Forced Lesbian Submission Books 1-10

by Adrian Amos

  My body wants to panic, but it doesn't truly set in until I lift my head and look back at her. She's gotten out of her dress and into a black leather outfit, with holes cut where her tits are, exposing her engorged, puffy nipples. She is still wearing her gloves, and the domineering outfit looks like it normally comes with thigh high boots―attached by straps hanging from the corset―but she probably didn't have time to put them on.

  But the worst is wrapped around her bare, naked pussy: A thick, pink strap-on, glistening with lube.

  “Are you seriously going to fuck me with that?”

  “Yeah, I'm going to take you right now.”

  “Why do you even have that?” I try to squirm away across the bed, which is hard to do with my arms locked together behind me. I don't get far when she grabs my ankles and pulls me back down to the side of the bed, pushing my back up against the edge.

  “You know why I have this?” she asks, smiling, mocking my southern accent, “Because I use it to dominate your daddy too.”

  “Oh my God,” I grimace, picturing my daddy getting fucked by her and her strap on. It makes me shiver, and she sees that.

  “Don't worry,” she says, “It gets washed. You're my little girl now.” She lifts my legs and puts me on the bed, and then inserts the dick into my pussy, spreading me open with the soft, gliding plastic.

  She pushes it all the way in, but holds it there. I moan, exhaling my pleasure to the ceiling, as I lie back on the bed as the strap on fills me up. I can't move away because my arms are locked and she's gripping my thighs close to her; so I feel trapped, and that feeling twists my gut in anticipation to what she's going to do to me.

  “You're going to learn like your father. The only choice in this bedroom is to submit to me.”

  She thrusts, pushing the cock in and out of me, gliding it with a forceful but sustained motion. She bends over and takes my nipple in her mouth, biting and tugging on it, thrusting and fucking me while I moan from my weakness.

  I've always been the strong one, getting people to do what I tell them to. It never fails. If I was a lesbian, this is what I'd be doing to them. I'd be conquering them. But instead it's happening to me by a woman much stronger than I am.

  She flips me over, my ass and tattered underwear in the air, as she thrusts in and takes me from behind. She grabs the straps holding my arms as leverage so she can push the dick in with greater force. She seems to lose no energy, force fucking me with a perfect cadence, a rhythm that never falters. My pussy is dripping down my thighs as I spread them, taking in the practiced penetration of my stepmother.

  This is a woman built for sex. I can tell she loves it, thrives off of it. I've never been fucked this way. I've never taken a dick this well-tuned and nuanced, and there's no doubt she's worked it for a long time, probably dominating women and men throughout her lifetime. She is a clearly a master at making people submit to her.

  It's a skill I'd love to learn.

  She gets up on top of the bed and lies down. This is a moment where I can escape, turn away from her and run. But where would I go? I'm locked up, in bondage and in the room, and even if I could leave, I'd be running naked into a party of hundreds of people. She has me and I can't do anything about it.

  But would I leave even if I could? My pussy pulses for more, wanting a dick back inside it, even one worked by my bitchy stepmother.

  She ushers me over, and I climb up clumsily, unable to use my arms. I crawl over to her, and she reaches under my arms and hoists me over her. I straddle her, and she glides the dick into my begging pussy.

  “Fuck me, little girl. Momma could use a rest.”

  I don't hesitate. I want it. I grind her strap on, rubbing my clit against her, bouncing the dick off my walls. Then I lift myself up and fall back down, letting my weight thrust the dick into me. I ride her and she grabs my nipples, twisting and slapping them. The impact and pain makes me feel like a slave, and I feel my pussy tingle in response to my objectification.

  Gail sits up with me and sucks on my nipple, twisting the other one, and sticking her fingers into my mouth, pulling my jaw downward as I pull my head back to moan. The taste of her fingers is sweet, and I close my mouth around them and suck on them.

  “Good girl. Suck momma's fingers.”

