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Abda woke up the next morning feeling woozy.
For the first minute her head spun. Her head pounded, as if violated, as if someone had shoved a steel spike through it. Then the events of the night before came rushing back to her. She couldn’t believe what a whore she had made of herself. A few measly orgasms and she was ready to move in with him completely. She held her head in her hands, partly in shame, partly in desperation, and then realized for the first time that she was actually naked now.
The night before she had been bound, and dressed, though her clothes had been lifted to grant access. Now, everything had been removed. She was no longer bound. Her movements freed. She could escape! She looked around the room for a way out.
However the only door was made heavy wooden oak, reinforced with iron bolts. Escape through that way, was impossible. Then she looked up at the window. Too small.
Then something else came back to her, insignificant at first but seeming more odd, then more and more significant as it was examined and turned over in her mind, like a tiny detail of a half remembered dream which turned out to be the main link that dictated everything that followed.
There was something wrong about all that had happened, she gave in too easily, took too much pleasure, wanted it too badly. As a psychology student she new everyone had several voices in their head going at once but usually only one was really heard, the one that acted upon decisions and cast the deciding votes. But the others were always there. The others were always chattering away: her mother’s voice soothing, her father’s degrading, her inner child scared, and then… Something else. A voice that was out of place. Oh yes, it sounded like one of her inner voices, it sounded like herself, but the phraseology was off, the structure of the sentences, the amount of dominance and arguing and controlling it did, the amount the other voices argued against it. It had started so quiet and had gotten more powerful so gradually that she hadn’t noticed. The whole persona of it was wrong. They were brilliant forgeries but, definite forgeries nonetheless
Then she realised what it was. HE WAS TELEPATHICLY CONTROLLING HER SOME HOW. No wonder the inner struggle had raged within her the night before. No wonder the inner voices argued with her when she said to herself she finally felt like she was home!
She hadn’t enjoyed it – yes she had- she had only thought she had enjoyed it – no really it was so good. She’d never orgasmed like that before. She cried out, ‘STOP IT!’ and slammed her palms into her temples trying to block the voices out. She knew now. There were more than one. All pretending to be her, all arguing with her own voices, trying to take control of her mind
She then heard a noise and realised that what she heard were keys rattling in the keyhole of the door. She jumped to her knees, in order to beg her captor to release her. However, her pleas fell on deaf ears as a man strode in, tall and powerful, bald, with dark, evil eyes and a horrible evil face that was full of malice.
He said to her, speaking over her pleas, in a deep and domineering voice which overrode hers without ever rising: ‘My name is Imhotep.’ -you love him, you worship him- ‘I will give you one chance to escape.’
He expanded to fill the room, like some sort of giant bat spreading its wings, creating a spider web like a lattice across the room, more importantly, across the door which formed itself into a stone and marble pillar system identical to the standard police cell bars, except for being made of sterner natural materials. Then her face appeared in the middle, and Imhotep said, ‘If you can get out of here in the next 10 minutes, no one will stop you from trying to leave.’
The vices grew louder: -There’s nowhere to go, stay here, I being here, I need to be here, I’m naked! Where would I go like this? I’m his. He’s so good in bed’.-
She rushed at the stonewall hoping it was an illusion but, surely enough, it was completely real. It was as strong and solid as a real stone would be and more than a match for the naked woman. She did everything, she even tried to squeeze through the bars. It didn’t work. After the 10 minutes had concluded, she was thrown back against the far wall and landed on a pile of hay. Imhotep shrank back down into a human form and said, ‘You have failed. Therefore, you belonged to me now.’
The magic he had made her his servant, as her body now answered to his commands before it did to hers. He was higher in the chain of command now. She was made his willing servant by the ever increasing chatter of voices telling her she wanted to do whatever he said. From that point onwards, she would do anything he told her to do. She knew a human responded to authority. She knew all about the obedience to authority experiment conducted by Milgram.[1]
Suddenly an instinct came to her from outside her body, a foreign desire. She paused for a moment and then realised it was some sort of psychic command.
