Hey readers, thanks for stopping by. In my writing, sometimes I like to dive headfirst into a scene, with no preamble, no backstory, nothing. This is a small collection of said scenes. They all vary in theme and content, although they all share a similarity in female submission, I'll give a list of tags before each scene so you can skip it if you think it'll be triggering/unenjoyable for you.
If any of these stories particularly piques your interest, please let me know in the comments. I may build it into a full story.
***
The farmgirl:
Noncon, BDSM, Slave
***
I knew she was a good one the second I saw her trying to crawl through the fence--mud-streaked thighs, sunburned skin, breathing hard like a spooked doe. I could smell her fear from across the field, and fuck if that didn't make my cock twitch. She didn't even get three steps before my dogs had her cornered and whining like a kicked kitten.
They always think they can run.
They always beg.
But here? Begging just makes it sweeter.
Now, she's tied up in the barn--arms hoisted above her head, ankles spread by the heavy iron stocks bolted to the floor. Naked, trembling, red-faced and slick with sweat. She's trying not to cry, but the tears are already hanging from her lashes like dew drops.
I walk a slow circle around her, boots crunching straw. Her body is perfect--still soft, still unmarked, but not for long. Her cunt is already wet. Always a good sign.
"City girl," I murmur, dragging my gloved hand across her ass. "You don't know what it means to trespass out here, do you?"
She shudders when I grip her cheek and squeeze, fingers digging in like I'm judging a piece of meat. Because I am.
I reach down and slide two fingers between her folds. Soaking.
"You walked onto my land, sweetheart. That means you're mine. And here? We use what's ours."
She opens her mouth to scream, maybe protest--but I'm already sliding the gag in. It's a black leather bit that keeps her jaw stretched wide and useless, drool immediately dripping down her chin.
I strip my belt off slowly, let it hiss through the loops. Her eyes widen when she hears the sound. Good. Let her feel the weight of this moment.
When I shove inside her--raw, rough, and to the hilt--she jerks so hard the chains rattle. Her body's tight, virgin-tight, like no one's ever split her open properly. But I don't stop. I don't slow down.
Her scream is muffled by the gag, but I feel it. Her cunt clenches like a fist, trying to force me out, but she's not strong enough for that. Not anymore.
"Fuckin' tight little thing," I grunt, grabbing her hips, slamming into her again. "You were made for this. You were made for me."
Her belly jiggles with every thrust, tits bouncing wildly, nipples stiff from the cold. I bend low, bite down on her shoulder, mark her with my teeth while I keep fucking her like a goddamn animal.
She's drooling now, moaning through the gag, legs shaking.
Her body's giving up. Her mind will follow.
I reach down and rub her clit with two rough fingers, fast and mean. Her hips jerk. She tries to pull away.
"Don't fight it. This is what you are now. Just a wet hole to fill."
And then it happens--she starts to shake, whole body quivering like a newborn foal, cunt spasming around my cock. Her orgasm hits hard, unwilling and overwhelming, like a confession.
I fuck her right through it. Harder. Deeper. Louder. I want her to know this is forever.
When I finally come, I bury myself to the root, grab her hips tight enough to bruise, and fill her with everything I've got. No rubber. No mercy. Just thick, hot cum flooding her womb like she was bred for this.
Because she was.
When I pull out, I watch it leak from her--slow, messy, glistening between her thighs. She's wrecked. Sagging in the chains. Legs barely holding her up.
And I'm still hard.
"You'll take another round in an hour," I say, patting her ass. "Then the milking. Then the auction. Don't worry. You'll be full again before you know it."
She moans behind the gag, somewhere between shame and surrender.
Perfect.
***
The dollmaker:
Mind control, oral, female submission
***
She was kneeling exactly where he'd left her--on the velvet cushion by the mirror, hands folded on her lap like the good little doll she'd been trained to be. Head tilted just so, mouth parted in that soft, glassy expression of eternal readiness.
She didn't speak anymore. She didn't need to. The programming had taken beautifully. Gone was the girl who'd tried to scream, to run, to beg. Now, she blinked slowly, sweetly, as he reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. Smooth. Warm. No fear. Only waiting.
"Such a pretty piece," he murmured, admiring the way her lips glistened with the glossy pink sheen he applied every morning. "I almost hate to mess you up."
Almost.
He undid his belt slowly, savoring the way her eyes tracked the motion--not with hunger, not with anticipation, but with that practiced, patient obedience. The perfect doll.
When he gripped her hair and guided her onto his cock, her mouth opened instinctively. No hesitation, no teeth. Just soft, wet heat and the faint hum of satisfaction as she sank down, taking him in to the root like she was built for this.
Because she was.
He'd trained her to swallow without gagging, to keep her hands at her sides, to look up at him with those pretty, empty eyes while her throat fluttered around him like a silken vice.
"Fuck, yes," he groaned, hips thrusting slowly. "You're better than synthetic."
Her eyes watered prettily. He'd left her mascara-free tonight--he preferred seeing the real tears. They made her shine.
But her mouth was just the beginning. He wasn't done until he'd used all of her.
He dragged her up onto the chaise lounge, carefully arranging her limbs, admiring the way her joints moved like a mannequin's--loose, pliable, compliant. Her legs parted when he nudged them. Her back arched when he told it to. Her soaked pussy clenched around his fingers, eager and leaking before he'd even touched her properly.
"Say it," he whispered.
She blinked. "I exist to be used."
He slid inside her with a groan--hot, tight, frictionless heaven. Her moan was delicate, distant, like a sound effect designed to please. He grabbed her throat, thrust deeper, and watched her expression stay sweet and docile, no matter how hard he fucked her.
She was his now. A masterpiece. One of one.
And when he came inside her--hard, deep, painting her womb like a canvas--her lashes fluttered, her mouth fell open in bliss, and she whispered exactly what he'd programmed her to:
"Thank you for filling me, Master."
