She Wore Black

☆ Note - this is dark. D.A.R.K. There's bondage and images of extreme sex. Questionable consent, outright non-consent, slavery and there is verbal degradation and abuse.

I know this. No need to comment.

Free speech.

DONT DO THIS.

Hell, it's best for most of you not even to play this way.

If you are considering trying this for real. Just stop. Get Help.

Talk to a professional.

This is a complete and utter fantasy that will never ever happen - it's the same as elves, dwarves and a faithful wife.

NOT REAL.

You've been warned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She wore black. I noticed that immediately as the door opened. There was a little light from a half full moon and a little more from inside the house she was opening up to me for the first time.

Dark, thick, hair with bangs cut straight across the tops of her eyebrows. Pale skin. A shapely neck. Around her neck a long, double strand of pearls hung.

Much like a slack choke chain on a cur dog.

It reminded me of a bitch, awaiting a firm hand.

A dusting of freckles adorned her chest and the tops of her heavy breasts. She'd bred before. Suckled. Full of milk still. The nipples long, thick, tough, and browned from years of daily use.

This was no blushing young virgin.

Her teats had been used for years. Kept in milk by her previous owner; a husband that had taken the male child he'd sired out of her and found a younger, tighter body to satisfy his lusts. She'd been milked like a cow well past the normal nursing period. Groomed to submit. To give. Her daily dose of mental health meds, MDMA, marinol and meth ensured that her mind was muddled and dull while also making certain her libido was raging at all times.

Coupled with years of mental and physical abuse and degrading sexual practices well...

I had no doubt she was quite mad by now. But that's why they made slave cages.

Her tits hung heavy in the cool evening's air. At least inch long nipples erect and slowly dripping milk. As I stepped forward. Into my new house. Furnished and complete with a fucksow slave. It was a really good deal actually.

Her waist was thick. A decade and a baby past her teenage prime. Her hips and thighs were thick as well. There was no fat. No cellulite. Her skin was tight. Her body was toned, muscled. Like a beast regularly worked in the fields. She was strong. Fertile. I would test her stamina and her submission. I wouldn't stop until I had reached her limits and blown past them in an orgy of dominance demonstrated upon the perfect canvas of her skin. Then I'd have her bred, just for the novelty of it. Just to see what pregnancy hormones combined with her meds, a full gimp hood and a basement milking cage would do to her already questionable sanity.

I could see her ex-husband hadn't really enjoyed marking her up. That's why I paid higher than normal for a used model.

I wouldn't be able to get more than a thousand from the scummiest street pimp once I had finally grown tired of her. She'd be completely used up.

Her full tits would be my focus tonight. They were supported by the quarter cup shelf built into her black corset. It was pulled tight to her body, flaring out to perfectly frame her hips and flatten the belly paunch she developed from carrying and birthing her ex-husband's son.

I'd use my cock, fingers and eventually, my whole hand to explore inside my new milksow and see what all damage had been done to the cunt I'd purchased just that morning. Eventually. I had a whole notebook of plans. Wicked, dark things that I'd thought about for years but only now had the financial means to turn into reality.

Honestly, my fantasies would turn into nightmares for the woman standing mostly naked in the entrance to her former home. I owned it now. Along with her.

"Face away," I ordered quietly.

I inspected her ass. Tight. Full. Unmarked.

That would change. She was an empty canvas I would cover with scars.

No panties. No stockings. Only black shoes with two inch heels adorned her feet. Those would have to go.

Livestock and slaves didn't wear shoes.

I gently lifted her long dark hair and moved it aside to see the bar code tattooed in bold black lines on the back of her neck.

I checked that the number matched the one on my bill of sale.

"Kneel. Spread your knees. Hands on top of your head. Interlace your fingers."

Looking down, I could see the top of her head. Her fingers. Nails cared for but unpainted. A wedding and engagement ring still on her left hand. White gold and diamonds. Big enough to be gaudy. Definitely it would be considered to be in poor taste to most people. What a joke.

"Never remove that ring. You're a married woman after all. A mother. You're going to spend the rest of your life cheating and whoring. I want people to know what you are."

Her ex-husband hadn't divorced her.

No, it was so very much worse.

