The Bonds of Matrimony

Even though he'd told her never to play with herself without permission, yesterday he'd come in the door after a long day and there she was, half-naked at her desk, pleasuring herself again, having done nothing all day. The house was messy, the bed unmade, dishes dirty in the sink. Anger at being disobeyed swelled in him, and he rushed over to her, pulled her up by the arm, and dragged her into the bedroom.

Forcing her down on to the bed, he shouted, "Enough is enough! You're out of control!!" He was livid, and spanked her until she sobbed with tears. He put her to bed, locking the door to the bedroom so that she couldn't get out, and slept in the other room that night. Listening to her crying only convinced him that he had to do something. 

He was too angry to release her, though, and needed time to think; what could he do about her constant misbehavior? He was gone all day, and she was here, alone, no supervision, no way to keep his eye on her. He lay awake half the night, deciding what his options were. She had to learn to stop touching herself and obey his wishes.

In the morning, he let her out. She was resentful at the treatment she'd received the night before, and refused to speak to him, but he didn't care. He had a plan to take her in hand and control her bad behavior. He was home today, and so he implemented his plan immediately after she'd gone to the bathroom and eaten something. Because he was so angry with her, he'd told her very specifically when she awoke that she was only to eat and drink what he gave her, and she complied, although unwillingly. She ate from a tray in the bedroom which he brought in to her. Then he went out again, locking the door behind him. She was now his prisoner until he punished her severely enough so that she learned not to misbehave.  His plan would take time, but he would be patient.

Last night, he'd rummaged through his supplies, ideas forming in his mind. A box in the spare room contained a long length of rope, which he'd cut into lengths. The rope was white and smooth, and very strong, and it now lay beside the rest of his 'tools' on a tray. The nail trimmer scissors that accompanied the rope were sharp and small in his hand. He inserted a brand new blade in the razor, and poured a quantity of virgin olive oil into a clear glass container. He'd made an online purchase, adding special overnight delivery, and anticipated the mailman's knock on the door.

Coming into the bedroom with his tray of implements, he looked over at his wife. She was asleep; good. The drug he'd put into her morning juice had already taken effect, no doubt assisted by her night of exhausted crying. She looked so gentle and good when she was asleep, and it reminded him why he was doing this. She needed more sex, yes, but she also needed to learn to control her urges and be taught to always, always obey him. Right now, she could not control herself, so he had to help her.

She lay on her side, and he gently but firmly rolled her on her back, splaying her arms and legs out wide, but not so wide as to be truly uncomfortable for her to hold this position for a long time, maybe many hours. He held his breath, waiting for her to wake up and start yelling at him, but she continued her quiet breathing, and he knew he could do whatever he wanted; she was in deep sleep now. He took advantage of her unaware compliance, and rolled her over, fitting a large towel underneath her, positioning her in place on top of it.

Then he looped the lengths of rope over and around her hands and feet, tying her firmly to the ends of the bed. He tested the knots; they were tied tightly, and they held her in place, with some give so she could bend her arms and legs, but not enough room to move very far at all. He needed her to stay as still as possible on the bed while he shaved her entire pussy. This was very important, because she had to be hairless and completely naked for the chastity belt when it came special delivery later on today. He was planning to keep her in it for as long as it took for her to learn how to obey him, and her skin had to be kept clean and sensitive, so she would feel every tiny movement while wearing the belt.

Her legs were spread before him, exposing her pussy and inner ass cheeks. He had never before noticed how hairy she really was. Her folds were pink and full, and he noticed her little inside lips glistened with moisture. He wanted very much to touch them and play with her and make her cum, but he stopped himself. He had a job to do, and needed to focus. So he got the little trimming scissor and began to clip at the longer hairs around her pussy, being very careful not to nick her delicate flesh. He snipped the hairs until they lay flat against her skin, and when he had trimmed her pussy until it looked bare and almost naked, he ran his hand over it. The fine stubble that remained would respond well to the olive oil, the perfect lubricant to get the smoothest shave possible.

She moaned in her sleep, but did not wake. Yet he had a bit of a shock, and realised how much time was passing. He needed to get this done! So he took the razor, dipped it in the oil, and, shaking off the blade, started to stroke it against her skin, removing every last hair, both inside and outside the folds of her pussy. The oil helped the razor glide over the skin, allowing him to shave her until her folds were entirely naked, pure, clean and smooth, with only the tiniest, finest pale babylike hairs remaining.

She stirred awake, her eyes opening. She was groggy. "Wha.... what are you doing?" she muttered, slurring her words. He'd given her very powerful sleeping pills, and he knew she'd fall back to sleep again in a few minutes.

"I'm teaching you a lesson you need to learn, my wicked little girl," he whispered. The room was dark, and he wanted to keep her here, quietly, until she'd had a chance to sleep off the drugs. He caressed her smooth pussy, running his fingers through her warm slit. "It seems you liked being shaved.... you're all wet!" He chuckled softly, and he could see her eyes widen. He lit a candle, the better to see her tender flesh exposed to his view.

He couldn't make sense of what she was saying. All he heard was her whimpering, imploring him to let her go, maybe promising to be good... he couldn't be sure. He knew she was desperate though; he could see it in her eyes as they gleamed in the candle's glow.

"No, I don't think so. Not this time. You've promised to be good before, and you haven't behaved yourself, so now you're going to pay the price and learn to take me seriously!" He laughed, but she'd fallen asleep again, and so he cleaned up, taking his little tray of torture implements away with him.

When she woke, he was watching her. He'd enjoyed feeling her slit while she was sleeping, arousing her, watching her clit get wet and deeply pink. He'd played with her and teased her, and he hoped she felt it somewhere in the depths of her drugged slumber. The chastity belt had arrived while she'd slept, but he'd waited until she was conscious to put it on her so that she could feel the strong leather and cold metal against her skin, and he could watch her reactions. He was enjoying the spectrum of expressions on her face, as she realised what was happening to her.

