Anya's Amorous Addiction Prt 2

Anya threw her head back, pouring another few ounces of mint mouthwash between her lips. She'd only opened the bottle earlier that evening, but already it was more than half empty. Vigorously, Anya pumped the tart green fluid around her mouth. Left cheek, right cheek, through her teeth, tilt head back to gargle, repeat. This seemed like the thousandth time she'd repeated the ritual cleansing, but she could still taste Ethan's violation, permeating her. She could swear she even felt his sperm wriggling around in her mouth, tickling her tongue. Why wouldn't it wash out?

Ryan, Anya's boyfriend of three years, entered the bathroom in his boxers and wrapped his bare arms around her waist,
resting his chin on her shoulder.

“I think you're good, sweetheart.” he said, wryly. “Come to bed.” Anya spit another mouthful of foamy green swill into the sink and rinsed it down the drain. She certainly didn't feel like she was 'good.'

“In a minute,” she muttered, reaching for her toothbrush, and hoping it would make a difference.

Ryan put a hand on her shoulder and kissed her on the mouth. Anya tried not to stiffen at the touch of his lips, but all she could think about was her boyfriend realizing she had the taste of another man's cock on her lips. As soon as he released her, she shoved the brush in her mouth and turned away, afraid to look him in the eyes.

“You must have said some really bad words today to be washing your own mouth out with soap.” Ryan joked. Anya's only response was to attack the back of her tongue with the brush, gagging herself, but refusing to let any inch remain unscathed by the cleansing bristles. In the mirror, she could see Ryan smile, and shake his head.

“You're a weird lady, sweetheart. Don't stay up too late. No sleeping in tomorrow, we have to be at the airport at 6 to pick up your parents.” The brush still in her mouth, Anya spun on her boyfriend, but he was already closing the bathroom door behind him. Just the same she glared at the door, as if she could burn through it with her gaze.

How could he say that? That wasn't true! He shouldn't say things like that to her.

She was not weird. She wasn't.

She gave her mouth another once-over with the brush, angrily furrowing her brow at her reflection in the mirror. Ryan should have known better than to call her weird!

“Well, I guess we'll see if he has any sex this week!” she muttered at she ran the brush under the water in the sink.

She took a few more pulls from the bottle of mouthwash, swirling it around her mouth again before spitting it out and throwing back another mouthful. Twenty minutes later she threw the empty bottle into the nearby wastebasket. It hadn't helped. She could still feel a slickness on her tongue, and the salt of Ethan's sweat on her lips.

Thoughts of Ethan made her stomach rumble. Her body was getting hungry for a fix of Ethan's addictive cum. But, she would fight it—she wouldn't let the cravings overtake her. She wouldn't let Ethan make her into some kind of freakish junkie. She couldn't even believe, now that she'd had a few hours to recover, that she'd let him cajole her into sucking him off even the one time. Had the cravings really been that powerful? They couldn't have been. Who had ever heard of addictive cum anyway?

Anya sighed.

All she could do right now was sleep,

“You're being stupid.” Anya said, giving herself a hard look in the mirror. “You shouldn't even worry about this. It was a moment of weakness, some old emotions flaring up for no reason.” Anya brushed some of her red hair out of her face, without breaking eye contact with her reflection. “You're not a little girl anymore. You grew up, you got over your little nonsense, and now you're a normal, grown woman. Nobody else tells you what to do. You are in control of who you are.”

Anya smiled. She felt powerful, in control. The aftertaste was gone.

“That's right!” Anya said, a little too loudly for this time of the evening. “You are in control! You don't need Ethan to tell you what to do, and you won't do what he's told you! You will not go to his house tomorrow, or wear that bullshit collar. You are going to spend the day showing your parents the city and talking about wedding plans! Oh...shit!” Anya spat, suddenly going pale as the thought of wedding plans reminded her that her boyfriend was ostensibly sleeping in the next room, and she'd just been shouting...

...shouting things that she would never be able to explain.

Cautiously, Anya peeked out the bathroom door. Ryan was laying on his stomach, arms and legs spread across the bed, breathing softly. He was asleep. Gently she closed the door, and returned her attention to the mirror.

“N-nothing but childish desires!” she said, more quietly, less forcefully. The aftertaste of Ethan dumping his seed into her mouth was back. Anya felt very small.

Just the same, as she turned off the light and moved towards her bed, she kept telling herself over and over again;

“Just childishness. You won't give in again.”

Anya's stomach growled.

---

When Anya awoke, the cravings had grown tenfold. The hunger clawed and tore at the inside of her stomach, like a monster inside her belly. Her body demanded she feed it Ethan's seed. Anya stubbornly refused, and the cramps her body gave her in protest very nearly kept her from sitting up in bed.

“No, it doesn't matter!” Anya thought. “This isn't real, this is just my body trying to relapse. I can fight it! I am a strong, independent woman, and I won't let anyone make me a plaything. Not Ethan, not Ryan, not...not anybody!”

She took a few deep breaths, and steeled her resolve, burying the hunger deep inside of her. The pain and desire continued to buffet her, trying to persuade her to give in, but she knew how to fight this. She wouldn't give in.

Anya glanced at the clock.

“Crap! It's already five!” she exclaimed in an early-morning mutter. The airport was a good 30 minutes away, and she hadn't even showered yet. She threw off the covers and started moving quickly towards the bathroom—at least being rushed and showing her parents around town would keep her mind busy. She wouldn't have any time to think. Her stomach growled again.

Anya ignored it.

---

The adrenalin fueled clarity of realizing she'd over slept faded quickly, leaving Anya to stumble through her morning in a hazy delirium of addiction fueled desires. Sometime during the drive to the airport—thank god Ryan was at the wheel—the growl in her stomach matured into a painful cramp. Ryan made some stupid joke. She didn't even hear what he said, but if it had been about being on her period he would never have sex again.

The pair arrived at the airport, where Anya's parents were already waiting. It didn't take long to get everyone packed into the car, and start the drive to a nice local restaurant where they could all have breakfast. On the drive, Anya suddenly realized that her parents had never met Ryan before, but didn't remember if she'd introduced them at the airport or not. Anya was trying to decide whether she should initiate and introduction or not, but she couldn't think straight. All she could think about was the feeling of Ethan's dick playing her tonsils like a violin, eliciting gagging sounds which seemed almost musical now that she was remembering them.

“What the hell?” she muttered, confused and disturbed by her own wandering mind. She heard someone in the car ask her what she was talking about, but she couldn't muster the focus to figure out who said it, so she didn't answer.

As soon as Anya set foot in the restaurant, her stomach added nausea to its repertoire of torture. The thought of having anything in her mouth that wasn't about to squirt cum down her throat was enough to make her retch. She quickly excused herself. Everyone had noticed by now that she was clearly ill, and convincing her parents to let her sleep while they got to know Ryan better wasn't hard. Ryan called her a cab, and everyone went back to breakfast.

It was 11 in the morning when Anya got back inside her house.

“I'm going to beat him!” she sputtered to the empty air. “I'm not his toy, I'm a normal woman! I'm nobody's fucktoy!” She stumbled slightly, feeling far too ill to be shouting speeches to an empty house. Maybe if she took some sleeping pills she could sleep through the worst of it? She started fumbling through her medicine cabinet, Ryan used them sometimes—there! She clumsily got two into her hand, spilling several on the floor as she did so.

