Little by little, law by gradual law, the role of women in society had completely changed. It started out small: strict, gendered dress codes implemented in schools and workplaces; a drop in funding for women’s scholarships; an ever increasing pay gap between Men and women. Then it escalated: women were forbidden from laws in teaching, medicine, law, and more, and forbidden from attending university; women could not own property or initiate divorces; married women were no longer allowed outside without their Husbands. Today, it was finally made official: women were property.
Married women were the property of their Husbands, their Owners. Unmarried (unowned) women were the property of their Fathers. women could no longer hold any job other than public service, which was designated for any unowned woman. Unattended women in public were free to be groped, degraded, used, and humiliated as any Men around them pleased. girls were no longer sent to the same schools as Boys. Instead, special schools had opened up to train girls for their future role in life.
It was a bit of an adjustment at first. When you had first been told you could no longer finish university, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. you called your mother to ask if she still had her job as a computer technician. she said she had been fired, and told she should be at home making more babies. you managed to find a job as a secretary, hired for your big tits and pretty face. The dress code had you wearing tight shirts, short skirts, high heels, and no underwear. It was demeaning, but you did it anyway. you knew you needed the job.
When the final property laws were passed, you were fired, your apartment was repossessed, and you had to move back in with your parents. your Father owned you now.
He had taken no time at all in taking full control of your mother. When you first arrived back home, she was wearing the sluttiest clothes you had ever seen on her, with a pink leather collar around her neck. It was like He had just been waiting for the chance to Own her without her being able to resist. you didn’t think a Man you had known so well and trusted your whole life would actually support these laws, but you were proven very wrong.
your younger sister had been moved from high school to a training school, and you could often hear her soft moans as she studied in her bedroom. you yourself were placed in the public service program. Every day, you would make your way to the service station for your shift, often having to leave hours early in case you were stopped and raped on the way. When you arrived, you would be stripped, gagged, bent over, and locked in to your service stall for your shift.
your exposed holes were on full display for all the Men passing by on the street to see. your arms were locked uselessly in the pillory you had been placed in, and your feet were secured to the floor by cuffs around your ankles, leaving you no way to escape the humiliating predicament. you couldn’t even close your legs at all to hide your cunt. you were embarrassingly turned on by it all, even though you hated feeling so objectified.
your stall was side by side with several others that also contained women, bent over with cunts ready to accept whatever the Men behind them were offering. Some women were already being pounded, their tits swinging below them with every thrust. From somewhere down the line, you could hear the muffled moans of one woman who was getting a particularly good fucking. you don’t know how she could find any enjoyment in this at all.
“Oh, what a hot piece of ass this one is,” you heard a Man say behind you. It was followed by a sharp slap on your right asscheek that had you yelping in surprise. “Stupid slut…” the Man muttered. “Hey, wait, I know you,” He said, stepping around to get a better look at your face. “you’re that bitch from My chemistry lab!” He laughed. “Glad to see you know your place now.”
Craning your neck to get a glimpse of His face, you did indeed recognize Him from some of your university classes. He had always been rather nice to you. you would even have considered Him a friend. He didn’t seem to care about that now, as He groped your tits with one hand and fondled your ass with the other.
He moved back behind you and you could feel Him slip a couple fingers across your slit, barely dipping into your hole. “Filthy slut. you’re dripping wet already. It’s like you were made for this.”
His cock slid into your cunt with barely a hint of resistance. you couldn’t help but moan as He quickly filled you as full as He could. The head of His cock just barely brushed your cervix, and you had to stop yourself from instinctively rocking back onto Him, craving more sensation.
He slowly pulled out, only to slam back into you, and He quickly settled into a rhythm of absolutely drilling your hole. you squeezed your eyes shut and willed yourself not to make any noises, even with the absolutely delicious feeling you got at the height of every thrust. you could feel shameful tears gathering on your eyelashes.
