The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

When I come to, the world explodes into focus, and my cunt screams at me to find a cock to stretch it out and fill it up and pound it into sweet oblivion.

My name is Jennifer Hansen, and I’m hungry—I’m hungry for sex, hungry for cock, hungry for cum. That defines my world right now, this craving to be taken, invaded, possessed, in the most primal way imaginable. I’m awash with waves after waves of desire and lust. I want to moan and shout to someone to come and fuck me, but there’s something in my mouth keeping me from talking. I want to reach down and rub my hungry cunt raw and fuck myself with the first stiff thing I can get my hands on, but my hands are tied up above my head. I’m a needy cunt with no available release.

The door opened, and Nurse Pietro Gutierrez entered. He was not alone.

“Have you—” The voice was uncertain. Doctor Kiyoko Agnieska sounded worried.

“Yes. Of course. I always do. The camera’s off. You are such a worry wart, doc.” Gutierrez sounded exasperated, impatient, a little nervous. But then again, he always was before a party.

On the bed before them, Jenn was reeling under the assault on her senses. Her body, keyed by the male presence nearby, went into overdrive, and the craving, the desire to feel male flesh between her fingers, her lips, her thighs, blasted through her and made her moan, and the moan sounded like music to Gutierrez’s ears. But he remained far from her—Jenn was coming out of her medically-induced catalepsy, and was starting to assert herself, and Gutierrez did not like it. He needed her for the party, but he only liked her paralyzed and unresisting.

Meanwhile, Doctor Agnieska checked Jenn’s vitals. Earlier that day, she had programmed Jenn’s medication delivery system to gradually reduce the amount of drugs injected in her system. She should now be coming out of her catalepsy. Jenn’s eyes opened slightly, and she could dimly see Agnieska check the monitors and the IV drip.

Doctor Agnieska turned to Jenn, feeling herself observed, and gave the patient a faint smile that never reached her eyes. Agnieska bent down and flashed a penlight in Jenn’s eyes, and the touch of her fingers on Jenn’s face made Jenn’s mouth water with need. She wanted to suck on those fingers, turn Agnieska on, get her to stuff those wet fingers into her dripping pussy. Jenn had dropped out of bliss, and was plunging head first into the fires of lust.

Jenn was losing herself. She could still think, but it was getting more and more difficult, every thought drowned out by the shouts of her body clamoring for attention and release. When she was Biff’s slave, she was a passenger inside her own body, observing it, feeling what it felt, unable to affect its actions, but remaining free to think, feel, dream. But Biff’s last instructions that she “would start craving the feel of a cock in her mouth, in her pussy, in her ass, craving the feel of cocks spurting inside her,” those cravings overwhelmed her mind and shut her out, kept her from thinking straight, kept her from being able to feel and think about anything but the needs of her body, that unquenchable need for cock, for cum, for sex.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Doctor Agnieska said, her voice soft, trembling. “You’re going to be okay.”

You’re lying, Jenn wanted to say, but she could not—all that came out was a long moan, and to her dismay, her hips jerked, upward, seeking contact with Agnieska, with Gutierrez, with anyone.

After giving Gutierrez a look, Agnieska pulled out a syringe from her coat pocket and injected its content into Jenn’s IV drip. Jenn moaned again. Not again! she wanted to say. Don’t make me do this! she wanted to protest.

She wanted to scream at them that they were bastards, and also beg them to squeeze her tits hard and stuff their fingers into her pussy and her ass and come all over her.

And then, the world spun out of control, and it was neither bliss nor lust but sheer blackness that engulfed her.

My cunt rages for a good stuffing, my mouth waters, my whole mind scrambles under the assault of my senses: my whole being screams for just one thing. Cock. Cock. Cock.

Memories come back to me slowly, and they come back fragmented, jumbled, for it is almost impossible for me to hold on to a single thread of thought, to a single idea.

I have visions of Agnieska showing up to my room to check up on me—recalling her hands on my body makes me wet. I have flashes of Gutierrez humping me as I lay unmoving—recalling his cock plowing into me makes me moan in the ball gag stuck in my mouth. I vaguely remember Sanderson—for it was Sanderson, no?—bringing me out to the recreation room to hang out with the other patients—recalling all that female flesh surrounding me drives me crazy, all that pussy juice to be licked and sucked and rubbed on my body. And then there are those flashes of Agnieska and Gutierrez coming to my room again before… before this—coming to knock me out so that when I wake up, I’m that other me, the other me that Biff created—the slut, the cock-craving slut, the delicious cum guzzling slut that I cannot help to be, that I want to be, that I am.

For I am a slut, there is no doubt about it, none whatsoever. My whole body is screaming at me that servicing cocks is all I’m good for—suck them, fuck them, worship them. Shivers, cold and hot, alternate, and I feel as though I’m drenched in sweat. It takes a frightening amount of concentration on my part to even put together a coherent though, and I nearly exhaust myself trying to ascertain my surroundings. Knowing one’s environment is the first step to keeping yourself safe, or so said my self-defense teachers back in high school.

I’m in the middle of a small room, attached by the wrists to a chain hanging from a hook in the ceiling. My shoulders are killing me—I have no idea how long I’ve been here, but long enough for my hands to be numb. My feet reach the ground, thankfully.