She was now fully awake. He'd ordered a ball gag for her mouth, and now he inserted it. He didn't want to hear her complaints, and he also didn't want to hear her lie and say she'd be good. He knew perfectly well she'd say anything to get out of this predicament, but it was too late. He was determined to inflict this pain on her and change her behavior. She had to learn that only he controlled her orgasms, that it was disrespectful for her to cum without permission, without his knowledge. If he didn't stop this now, she would learn from his inability to control her that it was okay to do almost anything, and he wasn't about to let that happen.

To get the chastity belt on her and fasten its locks, he had to untie her feet, which he did, one at a time. It was slow going pulling it on to her, getting the belts in place, and fastening them, but he didn't mind. She was starting to understand how determined he was. Now she was begging him to let her out of this thing; she would do anything he wanted, anything!

"No, I don't think so," he said, frowning. "You've been very, very bad, and this is your punishment!"

"For how long?" she asked, her voice small and scared, but still defiant.

"Until you prove to me you can keep your hands off your pussy and behave yourself. We'll let you out of this once a day to clean you off. I will wash you and dry you. You aren't allowed to touch yourself at all."

"But what about peeing??" she squeaked.

"You pee through the little hole. You'll be okay. It won't be very nice at all, and it will smell nasty at first, but you'll learn very quickly, won't you, my little bitch in heat? And there's a special surprise inside  it. You'll like the way it feels at first, but I'm warning you now, since you won't be able to make yourself cum, you won't like it at all later on." 

She nodded, but shot him an angry glance. He let her sit up, untying her. "Now I want you to walk around, get used to wearing it. You'll be wearing it to sleep in, so we might need to adjust it. I don't want it to be too tight, otherwise you won't be able to breathe."

The chastity belt came with a small cup attachment, which fitted over her clit and labia just before he locked her in. He heard the satisfying "click" and it was done; she was trapped until he chose to give her her freedom. With the attachment in place, he knew there was absolutely no way her fingers could reach inside. Her pee would flow through its little holes, and she'd need to be washed off, but he was satisfied she was going to learn to behave.

When he removed the belt after the first week, as a test, he watched the playback from the webcam he'd installed to monitor her behavior while he was away. Sure enough, the little bitch went right for her pussy as soon as he let her out of her cunt cage! So back in it she went.

"This will go on until you learn!" he shouted at her, coming into the bedroom. He spanked her very hard for a long time, but she didn't cry this time. She whimpered during the spanking, but he couldn't tell if she was resentful or remorseful. He tied her to the bed again as extra punishment. He enjoyed watching her squirm against the bedclothes, her lower body, naked and encased in the straps of the belt, tied down as tightly as he dared, the ball gag in her mouth to shut her up. She would learn to submit. He was a patient man.

The next week, he tried again. This time, not trusting her, but wanting to test her resolve, he tied her hands very loosely, but kept her legs firmly bound to the bedposts. Her freshly shaved pussy was vulnerable to any sensation, and he knew the special interior of the chastity belt, with its little rubber tips gently but persistently caressing her clit all day long, was probably driving her crazy, building her desire. He'd set up a television in the bedroom to play a subliminal video with images she couldn't see and sounds she couldn't consciously hear, of women being fucked in every way possible. This was her punishment until he untied her.

Later that night, he fast-forwarded the playback; hours passed, but he saw that she did not touch her pussy, even though he adjusted the lens to a closeup view and could see how wet she was, tied up, fully exposed, legs spread wide. After watching the video, he went to the bedroom. He wanted to fuck her so badly, but he had to wait until she had learned to obey him. The things he wanted to do to her would be a reward she hadn't proved she deserved.

Her eyes, once filled with angry, resentful fire, now looked docile and almost sad. He went to her and immediately pulled off the ball gag. Drool poured down her chin; he wiped it off. He felt a little guilty, but all of this was necessary. She was such a bad, bad girl. He felt inside the waist of the chastity belt; no, it was not digging into her flesh. Good. He would hate for her to be in real pain, but his irritation, combined with the constant aching desire to dive into her soft flesh, gave him the will to punish her severely.

"What is it, my very precious little girl," he whispered raggedly, looking into those sad, quiet eyes. "What's troubling you?" He rubbed her mouth with his fingers; it looked red from the ball gag.

She gazed up at him, adoring, a look of gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you for removing the gag," she said. "I really needed that out. I'm so embarrassed to have drooled." She sighed, and her naked breasts, nipples hardened by the cool night air, moved up and down with the rhythm of her breathing .

"Don't worry, and don't be embarrassed. It's part of your punishment. But you look like you want to tell me something," he prodded. His hand was on her leg, gently caressing the inside of her thigh. He worked to focus his mind on what she was supposed to be learning, since all he wanted to do was rip his hard cock out of his pants, forcing her soft nether lips open to his bidding for the first time in weeks. 

"Yes, I have something I'd like to say, if it's all right."

Pleased with her new compliant attitude, he allowed her to speak, suppressing his desire.

"I don't want to upset you anymore with my bad behavior. I want to be good, and do what you tell me always." She hung her head, and cried a little. "I've had lots of time to think while I've been tied up, and I've realised how very bad I've been to you, how rude and disrespectful it's been to play with myself without your knowing."

"Why is it bad?" he asked, gently, the palm of one hand firmly pressing down on the groin of the chastity belt. He knew she probably needed to pee, and he wanted to torture her a little more before he let her out.

"Because," she said, gasping, her eyes wide and sincere, "... you should always know what I'm doing and be able to totally trust me," and then, shyly, in a little girl voice, "if I touch myself too much, it's unladylike.... and if I touch myself too much, it's like I'm saying you're not enough for me....!"

"Have you learned to be good? I want nothing more than to let you out. I'm tired of keeping you locked up like this."

"Yes, of course. I will be good from now on, I promise!"