Anya threw the pills into her mouth and swallowed them without water, then began shuffling awkwardly to her bed. She made it about halfway before falling to the floor, and plunging into sleep.

---

Anya was at school, in a stall in the girls bathroom. She was 17. Her boyfriend was sitting on one of the toilets, and she was giving him head. His hand was resting gently on her scalp, fingers mingling with her red locks. He told her how good she was at it—he always told her that. He was such a nice boy...

He came, and Anya gulped, enjoying the slippery slick feeling slithering down her throat. It kept flowing, filling her mouth like a hose rather than a cock. She swallowed mouthful after mouthful, purring in pleasure with her lips wrapped around her boyfriend's shaft. She hungrily swallowed every drop with the same relish that a gourmet has for fine wines.

Suddenly the sensation was gone. Precious semen dripped out the corners of her mouth in the sudden absence of the phallic plug which had held it in. Something was pulling her! She felt a constricting around her neck, and realized she was wearing a collar, and someone was dragging her away by it.

“No!” she screamed at her unseen assailant, semen dribbling over her chin as she spoke “No, let me stay with my master!” What? Why was she calling her boyfriend master...?

Anya woke up.

She didn't move from her position on the floor, sprawled on her back from tossing and turning after she collapsed. She just stared at the ceiling, hating herself for her dream. A moment later, though, her dream was forgotten as she was overcome by a fresh wave of nausea powerful enough to send her running for the bathroom.

Save for Ethan's cum and the sleeping pills, Anya hadn't actually eaten anything since lunch the day before. But that didn't stop her rebellious body from attempting to squeeze everything out of her stomach. She leaned over the toilet, red hair spilling clumsily around her, and heaved, then again, and again. She spent twenty minutes dry-heaving over the toilet. Spilling out guts she didn't have to spill.

When she finally managed to bring her body under control, she rolled off her knees and lay on the floor, exhausted and breathing heavily. Part of her just wanted to cry, but she felt too weak to muster even enough energy to do even that, it was enough of a struggle simply to breathe. Besides, crying wouldn't help.

“Nothing will help” Anya mournfully rasped aloud, “nothing will help and I'll die alone here and...”

Anya stopped. There was something which might help...she just hadn't considered it as a possibility.

She could go suck Ethan's dick.

Anya wanted cum

No, Anya needed cum.

She needed to feel the gooey, slippery texture of semen sliding like silk over her tongue, setting fire to her taste buds and filling her mouth with heat, then gracefully dancing down her esophagus. She needed to feel tbe gentle impact against the back of her throat that came with each forceful spurt of ejaculatory delight. And the smell. The musky scent of a sweaty cock covered in her saliva and mixing with the pungent aroma of man seed was so enticing even in her imagination that she felt herself begin to get wet. She couldn't wait, she needed a Ethan's cock in her mouth now.

She briefly wondered what was coming over her as she shakily made her way to her feet, and out to her car. But any attempt her logical mind made to question her course of action was soundly refuted by her primal instinct. No logical thought could stop her cave-woman determination to wrap her lips around Ethan's dick. Just the thought of rolling his seed over her tongue after he'd shot his load into her mouth was enough to make Anya let out an unwitting moan of desire as she fumbled with the keys to her car door.

“Just once” Anya said aloud, as she shakily closed the door of her car and started the engine. “Just this once and then no more! I'll be stronger once I quiet these cravings. Stronger so I can resist. I'm not a slut, I'm a normal girl!”

She pulled out of the driveway and on to the street when she noticed the collar which Ethan had given her was still in the passenger's seat, where she had thrown it in a fit of anger the night before. She stared at it, blocking the road as she sat transfixed. She didn't want to wear it.

But, Ethan said he didn't want to see her without it.

“No!” Anya shouted, as some scrap of defiance struggling its way to the surface “I'm not his property! Women aren't anybody's property!”

But what if he wouldn't let her suck his cock if she didn't wear it? What if she wouldn't get to swallow his cum?

The tiny scrap of defiance withered, overcome by the overwhelming force of Anya's desire. Wordlessly, she picked the collar up off the seat and tightened it around her neck. It was surreal having that tightness there, demeaning. It felt like a connection to another life, the life she'd had in her dream...a life she didn't want, right?

Anya started to drive.

---

Ethan didn't live far from Anya's home, and within twenty minutes she pulled up outside of his house. Were she anything less than desperate for her fix, Anya would have paused before getting out of her car. Paused and stared, haunted, at the door behind which she would soon be prostituting herself. But Anya did not pause, the driving need had robbed her of any trepidation. Her car door was open before she came to a complete stop, and she ran full-tilt across the small lawn and up to the front door. She knocked again and again, so deliriously eager she couldn't figure out why the door remained closed after more than a second. What seemed like an hour passed before the door finally yielded to her incessant pounding. It was Ethan.

Anya's stomach growled louder than ever at the sight of him, and began to spasm rebelliously. Anya almost started dry heaving again right on his lawn. She didn't have any time to waste, she needed to do this now, and get it over with.

Anya stepped across the threshold into Ethan's house, and he took a step back to give her room. She retained just enough presence of mind to close the door behind her as she entered. At the very least, her humiliation would not be in plain view of the street.

As soon as she heard the door click closed behind her, Anya literally fell to her knees, dropping without grace or concern for her own well being—no doubt she would have bruises on her knees later. She didn't care, she was too busy fumbling with shaking hands, trying to get Ethan's pants open so she could get her mouth around his wondrous cock.

“Please, please, please...” she whimpered under her breath, pleading to her hands to move faster.

And then she found it, the most beautiful sight Anya had ever seen. A thrill ran through her spine as she saw the rod of iron wrapped in flesh that sprang out of Ethan's pants. She descended on it with a wild vigor she had not known she was capable of. She was like a lioness, leaping forth to capture her prey: a fleshy penis which she devoured in a single mouthful, throwing herself forward with such eagerness that Ethan was a few inches past her tonsils with one bob of Anya's red haired head. Her tongue flicked back and forth, exploring every delicious inch of the salt-and-vinegar flesh, seeking every avenue to quicken her reward.

Anya bobbed her head again, not taking Ethan quite so deeply this time. She didn't want his gift to bypass her tongue. She wanted to taste it, to relish it.

After a twenty second eternity, the first rivulets of lubricating semen trickled out of Ethan, and the hint of sweetness in her mouth drove Anya even more wild with lust for this exotic substance. She cooed with sensation, and felt a hot dribble of fluid flow down the inside of her thigh. She had never been this wet! She was literally dripping with desire.

Anya began to bob her head faster, cupping her tongue to caress the underside of the wonderful phallus—but then she felt a sharp pain in her scalp as Ethan took hold of a handful of hair, and pulled her head off of him, tossing her to the side where she landed painfully on her ass. Desperate and unabashed she wailed,

“No! No, please, I'm not done! I have to finish, I need it! Please!!”

Ethan ignored her, awkwardly pulling his pants back up over a member which did not want to be contained.

