Bullied Three Ways From Sunday
Copyright© 2026 by Xanzibar
Chapter 4" Sissyboy's Mom
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 4" Sissyboy's Mom - Lydia Taylor, brilliant son, Carl, who is about to go to college is bullied at school by a lowlife and his friends. After dropping her son off to leave for two weeks she decides to go and confront the parents of the bully. The parent is an ex-con who loses it when she threatens to get the cops involved. He and his two sons subdue her. They decide they are going to train her to be their plaything and a series of humiliations quickly ensue.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Coercion NonConsensual Reluctant Slavery BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction School Cuckold Mother BDSM DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Rough Spanking Torture Gang Bang Group Sex Black Male White Female Hispanic Male Anal Sex Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Spitting Squirting Body Modification Foot Fetish Leg Fetish Public Sex ENF Prostitution Transformation
Week 1: Wednesday
Sissyboy’s Mom
“I want you to rub them. You are sitting down your lovely legs are showing, rub them, draw attention to them. I want you inviting me to fuck you at every opportunity, slut. You should feel sad if a cock is not actively trying to pound the living shit out of you.” Isaac told Lydia. The raunchy subject of his orders were making her wet thinking about it she got into looking sexy for him. What the fuck was wrong with her? Lydia thought to herself.
“Yes, Master” She replied blushing slightly. She had gotten used to attention from all three men. She now was really worked up especially when Isaac in charge of her. The thing was she had not even thought of leaving. She was playing their game now and did not even realize it. She angled her legs slightly and rubbed them as if to present them to the room. Her actions were cut short by Garrett.
“Is she dressed?” Garrett called out from down the hall.
“Almost” Isaac said with a smirk leaning in to pull a long slow kiss from Lydia.
Lydia’s heart raced as Isaac’s lips pressed against hers, his tongue exploring her mouth possessively. She melted into the kiss, her body responding eagerly to his touch. When he finally pulled away, she was breathless and flushed with arousal. She had been fucked from within an inch of her life for four days now, and she was already running on instinct, not that she minded because it usually ended with her exploding in a massive climax. She had come so much since them had access to her. She glowed continuously now. She stopped resisting them about 20 orgasms ago, or like she likes to call it yesterday. It was one order after the next continuously, and she was running on instinct now. Lustful, filthy, naughty instinct.
“Perfect,” Isaac murmured, his eyes roaming over her body appreciatively. “Now remember what I taught you about walking. I want to see that sexy strut. You are one fucking smoking hot woman, and I want to see it with every step.”
Lydia nodded, rising gracefully to her feet. She began walking across the room with exaggerated hip sways, making sure to emphasize the curve of her ass with each step. Isaac watched intently, a smirk playing on his lips.
“That’s my good little slut,” he praised. “Now go show my brother what a tempting little fucktoy you’ve become.”
Lydia’s pussy clenched at his words. She loved how dirty he made her feel, how he pushed her to embrace her most wanton desires. With a coy smile, she sauntered out of the room to find Garrett. “Yes Master, Of Course” She cooed out. She hated how she smiled at him every time he controlled her. She was enthralled to Isaac as much as a whore was to a pimp. Of all her tormentors, Isaac mind-fucked her and her pussy throbbed at every order he gave.
She found Garrett lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone. His eyes widened as he took in her appearance.
“Hell yeah, sway those hips for me, show me you want this cock.” Garret mocked Lydia. Isaac looked on from behind her. They were grooming her now to be how they liked her to be.
Lydia’s cheeks flushed with arousal as she swayed her hips seductively for Garrett. She could feel Isaac’s approving gaze on her from behind, spurring her on. Slowly, she approached Garrett on the couch, running her hands down her body.
“Do you like what you see?” she purred, her voice low and sultry.
Garrett’s eyes raked over her hungrily. “Fuck yeah I do,” he growled. “Get that sexy ass over here.”
Lydia straddled Garrett’s lap, grinding against him as she nibbled on his earlobe. His hands gripped her hips roughly, pulling her closer. She could feel his hardness pressing against her core through his jeans.
“Such a dirty little slut,” Garrett murmured approvingly. “Bet you’re already soaking wet for me, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Lydia whimpered. “Please, I need you inside me.”
Garrett chuckled darkly. “Beg for it, whore. Let me hear how bad you want my cock.”
Lydia’s pussy clenched with need. Little did she know the brothers had set up cameras for this little scene they were having her act out. Part of the insurance Isaac demanded against Lydia. Lydia tan skin and golden blonde hair looked delicious in that black shiny silver miniskirt she was wearing.