The room is small, decorated like a cheap hotel room, all in beige, with nondescript paintings on the walls, a small stainless-steel sink in one corner, a table with a chair but nothing on it, a wardrobe, and a double bed against the wall with its covers pulled back in one corner, as if waiting for someone to come in and use it. Along the other wall, another table, this one covered with a cloth.

It all seems so familiar, as if I have seen this room before. And then memories flash back to me, slowly, times in the past where I have been in this same room, previous times when the Pig pulled me out of my bliss to get me to fuck, in this same room, men, women, anyone interested in getting it on with a hot slut that will do anything to feel a stiff cock pounding her and flooding her with delicious cum.

The Pig is pimping me out, and the thought of it, the memory of it, the sheer notion of it is enough to send fire down to my crotch, and I moan again in my ball gag, closing my eyes. I’m a whore. I’m a cum-craving whore, good only to be used as a fuck toy.

And I’m attached to a hook on the ceiling. I’m trapped. Offered. Available to any man that comes in and wants to feel me up, grab my tits, spank my ass, spread my legs and fuck me to his heart’s content.

I almost come on the spot, without touching myself.

When I try to find my footing, I realize that I’m wearing high heels—and tall ones, at that. Fuck-me heels. I look down—they’re black, and so is the silken slip I have on, a short, body-hugging slip with a plunging neckline that half bares my breasts. That slip has but one single function: to advertise sex. The black stockings sheathing my legs complete the picture. Imagining how I must appear to someone looking on makes my pussy gush so hard my head spins, and my nipples harden—they push through the silk in an obscene way. I’m dressed to seduce, to tantalize, to arouse. I’m dressed up as a fuck doll, and a moan escapes my throat. I want a cock! I need a cock!

I want to run my tongue over my lips, but the ball gag that’s stuffed in my mouth prevents me. And when I concentrate on my lips, I feel a a thick coating of lipstick over them. I shiver. Lipstick, according to folklore, was how whores advertised their wares, how they signified that they were experts at satisfying men with their mouths, that they were cock suckers, and good ones. And my lips are painted like cock-sucker lips—I’m telling the world I suck cock, and I do, with pleasure, with glee, and my pussy throbs with desire.

I rub my thighs together to try to quench the need that’s buried there, and that’s when I feel it, the coldness against my groin, the lack of mobility, the lack of sensation. I can’t see—the silk slip barely covers my crotch, but it’s enough to hide what’s underneath. I close my eyes, letting my body feel whatever it wants to feel, and try to focus on my lower body—and then it comes to me, in a flash. The weight, the coldness, the sensations. A chastity belt—they put me in a chastity belt! I moan again, my pussy on fire. Chastity belts are for sluts that can’t keep their legs closed, that rub themselves against anything that vaguely looks that a cock, that wantonly shove whatever they can up their tight dripping cunts! That’s me! That’s so much me I want to cry, to scream, to suck a fat dick shoved down my windpipe!

When I hear the door open, I freeze. My cunt gushes—despite the chastity belt, I feel my juices drip down my thighs to the elastic bands holding up my stockings. My nipples get harder. My mouth starts to water. Even my ass twitches. I start humping the air, as if warming up, as if getting ready, and I should get angry, I should scream out, I should fight, do something, anything, except shake in need.

A woman comes in first, her heels clacking on the floor. She looks familiar—I’ve seen her before, other times when the Pig woke me to be used. She’s beautiful, tall with long black hair, wearing a leather corset that cinches her waist and exposes a pair of round breasts that I simply want to wrap my hands around, with large hard nipples that I want to suck and nibble. Her high-heeled boots reach mid-thigh, and between the boots and the corset, there is nothing but an exposed pussy that makes me shiver in anticipation.

She has a superior expression on her face, her lips twisted in a smirk, and a light in her eyes that spells out clearly that she likes what she sees. She takes a step towards me, and her eyes follow my body down like a caress.

Her eyes glide over me like I’m naked, and I feel naked under her stare, and it feels amazing—her eyes on my breasts, on my tummy, on my thighs, my legs, me feet, then back up to my cunt, my cunt on fire, begging for her to touch it. I think I moan—it’s so hard to tell what’s going on inside my head and what’s out of it. The woman takes another step towards me, her eyes focused on my lips, spread around the gag, as if she wanted to fuck them just by looking.

When’s she’s close, her scents wafts to me, and it’s a mixture of sweat and semen and pussy and my head spins and I want to lick her skin, suck her juices out of her, and I stumble in my heels and struggle against my bonds, trying to get my wrists out so I can run my hands on her body and part her legs and dive between them to her juicy center.

There’s a man behind her who followed her into the room, but he’s keeping his distance, while still staring at me with wide eyes. He can’t keep his eyes off me. Which amazes me because if I were him, I’d have eyes only for the naked round ass of the leather-clad woman—fuck, if I were him, I’d grab her and push her down on the bed and take her from behind like a bitch in heat, making her squeal and scream and beg to be fucked harder and faster and deeper and I’m shaking with need now, imagining that it’s me on the bed with my ass in the air getting pounded by this man as he reaches down to grab my tits and squeezes them hard.

