Chained to Obey in the Master's House

Getting clean was worse than I had imagined. Not because of the physical pain, although there was plenty of that, nor because of the anxiety that sliced open my chest, but because they left me alone with my own mind inside a cage too small for me to stretch out in and too large to escape my memories. During the first few days, I could barely tell what had happened from what I dreamed awake, sweating, trembling, and smelling my own filth stuck to my skin.

Later, I saw recordings of it all. The master had cameras installed throughout the house, and several of his men also filmed close-up whenever they found it amusing. Thanks to that, weeks later I was able to reconstruct many scenes I had only half experienced at the time—drugged, exhausted, or simply broken. They turned it into private entertainment, a blackmail archive, and a trophy.

There were three adult women locked up there, all three already in too deep in that spiral of dependence, sex, and obedience. At first they kept us huddled together inside the cage, with a bucket, an old blanket, and barely enough room to move. The fantasy excited them more than the logistics, because by the second day we stank of urine, rancid sweat, and dried shit, and not even the icy blasts from the hose were enough to clean it all away.

Then they changed the rules. They took us out of the cage, but not out of the humiliation. They put steel collars around our necks and chained us to a rail, leaving us a few yards to crawl toward a corner where there was water and a drain. We could wash ourselves a little after being used, nothing more. The rest of the time, we remained available.

The house operated like a private estate disguised as a never-ending party. There were always people coming and going: business associates, employees, guests, curious onlookers, the master’s old friends, and opportunists who paid little for a great deal. We had no right to ask questions. We simply opened our legs, our mouths, or our asses whenever we were ordered to.

I remember that at first they fed us as though they were feeding barn animals. They brought us plates of scraps and, sometimes, simply forced us to lick food off the fingers, feet, or crotch of whoever happened to be nearby. They also put asses in front of our faces, open cunts, filthy cocks, and waited for us to obey, hungry and ashamed. The mixture was unbearable. Exciting, too.

That was the first thing that truly frightened me: discovering that my body responded even while my mind was splitting in two.

One of the women with me, Nerea, was colder than I was; the other, Clara, cried far less than I would have expected. All three of us were more than old enough to know what was happening, but also to understand that we had crossed a point from which there was no dignified return. The master did not want lovers. He wanted available material.

When the worst of the withdrawal finally passed, I realized this was not about punishing us for a few days. They intended to exploit us completely. They put us to work in chains, with an old mattress in a corner of the back building, almost always damp and always stained. That was where the crudest part began.

Men of every kind came. Drunks, strangers, regular customers, estate employees, passing guests. Some were rough and quick; others wanted to play at humiliating us for hours. Almost none of them washed. None asked whether it hurt. They paid, or sometimes negotiated some piece of trash with the manager, and that was enough to gain access to our bodies.

The first night they left me on that mattress, I understood the routine. They led me there by my collar, shoved me to my knees, and one of the men grabbed my hair and forced me to watch as he pulled out his cock. It was already hard and thick, the foreskin half drawn back, and a sour smell struck me before it touched my face.

“Open your mouth,” he said.

I opened it.

He shoved it in without preparing me, driving it down my throat while holding the back of my neck with one hand. I tasted the salt and rancidity, felt saliva gathering at the corner of my mouth, felt my gag reflex rising violently. I jerked backward on instinct, and the man slapped me sharply.

“Don’t pull away, whore.”

He thrust harder. This time I let him do it. The head of his cock struck the back of my throat, and I swallowed as best I could, tears in my eyes and saliva running down my chin. Beside me, Clara was on all fours, another man licking her cunt from behind before putting it in her ass. There were moans, insults, laughter, and the wet sound of flesh striking flesh.

The man using me pulled his cock from my mouth and ordered me to turn around. I obeyed, my knees trembling. He pushed my hips lower, spat between my buttocks, and abruptly shoved two fingers into my ass. I gasped and clenched my teeth. It was not enough for him. He pulled out his fingers, spat into his hand, and began pushing his cock into me slowly, forcing the entrance open inch by inch.

It hurt like iron prying me open from the inside. It also aroused me. That was the dirty truth I accepted soon enough. As he pushed into me, he gripped the chain at my neck to keep me still and began thrusting. Short at first, testing; then with the desire to break something. My body adapted to every blow. Pain became heat, heat became a brutal tingling in my belly, and when he rubbed my clitoris with the palm of his hand, I came moaning on a mattress that smelled of old semen.

