her mouth. Strange, and erotic. Aylee’s cunt began to throb, and she felt her nipples stiffen. The memory of her own sister suckling at her nipples returned to her, and she became wetter still.

Then Tilly began to piss, and Aylee focused on swallowing. Instinctively, she stuck out her tongue, exploring Tilly’s fuckhole, her urethra, and lightly flicking her clit, and when she did, Tilly groaned, and grabbed at Aylee’s hair with her hands, forcing Aylee’s head hard against her cunt, humping Aylee’s face like an animal, until her bladder was empty and Aylee had drunk every last drop.

“That’s enough, cunt,” said Dhalg sharply when she was done. “I haven’t given you permission to cum.”

Tilly released Aylee, and stepped back regretfully.

Then Dhalg was behind Aylee, grabbing her hair, pulling her to her feet painfully. Aylee tried her best to submit, but couldn’t keep up as Dhalg dragged her across the room, and then threw her down on the bed.

“Now let’s see how the women of Vass fuck,” he growled, and before Aylee knew what was happening, he was forcing her legs apart and shoving his cock into her pussy.

Over the last year, Aylee’s cunt had been penetrated many times, by a variety of objects, but this was the first time in her life she had ever had a man’s cock in it. Klax had been reluctant to rape her in the tower, for fear that her gynaetic energy might interfere with the sensitive devices that the Guild used. But Dhalg had no such worry, and now he began to energetically rape her as Aylee lay on the bed in shock.

She supposed she was losing her virginity, although she had been a sub-human sex object for more than a year already at that point. She had sucked cocks, masturbated animals, and been raped by machines. Yet somehow finally having her vagina violated by a man’s penis felt special.

It felt good, too. She was already wet, and as Dhalg pushed into it, it felt like something her body had been begging for all year, but which had been denied to her. She moaned – a slutty, animal sound. Then the moan became a squeal as Dhalg reached down and grabbed her large tits in each hand, squeezing and crushing them painfully. Milk squirted from her nipples into the palms of his hands, and ran back down over her boobs onto the sheets of the bed.

His grip was powerful, and the pain in her breasts was intense – but Aylee had been well-conditioned to associated tit pain with sexual pleasure, and the more Dhalg hurt her, the more it made her wetter and more eager.

“Cunt, come over here and keep this bitch quiet,” grunted Dhalg as he raped her. Tilly evidently knew what this meant, because she immediately came to the bed, climbed up on all fours near Aylee’s head, bent down, and began to kiss Aylee on the lips.

Aylee went wild. Partly it was the way that Tilly’s lips operated like a gag, suppressing her moans and squeals, controlling her mouth. Partly it was because kissing a girl felt so *slutty* – in a way that none of her degradation to that point had somehow felt. Partly it was because Tilly’s kiss reminded Aylee again of her sister Hana, and that secret, shameful arousal she had felt from having Hana drink her breast milk. And partly it was because Tilly’s kiss was *affectionate*. It was soft, and eager, and somehow *loving*, and Aylee had never had someone interact with her sexually in that way before. Tilly seemed to want to *kiss* her, not just *use* her, and that was a new and powerful feeling.

She kissed Tilly back eagerly – and then heard the General quietly say, “That’s right. Cum for me, bitch.”

She felt something click in her control collar, as the voice of a male gave her permission to orgasm – something she had not enjoyed since the collar was first placed on her – and then she felt herself doing exactly as she had been told – orgasming, again and again, against the General’s cock as it violated her twat. She squealed into Tilly’s mouth, and it just made the General crush her tits harder, which in turn made Aylee squeal more, until she lost herself in a haze of pain and sexual pleasure.

Finally, the General ejaculated inside her, and pulled out. “Clean her up,” he said to Tilly, and the Orhanian girl obediently moved to a position between Aylee’s legs, and began to lick the general’s sperm out of her. This, too, was gently and almost loving. Aylee had had a woman lick her cunt once before – on her first visit to the Battery, that her father had commemorated with a portrait – but back then, Aylee had been in control, raping an unwilling girl. This experience was entirely different. She was on her back, with her legs spread, and Tilly set the pace, gently licking and probing at Aylee’s snatch, working her tongue deep into Aylee’s fuckhole to extract as much of the general’s cum as possible.