“It's after one in the afternoon, Anya.” Ethan said, in slow, measured tones. Anya winced at the anger she heard in his voice. Tears started to well up in here eyes, and she begged again

“Please, please I have to have it! I'll do anything! You can even fuck me if you want, I just need it now!”

Anya couldn't believe she was willing go so far, but there wasn't any part of her mind objecting loudly enough to even register. She would do anything for her fix of that cum..

Her passionate begging fell on deaf ears. Ethan was implacable,

“I told you to be here no later than noon. You disobeyed me. That is unacceptable behavior, and we need to correct it before I allow you that privilege.”

“I promise I'll never be late again, I promise! I swear to god, never again!”

“Promises aren't good enough. You need to be punished.”

“Punish me any way you like, please just--”

“No!” Ethan shouted, startling Anya . “You need to understand that I hold all the cards here, Anya. I don't need you, but if you don't get to exercise that whore's mouth of yours, you're fucked. You think what you're feeling right now is bad? Other girls have lasted twice as long. Trust me, I can let it get a whole lot worse.”

Even emotionally wrecked as she was, Anya doubted very much that any of Ethan's previous girls had lasted quite that long, but he had a point. If she didn't play his game, he could always withhold what she needed. And she did need it—needed it enough to play his game, for now.

Anya thought she knew what Ethan was driving at. It violated everything she'd ever been taught, violated everything she believed, but at this point she didn't care. She didn't have any other options, and if she didn't fill her belly with his cum soon she was going to go to lose her mind.

Anya picked herself up off her ass, and knelt down in front of Ethan again. Her cheeks were still red from crying, and she sniffled a bit, but she bowed her head and spoke in a clear, submissive voice.

“This worthless slut has disobeyed you, sir, and must be punished. Please punish your slut, she needs to be taught her proper place, so she can be a good little whore for her master.”

Anya couldn't see Ethan's face with her eyes so respectfully downcast, but even with a view of nothing but his legs, she noticed him stiffen a bit. He'd liked that. Of course, he couldn't show it, and Anya felt no pleasure at succeeding. She hated herself for even thinking of the tactic.

Ethan roughly took hold of the collar Anya was wearing and pulled her to her feet. She obediently did not struggle, and let him lead her through his house, and into a home office. It was more elegant than she would have expected of him, with thickly populated bookshelves; some straight-backed chairs made of dark wood and velvet; and a matching desk, with a rather large surface area.

“Get your clothes off, slut.” he demanded, and she complied without a word. She wanted to do something to hide the fact that she had completely soaked her panties while she had been blowing him earlier, but there wasn't much she could do about it. If the aroma hadn't been obvious before, it made itself muskily, pungently obvious one she had her pants off. She tried to mask her humiliation by keeping her face impassive as she neatly folded her clothes and set them on the desk in a stack.

Naked, Anya stood at attention, legs spread slightly, hands atop her red-crowned head. After last night there seemed little point left in trying to preserve her modesty. Besides, giving Ethan what he seemed to want—a submissive fuckslave—would be the quickest and most painless way of getting what she needed from him. The sooner she let him get this disciplinarian thing out of his system, the sooner he'd let her suck his cock so she could go home.

Ethan loudly sniffed the air, and eyed her with an evil grin. Reaching down between her spread legs, Ethan rubbed his fingers against her matted red muff—the hairs were soaked Despite her plan to play along, she scowled at him. She resisted the urge to tear the offending hand off of him; she was smart enough to know she had to pick her battles. Ethan pulled his hand away from her groin, holding it up so she could see the gooey strings of vaginal fluid forming a web between his fingertips. He raised the hand to his nose and inhaled deeply.

“Smells like my bitch is in heat.” he quipped, wiping his hand off on her breast like it was a rag. Anya felt tears want to fill her eyes, to express her consuming shame and humiliation. But she didn't let them. She held her tears back. She wouldn't give Ethan that satisfaction. He wouldn't make her cry with words.

“Bend over the desk.” Ethan instructed, apparently done teasing her. “hold on to the opposite side.”

Anya did so, spreading her legs a little as she leaned, to keep her balance. She felt exposed, and vulnerable. He was a freak. Clearly he intended to give her a spanking—the fucking pervert. She knew some people liked that kind of thing, but it was disgusting, and she certainly wasn't one of them.

Ethan walked behind the desk, leaving her leaning precariously over it, her breasts hanging down, and her ass sticking up, like she was in some ridiculous magazine. Why did men love these stupid, unnatural poses? Why wouldn't he just fucking get it over with!?

Ethan stood directly in front of her, his back to her. He opened the cabinet behind the desk, and stared into it for a moment. With him standing between her and the cabinet, all she could see were the doors flaring out to either side of him. She was tempted to stand up straight for a moment to peek, but she had to maintain the illusion of obeisance. He was getting off on her submission, and she could use that to get what she needed.

Finally, Anya saw Ethan reach forward, grab something, and close the cabinet doors. When she saw what it was, Anya drew in a sudden, frightened breath, and momentarily considered bolting out the door. It was a wooden stick, maybe four feet long, and a half inch thick.

This wasn't what she had been expecting. Suddenly she started to seriously regret showing up late.

Ethan walked around the desk, and out of Anya's view. She started breathing more heavily as fear gained purchase in her chest. She was barely able to keep herself in place, keep herself submissive. She had to let him play out his fantasy...

“Please...” she begged, a genuine tremor in her voice. “Please don-”

The first blow landed hard across her buttocks. She involuntarily wailed in pain, and her eyes instantaneously filled with tears. It was like being whipped by a live electric wire! The second blow landed with hardly a pause in between, crossing the first blow at an angle. Anya screamed incoherently. Again the cane struck, drawing a third red line across her otherwise pristine white skin.

“You fucker!” she shouted, tears streaming freely down her cheeks now, her body wracked with sobs “what kind of sick fuck gets off on this!?” Ethan's only answer was a fourth blow, lower than the others, striking her thighs and sending an entirely new pain through her, and searing a line of fire into her milky flesh.

Ethan lashed her with the cane a fifth time, leaving another welt across her ass. Anya was sobbing openly now, muttering incoherent pleas for mercy between her gasps for breath. Surprisingly, Ethan replied.

“You should know that each time you talk back to me, and each time you let a swat pass without thanking me for correcting your bad behavior, two more are added to your punishment.”

Anya couldn't stop herself from sobbing. Her butt was already aflame with pain, but even worse was the humiliation. She couldn't help but feel like a naughty child, being treated this way. “I'm sorry, sir.” She wasn't entirely sure she was faking when she said that. But...to thank him? That was too far, she couldn't thank him for pain, this humiliation. Not even to get what she needed.

Her stomach growled again, as if to remind her just how far she would go to suck Ethan's dick.

Anya gritted her teeth, and gripped the desk so hard her knuckles turned white. She tried to make her voice sound angry, but it just came out as beaten:

“Thank you, sir!”

Again the cane landed—if anything the brief repose made this blow hurt twice as furiously. Her back arched in pain and she wanted to scream and to swear, but somehow she managed to choke out “Thank you, sir!” before being wracked with fresh sobs.

Ethan was in his element now, and again and again Anya felt the cane snapped hard against her backside. It felt as though she had nothing left back there but a mass of puckered, stinging welts. Yet somehow each blow managed to raise another. She barely had time to sputter “Thank you, Sir!” before the the crack of the cane landing on her ass filled thr room again.

