Enslaved Cravings: A Scholar’s Brutal Yielding 💋
Internal links for easy navigation: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6
Chapter 1: Penthouse Confessions
Elena sprawled across the silk sheets in Victor’s penthouse, her olive skin glistening with sweat under the city lights filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows. Her full, heaving tits bore fresh welts from his belt, purple blooms against the curve of her hips. She was 25, raven-haired and voluptuous, every inch the eager submissive honed by years under Victor’s iron rule.
Victor, broad-shouldered and scarred from his military days, lounged beside her, his thick prick still semi-hard, slick from her throat. He’d just face-fucked her until tears streamed, her gags echoing off marble walls. Now, his callused hand idly twisted her pierced nipples, sending jolts straight to her dripping cunt.
“Harlan called,” he rumbled, voice gravelly like tires on gravel. “That college stud from the club party—name’s Kyle—wants another taste of your sloppy holes. And Harlan’s dangling one of his castoffs for your little interviews.”
Elena’s pulse quickened. Three months since she’d posed as arm candy at that elite bachelor club, servicing masked elites while spying on chained bitches like Slave 47. Kyle’s cock had haunted her wank sessions—long, veined, pumping her full while she feigned enslavement.
But Harlan’s price? Six months as his leased fuckmeat. No bullshit. Pierced septum for leading like livestock. A barcode inked above her swollen clit.
“What’s the catch, Victor?” she murmured, tracing his balls with painted nails, inhaling his musky aftermath.
He chuckled dark. “Catch is you. Twenty-five grand wired to you post-term. Interviews with his top whores—Slaves 1, 2, and the sold one. Kyle visits as guest. Full access to wreck you.”
Her clit throbbed at the thought—milked dry by machines, ass reamed by handlers, tits bound for endless torment. Thesis gold on neomasculine dominance, but fuck, the ache in her core screamed personal hunger.
Victor’s fingers plunged into her sopping slit, three at once, hooking her G-spot. “Decide later, slut. Suck me clean first.”
She dove, lips stretching around his girth, tongue lapping salty remnants. Gurgles filled the room as she deepthroated, nose buried in wiry pubes. He skull-fucked lazily, grunting release down her gullet. Swallowing greedily, she pondered the abyss.
Chapter 2: Lounge of Lust
The upscale lounge pulsed with bass, dim lights casting shadows over velvet booths. Elena arrived in a skintight red dress, no panties, her shaved mound rubbing fabric with every step. Kyle waited at the bar—26, blond crewcut, ripped from rowing crew, business heir eyeing med school detours.
He’d texted after Victor’s hookup. Dinner skipped straight to this den of whispers. “Elena,” he grinned, eyes devouring her cleavage. “Knew you’d come crawling.”
Champagne flowed, talk veered raw. Her thesis on alpha resurgence fascinated him—privileged prick awakening to pussy power plays.
“That club night,” he leaned in, breath hot on her neck. “You weren’t like the others. Real slave vibe, but free. Until now.”
She shivered, cunt weeping. Victor had spilled: her lease, the ring, the ink. “Six months bent over for Harlan. You game to visit?”
Kyle’s hand slid under her dress, fingers breaching her slick folds. “Lead me to your sorority pad. Or whatever subs call it.”
His off-campus loft screamed money—leather sofas, skyline views. Half a dozen bros lounged, beers cracking, porn flickering muted on the massive screen.
“Sit,” Kyle commanded, dropping onto the couch. “Floor, bitch. Bare my feet.”
Hearts hammered. She knelt graceful, eyes locked on his. Laces undone slow, shoe tugged free—earthy scent hitting her nostrils. Sock peeled, revealing arched sole, toes flexing.
Room hushed. Bros stared, chicks scowled. Elena’s tongue darted out, tracing heel to ball, salty tang exploding on tastebuds. She moaned, sucking big toe like a mini-cock, slurping wet.
“Fuckin’ hell,” a bro rasped. Pants tented everywhere.
Left foot next. Worship intensified—nibbles, licks along instep. Kyle’s bulge strained, pre-cum staining khakis. “Unzip me, whore.”
Her hands flew, freeing his throbbing meat—eight inches, purple head weeping. She engulfed, throat bulging, gag reflex crushed by training. Bros whooped as she bobbed ferocious, saliva ropes dripping chin to tits.
Kyle gripped hair, slamming hips. “Swallow it all!” Balls tightened, hot jets blasting her tonsils. She held open, cum pooling pearl-white, then gulped theatrical, tongue lolling proof.
Chaos erupted—one chick dropped to knees, mimicking. Elena cleaned Kyle meticulous, nursing softness to twitch.
Bedroom haze later, nude bodies tangled. “Your Victor primed you good,” he panted, cock stirring under her palm’s glide.
“Trained every hole. Ready for Harlan’s hell.” Lube slicked, her fist pumped steady—Victor’s mantra echoing: hands always serve.
“Visit me chained?” she purred.
“I’ll ruin you.” Eyes darkened. Passion reignited.
Chapter 3: Advisor’s Bargain 🔥
Professor Lang’s office reeked of old books, stale coffee. Elena perched opposite, legs crossed, skirt hiking to tease lace thong. Mid-50s, paunchy but hung—campus legend for grade-gobbling coeds.
“Neomasculinism thesis? Ballsy,” he smirked, gaze lingering on her D-cups. “But sources thin. One farm slut won’t cut it.”
“Secured three more. Plus immersion—six months enslaved firsthand.”
