Chapter 5: Whispers Inked on Skin

Mom gritted her teeth, her fingers clawing at the floor as the last of the agonizer burned its way through her body. The muscles in her abdomen tightened, creating a hard, smooth curve that lifted her hips from the floor. Her limbs were spread wide and locked, leaving her in a state of helpless trembling paralysis.

I thought of a butterfly pinned prone, and open for display. If I’d had a childhood, would I have been the sort to delight in pulling wings off insects?

I’d like to think no. But I won’t deny that my cock throbbed in response to her suffering. It was a cruel reaction, a kind of perverse pleasure that twisted my gut with shame. Of course, this was a world where cruelty was expected, and shame would not help me in it. I knew that much at least.

Clara twisted herself to look around me at the older woman. She kept her hands moving on my shaft, diligently tugging and toying with my erection. “You should mount her,” Clara suggested, urging me forward.

I was surprised by this, but I shouldn’t have been. Despite resenting my stepmother, Clara was a properly devoted slave. She would never keep me from the comfort of a tight pussy. It was a single-minded devotion that only increased the affection I felt for her.

I stepped away from my slave, toward the quivering wreck of my stepmother. She was a vision of pain and submission, reduced to a twitching mess by her own medicine.

Mom groaned unintelligibly as I slid a knee between her legs, pressing my thigh into the slick cleft of her glistening lips. Her cunt was weeping, so open and exposed in this humiliating pose.

I could smell it, a desperate, needy scent that compelled me to reach out. I pressed an open palm against the slight curve of her lower belly, feeling muscles tensing with the contact. She was warm, her body flushed and soaked with a thin layer of sweat from the ordeal of the agonizer.

Slowly, I slid my other hand over Mom’s hip, tracing its soft curve to the warm core of her sex. I grabbed her wet cunt and squeezed, not gently, as I would with a lover, but with indifferent detachment. I was appraising her like livestock, gauging her value by that warm bit of flesh.

I forced a finger roughly inside her, hoping the sudden penetration would increase her pain.

It didn’t.

Mom grunted once, and then shook violently, convulsing with a sudden and unexpected orgasm. The pleasure pulled her body taut, pressing her pussy into my penetration. Her lips pulled back in a silent scream, and I felt her insides tighten, my stepmother’s fuckhole clamping down on my finger like a vice.

I watched with fascination as her neck arched back, exposing a throat that was flushed crimson with the intensity of her orgasm. While I might have preferred seeing her in pain, this was also undeniably arousing.

As I pulled my finger from the impossible tightness of her sex, Mom’s quivering muscles fought me. That snug hole had paid the bills since my father’s death—a greedy little thing that gobbled cock and consumed cum. I wanted to lose myself in it. To stretch Mom’s tightness to the edge of breaking.

I had the cock to do it. I could ruin her with what the tank had given me. And even if it wasn’t right, I knew that it was, at least, my right. I was Lord of Blundstone and Dominus of my domain. My mother’s pussy was my property.

A gentle squeeze at the base of my cock broke me from these distracted thoughts. I looked down to see Clara’s small hands coming out from between my thighs. I hadn’t noticed her, even as she’d slipped between my legs, but she now held me with a firm but tender grip. All I could see was her hands, but I could feel her soft hair on my legs and her warm breath on my balls.

“Do it, Daddy,” she murmured seductively, her lips brushing against my sack. “Take the bitch. You deserve it.”

I groaned at her words, my resolve crumbling as Clara’s hands guided me to the soft crevice of my mother’s sex.

I felt Mom’s tender folds kissing my cock, and I hesitated. It was difficult to remember why I didn’t want this.

Clara took one and then both of my balls into her mouth. She sucked them gently, rolling her tongue around them. The sensation was overwhelming, and my hips twitched forward, the head of my cock nudging the warm wetness of my mother’s cunt, pumping a steady stream of precum into her. I seemed too big to fit, and I knew I would hurt her. That’s what I wanted. Right? To thrust into her, rutting and savage until she was nothing but a crying, sobbing mess.

Clara’s fingers urged me forward, pressing me into that inviting heat. My stepmother’s pussy resisted, stretching reluctantly as the thick ridge of my glans split her swollen lips. She jerked and shuddered. I could see her breasts swaying, and her hands were curled into tight fists, nails digging into the flesh of her palms.

I had the thought of entering her swiftly, sheathing my cock in my whore mother’s fuck-tunnel with a single stroke. I wanted to drown in her every moan, gasp and scream as I split her down the middle. I wanted to pour pain and cum into her every orifice and leave her gaping and broken.

And I was about to do exactly that when I heard her gasp. “Yes,” she cried. “Break me.”

My cock was still lodged at the entrance of her cunt, nestled between her soft, inviting lips. I looked down at Mom. Her body was covered in a sheen of sweat and her eyes were fixed on my cock, watching with rapt attention as I held her open.

“Dom,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with pain and desire. “Break me!”

I paused. This was the thing that she wanted. She would take every brutal inch of me, love it and love me. Recognizing her need was enough to check my hormones. Yes, I was a teenager and still half-mad from the tank. But I was also Lord of Blundstone. I would remain in control. I would not let my stepmother’s traitorous holes undermine my resolve.

I withdrew my cock, pulling back, a thin string of precum connecting us for an instant, and then breaking. Mom whined and tried to lift her hips, but I stepped away, Clara stumbling to keep after me. “That’s not happening,” I bit out, my voice low and dangerous.

Mom’s face fell, but only for a moment. With a groan she rolled over onto her stomach, her limbs still shaking and unsteady as she pushed herself up onto all fours and then rose with some difficulty to her feet.

Clara had somehow kept her lip-lock on my nutsack even as she’d stumbled after me. I reached back, petting her head appreciatively as she slobbered on my balls.

“I’m here to serve,” Mom said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “Whatever my lord needs.”

She looked so eager, standing there before me, half-naked, and still glistening from the exertions of the agonizer. Her dress had ridden up and was bunching at her hips, displaying her cunt, still open and ready.

“We should be leaving,” I said and reluctantly I pulled Clara off of my balls. “On your feet, cunt!”

“Yes, Daddy,” Clara whispered, stealing one last cheeky lick before straightening and wiping the drool from her chin. She offered me her most demure smile—a glimpse of teeth, the faint shadow of dimples—sweet and innocent enough to make me want to ruin her.

But not now. We needed to leave.

“You can’t go just yet,” a voice interrupted. I turned to see one of the technicians inching forward, nerves evident in the quiver of his voice and the uncertain glint in his eyes.

I’d nearly forgotten I was not alone with Clara and my mother. The technicians who’d witnessed the beating I’d given Quinion had kept their distance, wisely silent, likely hoping to avoid a similar fate. But this one had summoned the nerve to speak up.