Each thrust shook your entire body in your stall. your tits swung violently below you. Every now and then He would land a slap across your ass that you were sure would leave a mark. Finally, mercifully, He stuttered in His movements, and with a low grunt, you could feel the warmth of His seed spilling against your cervix. He pulled out, gave your ass one final squeeze, and left without a word.
you weren’t sure if you could make it through the rest of your shift.
When you finally made it home, you found your Father speaking to a Man you had never met. your mother was quietly bouncing on her Owner’s cock while the two Men spoke, and she gave you a tight smile as you walked in.
“Ah, the slut is home!” your Father exclaimed when he saw you. “Go get that bitch sister of yours from upstairs. This Man is offering Me a lot of money for you two.”
you did as you were told. you knew better than to talk back to Father these days. He had been bad enough to argue with in the before days. Since the laws passed, upsetting Him would just get you beaten and fucked senseless.
you walked up to the doorway of your sister’s room (Father had long since taken the door itself off its hinges) to find her on the floor, in only her cropped school shirt, bouncing on a dildo, with one of her school’s training videos playing on the laptop in front of her. she was quietly repeating along with the video: “good sluts take cock, good sluts take cock.” you knocked on the doorframe to get her attention, and she looked towards you without stopping her riding or her mantra.
“Father needs us,” you said. “i think we’re getting sold.
she huffed in annoyance as she finally stopped fucking herself and let out a soft whine as she stood up off the dildo with a slick, wet noise. As she was being trained to do, she knelt over the dildo and proceeded to lick and suck every bit of her own juices off of it. you hated that the sight sent some small spark of arousal down to your cunt.
The two of you walked back downstairs together, your sister not even bothering to redress her bottom half. It would probably be coming off soon again anyways.
Our Entertainment. The dining room buzzes with chatter and the clink of wine glasses as you step inside. Your eyes snag on it immediately... your seat. It’s parked at the head of the table, a sleek, sturdy thing with a matte black finish, and jutting up from the chair is a thick, glossy dildo, shameless and impossible to ignore. My friends are already here, interspersed around the table, half drunk and grinning, their curiosity pinging between me and that obscene piece of furniture.
"What’s with the setup?" one of them asks, jerking his chin toward the chair. His smirk says he’s already got a guess.
I don’t dodge it. "It’s for her," I say, locking eyes with you. "Keeps her cunt busy while we drink. She’s the night’s entertainment."
Their laughter ripples through the room, and you feel the heat crawl up your neck. You’re still standing there, frozen for a second, but I nod towards it. "Go on. Sit."
You hesitate, but the pull’s too strong — my voice, their stares, the promise of what's waiting for you. You ease yourself down, and the dildo slides in slow, stretching you open with a dull, insistent pressure. A ragged little sound slips out of you, and someone across the table snickers. I work quickly, looping rope around your wrists and ankles, tethering you to the chair’s frame. Your arms flex, testing the give, but there’s none. Your legs are splayed, locked wide, and that dildo’s buried deep now, pinning you in place.
"Can’t have you pawing at yourself," I say, loud enough for everyone to hear. “That'd ruin the fun.”
I step back, letting them see you. All of you. Your thighs twitch, muscles jumping under your skin as you adjust to the fullness. I dip my fingers between your legs, brushing the edge of where the dildo’s sunk into you, and pull them back glistening. "Look at that," I say, holding up the evidence. "Soaked already!"
They lean in, eyes glinting, and the questions start flying at you. "Does it feel good?" one asks, teasing. "You like being stuck like that?" Another chimes in, as if he's just discussing the weather.
You try to answer, but your words come out fragmented, sliced up by the shudders rolling through you. "It’s... mmphhh... it’s a lot," you manage, and then your breath gets caught as the first orgasm slams into you, yet another uninvited guest. Your head tips back, lips parting, and a moan spills out, raw and loud. The table erupts with laughter, a few claps, someone muttering, "Wow, that fast?"
I don’t let you settle. I circle behind you, resting my hands on your shoulders, and nod at the man closest. "Go ahead. Touch her." He doesn’t need telling twice. His fingers graze your chest, finding a nipple and tugging hard. You yelp, a high, desperate sound, and your body jerks against the ropes. Another hand joins in — someone’s pressing two fingers into your mouth, sliding them along your tongue. You choke a little, drool pooling at the corners, and they laugh at you, delighted.