Lydia’s eyes fluttered closed as she arched her back, pressing her breasts against Garrett’s chest. “Please,” she moaned breathlessly. “I need your big cock inside me. I’m aching for it, dripping wet. Use me, fuck me hard. I’m your dirty little slut.” She was teasing of course, an act to please her Master, but damn if she was not convincing.
Garrett growled with approval, roughly gripping Lydia’s ass. In one swift motion, he flipped her onto her back on the couch, positioning himself between her spread legs. He yanked down her skirt and panties, exposing her glistening pussy.
“That’s right, show me how bad you want it,” Garrett demanded as he unzipped his jeans.
Lydia writhed beneath him, her hips bucking up needily. “Please, I’m desperate for your cock. Fuck me, use me, Sir.”
With a grunt of satisfaction, Garrett thrust into her forcefully. Lydia cried out in pleasure as he filled her completely. He set a punishing pace, pounding into her relentlessly as she moaned and whimpered.
“Take it all, be my our naughty fucktoy, slut” Garrett growled.
“God yes, give it to me!” Lydia screamed, her nails raking down Garrett’s back. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside her with each thrust.
Isaac watched the scene unfold with a smirk, stroking himself through his pants. He loved seeing how eagerly Lydia She was becoming their perfect little fucktoy. He loved how he coaxed eagerness and that in turn resulted in intense pleasure for Lydia it was a feedback loop that binding her to him, to them.
Garrett’s pace became more erratic as he neared his climax. “Where do you want my cum, slut?” he grunted.
“Inside me, please!” Lydia begged. “Fill me up with your hot cum!”
With a roar of pleasure, Garrett buried himself to the hilt and exploded inside her. Lydia cried out as her own orgasm washed over her, her pussy clenching around Garrett’s pulsing cock.
As they came down from their high, Isaac approached the couch. “My turn,” he said firmly. “On your knees.”
Still trembling from her intense climax, Lydia obediently slid off the couch and onto her knees before Isaac. She looked up at him with lust in her eyes.
Without a word, Isaac unzipped his pants and pulled out his hard cock. Lydia eagerly put him into her mouth, moaning around his shaft as she began bobbing her head. Isaac gripped her hair tightly, setting a brutal pace as he fucked her throat.
“That’s it, take it all like the cock-hungry slut you are,” Isaac growled.
Lydia gagged and choked but didn’t pull away, her eyes watering as she looked up at him submissively. Saliva and pre-cum dripped down her chin as Isaac used her mouth roughly.
After a few minutes of face-fucking, Isaac yanked Lydia off his cock. “Stand up and bend over the couch,” he ordered.
Lydia quickly obeyed, presenting her ass to him. Isaac wasted no time in plunging his cock into her still-wet pussy. He set a punishing rhythm, his hips slapping against her ass with each thrust.
“Fuck yes, pound that slutty cunt!” Garrett cheered from the sidelines, stroking himself as he watched.
Lydia cried out in pleasure as Isaac fucked her relentlessly.
Her legs trembled as she neared another intense orgasm. “Please, Master, may I cum?” she whimpered.
“Not yet,” Isaac growled, spanking her ass hard. “You cum when I say you can.”
He continued pounding into her mercilessly, bringing her to the edge over and over without letting her fall over. Lydia was a quivering mess, desperate for release.
“Please, I need it so bad,” she begged. “I’ll do anything, just let me cum!”
Isaac smirked, enjoying the power he held over her. “Anything? Well in that case...” He pulled out suddenly, leaving Lydia whimpering at the loss. “Get on your knees.”
Lydia quickly obeyed, looking up at him expectantly. Isaac stroked his cock, aiming it at her face. “Open wide, slut. You’re going to swallow every drop.”
Lydia eagerly opened her mouth, her tongue out. With a groan, Isaac came, painting her face and mouth with thick ropes of cum. Lydia moaned as she swallowed, savoring the taste of him.
“That’s our girl,” Isaac said, running his hand through Lydia’s tangled hair with deliberate ceremony, as though rewarding a faithful hound for an especially clever trick. His palm slid down the nape of her neck, thumb tracing the edge of her jaw, smearing a final drop of cum across her chin. She gazed up at him, pupils blown wide, lips swollen and painted with his taste. From the couch, Garrett let out a low, admiring whistle, stuffing his half-hard cock back into his jeans with idle satisfaction.
“Damn, bro. You’ve really trained her well,” Garrett said, voice thick with a mixture of admiration and envy. He leaned back and surveyed Lydia’s quivering form, her knees red and rug-burned against the hardwood, her chest flushed to the collarbones, still heaving with the aftershocks of her twin orgasms. Garrett’s gaze ran up her bare thighs to the black and silver skirt bunched at her waist, then to the ruined mascara beneath her eyes. “She looks like she’s been run through a car wash, man. Fucking beautiful.”
