Whore Mother of Whore Daughters

by Steven Seven

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Ma/ft, Fa/Fa, ft/ft, Fa/ft, Mind Control, Slavery, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Incest, Mother, Father, Daughter, DomSub, MaleDom, Group Sex, Harem, Anal Sex, Analingus, Lactation, Oral Sex, Pregnancy, Big Breasts, Small Breasts, .

Desc: Erotica Sex Story: 19-year-old blonde beauty Jennifer Winton falls for a mysterious rich man who takes control of her mind and body, turning her into a sex slave whore for his exclusive use. He brings her to his private island where she joins her Master's whore harem. Jennifer soon learns that one of her functions is to give birth to the next generation of whore sex slaves for her Master's enjoyment and use.

You wouldn’t understand. Almost nobody on Earth does. Why would a mother deliberately give birth to daughters, just so she could turn them into little whores? Why would a mother even be a whore herself if she had plenty of money and was not being forced into it?

And whore isn’t even the right word. Sex slave is the right word. My daughters and I are sex slaves. It’s what I want to be. It’s what I want every one of my daughters to be. Because it’s the right thing for us to be.

Let me explain.

I started out as a normal American girl. My name is Jennifer Winton. I’m a blue-eyed blonde with long hair, a peaches and cream complexion, and a very shapely body. I even did a little modeling as a teenager after a professional photographer spotted me. But I didn’t enjoy it. Maybe I was just too up-tight and conservative back then. I had been born into a loving but very strict family. I had had a thoroughly ordinary middle-class life. I was a virgin until I went off to college. My first boyfriend was handsome and kind and really cute. We had sex a few times before I ended our relationship. I wanted to move on and meet new people. And I did meet new people. I met Steven.

Steven was an older man. I met him one day at the coffee shop where I worked. He was well-dressed in the way rich people can be, where his clothes were not flashy but were extremely well-made. I learned to spot the look from my Aunt Cecily who lives in New York City. I guess I made an impression on him because after that first day he came into the shop, he kept coming back during my shift. I found him intriguing. He made me laugh but he also made me think. When he asked me to go out to dinner, I agreed. And that was either the best decision of my life or the worst, depending on how you look at it.

Steven took me to a very expensive restaurant. I had never been to a place like that before. The décor, the food, and the service were amazing. The waiters treated us like royalty or something. When I saw the menu prices, I nearly fainted. On my salary, if I had to pay I couldn’t have bought more than an appetizer. Steven ordered a full, multi-course meal for the two of us.

Over dinner, I asked him many questions about himself. He answered some quite directly. But he was rather evasive on most. I guess I didn’t mind because I enjoyed being with a rich man of mystery. Maybe I should have been more curious. But that might have spoiled all the fun.

After dinner, he took me home to the off-campus apartment I shared with two other girls. I had been half expecting that he would take me to his place or to a hotel or something. I really would have had sex with him, if he’d suggested it. But he didn’t. Which surprised me. As I later found out, it was important to Steven’s plan that my roommates see me home and safe. That would allay suspicions for what happened next.

The next day Steven stopped by the coffee shop as usual. He mentioned that he was going off on a business trip for a week. He made sure to say this where my co-workers could hear. They knew that he and I were friendly. He wanted them to know he would be gone.

During the next week I didn’t expect to see Steven. So I was surprised when he drove up next to me while I was walking home from campus one day. He offered me a lift. I got into his car. And that’s when my life changed for good.

Steven was no ordinary man. As soon as I sat down in the car seat, I began feeling strange. Steven looked at me and smiled. “Don’t worry” he said “the odd feeling will pass quickly. The first drug is very short-acting.” And then I passed out.

I woke up a few minutes later. My mind was clear but somehow controlled. Almost like it was not my mind anymore, but someone else’s. We were still in Steven’s car, sitting in the parking lot of my apartment building. Steven said “You know what to do. I’ll wait here.”

Then I said the words that were to define the rest of my life: “Yes, Master.”