Ethan beat her furiously with the cane. Anya could feel that at least one or two of the blows had even broken her well-tenderized rump. But the cane continued to land, each blow adding to the crisscrossing web of welts on her ass. She was weeping openly, wheezing out her respectful “Thank you, Sir!” as best she could through the pain.

Finally the blows stopped. Anya didn't move for long moments, expecting another blow to come at any second. The only sound in the room was Anya's pitiable crying.

“Just admiring my handiwork!” Ethan finally said, breaking the silence. “Thirty four of them in total, in case you lost count.” His tone sounded like he was discussing the weather, but Anya was too humiliated to care about his cavalier attitude at the moment.

“It's one of the most beautiful things I think I've ever seen,” Ethan continued. “I can't tell you how long I admired your ass. It's so shapely...so sensuous.”

Gently, he began tracing a line down her back with one finger. “Your skin is another thing which drew me to you, you know. I've a great love for women with fine, pale skin. It is one of your most alluring traits.”

Ethan's finger reached the base of her back “For your ass, however...” Ethan flicked his finger against one of the welts he'd made on Anya's backside “...red suits you much better.”

Anya stiffened.“Fucking dickweed!” she thought to herself, as she stoically let her 'master' clumsily grope his way around her butt, bringing fresh pain to her welts with every subtle movement. “I won't forget this. He'll get what's coming to him.”

Finally, the groping and pinching stopped, and Ethan said “Now there's a good little slut. Come and get your reward.”

She tried to raise herself from her position bent over the desk, but her knees buckled and she fell to the floor, landing on her behind and overwhelming herself with a new agony. She almost cried out, but she stopped. There it was: Ethan's dick. He was sitting in one of the straight-back chairs, fully erect, watching her with amusement and expectation.

Anya could almost hear the adrenalin thumping through her veins. She would get there even if her legs were too shaky to hold her! On her hands and knees she shambled across the floor, she was in pain, and more humiliated than she ever imagined she could be, but none of that compared to the power of her hunger. The only thing that mattered was wrapping her lips around that sweet shaft. She realized her mouth was hanging open in a drooling grin of culinary anticipation, but the fresh wave of humiliated self loathing that realization caused didn't matter to her at all in that moment.

She was about to get some cock!

She reached up to Ethan's legs, and pulled herself to a kneeling position. She paused a moment, her face inches from Ethan's dick. She stared, entranced by it for just a moment, then raised herself up, and thrust her own head down onto the shaft, taking it all at once as she had done earlier. She locked her lips around the base and turned her head back and forth, causing the phallus to twist in her throat.

With a loud slurp she raised herself off his cock, sucking her lips tight against his shaft all the way up. She paused briefly to take a breath, then immediately went down again, gagging a little as she forced the head past her tonsils. As soon as her nose touched Ethan's stomach, she slid back up, and then immediately down again. Ethan grunted a bit—surely he'd be spent soon.

A jolt of pain shot up her spine suddenly, as Ethan jabbed her red-striped ass with the tip of his foot. She tried to ignore him, keeping her focus on sliding her throat onto and off of his shaft, but she couldn't help but jump a bit as he unceremoniously prodded her tender, beaten flesh.

Up and down, her straight red hair fluttered about, tickling her face and Ethan's legs as she slid along Ethan's shaft, bobbing her head with deliberate purpose. She was reminded of her dream, and wished she could make Ethan's cock into an endless fountain of cum. She started moving faster, becoming eager for her reward.

The only sound in the room was the loud, wet echoing of Ethan's cock slapping against the back of Anya's throat, and the gagging noises which accompanied it. Ethan was silent, probably biting his lip, Anya thought. But she didn't dare look up, she remained focused: up, down, up, down, bobbing quickly, gently, up, down, up...

And it was happening—the moment Anya had been craving ever since last night. Ethan's cum was shooting into her mouth with the force of a firehose. Her mouth quickly filled with the creamy jisim, and she gulped it down eagerly—but there was still more. She locked her lips tightly around Ethan's shaft, refusing to let any of the much needed sustenance escape her. But there was so much! A few droplets escaped the side of her mouth, dribbling down to her chin. This taste...this experience was more satisfying, and more exhilarating than anything Anya had ever experienced before. The flavor, the smell, the texture, it was transcendent! She had never been so happy, so fulfilled...

And Anya's cravings were abated, leaving a wash of shame and self loathing to consume her.

Slowly, Anya swallowed what was left in her mouth, and scooped in what few dribbles had escaped with a finger. She struggled to her feet. Anya's throat was sore, her legs, shaking; her knees, rugburned; and her behind, shredded to pieces and set aflame. She felt more revulsion for herself than she had felt in almost a decade, but she would not let him see it. She had gotten what she had needed. Now it was time to make a stand.

With as much dignity as she could muster, considering what she'd done in the last hour, Anya turned her back to Ethan, and began pulling on her clothes, starting with her panties. They were still sopping wet, but she refused to walk around without panties like a tramp. As she slid them over her butt, she had to bite her lip to keep herself from crying out. Anya would not give Ethan that satisfaction. Her resolute defiance was undermined somewhat when she tasted a bit of remaining jism on the lip she was biting, which she quickly scooped down her throat with her tongue.

Deliberately, Anya put on her bra, pants, blouse, and shoes, never turning to face Ethan. She'd expected him to be shouting at her by now, but she hadn't heard a peep since he'd erupted in her mouth. Anya felt herself salivating at the memory, but quickly quashed it.

The silence continued, and Anya finished dressing, pushing the last button of her blouse through its hole. Encased in her armor of modesty, Anya took a step towards the door. Before she could take her second, Ethan broke the silence.

“Where do you think you're going, cunt?” Anya froze, then shook her head in disgust. Why had she let him stop her momentum with mere words? Apparently some part of her recognized his authority.

“Fuck you.” Anya said, frustrated by the emotion in her voice, “And fuck this!” she added, suddenly shouting, as the tore at the buckle on the collar she was wearing. She quickly freed her neck and threw the collar, at the room's lone window. She wished it would shatter.

But the window proved invulnerable to the impact of the leather strap. Silence returned to the room. Anya still refused to look back at him, but did not move from where he had stopped her.

“I'm not going to give in to you, Ethan.” Anya said, glad she had finally found some steel to put into her voice. “This isn't some porno where I suddenly decide I like being raped because it 'feels so good.'”

Ethan didn't respond.

“I can't deny...” Anya added, starting to feel a little uncertain, but still determined to prove she was stronger than Ethan. “After this morning, now that I know what it's like, I can't deny that I'll probably be back for more. But I'm not going to play your perverted game.”

Ethan sighed, patronizingly, “Anya, you're a smart girl. Surely you see how this works, don't you? You'll die of withdrawals if you don't get what I have, and I can withhold it as long as I need to. You have no--”

“You're right, I am a smart girl, dickweed.” Anya interrupted, spinning to face him “Smart enough to know that you don't want me found dead with a brutalized body, and a stomach full of DNA evidence.”

Anya was rewarded by Ethan's eyes widening.

“Never thought of it that way before, did you?” Anya taunted, smiling triumphantly. It was good to see him wither a bit, he wasn't so intimidating when she wasn't jonesing for cum.