“That’s what I like,” he growled. “Coming while I open your ass.”

He emptied himself inside me soon afterward, with a thick ejaculation I felt hot and deep. He stayed still for a few seconds, breathing like a tired animal, and then moved away. As soon as he pulled out, semen began to trickle between my thighs. I barely had time to catch my breath before another man gave me a light kick in the hip so I would turn toward him.

That was how the nights went. One cock after another. Mouth, cunt, ass. Sometimes in an order; sometimes with no order at all. They hosed us down when the smell or the amount of fluids became excessive, then sent us back to the mattress.

***

There was one afternoon when I saw clearly just how much the master enjoyed obedience taken to the limit. He came in with several guests and ordered us to kneel, one beside the other, naked except for our collars. He walked in front of us calmly, studying us as though inspecting merchandise.

“I want to see which of the three has learned best,” he said.

We were ordered to kiss the men’s shoes. Then their ankles. Then their legs. The game was to climb with our tongues without pulling away, no matter the sweat, dirt, or sour smell of the entire day. I licked a hairy calf, continued over the knee and thigh, and ended with my face buried in a sticky groin while the man laughed and held me by the hair.

“Deeper,” he told me.

I used my tongue to move past the sour smell of his balls and began sucking his cock. It was not fully hard, but I worked it with my mouth, licking the base, sucking the head, letting saliva run down the shaft while one hand pressed down on my head. To my left, Nerea was doing the same with another man; to my right, Clara was licking someone’s feet as though her life depended on it.

The master watched us, fascinated. When he saw that the men’s cocks were stiff, he snapped his fingers and changed the order. He made me lie back across the knees of a man sitting in a chair. They held my thighs open, and the master slid two fingers into my cunt, slowly, soaking them in my own arousal.

“Look at her,” he told the others. “She always ends up wet.”

He inserted a third finger and moved them roughly inside me, rubbing upward, searching for the exact spot where my legs began to tremble. I moaned despite myself. He smiled, slapped my cunt hard, and then abruptly pulled his hand away.

“Now fuck her. All of you.”

The first man penetrated my cunt. He entered in one thrust, arching my back over the legs of the man holding me. Every thrust moved my entire body. The second positioned himself in front of my face, opened my mouth with two fingers, and pushed his cock in until I had to breathe through my nose, short and desperately. The third moved behind me, spitting between my buttocks and rubbing the head of his cock against my anus until the first man pulled out of my cunt for a moment to let me gasp.

Then he entered me from behind. I screamed with my mouth full. My saliva poured over the shaft of the man fucking me in front, and he began fucking my mouth in the same rhythm as the other man destroyed my ass. I felt balls striking me, hands digging into my thighs, the collar tightening against my throat each time they wanted me still. The man in front grabbed one of my breasts and twisted the nipple; the one behind slapped my ass so hard that the skin burned.

I came like that, trapped between two cocks, my cunt empty but throbbing, my ass open and my throat occupied. It was a brutal, filthy, almost furious orgasm. I contracted so hard that the man fucking my ass grunted and came inside me at once, hot and abundant. The man in my mouth pulled out, jerked himself twice, and covered my face with semen. Then they forced me to lick it from my lips and swallow it.

The first man put his cock back into my cunt while I was still dripping from the ass. I was already too aroused to pretend resistance. I raised my hips, seeking more, and he laughed.

“That’s it, bitch. Ask for it with your body.”

He fucked me quickly and mercilessly, striking exactly where I was most sensitive. I wrapped my arms around his wrists, spread my legs wider, and let him do it until he emptied himself inside me. I felt another small release, a wet spasm that left me powerless.

***

As the days passed, the mattress became routine, and routine became a kind of monstrous occupation. We recognized certain smells, certain breaths, the way regular customers walked. Some came looking only for a violent blowjob; others wanted anal; others preferred to watch us with each other before deciding where to come.

There was one enormous man, dark-skinned, with arms like beams, whom the manager saved for the end of a particularly busy night. I was exhausted, my ass tender from so many thrusts and my mouth swollen from swallowing so much cock, when I saw him approaching completely naked. His was enormous, genuinely thick, heavy even when he moved.