The woman is right there in front of me, and she’s smiling now. She lifts a hand to my face, slowly, and grasps my chin between her thumb and index finger, lifting my head up. I’m shaking hard, and I want to beg her for… for what exactly, I have no idea. But I want to beg—I want her to hear me beg. Please…

The woman smirks, as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking, and she lets out a little laugh. I recognize that laugh; I’ve heard it before. She’s a patient in the Gallery, I think she’s called Cassandra or something like that, but before I can think about that further—it’s so difficult to concentrate on anything except on her presence right there in front of me, her fingers on my skin, her eyes on me, and on that of the man behind her with a large cock in his slacks just waiting to pounce into me.

“You want to say something, you pretty little bitch?”

I groan at her words, at the way her lips move. I am a little bitch. I am your pretty little bitch, I want to say—I will be the prettiest filthiest little bitch you’re ever had, I want to say. She runs her thumb over my bottom lip, and I want to sneak out my tongue to lick and suck that teasing digit that is driving me crazy. She then slips it over my teeth, on the side of the ball gag, and I try to push my tongue on the side of the gag to reach her finger for some contact, and she smiles at my feeble attempts and my moans while doing so.

“Such pretty titties,” she says, grabbing my breasts and squeezing them. It’s like she’s squeezing my clit the way it makes my body shiver in need. “Don’t you think she’s got pretty titties, Young Thing?”

The man doesn’t say a word. His eyes are drawn to Cassandra’s hands, pawing my tits without respite. There are drops of sweat on his forehead, he’s slightly red-faced, and his breathing is fast.

Cassandra nods towards the table covered with a cloth against the wall. “If you want, you can play with them. We got all sort of toys there that you can use on her. There that lash with some nasty metals balls at the end of the strings that do wonders for horny bitches that can’t keep their legs closed. And the little bitch here really loves to get her titties whipped red, don’t you, cunt?” Get those titties all nice and red.” She pinches one of my nipples through the silken slip, and my muffled shout is part pain, part pleasure.

The man is staring at me, at my reaction. The way he looks at me, the way his eyes run over my body, a combination of embarrassment, surprise, and yes, lust, stokes the fires that Cassandra ignited, and I look at him with what I know full well is hunger, unabashed naked hunger. My whole body drives toward him, and I stumble forward, held back by my wrists above my head, and a groan of frustration turns into a whine of desire that elicits a laugh of derision from Cassandra, who runs a hand underneath my slip to touch the skin exposed by my chastity belt. I thrust my ass back to further the contact.

“Look at her, Young Thing,” Cassandra says. “I think she likes you. Not really surprising, though.” She leans over, her lips by my cheek, and I turn my face as if seeking a kiss, but she stays just beside my range. “Because this little slut here likes anything with a cock, doesn’t she? Yes she does, yes she does,” she continues, as if talking to a dog. Not a dog—a bitch.

She grabs my hair and pulls my head back hard and licks my lips, while I struggle to keep my balance, my shoulders taking the brunt of the shock. I groan, because I want to feel her tongue in my mouth, kissing me deeply, but she won’t take the gag out.

Her hand mashes my left tit and I moan as she grips my lower lip with her teeth and bites. My body is on fire, and my legs are shaking.

When Cassandra lets me go, I shiver, and my eyes are driven to the man, who’s still staring at me, and my eyes drop down to his crotch, and it’s clear that he has a hard-on—he must like seeing two girls getting it on, and that he likes it makes me so hot that I want to grab Cassandra and fuck her while he watches before he joins in and fucks us both.

“You like my boy Sanderson here, you little slut?” Cassandra says in my ear. “I think he likes you too. You see, he’s new here, and you’re sort of his signing bonus. It’s your job to show him a good time. But that’s not a problem for you, is it?” She grins as she slaps me twice on the ass before letting her hand roam freely back there—I push my ass back to get more contact, more anything. I want something in my cunt so bad tears forming in my eyes.

And the small rational part of me that still lives up in my head, all but forgotten, ineffectual, useless, holds on for dear life to Cassandra’s words. My boy Sanderson.

Sanderson—the hunk in front of me with the kind eyes and the hardening cock is Sanderson, the one guy that has not groped me in the ward, who has not taken advantage of my inability to defend myself to run his hands all over my sensitive skin. Sanderson, who has taken it upon himself to pull me out of my isolation and wheel me out regularly into the recreation room. Sanderson, who would show up sometimes in the evenings, after his shift, to read to me from novels he was himself reading—overly verbose politico-technological thrillers, but distracting nonetheless.

Sanderson, who seems to care about me, something that brings a tear to my eye and a flood of juices to my overheated pussy. Sanderson, who looks at me in a way that reminds me how Daniel used to look at me—no, don’t think about him! as my body stiffens in panic and a groan of fear rises from my throat.

Cassandra mistakes that groan for one of lust, and she squeezes my tit harder, pinching a nipple through the silk. My moan transforms. Sanderson takes it all in, silent, watching, his cock hard in his slacks, his eyes torn.

I stare at him. The look I give him must burn through his clothes and sear his skin because he looks up to me and our eyes meet and I don’t know what he sees but all I do see is a man teetering at the edge of lust ready to dive and I want to be the one to push him down into the depths of depravity.

I’m grateful for the kindness he’s shown me in the ward, and my body takes this gratefulness and interprets it as wantonness. And it’s not a far off interpretation. Because I want him—right now, I need him! I want to fuck him like he’s never been fucked before so that he comes back to fuck me over and over again until I’m nothing but a limp of female flesh drowned in a sea of his arms, whimpering helplessly as I beg him to take me over and over and over again.

Cassandra’s laugh and her slap on my ass snap me out of my daze.