“Maybe you're right...” Ethan said, trying bring his expression under control. Clearly it was important to him that he try to appear commanding. “But you'd never be able to prove enough to get a warrant for a semen sample. So I only end up in trouble if you're dead, and if that happens, you've still lost. Is one bad year of your life worth dying for?”

“No,” Anya admitted, her tone a bit resigned, but still refusing to back down. “But you don't hold all the cards in this game. And I'm not going to make this easy on you.”

Ethan glared for a long moment. Then he did something Anya did not expect; he smiled.

“As you wish!” he said, cheerily. “Personally, though, I think you just enjoy being punished.”

Anya tried to cover the hurt expression that came over her face, but she proved no better at hiding her reaction to such a cutting remark than Ethan was. He continued,

“See you next time you get a craving. Which, by the way, will probably be before the end of the day. Putting off your fix, especially during the first few weeks, really throws off your body chemistry.”

“Fuck you, Ethan.” Anya said, turning, and making her way to the front door.

“Don't worry, my little skank,” Ethan called after her. “You will!”

---

Ethan wasn't wrong.

Anya had a lot of thinking to do, after she left Ethan's house. But whatever conclusion she came to, she knew he wasn't wrong about what he said. She would go back to him time and again to suck his cock, no matter how much she wished she could deny the allure of Ethan's luxurious, creamy semen. Much as she might resist, after her experience this morning, she knew she would always give in.

Anya just drove, taking turns at random. She just wanted to get as far away from her shame as she could, and to stay away from the shame of facing her parents and boyfriend after what she had done. After about twenty minutes she passed a small neighborhood drugstore, and pulled up to the curb. She found a few dollars in her glove compartment, and ran inside to buy a large bottle of mouthwash.

Once she had the cleansing bottle in hand, Anya went to sit on the curb outside the drugstore, then immediately returned to her feet as the fire in her bottom went into overdrive.

“Fucking sadistic, mouthbreathing dickweed!” Anya murmured, beginning to pace back and forth on the sidewalk. She filled her mouth with the overpowering flavor of mint, and swished it around awhile before spitting it into the gutter, and taking another pull from the bottle. If she was to be honest with herself, she didn't actually want to be rid of Ethan's lingering aftertaste. But if she was going to fight this, she couldn't allow herself the luxury of enjoying the euphoria his semen seemed to give her. Only by fighting the pleasure could she overcome the pull of the addiction.

Anya laughed, forgetting she had a mouthful of mouthwash and making a wet mess down her chin before spitting the green fluid out onto the curb.

“Fight it?” she asked herself aloud, her laugh suddenly sounding hollow “There's no goddamn way I can fight what that felt like. No god damned way.”

She stared at the puddle on the ground. It hand't helped much...she could swear she still tasted Ethan.

Anya swallowed a mouthful of the mouthwash, and cringed at the awful taste, before taking another swig to swirl around her mouth. The last thing she wanted was for Ryan to taste...that...on her lips.

Anya spit again.

“Gotta think!” she reprimanded herself, as she threw the bottle back again, draining it below the halfway point.

Snubbing Ethan had felt good. Really good. But it didn't actually help matters much. She felt a little better, having told him off, but it wouldn't stop her from returning next time she felt the cravings.

A fresh wave of heat from Anya's ravaged bottom flooded over her, and she shuddered.

Good as snubbing him had felt, the pain he'd put her through earlier would only get worse in the future because of her defiance. He would try to make her regret it. But that was a battle she could win. She would not regret her defiance, she would fight him tooth and nail with every ounce of her strength!

Anya spat out another mouthful.

“I'm not that kind of woman, damn it!” she growled, making every syllable into a manifesto. As if to punctuate her point, she hauled back and threw the half empty mouthwash as far as she could down the street. It hit the ground, bounced, and came to an unsatisfying, skidding halt without breaking.

Anya couldn't think of a way she could get out of this without it ruining her life. Even if she somehow managed to prove to everyone that Ethan's semen was addictive and that he had secretly exposed her to it, all that would accomplish is making a legal issue out of the scenario. And then she'd have to figure out how to keep her boyfriend, while simultaneously trying to get a supply of Ethan's dick-juice even while she was pressing charges against him. Even the ideal scenarios, which were pretty unlikely, seemed untennable to Anya.

On the other hand, Ethan had said her addiction would only last a year, and that her physical dependence would lessen greatly as the year progressed. If she could just keep everything a secret until then, she could survive Ethan's sadism. She'd survived dealing with sadists before, and this time she knew how to avoid a Stockholm style attachment to her tormentor.

And just because Ethan wasn't wrong, that didn't mean she wasn't right as well. She should not let Ethan believe he'd broken her, or let him think for a moment that she enjoyed their time together. Even if it was futile, she would fight him with every part of her being. Because if she gave in, if she stopped fighting against him, she might fall into her old patterns. She might lose herself in it, like she did before. And she would not be that kind of...freak.

Anya got in her car, and started on her way home.

–--

Ethan had been right about another thing.

She was standing at the kitchen counter, finishing a late dinner with her parents and boyfriend when the cravings started to become unbearable again.

Not wanting to endure the same pains she'd experienced this morning—if for no better reason than because it could not be safe to drive in that state—Anya excused herself, reiterating her excuse from this morning about feeling ill, and telling everyone she was going to go visit a nurse friend, to see if she could offer any advice.

Anya went out to her car, cursing the distance between her house and Ethan's. The little bastard probably got off on the idea of her needing to sit in a car after the beating he'd given her ass. She had to step out of the car four times before she finally managed to find a way to sit which was bearable.

“Perverted fucker...” Anya muttered again as she started her car and pulled onto the road to shame.

–--

Ethan answered at her knock, and Anya repeated her earlier attempt to get things over quickly. She stepped inside, closed the door behind her, lowered herself to her knees (more gently this time,) opened Ethan's pants, and bent forward to wrap her mouth around his cock. She knew he wouldn't let her off so easily, but she had to make this small defiant gesture. And who knows? Maybe she could get premature ejaculation to work in her favor for a change.

Ethan allowed her to suckle and bob for only a moment before demanding;

“Get your whore mouth off of me, bitch.”

Anya ignored him.

Ethan slapped her, hard. His open hand cracked across her face without mercy. Anya was literally knocked off of Ethan's cock, stumbled, and landed flat on her ass. The welts Ethan had left there earlier wailed at her, a grim reminder of what she was no doubt about to endure. She was left sitting there, stunned. No one had ever slapped her like that before. Her mouth hung agape as she stared blankly at Ethan. Quick as a swing of his cane, Ethan leaned over her and grabbed a fistfull of her crimson locks.

“You will obey me, cunt!” The words brought Anya back to the present. No doubt he had meant them to sound intimidating, but she heard the doubt in his voice, and she contorted her face into a mocking sneer.

“Yes, master.” She spat, with all the sarcasm she could muster. Rage engulfed Ethan's features, and Anya awarded herself a small victory in her mind.

“Good!” She thought, “You'll never break me! I'll never be your toy! You wouldn't have the skill to handle me even if I did submit!”