Brows shot up. “Immersion? Like, collared and caned?”
“Exact. Harlan’s estate. Safe-ish. Eyewitness trumps theory.”
He leaned back, tenting slacks. “Approve sabbatical. But convince me deeper.” Nod to crotch.
Elena slid under desk, zipper rasping. His fat prick sprang free, veiny monster. She inhaled rank musk, lips parting wide. Tongue swirled glans, savoring pre-cum bitterness.
“Good girl,” he groaned, thrusting. Desk shook as she throated, cheeks hollowing. Gags wet, drool puddling floor. His balls slapped chin rhythmically.
Flashback hit mid-suck: Victor’s “test night.” Bound spread-eagle, he’d whipped her ass raw—welted crimson—then fisted her cunt to squirting oblivion. “Endure Harlan, slut?” Cane stung tits next. Orgasms amid agony sealed her yes.
Lang erupted, flooding mouth. She milked dry, emerging lipstick-smeared. “Approved. Publish that shit—scandal sells.”
Decision crystallized. Victor wired acceptance. Harlan replied instant: report date set, summer dawn.
Pre-lease frenzy: solo wanks picturing chains, new scene with Good Girl sisters. Jealous barbs flew—”Stealing Victor’s favor?”—devolved to strap-on daisy chain, asses plugged, cunts grinded till all wept ecstasy.
Chapter 4: Marked for Misery
Harlan’s remote estate sprawled—acres of pens, barns reeking manure and pussy juice. Elena arrived dawn, Victor’s kiss lingering salty. Stripped naked in intake shed, shivering gooseflesh under handlers’ leer.
Harlan loomed—silver fox, 50s, entrepreneur kingpin owning dozens. “Septum first, cunt.”
Needle pierced cartilage—white-hot agony. Blood trickled warm. Ring locked: thick gauge for halter leads.
Tattoo next. Strapped prone, laser buzzed mound. “Slave 69” in bold script arched clit—permanent brand. Tears streamed, cunt betraying with clench.
“Mount up.” U-shaped rack in barn. Neck, wrists, ankles locked. Ass high, holes exposed. Crowd gathered—handlers, guests, herd sisters lowing softly.
First duty: milking. Suction cups latched tits, pumps whirring. Nipples stretched brutal, milkless but aching ecstasy. Cunt lips spread by speculum, probed for “readiness.”
New torment: pony training. Halter-snapped, bit gagged, she crawled circuit. Crop lashed flanks—fire lines blooming. Sweat poured, muscles screamed, pussy drooling trail.
Nightfall: gang feed. Five pricks rotated—throats raw, ass gaping fire. Cum bubbled frothy from every orifice. Harlan watched, stroking. “Interview tomorrow, 69. Earn it.”
Dawn haze, chained beside Slave 1—blonde milf, vacant eyes. “Master breaks wills,” she rasped. “Mine snapped year one. Bliss.”
Slave 2, ebony vixen: “Whippings daily. Crave cane’s kiss.” Details poured—thesis fodder amid bruises.
Sold slave interview via video: urban pet, collared domestic. “Traded like meat. Deeper now.”
Exhaustion claimed, body thrumming pain-pleasure symphony.
Chapter 5: Guest’s Ravaging
Week three, Kyle arrived. Harlan greeted: “Use her raw, boy. Guest rights.”
Elena milked mid-barn, tits yanked taut, moans muffled ring. Kyle sauntered, prick hardening. “Slut.”
Rack freed, she crawled to boots, tongue bathing leather filth. “Missed your cock, Sir.”
He unzipped, piss stream first—golden arc hitting ringed nostrils. She gulped frantic, choking tangy flood. “Drink, pig.”
Ass mounted next. No lube—dry ream splitting sphincters. She howled, walls tearing bliss-pain. Kyle pounded merciless, balls slapping clit-ring.
“Thesis bitch turned hole-meat.” Fists hair-yanked, face to floor. Crop from Harlan: lashes cross back.
Climax built—assquake milking his shaft. He pulled, nutted ropes across welted cheeks. “Clean.” Tongue scooped, swallowing bitter globs.
Interlude talk, chained lap-dog. “Love it?” he probed.
“Slave don’t opine. Holes obey.” But eyes begged more.
Group scene erupted—handlers queued. Kyle directed: double pent, cunt-ass stuffed simultaneous. Gapes stretched obscene, squelch symphony. Cum bukkake finale, face glazed porn-star.
New low: kennel overnight. Padded cell, plug-vibed both ends. Orgasms denied edging, whimpers endless. Kyle peeked dawn: “Broken good.”
Months blurred—whippings to blood, fisting to wrist-deep, breed parties faking insem. Interviews wove: raw data of surrender.
Chapter 6: Fractured Freedom
Term’s end scorched summer sun. Elena—Slave 69—no, Elena—released ringless save ink and scars. $25k fattened account. Harlan smirked: “Buy-back offers doubled. Think.”
Victor’s limo idled. Reunion fuck frenzied—his cock reamed tattoo-visioned mound. “Proud, whore.”
Thesis soared—published scandal, advisor’s blurb gushing. Kyle lingered, visits post-release rawer, hints of collar permanence.
Nights alone, fingers traced “69,” cunt clenching memory. Alpha mystique? Her soul’s scream: more chain, less choice.
Kyle’s text glowed: “Dinner. Then my cage?” She typed yes, knees weakening. Descent eternal. 🔥