Aylee had one, last orgasm from Tilly’s tongue, and it was the best of them all.

“You’re an acceptable fuck,” said the General. “Even if you did cum without permission. I’ll let you off this once, as you’re a stupid foreign twat, but if you do it again you’ll receive a cunt-whipping.”

“Yes, sir,” said Aylee, humbly, still dazed from her orgasms.

“Cunt,” the General continued, addressing Tilly, “you’re responsible for the new bitch. She’ll sleep with you, assist you in your chores, and you’ll cooperate with her in having your udders enlarged.”

“Yes, sir!” said Tilly, saluting. Her face was still wet with the General’s cum and Aylee’s cunt juices.

And just like that, Aylee found herself serving – temporarily, at least – as an Orhanian Bitch.

===

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===

#aylee the alchemist-slave #s3xy story #caption #nsft #maledom #femsub #story #magic #arth-keros

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atrfiction · 2 months

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Approval Points

Story by All These Roadworks.

===

After the third feminist-initiated terrorism incident in four months, and the arrest of large numbers of female politicians for being complicit in the attacks, the now overwhelmingly-male government bowed swiftly to public demand and instituted sweeping changes to the way women were regulated in society.

The system was based around the idea of “approval points”, which were regulated by a national digital cryptocurrency platform. Every fortnight, every male citizen was allocated 100 approval points, which he could give any portion of, to any woman, for any reason. Women, in turn, could spend these points to buy rights.

Being served as a customer in a shop cost one approval point per transaction. Being allowed to drive a car cost 15 approval points a month. Having the right to say “no” to sex cost five approval points per 24 hour period (although bringing any complaint of crime to the police, including rape, cost a further 40 approval points). Birth control medication cost 10 approval points per day, and an exemption from the government-mandated fertility, arousal and lactation drugs for women cost another 5 approval points per day. Collecting money for work in any job that didn’t sell the woman’s body and sexuality was yet another 5 approval points a day.

Occasionally police would stop a woman for an “approval check”. She would need to demonstrate she had been pleasing to men by spending 20 approval points on the spot, otherwise the police would lock her up overnight for a session of extended rape and abuse, to motivate her to be nicer to men in future.

There was a whole scheme for spending money on clothing licences. A standard woman’s clothing allowance allowed her to wear high heels, makeup, earrings, and a total amount of clothing weighing not more than the weight of her heaviest breast, capable of fitting wholly within her pussy, and at least 50% transparent. Approval points could be spent to increase the permittable opacity, size, and coverage of garments for a yearly period.

However, women quickly discovered that wearing more clothes meant that men were slower to give them approval points. The most points went to the girls who looked most like fuckdolls; who had the biggest tits; the prettiest smiles; and the wettest cunts. And so most girls focused on making their skimpy outfits as sexy as possible, rather than on concealing themselves.

Overall the scheme was a huge success. Women learned quickly how to alter their behaviours to maximise their approval points, and became very good at pleasing men.

Of course, by the nature of things, celebrity women – porn stars and notable whores – received a lot more approval points from fans than regular women on the street. These women found they didn’t have enough to spend their points on – after they’d paid for the right to sleep in a bed instead of a dog kennel, and protected themselves from rape for as many days as they felt inclined to, they didn’t know what to do with the rest.

And so the government introduced the Inter-Female Punishment provisions, which allowed a woman to spend large amounts of approval points to have another woman punished with rape, humiliation, and sexual torture, which led – to the delight of male fans – to celebrity women routinely paying to have their rivals and frenemies raped and degraded on national television – before, inevitably, their victim returned the favour…

===

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#approval points #slut #babe #systemic #caption #story #maledom #femsub #nsft

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