“You will learn your place, cumdumpster!” Ethan shouted back, slapping her a second time, keeping her from falling to the ground by holding tightly to her hair. Anya could not help but whimper pitifully in her helpless state.

Staring wide-eyed at her tormentor, Anya tried to think ”I fought back, that's good, that's necessary to do. But I don't get what I want out of this until I give him what he wants out of it. Best to play-act obeisance again, call him master and let him punish me a bit so I can go home.”

“Besides...” mocked a small voice inside her mind—one the thought she had long ago silenced. “You live for being owned and abused by a man, and you know it!”

“No!” she shouted out loud, repulsed by her own thoughts. Ethan, clearly thinking she was speaking to him, responded by slapping her again. She needed to get to the acting quickly.

Hair still held firmly in Ethan's grasp, she lowered her eyes to the ground “I am sorry, master. Please forgive your whore for being disobedient. Your whore is just so overwhelmed by desire for her master's cock that...that she forgets her place sometimes.”

“Then lets make sure you never forget again,” Ethan responded, some measure of control returning to his voice. He roughly pulled her to her feet by her hair, and led her by it to his living room. With a thrust of his arm, Ethan shoved Anya into the center of the room, where she stumbled slightly before regaining her balance.

“Remove your clothes, and kneel!” Ethan shouted. The tone of his voice had shifted from angry, back to simply commanding again. Relieved to have temporarily diffused him, Anya complied quickly and without hesitation. It felt good to remove the chafing fabric from the still fresh welts Ethan had left there earlier that day. As she undressed, she noticed a little blood on her panties—and not the kind she was used to seeing. It seems Ethan had indeed broken her skin during the last beating.

Kneeling and exposed, Anya's inner defiance began to wither. What was he going to do to her? Why had she provoked him? Wouldn't it just be easier to play along, and let him have his fun? Ethan walked around her in circles, inspecting her kneeling, naked form, and she began to tremble slightly, afraid of what her righteous indignation was about to cost her.

Ethan stood in front of her, and squatted on the floor, his face inches away from hers.

“Lets be very clear on this. You are my fucktoy, Anya. Until you don't need me anymore, you're not a person, you're property. You're my property, and I can do whatever I want with you. And whether you're willing to accept that or not, I will exercise my right to use my property in any way I feel like using it.”

Anya's stomach turned at having to listen to this, but she had to play along. She needed to get this over with.

“This whore is Master Ethan's property” She said, lowering her gaze “Master can do whatever he likes with his property.”

Standing again, Ethan walked out of Anya's field of vision. She could hear his footsteps growing faint,then returning. She remained still, kneeling upright, arms down at her sides. The footsteps came up behind her, and Ethan spoke.

“Arms behind your back.” he ordered, and Anya complied instantly, crossing her wrists for the rope she assumed he was about to wrap there. Instead, she felt a leathery material wrapped around each wrist, then tightened. She heard a small 'clack,' and subtly tested to see if she could move her wrists apart...she couldn't.

Then Anya felt a Ethan wrapping a second pair of straps around her arms, one just below each elbow, which were also tightened. Anya then felt Ethan pull her elbows together, forcing her to uncomfortably push back her shoulders to accommodate the unnatural positioning. Again the 'clack' sound of the two manacles being attached to one another, and her elbows were firmly—and uncomfortably—held in place.

Anya realized she was breathing fast, and consciously tried to take slow, deep breaths. She had to remain calm. Ethan being the kind of sicko to get off on binding a woman wasn't exactly a surprise to her, and in the end it was better for her if he got some of his jollies doing this, rather than giving her more welts.

Arms in place, Ethan spoke again,

“Knees apart.” It suddenly occurred to Anya that he might be about to fuck her...a thought which was followed immediately by “A-doy! Did you think he wasn't going to fuck you!?”

Anya's hesitation earned her a swift slap on the ass with something wickedly painful, and she quickly spread her knees as she'd been ordered. There wasn't much else she could do.

Ethan knelt to the side of Anya, and wrapped something around her knee. It looked something like a kneepad, but there was no padding. Only leather straps and metal rings. Anya remained still while the strap was applied first to one knee, then the other. The buildup was really starting to terrify her, and she cursed herself. What was it about defiance that had seemed so necessary only minutes ago?

Ethan moved out of her sight again, then returned, this time holding a metal pole about 3ft long, with a loop on either end. Anya gulped a little, she had seen one before. She spread her legs a little further apart, to allow Ethan to attach the spreader bar to the manacles on each knee.

“Now...” Ethan said, Anya could hear a bit of anticipatory delight behind his domineering tone “put your face on the floor. “

What choice did she have? Anya bent low at the waist, wobbling as she tried to stop herself from smashing her face into the carpet. She shuffled about for a moment, trying to find some position for her head which was at least marginally comfortable. She eventually settled on resting her weight on the right side of her face, letting the pad of her cheek serve as a bit of a cushion—which wasn't actually very comfortable at all, but she didn't have many alternatives.

Coincidentally, this position left Anya staring at Ethan's television. For a moment, her defiance was back, and she considered asking him to turn the TV on, so she wouldn't have to be bored while he was getting his jollies spanking a grown woman. But she bit her tongue—this wasn't a game. She was in very real danger, here, and stealing Ethan's powertrip wasn't wise.

The realization of just how vulnerable she was caused her defiance to flee her completely, and fear started to take control.

“Please..” Anya pleaded, her voice cracking with genuine worry “Please master, your slut can't get pregnant, sir. Please don't fuck me master, please?”

Ethan moved out from behind her, squatting in her field of vision—though with her cheek pressed to the floor, Anya couldn't see anything more than his feet.

“Don't you worry, my red haired little harlot,” Ethan teased, swinging a riding crop through her field of vision like it was a pendulum “I've no intention of sticking anything in your twat today.” He stood, and moved behind her again. “You have lessons to learn, anyway.”

Anya sighed in relief. Not just because she wouldn't have to worry about getting pregnant, at least, not tonight. But because there was no way the crop would be as bad as the cane had been.

Anya tried to relax, to ready herself for the stinging thwaps of Ethan's crop.

”I can take the crop. I'll be fine. It'll hurt like hell, but I'll be fine. Just breathe...” Anya thought.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Anya could hear Ethan moving behind her, but could not see anything but the blank TV against the wall.

The moment was shattered by a thwapping sound loud enough to echo through the halls of the house, as Ethan slapped the crop hard against Anya's exposed labia.

Anya's eyes bulged and she wailed loudly in horrified pain. All reason fled her, and she started shuffling her legs, dragging her face along the carpeted floor as her animal instincts demanded that she flee from the bite of the crop. Never in her life had she imagined such pain could exist.

“Remember the rules for punishment, Anya.” Ethan said, clearly enjoying her pitiful struggling.

“Please stop this, I'll do whatever you want, I promise, I promise! She shouted, frantic to escape from further strokes of her master's crop.

“Yes, you will do whatever I want, slave” Ethan cackled, “Because you're my property, and I can do whatever I want with you. And right now, you've broken the rules, and must be thoroughly reminded of your place. Now be still!”

Anya started to hyperventilate. The pain of master's—of Ethan's, she corrected herself—crop against her pussy was more than she could bear. She was still inching across the floor in an attempt to escape. It would have been humorous if she wasn't so terrified.