  I continue to coat her in saliva. She continues to abuse my captured body. I keep riding her, but as I lift high up on one bounce, Gail grabs me and pulls me up off her cock. Then she grabs it and repositions it, pushing me back down.

  The cock enters my ass as I sit back down on it.

  “Oh God, it's too big!” I shout, feeling the lubed up dick fill my tight ass. I hold my breath as she pushes it all the way in and I grunt from the pressure. ”No more.”

  “Be quiet. Your daddy takes it better than you do. And that's weird, coming from a stuck up slut like you,” she says, smirking, “No one's going to hear you from here, but it's better to be safe.” She pulls one of her gloves off and stuffs it into my mouth, gagging me with the scent and flavor of her perfumed skin.

  As I hold the dick inside me, I don't move, too scared and tense to shift my weight on it. But Gail is already sitting up with me straddling her, so she wraps her arms around my waist and slowly lifts me up and down, impaling me on her cock.

  I've never taken it in the ass, and the pressure is intense as my unused hole adjusts to the thick intruder. It's made more difficult because I can't move as I wish, pulling against my restraints, trying to open my arms up as if I were opening my ass. So my shoulders clench together as I focus on loosening myself elsewhere.

  But I settle down and slowly begin to feed the cock in my ass. I push down on it with my own force and swallow it fully. I groan as it slides out and kicks back inside, enjoying it as my back entrance begs for more.

  Gail picks me up and slams me back on the bed. On my back, I tuck my legs up and she pushes the cock back into my ass, fucking me missionary. She puts her hand around my throat and squeezes. Her grasp is firm but not painful, but her thrusts are both, as she rams into me with an intent to make me explode in orgasm.

  “Tell me you love it,” she says as she pushes in. She reaches into my mouth and removes her glove.

  “I love it,” I mutter, barely able to breathe from the pounding.

  “I'm your momma now, you understand? Say it!”

  “You're my momma,” I scream.

  “You better respect your momma from now on,” she says, gliding in long and slow. “I tell you how it is, and you obey.”

  “Yes, please, you're the boss,” I beg, wanting to release. The tension in me builds as my body begins its upward climb, ready to tumble at the next exciting moment.

  “Now let momma fuck that ass good, and give you the orgasm your body craves.”

  And that's it. Right there. My momma fucking me in the ass sends me over, and I spiral down, feeling the orgasm rip through me like a gut-turning roller coaster. I quiver and shake, moan and shout, as my momma penetrates my ass while my body loses control.

  I roll downward, coming to a slow stop, the occasional jolt rocking my body, making me spasm to the force of the woman on top of me.

  She slaps my nipple one last time as she dismounts me, causing me to shudder from the sensitivity of my exhaustion. I hold my legs up in the air as my asshole pulsates, squeezing and opening, gasping for something to fill it.

  She grabs me a cup of water, sits me up, and lets me drink. “Here, you poor girl,” she says. I sip at it as she holds it. I nod, she pulls it away, and then undoes the restraints holding my arms.

  I rub my arms, stretching them out, and think about what happened. I think about how sore my ass feels, but how the pleasure overwhelmed and all I wanted was more. “Do you really use that on my daddy?”

  “Yes, I do,” she says.

  That's a nasty scene I'm probably going to be playing in my head for a long time. “Didn't you say something about making him stronger? How does that help?”

  “It's good to submit in
the bedroom,” she explains, “Because once you're outside of it, you'll feel more in control. You let someone rule over you for a little bit, in a safe place, and you get rid of the fear of losing power. Without that fear, you just become stronger.”

  I've never felt so dominated in my life, so weak and vulnerable, but in a way that wasn't malicious. She was doing it out of some sort of fucked up kindness, I think.

  Was it a lesson? Am I actually stronger for it?

  Whatever it was, I don't think I'm walking out of this room the same person as when I entered.

  After that ass fucking, I don't think I'm walking far anyway.

  * * *

  “Daddy, I'm home,” I call out.

  “Erin, how is school?” he asks as he rounds the corner from the kitchen.

  “It's going great, daddy.”