He let her up to use the bathroom and have a proper bath. All of the little amenities she had once taken for granted, she was so grateful for now, and she kissed him for every tiny thing he let her do, and kept telling him how wonderful he was. She was in love with him for the first time, because now she appreciated him, and everything he gave her and did for her. However, he didn't trust her just yet, and even though he let her out of the chastity belt—for now—he kept her hands tied with silk bonds as she slept, and left the webcam on, its tiny light glowing, observing his very naughty girl all through the night. 

The Storm


Outside the windows of the snug little cottage, a wind-whipped storm raged. Tree branches scraped and scratched, menacing sounds penetrating her deep sleep.  She came to full wakefulness slowly, listening from deep within the downy bedcovers as the squealing, screeching banshee sounds of wind and rain lashed the woods around the house. A gibbous moon glowed intermittently through branches that raked its luminous face. She sat up, trying her bedside light. She clicked the switch on and off. Nothing. The power was out.

She turned to her man, snoring gently next to her. Even in sleep, he was so handsome, his golden skin glowing with the light of an inner sun. She felt the familiar warm rush of desire, and just as quickly squelched it.  Although she longed to lift the covers, and bury her face in the warm fur surrounding his placid sleeping cock, she didn't dare.

He needed his sleep, and she wasn't sure how he would feel about being wakened with no warning, her head and tongue doing things to him she hadn't asked permission for. She tried to ignore the insistent pangs of desire, but she was quickly getting wet thinking about his beautiful, glorious cock that she loved to lick and suckle on like a baby, drinking down his milky semen as often as he would let her.

He was too busy for her demanding little tongue and mouth, and she was, as he'd said once, "cock hungry," so to spare him and give him time to work, she'd stopped insisting he open his pants for her as often as she wanted, and now she went without nourishment far too often. This is what happened when a succubus chose to take human form, however, and she knew there was a price to be paid. And now, she thought with bitterness, she was paying it. Her hunger was constant, and he was merely mortal, but he was so beautiful, the pain was almost worth it.   

"Honey," she whispered, shaking him a little. "Honey, the power's gone out! It's a bad storm!" He murmured something she couldn't hear and rolled onto his side facing her, one long, strong golden-haired lion's paw extended out to her side of the bed. He wouldn't wake up easily, she knew, so, slightly irritated, she sighed, knowing he could sleep through anything. She was awake, feeling alone in the midst of a raging storm. Lighting a candle against the blackness, she left him in bed, snoring, and went downstairs to make some soothing chamomile tea, something female humans seemed to rely on at times like this.

Sipping from her mug of steaming tea, she sat and listened to the straining noises of the branches as they threatened to snap and break. The trees were so close to the windows, and their long, thin, denuded arms reached for the dark glass, reminding her of home, where all was dark except for the heat and light of her Lord and Master, who reigned over the underworld. He frequently loaned out his succubi to the mortal world, although the men above did not know who they had let into their beds. Meanwhile her Lord revelled in the knowledge that up above, men were being forced into carnality almost—but not quite, given  the nature of men—against their wishes. 

One deep night of inky blackness in the crypt they all shared, her Lord had visited his harem of demonic women, and listened, patiently, one by one, to their supplications. "Oh, Lord, grant me that I might lie with this mortal," each succubi implored, and the Dark Lord would grant her wish or not, depending on whether he wanted to cause torment to yet another soul on earth. Frequently, the Dark One was simply bored, and enjoyed knowing that one of his minions was out of his clutches for the moment, for he thrilled at the power of retrieving the succubus when he'd had enough vicarious pleasure observing her antics through the glassy portal that allowed him access to the human world.

At times, he could be a very understanding Owner, and would remind his little ones what they owed him for granting them their temporary freedom. "Come back to me refreshed, little slave," he'd say, chuckling from deep inside his huge, hairy chest, feeling magnificently abundant in granting his servants their wishes. He loved giving them this taste of freedom, knowing that chains still bound them to Him. Then when he granted his beloved succubi, who had, after all, given him continuous pleasure, their insignificant wishes, he felt munificent and generous, and commanded the new succubi-in-training to taste of his demonic cocks, all three of them, which sprouted and rolled out, lizard-like, from between his enormous red legs, three rods of flame the succubi suckled from.

The succubus, sitting in her mortal kitchen, sighed. Her memories of home were so sweet to her, and she was beginning to miss her Lord. The human was delicious, but his stamina was limited, and at times he made her feel as though she shouldn't do the one thing she knew he adored, which was suck his cock all day and night. He claimed it wore him out. She shook her head in disbelief. Mortal men were a quandary! On the one hand, they claimed to love it so much, and to chase a mortal woman's pussy was their one obsession. Yet when they had a willing mouth to service their every need or desire, they would become tired. How was this possible? It would never make sense to her. Succubi could pleasure their Lord endlessly, and he could be pleasured endlessly. It was in the nature of the succubi to do so, and their hunger felt eternal.

And her hunger was overpowering now. Putting down the tepid swill that was this human brew, she climbed the stairs to their bedroom. She was entirely willing, as a well-trained succubus, to cater to every whim of her earthly master. Her Dark Lord had trained her well. The night's noises did not abate; if anything, the storm outside grew increasingly dangerous, with winds heightening. She heard trees' limbs snapping off, cracking loud, their fragile arms dessicated bones, dry and brittle. She loved it; she gloried in these harsh sounds, so much like home, with its shrill crying and constant wailing. Banshees and succubi, witches and screaming ghosts, shades from the underworld, all vying for their Lord's attention: this was her accustomed world, so unlike the pallid grey of the 'real' world she inhabited for the sake of her lover's human touch.

