by Alan Horn
Total Control 1 : By Force
Alan Horn
Chapter 1 - Instinct
Chapter 2 - Ideas
Chapter 3 - Plans
Chapter 4 - Costs
Chapter 5 - Jack
Chapter 6 - Lady Anna
Chapter 7 - Selection
Chapter 8 - Preparation
Chapter 9 - Fun
Chapter 10 - The Party
Chapter 11 - Marked
Chapter 12 - Chained
Chapter 13 - Ringed
Chapter 14 - Helpless
Chapter 15 - Controlled
Chapter 16 - Cleaned
Chapter 17 - Trained
Chapter 18 - Placement
Chapter 19 - My New Master
Prolog
Total Control 1 : By Force
Should women be equal to men? They are smaller, weaker, and easily dominated by men. Would life be better for both sexes if nature was allowed to have its way? For humanitarian and financial reasons, a few young female convicts are enslaved. Trained as sex slaves they are distributed to wealthy individuals. Regina is ringed, chained, trained for pleasure, and given to a master. She hated prison and realizes she is a natural slave and loves being submissive. It just feels right and brings her surprising joy. With no decisions to make or choices to ponder, she is free from worry. Obeying and pleasuring her masters fills Regina with ecstasy. She is delivered to her new master and is shocked to learn he is her former husband.
Chapter 1 - Instinct
It was not called a prison, but it looked like one. It was large, bulky, ugly, gray stone with a few, small, barred windows.
This was an asylum for the insane.
Regina
I was hiding between two hulking machines in a dark corner of the laundry. The one certainty about my life that keeps me sane is that it will end. The paint was curling off the machines, severed from their home by the decay beneath. How like me. My parents were strict and I'm not sure I every liked them. They were righteous and upstanding. I was a quiet girl whose nose was always in a romantic novel. Escapism, I suppose. The fictional world was so much more exciting and romantic than my real one. I wanted exciting love that drove me screaming over the edge, as I read about. I wanted to be the heroine in a magnificent drama. I wanted to be the sex slave of a pirate or king.
I didn't want to be a normal, boring wife. I watched my friends and acquaintances mothers. I saw what marriage did to women. As soon as a woman married, she became a slave of normalcy. She had children and was always cooking and cleaning the house. She went shopping then to tea with other women and always complained about their lives. Sometimes they had jobs, boring, always the same, always complaining. I didn't have a flair for writing or art or science. What I sought was great, mind blowing passion and sex. What I had was a life in prison. Shit!
I never had any close friends since we lived several miles out of town. I did well in school and I married well, to the surprise of my relatives. Jack was wealthy and good looking. I suppose I was pretty. I had a small waist and big breasts. I have long, red hair . But the marriage didn't last. My decision. All those tales may have spoiled me, but Jack just didn't excite me in bed. I wanted a lover who would force me to full submission and make me feel enormous pleasure. Jack was dull in bed. Oh the sex was OK, but it never drove me wild. I don't suppose reality can compete with one's ideals. OK, I had blown it. We got divorced and life went downhill for me after that. One menial job after another, and a lover who started out great but who didn't stay satisfied with me. I stabbed him out of frustration and rage and got caught. So now I'm locked up here for life.
The sounds of the search approached I and hoped it would be the right guard who found me. Paul and I had a thing going. Of course it wouldn't go far since he was a guard and I was a crazy inmate, or so they said. "I hope its him," she thought, "I haven't had a man between my legs in months." I knew he wanted me. I'm one of the best looking girls in here. I'm not vain, but I had eyes. My breasts are large and firm, my waist small, my hips shapely, my hair long and red, and my legs are perfect and long. I am a dish. I am also a crazy murderer. It wasn't my fault. He was two-timing me and threw me out when I confronted him. I should have just castrated him. He was so drunk, he wouldn't have felt a thing.
“Aha,” said the guard, “found you, Regina. Come out of there.”
“Yes, Sir,” I replied. “I'm sorry, I was just waiting for my shift to end.”
