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NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 07 Mar 2005 19:56:14 -0600
From: Arnold Smith <Nowhere@at.all>
Date: Mon, 07 Mar 2005 20:56:13 -0500
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.bondage,alt.sex.stories.incest,alt.stories.incest
Subject: Bitch-Slave Daughter - M/f, BDSM, INCEST
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===================
It was bad enough Destiny had to return home, broke and jobless. But her strict
father had become far worse since she'd left, and was now heavily into bondage
and discipline. And he thought his loser daughter would make a perfect subject.
Destiny moaned more loudly now, with no one to hear her, and raised her head,
staring up at the ceiling, at her wrists, then down the long - long length of her body
which hung below.
It a was very strange feeling. Her chest was heaving, and she was flushed and
exhausted from the immense climax she had just experienced, one more powerful
and extended than anything she'd ever felt before. And now, shockingly, excitingly,
she hung by her wrists. She was actually hanging naked from her wrists! For her
thong had dropped off her ankles as she'd been raised off the floor.
Her legs seemed like dead weight, far, far below, just hanging there limp and
useless. Her arms ached, her wrists burned, and her shoulders throbbed and
strained.
It took her some minutes to calm down, for her body to cool down, for the tired
languor which the orgasm produced to wear off and leave her - aching. Her
scattered wits fit themselves slowly back together and she could think almost
clearly. Almost. Her body continued to thrum with a low sexual heat as she hung
there, twisting very slowly on the chain, and she began to wonder what more her
father would do to her.
Her insides ached from the harsh thrusting of the whip handle, and she quivered,
wondering when he would substitute his cock, when he would rape her. She felt a
trembling run through her body at the thought, anticipation mixed with wretched
heat.
It figured he would be into this kind of thing, she thought, arrogant, cruel
disciplinarian that he was.
God! She was hanging naked by her wrists! And he had whipped her! God! It was
unbelievable!
She lifted one foot, then the other, twisting slowly like a fish on a line. How long
was he going to leave her like this? She looked at herself in the mirror and felt a
swelling pride, a sexual arrogance. She looked so fucking hot! Why had she never
gotten into this before? The idea had always intrigued her, always excited her.
She'd just never found a man she would trust to tie her up and - and have his way
with her. At least, not one who was interested in doing anything more inventive than
sinking his cock into her.
She looked down at her breast and felt a little ripple of shock as she noted the teeth
marks which framed her nipple, a nipple which still throbbed hotly, rigid with
excitement.
Should she call out to him, yell, scream? The idea of screaming aroused her, for
some reason. But no, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. And if she did he
would probably just come down and - and whip her - again.
He had whipped her! Whipped her! She was still amazed.
And an hour later it was still somewhat amazing, but she was so exhausted it didn't
seem to matter as much. Her arms and wrists were numb, and her shoulder burned
like fire.
"Daddy!" she called out loud. "Daddy!"
She raised her voice, crying out as loud as she could. "Daddy! Daddy! Let me
down!"
But an hour later she still hung there alone, moaning, panting, dripping sweat,
breathing in very short, very shallow gasps.
And finally there he was, standing before her. No, now sitting, for he'd drawn up a
chair and sat leisurely back in it to look at her.
"L-Let me down," she moaned.
"I don't know why I didn't think of it before," he said. "You obviously can't look
after yourself. You're not good for anything. You need to be looked after. And why
should anyone bother to do that, especially when you're such a sulky, bad-
tempered little bitch? I bet you've had plenty of boyfriends who have dumped you,
pretty ass or not, unable to stand you any longer."
That was true, but it angered her to hear it.
"Let me doooown," she groaned.
"How are you in the sack?" he asked.
Exhausted or not, hanging naked or not, it seemed incredible to her he had asked
that, her own father. She stared at him in disbelief.
"Well? Are you any good? Or do you need to be taught how to please a man,
sexually."
"N-None of your b-business," she panted. And then a sneer. "I bet you want to find
out."
He stroked his chin with his hand. "No matter. You can be taught. You have the
right equipment and a very pretty face."
"I-Is daddy going to teach his little girl?" she panted in a taunting little girl voice.
"Oh I'm going to teach you a thing or two, girl," he said, his voice and expression
hardening. "I'm going to teach you enough that someone will want you around, even
if they keep you in a cage."
She blinked, startled at the words as he stood up and moved to stand next to her.
He combed his fingers through her hair and she tried to jerk her head away, but
then he closed them and jerked her head up and back tightly and she gasped and
shuddered.
"You're fucking useless for almost anything," he said. "And you have no desire to
learn. But men will pay for a body and face like yours."