“Oh yes,” Cassandra says, sounding delighted. “You are so ready to be fucked like the little worthless cunt you are. Too bad I can’t join you—I’d love to see how red I can get those cheeks of yours, and feel your mouth on my pussy again.” She grins, and licks my lips once more, and it feels more sexual than most of the fucking I’ve done in the past months. I would lick her pussy and her ass and anything else she asks for another lick like that. As it is, she lets me go, and with one last grope on my tit—and my moan comes out louder and more clear and I groan a “Please” into my gag—she turns to Sanderson and tosses him a small key ring that dings as it flies into his extended hand.

“Here you go, Young Thing. She’s all yours. Don’t hurt yourself—she can get a bit wild when she gets hot.”

She takes advantage of Sanderson’s shock to grab his cock through his slacks before disapproving and closing the door behind her. Her smell lingers and the silence of the room is marred only by my ragged panting.

My eyes were riveted to Sanderson’s crotch, where Cassandra hand was but a few seconds before, and where I can see a becoming bulge. I feel my drool drip the side of my open mouth. There is no point in thinking how slutty I must look hanging from my wrists in an obscenely short black silk slip, black stockings, and black fuck-me heels, tits rising, hips swaying slowly, a look of hungry lust on my face.

I moan in my gag, and twist to try to get his attention. I want to feel his hands on my body, his lips on my skin. His cock in my cunt. His eyes are locked upon me, but he doesn’t actually seem to see me.

He shakes his head, as if coming out of a dream. In slow motion, he pulls out a wallet from his back pocket and slides out what looks like a small photograph. I can’t see it from where I am, but Sanderson’s eyes go from the photograph to me and back to the photograph. I moan again, and this seems to snap him out of his wide-eyed trance.

With a slight hesitation, he takes a step forward, before stopping and going back to the door.

“No…” I groan in my gag. He can’t leave now. I’m burning up and I need a cock inside me. “Please…” The words come out muffled, and I shiver at the sound of utter debasement that you would hear in my voice were they not.

Sanderson locks the door and comes back to me.

“Are you okay?” he asks, keeping his eyes into mine, clearly avoiding looking down at my heaving tits. Touch them, please!

He reaches behind my head to remove my gag, and I tilt my head and rub my face against his forearm, like a kitten wanting to play.

He manages to unfasten the strap behind my head, and the ball gag slips out, and my jaw hurts when I move it, but it just makes it even hotter. Like I’ve just been giving head to a huge cock that barely fit—Jennie, the cocksucking queen, taking a cock that dislocated her jaw. My pussy gushes.

“There,” he says, tossing the ball gag in the corner of the room. I can see—I can smell—that he’s trying to control himself and not touch me or even look at me, as if he wasn’t trusting himself. “Better? Fuck, what did they do to you? Here, let me…”

He fumbles with the key ring and reaches up to try to fit a key into the lock holding my wrists together with the hook dangling from the ceiling, and I take advantage of the opportunity to slide forward and make contact with his crotch and I shiver so hard I stumble off my heels. I can feel his hard cock through his slacks, through the chastity belt, and my cunt wants it, bad. My tits press into his chest as he grabs me, and I push my head forward and kiss him, hard on the lips, our teeth bumping into each other’s. He’s taken by surprise, and he doesn’t resist as I thrust my tongue into his mouth and french him like a glutton.

He pulls back, shivering. “Jennie—” he says, and I hear the name, that awful name that Biff used and forces me to use when talking about myself, that name that embodies everything that Biff wanted me to be, a slutty bimbo with only one thought in her pretty little head, to please men and make them come, and come hard. My body shivers, and I moan again.

“Cock…” My voice is almost a croak. Sanderson’s closeness is making it difficult for me to concentrate.

“What’s that?”

“Cock—Jennie wants cock.” I look up at him, equal part humiliation and hunger. My mouth is open, panting, and I can taste him on my lips. “Jennie wants your cock, baby, deep into her wet tight cunt.”

Sanderson is taken aback, and he almost drops the keys he was raising to the lock binding my wrists. And why wouldn’t he? Not only the need in my voice, but that stupid instruction that Biff gave me early in our so-called relationship that I could only refer to myself in the third person, which along with his instructions to make use dirty language whenever possible tends to make me sound like a cock-hungry bimbo—which to be honest is pretty much what I’m feeling like right now, keenly aware of Sanderson’s hard cock but a few inches from my crotch, calling me like a beacon.

“Huh, hold on, let me get you down—” He’s confused, but also aroused. I can practically smell it. His face is flushed, and his eyes keep dipping down to my tits, as he fumbles with the keys in his hands.

“You like Jennie’s titties, baby? You like Jennie’s titties, all soft and sensitive and begging for you to suck them? You want to fuck Jennie’s titties? You can do that—you can do whatever you want to Jennie, whatever you want—just give her some cock and then you can do whatever the fuck you want to your little slut!”

My crotch is seeking his again, and even though I can’t feel anything through the chastity belt, I don’t care. I moan, and thrust my chest forward. I want him to grab my tits and squeeze them and twist my nipples.

“Fuck,” and Sanderson is flushed when he talks, fumbling with the keys above my head. “Let me get you down and we’ll talk about it, okay? Jesus, why the fuck did they—There!”