“A lie, he said,” your shift ended thirty minutes ago and we were about to sound the alarm.”
“Oh, no. I must have fallen asleep. I'm so sorry for all the trouble I've caused you. Isn't there some way I can make it up to you?” I said with a coy smile.
“Hmmm, there may be a way. Stay right here.” He walked back to the corner he had come around and called out, “Jerry. Found her. Says she fell asleep. Call off the search.”
She didn't hear any reply, but the guard, Paul, walked back to her, took an arm and turned her away from him. He said, “Put your hands behind your back.”
I felt my belly surge and grow hot. My thoughts raced, “He's going to handcuff me! At last." I felt my loins clench and heave. My thoughts raced, "God, I love it so. Am I foolish to want to be helpless?”
I felt the cold, smooth steel encircle first my left, then my right wrist. I tugged to confirm I was secure. I smiled a little. He had me right where I wanted to be.
“I'm helpless and he is in total control of me. Maybe he'll spank me and take me!” she thought.
He pushed me into a linen storeroom.
“What should I do with you, my pretty,” he asked.
“Oh, Sir, I'm sorry to have caused you so much trouble. Maybe you will spank me?” I asked in a tiny voice. Please spank me.
“You little minx. Last time you did something like this I spanked your ass to a rosy hue and still you do it. Do you like it?" he asked?
“It makes me all shivery inside when you spank me, Sir. I guess I do like it. I think I like it a lot when you are so forceful with me,” I said.
“Forceful, Eh? Come here and take off your drawers,” he ordered.
I strutted to him, and said, “I don't think I can, Sir, not with my hands cuffed behind me.”
“I'm sure you can, with a little encouragement,” he said taking off his belt.
“Yes, Sir.”
I used my fingers to lift my skirt and could just get my fingers under the waistband of the underwear. I scraped and pushed, tugged and strained. Finally I got them low enough they fell around my shoes. He stood back and watched her contortions with great interest. “You were right Sir," I said.
“Good,” he said, “step out of them.” He picked them up. “Stand still.” He took a coil of cotton rope off a shelf, loosened the wrapping and threw one end over a beam above her. He cut off several short lengths of rope with a pocket knife. He turned back to her. “Open wide, we can't have as much noise as we both know you're capable of.” I opened my mouth as far as I could and he stuffed my wadded up panties in, cramming them deep.
I opened my mouth and he wedged the panties deep into my mouth and holding my tongue flat. I smelled and tasted me. It wasn't too unpleasant, after all it was my smell.
He tied the gag in place with some rope. He lifted my skirt and used another piece of rope to fasten it up around my waist. He unbuttoned the top of my dress, pulled it down my arms, and removed my bra by cutting its straps. I was not surprised. This was just like last time.
He kicked my feet far apart and used more rope and a broom to hold them apart.
I was naked and helpless, feet tied apart, hands cuffed behind me, and a gag in my mouth. A submissive lust raged through my belly. My love juices were hot and
making my cunt slippery. I wanted a man in me.
I felt him tie the hanging cord through my handcuffs and felt my arms start to rise. This was frightening me. He had not done this before. He pulled my arms higher. I bent forward to relieve the strain on my shoulders. Finally he stopped pulling my arms up when my body was parallel to the floor and my breasts were waving below me.
Surprising me, he stroked my breasts with one hand and my labia lips with the other. He was gentle, but the impact was huge. My nipples hardened into hard rocks, aching and wonderful. I heard a low moan and realized it was me. My cunt was awash with love juices. I felt the lubrication on his stroking fingers. He moved his fingers just a little, then pinched and pulled and rubbed my sensitive clit. I exploded with a thunderous orgasm. I wailed and gasped into my gag, my body quivering in his gentle grasp. Everything grew dark.
Finally, I came down and stopped quivering. He asked, “Liked that, did you?” He pulled the gag from my mouth and I worked my jaw into usefulness. My mouth was dry.
“Oh my God, I loved it. Where did you learn how to do that?”
