The Love of My Chains
Copyright© 2026 by SinfulWords
Chapter 2
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 2 - Set in a post-apocalyptic world where sex slavery is entirely legal and anarchy is the law of the land, we glimpse a single night in the lives of drug lord Tyler Roberts and his sex slave, Sadie, as they entertain a couple of guests for a night of debauchery, humiliation, depravity, and ultimate revenge.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa NonConsensual Slavery Heterosexual Fiction BDSM DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Rough Spanking Orgy Anal Sex Double Penetration Fisting Oral Sex Water Sports
“ ... It’s open!” Master hollered from his seat, an enigmatic sort of anticipation tensing his expression yet he struck the perfect image of nonchalance as he leaned back in his chair, his cigarette dangling loosely from his smirking lips.
“Hey hey hey!” Came the familiar voice of Jax as he sauntered through the door.
We called him Jax. What his legal name was, I never knew—I suppose it never mattered. He was a young man in his early twenties, twenty-two to be exact, his youth coupled with a bothersome arrogance that billowed around him like a noxious cloud. More like an obnoxious cloud. He had mid-length blonde hair that was always disheveled, the thin strands filthy and weighed down by grease so it hung in his eyes. He had sharp features: jutting cheek bones, a pointed nose, and thin lips. Deep crescents of purple lurked beneath his eyes, eyes that were always wired, the blue irises endlessly bouncing around in his skull in chaotic circles. And although his gaze was frantic, there was an intensity there. There was a pure heart that had been corrupted by a powerful addiction. He was emaciated from rampant drug use, the same amphetamines that Master took, albeit, Jax, took his addiction too a much darker place than Master ever did.
“Jax, get the fuck in here ya son of a bitch!” Master greeted, the heat of such hostile words cooled by a sprinkle of camaraderie.
... This was how they spoke to each other, Master and his people, they spoke in swear words and insults but somehow the words always came out sounding so amicable...
“Have a fucking seat, what the fuck’s taken ya so goddamn’ long, huh?” Master continued to heckle.
“Gotta say hello to Sadie first,” Jax answered with a gentleman’s conviction, closing the cabin door before moving across the small room to collect my hand and press the back to his lips. “Mademoiselle.”
“Get away from her ya fuckin’ freak,” Master laughed in good humour, although I could detect the tiniest bit of rage haunting his jovial tone. “You’re such a fuckin’ embarrassment, leave her alone!” He then spoke to me. “You have my permission to knee him in the balls, Babydoll!”
“I couldn’t,” I refused with a nervous chuckle, feeling the heat of scarlet instantly color my cheeks as I was suddenly made the center of such awkward attention. Instead of kneeing Jax in the groin, however, I said, “it’s nice to see you again, Sir,” and welcomed him into our home with a friendly smile.
“Always a pleasure, Princess,” Jax replied with a wink, his eyes dipping down to glance my bare tits before he turned around and made his way to the table, speaking to Master as he did. “I was being chivalrous you dick!”
“She’s a fucking slave, you ain’t gotta be chivalrous,” Master reminded him as the younger man pulled up a chair to Master’s left. “Get us some drinks, Babydoll,” he commanded me at once.
“Yes, Master,” I answered mechanically, instantly making moves to gather enough tin cups for all of Master’s friends that I knew would be arriving soon...
... There was no point in asking what sort of drink they wanted, there was only one kind: a homemade moonshine distilled by Master’s own people. It was clear as water and smelled like straight gasoline but people seemed to like it and they traded good assets for it...
“ ... Well, you don’t really treat her like a slave, so,” Jax elaborated, trailing off with a derisive sort of smirk, obviously judging Master for how kind he was to me...
... People did that quite a lot: taunted Master for the kindness he showed me...
“ ... I disagree, Jax,” Master countered, tone split between truculence and jest. “I’ve got her naked, in a collar, pouring me drinks with a belly full of my jip. Last I checked I don’t typically ask that of my subordinates or business partners—” Master paused and his playful expression sharpened into suave arrogance. “Unless you’d like to prove me wrong? Hm? You want a belly full of my cum too, Jaxy? Huh? You wanna strip down and pour drinks for me and Sadie? That what ya wanna do? Just say the word and I’ll fuck you over this table right here, right fuckin’ now!”
“Fuck you,” Jax snorted bitterly, rolling his eyes through a forced bark of laughter that was meant to soften the blatant audacity of his unsolicited opinions. “What I meant to say is, you don’t treat her like a slave you bought from The Pits, you treat her like a prized fuckin’ poodle.”