The lock clicks open, and suddenly there is nothing holding me up and I stumble and Sanderson manages to catch me and just like that I’m in his arms. I shiver, the contact making me go crazy, my cunt pulsing with desire, my nipples hard as rocks. My mouth salivates, and I can just imagine what he’ll taste like when he stuffs his big cock down my throat, choking me, before he flips me over and fucks me until I squeal like a stuck pig, over and over again.

Sanderson holds me up while saying forgettable soothing things, and all I can feel are his hands on me. I can tell he’s forcing himself to not fondle me, to not take advantage of the situation, even though I can feel his cock hard and throbbing against my hip. I twist my head and his lips are right there in front of me and I press mine against his and soon I’m kissing him with all of my soul and my tongue is seeking his and I notice that his breath is fruity.

He tries to pull away, just like before, but this time my hands are free and I grab his head and keep him there against me as I slide my naked leg between his and up to his crotch and I moan into his mouth and maybe that’s when he gives in because he groans and presses his crotch against my thigh and responds to my kiss with a fervor that sends more shivers down my spine and his hands on my back trail down to my ass and squeeze it and it feels incredible.

I want to grind my cunt against him, to feel his cock against me to feel my juices spread and moisten my whole crotch—and I whine because the belt prevents any possible contact.

“Jennie,” he says, pulling out of the kiss—I hate that name, it’s the name that Biff made me use to refer to myself, the name he’s still forcing me to use, even though he’s not even here. “This isn’t a good—”

“Jennie wants your cock, baby” I groan, my hands on his body, my chest thrust out, trying to entice him with my tits—I’m in full wanton mode, and there’s no way to stop it. His smell, his hands on my body, his hard cock in his slacks, it all conspires to send my body into overdrive. There will be no focusing—however little I can achieve with these cravings running through me—until I get some release. “She wants it hard, she wants it fast, she wants it deep. She’ll be the best fuck you’ve ever had. Let her be your little plaything, your fuck doll, your shameless slut.”

As I say all of that, in one breath, my hands are at his crotch, opening his pants and tugging them down. He tries to resist, but it’s half-hearted. “Jennie,” he growls.

His cock jumps out of his pants, hard, red, looking almost angry. It looks delicious. “Oh you got a nice cock baby—nice and hard for Jennie.” My cunt clenches thinking about that shaft pounding into me hard. Without hesitation, I slide my lips over the head, taking it in, and suck half of his cock into my mouth, running my tongue on the underside. I groan at the same time he does as well, and I can feel his knees buckle. My cunt pulses with the effect I have on him.

I slurp his cock out of my mouth, and look up at him, jacking him off slowly. “Jennie’s gonna suck your cock long and hard and make it spurt all over her face and her tits and then she’s gonna make you hard again and then you’ll fuck her like a little slut!”

I don’t wait for his acknowledgment, simply dive back in. And this time, in one long motion, I took him in all the way, his cock sliding down my throat, and my lips pressing into his pubic hair. Biff taught me to deep throat the hard way, and the lesson stuck. And Sanderson’s cock is smaller than Biff’s. Not that I care right now.

“Oh shit!” Sanderson groans, and I’m pretty sure any reservation he had has just flown out the window because his hands grasp my head and keep me there in place against his crotch—completely unnecessary, because I have no intention of going anywhere: I have his cock in my mouth, down my throat, and there is nothing else that I want but to suck and suck and suck until he spurts inside me. My body shivers at the thought, my nipples tingle, and I press my thighs together only to remember that doing that achieves nothing and I moan in frustration against the thick shaft skewering me.

I start sucking on Sanderson’s cock with no restraint, thrusting my head forward forcefully. My body loves his hands in my hair, and keeps wishing for him to just grab my head and take control and start fucking my face.

When I look up, he’s got his eyes closed and his mouth open. His fingers twitch in my hair as I plunge his cock into my mouth, banging in the back of my throat and gagging me, and his hands follow my head. I can feel him wanting to press me down harder, it’s just something that my body knows, deep down in its bones. I let his cock slip out and look up.

“You like having your cock in a slut’s mouth, baby? You like stuffing her until she can’t breathe, until she chokes, until all she can do is wait for you to pull out? You like the warm feel of her tongue and lips worshipping your cock? You like having a complete whore lavishing her oral attentions on you?”

He looks down at me with desire fighting it off in his eyes with something else, some reticence that still lingers, and I give him a naughty grin before putting one of my hands over his on my head and pressing down as I swallow his cock once more.

Every man likes their blow jobs differently. Some want it hard and fast, with lots of spittle and heavy sounds and droll dripping down a girl’s body; others like it slow and languorous, with the girl making love to their cock.

One thing that Biff’s programming has done to me—or was it always there and I never noticed—is that I’ve gotten very good out figuring out what men want. It’s like a sixth sense, an intuition that I’ve used to satisfy my cravings.

And my intuition tells me that Sanderson likes his blow jobs slow and deep. And so I suck him slow and deep. On every thrust, I sink down, slowly, running my tongue along his flesh, letting him invade my mouth fully until the head of his cock hits the entrance of my throat, triggering my gag reflex. I tilt my head, swallow, and open my throat and take him down as deep as it will go, my nose pressing against his abdomen. Sanderson’s hands clench in my hair.