With the help of some sympathetic professionals, and a sturdy cage in the hidden basement of this very house, he had ensured her "mysterious disappearance" while hiking was eventually ruled as "death by misadventure" and collected the substantial life insurance policy he had placed on her.

Overnight he became a wealthy widower and many women quickly came to console him in his grief. All the while, this pig was in the soundproofed basement in bondage. Listening to her husband putting gold diggers and sluts through auditons to be the next Mrs.

While she was immobilized and half starved and hooked up to a goat milker set on a two hour timer.

But my new property was still, technically, a married woman. One who had been registered online as a slave even before she was bred.

Marked as a slave. Trained as a slave.

Used as a brood sow. Milked by hand and machine like a farm animal.

And as of this morning, sold as property. To me.

Slave Registry. Bar Coded. Kept in milk.

The kinky game of a married couple, maybe. The hidden shame of a wife trying to ensure her husband maintained interest in her; quite possibly. But most certainly she had to realize now that her steadily increasing submission over the past decade was a horrible miscalculation.

Now, I owned her. Now, I would ensure the complete surrender of her free will.

Now, I would introduce her to her fate.

Unfortunately, she hadn't been purchased by a kind man. I enjoyed causing pain. Not injury. Just pain. Degradation. Humiliation. Desperation. Shame. I believed in providing cheating whores with daily near death experiences. Kind of like foreplay.

"Kitchen. Now. Lead me," I said as I grabbed the pearls around her neck like a leash and turned my side to her kneeling form.

She hit all fours and led me down the hall and through a sunken living room. She crawled left and up a short flight of stairs to a dining area off a spacious and well appointed kitchen. The table was large, and the chairs sturdy and straight backed.

Perfect.

"Sit. Stay," I commanded.

I pulled one of the chairs out from the table and turned it around so its back faced the kitchen.

"Get up and straddle the chair. Tits towards me," I commanded.

She complied. No hesitation. No thought. She didn't look at me. Didn't smile or frown. Just obeyed. I was very pleased with my new purchase. A pretty face. Sexy curves. A tight hole. A talented throat. All those things are just pretty pictures hanging on the wall.

Submission. Surrender. Acceptance.

These are real. Sweaty, hot, straining, grunting, grubbing in the mud and dirt real. I wanted real. I would have it.

"Rope. Chains. Cuffs. Where are they? Speak," I said.

"Master bedroom. Middle drawers in the chest, Master," she answered.

I reached between the top and second slats of the chair back and grabbed a firm, tit swollen with milk. I pulled it through between the slats. It leaked onto the stone floor. I did the same with the other one; pulling her chest as close to the chair back as I could and ordering "Stay,".

After retrieving several lengths of rope and an arm binder from the bedroom drawers, I returned and started sliding the binder up my slave's arms. It went up high and I really wrenched her shoulders back as I tightened the straps to holes that had never been used before, all the way down. I enjoyed the way she whimpered as the ligaments strained against the leather.

"How long has it been since you've been milked, pig?" I asked as I laced the rope through the slats and bound her chest tightly against the chair's back.

"Two days, Master," she replied.

"How long since you've orgasmed?" I queried, as I pulled each ankle up and bound them hanging with rope to the seat of the chair. I then removed the shoes.

"Six...weeks," she gasped, "Master."

"How does it feel? Speak," I commanded.

"It aches. It aches worse than anything, Master. My...my udders. My cunt. Constant aching, Master," she admitted.

I finished my rope work and brushed her hair with my fingers. Traced her surprisingly full and sensual lips. In another place and time, I would have loved to kiss that mouth. It was sexy. Too bad. Slaves don't get kissed. Ever. Makes them think they are people. Instead of property.

"I own you now. You saw the folder and paperwork correct? You know what your future holds," I asked looking into her eyes.

"I...I'm dead. But not. I'm really... a slave... now," she replied. Her head bowed. I saw her body shiver in the ropes.

"Yes. Your husband has found another whore to fuck. I think that she's 15 or 16 years younger than you. Actually, I think she went to school with your son. Your son thinks you're dead. Your parents, friends, co-workers; they all think you're dead. And they've all moved on with their lives. Your husband told me he did manage to have your son find a couple of shoe boxes full of pictures and videos of you. During the move, he said. He made you do, and say, such delightfully whorish things. And on film. But it looked like you enjoyed them. That's what he said."