“Its part of the physical education curriculum at the better public schools,” he smirked. “But now its time you received your well deserved punishment, Now that you're all warmed up.”
“Oh, No, ”I wailed, “I couldn't stand it. Every nerve I have is standing on end. It would kill me.”
“It didn't last time, Love,” he said. He raised the gag back to my lips and I asked, "Please can I have some water first? He just tilted my head back and to the side and put his mouth to mine. The kiss lasted more than a minute and my belly started flipping and flopping. God, he made me hot. I didn't need water after that. He stuffed my panties back into my mouth and tied them hard.
He picked up his belt and gave me twenty hard strokes, stopping to rub and feel my cunt between each stroke.
I screamed into my gag, for the pain, but also for the heat in my belly. The pain was awful and somehow it grew to be wonderful. My belly lurched and beat. I felt like I was going to wrench my arms out of my body as I sagged onto them. I could feel streams of love juices flowing into my shoes.
When he stopped, he said, "I felt two more orgasms so I guess you also liked the belt a lot, huh?”
I nodded my head in agreement. I wanted to ask him for more, but the gag stopped me. I groaned in frustration.
He kicked my feet further apart and impaled me in one quick thrust with his engorged penis. The huge prick slid into me, forcing my nether lips and inner muscles far apart. It was the most wonderful feeling. I felt my muscles clench around his magnificent shaft, trying to pull it into me. He was well endowed, as I well knew. My belly muscles spasmed again and again around his cock, pulling him ever deeper into me. The slippery friction of his pounding deep into my sopping cunt was heaven. It felt even better than those induced by his fingers or belt. I felt his cock grow larger. The gushing seed pushed me over the edge once more. We came together into that wonderful shared pleasure. After it was over, his cock subsiding within me, I felt my muscles still trying to pull him into just one more effort.
Some time later, he pulled away and closed his zipper. He released me and as we walked out of the room he said, grinning, “And let that be a lesson to you. No more shenanigans.”
I grinned back, "Yes, sir."
Elizabeth
"Elizabeth Armstrong. You stand convicted of attempted murder, arson, assaulting a police officer, and inciting riot. Do you have anything to say before I pronounce sentence," the judge intoned.
"Yes, your honor, I do," I said, "This was not fair. I did hit the rotten bastard with my torch, but he provoked me. How dare he insult all the ladies in our march. Calling us harridans and saying we should be home caring for our husbands. Why, most of us weren't married. We didn't need men in our lives! We want to be free. We were only marching to try and get the attention of those pompous legislators. We wanted the vote. We had just as much right as men to control our lives and choose who ran the country. Those stupid men thought all women too stupid to understand politics. We would show them.
"I am not guilty," I protested. "That rascal, Mr. Murchison, called me a harridan in front of my friends. I was defending myself when i tapped him with my torch. I did not intend to hurt him, only to push him out of the way of our march so he didn't get hurt. I must have stumbled and made that scratch on his head. And how was I to know that the wagon would catch fire when the torch flew out of my hands. And I didn't want to start a riot, I just called to my friends to help me when that man grabbed me. How was I to know he was a policeman?"
"So, you see, your honor, I am innocent. Please help me," I said.
The judge replied, "Ms. Armstrong, you are repeating what you said at your trial. I have heard nothing new. This court finds you not guilty by reason of insanity and commits you to the Royal Asylum. Take her away, bailiff."
Two men in uniform cuffed my hands behind me and led me out the side door of the courtroom. I heard a commotion from the crowded courtroom, but it seemed far away.
It was like a dream. Nothing seemed real until, hours later I was sitting in front of a desk, in a wooden chair, wearing a white shift. A man in a white coat was sitting at the desk. He said, "I am Dr. Benoit, what is your name?"
I said, "Call me Liz."
Chapter 2 - Ideas
Dr. Rene Benoit, the head of the asylum, was eating lunch with a visiting Doctor, Haroun ibn-Saud.. “So, Haroun, we are in some difficulty. Our facilities are being strained by this new influx of violent women.”