Deep slow plunge, maintain, pull back, repeat. Sanderson likes it, a lot: his hands are in my hair, and his knees tremble whenever I bottom out. I make very little noise, except for the slight gagging that sends a twitch up his cock. I’m pretty sure that’s how he likes fucking too, with long deep slow thrusts, and the thought of it makes me ache to feel him inside of me. I want him to grab me and take control and use my mouth like a fuck sleeve.

Sanderson is looking at me, and he has a weird expression on his face. It’s like he’s seeing me but not seeing me at the same time. It is the same look he had earlier, when he first saw after coming in with Cassandra.

“Do you have a girlfriend, baby?” I ask, letting his cock out of my mouth. It bounces a few inches from my lips, wet with my saliva. Looking up at him, I pull down the straps of the slip and bare my tits. I massage them with my hands, and pull on my nipples.

“No,” he answers, mesmerized by the sight. He sounds far away.

“Then who do you see when you see Jennie? A friend? A lover?”

There’s a shadow that flies in front of his eyes, and right then, I know what it is.

“It’s an ex, isn’t? You’re thinking of an ex-girlfriend, kneeling at your feet, sucking your cock like Jennie is sucking your cock, isn’t it, baby? Did she suck your cock like Jennie, baby? Did she suck your cock like a little starved slut? Do you miss her mouth? Do you wish she was here swallowing your cock, like Jennie, wanting you to fuck her mouth, like Jennie? Begging you to take her and fuck her and make her come over and over again, like Jennie?”

I don’t give Sanderson any chance to answer, and simply dive back to swallow his shaft, keeping the same long and deep motions, except harder this time, faster, sucking hard on the way back, opening my throat wide on the way in, the sounds escaping serving to make me even wetter. I can feel my juices drip down my thighs, and I spread them around with one of my hands, wishing that I could just rub my aching pussy and get myself off.

“Fuck!” he growls.

I feel his hand on my head pressing down and drives his cock in deeper, and I gag more loudly this time, and I can feel him hesitate, and I can sense the apology coming from him, and to prevent it, I start pushing my own head deeper, gagging over and over again, to show him that I don’t mind, that I like it, that I want him to use me like a little fuck slut. When I pull his out cock, the droll dripping off my chin and onto my heaving tits, I’m grinning madly, jerking his cock. He looks dazed.

“Come on, baby—fuck Jennie’s mouth like you want to fuck that bitch of an ex—show her what she’s missed out on by leaving you.”

Sanderson is shocked by what I say, and I figure I must be right—his ex left him. Not that I care if I’m right or not. All I care about is getting that cock to pound me, and if getting Sanderson worked up about that ex is what it takes, then so be it.

“Go on, baby—fuck your ex’s pretty face like the little slut she is. You know how much she loves cock—”

I can’t finish. Sanderson’s pushes his cock back between my lips and starts fucking my mouth. I let saliva accumulate as he thrusts in and out, and then I slightly part my lips—the droll slides out the sides of my mouth and drip down my chin, and his cock makes squashing sounds as it bangs into my throat. Most men love it when the blow job is deep and sloppy, and I get the feeling that Sanderson does too. Not in an overt way, like most guys that end up at these gatherings and use me like a cum dump, but deep down inside, he likes it, and I like that he likes it, and I want to give him anything he wants.

He finally jerks me off his cock, breathing hard, and keeps my head some distance away. My mouth is open, and my tongue sneaks out to reach the tip of his cock, and I can hear myself moan and whine to be allowed to taste him again, and a stab of humiliation that I’m behaving that way runs through me only to be met with a spike of arousal as the humiliation turns me on the way Biff intended. I want Sanderson to make me feel that way, over and over again. “Please,” I find myself whining, my voice needy. “Please—Jennie needs your cock!”

“Jennie, Jesus, this is crazy.” He shakes his head, as if he’s trying to clear it. He’s sweating, and his cock is rock hard. “What the fuck am I doing?” That last one was for him. “I can’t—”

I don’t give him a chance to continue. He’s on the edge. He was fucking my face, and something scared him. I can guess what. I tapped into something. Something deep. Something unresolved. Anger. I can use that. My pussy gushes at the prospect, and I feel my juices dripping down my thighs.

I stand up, making sure to rub my entire body on his as I do, loving the way my tits feel pressing against his clothes, and then I kiss him, hard, like a desert traveler coming upon a fresh spring. I don’t even think for a second that I’ve had my mouth on his cock for the past several minutes and that some guys don’t actually enjoy kissing you after that—as far as my body is concerned, kissing your man after sucking him off is dirty, and whatever’s dirty is hot. It’s like tasting your own pussy juices on a man’s cock—nothing gets my body going faster than that. Sanderson is confused, but does not pull away.

And then I bite his lower lip, hard. Like Cassandra bit me earlier.

“OW!! What the fuck?!” He grabs my shoulders and pushes me back, but I cling to him. I laugh. The look in his eyes cycle through confusion, anger, and disbelief.

I lunge at him again, teeth first, pushing him toward the bed, and he pushes me aside and I hang on to him as I fall on the bed. I scream like a banshee, and try to claw at his face. He’s bigger than I am, but the only way he has to control me is to get on top of me and straddle me, pinning my wrists away from my body. I can feel my tits jiggle as I struggle to escape him, bouncing left and right and up and down, and I so much want him to ravish me and pound into me that it hurts.

“What the hell!?” he screams, drops of blood falling from his injured lip. “Jennie! What’s wrong with you?!”

