Natural Submission Studio: Dylans’s Story
* * *I can’t believe it’s really her, I keep thinking to myself, nervously tapping my pen against the desk as the beautiful girl before me blushes and stumbles through her words.
She thinks that I’m bored of our interview, I’m sure, when really I’m trying not to have a complete freakout that I finally have the little lamb in my lion’s den. I’ve been stalking this girl for months—mostly through the darkweb (watching and rewatching her videos, late at night, when I jerk-off in a violent frenzy to her mindlessly sucking off groups of men), and then I’d had the insane fortune of figuring out that she lived nearby. Kidnapping her was out of the question, so I’d sent her a flyer about my bar, advertising a high-paying waitress position that doesn’t really exist.
“So . . . that’s a little bit about me,” the red-headed smokeshow says softly, her deep brown eyes wide with concern that I don’t like her (but God, if she only knew how MUCH I like her!); she laughs nervously, but doesn’t do anything annoyingly girlish like bite her plump lips or twirl her hair.
“I think you’d do very well here, Dylan Mayfield,” I tell her, my chest going warm when she gives me a shy but dazzling smile. “After all, from one Dylan to another, how could I refuse someone with such a cool name?”
Her laugh this time is rich and vibrant, those brown eyes twinkling with mirth. “I’m so relieved to hear that!”
Oh, but you shouldn’t be, I think darkly, already envisioning all the ways I’m going to fuck her—all the ways in which I’m going to let her be fucked by others for money.
I can see her heaving double D’s dripping with sweat, even though she’s wearing a conservative button up sweater (since it’s December and snowing outside), and I can see her smooth cunt glistening with arousal as that pretty, prim mouth wraps around cock after cock. It makes mine stir in my pants, and I have to shake myself out of it as I realize I’ve been staring at her without speaking for too long, so I give a fake laugh myself and shrug.
“I shouldn’t just offer you the job on the spot, you know, as I have other people to interview,” I lie, “but I think you’re just what we need to liven up this place. Could you start next Monday?”
“Oh, I’d love to, sir!” she breathes out, her face a mixture of joy and relief.
Since I know where she lives (in a shabby little apartment on the rough side of town), I know that she’s probably desperate for work, especially after fleeing rural Charleston for Jainsburg—which is a metropolis that eats people alive unless they’re already well established, and I know that the opportunity she thinks I’ve given her is like a golden parachute into surviving here.
It’s a pity that it’s not what she thinks it is, I think gleefully. But do I really know what I’m doing? Is she really going to be so easy to control as I think she’s going to be?
There’s really only one way to test it. I eye the closed door behind her, wishing I’d locked it, but knowing that would have seemed weird, especially since it’s essentially a closet that I’ve turned into a makeshift office.
But will anyone stumble upon us if I go for it? I think the rest of the staff is pretty busy, and usually I’m not bothered all that much (unless a patron is really getting out of hand). Should I take the risk and have my wildest dreams fulfilled?
I decide that yes, I’m totally going to do it, as I grin at the fiery-haired bombshell before me and say, “Always be a good girl!”, amazement taking over my features as her expression blanks out, her dark eyes going fuzzy and dull.
Wow, no fucking way….
I get up and approach her, my erection tenting my jeans as I get so close that I can smell her sweet perfume, can lean in and sniff her long, pretty hair. She doesn’t pull back—which I take as a good sign—yet I still can’t believe the trigger words are actually real. Like really, real. Like blank out her mind and make her do whatever I want real.
Maybe it won’t be that simple though, I worry, determined to try it out by quietly instructing her. “Get on your knees for me, Mayfield.”
I almost expect her to protest (to say, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Mister?”—or at least, “Excuse me, what?”) but she doesn’t. She just falls to her knees like a puppet whose strings have been cut, and then stares up at me, her eyes wide and empty.
Her lips look so full and red, the glossiness of her lipstick urging me on as I unzip my pants and push the head of my cock against her mouth, smearing a wet streak across her cheek.
“Jesus,” I huff.
I know I need to hurry if I don’t want to get caught, but it’s so sexy seeing her like this. So blank. So demure. So untethered to reality. It’s like all my darkest fantasies are being answered, finally having this girl as my own living suck-doll—just waiting for me to blow my load down her throat—like I’ve watched her do to hundreds of men before me.
(Hundreds of men that she’s obviously trying to put into the distant file of her past. But unfortunately for her, she’s now stuck with me—and all I want to do is make her live in that reality forever. As a beautiful sex slave. As an object for men to ejaculate on and into.)
I slide my cock past her lips and she obediently opens for me, letting me thrust into the hot, wet cavern of her mouth, the suction intoxicating. Is this what all those other dudes felt when she was bound on the floor before them? (Her tits had bulged in their rope ties, her hands secured behind her back, legs spread wide with a sawed-off broomstick, cunt leaking down her thighs as she gagged on cock after cock.)