The succubus shivered with anticipation, and, removing her nightclothes, a frivolous human invention, she slinked under the pure white down covers. Her man's hand was now under her waist, and instinctively, in sleep, he curved it around her and drew her to him. She relished this sensation. The one advantage to being human was that it allowed her the feeling of this skin. Succubi sacrificed many things to worship the Dark One; the one thing she missed most was the feeling, the texture, and the smell of human skin. Her own flesh was cold, green, and damp. She didn't like it. Its smell was of the earth, musty, like something that had been buried too long and dug up. In human form, however, she smelled sweet and appeared utterly desirable.

His flesh was shockingly hot to her touch, and she smelled, somewhere on his body, the intoxicating tiny drop of semen he'd oozed at some point during the night. Her hunger awakened again, this time undeniable. He had her on a starvation diet. To be fair, she was insatiable, yes; she was branded as greedy even amongst the other succubi, who all knew her proclivities. However, in her defense, she thought, this is what we live on. I need his seed to survive. In spite of her training, she pouted a little as she rested her dark head against his strong, hairy chest. She couldn't help the hunger and what it made her do, and she was so tired of feeling defensive.

I simply need sperm, she thought. It's not like I'm asking for something he doesn't have a lot of! To a succubi, who lived off human males, his sperm was not 'like' milk; it was a nourishing food, the only thing that could keep a succubi alive above ground. They had to have it to survive. She thought again of all her training, how a good, well-behaved succubi never took without asking permission first, but this human was always saying no these days. She couldn't help it, she decided. I have to! I need it so badly! I'm starving, but even she could hear the whining tone in her head. No matter; he'll make more!

Not yet desperate, she was able to contain her lust enough to lick his chest, the tiny tongue lapping and kissing as she made her way down, down, down, to the flaccid flesh that promised her salvation. His cock lay peaceful and sweet, wrinkled and brown against his leg. He was covered in golden hair, just like his golden skin, and she loved, in her human form, to feel the hairs tickling her face and nose. She reached the source of her happiness and nutrition with her penetrating red demon tongue. Its tip snaked into the tiny human hole at the top of her world, the summit of his manhood. Momentarily dizzy from the scent, she pulled her head back, and sniffed in the aroma of sunshine and vanilla cake. This human smelled so good, like a bakery in the middle of a meadow!

A little delirious, she began gently, oh-so-gently sucking and licking. She loved this so! She rested her head against his leg. He squirmed a little, but opened his legs wider, still asleep. Does he feel this, she wondered? But he only stirred, he did not wake, while she continued her cat-tongued lapping. His cock grew and grew, making her crazy with cum-lust. She wanted his semen, yes, each tasty, creamy drop, but she also enjoyed the teasing sensation of knowing it was building deep inside his balls, getting ready to flow into her sensitive, hot succubi mouth.

A good succubi knows when to suck hard, and when to lick and nip gently. A properly trained succubi knows to lap up every drop, and not to let one single dribble of sperm go unattended. Her Lord trained her to be attentive to a human's needs, and not to simply attack and take the human for nourishment. She was very well behaved. And so she hoped the human would awake and feel pleasure, and in fact, that's exactly what happened. He woke up while she was running the tip of her tongue over and around his meaty glans. She knew that was a particularly sensitive place on his cock, and so she hesitatingly swirled her tongue over it, since she didn't want to upset him by forcing him to wake up against his will.

The winds blew louder and louder, and in their shrieking, she heard the cry of the minions of her Lord. They were calling her back, asking where she was and if she would soon be rejoining them. She couldn't answer though; her mouth was full. Her man awoke, tenderly running his hands through her long black hair. "What's this?" he asked, sleepily, raising his groin up to her mouth. He wasn't protesting; that was a good sign. 

She pulled off of him, and, without wiping her mouth, said, "I wanted to surprise you," and began worshipping his cock again, fully this time, knowing she had permission. Feeling slightly less guilty, she swirled and tongued him until at last his groans of pleasure told her the moment was now, and he came, suddenly filling her mouth with the food she longed for. She was so grateful! She was starving! At last she could drink and drink, for he was full of semen tonight, his veins pumping cream into her ravaging mouth long after she thought he'd be done.

She lay almost sated afterwards, her mouth still wrapped around his cock, catching the tiniest drip of life-giving milk. The taste in her mouth was like flower petals; sharp and green, tinny and sweet, all at once. These humans were so interesting! So many varied tastes, each man's body a smörgåsbord of flavours. You never knew, once you'd latched a greedy mouth onto a cock, what might come out, but you could be sure it would be different each time.

The two fell asleep like that, her mouth softly cradling his member. He slept blissfully and deep; she slept the sleep of succubi who have been summoned home. In the moment before dawn, her human form disintegrated, and all that was left of her when he awoke in the morning was a slight green glimmer in the air over the bed of a form that had once been hers, but was now only a memory. The birds sang and the sky was blue after the night's storm, but his house and bed were empty.


The Imposters

She drifted into consciousness, eyes flickering open, then closing again. It was dark. She was cold. Her limbs lay, listless, heavy, shackled. Straining, she could not move. She felt … a tongue lapping slowly, ever so slowly. Her clit. Her clit. Swollen. She tried so hard to move her pelvis to engage deeply with the tongue, but felt frustration, exhaustion. She tried to look down to see who was doing this to her, but her head would not move. Her eyes closed again. She sank back into unconsciousness. The lapping did not stop…

Light seeped into the room. A small aperture above her head. She could look up. She could not look down, she could not turn her head. She desperately needed to pee, but there was nothing she could do. She must hold it until she was released, but when would that be? She was sleepy, but awake. She tried to yawn, but found her mouth was held in place. Who was doing this to her? Why was this happening?
More aware now, she knew enough to be afraid. She was tired, hungry, thirsty, and she couldn’t move.

But… her clit tingled, the walls of her vagina felt… raw. It felt good. She liked it. She wanted more. She strained against her shackles, but gave up. There was no point in struggling. She would not get out, she knew it. Not until whoever had her pinned like this allowed her release. She conserved her energy, and fell back into trance-like sleep.