  “Okay, honey. Dinner's almost ready, so head into the dining room and say hello to Gail, would you?”

  “Of course, daddy,” I say, with a pleasant assurance.

  Gail's already sitting at the table, reading a book. “Hey, momma,” I say, as I give her a kiss on the cheek.

  “Erin, how are you doing?” she asks.

  “Good,” I say, as daddy walks in with the roast. I look up at him and address them both, unable to contain my smile. “I think you're gonna be surprised. I think I might be getting straight A's this semester.”

  “Really?” Gail asks, astounded.

  “No way,” daddy says, “I've never known you to get better than a smattering of C's and D's.”

  “Daddy!” I snicker. “Don't be telling momma that. She only thinks the best of me.” I smile at Gail as she nods back at me.

  “I do. I still do,” she says, ”I'm proud of you for pushing yourself. That must have taken some serious commitment and hunkering down.”

  “Well, I did have to avoid all the partying that was going on at the sorority house. I couldn't study with all that noise, so I was kind of at the library a lot.”

  “Aww,” daddy guffaws, “I raised myself a little nerd.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Richard!” Gail chuckles. “Little Erin did well. Don't be insulting her when she's clearly high on herself.”

  “Well,” daddy says, “I think this counts for a reward of some sort. What would you like, honey?”

  I think for a moment but then look at Gail. I swear I can see a sparkle in her eye, a sparkle that once foretold serious consequences for my actions. But now that sparkle might just mean a reward for good behavior.

  “I think momma might have something in mind for me,” I say, smiling as the woman sits back in her chair and smirks at me.

  “What's that?” daddy asks, confused as to what Gail could offer his only daughter.

  “Lessons,” she finally says after a long pause, “Lessons on how to be a proper little girl.”

  Daddy might be confused, but my pussy isn't. It can't lubricate itself fast enough.

  - - -

  Conquered by the Vandals

  “Who's there?”

  My question is a strange one, sparked by my sudden wakening, shouted out of shock more than interest. I groggily scan my bedroom, but no one is around. I'm not sure what woke me up, but it was definitely a sound out of the ordinary that I can't put my finger on.

  I crawl out of bed and put my slippers on. It's drafty and I shiver: I'm only in a t-shirt and short-shorts. Now as I start to get older, at nearly 40, I find the cold to take a much harsher toll on my body. I like to sleep cold, but I don't like to get out of bed cold. The wind catches over the sheer fabric of my t-shirt and plays with my nipples, hardening them like icicles. I drape my robe over me and head out into the hallway.

  My house is huge. I have 8 bedrooms, 6 bathrooms, a study, my paint room, kitchen, dining area, and a number of other rooms. It's too big. I have no idea where the sound I heard came from.

  I look down the hallway, tentatively, realizing that I'm walking around by myself in a house that just made a weird sound. Whatever made that noise, I can't for the life of me think of a positive outcome at the discovery of the perpetrator.

  I close my robe tightly, hugging myself as I walk down the hallway. Part of me wants to shout out 'Who's there?' again, but I know that's probably the silliest thing I can do if someone is actually around. So I stay quiet, scanning the darkness for anything out of the ordinary.

  As I turn the corner, a bright light is emanating from down the way. The door to my paint room is open and the lights are on.

  I panic. I run toward the room, abandoning any caution at the knowledge that only an intruder would have turned the lights on.

  But I don't care. That's my art in that room! My soul, everything that built this house, is in that room, and the fear that someone has entered my most private chambers has overcome me and dominated my interest in my own safety.

  As I rush in, I see no one inside. But as I look at my paintings, I see dicks and pussies and tits, fellatio and anal, fisting and dildos, rape and incest. I scream out and sink to my knees. All these beautiful scenes; they've all been covered by graffiti!

  The three easels are set to the side of the room, each holding a new painting I was working on for my March art show. The left painting was a mother performing fellatio on her son; the right was the rape of a girl with a dildo by her best friend; and the center was an image of anal fisting being performed on a man in the stockades. These were masterpieces, and they have all been desecrated by spray-painted words.