"Y-You think you c-can make me a prostitute!" she gasped.
"Oh no. Even that requires work. No, I'm thinking of something much older, and
much safer. Believe it or not, daughter, I have no desire to see you become a drug
addicted, disease infested, old before your time whore walking a street corner."
He leaned in further, his lips next to her ear. "I will make you a slave."
Slave. The word shocked her. It rang through her mind and made her body spasm
weakly. Slave? Slave!? He was crazy! Insane! She almost laughed, would have
except she was so exhausted. A slave!? What a freak he was!
"A slave has only to obey," he said. "She does not need to think at all. She is given
very simple tasks, usually involving pleasuring men and women with her body. I
wager you can learn to do that easily enough."
"You think I'm going to be your sex slave?" she demanded, laughing weakly.
"Not mine. No. After you're trained I will find you a decent master, a man with
money and means who will keep you properly safe."
"Y-you're c-c-crazy," she panted.
"Think about it, you little slut," he growled, twisting his fingers in her hair until she
cried out. "Your master will do everything, all the thinking, all the effort. All you'll
need to do is look pretty and perform sexually. Hell, if I find one of those Arab
princes to buy you you can sit around his harem, swimming and watching TV.
Sounds like just the life for you."
He released her hair and she looked sullenly at him.
"It's all you're good for anyway," he said.
She tried to look defiant, but his words struck her deep. She knew she was useless,
knew she had no skills, no learning, and no drive or motivation. Her friends had
often made fun of her in that way. Her teachers had despaired of it long ago. She
was good for nothing, she thought bitterly. He was right. She could be some rich
man's fuck toy and that was about it.
"Fuck you," she said, eyes fluttering to fight back tears.
A harsh hand cracked across her cheek, flinging her head back and setting her ear
ringing and her body swinging. She moaned and worked her cheek.
"Discipline is what you need," he said.
"Fine," she said dully; hopeless, miserable, uncaring. "Do whatever you fucking
want. Kill me if you want to."
Now tears did start to fill her eyes.
"I have no intention of causing you harm," he said. "I am not an uncaring brute. I
want only what is best for you. And this would appear to be the best of a very few
choices left to you."
"So I'll be a fucking sex slave," she said dully. "Sure. Why not."
Another slap to her face, this time the other cheek, and she cried out, twisting
weakly on the end of the chain.
"You think you're capable of being a sex slave right now? You think any wealthy
man would pay much for you the way you are? You're sadly mistaken, girl. You
aren't good enough to be a slave yet. But you will be. The training isn't pleasant,
but for once in your life it is training you will absorb fully and completely. For pain is
a marvellous teacher."
"Then do it!" she cried, tears dropping onto her chest now. "Go ahead! Make me a
sex slave! Sell me to a fucking Arab!
Anger leant her strength, and she glowered at him furiously. "Do it!" she snarled.
"Do it!"
He nodded slowly, and they stared at each other.
"From this day on you have no father," he said, and the words struck her deep
inside, a part of her she hadn't even known she had. She felt oddly numbed by
them, stricken.
"You will never again address me as dad or daddy or father. I am not your father
and you are no daughter of mine. Do you understand me?" he demanded, his voice
hard and cruel.
She dropped her eyes, feeling a strange sense of finality, wanting to change it, but
wondering why. God knew he had never been much of a father to her, never been
the kind to hug or hold her or show any sign of affection. Why should she miss him,
miss having a father, when she'd never really had one at all? And she felt a sense of
anger over that, and defiance, though her mind was spinning.
Another slap rang her ear, brought the taste of blood to her mouth as she groaned
in pain.
"Did you understand me?" he snarled.
"Yes!" she shouted, more tears spilling from her eyes, tears of anger and
resentment.
"Henceforth you will address me as master. You will obey orders, and you will
respond to instructions promptly. You will not speak - ever - for any reason, unless
you are giving permission. Is that understood?"
She nodded her head weakly, then cried out at another slap which sent her head
spinning to one side, and her body following.
"When you are addressed you will respond with `yes, master' or `no, master'. Is
that clear?"
"Y-yes... m-master," she groaned.
"You have no father. You are an orphan. Now I take your name from you, as well.
Destiny was the name of someone I once had hopes for, once thought might amount
to something. It is clearly not the name for a spineless, weak, nothing like you.
Perhaps some day you will earn a name from whomever buys you. For now you
are simply a slave, a nameless slave."
