The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

(Charleston, West Virginia. Three weeks ago.)

He enters the lobby of the building after making sure that the coast is clear. He pulls his UPS cap down over his eyes and the uniform collar up around his neck. He is on his home turf, and he cannot take the chance to be recognized. Not yet—not until his Ministry has grown large enough with Worshippers that he has nothing to fear from those cockroaches that dare keep him from fulfilling his true Potential.

He tightens his grip on the package underneath his arm, and notices that he is clenching one of his fists; he wills it open, forcing himself to relax. Thinking about the roaches always makes him mad, always has, those roaches that think nothing of stepping over the little guy, that have no hesitation using the little guy, abusing him, milking him dry, sucking the marrow from his bones, the soul from his heart. Roaches, the lot them, feasting upon the remains of good people that do not know any better. But not Him. His eyes have been opened—he is a God now, a God who sees all and knows all and understands all, and what he understands now is that he has the Power, to make a difference, to punish the roaches.

If he was clenching his fist in anger before, he is now grinning in near madness. Almost, because he has never felt so sane—so full of life, vigor, clarity. So much to do now. Projects, Dreams, Visions have been assaulting him at night as soon as he closes his eyes. Beyond his Worshippers, beyond his Ministry—Vision of a New World, where the Righteous are rewarded and the Roaches are punished, squashed, trampled underfoot. His Ministry is based on rewarding husbands that share their wives’ purity and lend their womb for His use, but there is nothing to stop him from punishing the roaches by taking away their loved ones—their wives, theirs sisters, their daughters.

He closes his eyes and allows himself a few seconds of fantasizing about what he would do to them—to those poor unfortunate souls guilty at most of being associated with the roaches—as a lesson, as a warning, as a cautionary tale. He would make them bend—he will make them offer themselves to him, to his magnanimity, to his mercy, and then he will use them to satisfy his most base instincts, his most vile tendencies, his most degrading drives, without any shame.

He shakes as he imagines these women, these girls, innocent, inoffensive, either begging to be left alone or begging to be taken—whatever his mood—dressed to arouse, desirable, available. And all his, to do with as he wished. Holes to fuck, the lot of them, whenever he wants, however he wants, wherever he wants.

He takes a deep breath. He is sweating slightly, and his shirt is getting damp. His cock is throbbing, and threatens to drive him mad. These flashes, these dark rages have been coming over him more and more these last few months, trying to derail him from his Mission, from his Ministry, to tempt him with the fruit of Sin—sex for personal satisfaction, for egotistical gratification, for pleasure. He worries... he worries he will succumb before his Ministry is complete, before he has lifted his Queen to the throne on the right hand side of the Lord—his Betrothed, his Other, his Missing Half.

The thought calms him down more effectively than anything else he knows. Ever since the Dream two months ago, the Dream that heralded the future of his Ministry, the Dream that bespoke of the riches to come, the fulfillment, the joy, the completion—the rejoining of halves that should have never been apart—ever since that blessed Dream two months ago, the vision of his Beloved beside him judging the souls of Worshippers and worshipping him as a female worships her mate, ever since that Dream he has been able to think of nothing else. Three weeks. Three weeks before the Ceremony. Three weeks before they are one. The way it should always have been, the way it will always be.

Three weeks, and the final preparations are but ready. All that is missing is an officiating minister, a properly anointed soul to dedicate the ceremony, to sacralize it, bless it with her own soul and her own worship.

Last night, after a casual almost random conversation with Lizzie, it came to him, in a flash, that he had tried to camouflage as best as he could. It was so obvious, after he thought about it.

He confirms the door number, 302, on the mail box, and composes the number on a pad. After two rings, a women’s voice emerges from a speaker.

“Yes?”

He tightens his grip on the package he holds in his hands, and lowers his voice one register. “UPS, ma’am.”

The door buzzer sounds, and he pushes the door open. He knows there are no security cameras, but he does not want to take any chances. He checks again to make sure his cap is down.

He takes the stairs to the third floor, avoiding the elevator. The staircase is empty and well lit with bright fluorescent bulbs. He climbs slowly, not wanting to wind himself.

The third floor is just as empty as the staircase was, but bathes in a more diffuse light. The dark carpet muffles his footsteps.

Apartment 302 is the last on the right. He knocks, then turns his head to the side, pretending to study the package he is holding, in case his target looks through the peephole and recognizes him.