“Hot fuckin’ poodle,” Master remarked, locking my eyes and winking his thanks at me as I served him his drink. He then locked eyes with Jax, the smile falling from his lips as he said quite seriously. “What’re you tryin’ to say, huh? That I fuck poodles? Cause that’s not a very nice thing to say to a man who invites you into his home.”
“Please,” Jax derided boldly, his eyes glancing my breasts again as I served him his drink. “You’ve fucked far worse than poodles, Boss, and we both know it,” he teased as he took the cup and drank it half-down in three quick chugs.
“God! It was one corpse, one time!” Master defended himself in an overly animated display of exasperation that conveyed a certain amusement about the whole thing.
“That’s one time too many, Boss!” Jax replied excitedly before the two men burst into a fit of jovial laughter...
knock knock knock
The person knocking didn’t wait for an invitation, obviously hearing the laughter inside, whomever decided to let himself in. “Ah, you fuck-heads ain’t gettin’ started without me, are ya?” Master’s chemist, Mr. Hollow, questioned as he walked through the door.
To the public Mr. Hollow was known as Black Glass because he was sharp and dangerous—but to the people closest to him, he was simply known as Darrius Hollow. He was renowned for his genius and outstanding wits and of course, for making the best Pulse Junk in The Burrows. He was a thirty-three year old black man of average height, about five-nine, slightly overweight, with a round kind face when he was ironically anything but kind. His cherub cheeks and round glasses made him appear soft and meek but his blood lust was just as profound as Master’s— only he was admittedly even more frightening at times because Mr. Hollow was indeed incredibly smart. If you looked into his eyes you would see all the calculation of the universe staring right back at you, always thinking, always evolving, always expanding. He understood chemistry, he could do math like magic in his head, he’d read more books than any one person I’d ever met in my entire life, but above all else, Mr. Hollow had the good sense to never get high on his own supply. He may’ve cooked the best Pulse Junk in our territory but the smoke of it had never passed his lips. Not even once.
“No, no, no, we’re just gettin’ started, D, pull up a chair,” Master insisted before calling to me. “One more drink for, Darrius, Sweet Pea.”
“Yes, Master,” I answered mechanically, my bare feet pitter pattering back to the small counter to poor Mr. Hollow’s’ drink.
“Two more drinks for Darrius,” Mr. Hollow joked as he closed the door behind him and walked over to the table, rubbing his palms together as if anticipating a decadent dessert. “So, where’re the females at, huh? Thought we were breaking in some fresh meat tonight.”
“Yeah where is Patsy?” Jax asked, his tone and expression suddenly quite austere. “I came with the promise of getting my balls licked for high sales, so, what’s the hold up?”
“Patience is a virtue dick-wads,” lectured Master as he reached for his smoking pipe: a long clear glass tube with a bulb on the end. “He’ll get here when he gets here,” he concluded as he then grabbed an already-opened-bag of Pulse Junk: a white chalky substance that had the same consistency as rock-salt.
And then, as if on cue, another string of knocks pounded on the door and in entered Master Patsy, the final attendee of Master’s impromptu soiree.
Patsy O’brian was the only one of Master’s friends who was also a Leader. It was rare for two Leaders to be friendly because they were always vying with one another for power. Not Master and Master Patsy, though. They were both drug-lords but at different ends of the spectrum. Master sold uppers, Master Patsy sold downers and, so, they shared territory without cutting into each other’s profits and ended up developing a long-standing friendship/alliance over the years. Together they were a true force to be reckoned with, which was why neither one of them had ever been usurped. They’d held their industries for over a decade now. Most Leaders were lucky if they could break five consecutive years in power. So, challengers came and went but no one had ever been able to dethrone Tyler Roberts or Patsy O’brian while they stood together as one.
Master Patsy was a middle aged man with short dark hair that was mostly silver, the gray color giving him quite the distinguished flare. His age suited him. He was tall like Master, six feet, but where Master was broad and toned, Master Patsy was trim and lithe. He was conventionally handsome, his facial features almost unrealistically symmetrical, prominent cheek bones, a hard jawline, and a set of the most beautiful brown eyes I’d ever seen—but he had a grisly scar across that perfect face: one wide mauve-colored scar that cut across it’s entirety, starting above his right temple and spanning all the way down to the left side of his chin. He had high standards that he expected to be met, punishing anyone who dared fail in such pursuits. He was unforgiving, cruel, and hyper-aware of his own authority, he expected it to be minded without defiance or complaint. He didn’t tolerate insubordination and he was quick to corporal punishment. Quite the Ying to Master’s Yang. Where Master was generous and warm as a Leader, Patsy was cold and calculating. He played people like pawns in a chess game, his apathy a thing of pure wonder if only for it’s exceptional magnitude.