“Not in front,” the guard ordered. “You know where.”

The man stood before me and ran the head of his cock over the lips of my cunt, only to tease me. It was hard and hot, brushing my clitoris with every movement. I moved toward it out of sheer desire, desperate to feel it inside me, but the guard seized my arm and struck me across the cheek.

“I said not there.”

My face burned, but my cunt burned more fiercely with frustration. The man smiled, made me kneel, and pushed his cock into my mouth. It was so thick that I had to use both hands to encircle it. I sucked as best I could, licking the base and taking the head again and again, until he pushed my head firmly and I felt there was no room left. I coughed. My eyes filled with tears. He pulled out just before I vomited and made me turn around.

They spread my buttocks and spat thoroughly into my ass. The man pressed the head against me and began entering with unbearable slowness. Every inch opened me farther than I had thought possible. I grunted, gripping the edge of the mattress, feeling myself split apart. When he finally had almost all of it inside, he went still, letting my body tremble around his cock. Then he began to move.

His thrusts were deep, brutal, heavy. Each blow pushed me forward across the mattress. I moaned with my face buried in the dirty fabric, wetting it with saliva, while one hand reached down to my clitoris and rubbed it without mercy. I came once, then again, each orgasm mixed with the pain of having that size buried to the depths of my ass.

“Look how much she enjoys it,” someone said behind me.

I did enjoy it. That was the most complete humiliation of all. While they treated me like chained meat, my body responded by opening, tightening, asking for more. When the man came, I felt him pumping inside me, a thick, hot release that left my anus throbbing. He pulled out slowly, and part of his ejaculation slid down my thighs with him.

They gave me no rest. The guard, who had watched the entire scene with his cock hard, mounted me as soon as the other man moved away. He grabbed my hips and put it back into my ass, enjoying how open the other man had left me. It went in easily, too easily for his liking, and I heard him snort.

“Now you’re yielding, whore.”

He began spanking me between thrusts. On my buttocks, my back, even my breasts when I managed to turn over to breathe more easily. I had traces of dried vomit on my chest, mucus in my nose, semen on my thighs, and still the man looked at me as though I were the best spectacle of the night. He came inside my ass, cursing me, his hands digging into my waist.

When he pulled out, I felt my anus open and a thick mixture of semen and lubricant spill out. No one seemed disgusted. On the contrary. One of the onlookers approached, smeared two fingers with what was leaking out, and put them in my mouth.

“Swallow your prize.”

I swallowed.

***

Degradation also had an audience. The master loved that. He organized parties where he displayed us as though we were his private collection. He forced us to smile, pose, sit on strangers’ laps, and kiss women and men while others took photographs. As the night went on and the alcohol flowed, the atmosphere grew wilder.

One of those nights they kept us standing for hours, naked, with our chains fastened to a low ring in the wall so our necks would always feel the pull. The guests passed by. Some touched our breasts, others spread our legs to look, others made us kiss their partners. Sometimes they gave us a choice between sucking or being whipped. We learned never to choose punishment, because punishment also ended in sex.

I was already several weeks pregnant, my belly barely showing but closely monitored by an accomplice doctor who appeared whenever it suited the master. She examined us, asked mechanical questions, and then ended up putting her tongue or fingers inside us like any other guest. Nothing about it had only one layer. Everything was mixed together: business, abuse, desire, power, sickness.

Even with the pregnancy, they continued using us. They only adjusted the positions. On all fours, on our sides, sitting on top of someone, or lying backward over an edge so the belly would not be pressed too much. Everything else remained the same. Cocks going in and out. Ejaculations inside us. Short commands. Spankings, spit, fingers in our mouths, fingers in our cunts, fingers in our asses.

I especially remember one session with Nerea. They placed us facing each other on the mattress and ordered us to kiss while two men penetrated us from behind. Her in the cunt; me in the ass. Our knees collided, our breasts brushed against each other, and our mouths sought each other clumsily at first, desperately afterward. I bit her lip when a particularly deep thrust tore a moan from me.

“Don’t pull your tongues away,” the master ordered.