Again the words struck something inside her, and again she felt a flood of moisture
to her eyes, felt tears spilling down onto her naked chest. It was so unfair, so
horribly unfair! And yet did she really deserve better? Wasn't he right? Hadn't she
wasted herself on nothing all these years? Little wonder he thought she was a
completely failure. She thought she was a miserable failure, herself.
"You have no father. You have no name. And you have no body. A slave owns
nothing. A slave has no choices to make, no decisions to make. A slave does
exactly as she is told. And a slave's body belongs to her master. She has no more
say in its use than a dog or a cow or a horse does. Their owners make those
decisions."
He ran a hand lightly up her body, circling her nipple.
"A dog might be shaved, might have ridiculous bits of clothe fitted to it, might be
muzzled or neutered. It has no say in any of it. It will be washed when its master
says. It will be allowed to go to the bathroom when its master decides. If its master
chooses to breed the dog, then that will be done, as well."
He yanked on her hair and she screamed as her head was pulled straight back.
"Do you understand, slave?" he demanded. "Do you understand that all choices, all
decisions are removed from you? You have no body. This flesh belongs to me to
do with as I choose, and it will then belong to someone else, whomever I give or
sell you to."
He released her hair and she moaned weakly, her body swaying as he walked away
from her, over to the wall. He turned the crank, and her body began to lower, her
trembling toes finally finding purchase, then the balls of her feet at last, then her
entire feet, heels pressing on the cool, but ever so welcome stone. The tension and
pressure was finally released from her wrists and arms and shoulders, and she
groaned with relief.
Her father was there again, and he ran his big hands up her belly, up her chest
beneath her breasts, lifting them and squeezing them softly.
"Who do owns these tits?" he demanded.
Blinking, panting, Destiny stared at his hands on her breasts, then up at him.
"I asked a question, slave. When a slave is asked a question, a slave answers or is
punished."
"I-I - you?" she gulped, a little dazed.
He squeezed his fingers more tightly and she gasped in pain.
"You master," he growled.
"You, master!"
He released her breasts, then caught her nipples, still swollen and rigid, despite her
exhaustion and unhappiness. One was moist with a tear which had trickled across it.
He pinched his fingers against them and twisted, pulling, stretching them up and
forward so that Destiny was forced, gasping and whimpering, onto her toes.
"Who owns these nipples, slave?"
"You, master!" she gasped.
He released them, and his right hand slid between her thighs, cupping and palming
her sex.
"Who owns this pussy, slave?"
"Y-You, master!" she gulped.
He moved slowly around behind her, his fingers tracing her ribs, then the length of
her spine, and then opening wide to grasp her soft bottom and squeeze her
buttocks.
"Who owns this ass, slave girl?"
"Y-you do, master," Destiny moaned.
Around in front of her again, his fingers running over her throat, tracing her lips, then
sliding inside, two of them, so that her tongue drew back.
"Who owns this mouth, slave?" he said in a low, intense voice.
"You do - master," she replied, her lips having difficulty around his fingers, her
tongue moving awkwardly.
"Lick, slave," he said, eyes boring into her.
Her tongue licked at his fingers as her eyes blinked and fluttered.
"Suck, slave," he said starkly.
Her stomach twisted, and she closed her lips, sucking on her father's fingers, two of
them, sliding slowly in and out, in and out, in and out as she sucked and licked.
Then he eased them back, moving around her, the fingers of his other hand tracing
her ribs again, moving up and down her spine.
And then a warm, wet finger pushed against her rectum, and her eyes went wide as
she felt it rub lightly, then prod at her, dipping just within, pulling out, then pushing
up into her. She gasped as a long finger pushed and squirmed up into her rectum,
her face heating.
"Who owns this tight little hole, slave?"
She gulped and swallowed anxiously. "Y-You do, M-Master."
His finger pushed deeper, all the way to the knuckle, twisting from side to side,
pushing against her insides as she squirmed helplessly, uncomfortable in both mind
and body. None of her lovers had ever spent much time exploring that particular
region of her anatomy, and it felt very strange that a man who was once her father
was doing so.
The finger pulled out, and his big hands grasped her hips, drawing her backwards,
forcing her feet to shuffle along the stone. But her wrists were held, and she was
thus forced to rise, and as he spread her legs, to rise onto the balls of her feet. Her
heart beat more quickly, her pulse racing as he pulled her bottom out back towards
him and ordered her to stay that way.
Then she felt the pressure against her anal opening again, felt it with a slack jaw at
first, a sense of unreality, of disbelief, of disgust, and then anger. But there was
something else there, as well, a dark sense of hunger and excitement as she felt
what surely had to be her ex-father's spongy warm cock-head prodding at her
anus, slowly pushing into her, forcing her wrinkled little opening to spread wide
around it.
