Chapter 3: Villainy Revealed

My fingers froze inside Clara’s asshole and the cunt went perfectly still. Her body had a new tightness. I felt it in the way she held herself. It told me that she knew she’d crossed a line. I could feel it in her rectum, cinching on my fingers in a new and different way. It’s an odd thing to feel regret through a girl’s asshole. But that’s exactly what Clara’s puckered fuckhole was conveying - a sudden realization that she had overstepped some invisible boundary.

“Clara,” I whispered, firm but not unkind. “You don’t get to tell me what to do with my property. And that includes my mother.”

The cunt shuddered and pulled away from my neck. “Stepmother,” Clara corrected, speaking boldly, not bothering to whisper the forbidden word.

I pulled my fingers from her asshole. Clara let out a low whimper as I did so, and she looked up at me with an expression of hurt and confusion. I wasn’t sure if it was because of what I’d said, or because I’d stopped fingering her.

“My memories before the tank are confused,” I told her. “But I know there was love. And that I was cared for.”

Clara pulled away, her hurt and confusion replaced by something I couldn’t quite read. “You should know the truth,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

I realized then that she wasn’t so much afraid of me as she was afraid for me. This teenage girl, a slave who’d been brutally used by my father, and now also by me, was more concerned about hurting me, than she was about what I might do to her. I said nothing waiting for the cunt to continue.

When Clara did speak, she did so slowly as if she were walking through a minefield, picking each word with deliberate care. “Your mother betrayed you,” she said. “She’s the one who convinced your father to put you in the tank.”

Clara’s revelation hung heavily in the air between us. I stared at her, stunned. I’d thought my mother had loved me. But Clara had revealed that my mother, or stepmother, had been responsible for my long isolation.

I was filled with a newfound sadness and anger. My mother had deceived me, stolen strips of my life that I would never get back. I felt a cold rage rising within me as I struggled to come to terms with this new reality.

Clara leaned back into me, her face buried in the crook of my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “It was something I had to say.”

I moved a hand to Clara’s back, tracing soft circles with my fingertips. It comforted both of us. Her head pressed against me as she whispered, “Are you alright?”

I couldn’t find words, but I managed a nod. I needed time to process this revelation, and my thoughts seemed to have deserted me. I swallowed hard, my throat dry.

“How did you find out?” I asked eventually, breaking the silence.

“Your father told me,” Clara explained. “He was drunk and inside my asshole at the time. My face was pressed against the bed and he thought I was your mother.” Her voice trembled slightly, tears streaming down her face.

“What did he do to you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

She looked at me with those emerald eyes, wet with tears, and sighed deeply. “He was rough, but only a little more than usual. Your father was never gentle with any of us,” Clara’s voice was a mix of anger, sadness, and resignation.

I held her but said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

“Drunk as he was, he mistook me for your mother. He was vocal in expressing his resentments,” Clara explained. “Your father blamed her for failing to provide him an heir and for convincing him to put you in the tank.”

I felt a wave of anger wash over me, directed towards my late father and this woman who had betrayed me. But did this mean I should sell her, as I would a piece of property? She was still the only mother I had.

What’s more, I was a bastard. My mother, or stepmother, held my title. I voiced this last concern to Clara, “If I sell her, I lose my lordship.”

“The title’s a hollow prize,” Clara responded. “You’ve inherited the house, and a few acres beyond its walls, but both are overleveraged, and your creditors will expect payments soon. We convinced them to wait until your eighteenth birthday before decanting you. Now you’re the owner of all your father’s possessions. Which in short amounts to one over-leveraged property, one well-used sex slave, an uncollared widow, and a mountain of debt.”

The weight of my newfound responsibilities was already weighing on me. “Fuck me!” I muttered.

“That’s what I’m here for,” Clara joked. I didn’t laugh, so she continued, “Selling your mother as a bound-bride is probably your best chance to settle your father’s debts.”

“She must be in her thirties at least, is anyone going to pay so much for an older widow?”

“Her pussy may be a bit past prime, but I’ve heard she’s a good enough fuck,” Clara said. “Not that it matters, the buyer would be using your mother as your father had: marrying her to secure her family’s title. You’d effectively be selling the lordship.”

I flinched slightly at her calling the woman I thought of as my mother a ‘good enough fuck’, but set that aside and considered the implications of this new information. “I’m still not sure I’m willing to give up the title,” I told Clara. “And as much as she may deserve it, I don’t know if I can sell my mother like that.”

Clara nodded against my chest. “I overstepped,” she said softly.

“You did,” I replied, still lost in thought. “I understand why. But for now, I intend to remain Lord of Blundstone.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Clara replied.