In the background of her mind, she heard white noise. It was very pleasant. It melded into her thoughts, until she began to mouth words, but wasn’t aware what the words were. It wasn’t until later, as the light dimmed around her, that she began to realize the words were “obey” and “submit.”

These words were pleasant to hear, and her drowsy response was “yes, I will.” She wanted so desperately to pee, but she wanted even more to have that tongue back between her legs. Licking, sucking. She began to think of his cock and her clit. Wait… whose cock? She couldn’t remember. She felt dazed.

Dark. So dark. And so cold. She shivered. Her pee gushed forth; she couldn’t help it. It seemed to float downwards, away from her body. Good. There would be no mess. She felt warmer. Her back ached. Earlier, in a moment when her brain was less fuzzy, she knew she was lying down, she knew her arms and legs were trapped by unrelenting metal. At that moment, someone came in. She tried to speak, but her tongue felt like thick cloth and wouldn’t move. “Get me out of here,” she thought, making guttural noises, her eyes flashing.

She saw the man laugh as he adjusted some knobs over her head, twisting some wires into her hair. She felt a needle. I hate needles, she thought, then there was a sharp pain, but she couldn’t tell where it came from on her body. She slept again. The white noise was so calming, so sweet. She loved the noise. She never wanted it to stop.

Light again. A dark, deep voice. “You are so beautiful. I love your body. You are mine.” The feeling of hands touching her skin, lightly, stroking her. Then nothing. Sleep.

She wanted.

She wanted what?

She wanted him. It was that simple. She heard a voice again. “You want me?” the voice whispered. “Yes. I want you.” A chuckle, deep, throaty. “Good. That makes this so much easier.”

She felt one shackle release. She could move her right leg. She felt the tongue again. She was so grateful. She loved the tongue. She loved him. She loved his skin. This was so good, it was so right. She would give him anything he wanted. What did he want? She tried to speak. No words came. The tongue gave her what she needed now. Then… fingers. Another shackle released. Her arm, her left arm. She moved, blood flowed.

She slept. The warm voices were in her head. She loved him. She loved her Master. She loved being his slave. Anything he wanted, he could have.

She awoke, naked, on a warm blanket. She was no longer shackled. Now she was tied down, but her bonds were made of silk. Her eyes were covered. She could only feel, and wait. She was so thirsty. Her mouth! Her mouth could open. Her mouth was open. Her mouth was forced open. It did not hurt. Something was pouring into her mouth. Something warm and cool, sweet and salty, all at once. She drank and drank.

The noise was in her mind. The words flowed. “I am yours. I submit to you. I obey you. I am yours. I love you. I will do anything you ask.”

The love was in his tongue. She felt it again and again. Tongue lapping, gentle, sometimes, rough, tugging at her lips, her clit, teeth biting her clit, biting her lips. He never let her come. She begged. The pain built. Her mouth was open, and she drank. He said one word when she begged: “no.” His word was pain. She hated that word. Hated it.

“You love me?” he asked, after he’d said the word she hated.

“Yes, of course I love you. How can you ask?”

“I ask because I cause you pain.”

She replied, her eyes still covered with silk, her hands still bound, warmth returned to her limbs, “I love your pain.”

He smiled at this. This was a good answer.

He undid her bonds, but she would not get up. “It has been many days. You belong to me now. You can get up, you have permission.” His rough hands rubbed her soft, soft thighs, flesh he coveted now more than ever. She tried to obey him. His word was love, his word was pain, she must obey. The noise in her mind was still there. She heard the words that made her obey him. They were her words now.

He helped her up. She had not realized… she looked deep into the eyes of a stranger. She remembered now. She had been brought here….

“Now that you are mine, tell me your name,” he commanded.

She felt dizzy. Desire and fear intermingled. She didn’t remember her name. She had no name.

“Give me a name, Master, for I am yours now.” She gazed shyly at his face, shining with sweat. He looked so triumphant, a man who had what he wanted. His dark eyes, black against his light skin, glowed; he was tall, and strong, and fierce. She was scared of him, and mesmerized by him, all at once.

Standing behind her, he pulled her hair away from her neck, and whispered into her ear. She loved the sound of her new name. Then she heard a ‘click’ and felt cold metal clasp firmly where his lips had been a moment before. The collaring happened so fast, she had no time to prepare herself. She felt a moment’s panic; she couldn’t breathe. He saw the fear in her eyes, and his hard hands held her tight against his chest.

“You wanted this,” he reminded her, his voice stern.

“Yes,” she nodded, shuddering with the memories of a life, vague to her now. So many questions entered her mind, yet they all fluttered away, colorful butterflies of no importance.

As though he knew her thoughts, he reassured her. “Your new life here will be a happy one. You belong only to me, though, and I warn you now, I do not play well with others.” He laughed, mirthlessly, and she saw a glint of danger in his eyes. “I will work you hard, my little lady, but you will be content. You’re strong, you’re young, and you deserve everything you have coming to you, the good and the bad.” He handed her clothing, a simple red gown with white lace, and soft leather shoes. There were no underclothes, but this did not surprise her. Somehow, it was what she expected.

He guided her towards the door, out of this room of darkness. They ascended a long staircase, up to inner rooms of the manor. The stone walls, lit only by thick, dripping white candles, loomed solid and grey on either side of them as they made their way to his personal chambers. The servants were all asleep.

“Master, may I implore one question of you?” she asked, timorously, keeping her eyes on the bare stone floor at her feet, not daring to look up at him.

“Yes, of course. We must know one another intimately now. What is it, my pretty one?” He was indulging her; she could tell he thought her beautiful, and she wondered what that would mean for her future. Her beauty would fade in time, and with it, his love.

“What time is this? When are we?”

“Ah, you noticed the anomalies. Good; the treatments did not destroy your innate intelligence. Excellent. I had some fear that the combination of thought control and the drugs we used were potentially too strong, but it’s clear that you are aware and entirely functional.” He patted her backside, which felt far away from his hand inside the full skirt of this dress. She guessed the period to be… Tudor? Perhaps later; she couldn’t be sure.