He should not have worried. When Shelley Caskill opens the door in her long house robe, she is in the middle of a conversation on her cell phone, and barely looks in his direction, simply extending a hand to take the package.

“Yeah,” she says, speaking to her interlocutor, “and then he said that I had pretty good tits for an athlete—can you believe it? Hold on Lizzie, there’s a—” She looks up. He sees the recognition in her eyes, soon to be replaced by confusion.

He puts his hand on hers, and she immediately stiffens and her face goes blank as he feels the expected tingling sensation go down his arm and sparkle on his fingers.

“Shelley,” he says quietly, before the short-haired blonde can say anything. “Tell her that a package arrived, and that you need to deal with it and that you’ll call her later. Act normal, and don’t mention me.”

Shelley nods and he enters her apartment. He knows her roommate is not here—he saw her leave twenty minutes ago for her evening shift at a local strip club where she waits tables; he shakes his head in disgust at the thought—maybe someone else that should be punished for immorality?. He imagines the tall skinny blonde on her knees satisfying every patron for free, and it feels so right, forcing her making her money encouraging innocent men to drink and lust after scantily clad women. He vows to turn all of those establishments into Houses of Worship, devoted to Him and to keeping his Brethren happy. He breathes deeply to keep the fire in his chest from spilling and engulfing everything else.

Behind him, Shelley is saying goodbye to his Lizzie, promising to get together tomorrow for lunch. He cannot help but grin—three weeks to go, and Lizzie will be his, completely, fully, offering herself in all of her virginal glory. He could make it so that the Marriage is consumed tomorrow, of course, but he enjoys the anticipation, the planning, the suspense.

He heads to the one-seater chair in the living room, and glances at the rest of the apartment. It is tastefully decorated, which surprises him.

Shelley has followed him, having put her phone aside, and is clearly waiting for instructions. Most girls become silently submissive when he uses his Divine Gift on them, at least for a short while, and Shelley is no exception. She is usually in-your-face and loud and opinionated, and he is not sure he dislikes the change.

He stops and looks at her. Even though she is wearing a plain house robe and not a trace of makeup and her hair is wild, she is still exceedingly attractive, young and vital and with incredible eyes. He knows the stories of her past, her outings with Lizzie—that she sowed her wild oats, that she was easy, that she loved sex with a passion—and he disapproves. It is immoral, and Shelley is the image of that immorality. And yet, he has wondered in the past just how she might feel writhing longingly underneath him as he fucked her over and over again.

“Shelley,” he says, “I am your Lord, your Savior. I am the Light that illuminates your life and reveals the Truth. You are my Servant.”

He has no intention of making her a Vessel. She is not worthy of his Seed. He has other plans for her.

“I am your servant, my Lord.”

The way she says the words makes his cock throb, the way her perfect lips shape those syllables. He has something to do, even though a dark part of him wants to take her, hard, right then and there, wants to hear her scream, moan, beg him to fuck her as hard as he can. He shakes his head to clear it.

“Listen to me well, Shelley. In three weeks, your friend Lizzie is getting married. You are her maid of honor.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“You will be more. You will be my voice, my eyes, my will, nay, your Lord’s Voice, his Eyes, his Will. I will have tasks for you, Shelley, tasks that you will perform without questioning them, doubting them, or telling anyone about them.”

He pulls out a cell phone from his pocket, hands it to her. “Keep this cell phone with you at all times, but do not tell anyone of it. Whenever it rings, you will answer it, as long as it is convenient, and obey its instructions as if I were right there in front of you speaking them to you. You will not refer to me as your Lord when you speak into this phone, nor will you act as though it were anything but a normal business call. You will not discuss the conversations you have on this phone.”

Shelley takes the cell phone, looks at it for a long moment, as if to imprint its look and its feel deep into her memory, as if it were now part of her, which he suspects is probably not a bad way of thinking about it.

“Your main purpose in the next three weeks,” he continues, “is to ensure that Lizzie goes through with the wedding, that she does not get cold feet, that nothing goes wrong. It is your responsibility, Shelley—it is on your shoulders, do you hear me?” His voice is getting forceful. “Do you understand me, Shelley?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Not for the last time, he wonders whether it is really necessary to ensure that the wedding goes through as planned. So what if Lizzie gets cold feet and cancels the wedding? He could still go through with the Ceremony. And the answer to that question is unchanged since the first time he verbalized it: it is the Right Thing to Do. Just like his Ministry, just like his Vessels, it is the Duty that comes with his Divinity. He can no more change it than he can change the way the Earth circles the Sun.