The crop landed again, and Anya wailed pitiably, sobbing loudly now. She was trapped, with no escape. She could not bear this pain, could not fight it. She felt as though she would die if she could not escape her bonds! She started to become frantic, her mind racing, trying to find safety from her suffering...

The crop landed a third time, and Anya found the part of herself that could survive this. The part of her that knew how to escape.

The part of her that longed to be a submissive.

She'd fought her dark desires for years. Reached breakthroughs with therapists, attended retreats, made connections, and buried that part of herself deeper and deeper. But now she let it out, let the slutty little pain-whore inside of her take over. She'd worry about the consequences later, therapy had done wonders for her in the past...but for now she had to let herself be free to love the bite of the crop.

On cue, the crop cracked against her red-haired pussy lips again, but this time she managed to whimper in response:

“Thank you, sir!”

The raging pain in her tender flesh, and the humiliation of her position still enveloped her, but she stopped resisting it. She let it wash over her, allowed herself to give up control over her body to her master. Anya allowed lights in her mind to turn on. Light which had long been dark. Anya allowed herself to remember what it was like to feel this way. Allowed herself to remember the intense arousal she had always equated with humiliation and pain. Anya allowed herself to get wet.

Again master's crop landed hard against Anya's cunt. Anya imagined what it must look like by now, with her pussylips as red as her muff.

“Thank you, sir!”

Part of her told her she shouldn't enjoy this. Told her she was giving in to everything she'd fought against, giving up everything she'd worked so hard for!

But Anya didn't care. And honestly, she couldn't remember why she ever had.

Anya's body jerked and she yelped involuntarily as another slap echoed through the house.

“Thank you, sir!”

Anya sniffled loudly. Tears still poured from her eyes. People didn't like pain! Pain was bad, she shouldn't enjoy it! Enjoying it was wrong!

But that was a lie, and she knew it now. Being humiliated was good. Being hurt to the point of tears was wonderful. Submitting to master was bliss.

The crop struck again, and Anya jolted.

“Ohhh” she moaned “Master, thank you...”

Being normal wasn't worth missing out on this.

Ethan struck Anya's pussy with the crop six more times, and Anya dutifully thanked him for each one. She'd never been disciplined so strictly before, but she'd gotten away with so many naughty things over the years since she'd last been disciplined, that she knew she deserved it. She needed to be taught a lesson.

Then the echoes of leather slapping tender pussyflesh fell silent, and the only sound Anya heard was her own soft, erotic sobbing. By now the carpet beneath her rug-burned cheek was soaked with her tears.

Anya felt Ethan begin to fondle her from behind. She was surprised by how gentle he was. He caressed her battered labia lightly, none the less inflaming the already burning flesh. His hands then brushed upward across her skin to trace the welts which striped her ass with a finger.

He continued in this manner for several minutes, admiring his own handiwork. Anya wasn't sure, but by she thought he must have traced each welt individually at least once. She began to come down off her endorphin high, and managed to stop sobbing with a few final sniffles. It felt as though she had been crying for a week straight, she thought....and she had loved it.

Anya felt so confused, who was she anymore? Was she normal...or not?

Ethan's hands explored further, pinching her labial lips together, then spreading them apart and breathing deep of her powerful scent. Anya shuffled nervously...was Ethan going to break his promise? Was he going to fuck her?

“Please, master...” Anya begged from her awkward position on the floor. “I need your cum so bad. Please feed your bitch, master!”

“You can't wait to get some cum in your belly, can you slut?” Ethan taunted, grabbing one of her asscheeks with one hand and squeezing it hard.

“No, master, I can't wait! I want to feel your hot cum in my belly!”

The more Anya said it, the more natural it sounded. But what about being normal? That was important...wasn't it?

“You haven't earned it yet, slut!” Ethan responded, squeezing her other cheek, and spreading the two apart.

“Oh no...” Anya thought. “No, no!”

Anya felt something press against her from behind, and suddenly the fight was back in her.

“No!” she screamed at him “Not this! Women don't do that kind of thing! It's disgusting and wrong and--”

Anya's protest was cut short as Ethan buried his well-lubricated shalt halfway into Anya's ass in a single vigorous thrust.

“No!” Anya growled again, trying to shake him out of her. “This is too far!”

Anya tried to raise herself up, to push Ethan out of her. But even though Ethan wasn't a particularly powerful man, he had every leverage in keeping his bitch in her place. With one hand he held her head on the floor, thrusting again, and burying his shaft deep enough in her ass that his balls slapped painfully against her tender cunt.

“You BASTARD!” Anya shouted, “You promised you wouldn't fuck me! You promised!”

Ethan thrust again, and Anya cried out as she felt herself being filled with his iron rod.

“I said I wouldn't stick anything in your twat, you stupid little slut” Ethan mocked, “And why would I? Naughty slaves don't deserve to enjoy themselves!”

Anya couldn't help bug grin at that. Ethan didn't understand.

”Look at yourself!” mocked the last vestiges of Anya's normalcy ”You're getting fucked like a stray bitch! You should be ashamed! Women do not enjoy being treated this way! This is wrong!”

”So what? Anya responded, as her normalcy faded to a distant murmur, and fell silent.

Ethan didn't understand.

She preferred anal sex.

Anya was in sexual ecstasy. She was bound, beaten, humiliated, dominated, and her master was fucking her butt with abandon. She hadn't realized how much she yearned to return to this, to everything she'd been taught was wrong. She had been born to be a submissive, bratty, fucktoy. And as Ethan's cock pounded in and out of her tiny asshole, she couldn't help but feel silly for having spent so long denying who she truly was.

Anya bit her lip to keep herself from whimpering with pleasure as Ethan's thrusting filled her, rubbing against the exterior of her vaginal wall. Something about the spot he could hit inside of her when coming from this angle...

A moan of pleasure escaped her lips, despite her best efforts to keep quiet. It had been almost a decade since anyone had made her feel like this. Years since she'd even let herself remember what it felt like. The pain of a tanned ass and the brutal, primal thrusting of her master. It was overwhelming!

Anya screamed in ecstatic pleasure, and every muscle in her body tightened and contracted, as she was rocked by the first orgasm she'd had in years. She felt drool dribbling out of her mouth as pussy juice flowed like water down her legs, all while her master continued thrusting, pounding, hitting that spot over and over...

A second wave rolled over Anya, and she screamed again, scratching at her own back with her bound hands, her mouth open wide and her eyes rolling back as she was overtaken by impossible pleasures.

Ethan was starting to grunt himself, and pulled out of Anya's ass. Moving his dick to point at the floor. It only took him a moment to cum, shooting a white stream goo onto the carpet. His second stream splattered onto Anya's cheek, and he grunted with the exertion.

For the briefest of moments, both were still, breathing heavily in the wake of their exertions. Finally, Ethan spoke. And, for the first time since he had revealed her addiction to her last night, he sounded unsure of himself. Clearly Anya's double orgasm had caught him off guard, but he tried not to show it.

“You'll have to suck it off of the carpet, Slut.” Ethan said, trying to muster some steel to put behind his words, but Anya could hear the confusion in his voice. “Next time, remember to show me the proper respect. I'll be back in an hour to untie you.”

He started to walk out of the room, then stopped as if he had forgotten something.