I practically growl at him. I know what will get him to fuck me. I just know. Part of me cringes inside, but it’s such a tiny part—my body is on fire, and I can’t think straight. I stop struggling, and stare deep into his eyes.

“Jennie wants your cock, baby. Jennie wants you to shove your cock deep into her slutty little cunt and fuck her like you’d fuck that slutty ex-girlfriend of yours. Like you’d fuck that slutty cheating bitch that dropped you like you didn’t exist—fuck her hard, baby, slap her around, make her bleed—the little cheating cunt that went out to find a real man to fuck her. Show her you’re not just a fuckin’ wimp, baby.”

I can see the shock and the flash of anger in Sanderson’s eyes, and I feel him tense. I’ve got not clue if his ex-girlfriend cheated on him or not, and I don’t care. All I do care about is to get him to fuck me, and to fuck me hard. I arch up my back to get my tits closer to his face.

“Come on, baby—don’t you want to punish that silly bitch for going off to find a real man? Don’t you want to fuck her again to show her you’ve got what it takes? To show her you’ve got a real big cock that can satisfy a woman, to show her that you’re not just a little wimp that girls laugh about and fuck around behind his back?”

“Shut up!” He shakes me, pressing hard on my wrists.

It hurts, but that just makes me grin wider, and my tongue sneaks out between my lips, seeking to lick his face. My body is going crazy. I worry that my nipples are going to burst, that my cunt is going to split open on its own. I want this man so bad I could cry.

“What are you gonna do to make her shut up, wimp? You gonna stuff your big cock in her mouth? You gonna fuck her slutty cunt? Maybe you can shove your cock up her ass? Did your slutty cheating ex take it in the ass? Did she ever let you fuck her ass? Bet she didn’t. She probably saved it for a real man—the kind that loves to stick a fat cock all the way into a tight ass.”

“Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!” I fully expect Sanderson to slap me, but he doesn’t. His eyes are getting wet, and he’s grinding his teeth together. I want him angry, so angry that he loses control and takes it out on me so that he can fuck me the way I want—need—to be fucked: hard and fast and with no regards for my pleasure.

I laugh, throwing my head back. “Poor baby,” I say, tilting my pelvis upwards, rubbing the stiff material covering her crotch against his cock. “His girl left him to find a better cocksman, and all he can do is dream about fucking her in the ass to show her he’s a real man. How pathetic. Jennie bets you’re not even able to fuck a girl. Hey? Are you? Come on, baby, show Jennie what kind of man you really are and fuck her hard! Teach her a lesson, teach your slutty cheating cunt of an ex a lesson—show her who’s the boss, show her how to behave, how to take it—come on, you piece of shit! Show Jennie what sort of man you are!”

Sanderson, now crying, is still mumbling “Shut up!” and his face is scrunched up, and he’s clenching his teeth. I’m almost there, I can feel it. He’s half distracted—I move quickly, wiggled out of his grasp, and grab his face and pull him close, bumping his forehead against mine. I can feel his breath on my face. My eyes are driving deep into his. I make sure my words are clear. “Fuck the bitch, baby—fuck the cheating slutty bitch till she bleeds.”

Sanderson snaps. He screws his eyes shut, screams something unintelligible, and push me down onto the bed so hard that my shoulders are going to hurt tomorrow I’m certain. Still shrieking incoherently, Sanderson starts shaking me before grabbing me and flipping me around on my stomach. He’s out of it—I don’t know what he’s feeling, what he’s seeing, but it’s not me.

Grabbing my hips, he pulls my ass upward, and I prop myself up on my elbows, my head down, my hair falling all around me like a curtain. I feel him push up my flimsy slip, baring my lower body, and revealing the metal of my chastity belt. No matter how much my drooling cunt might crave being pounded into oblivion, it can’t just magically wish the barrier away. But that doesn’t stop my hungry cunt from pushing me into lifting my ass and swaying it tantalizingly left and right, hoping that Sanderson will get the bait.

I’m amazed he’s not saying anything about the belt. And glad. Because what can I say? That it’s one of Gutierrez’s or Cassandra’s games? That it’s a new way they’ve found to drive me crazy? Because a crazy Jenn makes for happy visitors, and Gutierrez likes happy visitors, who come back again and pay him good money—I guess—to fuck the pretty crazed bitch that can never get enough? Cassandra probably just enjoys seeing me squirm and beg to be fucked. Just another way to tell me that I’m just someone else’s toy, that it’s all I’ll ever be?

“Fucking bitch! Fucking BITCH!” Sanderson seems to be otherwise occupied. The belt I have on doesn’t cover much, and he slaps my ass hard, over and over again, and my cheeks sting under the assault, but my yearning cunt is drinking it up and clenches in the crazy expectation that it will get hammered soon.

Sanderson’s slaps come hard and fast, and I can hear him sob—and to know that I’m the one that caused this pain, that I managed to push him to the brink of breakdown makes me disgusted with myself, but it makes my body so hot that my mind reels.

“You fucking BITCH!” shouts Sanderson giving me a harder than ever slap that sends me sprawling on the bed, making me lose my balance, and then he pulls on my nightie so hard that it half rips and it hurts and it feels so good that I moan out loud and try to thrust my ass upward again hoping that he’ll—that he’ll what? Spank me again? hit me? Fuck me?