The look she gives him carries the weight she shoulders with this Mission he has assigned her. He does not tell her what he will do if she fails. He does not need to. Whatever her subconscious comes up with will be much more effective than whatever he can conjure up.

He smiles at her, to show her he is pleased with her obedience. “That is not all, Shelley. You have another, very important role to play. You will be officiating the Ceremony that day, the Ceremony that will unite Lizzie to your Lord, that will crown her as Queen, that will see her becoming Vessel to the greatest of all Worshippers who shall follow in your Lord’s footsteps.” His voice starts rising, filled with its own self-importance, as befits the imparting of Prophesy, the heralding of future days.

“Yes, my Lord.”

Shelley watches him, her lips slightly parted, and before he can reflect about it or check the impulse, he leans over and kisses her. She responds slowly, her lips parting while his tongue sneaks inside. She tastes like red wine, he notices. He pulls back abruptly, shocked at his own behavior.

“I love the way you kiss me, my Lord,” says Shelley, a smile breaking on her face. “Can I have more, please?”

He needs to clear his head. What is he doing?

“Don’t you want to fuck your servant, my Lord?” Her tongue is slowly running over her lower lip. “I think you’re gonna like how tight my cunt is.”

Lust, unbridled, unfettered, terrible, is boiling in his blood, threatening to ravage him and blow down his resolve. This is wrong. This is a Sin. This is the path to Oblivion. He must focus, focus on his Ministry, on his Duty.

Fuck her, says the dark Rage inside of him, the one that sees the roaches everywhere, the demands retribution, payback, revenge. He takes a deep breath. Takes a step back. “Shelley,” he says, but does not complete the sentence.

Anger washes over him like a relentless wave. Anger at Shelley, anger at her immorality, anger at her temptation, but also anger at her subservience, her obedience. He wants to slap her for her behavior, berate her, spit on her, figuratively, literally. Who is she but a little slut ready to spread her legs for the first idiot that looks at her for more than a second? He is granting her the honor of bringing about a Sacred Union, and all she is thinking about is giving her body to him. She should be awed merely by the fact of his Presence—if her little mind would but open a fraction of a percent, it would be blown by his Greatness.

His anger swirls into a wave of nausea that forces him to sit down in the chair. He forces his fists to unclench.

His patience has grown so thin lately, he feels like a live wire reacting to every action about him. He needs to relax. He needs to assuage the darkness inside of him. He cannot afford to be thrown from his Path, from the Ministry’s Sacred Trajectory.

He looks up at Shelley, still standing near his seat, with her long house robe, looking at him, smiling, her eyes holding the promise of wonders beyond ken. For a second, he envies her, her calm, her poise. Then he makes a decision. He will not cede to Sin. But to resist temptation without respite is a road to perdition. He needs an outlet for the outstanding pressure of temptation. Shelley is his Servant, and she will be that outlet. It is a concession, a compromise, a means to avoid the Fall. He shall recruit her for his Pleasure. The thought threatens to make him giddy.

“Shelley,” he tells her. “Listen to me.” He takes a second to form his thoughts. He has never done this before. He is nervous, as if this were a first date. “From now on, you will live for your Lord’s pleasure. Your body, your mind, your soul, will devote itself to finding ways to please your Lord sexually, to the exclusion of any other man or woman. Your Lord’s presence, his attention, his touch, will turn you on and make you crave his Seed. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord.” Her voice is low, hungry, demanding. “I’ll be your little fuck toy, your pet. I’ll make sure you’re always satisfied, satiated, gorged. I’ll be your every fantasy, your every wet dream. I’ll be yours the way no woman has ever been any man’s.”

He grins at her reaction. This might be a good idea after all, he thinks. “A pet. I like that. Your Lord’s pet. My pet.” He rolls it around his tongue, tasting the flavor of her new nickname. “When we are not together, or when there are other people around, of course, you will remain Shelley Caskill, the successful engineer and happy girl. Although you will not have any desire for any other man or woman, you will still feel the urge to flirt and tease. And you will not talk about your Lord and your relationship with him, to anyone.”