"She’s a mess," they say, impressed. "You trained her well."
"She’s a good fuck doll," I agree, casual as anything. "Watch this." I remove their fingers, grip your jaw, tilting your head back, and shove my cock into your mouth. You whimper; eyes glassy. "See? She’ll take whatever you give her."
You’re fighting the restraints now, hips shifting, chasing friction that isn’t there. The initial entrance pushed you to orgasm, but now that you’ve settled in, it’s not enough. The dildo is filling you up but not moving, not giving you what you need. It’s maddening, and I can tell. I see your breath turn shallow, the way your fingers curl into fists. I love it. They love it. The whole room is feeding off your desperation.
Another hand snakes out, latching onto one of your nipples, pinching it tight and rolling it slow between their fingertips. Your moan comes out choked, garbled around my thick cock shoved deep in your mouth. "She’s loud," one says, grinning at me. "Is that the only way you can shut her up?"
"Pretty much," I say back, voice flat and smug. "Only keeps quiet when I’ve got her throat stuffed" That earns a burst of rowdy yells, glasses clinking in approval. "Don’t be shy now, I’m the only one that can fuck her, but you all can touch!"
And just like that, they swarm you. Hands everywhere, a frenzy of grabbing, stroking, yanking at your skin. Fingers are digging into your thighs, palms smacking your chest, someone raking nails down your side. It’s a flood of sensation, too much to track, hitting you like a shockwave that leaves you squirming, ropes creaking as you strain against them.
You’re trembling now, sweat beading on your forehead, and I can see the strain in your arms as you pull against the ropes. Another orgasm is building. Your thighs clenching, the little gasps you can’t hold back. Even more of the tells that I've learned to track. "Go on," I mutter. "Show them how greedy you are." It hits you hard, your whole body locking up as you cum again, a strangled cry breaking free. The table’s a chaos of noise. More cheers, filthy comments, a fist on the table. You’re panting, chest heaving, and I slide a hand down between your legs, stopping just short of where you want it. "Good girl," I say, voice carrying over the racket. "Keeping us entertained."
By the end of the first week, most of the girls are broken in. They're well behaved, taking cock like good little girls, moaning on toys in class.
Everyone except me. I still fight, and the last couple days, I've hidden in my room to avoid the boys. During one of my classes, a professor has me stay back.
"You're not behaving," he tells me. "You haven't learned your place yet."
"I'm not going to behave," I say defiantly.
He comes up behind me, hands coming around me so he can grope my tits. He toys with my nipples gently.
"You need tutoring," he says. "Lucky for you, I'm a great teacher."
I try to protest, but he drags me to his desk at the front of the room, revealing straps that he uses to tie me down to it.
"My hypothesis is that the boys just haven't played with you enough," he says. "So I'm going to fix that. I'm going to play with you until you beg me to rape you."
"I'm not going to do that," I say.
His fingers trace the inside of my thigh.
"You will, little girl," he coos, and his fingers brush my clit.
He slides a finger into me. So torturously slow. He laughs at how wet I become instantly.
"After I've had my fun with you, you get to be the class slut. Up here on the desk every class, getting that tight little pussy pounded by all of your classmates."
His thumb brushes across my clit, and he adds a second finger.
He pumps them in and out of me, and when he adds a third, I can't help but moan.
"Good girl," he says softly. "Such a pretty little whore. I can't wait to rape you."
I'm on a crowded bus, and we're packing in like sardines. I feel a hand brush me, but I'm convinced it's an accident. I wish I'd have worn panties today
The brush comes again, and this time it's deliberate. I spin around, looking for the owner of the hand, but I can't see anyone suspicious.
I turn back around, my face beet red. This time it's not a brush. A finger enters my cunt, and I gasp. Then something else does.
It feels so violating, having someone I can't see shove something inside of me. The fingers rub me for a second and then they pull away.