He pulls against the chastity belt, ineffectually, and I hear his grunt of frustration. He doesn’t even seem fazed by the fact that I’m wearing a chastity belt—he’s so far beyond reason that what it may mean completely escapes him. Right now, it’s just an obstacle for his manhood.

“Take it off, baby,” I moan. “Take it off and fuck your cheating cunt of an ex until she begs you to take her back, until she pleads to become a slave to your cock—take it off and show her you can fuck her better than those men she’s been spreading her legs for since she dumped you.”

Sanderson growls and spanks me again, and then I hear the sound of keys jingling, and my cunt spews out a load of juices at the realization it’s going to get plowed and plowed good.

Without warning, he puts his hands between my legs and twists my pelvis upwards, practically lifting my legs from the bed. I feel him fiddle with the belt, and I start shaking. I moan. “Fuck your little bitch, baby—fuck your little bitch and show her that you’re a real man. Fuck your little cheating slutty bitch of an ex, baby.”

It’s not like I know what I’m saying, or that what I say is all that important. It only serves one purpose: to egg Sanderson on, to get him to ravish me, to treat me like a little fuck toy.

And it’s working—or at least I guess it is, because Sanderson, mumbling under his breath, is pressing my hips upward to get at the flexible strap running up from my crotch, I guess trying to slide the key into its slot and unlock my belt.

I hear the lock click open, and it’s like it unlocks something inside me, and I start—I kid you not—whimpering like a child, moaning and groaning and thrusting my ass up and spreading my legs, craving contact, any contact, craving something to press on my clit or into my cunt and make me come.

With a growl that sends shivers down my spine, Sanderson pulls the chastity belt off and tosses it in the back of the room, and none too gently runs a hand between my thighs, pressing hard on my pussy, sliding his fingers through my slit. I nearly come, right there, on the spot.

“Fuck yes! Fuck yes! Fuck Jennie, baby! Fuck Jennie’s hungry little cunt—spear her, pound her, hurt her—fuck your slutty bitch, baby—fuck her hard and fuck her long and show her that you’re the man, that you’re the king, that you’re the master of this body that’s all yours to do with as you wish!”

I’m babbling, I know, and of course I can’t stop myself. I’m a slave to the onslaught of raw lust coming from the depth of my being, from that place which Biff tapped when he cursed me.

Behind me, Sanderson grunts and he pulls me to him by grabbing my hips, and I love those hands, strong and demanding, and I spread my legs and thrust my ass up to ease his access, making it as clear as I can that he’s welcome to slide his cock in whichever hole he chooses, that I’ll happily service him. My head spins from the rush of emotions, and I cradle it in my arms, bending my back down, loving the feel of the rough sheets on my tits. The image of a hungry pair of lips wrapping themselves around my hard nipples flashes through my mind, and I moan out loud, rubbing my chest against the bed. Why won’t Sanderson fuck me already?

“Ah!” comes the shout of pleasure from the man kneeling behind me as his cock finds the dripping slit between my thighs and slides in with one hard thrust. He goes in so easily, so smoothly, that I feel his hips bump into my ass, and just like that I’ve got his big cock filling me up completely, and I grunt and moan and squeeze my pussy around the insistent flesh and I am rewarded with an inarticulate groan.

“Fuck yeah,” I shout, pressing my ass back against Sanderson. “Fuck your little cheating slut good, baby! Fuck her hard! Fuck her haaaaa!” My last word morphs into a scream as Sanderson starts pounding into me the way I wanted him to so badly, and I’m left with my mouth open, tongue hanging out, body slammed back and forth on the bed, my tits rubbing against the sheets, sending fire up and down my body. I wish I could spread my legs even more, let him smash into me deeper, investing my whole body, my whole soul.

Sanderson is like an animal, and he’s grunting and snorting as he slams into me over and over again, eventually reaching down to pull me up by grabbing one of my tits to hold me in place, his other hand alternating between clenching my hip and slapping my ass .

I mumble incoherent things, over and over again, trying to egg him on to fuck me harder, to make it hurt, to punish me because it’s what I know he wants to do and what Sanderson wants is what I want, but all that comes out is a stream of sounds that he has no hope of understanding if he’s even hearing me. If he did, he’d hear me tell him that I want him to thrust his thumb in my ass, to hook me like a fish while he pounds my insides to dust, that I want him to shove fingers down my throat so I can suck them like a cock while he smashes me with his battering ram.

Sanderson’s grunts come faster and faster, and he’s muttering as well, and I can’t understand what he’s mumbling, but that doesn’t matter because my imagination takes over—he’s fucking his ex-girlfriend from behind, berating her for being a cheating bitch, for leaving him, hate-fucking her into submission, and she let him because she wants him to take her back, and she whines and promises that she’ll be good and obedient and the best fucking slut that he’s ever had and that I’ll let him do whatever he wants to me and then he motions for another man to come in and kneel in front of me and feed me his cock and I gobble it down as Sanderson fucks me harder and harder telling me that I’m just a no-good cheating slut that deserves to be ruined and the man in front of me is fucking me so hard I’m choking and he and Sanderson high five each other and tell me how good a fuck I am and there’s a whole line of men waiting for their turn to fuck me and my head spins and my cunt explodes in pleasure and pain and everything in between.

The last thing I notice before I pass out from the massive orgasm is Sanderson stiffening within me with a slight cry and pressing his cock hard into me and dousing me with rivers of cum that seek to drown me but before they do everything goes black.