To this very day, I still don’t know what drugs Steven used or where he got all the machines and money and other things he has. All I know is that I went into my apartment, packed my bags, wrote a long note saying that I was eloping with my boyfriend (whom I did not name) and left it on my pillow for my roommates to find. I wrote another version of the note, put it in an envelope, and mailed it to my parents. I told them I loved them, but I loved my boyfriend even more. I said that we had to elope for reasons they wouldn’t understand and left it at that.

Then I went downstairs with my bags and got into Steven’s car. He seemed very pleased. “Good girl, Jennifer” he said. “You’re doing the right thing. And you’ll never regret it.”

Steven was certainly right about that. I had done the right thing. And I never regretted it. Because I can’t. I am no longer in control of my own mind, or my own body. Steven is. He owns me, body, mind, heart, and soul. I do love him, enormously. But I can’t tell whether I really love him of my own volition, or he makes me love him because he wants me to. I no longer have free will. And, really, it doesn’t matter. I don’t miss it a bit.

Steven took me to the airport. We boarded a private jet and flew off to ... God knows where. I still don’t know where I am. The island we’re on is remote. It’s large enough for all of us to live here, with supplies brought in by boat and plane on a regular basis. But I can’t tell exactly where we are. I guess Steven thinks I don’t need to know. And that’s good enough for me.

When we first arrived, Steven introduced me to the other girls. It quickly became apparent that they and I were Steven’s personal property. The purpose of our existence was to serve him. And, frankly, I found that completely wonderful! Whatever magic or super-science Steven had at his disposal, it had changed me in the blink of an eye. I was no longer Jennifer Winton, college girl. I was now Jennifer Winton, slave girl. Or Jennifer Winton, personal private whore of Master Steven.

The island had several buildings. The main one was Steven’s mansion. That’s where the other girls and I spent most of our time. Well, there or at the spa, or in the exercise areas in-doors and out, and in the gardens, or on the nature trails. The island was fairly large. Inside the mansion, the sleeping arrangements were entirely up to Steven’s discretion. Each girl had her own room. But Steven’s massive master bedroom had space enough to accommodate all of the girls of the mansion, if he brought out a few extra beds from behind the wall panels where they were stored.

Was there sex? You bet. I could go on and on about the sex. Steven did everything with me and the other girls. He also made us have sex with one another while he participated or watched. We were all under his command. We were at his beck and call 24/7. If Steven wanted one of us in the middle of the night, we would hear an announcement from a speaker in our room. If he wanted us during the day, he would send another girl to fetch us.

The life of a sex slave in a rich man’s harem consists of long periods of leisure followed by intense periods of sexual use and abuse. Yes, I said abuse. Steven liked to use that word. He sometimes made me and the other girls suffer for his pleasure. I mean he really used us hard, and in the most degrading ways imaginable. Except he never beat us. Steven was not into bondage or whipping or anything that broke the skin or caused permanent scarring or harm. Steven simply wanted to see us pushed to our physical limits during long periods of sexual activity with him until we were worn out and sore and exhausted like used rag dolls. Steven loved to use us for his pleasure and use us up.

And that’s good. That’s the way it should be. That’s what sex slaves are for. Or whores, if you prefer that word. Steven does. He told us that we were all his sex slaves, but he would refer to us as his whores. He simply liked the word whore, even if it didn’t technically apply, since we were not having sex for money.

I had been on Steven’s island for three weeks before I saw the first pregnant girls. Like all the other girls, they were white and pretty. (Master’s sex slaves were mostly blondes, some redheads and a few brunettes.) I saw two of the pregnant blondes while I was walking with another girl, Vera, a redhead, on one of the nature trails. The pregnant girls introduced themselves as Caitlyn and Vanessa. The four of us chatted for a few minutes. Vanessa and Caitlyn said were six months pregnant. They talked about staying with the other pregnant girls in the birthing building. I tried not to look surprised. Apparently, everyone else knew about this building but me.

After we went out separate ways, I asked Vera about the birthing building. She was surprised that I hadn’t heard about it yet. “Don’t you know you’re here to give birth to our Master’s next generation of whore sex slaves?” she asked.

No, I didn’t know that. And I didn’t know why Steven hadn’t mentioned it. I suppose it could have slipped his mind, since he was so busy fucking young women and managing the robots and other machines that did all the work on the island. So I asked Vera to explain what was going on.