She was holding back sobs. Eyes tearing up. It was just a matter of moments before the tears would streak her face.

"There's nothing for you now, but service.....and pain. It's important to me that you know this. You're property. Not even a pet. More livestock. And I bought you, specifically, to hurt you. You're going to experience a lifetime of pain. Do you deserve it? Probably. You've fucked and sucked men other than your husband. Accepted money for it. Sold your own milk to perverts. Posted your sick escapades online for the world to see. Yeah, I think you deserve all the pain that I am planning for you," I continued.

"I...He made me," she volunteered. Her tears falling now. Breathing fast. Straining against the ropes. Tits quivering in front of me; begging to be punished.

I slapped her. Hard. Across the left side of her face. The back hand was worse. Catching her mouth. Bringing blood. A split on those gorgeous lips. Damn. This was a sexy woman. Not yet even 40. I'd have years to slowly destroy this pig.

"Did you refuse? Did you leave? Even yesterday when you were released from your cage and your husband gave you the news you'd been sold along with this house, did you call the police? Did you call your parents? Did you run to the neighbors for help?"

I looked into the eyes of madness. It's always delicious when the truth crushes these filthy whores.

"No, you dirty, cheating, whoring, fuckpig of a slave. No. You submitted. You followed your husband's directions concerning your future and then you opened the door to your new owner. You wanted this. You always have. I can smell your excitement. You're wet cunt is fouling the air with your desire to be used. Remember, in the years to come, that you chose this....and you deserve it."

I went into the kitchen and started opening drawers and cabinets. I quickly found what I was looking for.

Wooden spoons. Wooden spatulas. Even a wooden rolling pin.

I walked these all over and set them on the table behind the trussed up slave.

"I'm going to milk you now. I think...that you're going to hate it. We are several miles from the nearest neighbor so you go ahead and scream and squeal and beg, fuckpig," I said calmly, enjoying the look of terror in her eyes. "My milking method takes a long, long, time. We won't be filming our first time together for your son to see one day. No, today is just about us."

I reached behind the slave and selected a heavy wooden spoon. Hardwood. Unforgiving.

"I'm going to destroy you, Mrs. Miller. Completely. We are going to start tonight," I whispered, as I slowly ran the end of the spoon over her erect nipples. "I'm going to beat your tits with your own spoons. I'll beat them until they are empty. Dripping onto what used to be your kitchen floor. And then I'm going to continue to beat you until you cum from the pain."

I reached down to the seat of the chair and ran my hand between her legs. Lightly over her tight ass hole and then more forward to my newly purchased slave's snatch. It was literally dripping.

"Maybe this is why he arranged your disappearance. Why your ex-husband had you declared dead and then sold you and this house to me. This sick twisted craving you have to be used. You know that both your ex-husband and your son took only their clothes when they moved, right? They left everything else. The furniture. The pictures. Hell, they even left you."

As I rubbed her cunt steadily, I slipped my thumb into her ass. I was rewarded with the sight of heaving, milk dripping tits and the sound of a low animal keening coming from my bound sow. I stopped. She wasn't going to cum like this.

Pain free like a real woman.

No, now it was time to give the sow its first milking. The first intimacy between owner and slave is the most important. It sets the tone for the entire relationship. The slave is thinking, "Is this just an intense game? Is he just a softy at heart? Will he be a love struck cuck after he's cum into me?" It's important to watch the slave's face as it gets the, "Oh my god! He's not going to stop. I have lost all control of basic life functions. Will he stop before it's too late for me? Is this my life now?" messages from its shocked brain.

So delicious.

That's why it's important to deny yourself release during the initial training session. This wasn't about me or my desire to destroy this woman; piece by piece No this was all about her. Ensuring she knew that I had no compunction against taking things way too far. Pain would be my proof to her. Her pain.

The still raised wooden spoon landed on the top of her left breast with a resounding crack, quickly followed by an unearthly scream. It made my hard cock contract.

So I hit it again and again. In the same place. That would be be the first of uncountable injuries done to the body of my new slave. The first little piece of it's soul I chipped off like ice for my drink.