No, she thought, I am not entirely functional… in her mind, she grasped for, but could not latch on to, her name or the details of her previous life.

Her face must have revealed her confusion, because he asked, “What is it? Do not keep any thoughts from me. I must know everything you are thinking. It is vital for your health, and without your thoughts,” he said, suddenly charming, “how can I possibly control you?” He chuckled, but she heard his implied threat. She smiled in response, a tiny bit nervous now at what she had agreed to. It seemed so final.

Changing tack, he said, “You must be famished, my girl. There is food set out by the fire. Eat! I command it.”

“And I must obey, my Master,” she responded, willingly. She wondered at her lack of resistance, but her mind simply would not allow any thoughts of resistance to his will. It was very liberating not to wonder if following his orders was the right thing to do. She simply did what he bade, and felt free.

“My devotion to you does not permit you liberties,” he warned her. “I want that made clear right from the beginning.” As they ate together, and he allowed her to feed him, she listened to his rules. Her eyes grew wide when he explained where they were and what was expected of her.

“As time goes by, you will become more and more accustomed to the era, and the restrictions of your life won’t seem so glaring, compared to what you’re used to. You will soon start to remember bits and pieces of your previous life, and when you do, this new life might seem constraining in ways you hadn’t imagined. You have been carefully programmed not to mind most of these limitations, but you are, nonetheless, mine, and you must accept that in ways that transcend fantasy. This is no fantasy, my poppet,” and his smile was grim. “Women are not treated in this time the way you are used to, and I can only hope we have prepared you sufficiently so that you adapt and don’t feel too much distress. Even so, if you do—“ here he paused to savor his wine—“there is nothing I can say or do to change anything now, nor would I if I could.”

“May I speak, Master?” she asked, sweetly. He gazed once again at her long, dark hair, river blue eyes, and white skin. He drank her in. The man he had been, Dr. Emmett Stephens, could never get enough of her, and as soon as he saw her, two years ago, when she interviewed for the job of assistant in his lab, his fantasy had begun to form—the fantasy that was now reality. He still could not believe it was true. It was beyond belief, but here he was, Lord of a manor in the England of William III, with this perfect creature sitting across from him. She was about to be ravished in ways he knew, from administering that psychoactive truth serum, she had never experienced. He licked his lips and felt his cock grow hard against the leather of his breeches.

“Of course, my girl. Say whatever is on your mind. But it is well that you ask for my permission. Never forget that.” He tapped his wine goblet, a tone of menace in his voice.

She smiled in perfect agreement with him, mollifying his concerns. “I have no intention of rebelling, so please don’t worry. Your will is my will, my Master.” Her features were calm, her demeanor entirely submissive. She was never so delicious as at this moment, when he heard her deference to his control.

“Oh, my girl, if you can maintain that attitude, we will be extraordinarily happy together,” and with that, he swept her up in his arms, and, throwing her onto the large four-poster bed, began to eagerly do all the things to her soft, curvaceous body he had waited for throughout the past months of her intensive training. This past week in the dungeon had been a form of torture for them both, but for him it had been a torture of restraint. Now that he could do whatever he wanted, he fully intended to give in to his lust.

Bending her over at the waist, he pulled up her full skirt and entered her from behind, his cock hard from pent-up desire, her pussy wet and welcoming. During the time she lay on the hard slab in the dungeon, he had fondled her nubile body, forcing the dildo into her, breaking her resistance to his touch through all sorts of penetrations. He had traced his fingers over her flesh, thinking of all the things he would do to her as soon as she was ready. Now, nothing stood in his way, and he was overjoyed to be filling her warm, willing cunt with his potent seed. She would soon carry his child, further binding her to him, and his ownership of her would be complete.

He came hard, visualising her with a full belly, rounded with his son, and he felt such contentment. In his mind, he fervently thanked the Organization, for without them, he would never have had this happiness. He did not care what it had cost him, he was finally at peace with himself and what he needed. Even if it meant he had to give up everything, and everyone, technology had caught up with his fantasies. His team had accomplished time travel, and this one miracle of science made him the luckiest man alive. The fantasy of turning his calm, cool lab assistant into this lascivious creature had become reality. Any difficulties she faced about adapting to the requirements of the time seemed to be gone. Indeed, her training had the added benefit of transforming her into his pleasure slave, and he couldn’t be happier. It was as though her will had been replaced by his. What more could he ask for?

The change in her was proving to be entirely delightful. He had gotten used to Dr. Samantha Pierce’s scathing sarcasm as a form of intellectual foreplay, but he always knew that underneath that icy demeanor lay the soft, willing kitten his training had exposed. It simply needed to be brought out, through a combination of strong psychoactive and psychotropic drugs, and unrelenting subliminal mind control. Much of the work had been done prior to leaving their time, and long before they arrived in William III’s England, she had been opening her mind to him through hypnosis.

This past week was the last stage of the induction, and had included what he could accomplish without electricity. He had been able to bring some of his equipment with him, but he was forced to rely on batteries, which were wearing out. Eventually he would destroy all evidence of their prior lives, and he and Samantha, renamed Katherine, much more appropriate for the time, would become Lord and Lady of Alderbury Manor, in South Kent, settling down with children, horses, dogs, and a life of leisure belonging to the landed gentry.

He had chosen her collar to be thin, discreet, and to fit in with the period. It was fashioned of pure Welsh red gold, but it had been made in their labs, and its lock was permanent. Katherine would never be free of it now. There was no going back, for either of them. He had instructed his staff never to reverse the flow of energy and not to rescue him, no matter what, and Katherine had made her decision, too, even if it wasn’t entirely hers to make, since her unknowing, and, he thought with a pang of conscience, somewhat unwilling indoctrination, had begun long before they left.