Vera smiled at me kindly as if she were talking to a retarded child. “It’s very simple, Jennifer” she said, patting me affectionately. “When Master decides you’re ready, he will implant an embryo or two into your womb. The embryos are always female. Nine months later, you’ll give birth to a baby girl ... or maybe a couple. Sometimes Master does like twins and even multiples. Anyway, you’ll raise your daughters here on another part of the island within Master’s harem society. The girls will be raised from birth to know only what Master wants them to know. He has special schools and movies and television and books and magazines that are all designed to prepare a little girl for her future life as his whore. Or sex slave. But you know, he prefers to call them whores.”

I found this revelation somehow both shocking and reassuring. I was shocked that Master would have child whore sex slaves. Yet I was reassured that they would be raised to find the role of whore sex slave perfectly normal.

Vera said, “Come on, let’s visit the village where the whore mothers live with their little whore daughters.”

We set off and soon turned onto a path I had never noticed before. The path ended at the base of a rocky cliff. Vera touched a certain rock and a door opened in the cliff. This secrecy scared me. “Are you sure it’s alright for us to go in there?” I asked.

Vera nodded her head casually. “Yes. Completely. Master told me as much. I’ve been here many times. Sometimes with Master.”

I shrugged my shoulders. We entered through the doorway and walked along a tunnel towards daylight at the other end. When we emerged, I felt like I had entered another world. There were mothers and children of all ages doing all sorts of things. Little girls were romping on a playground in the distance, overseen by some middle-aged women. Closer but off to one side, somewhat older pre-teen girls were playing field sports. To the other side, women were watching from a viewing stand. Various buildings round about made it seem that this was a school for girls up to a certain age. I remarked to Vera that I didn’t see any real teenagers. She replied “The teenagers are already in Master’s harem. You just haven’t met them yet. The girls you see here are still too young; they’re still learning the ways of womanhood in Master’s harem. He won’t take them until they turn 14.”

I nodded as if this was the most logical thing in the world. I had no idea why. I suppose Master had implanted that belief in my brain. Along with so much else.

Vera and I took a short stroll around the village of mothers and young girls, and then returned to our part of the island. That evening, Master was holding a formal dinner at his mansion. He did that sometimes simply because he felt like it. However, tonight’s dinner turned out to be a special occasion.

As always, Master had everyone dress in their finest clothing. Since I arrived on Master’s island, he had given me tons and tons of the most gorgeous clothing. Or I should say, Master had allowed me to choose the most wonderful clothing that he had brought to the island on a regular basis. Every piece of clothing I chose was further customized for me by Master’s seamstresses. So, anyway, Master and all his sex slave whores in the main dining room were dressed like they were going to Cinderella’s ball.

And then in walked Cinderella.

A beautiful blonde girl of no more than 14 years of age walked naked into the dining room. She gazed around uncertainly, looking somewhat timid and afraid. Master walked up to the girl. He embraced and kissed her. She smiled like the sun had risen on an otherwise cloudy day. The girl hugged Master tightly. Then Master turned to address the room. “Listen, whores” he said “I want you to meet my newest little whore, my little sex slave Pamela. Today is her 14th birthday. And today she joins you all in sexual service to me.”

With that, Master opened his pants and pulled out his dick. Pamela immediately dropped to her knees and began sucking it. The room irrupted in applause.

I would get to know Pamela quite well in times to come after I first watched her sucking the dick of our Master, our Owner, our Lord. Pamela lived with us in the mansion, where Master kept her close to him all the time for the first couple of months, so she could practice all the skills she had learned as a child when she was taught about sex using porn videos and fake plastic penises that ejected fake sperm. Master used Pamela and tested her thoroughly during those two months. Then he gave her to me to raise as my adopted daughter.

Yes, I was only 19-years-old myself, but I had a 14-year-old adopted daughter. She was more like a little sister than a daughter. But Pamela was also my teacher. Unlike me, she had been raised on Master’s island from birth. I knew a lot about the wider world that Pamela had never heard of and had no interest in. But she knew everything about how Master wanted his girls to live, including the most detailed information about his sexual proclivities that even I hadn’t found out yet. After all, I had only been here a few weeks. Pamela had lived here for all of her 14 years.

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