From him. This was far more powerful and more subtle than the others. Clearly they were working for him, but had nowhere near the skill he did. -No ones trying to control you, you just want him-
She had an overwhelming desire to… Give him a blow job. The urge was so strong that she found she could not fight, nor resist it. She tried. She struggled. But one foot stepped in front of the other. She commanded it back. Commanded herself to halt. She commanded the corrupt foot to heel. But was the other foot which heeled. To the first.
Then it stepped beyond it. She was losing the fight. Without any commands from her own mind, her legs began moving her towards Imhotep at a steady speed. -no ones making you do this, you want to, you just cant admitted it to yourself, like horney women who blame the booze the next morning.-
When she arrived, her legs buckled under her weight and she was forced to her knees by this instinctive desire. And the dozen tentacles that sprouted from his hips and grabbed her head.
She found herself face to face with his crotch. Before she knew what was happening she also found her hand moving to his crotch all by itself. Once it reached its desire, it began pulling out the largest cock she had ever seen. The voices were cheering, egging her on, telling her how delicious it was.
Her restraint and self control was slipping. It was true some dark, primordial instinct, wanted it, the same instinct which dictated lust and desire and passion. But she was a fully grown woman, not some silly school girl with a crush. However, it was this tiny instinct that that the voices fed up, nurtured, expanded and forced to grow, until it consumed her. -you want it. come on, admit it, you need it-
It was so long and thick that even her admittedly large hands, which had disturbed many self assured men, didn’t cover half its length. Even her admittedly large hands, which had scared many over cocky men, couldn’t touch thumb to fingertip around its girth at the base, though holding it in her hands was quite possibly the greatest sensation she had ever felt: the texture, the feel, the warmth, the gentle throbbing of his pulse and the odd feeling of a deliberately hard and rubber stick.
No, that was Imhotep talking (- so nice-)
she had to fight (- so soft yet hard, like a rubber bat- )
she had to resist- so wonderful and pleasurable to touch, never let it go-
The way it gave and yet it was steely in its strength and firmness, like one of those foamed bats psychologists give patients bats made of steel or wood but wrapped in foam so they can beat each other silly with no ill effect in anger
displacement therapy.
No, that’s not her voice, she was sure of it. It knows all she knew, but it was not her voice!
The weight in her hand (-no…. must resist-.)
It felt as if it had been built specifically for her hand and
her hand had been built specifically for it. So good. (- no stop it -)
There was something in her head. Something that sounded like her, too quiet and weak to make out. Three voices. One hers, One Imhotep, and the third the mass of his manipulating minions. Which one was hers again?
It became harder to tell as lust filled her, seeded from her own deepest recess, fuelled by him and encouraged and built upon by them.
(-No ones controlling you-)
(-It is quite nice-)
(-God, I want it in my mouth-)
She began to stroke it, pumping it in her first. It was the best feeling in the world. Better then holding silk, better then stroking a kitten, better then the time she had held a bird in her hand.
Then she had the overwhelming desire to put it in her mouth. All there voices demanded it, as a fourth began to chip in, the fourth being the last reminisce of her self control and mind, now separated from her primal desires.
She gave into the there loud voices (-no!-) did her best to take the tip (-stop it!-) sticking her tongue out of provide more room in her mouth (-its too big!-) but even this was a challenge.
(-its too dammed big!-) Yet all she could think of doing was running it deeper down her throat
(-No…Don’t…-)
(-Yes more-)
(-Come on! More!-)
She did her best to serve him and suck as hard as she could, making allowances, making her cheeks hollow, all three louder voices loving the noises, like somebody in Wellingtons walking through an incredibly muddy field
(-Feel so week…so …weak…where? Where am I?-)
(-So good!-)
(-I feel so strong at achieving this much-)
She choked as she slowly began to take more and more. She started pressing against her throat and try to swallow it down- why is my throat giving so easily. What’s wrong with the muscles…? It’s like that time I had a gastric endoscopy exam… The camera slipped down so easily after the general antithetic spray… Horrible flavour of artificial bananas…
(-No! Concentrate! Fight!-)
(-No! Concentrate! Don’t fight it! -)
(-No! concentrate! swallow it down!-)
After about an hour or so, she had managed to take the whole length in her throat, stroking it, engaging as she did so, tears pouring out of her eyes, making what was left of her mascara smudge and run down her face.