For awhile, Stephens came and went between the portal in the dungeon and the primary testing labs, as did members of his staff. His caveat had been that once he and Katherine were firmly settled, in approximately six months, the portal would be shut, and there would be no further contact. At that point, Dr. Stephens wanted to be left on his own, living the reality, the dream that was no longer fantasy. So far, his wish had been granted, for the Organization left them in peace.

The process of breaking down her will took many months, and was a stressful occupation of time he would have better spent perfecting the controls on the time and space redistributor. He so longed to fuck his young assistant, but his desire for her complete surrender was much stronger than his need for her body; and so he waited, penetrating her mind long before he penetrated her wonderfully tight cunt. Tonight represented the culmination of months of waiting, and now, tired and sated at last, they curled together, skin to skin.

Knowing she wouldn’t be able to say no to him kept him much harder than he was used to. He’d wake up, realize she was there, and slip his cock inside her, just to remind himself he could. She ground into his hips each time, eager to thrust against him. She never thought to say no. As some point during that long night, she turned to him, and said what he was thinking, “Come inside me, Master, where it’s warm,” smiling at him, always welcoming. The only sounds were their moans and the crackling from the fire in the grate. He fucked her all night long, until he was utterly exhausted and was forced by necessity to sleep.

When he finally dozed, Katherine, drowsy but unable to sleep, lay on her back and gazed dreamily at the stone ceiling of her new bed chamber. She watched the shadows of the fire lick the walls the way he had licked her skin, her nipples, her cunt. Tonight, she was finally allowed to come, and was so grateful. She loved him, she loved being his and belonging to him. She touched the thin line of the collar, now digging into her neck, and tugged at it, pulling it away from her skin. It was pliable, but it would never come off, and the thought of that made her desire her man—her Lord, she reminded herself—even more.

She had a moment’s recollection of how she used to be, and she shuddered to think how cold she was, how intellectual, how distant. How disconnected from her body, how unhappy. This warmth, this closeness, this absolute, unquestioning belonging to someone—this was as it should be. She felt her Master turn to her, his probing kisses insistent. Her cunt was raw, but the pain felt so good. She loved these feelings he brought her. He forced his way into her slit, ignoring her soreness and low moans of distress, and ravished her once again.

She had no idea what plans he had for her, nor did she know just yet about the drug he intended to give her now that her formal training was over. All she knew was that he could have her any time, any way he liked, and she would open to him, no hesitation, no resistance. Katherine found herself agreeing with him, no matter what he said. In the moments Samantha reemerged, she was shocked at how compliant this new self was, but Katherine pushed Samantha down whenever she threatened to interfere with her unquestioning acceptance of Lord Alderbury’s dominance.

Katherine found that her Lord and Master loved inflicting pain, as they spent more and more time down in the dungeon, and he reintroduced her to the hard, cold marble slab she’d found herself on when she first woke up in the manor. There was also a wooden board that could be tilted in many directions that he liked to tie her to. At those times he delighted in depositing his salty cum in her mouth, and she drank deeply of him. She loved his taste, and her Lord loved her open mouth and soft, submissive eyes, so accepting, so obedient. He took her frequently, never allowing undergarments, for they interfered with his pleasure. His need was constant, and he slaked his thirst for her with or without his servants looking on. He was becoming debauched, but didn’t care.

Lord Alderbury slipped a tiny white pill on Katherine’s tongue whenever a momentary glimpse of her former self reappeared. He wanted her docile, but Samantha had been one of their top scientists, with a mind and a will of her own. The pills were a cocktail of hypnotics and barbiturates, which kept Katherine in a semi-permanent happy, dreamy state, which made it so much easier for him to augment the mind control begun through hypnotherapy. The crucial thing he’d found out about Samantha, back in their previous lives, was that she felt trapped inside her intellectualism and her books. She wanted out of her boring, emotionless existence just as much as he did, but she had no idea how to accomplish this, so he found a way to free them both.

Lady Alderbury remained in her rooms most days, and evenings as well, only emerging after the servants went to bed. She was perfectly content to do needlework, dream, and read a little from the library Lord Alderbury ‘inherited’ when he bought the house. The only servants’ gossip she overheard was that of her personal maidservant, who seemed scandalized at how the Lord used his young wife. Lady Alderbury merely laughed and reminded the old woman that the Lord could do what he wished with her—she was naught but his chattel, and it was not right for either of them to question his will. The couple’s disguise was working perfectly, and if anyone noticed anything odd about the Lord and Lady, it was better that it be their sexual appetites than their inability to fit into the period.

Lord Alderbury delighted in finding intriguing ways to bring pain and pleasure to his new bride. Her submission was complete; with every pill she swallowed, she forgot more and more, and Samantha rarely threatened his bliss with Katherine. Katherine was unaware that they were not actually married, though the Organization had been careful to arrange all the necessary documents, even purchasing the house for Dr. Stephens, before he was sent back to this time. It was important, if the subterfuge was to work, that she believe everything she was told. Fortunately, this was easy, since the process of mind control and drugs had done more than his team hoped for—much more. They anticipated a mostly docile submissive, but Dr. Stephens was delighted that Samantha had been turned into a woman whose entire happiness rested upon her husband’s will being followed unquestioningly. This turn of events surprised him, and exceeded all expectations for Samantha’s alteration.

The Organization’s plans were to recreate this experience as often as they could, providing an elite service for members who wished to take their willing, or less-than-willing, submissive with them to another time and place. The lack of willingness on the part of the submissive was no deterrent to the Organization, a consortium of scientific and medical professionals developing various innovative, and potentially unethical, immoral, and illegal, drugs and technologies. The inside, politically-incorrect mantra at the Organization was, “We’re too big to care,” and they cheerfully scorned all attempts at repressive governments controlling their activities. They moved their facilities to a remote underground location, keeping their research quiet. In short, Dr. Stephens knew from experience, they got away with murder.