“Of course, my Lord. You will be my dirty little secret. My secret Master.”

“In a way, yes, pet. And you should know that I will probably share you with others, and you will give yourself to whomever I chose, in whatever way I desire.”

“Yes, my Lord. I will be your little whore, and I will fuck whomever you want me to fuck, and I will do it better than they’ve ever had.”

He nods, and looks her over. His cock has been hard and twitching madly for the past five minute, without any artificial help, which surprises him.

“Take off your robe, pet,” he tells her.

“Yes, my Lord,” she says, untying the belt of the garment and shrugging off the robe with a sexy motion of the shoulders, sending it to pool at her naked feet.

He stares at her, and makes no attempt to hide his lust. Shelley basks in the attention, and poses.

She stands half naked, clad only in a blue and gold basketball jersey that is too large for her thin frame, and that dips dangerously low on her chest and reaches the bottom of her thighs, at once camouflaging her toned body and also exposing it through its semi-transparent material and its broad openings at the neck and arms. She looks like a girl wearing her player boyfriend’s jersey to make him hard.

Shelley just looks at him, silent, expectant, poised and on display, arms to her sides, one leg slightly bent in front of her, foot pointed down. He appreciates the splash of blue polish on her toenails which matching her jersey and emphasizes her delightfully delicate foot.

He lets his eyes roam up and down her body, unabashed, taking his time. Barring unexpected interruptions, he has all night. He can take his sweet time—and he intends to do just that, enjoying the experience to its fullest. His cock jerks in anticipation. This is for him—only for him—not for his Ministry. This is Duty no longer. This is Pleasure. This is Release. This is Reward.

“Turn around, pet,” he says, making a gesture.

Compelled, Shelley swivels in place, slowly, teasingly, clearly intent on giving him as much pleasure as possible, as per her instructions.

From the back, her body is even nicer than from the front. The jersey does not cling to her body, and he has in fact seen Lizzie’s friend wear much tighter and revealing clothing often enough. But this works on her, very much so, and he has the unbidden desire to bend the athletic blonde over and make her beg him to fuck her as hard as he can, for as long as he wants. He takes a deep breath. All in good time.

The jersey bears the name Garcia stenciled in gold across the upper back above from a large number nine.

“Lift up your shirt, pet.”

She does, revealing her tight ass in a small pair of black cotton panties. The material clings to her skin perfectly, her ass so toned there is no line marring its curve. He loves the view, simply loves the view.

“Do you like my ass, my Lord?” she asks, shaking her rear end teasingly.

“Of course, pet.”

“They all want to fuck me from behind, you know? Men, all of them. Just so they can look at my ass and touch my ass and spank my ass as they shove their cock in my cunt. Do you want to fuck me from behind, my Lord?”

He swallows. “Get on your knees, pet. Facing me.” he says, by way of response.

Shelley obeys, kneeling in the middle of the living room rug, her knees two feet apart to keep her balance, the basketball shirt raising up her thighs. He can peek her black panties from that angle, barely covering her crotch.

“Take off your shirt, and toss it to me.”

She does, pulling it over her head effortlessly after crossing her arms to grab the hem. Her small breasts, unfettered by any bra or camisole, bounce slightly as she does, and he is fascinated by the large darkened areolas with the small hard nipples. Her stomach is flat and her abdominal muscles can be easily discerned in her position. And he gets the front view from the panties. She remains motionless, presented to his gaze without shame.

“I like you staring at my tits, my Lord. It makes my cunt all wet. But I’m sorry they’re small. Would you like me better with bigger tits?”

Interesting, he thinks. Her insecurities must be coming out.

He looks at the shirt Shelley has given him, then at the blonde kneeling two yards away from him, naked. He looks back at the shirt, turns it around in his hands, looks at the back.

“Whose shirt is this, pet?”

“Brandon Garcia’s, my Lord.”

He looks at her. “And who is this Brandon Garcia?”

“The man I love, my Lord.”

He finds this odd. He distinctly recalls hearing Lizzie say that Shelley had not settled with a man, and is known for stringing along one-night stands and putting out like the little immoral slut she is deep down inside.

“Tell me more about this Brandon Garcia, pet. Who he is, where you met him, why you love him. The whole story. And play with your tits while you do so.”

Shelley’s hands shoot up to her small perky breasts, and she starts to massage them while rubbing her nipples as she tells her tale.