Master Patsy, of course, hadn’t entered our home alone, the two young slaves he’d just purchased followed him on their hands and knees, both led on short leashes that were attached to identical chunky black collars. One slave was a female red head, her hair tied back in a tight bun, her counterpart a blonde female, her hair styled in the exact same fashion. They were both fresh-graduated, as promised, freshly eighteen, and both bearing the familiar brand from The Nesting Pits in the same location on their bodies as me: their lower back. They were both thin but well endowed, their nipples clamped with clothes pins as pre-manufactured clamps were particularly hard to come by in our time. They were both completely shaven, their bare cunts exposed and vulnerable and I just knew that in no matter of time the skin there would be swollen and red. They both had gags in their mouths that were made of coarse leather, drool spilling from the corners of their ruby lips, their gazes angled dutifully down at the floor as they entered the cabin.
“Oh. My. God. They’re fuckin’ gorgeous!” Master exclaimed, the two naked slaves like a set of shiny keys that captured all his attention. Even his hands that had been busy packing his pipe had frozen in their task.
... A sizzle of jealousy coiled down my spine, warming my cheeks in a momentary flash of hatred for the two newcomers, but none of that spite ever made it to my face. I suppressed it, setting my jaw and maintaining an impassive expression. I was accustomed to watching Master fuck other slaves but I’d never come to like it. I’d sit there and fume because he wasn’t using me while privately hating the fact that he rarely used my holes in front of other people. He liked to keep my body private. I was a spectacle and treasure reserved just for him. That wasn’t the part that bothered me. What bothered me was the agony of my own desire. My body would always react so strongly whenever I’d watch Master or his friends use other slaves. What my eyes devoured would fuel my cunt, my lust soaring higher and higher, my slit getting wetter and wetter until every cell in my body would be throbbing for a release that I knew would never come. It was maddening...
“ ... Don’t start with your slave-worship crap, T, it’ll go straight to their heads,” snapped Master Patsy before turning to his slaves in an authoritative menace. “Bitches, center of the room, get on your backs and spread your legs” He commanded as he unhooked the leashes from their collars. “Be still and wait to be used”
The slave-girls obeyed without reaction, their clamped tits swaying as they crawled to where directed. Once in the center of the room the girls turned over to sit and in almost perfect synchronization they laid back and spread their legs to reveal the juicy pink of their pussies while simultaneously revealing the fact that they both had anal-plugs buried deep inside them. The plugs were made of polished wood, the bases texturized with black sand that glittered handsomely where two ass-holes should’ve been.
“Obedient fuckin’ whores,” Master commended, unable to stop the praise that flowed from him as naturally as water down mountain’s side.
“What did I just say about the slave-worship crap?” Master Patsy scrutinized, turning to look at Master with an exasperated but otherwise entirely tepid glare.
Master shrugged away his friend’s censure. “Fuckin sue me! I give credit where credit’s due,” he explained before gesturing to the young slaves to emphasise his point. “They’re obedient’ fuckin’ whores!”
Master Patsy spat down at the two girls. “Stupid fuck pigs is more like it,” he growled with contempt.
“What’re their names?” Mr. Hollow asked, muttering a word of thanks to me as I delivered his drink before promptly returning to the counter to prepare one for Master Patsy without even having to be told.
“Anus and Jizz Stain,” Master Patsy replied casually as if the names he’d chosen were as banal as Mary or Sue...
... It would be the taste of a lie to say I didn’t experience a pang of sympathy for those slaves when I learned of their humiliating titles. We’re taught at The Pits that masters knew best. Now, that checked out in my experience, overall, Master always seemed to have my best interest at heart. Even when he was moved to discipline me, he never got too carried away. But sometimes I just couldn’t see ‘Master knows best’ in other masters. They seemed so cruel, like they thrived on the misery of their slaves and Master Patsy was a classic example...
“ ... Those are the names on their official paperwork?” Master had asked through an incredulous bark of laughter.
Master Patsy nodded with a wryly grin, ignoring me as I delivered his drink. “I ain’t gonna have em long. Once we break ‘em in I’m gonna pass ‘em over to my men. They did well against the Shadow Ranchers last month. We gained a good chunk of fresh water. They can fuck these things to death as a reward...”
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