The Organization’s lack of ethics and amorality, however, concerned him not one whit, as he plowed his cock into his willing wife’s sweet cunt. His own bliss, and hers, was now his primary concern. Every day became an experiment in making a dream come true. In six months, he would be on his own, and his only thought was impregnating this intoxicating witch and keeping her by his side. The power he had over her, the power she gave him, was the source of this intoxication, and he reveled in it. He searched for defensible reasons to punish her in the dungeon, but finally admitted that he had none. Her perfect submission meant he never had any reason to inflict the spankings she received, but he administered them anyway, and let the servants be damned. He cared not what they heard or didn’t hear, for that matter. It was his right to do as he pleased to his woman. That was why he loved the past; living in this time allowed him to indulge every pleasure his wicked heart could devise.

He therefore was forced to admit, when the merest thought of Katherine’s reddening behind made him hard, that the spankings were for his pleasure, not for her betterment. How did you ‘better’ an angel? To see her drape herself gracefully over the wooden bench he placed in the middle of the stone floor, and lift her skirts, with no hesitation, made his heart sing. To place his hands firmly on her warm flesh, to hear the harsh slaps, one after the other, to hear first her whimpers, then her cries of pain… this sent shivers down him when he remembered it all the next day. Was he becoming a sadist, he sometimes let himself wonder? He knew he gloried in causing this sweet, willing woman pain, he loved hearing her cry out, during orgasm, during punishment… he denied himself nothing when it came to her torture.

Katherine stood, dutifully each morning, sticking out her little pink tongue for the pill. Samantha still emerged on occasion, asking some very unpleasant questions, and both Katherine and her Master wanted Samantha gone and the past behind them. Dr. Stephens believed that if his early tests proved to reliable, Katherine’s recollections of her previous life were almost entirely erased by now, and were busily being overwritten by the present. This was another reason he wanted her pregnant as soon as possible—he needed to engage her mind and body in her new life, forcing her to relinquish any remorse or nostalgia about what she thought she might be missing.

Samantha had already noticed the lack of sanitation, and had, once or twice, made comments about the unequal role of women in English society of the 1690s. This would never do, especially if guests were invited. Dr. Stephens had specifically chosen this period as one of the more stable in English history, a time when William III and his wife Mary produced many children.

He chose Samantha partially for her intelligence and looks, but also because she had tested as fertile and capable of bearing many children. The major risk to her would be during and after labor, but his team had provided him with years of medical supplies. He paid his servants well to keep their mouths shut, and hoped for the best. It was a ridiculous risk, he knew, but he didn’t care. He was a risk-taker, and was willing to give this a try. He believed it was worth it. Modern life, or, rather “post” modern life, was so inexpressibly dreary, their escape was worth any risk they took.

After some weeks passed in a delirium of almost constant enthusiastic coitus, Samantha reared her ugly head less and less, and his succulent little submissive kept her mouth closed, except when it was wrapped around his cock. He asked Katherine one night, testing her, to pass him the pitcher of water, as he was thirsty after another bout of prolonged fornication. A few nights before, she had commented on the lack of ice. In their own time, this kind of comment might have elicited a chuckle from him; here in 1692, it worried him. He had found the bottle of pills and quickly put one on her tongue. Her overall compliance was reassuring, but at moments like that, he could not help but feel a little nervous. Punishing his darling was not the answer, for that would merely reinforce the memory of something as mundane as ice.

Instead, whenever she had a memory, he had her write a story about it. This kept her mind active, and gave her a private place to express her thoughts. He laughed when he read her stories, for they were charming, entertaining froth. He was able to convince her that she wrote wonderful fantasy. Gradually, over time, she believed that she had a sparkling imagination, filled with ideas that could not possibly be true. She knew she was only imagining things when she came up with something as impossible as “ice” or “toilets.”

Katherine believed his opinion entirely, for he was her Lord and Master. She knew he would never mislead her in any way. He didn’t even mind when she wrote stories about the things he did to her, the nights filled with delightful, cunning debaucheries and pain down in the dungeon, as her bare ass turned red, her back scored from countless lashes of the whip. She detailed every cry, every hidden fear, and he read her stories obsessively, eating them as he ate her, hungrily, always longing for more. “I promised you I would keep you busy, my little harlot,” he chortled one night, stroking her clit and sucking on it ever so gently, as she read another story of hers aloud. She gasped her pleasure at times, and he laughed to hear her try to read while she came. He insisted, as always, that she come on demand, and she dared not disobey him.

The stories were a wonderful device to keep her mind occupied, and sooner than he hoped for, the pills were no longer necessary. If she thought of something as exotic as “ice”, she wrote about it, where no one but her Master could read her silly, silly words. He worried less and less about being unmasked for the time-imposters they were, and in fact, even he began to forget their past, as he immersed himself in being the Lord of the Manor of Alderbury, maintaing his farms and estate and plowing his beautiful wife whenever the desire overtook him.

On the day she finally told him the good news, that she was with child, they celebrated down in the dungeon. But he was careful, and used a much softer lash, and only spanked her with his hand after that. He loved his darling submissive very much, after all, and wanted her to be happy. But he could not stop himself from torturing her nipples and her cunt lips, since that wouldn’t hurt the child growing inside. Even though his little kitten cried out enticingly in pain, he ignored her. He knew the baby was safe, and Katherine’s cries only inflamed his lust. Yet every time he asked if she wanted to stop, she panted “no, no, Master, please, please, you know I love the pain you give me.” And of course, after that, how could he stop?

Then one day, as Katherine’s belly and breasts grew increasingly round and even more delectable than before, and Lord Alderbury thought nothing could spoil his happiness, the one thing he hoped would never happen, did. The portal in the darkest recesses of the dungeon reopened, and Dr. Cravatz, Samantha’s ex-boyfriend, and Dr. Stephen’s one-time best friend, emerged, his face purple with rage.

To be continued….