“I met Brandon at West VU my third year, during a Christmas visit at the local Children’s Hospital organized by his basketball team. The Mountaineers do something like that every year, and Lizzie and I had a friend on the team that invited us.”

“A friend?”

“Yes, my Lord. Harry. Point guard on the team. We called him the Mule.”

“The Mule?” He smiles, inquiring.

“Yes, my Lord. His cock’s the size of my arm, and both Lizzie and I just loved to play with it.”

A shiver runs through him. “Lizzie? I thought she was a virgin...”

“She is, my Lord. Lizzie, she’d fuck him with her mouth, and I’d fuck him with my cunt. I still get wet just thinking about getting fucked by that thick black cock of his—it always felt like he was splitting me open, and Harry got his kicks watching me thrash around his cock as he pounded me.”

Shelley seems to him to be getting into her memories, because she is kneading her breasts more vigorously while gyrating her pelvis in a way which her kneeling position must render difficult.

“Wait—his black cock? Harry was black?”

“Yes, my Lord. Like half the basketball team.”

He frowns. He does not like the idea of Shelley, his pet, his future slave to him and his wife, being fouled by a black man. “And what about this Brandon—was he also black?”

“No, my Lord. He’s half-Cuban, but got his skin tone from his mother, or so he said.”

“Okay. Continue, pet. And play with your pussy, too.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Without pausing, keeping a hand on one of her breasts, Shelley sneaks a hand down her body and into her panties, and starts moving it in circles, while continuing her tale.

“Brandon was a freshman, and he was having problems with one of his courses. Long story short, I helped Brandon with his course, and in return he fucked me hard and long and made me come many times.”

“And Lizzie?”

“Lizzie was with us that first night, and she sucked him off a few times, and also cleaned his come out of my cunt.”

Shelley’s hand keeps rubbing between her legs and into her panties. He watches for a moment before pulling down his pants. His cock is hard and stands upright, seeking release. He fantasizes for a moment about having both Shelley and Lizzie kneeling at his feet, worshipping his cock, taking him deep into their mouths, slobbering over it, over and over again until he showers them with his Seed.

“Brandon and I clicked,” Shelley continues. “It’s like we were on the same wavelength. We dated for a few months, in secret. It was easy during the Holidays, as I went back home and Brandon came with me to spend a week, but it was harder at school. I had to tell Lizzie I was sick to explain why I didn’t want to party quite so much.”

“Why keep it a secret? Lizzie’s your best friend.”

“I don’t know, my Lord. She seemed so happy partying and hooking up with me and other guys, together, while at the same time keeping a lookout for the perfect man that would sweep her off her feet, and I guess I felt bad that I had found true love before she did, and that I would have to stop hooking up with her. I don’t know...” Her hand is busily rubbing beneath her panties, and a light flush has spread up from her shoulders.

“Then what happened?” he asks, gently stroking his cock—not hard enough to make himself come, just enough to get a pleasant buzz of anticipation.

“He dumped me, my Lord. Brandon dumped me. And he left the school, transferred down to Miami, I think. I’m not sure.”

“Why?”

“Because I was stupid, my Lord. Brandon left to visit one of his sisters that was having some problems back home, and while he was gone I slept with a man, and Brandon found out and he was hurt and upset and angry and he just dumped me and left.”

“You could not resist giving your body away to another man, could you?” He shakes his head. Typical of an immoral slut, one that needs punishing, as she will be, for this, for defiling her body with a black man, for living a life of perversion and moral bankruptcy. He feels the Rage rise again, and stamps down on it, hard.

“No, my Lord. I was down because Brandon was away, and Lizzie and I went to a party, and I guess I drank too much or someone put something in my drink because when I came to I was in a dorm room with my legs spread wide getting royally fucked by a guy who sweated all over my tits every time he pounded into me, while one of his pals was taking pictures. I was covered in dried cum, all over my tits and all over my face and I could taste it in my mouth. And my pussy hurt so much, like it had been scraped raw. Once I kicked the guy off of me and snatched my clothes and got away, I couldn’t believe what I’d done. Later on, the guys must have passed my pictures around and Brandon ran into them or something, because he confronted me with them a few weeks later, and he didn’t believe me when I cried that I had no idea what had happened, and then he just looked at me like I was a piece of dirt and left. He didn’t want to have anything to do with me, and soon left the school altogether.”