Just as I'm beginning to think about reaching down to take whatever it is out, the toy comes to life. The gentle vibrations threaten to make my knees buckle.
You watch me from afar, a smug look on your face, my juices still all over your fingers. When I get off the bus, you check the tracker you shoved in my pussy behind the toy, making a plan to hunt me down and use me once I'm desperate.
The Clearing. You’ve known about the place for months. A friend of a friend mentioned it at a party, half-laughing, as if she wasn’t sure she believed it herself. A spot in the woods outside town. Girls go there, she said, and men know to look for them. It’s not official. It’s not like there’s a signup sheet. You just go and wait for the worst to happen.
You laughed too. Called it a ghost story that suburban kids make up because they don’t have anything real to be afraid of.
Still, it stuck with you.
You went home that night and searched for it. Found a forum, then another, then a rabbit hole of firsthand accounts that made your face hot and your panties wet. Girls describing what happened to them in that clearing. How they walked in nervous and walked out ruined. That they didn’t see faces and didn’t exchange names. Hands just grabbed them from behind before they even heard footsteps.
At this point you’ve read every account at least twice. Some of them you’ve read while touching yourself, cumming with your hand over your mouth, imagining it was you on your knees in the dirt with a stranger’s cock down your throat.
You’d never go yourself. You’re not the kind of girl who does things like that. You’re careful. Cautious. Always double-checking that you locked the door. Texting your friends when you get home safe. You don’t walk into the woods alone and wait to be taken by men you’ve never met.
Even if you can’t stop thinking about it.
About going somewhere and giving up control completely. Skipping all of the awkward "so what are you into?" conversations, and getting straight to someone grabbing you by the throat. Being used so thoroughly until there’s nothing left of you but raw sensation.
You finally go.
Just to have a look and see if it’s real. To satiate your curiosity. And you can always turn around and run if things get out of hand. That’s what you tell yourself.
You park at the trailhead as the sun starts to drop. The directions from the forum are specific, and you’ve read so many stories you basically know the way by heart. The woods are quiet. Golden light filtering through the leaves.
As you get closer to the point of no return, you remind yourself yet again that you could go back. You could go home and make dinner and watch porn and touch yourself to the fantasy instead of the reality. Just stay the girl you’ve always been.
But all those tiny reassurances feel hollow compared to the excitement of finally being here. Of a world opening up to you as the tree line thins out.
You step into the clearing.
It’s smaller than you imagined. A rough circle of grass surrounded by trees, private and enclosed. Late sunlight slants through the branches. It’s almost peaceful.
You stand in the center and wait.
Nothing happens. Five minutes. Ten. You start to feel foolish. The whole thing was probably made up. Some elaborate fiction for lonely people to jerk off to. You’re about to leave when you hear it.
Footstep behind you. Not on the trail, they’re coming through the trees.
You freeze, a scared doe that’s forgotten how to run, standing perfectly still, fists clenched at your sides, heart pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears.
The footsteps stop. He’s close. You can feel him there, just behind you.
"You came here on purpose?"
You nod. It’s all you can manage in the moment.
"You know what happens to girls who come here."
Another nod. Your legs are shaking.
A hand fists in your hair. Yanks your head back. You gasp, and then his mouth is at your ear.
"Then get on your knees."
You drop. Leaves and twigs pressing into your skin through your jeans. He keeps his grip on your hair, keeps your head pulled back at that sharp angle, and you still haven’t seen his face. Not that you’d look if you could. Even you know better than to make a mistake like that.
"Hands behind your back"
You comply. He lets go of your hair long enough to grab your wrists, and you hear a zip tie ratchet tight around them. Your pulse spikes. It’s actually happening. You’re in the woods with a stranger and your hands are bound and you’re so wet you can feel it soaking through your panties.
He comes around in front of you. You keep your eyes down. See his boots, his jeans, his hand working his belt open. He’s stroking himself slowly, already hard, and you watch as his cock dangles in front of your face.
"I own you until I cum. So open up, slut."