I smiled. “That’s a title I’m even less willing to abandon,” I said, and I gave her a quick, loving kiss.

Clara seemed to relax a bit, her body melting against mine. But I could tell she was still thinking about the revelation of my mother’s betrayal and the burden of my father’s debts.

So was I. “How much do I owe?” I asked her.

Clara swallowed hard, as if bracing herself. “I don’t know the exact figure, but it’s bad. Four years ago, your father invested heavily in a scheme to core and collar homeless women. Round them up and sell them cheap on the exchange through the contacts he’d made as a pussy-broker. He had hoped this investment would provide him with a large enough fortune to have you awakened and to expand his holdings, but the business had substantial costs, and revenue was less than expected. He went into debt to keep it running, hoping he could turn things around. His creditors eventually seized any assets that he’d put into the company.”

“And his personal assets?” I asked

Clara continued, “He sunk what was left of his fortune into the venture, and had even leveraged his land and the Trotwood estate to borrow more. The creditors have taken almost everything since his death. They’re unable to seize the home and its acreage as they’re protected by the title of Lord of Blundstone. However, the creditors still hold claims on any revenue generated by the property, including rent from tenants and the sale of assets.

“We need to manage your debts very carefully,” Clara said, her green eyes meeting mine. “When your father defaulted on his loans, the creditors placed a claim on the manor and all assets associated with it. As the new Lord of Blundstone, you are responsible for those debts.”

As bleak as Clara’s news was, I was impressed with her analysis of my finances. She was smart, and had clearly been working to get a handle on things since my father’s death. I realized then that I was lucky to have her by my side.

“How is it that I still have you?” I asked.

Clara’s sadness turned to a coy smile, “I’ve always been yours,” she answered, smiling up at me.

“What do you mean?” I asked, confused.

“When your father bought me, he registered the purchase in your name,” Clara explained. “It’s not uncommon for lords to buy a slave for a tank-born heir as an awakening gift.”

“Is it common practice to put your cock in a gift before it’s given?” I asked.

Clara chuckled, her hand reaching under her to caress my cock before answering, “No, but this would be a lot scarier if I were still a virgin.” I grunted as her small hand squeezed me, and she continued, “Your father used the registration to shield me from collections. If he hadn’t I’d have been put up on the exchange or sold to a brothel, and you’d be balls deep in your whore mother.”

My cock twitched at the idea of burying my cock in the woman I dimly remembered as my mother. I’d seen that she was beautiful through the tank’s window, with flowing red hair, and fair skin like Clara’s, but also softer, with full curves that I could easily imagine moving under me. I was feeling a strange mix of emotions; anger at her betrayal, lingering affection from memories of love, and the inherent desire of my raging cock.

Clara smirked, her slim fingers toying with the swollen crown of my manhood. “Yes,” she agreed. “Best not to sell the Mommy-whore until her son’s had a ride.”

I grunted as she brought my cockhead between the cheeks of her ass and rubbed it along her crack. Clara’s body shuddered, and she pushed her hips back, the tip of my cock nudging against her puckered asshole. I grabbed her hips, holding her still as I notched my cock in the tight ring of muscle.

“That’s right,” Clara whispered. “Take your fill, Daddy. Fuck this slave’s tight little asshole and make it yours.”

I drove upwards burying half my length in Clara’s tiny bottom. The heat and tightness made me groan with pleasure.

“My asshole was made to take your cock,” she grunted. “So much tighter than your Mommy-whore.”

I flinched at Clara’s language. The cunt just couldn’t help herself when it came to the topic of my stepmother. I understood and even shared at least some of her misgivings, while also resenting what I perceived as my slave’s attempt to manipulate me against my family. I wrapped my hands around her narrow waist, gripping her hip bones. My fingers dug into Clara’s flawless porcelain skin. “All the way,” I said, a fresh anger simmering beneath the surface of each word.

Clara nodded weakly, fear radiating from her slender body.

“Scream pretty for me,” I growled.

“Yes, Daddy...” Clara whimpered, and with a quick pull on her hips and a violent thrust of my pelvis, I sheathed her small body on my enormous cock. She’d been lubed before they’d chained her to the wall. If she hadn’t been, her asshole would have torn. As it was she let out a long, unintelligible howl, a sound of pure agony that caused a tightening in my balls and stirred a dark urge deep within me.

I paused, allowing Clara to adjust to my size and giving myself time to recover from the intense pleasure of her reluctant rectum. Her body writhed against the chain, a tortured spectacle that added to my excitement.

