Twisted Tale
Copyright© 2025 by Susmitha Saran
Chapter 9
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 9 - 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 Mother Son BDSM MaleDom FemaleDom Humiliation Rough Torture Gang Bang Interracial Black Male Black Female Anal Sex Enema Facial Oral Sex Pegging Sex Toys Spitting Body Modification Foot Fetish Revenge
The cold metal chain between my nipple piercings jingled as I stretched awake, sticky with dried cum from last night. My mom’s bare thigh pressed warm against mine under the thin blanket—her breathing steady after training me hard at the glory hole again. The isolation chamber smelled like sweat and sex.
Wincing, I pulled the butt plug’s base from between my cheeks—still stretched wide from taking my mom’s black strap-on. The enema nozzle hissed when I turned it on, icy water rushing inside me until my belly bulged. I watched brownish liquid swirl down the drain, proof I was clean for Master Xavier today.
The mirror didn’t lie anymore. No trace of that hateful Aron remained—just a hairless sissy with puffy pink nipples and jiggling little tits. The hormone shots made them sore whenever I touched them, but I couldn’t stop squeezing myself like Mom taught me. My useless clit strained against its clear cage.
Mom stirred when I knelt to kiss her, her tongue pushing past my lips to taste my morning breath. “Good girl,” she mumbled, pinching my chain so hard my eyes watered. “You’ll thank the warden properly for letting racist trash like you live, won’t you?”
The prison jumpsuit scraped my sensitive skin, the orange fabric rough against my nipples. The guard chuckled cuffing my hands—he knew the metal would bite into my wrists when Master made me kneel. Every step toward the office made my plug shift deeper, reminding me where I belonged.
The heavy door creaked shut behind me as I stepped into Master Xavier’s dimly lit office. My wrists ached where the metal cuffs had dug into my skin, but the guard had finally unlocked them before leaving. The scent of leather and expensive cologne filled the air as I swallowed hard, my knees already trembling. Master Xavier leaned against his desk, arms crossed, watching me with that cruel smirk I knew too well.
Without a word, I peeled off my clothes, letting them pool at my feet. The cold floor bit into my bare skin as I dropped to my knees, crawling forward like a good little sissy. My lips brushed the polished leather of his boots—warm from his body heat—and I kissed them softly, whining low in my throat.
“What brings you here now, sissy?” he purred, tilting my chin up with the toe of his boot. His voice dripped with amusement.
I kept my eyes down, trembling. “I—I came to beg forgiveness, Master. I was ... a monster. A racist brat who ruined your life.” My voice cracked. “I got you kicked out of the university. I turned your girlfriend into a laughingstock. I—I did so much worse.”
His boot pressed harder under my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “And you truly understand now?”
Tears welled up. “Yes, Master. But I know I don’t deserve mercy. So ... I’m offering you something.”
His eyebrow arched. Dragging his chair closer, he sat and spread his legs, planting his feet on either side of my head—owning my space. “And what could you possibly offer me?”
I licked my lips. “Myself, Master. My body. My freedom.”
He barked out a laugh, fingers tightening in my hair. “Stupid slut. You’re already mine—every inch of you.” His grip twisted, pulling a whimper from me. “But you want official papers, don’t you? Want me to brand you as my property?”
I nodded frantically. “Then ... then you can use me anywhere, Master. Not just in the isolation cells.”
His smirk deepened. “You’d lose all rights. No more legal protections. Just a dumb, naked sissy for me to break.”
“I—I don’t care,” I whispered. “Just ... don’t let them turn me fully into a girl. Please.”
He chuckled darkly. “Oh, we wouldn’t taint womanhood with you.”
Then his expression shifted. “But here’s the catch.” He leaned in, breath hot on my ear. “I already own your mom. So, you’ll belong to someone else.”
My stomach dropped.
“Mistress Lola,” he murmured, grinning at my horrified gasp. “The ebony trans queen you humiliated years ago. The one who hates you most.”
I nearly choked. She’d trained me since my arrest—harsh hands, cruel words—but this? Ownership?
Then I remembered Mom’s words: True repentance means suffering at the hands of those you hurt.
Swallowing hard, I nodded. “I—I accept, Master.”
His fingers flew across his laptop. Papers spat out. I signed without reading—hands shaking, soul already sold.
The cold metal of the desk pressed against my bare knees as I knelt underneath it, the hum of the computer the only sound in the room besides wet, sloppy noises. My master—scrolled through government documents with one hand while the other tangled in my hair, guiding my mouth along his thick cock. Every time I tried to speed up, his grip tightened, forcing me back to a slow, worshipful pace. “Patience, property,” he murmured, not even looking down. “You’ll learn.”
Above me, the printer whirred to life. I knew what those papers meant. The ones he’d spent an hour uploading, waiting for approvals, while I choked silently beneath him. When the final confirmation flashed on screen, he groaned, hips jerking forward as he flooded my throat. “Hold it,” he ordered, fingers digging into my cheeks to keep my jaw slack. I could feel his cum coating my tongue, warm and bitter, but I didn’t dare swallow. Not until he allowed it.
He yanked me out from under the desk by my collar, my knees scraping the floor. The papers fluttered in front of my face—official seals, barcodes, my new identity stamped in bold red letters: PROPERTY OF MISS LOLA LEE (TRANSGENDER OWNER). “Read it,” he sneered, tapping the lowest line. “Out loud.” My voice shook. “Slave classification: Sissy-Faggot (Sub-Human). Ranking below all non-transgender slaves and livestock.”
A laugh burst from him—sharp, mocking. “You thought serving black cocks in prison was humiliating? Wait until the other slaves see who owns you.” He kicked my thigh, making me squirm in pain. “A tranny mistress means you’re nothing. Not even the dogs will let you eat from their bowls.” I nodded fast, eyes watering. He was right. I’d signed away my rights as a man—as a person—the second I begged for this.
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