You open your mouth. He feeds himself in without ceremony, one hand gripping the back of your head, pushing deep enough that you gag. He holds you there. Your eyes water. Your throat spasms. Saliva pools around his shaft and drips down your chin.
"Breathe through your nose."
You try. It’s hard to think. His cock is thick and hot and alive in your mouth and all you can do is take it, let him use your throat.
He fucks your face with no tenderness at all. Long strokes that make you choke, that leave you gasping each time he pulls back. You’re drooling. Crying a little. Your arms ache from being pinned behind you. You wonder if he’ll ever finish. If you’ll be trapped here forever.
When he finally pulls out you gasp for air, chest heaving, and he’s already hauling you up by the arm, spinning you around, bending you over a fallen oak. Your cheek presses into rough bark. His hands yank your jeans down, your underwear, and then his fingers are sliding through the wet mess between your legs.
"Soaked," he says. Almost to himself. "Knew you would be. You sluts always are."
He pushes two fingers inside you. You cry out, hips jerking, cunt clenching around the intrusion. He fingers you roughly, carelessly, like he’s testing your limits. Finding out how much you can take.
"It’s usually the eager whores like you that end up here."
He says it with a laugh as his fingers withdraw and then the head of his cock is pressing against you, pushing in, stretching you open around him. He bottoms out in one long stroke and starts fucking you like you’re nothing, like your only purpose is to be a warm place for him to empty himself.
Your bound hands chafe against your lower back. The bark bites into your cheek and breasts. He’s gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, pulling you back onto his cock with each thrust, and you’re making sounds you’ve never heard yourself make. Animal sounds. Desperate, wordless begging.
You cum without warning, your whole body seizing around him. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. Just keeps pounding into you through the spasms, through the second orgasm that builds right on top of the first.
"One more," he says. "Give me one more and I’ll fill you up."
You shake your head. You can’t. You’re too sensitive and raw and broken.
"Yes you can."
His hand snakes around, finds your clit, starts rubbing in tight circles while he fucks you. The pleasure is almost painful. Too much. You’re crying now, really crying, tears and snot and drool smearing all over
"Come on. Give me what I want. Be a good whore."
The third orgasm rips through as if it had claws, and you feel him slam deep and hold there, feel his cock pump ropes inside you, feel the hot rush of him filling you up just like he promised.
He pulls out slowly. You feel his cum leak down your thigh. He cuts the zip tie, and your arms fall to your sides, numb and tingling.
You hear his belt buckle, his footsteps retreating back into the trees. And then you’re alone in the clearing, bent over with your jeans around your knees and your cunt full of a stranger’s cum.
Your mind is quiet for the first time. Like someone reached into your head and turned off the noise that’s been buzzing there for years.
You pull up your jeans slowly. Wipe your face with the back of your hand. Your legs are unsteady as you make your way back to the trail, back to your car and the rest of the world.
You sit in the driver’s seat for a long time without starting the engine. Your body throbs. Your wrists are marked. You can still taste him in the back of your throat.
You’ll come back. You know that now. You’ll come back next week, or the week after, and wait in that clearing for whoever shows up to use you.
having rhoughts again like i want someone to find ne at a party and drug me and take me to a motel room that's set up like a photo booth but dor porn. like there's a bed, maybe a couch, and a bathroom, cameras and mics everywhete. boxes with all the toys you could want. and people can come and pay you to make their own porn woth me. they tell you what they want to do to me so you can prepare me. maybe they want me drugged up, maybe they want me to play a specific role, maybe they want me to act scared or fight them or dissociate, or maybe they want me to act like i love whatever they're doing to me. they can act out their fantasies and i have to go along with everything. and a few days later they get an edited video. amd depending on how much money you make you could take me on a little tour to different cities, on the first day you take me out for dinner, but make me get way too high before we leave, and at the restaurant take a selfie with me that i have to post on instagram, so my friends and family know where i am and can watch me turn into porn over time. then make me get underneath the table and get my mouth on you while you eat. when you're done take me to the motel and start makijg more money
kaledo-art
yousharknotpass
tangentwithtanner