I groan and grab her head, pushing into her throat and making her choke. The sounds of her gluck-gluck-glucking on me, the sight of drool spilling down her chin, makes hot lust thrum through me, makes me fuck into her throat harder and faster, makes everything inside me tense in pleasure. She’s not all naked and sexily rope-bound like the little rape-toy that she used to be, but she’s just as hot in her attempt to be innocent, the green sweater and mom-jeans not hiding her sinfully curvy body.
“Do you like this? Do you like being my slut?” I whisper to her, shivering as her hands come up and wrap around my hips, like she knows exactly what she’s doing, like she knows what I want, like she wants nothing more than to satisfy me....
It feels so good, the softness of her lips, the wetness of her mouth, the way she gags every time I force her to swallow around my cock, that I cum embarrassingly fast. Pleasure pounds behind my eyes as I spurt hot and fast into her throat.
“Fuck,” I groan, looking down into her hazy, brown eyes as she gulps me down obediently.
She doesn’t even seem to care that I lost it so fast, shivering in appreciation as she continues to suckle down every last drop. I bet she loves drinking cum (even though she probably has nightmares about doing it, probably hasn’t had a boyfriend since getting free from Jean Paul). I wonder how hard she used to cum when I’d watch her moan and shake as she was force-fed load after load. I can’t wait to put it to the test when I install her as the bar’s new (secret) nighttime special feature….
I keep thrusting into her mouth, ripping open the buttons of her sweater. My hands grab at her huge tits, pulling them free from her lacy, white bra. It’d be stupid to keep going, when I’ve already achieved what I wanted and gotten away with it—but I want more. I want to feel her pussy wrapped around my cock. I want to watch her pretty, freckled face twist in ecstasy as I fuck her into oblivion.
I pull out of her mouth and then drag her up, pushing her forward until she’s forced to bend over my desk, her jean-covered ass in the air.
Voices mill about around the unlocked door to my makeshift office. The thought of someone coming in and finding us like this almost makes me pause, almost makes me change my mind, but then I spot her big, naked tits swaying enticingly, a string of cum and saliva trailing from her mouth, and the vision of her makes me throb with new arousal. Frantically, I push her into the desk, watching her tits smash into it as I hastily yank her tight jeans down.
It’s just about closing time and I know one of the guys is going to explode through that door, whining about some customer that won’t pay up or leave or something. Dylan’s wet cunt distracts me from my anxiety, the perfect pink petals dripping with need, the smoothness of her pussy lips decorated with only the tiniest strip of red-pubic hair, like a little arrow pointing down to bliss-town.
Weirdly, there aren’t any videos of her pussy getting filled, and part of me thinks it’s because her boss had a thing for her, keeping her cunt as a prized possession for himself, a tight little cocksleeve to milk him after the show.
“Gonna have to test it myself,” I whisper to her, nudging my still erect cockhead into her wet heat.
It’s stupid to go at it raw, but I can’t help it, groaning as her hot, silky cunt takes me in, gripping my cock so tightly that it feels like heaven. Her juices run down my balls, and the thought that she’s this wet for me, that she’s this horned up from drinking my cum, sends a jolt of pure desire through me. Not many women give me the time of day—and for one this hot to be dripping and clenching around my shaft—her little whimpering moans echoing around the small room as I begin to thrust deeper inside her, makes me realize I’m not going to last very long, and that I’m not even going to try to pull out.
There’s loud banging noises outside, and I hear an angry voice call out, “Where the hell is Dylan?”
Shit.
I thrust harder and faster, making her huge tits squeak across my desk, making her breathless cries rise in pitch. Can they hear me in here if I can hear them out there?
The rattle of someone’s hand on the doorknob makes an intense rush go through me, and I grit my teeth as I ejaculate hard, bathing Mayfield’s insides with my sperm. In the flash of a second, I’m pulling out and hissing at her to pull up her pants and fix her shirt, righting my own trousers just as my lead bartender comes in.
Brody gives me a funny look, his eyebrows rising, but only says, “Homeless guy just came in and flipped a table. Guess he spit in Heath’s eye—now he’s threatening to quit.”
Heath is my best security guy. I frown for a moment, then look over at Mayfield, who has a sexy, wet mouth and pink cheeks, just staring at us without a care in the world. Maybe she could convince Heath to stay on. Maybe Brody could try her out, too….
“You feel like getting sucked off?” I ask.
“Uh….” Brody looks at me, then at the dime-piece behind me, smirking as he says, “long as she’s doing it….”
I roll my eyes at him. “Get Heath. We’ll sort this out.”
It’s fun to watch them both enjoy her (and Heath rescinds his resignation immediately after nutting on her face). I’m thrilled when they both agree with my lucrative idea of keeping her in the makeshift office, offering her to patrons to use at will, splitting the cash between the three of us if they help me keep the Quick-Release-Cum-Dump our dirty, little secret.
No one will even miss her, I know, because she’s got no friends or family in this new town, and therefore, we don’t have much risk at getting caught.
And best of all, Mayfield has no problem with being a human fleshlight, a living fuckdoll that exists only for her master to cum in and sell to others. She’s achieved her true purpose here, and by the way she moans and whimpers as she’s continuously used and abused, I know that she’s more than happy to accept her true place in the world.