  Words like slut, whore, filth monger, garbage queen, homewrecker, tainted cunt, and porn peddler.

  Fucking crusaders! They broke in and tried to destroy my life.

  But as shadows flicker across the room, I realize they aren't done.

  I hear some footsteps come up from behind me, but before I can turn around, a bag is thrown over my head, completely blinding me. I struggle immediately, but arms wrap around mine and nearly pull me off my feet as they yank me backwards. I fall hard against the back of a chair, two sets of arms holding me down as a third binds my hands with handcuffs.

  I curse and scream, but my house is too large and too secluded for even the neighbors to hear me.

  I'm all alone.

  “What the fuck do you want?” I scream out.

  No one answers. I can feel movement around me, but I can't see what's going on. I hear them close the door to the art room and lock it. I try to pull away but they hold me down, and the handcuffs keep me from getting out of the chair.

  Finally, the bag is removed from my head, and I can see the culprits.

  Three people—all women—are surrounding me.

  “What do you want?” I say again, this time calmer as I examine them.

  “We want you to shut up for a second, Maggie,” the one not holding me down says. They're all young, maybe half my age. It's hard to tell them apart because they're all wearing roughly the same thing. A button-down, black corset with straps up and across the shoulders, and a colorful plaid skirt, each one different than the other's. One is blue and tan, the other green and yellow, and the girl who talked is in red and gray. They all have huge boots, and they all have brunette or black hair up in ponytails.

  But the big thing that stands out is they're all wearing gas masks, probably to protect themselves from the fumes of the spray paint.

  “We're hear to teach you a lesson,” she says. Her voice is muffled from her mask. She turns and saunters—nearly skipping—over to one of my paintings they haven't touched yet. She lifts a can up, shakes it, and sprays over the picture—a dog playing in the woods as his owner is bent over and penetrated against a tree. She sprays the word “BITCH!” in huge letters over the couple fucking.

  “Stop that!” I yell, pulling against the chair, “Stop fucking ruining my work.”

  She turns toward me and says, “I might be ruining your work, but your work is ruining the world.” She grabs the painting and flips it over, a loud thud emanates as the canvas slaps to the ground.

&
nbsp; I shake my head. “I'm not ruining anything.”

  “Yes, you are, you slut,” the girl in blue next to me says in my ear as she shakes my head forcefully.

  “You're art,”—she finger quotes the word—“is nothing but smut and porn. All your work does is make this world a shitty place. All this fornication is just horrible, the devil's work, meant to enslave us to our passions.”

  “Oh my God,” I say, “Biblethumpers. What are you, in college? What did you, just read some feminist diatribe on the evils of sex? Are you in theology class? What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Her fist clenches and she stomps over to me. “What do you think, that because we're young, we don't understand the world, what you're doing to it?

  “That's exactly it,” I say. “You're just a bunch of little girls, little prudes, who don't understand the human body.” I didn't start painting porn without the balls to say what needed to be said, and driving people up the wall with controversy is my specialty. “Its wants, its needs, its desires. My work is testament to the human desire for love, lust, and comfort.”

  “Your paintings are evil. They're sick. All they're meant to do is inspire sin.”

  “What I produce is consensual,” I say, smiling, “And it sells. When you're a little older, and can get a grasp on money a little better, rather than let your mommy and daddy decide everything for you, you might eventually join the real world. It isn't some fucking evil scheme for people to debase themselves and make themselves worse off. People want to imagine and desire the stuff I paint—anal, rape, fisting, incest.” The girls squirm at my details. “They can't do it at home, but I give them a safe outlet to pretend to do it. If anything, you could say I'm doing the world a service by letting people blow off a little steam so that they can go back to their boring, vanilla lives sated on lust. Even from your fucked up perspective, I keep the normal world functioning, preventing it from sinning, as you say.”

  I can see her eyes flash, growing angrier as I defend myself. I smile, knowing my words are biting her far worse than she could have imagined.