"Stop! Please stop! I'll do anything! Please!" she cried out loud as I worked her tits over with a fury that I was sure her ex-husband had never demonstrated.

Reaching down between her ass cheeks and finding a dripping slave pussy again, I sunk three fingers upwards into the quivering warmth, I was rewarded with a lustful low moan. Yep. Born slave whore.

"You don't get it. You can do nothing. But take the pain I give you. Accept it and beg for more. This is what you chose. Now give me everything. Spill it out onto your kitchen floor like an offering to your God."

The rolling pin was next. It shortly lost it's voice. Or it lost it's mind in the pain. Its well chewed teats were constantly giving milk and even sprayed in bursts after each strike of the heavy pin. Covered in sweat, its dark bangs were pasted to its forehead after almost an hour of unrelenting attacks on the milk bags developed so fully by the previous owner. It's hips never stopped thrusting. Searching in vain for something to rub it's whorish cunt on. Its clit throbbing. Desperate to cum.

After deeply bruising its udders, I set down the rolling pin and started using both hands to force the milk out of its tits.

With each downward stroke, I was rewarded with a low moan.

Pain? Pleasure? Desire? Who cares. I was having fun.

"Beg. Beg me," I said firmly, never stopping the firm hand milking. Digging in deep to make sure it was as painful as possible.

I started using both hands on one tit. They were much less full now. I estimated from the puddles on the floor that I'd beaten more than half of the milk out of it.

I had to be careful to avoid slipping.

I would reach up all the way to the top of her udder and grip it around with both hands and squeeze like I was trying to keep from falling off a cliff. Then I would work my way down squeezing and jerking. when I got near the end I would grab and just squeeze while milk poured out of her nipple and she arched her back and tensed every muscle in her body.

I enjoyed her silence. Her mouth opening and closing like a dying fish while she tried to scream with empty lungs.

When I finally released her tit, I immediately slapped her across the face.

Then I repeated my actions on the other udder.

Back and forth, over and over, again and again. I milked my new slave until her tits wouldn't give a single drop of milk. I was only a free man at this second because this house, my new home, was miles away from anyone that might have heard her screams. Eventually, she'd settle into her new existence and stop screaming. Either her body would learn it was a waste of her precious energy or her mind would be so lost in the pain and shame of her situation that it would just go basically catatonic when I started in on it. Her ex-husband was never that firm with her so she wasn't conditioned properly yet.

Poor thing still had hope that she could make me see her as a person. Silly slave pig.

I stepped in front of her and removed my t-shirt. Letting her see.

I wrapped the shirt around her head effectively blindfolding the slave as she gasped. I noticed that her hips still swiveled and bucked.

I stood and watched her. My new fuck slave. Shuddering and bucking like a mindless animal used as breeding stock.

I slapped her. Open handed. Just because I wanted to keep her in the right frame of mind. Just because you don't see the tiger, doesn't mean you are out of danger. Mrs. Miller was going to be in constant danger every second. For the rest of her life.

It also helped hide the fact that I was removing the rest of my clothing. I decided to fuck her. I know I said I wouldn't but, I needed something to cum into after all that work.

When I was fully nude, I straddled the chair behind her. My hard cock slotted between her straining ass cheeks. I felt her intake of breath as I grabbed her throat with my right hand and an empty abused tit with my left. Squeezing both I started to gently thrust upwards. It was an awkward position but I would make it work.

I shouldn't be fucking it this soon, but...fuck it... I wanted to cum. I was pleased with my new fuckbeast. I mean, I bought it to fuck it, didn't I.

There...it was responding to the lack of blood circulation to its brain. Or maybe the pain in its left teat. It moved its dripping wet slave cunt to catch my cock. Straining against its bonds, it caught the head of my cock in its cunt.

"You dirty, cheating, whore," I growled in its ear as I shoved my cock almost all the way to the base. I couldn't go any farther in this position, but it would do.

"Show me you're a good pig. Show me how you fucked all those men," I commanded. Tightening my grip on her neck. No sound came out of its throat this time, as its hips sped up their movement.

Time to make it pay. To show it what it earned with its shameful history of cheating. Eagerly giving over every hole in its body to men. Strangers.

Any woman that would degrade herself like that, even once, deserves exactly what this bitch was going to get.