Twisted Tale
Copyright© 2025 by Susmitha Saran
Chapter 2
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 2 - This is a story about how a rich intelligent brat whose family was part of a mafia plays his games and how things turn out for him. As the saying goes, Karma is a bitch!!
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/Ma NonConsensual Reluctant Slavery Gay BiSexual Heterosexual Shemale TransGender Fiction Incest BDSM MaleDom FemaleDom Humiliation Rough Torture Gang Bang Interracial Black Male Anal Sex Enema Facial Oral Sex Pegging Sex Toys Spitting Body Modification Revenge
The moment the cuffs clicked around Xavier’s wrists; a shiver of satisfaction ran down my spine. His bewildered face—mouth hanging open, eyes darting between the cops and me—was the perfect cherry on top. I’d orchestrated his downfall meticulously, whispering lies into the right ears, planting evidence where it would hurt the most. And now? Now he was gone, rotting in a cell where he belonged, while his precious little ex-girlfriend knelt at my feet, transformed into something far more useful.
She’d been so innocent when I took her—soft-spoken, hesitant, dressed in pastels like some kind of virginal doll. Pathetic. Now? Now she was mine. Every inch of her was a testament to my control. Her once-natural beauty had been sharpened into something obscenely artificial. I’d had her eyebrows lasered off, replaced with thin, high arches drawn on daily. Her nose glittered with metal—a stud on one side and a slim septum ring. Her lips, once barely there, were swollen with filler, and her tongue? Oh, her tongue was my favorite. Two steel studs embedded in the muscle, perfectly positioned to tease and scrape when she serviced me or my guests.
Her body was a canvas of my ownership. Hairless, of course—every follicle zapped away until her skin was smooth as a newborn’s. Her tits, once modest, were now obscene globes straining against her skin, the nipples pierced and linked by a delicate chain that jingled with every movement. I loved watching her wince when someone tugged on it. Her waist was cinched tight, her belly button adorned with a dangling “Bitch” charm that clinked against her skin when she crawled.
And then there was the noise she made. The bell on her clit piercing tinkled with every step, a constant reminder of her place. The plug in her ass wasn’t just for show—it vibrated on command, making her squirm and whimper as she moved. Her hair, once dark and natural, was now a garish pink, matching the long, claw-like nails I made her wear.
“Hey bimbo bitch,” I called, toeing off my boots by the door. She came instantly, scrambling on all fours, her collar—pink leather with a silver D-ring—gleaming under the lights. The leash dangled from her mouth; her eyes downcast in submission. She laid it at my feet like an offering and pressed her lips to the toe of my boot.
“Good girl,” I purred, grabbing her ponytail and yanking her head up. Her mouth fell open automatically, waiting. I spat into it without hesitation, watching her swallow greedily before thanking me in that breathy, eager voice I’d trained into her.
The leash snapped into place around her collar, and I gave it a sharp tug. “Basement. Now.” She obeyed instantly, crawling ahead of me, her ass swaying with every movement, the bell between her legs chiming like a fucked-up lullaby.
And the best part? No one would ever know it was me who put Xavier away. No one would ever suspect his sweet little ex was now my personal plaything. Some victories were sweeter than others—this one tasted like victory and her tears.
The basement smelled faintly of bleach and sweat when I descended the stairs. She was already there, naked except for the thin leather collar around her throat, standing stiffly by the kitchenette. The counter was lined with ingredients—her trembling fingers had clearly been busy. “Cook,” I said, snapping my fingers toward the stove. No need for more words. She knew what happened when she moved too slow.
By the time I returned from showering, the table was set—roast chicken glistening, potatoes golden brown, vegetables arranged just how I liked them. And there she was, knees pressed against the cold concrete floor, head bowed so low her forehead nearly touched the ground. Her ass in the air, pink and still marked from last night. I didn’t praise her. She didn’t expect it.
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