“My friend, Haroun said, “Do you know why an unusual number of woman are becoming violent? “The odd thing is that it's not women in general, it's a certain kind of women. Ages eighteen to thirty, unmarried, no sexual relationships, well educated, employed, pretty, strict parents. And they are committing violent acts against parents, acquaintances, and friends. I haven't found any reason yet.”
“But, my friend," Haroun said, “ the reason is obvious. In my country, we have known for centuries that women have more intense emotions than men. It is almost as if we are two separate species. Your society suppresses women's emotions. You have just described women at the peak of sexual activity who are not with a man. They are frustrated with hormones running wild.
They need a man.” "Haroun, We have thought of that but these women could have found a man. They are all pretty and educated. And there have always been pretty women of this age looking for men and vice versa. Why would so many become violent out of the blue. There must be a reason, and more important, what can we do about it?”
“Rene, it might be sociological. Your country is in the forefront of change. Some women are agitating for changes in their historic roles . Many people are now employed in factories rather than farms. There are new political groups and theories. There is much wealth going into a few hands. You said these women were all well educated. For the first time, young women can escape from their historical roles. But there is nowhere to go if they do escape.”
Dr. Benoit replied, “There may be truth in your theory, Haroun, but what can we do about it?”
"For society, nothing. It must stabilize before sanity can regain dominance. For these girls you need to find a way to show them escape from sex is impossible. Then they can accept what they cannot change.” said Haroun. “You know, we do not have these problems in my country. Perhaps you westerners have permitted your women too much freedom. I have some old books at home describing the methods used in my country to make young women happy and calm. Perhaps you might find some ideas in them. When I get home I will send you some.”
....
I lay in bed in my crowded cell, replaying my capture and the aftermath. I remembered my thrill and arousal when found. I was like a huntress, using my body as bait to lure the unsuspecting predator to me. How strange my needs might seem to my family and friends. I loved capture by a strong man. Forced to give him pleasure. Having all volition stripped from me. Total and complete submission
gave me such joy, such freedom to be the sexual being I wanted to be.
I remember spankings and how they hurt, then changed to pleasure and how right it felt. A Master can discipline his slave whenever he wants. I dreamed of being the helpless, subjugated slave of a dominant male. It hurt a lot at first, but then it changed into pure orgasmic pleasure. As a child, I had read stories about whippings of women. I thought they must have hated it, but now, I knew they also loved it.
I love the idea that he might keep me naked for his instant gratification. a He would whi when I misbehaved. I want to be submissive. To serve and obey a master. Punished when I am less than perfect. Sometimes whipped because we both wanted it. My body started to lubricate my loins at the mere thought of being a slave to a strong, demanding Master.
"Oh, Jack," I thought, "where are you? I was so stupid." I had betrayed him. He was a good husband. He was tall, elegant, intelligent, wealthy, hard working. I was afraid he would reject me if I told him I wanted rough treatment. For months I hinted that he needed to punish me. But he was gentle and found ways to fix whatever problems I had created. Of course, he was intelligent and always found ways to fix my mistakes.
All us girls are so bound by our mother's rules of decorum and "proper behavior" that we can't tell men what we want. I hinted but to no avail. I just couldn't bring myself to ask Jack to spank me! The last straw was sex. He insisted on the missionary position and being gentle and caring. What I needed was a man to be rough with me. I suffered through the same ritual countless times. I wanted my naked body bound and whipped to orgasm. He just wanted to stick his penis into me and pump away until he got off. Oh, I faked an orgasm every time, but never had a real one. My problem was that Jack was too good to me. I needed a bad boy.
Only a few months after the marriage I started an affair with a carpenter working on our house. He was magnificent. Brawny and rough. We would meet in the woods or in his rented house in town when Jack was away on business, which was often. He spanked me, tied me up many different ways, and made me use my holes to pleasure him. I loved it. I felt like a real woman. I liked submission and punishment when I messed up. It felt solid, real. I looked up to him more than I ever had with Jack. I wondered whether it was wrong to feel this way, but it felt right.