“Daddy!” Clara wailed, tears streaming down her face. It was a single word, but it conveyed a sadness and apology. Again, the cunt had crossed a line, and she knew it. I would not be the monster my father had been. But I had my limits, and there was a darkness in me that I would not deny.

I held her rooted to me, taking in the sensation of Clara’s tightness encircling my cock. My balls rested against her cunt, her pussy juices coating them. Clara was soaking wet, and I could feel her cunt throbbing with every beat of her heart.

I moved one hand to the cunt’s throat, squeezing lightly. She moaned, her body shuddering with pleasure and fear as I choked her. “Three times you’ve called my mother a whore,” I snarled, squeezing harder. “Even if she betrayed me, she’s still my family, and your better.”

“Daddy, please!” Clara begged her eyes wide and pleading. “I didn’t mean it that way. Please don’t hurt me.”

I squeezed harder on her throat, my cock twitching inside the slave’s asshole. “My mother!” I roared.

“But she is a whore,” Clara gasped, babbling, desperate to explain and avoid further anger. “It’s how we’ve survived since your father died, and how she convinced the creditors to pay for your decanting.”

I relaxed my grip on Clara’s neck, letting my knuckles rest below her collar. There were red marks on her throat that would turn to bruises in the coming days. A reminder to temper the rage that I so often felt when dealing with my stepmother. “Explain,” I ordered, my voice cold and commanding.

“When your father died, your mother was left with nothing,” Clara continued. “We sold what we could from the house including most of the furniture. Your creditors took the rest. She’s used her holes to barter for anything else we’ve needed, including food and even your decanting.”

“I thought you said the creditors had paid for the decanting?”

Clara nodded, relieved that my anger seemed to be receding. “The creditors paid to have you removed from the tank, but refused to cover any extras. The clean sheets and even my anal lubing, which I’m currently very grateful for, were provided by your mother’s willingness to take care of the staff. She’s probably in another room right now, with the tank technicians taking turns rearranging her insides,” Clara said as she shifted on my lap, searching for a halfway comfortable position.

I withdrew my hand, accepting Clara’s words. I knew she wasn’t lying. My anger evaporated, as quick to leave me as it had been to arrive. Looking back, it would be easy to blame that anger on my emergence from the tank. Tank madness is common enough. But an honest retelling of my life requires a certain willingness to confront the dark, twisted parts of me. And my temper, like my cock, has always been quick to rise, and both have brought suffering to those around me.

I smiled, but Clara still looked uncertain. I’ve been told since that my smile, even when genuine, always holds a hint of malice. I gave my slave’s hip a playful squeeze, and that seemed to calm her. Her squirming continued, and I saw tears from her discomfort, but I no longer saw fear when I met her eyes.

I have a distinct memory of being disappointed by this realization. A sick part of me had liked having her afraid of me, even if it had been undeserved. I recognized that part of me, knowing it was wrong. At the same time, I took comfort that her squirming on my lap meant that even in the absence of fear I could still hurt her with my cock. Fear was good, but it was short-lived. Pain endured.

Clara’s pussy-farm bred body was accustomed to pain. Over generations, her line had been shaped by suffering. Peggoty Pussy-Farm had used selective breeding and genetic tweaking to carve a cocksocket out of flesh and bone. This is the science of female husbandry, which demands an understanding of delicate biology, and mastery of an art that is as subtle as it is vicious.

I closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the way Clara’s insides twisted on my cock with every movement. When I reopened them Clara met my gaze with acceptance and even affection.

“Good?” she asked.

I looked into her wide, green eyes and nodded. There was a sincerity to her question that made me feel awkward and uncomfortable. I was newly reborn and already saddled with debt and betrayal, but the cunt’s concern for my feelings was comforting. “It’s hard to be all that upset when you’re balls deep inside a pretty girl’s asshole,” I told her.

Clara blushed with undeniable pleasure.

I missed it then, but this was the first time I’d referred to Clara as a girl since my decanting. In our time together, this would be a rare occurrence. Our relationship, such as it was, was founded upon a mutual understanding that she was my property to do with as I pleased. To her credit, she never pretended to be a real person, but on the rare occasion that I would slip and refer to her as a girl, she would always react with obvious joy.

I moved my hand to the small of Clara’s back, marveling at how someone her size could take me so deep.

Clara seemed to read my thoughts. “If you had any idea of selling me, you’re cock’s probably put an end to that possibility,” she told me. “Even your most desperate creditors won’t get much from auctioning off my holes now that you’ve ruined them.”

There was a hint of a joke in Clara’s tone, but she still winced slightly when I lifted my hips in response. “Fuck the creditors,” I growled. “You’re mine.”