Twisted Tale
Copyright© 2025 by Susmitha Saran
Chapter 6
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 6 - 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
I gasped awake as Mistress Lola’s boot slammed into my bare asscheeks. The sting radiated through my body as I scrambled to kneel properly on the cold concrete.
“Good morning, worthless faggot,” she sneered, circling me like a predator. Her fingers tangled in my hair, yanking my head back until our eyes met. “Remember your place today.”
“Y-yes, Mistress,” I stammered, face burning with shame. My cock twitched traitorously against my thigh.
She threw a prison uniform at my face. “No underwear. I want everyone to smell your arousal when you walk by.” Her laughter followed me as I dressed, already imagining the humiliation of my obvious erection tenting the thin fabric.
Outside, prisoners’ eyes tracked my movements. Their whispers burned worse than the bruises Lola left. At least none touched me - yet.
Back in the cell, Jasmine waited with ropes. “Gym made you sweaty, slut,” she purred, binding my wrists behind my back. “Now we’ll sculpt your mind too.”
I was forced onto my knees, naked and trembling, in the cold concrete cell. My hands were cuffed behind my back, making me helpless. Two Mistresses stood over me, their heels clicking against the floor.
“I know you hate people like us,” Mistress Lola sneered, grabbing my chin. “Trans women. Gay men. Freaks like you.” I tried to look away, but she slapped me hard. My cheek burned.
“Yes, Mistress,” I mumbled, my voice shaking.
She laughed. “Pathetic. A little faggot like you hasn’t even sucked cock yet?” I shook my head fast—too fast. Another slap.
“No, Mistress,” I whimpered.
“Disgusting,” Mistress Jasmine said, circling me. “Every faggot should know how to worship cock. You’re going to learn. And you’re going to love it.”
They dragged me to the wall where a thick, black dildo was stuck. It was bigger than my own limp cock. My stomach twisted with shame.
“Open wide,” Lola ordered, shoving my face toward it. “Tongue out. Like you’re desperate for it.”
I gagged at first. The rubber taste made me sick. But they didn’t care. They pushed me deeper, forcing me to take it all. My throat burned. Tears ran down my face.
“Four hours a day,” Jasmine said, twisting my nipple hard. “Every day, a bigger toy. And if you fail this weekend ... well, you don’t want to know what happens.”
By the third day, my lips were raw. My jaw ached. But something inside me changed. I started craving their approval. I wanted to be good at this. To please them.
The bigger dildos hurt. I choked. I cried. But I kept going. Because the only thing worse than sucking fake cock was disappointing them.
And I knew—soon—it wouldn’t be fake anymore.
By the fifth day, I was desperate for cock-sucking training. My mouth ached for it. I had moved from small dildos to the biggest one—thick as a fist, long as my forearm, shaped like the monstrous cocks strong black men are known for. Each session left me drooling, my jaw sore, my throat bruised. I was changing. Becoming something else.