“Oh, and one last thing.” Anya heard a click, and suddenly her vision was filled with light and motion—she'd forgot she was staring at the TV.

She saw a door—Ethan's door. It opened, and she walked in, dropped to her knees, and began sucking Ethan off without the slightest hesitation. Even from her poor vantage point on the floor, the hunger in her movements was obvious on tape. She could hear clearly the slurping and popping noises of her efforts, and the jingling of the tags on her collar. Just before Ethan would have pulled her off, the scene cut to a side-view of her, naked, bending over a desk, and thanking Ethan for every blow with the cane. Hearing herself now, she could hear a certain pleasure in her voice even then. Then the scene cut one last time, to a low-angle camera. She saw her bright red ass, and elegant white back kneeling in front of a chair with Ethan sitting in it. The angle of the camera was such that each time she bobbed her head down onto Ethan's lap, it seemed to disappear completely from view. All you could see was her red haired head bobbing up and down—but the wet gagging sounds were more than enough to fill in the blanks.

It was clear what Ethan was saying. He had more than enough evidence to convince anyone that she was a willing participant in this. He intended to use blackmail to strengthen his dominance over her.

Anya smiled, and scooted her still-bound body over to the jism on the carpet. She eagerly set to work, sucking on the carpet fibers hungrily, consuming every dribble of genetic material she could get in her mouth.

Ethan really didn't get it. He didn't need to blackmail her.

Anya loved being a fuck-slave.

My Wife, My Slave

It's in the seat next to me: my wife. It's clad in a skin-tight full body suit, appearing as a statue of black latex. In fact, with its arms folded flat against its back, and wrapped so tightly in the bodysuit as to be immobile, it very nearly resembles the armless Venus. The only discontinuity in the image of a latex statue is the chin-length dark hair, carefully groomed to fall naturally around the otherwise encased head; the red cloth covering the slave's eyes; and its mouth, held invitingly open by a ring gag.

From the neck of the slave's suit dangles an elegant leash, which dips over the seat between us, and ends in my hand, holding the wheel of my car. My wife and I are on a special trip, and it wouldn't do to take my pet out without keeping it on a leash.
My eyes stray from the road a moment, fixating on my slave. I linger briefly, admiring how tightly its arms are folded back—that must be quite painful by now. We've already been on the road for several hours. After checking the road, I look back again. The suit was custom made to fit my slave, and its small breasts are each wrapped individually. The craftsmanship is so fine, that even though its left breast is slightly larger, each fits perfectly into the suit.

I make note of an exit about a mile down the road. There are other exits, much closer to my destination. But after hours of freeway driving, I could use some time on a nice, underused, country road. I merge into the appropriate lane and steal one last glance at my slave. Its open mouth gives me a lovely view of my wife's throat and tongue. The view tempts me.

As I pull onto the empty road which runs parallel to the freeway, I calmly move the leash to my other hand, and use my now-free right hand to reach across the seat between it and I. The cloth over my slave's face does not completely obstruct its vision, but merely renders everything it sees as a blotchy red haze. It recoils a bit, uncertain of what is approaching its face. Then the slave feels me take hold of the hair at the back of its head, and relaxes. It doesn't fight me as I push its head down into my crotch.

I hold my wife's face there for awhile, pressing its mouth and nose against my pants, and letting it inhale my scent. Through my pants I can feel it desperately grasping at my already firm member with its tongue and lips, futily trying to gain purchase. It whimpers a bit, frustrated by its inability to fulfill its purpose. I'm proud of my slave's enthusiasm, and ruffle its hair a bit before I reach down to unfasten the hook on my slacks.

Quick as a lick, the slave manages to get its mouth around my shaft. My wife has been well trained, using its lips, tongue, and throat to great effect. I've sometimes left the ring gag in its mouth for days at a time, and its become extremely deft at using what mobility the gag leaves it to perform a slave's duties better than most women could if they had four tongues, and a friend tending to their master's scrotum.

I keep one hand on the wheel, still gripping the leash, while I rest the other on the soft hair at the back of my slave's head. It has some difficulty moving its head at first, due to the awkward angle afforded by the seats of a car. It tries turning at the hip, sitting sideways, and kneeling on the passenger seat in order to find the best angle. Without the use of its arms, my slave sometimes has difficulty raising itself off of my cock once it's gone down. So while it tries to figure out the best positioning, I do my best to help my wife by gripping its hair and guiding it on and off of my shaft.

Finally it settles on kneeling on the passenger side floor, and starts to find a rhythm. I've spent months training my wife, and it's a good learner. It's only been a year as of last week since I took my wife's virginity, and now my slave was bobbing, slurping, and licking like it had been doing so for every boy since Jr. High. It truly has a talent for its work, and I quickly find myself holding back lest things end too soon. I've told it before that it's too enthusiastic at the start, that it should slow down and allow its master to enjoy the experience longer.
It needs to be reminded.

I adjust the leash in my hand, finding the small button affixed to the end. I depress it, and my slave stiffens and twitches as a small electric shock is delivered to its erogenous zones. I feel its jaw attempting to snap closed, but the rubber-cased ring gag stops that reaction from causing any harm.

My wife remembers its lessons, and slows its movements accordingly. It pays greater attention to my testicles, rolling them over its tongue and attempting to engulf my entire scrotum in its mouth. The slave knows better than to completely neglect my shaft of course, but relegates itself to gentle teasings with its tongue, twisting the head across its palette, or making a line from the base to the crown with only the tip of its tongue.

Fifteen minutes later, a glance at the nearby roadsigns tells me that we've only got another few miles to go, so I decide to wrap things up. I take hold of the slave's hair, as it tantalizes the head of my phallus with a slow, deliberate lick, and force its down around my cock. As I said, my wife is a very well trained slave, and despite its surprise by my sudden action, it doesn't gag as I force myself past the tonsils and deep into its throat. My slave even retains the presence of mind to tease my scrotum with its tongue as I force its lips to kiss my pubic bone.

Still gripping its hair, I pull it back up, and push it down again. This time it's prepared. On the way up it's got its lips locked around my shaft, suckling like a calf, and on the way down its tongue dances around my member. I continue to masturbate with my wife's head for a third, fourth, and fifth stroke before I'm unable to suppress my release any longer.

With my shaft burred up to its stiff curly hair in my wife's mouth, I depress the button on my wife's leash a second time. It spasms as electricity jolts its most sensitive areas. The slave's throat muscles contract around my phallus, and I empty myself into it, shooting my seed directly into my wife's belly. My wife coos with satisfaction as its master's sperm splashes into its stomach.

Thusly spent, I extract myself from its throat, and allow my wife to clean me. It attentively laps the remaining goo from my scrotum and penis, still stiff after my exertions. My slave giggles giddily as it does so, smiling as much as the ring gag will allow.

When it's done, it leans its head against my shoulder and sighs contentedly, engulfed in the afterglow of its service. I put my arm around my wife. She has been a good slave thus far, has learned her place well. Now I must test my slave's devotion to her place. I'm not worried, there's not a doubt in my mind that it will pass this test, but it won't truly understand its place until the test is complete.

I bring the car to a stop, having reached my intended destination.

“Alright,” I tell my slave. “Lets go say hello to your parents!”