Isaac grinned, basking in the performance of his own control. He relished the way Lydia, not even a week ago, she was so proud and cold, now knelt obediently while his brother dissected her with words. It wasn’t just the sex; it was the spectacle of her degradation, the way she blossomed under their collective gaze, the way she hungered for more. Isaac let his fingers linger at her scalp a moment longer before tilting her face up to meet his eyes.
“Open,” he said, and she parted her lips reflexively. Isaac spat a final mouthful of saliva onto her tongue, then patted her cheek as she swallowed. “Good girl.”
Lydia’s cheeks burned, but not with humiliation. She savored the way their approval filled the empty places inside her, the way every bruise and ache became a trophy. She knelt there, half-naked, with the knowledge that she belonged to them now, body, mind, and every secret, filthy need.
For a single, suspended moment, the room was quiet except for the soft sounds of Lydia’s breathing and the low hum of the fridge from the kitchen. Garrett was the first to break the silence.
“So what’s next?” he asked, mouth curling into a wolfish smile. “You think she’s ready for the Ravine Crew, or you wanna keep her to yourself a little longer?”
Isaac looked down at Lydia, gauging her. “I think she’s ready, or at least the crew is needed for the next phase of her development.” he said, running his thumb along her lower lip. “Don’t you think you are ready for your next phase of training, slut?”
Lydia nodded, voice lost, but her eyes spoke for her. She was subdued, aroused, and in deep down terrified where these powerful men were leading to. She was used to being in control and since making the mistake of challenging this family she has been completely out of control and subject to their whim.
Garrett grinned wide, almost giddy. “Fuck yes! VortexKing is gonna lose his mind. And those other idiots, shit, they’re gonna fight over the scraps.”
Isaac laughed, the sound cold and deliberate. “Remember we are still in charge they get what we give them nothing more. We want them hungry.” He glanced at Lydia, then back at his brother. “I’ll handle the logistics. But you can start grooming her for the debut, if you want. Get her used to the idea.”
Garrett’s eyes lit up with malicious excitement. He leaned forward and cupped Lydia’s cheek, fingers rough and possessive. “You hear that, babe? We’re gonna show you off. Gonna let all those desperate fucks at the Ravine see what a real slut looks like.” He squeezed her jaw until her mouth popped open again. “You like being a little whore, don’t you?”
The question was rhetorical, but Lydia nodded anyway, tongue darting to the corner of her mouth. “Yes, Sir Garret Sir, she answered licking her lips for effect like Isaac trained her to do. Somehow knowing she was heading down a path she never knew was possible before this week.
M.I.T.
Carl had barely been in Boston for three days, and already he was bombarding Eliza with texts, memes, and photos from his new dorm, thirty stories above the Charles, with a view of the skyline that turned molten each evening. He filled her inbox at all hours: a half-eaten cannoli from the North End, the graffiti tunnel by the river, and most recently, a time-lapse of the campus quad filling with students at sunrise. He narrated each photo in his dry, understated voice, but the pride was almost embarrassing in its transparency. “MIT is basically Hogwarts for virgins,” he messaged just after morning classes. “But the food is worse and the teachers are actively trying to break you.”
The text landed while Eliza was still in bed, her phone buzzing steadily against her cheekbone. She’d fallen asleep with their thread open, waking to the blue glow and another notification. She grinned and typed with one hand, face still smashed against the pillow. “You love it, you giant nerd,” she replied. “Don’t pretend you weren’t thriving on day one.”
Carl’s response was instant, as if he were waiting for her finger to hit send: “I would be thriving harder if you were here. My sheets are the saddest color and I have no one to quote memes to at 2 AM.”
Eliza blushed, warmth rising behind her ears. “Guess you’ll have to find some other weird little STEM girl to keep you company,” she teased. “Boston is full of them.”
“Gross. None of them can touch your GPA,” Carl shot back, but then: “But maybe I need a distraction. I’m going crazy picturing you in that red hoodie you always wear, curled up in my desk chair with your feet on the radiator.” The words conjured an image, Eliza in the ill-fitting hoodie, her knees up by her ears, the drawstrings cinched tight around her face until only her nose and eyes peeked out. She hugged herself, almost feeling the static of his imaginary touch.
“Is that all you miss?” she typed, reluctant to send it, then did anyway.
There was a pause, a pregnant interval in which she could almost see his fingers tapping, deleting, then finally committing to words. “Not even close,” he wrote. “You have no idea how hard it is to jerk off quietly in a triple.”
She giggled, and immediately covered her mouth, then remembered she was alone in her own dorm room. “Maybe you need to get creative,” she wrote. “I dare you to send me a picture.”