It sounds as though Shelley wants to cry as she tells the story, but her voice remains neutral, matter of fact, but her hand in her panties has slowed down, and she is noticeably less enthusiastic than before.

“So let me get this straight, pet: you had this guy you loved, this guy whose shirt you still wear—” and he raises the wadded up jersey to show her, “and you lost him because you couldn’t keep your silly slut legs closed and had to go and fuck two guys behind your love’s back. Is that it?”

There is but a slightest hesitation in Shelley’s response. “Yes, my Lord.”

He frowns. The Vessels he converted have never resisted his instructions, have never shown even the tiniest amount of volition beyond his Wishes. Yet Shelley here seems to want to protest. Is he imagining things, or is she trying to resist his Orders?

“Come, pet. Let’s see if this body that you’ve passed around to half the state is worth all you believe it’s worth. Come to me.”

“Yes, my Lord,” she says and puts a hand on the ground to stand.

“Stop,” he says, then points to the ground. “Crawl. On your hands and knees. Head down. Then you will suck my cock.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

And Shelley drops down on all four and crawls over to the chair in which he is sitting. It is a delightful sight, and his eyes roam down her back to her ass, still clad in the tight black panties, but swaying gently left and right with each step. He is going to enjoy taking her, an enjoyment he has not felt in a long time.

Shelley straightens up when she gets to him and gently takes his cock in her hand, and strokes it lightly before parting her beautiful lips and licking the tip.

“How do you want me to suck your cock, my Lord? Nice and slow, or hard and fast?”

“As you wish, pet. I’ll let you know what I like.”

He lets her do it the way she wants to do it, lets her gently suckle on the tip of his cock before slipping half of it into her mouth, sucking, stroking, licking. He enjoys how it feels, enjoys how she looks, her pretty blonde head with its short hair and almost delicate features, and her red lips around his cock. He has fantasized about this moment often, and he is ecstatic that he can relish it without guilt, without second thoughts, with Duty standing in the way.

Shelley, Lizzie’s little slutty friend, sucking his cock, because it is what He wants. The little slut. The little immoral slut.

He puts a hand on the back of her head, and presses it down, forcing more of his cock in her mouth. Shelley, taken by surprise, chokes, but does not resist.

“Open up, pet,” he says, pulling her head back and pressing it back down, thrusting his hips at the same time. “Open!” He fucks her mouth again. “OPEN YOUR FUCKING THROAT!” he shouts as he forces his cock into her mouth, bumping against the back of her throat.

He twists her head, for a moment wishing that her hair was longer so he could grab it tightly and use it as reins. Perhaps he will tell her to grow her hair out. He presses her head down at a different angle, harder than before, and something gives and Shelley retches as her throat opens up and his cock sinks all the way to the root, his stomach smashing into her nose, his balls thumping against her chin. “Oh yes!” he grins. “Fuck yes, just like that, pet! Just like that!”

He closes his eyes and leans back into the chair, basking in the feelings of Shelley’s throat constricting around his cock, massaging it, as she struggles to hold him inside. She does not try to pull away—she wants to make him happy, as she was told—but it must be uncomfortable. He does not particularly care. It is part of her punishment for her immoral behavior, part of her Purgatory.

He lets her go after almost twenty seconds, and Shelley gasps and takes a few deep breathes. She looks up at him, with a small grin. “You like fucking my throat, my Lord? You like choking me?” She does not wait for his answer, and resumes her sucking. She does not take him in all the way on her own, but sucks him harder this time. He caresses the side of her face for a few seconds before grasping her head again and plunging his cock all the way in. It goes in easier this time, and Shelley is still struggling, but does her best to keep the position, her eyes looking up at him, tearing, but not breaking contact.

After he lets her go, she grins, catching her breath again, and he straightens in the chair, as she goes back to sucking him. He enjoys the way her ass shakes as she shoves her head up and down in his lap, and he reaches around and grabs a hard nipple between his fingertips and pinches it lightly.

When he feels ready, he presses on her head again, with both arms, and starts rapidly fucking his cock into her mouth, over and over again, as deep as it will go. The sound of his stomach hitting her forehead is fast and regular, and the sound of her throat around his cock make for a grand accompaniment. Her back arches under the assault, but she does not move away, lets him do whatever he wants to do.