Desperation filled her. Desperation to … to… (-Stop! Please let me stop! -) To finish. Yes, that was it. After all, anal sex may feel different from vaginal (- Very! -) but still builds and releases sexual tension,-true- which is what and orgasm is (- also true-) so -why shouldn’t this make me orgasm (- because your he’s choking me.-)
After all she was (-not-) enjoying her, as her tongue, forced out of her mouth by his girth, touched his balls. And they (- didn’t-) taste good!
Her voice was re-emerging, her mind regaining control of the lustful brain and her senses, as oxygen left her brain from the gag reflex. But it wasn’t enough. She was still in his power. If he decided to kill her by making her suffocate herself on it, then she would die doing so.
She continued to serve him, sucking as hard as she could, for over an hour, slowly learning to accept every inch into her throat without choking on it. Even when she couldn’t breathe, it was still the greatest feeling on earth, the most pleasurable thing to do, the only thing she wanted to do.
Finally she’s given her reward, what she had been (- forced into. Got to remember forced into. Didn’t want to (- been working towards all this time. He ejaculated (-Ew.-
Hard.
(-Ew ew ew spit it out spit it out- she wanted to begin swallowing straight away
– ew ew ew, no please let me spit!-
-No swallow it down-
-swallow it quick, gota’ get it outa my mouth-
She couldn’t believe the load he gave. First it filled the deepest recesses of her throat. Then it began to back up. The only thing she could think of was the ‘mini sick’ caught in her throat before her mouth, making her swallow it all down. However, it continued to back up, filling her mouth and spilling out. A final pumping of his testicles released a thick, heavy, creamy load which, having nowhere else to go, exploded up her nasal cavity and out of her nose, like the foam of an overly fizzy drink.
Her voice grew into a whispered shout as she thought: ‘Is he shitting me with this!’
Blackness engulfed her. ‘Thank god’ she thought, ‘ I’m going to pass out. Maybe drown. I don’t know whether I want to die or not …I think I’d rather die than (-‘
‘You’re not going to drown or die. If I have to force you to clear the load yourself, your going to swallow it all.’ Said Imhotep.
At that point, all she could think of was swallowing. And she did. It took eight mighty gulps to get rid of most of it, and another three swallows to finish up. Plus, a hard snort trying to clear a winters snotty nose and another swallow (- Oh god! EW!-)
She licked her lips clean, and (-desperate to spit! Spit it all off! Spit it all out!-) then began to clean him with her mouth, swarming every last drop of saliva and come she could get.
She wanted to (- bite the fucking thing off, you bastard!!-) please him.
She had been feeling very hungry for over an hour, but the great weight and girth of the loads he had just given her weighed her down, filled her stomach, expanded it open, since hunger was controlled by expansion (or lack there of) of the stomach
She knew she would be hungry again another hour or so, like eating Chinese food, once her insides had had the chance to process through the liquid but, for now, in that moment. she couldn’t have eaten a thing.
She knew then that she (-had to try to stop him- ) couldn’t even contemplate defying him because he controlled her every thought, feeling and instinct, desire, orgasm, he could probably even override the controls of her body, if he needed to.
As if to prove the point, he did. Causing a monumental orgasm.
she knew he would never have to control her body, given the level of control he had over her mind and desires.
Imhotep suddenly hit her with a bolt of lightning, which fizzled and crackled, swelling in the air as it made its way over to her. As soon as it hit her, it began to transform her, into different things. All variations of half woman and half horse.
Her bones ached and her skin ripped over and over, resealing, re-healing. Finally, she became an eight foot tall half woman, with all human sex attributes, including breasts and human configured vagina, as opposed to a horse- thankful for small mercies- but with the musculature of a horse. And the hooves to match. As well as heavily swollen and engorged breasts
Then she was returned to human form. He said ‘ From now on you’ll be obliged to take any form I wish you to.’
(- NO! -) ‘Yes master.’
‘You’ll be able to take any form I choose for you, in order to fulfil the tasks that I have for you.’
(- PERVERT!-) ‘Yes master.’