There was another long pause, and she imagined him hesitating, weighing the risk. Then a chime: a picture of his desk, its battered wood surface scattered with textbooks and printouts, but in the center, unmistakably, a tube of generic unscented lube and a neatly folded washcloth. The caption read, “Prepared for finals.”
A sharp, delighted laugh broke from Eliza’s throat. She typed: “10/10, would plagiarize,” and considered how far to push the game. She could feel her own blood humming, a tingling urge in her hands and thighs, gathering like static.
“Your turn,” Carl wrote. “Send me something to get me through today.”
Eliza hesitated, then flipped through her camera roll with surgical efficiency. She found the most recent selfie, her hair loose, glasses slightly askew, a constellation of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Not nearly as bold as Carl’s photo, but she added a caption: “Do your worst, Brain King,” before sending it.
Within seconds, Carl replied: “You’re evil. I can’t focus with you looking at me like that.”
Eliza felt a rush of satisfaction, warmth blooming in her chest and lower. She typed: “That’s the point. I want you distracted. I want you thinking about me.”
She hit send, and a new message popped up, but it wasn’t Carl’s name on the notification. It was “Riley (RA)”, the floor’s resident assistant, who’d been in the background of Carl’s first-night photo, grinning like a shark with a pixie cut and a nose ring. The new message was a screen shot of the meme thread between Carl and Eliza, with an added comment: “So THIS is the famous Eliza?”
Eliza froze for a moment, then scrambled to compose herself. “Guilty as charged,” she replied, adding a waving emoji.
“Carl never shuts up about you,” Riley wrote, then: “We’re going to the MIT bowling alley on Saturday. Are you coming up for a visit or do I have to loan him my favorite lipstick again?”
Eliza flushed, feeling something like pride. “He’s terrible at bowling. But I’ll bet you both look better in lipstick than me.”
“Let’s find out,” Riley replied, and Eliza laughed aloud at the absurdity of it all.
Carl, for his part, was already texting again, this time with a tone that was only half-jokingly desperate: “Please come for the weekend. I can’t face the chaos alone. I need my lucky charm.”
Eliza stared at her phone, imagining Carl’s long, nervous limbs stuffed into a tiny dorm, the way he’d fidget and tap his pencil when he was anxious. She thought about his body, tall and awkward, the way he’d look at her when he thought she wasn’t watching. She imagined climbing into that narrow bed with him, wrapping her cold feet around his calves, feeling him shiver and pull her close.
And then she remembered how, in the quiet of their last night together before summer ended, he’d whispered, “I want you to be the first,” and how she’d said, “Okay,” and meant it, with every cell of her body.
The phone buzzed. Carl had sent a final message: “I miss you. For real.”
Eliza typed, “I miss you too,” but before she could send it, a new message appeared, this time from Riley again: “You know, if you two want a third, I’m not opposed.”
She stared at the screen, then covered her face with one hand, laughing until she cried. For a moment, she felt impossibly alive, the world spinning with possibility.
Back at the Sullivan’s Residence
Ravine Creek Neighborhood
At dusk, Garrett made a few calls. The Ravine Crew, four local dropouts and ne’er-do-wells, were summoned for a “private show” at midnight. The promise of free booze and a new “toy” was all the bait required. Isaac turned to Lydia after the arrangements were made.
“Go shower,” he ordered, “and come straight back to my room. I’ll show you what you’re wearing tonight.”
Lydia rose unsteadily, muscles shaking. The brothers watched as she padded down the hallway, still topless, hips swaying with unconscious invitation.After she disappeared, Garrett let out a low whistle. “You really think she’ll go through with it? With all of them?”
Isaac shrugged, but his eyes gleamed. “She’ll do whatever we tell her to. That’s the point. I am going to break her to where she will even betray sissyboy to his face. I want that fucker broken for daring to try to get her cunt of a mother to step to you and for threatening to call the cops on Dad.” Isaac the young man was one year younger than Garrett, but it was obvious he was going to be the alpha of the family.
Garrett laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re a fucking genius.”
When the knock finally came, Isaac looked at her, and his smile was a razor. Isaac cracked his knuckles, as if this new project required a craftsman’s focus, and swept his gaze over Lydia’s still-damp body. “I think I know exactly how to dress her,” he said, licking his lips and meeting Garrett’s eyes with that signature glint of sadistic anticipation. The two brothers stood over Lydia, discussing her fate as if she were an inanimate prop, not a shivering, breathing woman sprawled across the bed.
“She’s got the legs for it,” Garrett observed, running his hand down the length of Lydia’s calf. “Make them the centerpiece.”