What he wants to do is come, and come deep inside her throat, and he feels it building rapidly in his balls, and then before he’s even aware of it he’s exploding, his cock burning like fire as he unloads deep inside the blonde at his feet, who can do nothing but swallow his offering, though half of it dribbles down from her mouth onto his balls. He comes for a long time, moaning throughout, pressing down on her head.

He lets her go when he is completely spent, collapsing back into the chair. Shelley coughs a few times, but she has a large smile on her face, and she wipes the cum on her chin with two fingers. “I love your cum, my Lord. So thick and juicy!” She sucks on her fingers.

He shakes his head, unsure exactly how to react. This is supposed to be punishment? She seems to enjoy it as much as he does. “You really are a little slut, aren’t you, pet?”

“I’m not just a slut, my Lord, but I’m your slut. Do you want to fuck your pet slut, my Lord? My cunt is nice and wet and begging for you.”

“Clean me, pet. We’ll see about your pussy after.”

“Yes, my Lord.” She leans forward between his thighs, and hungrily licks all the cum that spilled from her mouth. He is still hard. And he is thinking.

“Take your panties off, pet, and get down on all four. Show me your ass.”

Shelley’s smile is hungry. “Of course, my Lord. With pleasure.”

She slips the black panties down her legs, flashing him a shaved pussy with dark lips that match her dark areolas. She flips onto her hands and knees in the middle of the rug, presenting her rear end to his roving eyes.

“You gonna fuck me now, my Lord?” she says, swaying her ass gently, enticingly. “You gonna fuck my dirty cunt, my Lord?”

He stands, his cock still surprisingly hard and pointing straight ahead, and kneels down behind the girl. He caresses her ass, tight and hard and so fuckable it makes his teeth hurt.

“Listen to me, pet. Listen to me well. Your pussy is mine. No one but me can touch this pussy, no one but me or anyone I deign lend it to. No one touches it, no one fucks it, no one inserts anything in it but me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord. My cunt is yours, and only yours, to do with as you wish.”

“Exactly. To do with as I wish. And here is what I wish. You will crave a thick cock in your pussy, pet. Every hour of every day, you will hunger for a cock to slip into your pussy and fill you up. You will keep this desire to yourself, of course, at least when you are not in the presence of your Lord, and you will not let it affect your life, but you will feel the craving, and you will imagine cocks penetrating you and satisfying you.”

“Oh fuck,” Shelley moans, shivering as if she dropped her feet into ice cold water, and she presses her ass back against his hand, spreading her legs to provide him better access to her pussy. “Please fuck me, my Lord! I need your cock inside of me so bad!”

He allows himself a smile, and runs his hand through her slit, making the blonde shiver even more. Shelley drops her head down to the ground and raises her ass higher, to ease his access. She practically mewls as her rubs her pussy, and it is drenched. He palms a handful of her juices, and rubs it on his cock, already wet with her saliva.

He lines up behind her, and slides his cock between her cheeks. Slowly, he presses the head of his cock against her asshole, and pushes.

Shelley groans, stiffening. “I’m my cunt, my Lord! Please! Please shove your cock in my cunt! Please, not in my ass! My Lord, please, in my cunt! You’re—oh! You’re—oh! You’re... YOU’RE IN MY ASS!” She wails as his cock breaks the tight ring of her sphincter and penetrates into her rectum. It is warm, and tight. Tighter than he’s ever felt. Her ass clamps over his cock like a vise. He is glad he has already come, otherwise he would probably pop just by the sensations he is feeling right now.

Shelley is trembling, and whimpering softly. “Please... my Lord... please... in my cunt...”

He smiles. He has no intention of putting his cock in her pussy. She is not worthy of his Seed. He will get his satisfaction from her mouth, and from her ass. And from whatever humiliation it will please him to unleash on the immoral blonde. And knowing that she is craving a cock in her pussy without satisfaction strikes him as a suitable method for teaching her the error of her ways.

“What’s the matter, pet? Do you not enjoy a good reaming?” He presses his cock further, and it sinks in slowly, and Shelley shaking increases. He slides his hands on her cheeks, up to her hips, and pulls her back against him. “It must remind you of those college nights when you offered your butt to your fellow students.”

“N... no... my Lord...” she groans.

“What do you mean, pet?”

“I’ve... oh! I’ve never had... a cock... in my ass, my Lord...”

“What? Really? You never had someone up your butt?”