‘ You will be joined to a small group. Marital Monday’s orgasm day and you will do so, hard, repeatedly and extensively- least I get something out of this- You will find that you lactate. A lot. A milk maid will come on Monday to make you milk and to milk you.’
‘Beyond that, you’re as free as you can be within the restrictions of my will. You will do anything at all (-I’m starting to figure that out-) including raping any woman. (-You sick bastard.-)
One of the tendrils slapped her to the floor for that. Then he continued. ‘If I tell you to rape your own family you’ll do it. And I may just do that. (-You sick BASTARD!-)
He formed himself of tendrils and tentacles at that, and whipped her ass. Twice. She winced in pain, but couldn’t raise her hands to her buttocks as her instincts told her to until he allowed her to do so.
‘Yes master.’
(- Wait … did I say that, or did he make me say it? -)
‘First we shall brand you.’
(-I’ll FUCKING KILL YOU!-) ‘Yes master, please brand me, show everybody in the world and that I belong to you now.’ (- Ok that’s defiantly all him. But what was that before. Is it possible he’s breaking my will? Hope it was just a slip.-)
Abda was guided over to a bench by the psychic control, where she was telepathically instructed to lay down and with her legs open. Then her tongue, nipples, bellybutton, vaginal lips and clitoris where all pierced with golden rings. Attached to each ring was a logo on a small, delicate chain. The rings, despite being gold coloured, were sturdy. Pull on the chain, and the chain would probably brake, but pull the ring too hard and shed be ripped open. She was then transformed into a half horse and was branded with a red hot iron in a strange shape. However, because of either the thick horse skin or his control, it was a slight burning, like having a rash under sunburn rather than the pain she had expected.
Apparently, this sight was too much for him, as his crotch seeming to spasm uncontrollably, into a mass of tentacles. Two seized her by the ankles, pulled her legs open and restrained her. The rest began entering her pussy and ass, one by one, expanding her with each tactical that entered, stretching her painfully. The mind control was released and she began trying to fight, the pain of the fist sized tentacles too much to bare, the grip of the tentacles around her ankles to strong to brake. However, through body manipulation, she was forced to orgasm. Repeatedly. If anything, the fact that she wasn’t being forced to enjoy herself or mentally control some how made the violation so much worse. Finally, he spent his load and she was released.
She curled into the fatal position, partly through sheer pain, partly through sheer spasming of her internal muscles and partly out of sheer shame and self disgust.
Then she was allowed to rest for a while, lying in a bundle of hay. She was thankful for the rest. She was horrified at how thankful she was, after realising the thoughts of escape had left her as long as she was just left alone for a while.
Abda thought about her past experiences with men. She found a lot of men were intimidated by her height and, at six foot one, she did stand above many of them. Not him though. She did herself no favours, preferring high heeled shoes over flats. She would never get the choice again. He would always decide what she wore, if anything, from now on. She drew enough attention from men as it was, but no longer. She only had to draw the attention of her master now and that’s exactly what she wanted. She orgasmed unexpectedly.
Wait. What? She had heard of people orgasming uncontrollably, but usually it started at puberty. So if it wasn’t her, he must have given it to her. But why? How much of that was her. How much of it was lust? How much of it was experience and forced orgasming? How much of it was him? Certainly not 100 per cent any more. She was disgusted in herself again for giving into him.
She had been saving herself for the right man, this was true. And she was finally certain of who that was. It was her master (-Gah!-) Stop making me call him that!- However it was more like a large square block had been forced into her small round hole, rather than him being the right man, it was as if she had been changed to make him her Mr. Right. Was that possible? Even with the mind control? Even though he had not decided to take her virginity yet, when he did so she would give herself to him willingly.
Some eighteenth birthday this turned out to be! The man of her dreams had found her and taken her into his life!
Wait was that her or him?- She wasn’t his only woman, but then she didn’t think she would survive being his only woman- That was very true. But her or him?- He would probably have destroyed her if she had been his only one. She certainly wouldn’t have had any chance to recover. Which she had been promised. (- Wait. While it was true he was painful, would she think about sharing her soul mate? Even with his powers? Was that her or him? It was him. Wasn’t it?-)
Mhairi
- 02.01.2021
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