"Oh!" she gasped. "I-I - you - ."
His lips were at her ear, his voice hot, his voice hard. "A slave does not speak
unless invited to do so!" he growled.
And his cock thrust hard, lurching up deeper, so that she felt impaled, gasping and
moaning as it drove higher and then still higher, working back and forth, his hips
twisting from side to side. He drew back a little ways, and put his hand beneath her
mouth.
"Spit," he ordered.
Dazed by the order, gasping, she didn't react until he yanked harshly on her hair
and repeated the order. Then she spit into his hand and it disappeared. His cock
drew back, then thrust up into her again, more slippery now, moving more easily.
She had only been sodomized once, when very drunk, and could remember little of
the experience. She gasped and moaned and winced anxiously as her father's cock
drove achingly high into her belly, causing cramps to ripple through her.
He drew back, and then thrust up, and then back again, and another thrust. He
began to work himself in and out, pumping, thrusting - fucking her. Fucking her.
Fucking her ass, she thought dazedly. Her own father was fucking her in the ass!
No, not her father. Not any more. He had said so, hadn't he? He had - had
disowned her. Told her she was no daughter of his. He was not her father now, just
her - jailer, her master, and tears filled her eyes again at the depths to which she had
fallen as his cock worked in and out with growing ease, battering her anal muscles
down. She felt a swelling sense of anguish, of misery, and then of anger and
defiance to drown them out. Well fuck him! Let him do his worst!
It didn't hurt too badly, though, not too badly, not physically. His hips began to slap
into her bottom now, for he had opened her enough to take the whole length of his
long shaft. She'd never seen her father's cock before, but it felt immensely long and
terribly thick as it moved up and down in her gut.
"Move your ass back, slut," he ordered, yanking on her hair.
She gasped in pain, and at the shock of the word, so casually used on her, and by
her own father, or ex-father. But she obeyed, grunting more loudly now as she
pushed her bottom back to meet his thrusts. He was thrusting harder, too, his cock
spiking up hard and fast, rutting into her, his hips striking so heavily against her
perfect buttocks that they were getting pink and sore, wobbling and shacking under
each impact. Her entire body was jarred and shaken by his powerful hips each time
he drove his cock up into her soft, snug, moist belly, and she could only gasp and
grunt and hiss stroke by stroke by stroke.
Her breasts wobbled and shook with the force of her movements, and he continued
to yank back on her hair again and again, and slap at her bottom to urge her to
faster movement.
"You can do better than that, you little whore. Shove your ass back onto my cock.
Squeeze your ass down around it as it pulls out. Open up to let it in. Are you
brainless? Don't you know how to milk a cock, you ignorant little bitch?"
Her ankles hurt, for she had to stay high on the balls of her feet, and her bottom
was starting to feel bruised and sore as his hips kept hammering against it. She was
numb inside where his cock pumped and pistoned, and her breasts were starting to
ache from wobbling and jerking.
"Squeeze, slut!" he ordered, slapping at her bottom as he pulled his cock back.
There was something horribly primitive about it, something raw and carnal about the
hard, steady thrusting of that big male cock up into her belly, about the hard,
bruising impact against her buttocks and his hot breath in her ear.
Her head was drawn back as he continued to hold onto her hair, continued to pull
on it as he thrust up and forward with his cock
"Whore," he panted. "This is all you're good for. And you're not even good at that
yet. But you'll be taught," he said, his voice harsh and breathless. "You'll learn how
to use this slut body properly."
And with that he thrust even harder and faster, and then drove himself into her to
the hilt, ignoring her shuddering moans as he impaled her, as his cock fountained
inside her belly, spewing wad after wad deep into her bowels, exploding with hot,
white liquid heat until he could slowly relax, loosen his death's hold on her hair and
ease his softening prick back down out of the warm confines of her sucking rectum.
He sighed as he pulled back a bit, looking down at her anal opening, noting that it
remained open, the muscles so battered that they needed time to recover. He had
always come like a gushing fountain, and now as she began to slowly close he saw
his semen begin to slowly appear, to trickle out of her before she could fully close.
"It took too long for your ass to accommodate my cock, slave," he said. "Your
master should not be forced to wait on the needs of your slut body. You will wear a
butt plug so you'll get used taking cocks up there more easily."
"Yes, master," she said dully.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
From the ebook The Art of Pain - by Argus. Argus novels have been published by
Nexus, Olympia, Beeline, Silver Moon, Star, and Chimera. His ebooks can be
downloaded at <http://www.ebookblue.com>
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