“No... my Lord...”

He grins, happy at the thought. He pushes his cock in further, and then pulls out and presses in again, making Shelley moan and arch her back.

“Well don’t worry, pet. That’ll change.”

He proceeds to fuck her ass slowly, enjoying the sensations to their fullest, appreciating the visual of his cock spearing her between the cheeks, and loving the fact that he is trailblazing and introducing her to the delights of anal sex.

He does not notice that Shelley has been looking at him for several minutes, so caught up he is. “My Lord?” she asks.

“Yes, pet.”

“If I let you fuck my ass, will you then shove your cock in my cunt?”

He has to smile at that. “But I’m already fucking your butt, pet. I do not need your permission.”

“If... If I make it better for you, will you then shove your cock in my cunt?”

He slaps her ass, hard, and is pleasantly surprised at the effect it has on his cock inside her. “You’d have to make it pretty good, pet. But if you do a good job, I’ll consider it.” He is lying, of course.

And the whole experience changes for him. Shelley raises up on her hands, and arches her back and starts to meet his thrusts, pushing back against him. “Oh,” she moans, “just like that! Shit! You like fucking my ass, my Lord? You like fucking my dirty slutty ass?”

By way of response, he slaps her cheek again, and she groans at the contact, and pushes back against him harder.

“That’s right—spank me, my Lord. I’m just a dirty slut that likes to take it up the ass—oh! I’ve saved my ass for you, my Lord—so you could be the first to tear it open! Oh! Fuck! Fuck my ass, my Lord!”

He is not sure, but he thinks she must be squeezing her sphincter in time with his thrusts, because suddenly the pressure on his cock increases, and he is driven to his second orgasm almost against his will.

With a loud groan, he pushes his cock as deep inside her as it will go, and Shelley encourages him with a loud “Come inside my ass, my Lord!” and he does, coming long and hard with his hands on her hips, and her cheeks pressed into his lower abdomen. He leans over her, feeling his balls empty for the second time of the evening.

When he slips out of her and sits down on the ground, his back against the chair he vacated after coming in Shelley’s throat, he watches her fold over on the rug. She is looking at him. “Please, my Lord. Will you fuck my cunt now?”

“Why did you keep your anal virginity, pet?” It is a weird question to ask, but he was so convinced that Shelley had taken men anally before that an explanation is eluding him.

“I was inspired by Lizzie, my Lord. She was working so hard at preserving her own virginity, that I thought it might be a worthwhile gesture for me to keep something intact for my one true love. It was too late for my pussy, so I figured my ass would do.”

“So Brandon never fucked you in the butt?”

“No, my Lord. I was planning to offer it to him, but he left me before I could say anything.” She looks at him again, and straightens up on the rug, her legs spread, flashing him a dripping pussy. “Will you fuck my dirty cunt now, my Lord? I swear, I’ll make it even better for you than fucking my ass”

He does not answer. He grabs Garcia’s jersey, and tosses it to her. “You’re a mess, pet. Clean yourself up. Your face, and your butt, and your thighs. Then we’ll see.”

Shelley, without hesitation, picks up her beloved jersey and wipes her face with it before running it up between her legs to soak up her juices and his semen, intermingled and dripping out of her ass.

He watches her, feeling his cock twitch again, wondering what abuse he will lay on the blonde girl in front of him. He is toying with the idea of messing with her mind and making her perceive him as Garcia, just to see how she would react, and explore the degradations that she would be willing to endure to be with the love of her life one more time. He has never thought of using his Divine Gift like that before; it opens up all new vistas of study.

“You know, pet, if you serve me well, perhaps I will grant you your wish to see your beloved Garcia again. I’m sure that if I talk to him I can convince him to spend some time with the girl who broke his heart by cheating on him and who might just be willing to do whatever filthy thing his mind can dream up. He must have some delightful revenge fantasies running through his mind, and I’m sure he’d love to sample that tight butt of yours, or sink his cock into your pussy again.”

Shelley’s face brightens at his mention of her pussy, and she moans. “Will you fuck my cunt, please, my Lord? Please?”

“We’ll see,” he says, spreading his legs wide. “In the meantime, how about you suck my cock clean and get me ready for the next round?”

And it is without any hesitation that Shelley dives onto his soiled cock and sucks it into her mouth, hoping desperately that her Lord will deign slide his cock into her pussy and make her come.