We kept kissing, swallowing each other’s moans. The cock fucking me that night was quick, dry, precise; every blow made me shudder. Nerea’s face was flushed, her eyes glassy, and every time the man fucking her cunt sank all the way in, she clenched her cunt and let out a whimper into my mouth. I slid one hand between her legs and found her clitoris wet, slippery, throbbing.

I began rubbing her there while I was being fucked in the ass. The man fucking me immediately understood what was happening and sped up. He grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and began thrusting harder, using me as though he were going to take me apart. I kept rubbing Nerea, feeling my fingers grow wetter and wetter, until she came in a fierce spasm and bit my tongue to keep from screaming.

Her orgasm triggered mine. I came seconds later, my ass contracting around the cock that was tearing me apart from within. The man grunted, thrust three more times, and emptied himself inside me. In front of me, Nerea was still trembling while hers also came inside her. They left us like that for a moment, breathing in each other’s faces, sticky, exhausted, and still kissing out of sheer inertia.

***

The weeks passed in a mixture of pain, arousal, and filthy exhaustion. I stopped counting how many men had used me. I stopped remembering many names. I retained only sensations: the collar’s cold metal at dawn, the smell of the damp mattress, the skin burning after a punishment, the perverse relief of coming even while hating myself for it.

When the end of the pregnancy approached, the master decided to turn that into a spectacle as well. He announced it as though he were organizing an important celebration. There was food, drink, loud music, guests, and cameras prepared from the afternoon onward. We were part of the decoration and entertainment from the very first minute.

They kept us naked, heavy, clumsy, passing us from hand to hand. Some kissed our bellies, some made us spread our legs to look at how swollen we were, some gave us drinks directly into our mouths and then kissed us to reclaim the liquor. There was sex, too, of course. They did not let us rest simply because only hours remained before the induced labor.

At dusk they brought in two sturdy men, chosen for the final scene. Everything was arranged on a wide table covered with washable cloths. Clara and I were seated first on the edge, our backs to them, and then made to lower ourselves slowly onto their cocks. They entered our asses, carefully at first, while several guests moved closer for a better look. I closed my eyes when the head opened me, then lowered myself little by little until I felt all of it inside.

The two men held us by the waists and kneaded our breasts while moving behind us just enough to keep us full. The doctor appeared with gloves and a syringe. I felt the prick, then another. There were murmurs, laughter, camera flashes, the smell of sweat and alcohol. I was sitting on a cock buried to the hilt in my ass, my belly hard, breathing faster and faster.

The contractions began soon afterward. At first they were bearable waves. Then they became internal punches. Each spasm made me squeeze my ass around the man’s cock, and he moaned under his breath, aroused by something that seemed insane to me. I sweated, clenched my teeth, and gripped the edges of the table. Clara was the same beside me, moaning louder and louder.

The master did not stop watching for a second.

The contractions became unbearable. Between one and the next, the men remained inside us, barely moving, but felt, occupying us, reminding us of our place in that demented ritual. When everything accelerated, the entire room held its breath. The doctor gave instructions, someone aimed a camera closer, and I could think only of enduring.

I will not lie: mixing pain, exposure, and the constant sensation of being filled from behind created an animal confusion in my body. At one point, between pushes, the man grabbed one of my breasts and twisted the nipple. I moaned. I do not know whether from suffering or desire. Perhaps from both.

Hours or minutes later—I no longer know—everything ended. There was movement, voices, hurried cleaning, hands working between my legs. I remained open and exhausted, my ass throbbing around a cock they did not remove until the last possible moment. Then everything became blurrier: cloths, orders, examinations, and the sound of an obscene celebration all around me.

The quarantine they promised was a cruel joke. Barely any time passed before the master decided we had rested enough. They gave us water, something stronger to drink, and pills to revive us. Then the hands and cocks returned.

The first thing they put inside me afterward was in my mouth. I sucked it slowly at first, still weak, noticing my tired jaw and hollow body. The man stroked my hair with false tenderness while my throat swallowed him. Then he lifted my face and pulled out to come across my lips. I gathered it with two fingers and put them in my mouth without anyone ordering me to. The applause was immediate.

“Now she’s truly domesticated,” someone said.

Perhaps they were right.

Because even in that state, with my body turned into someone else’s territory, I felt a low shudder in my belly. It was not pride. It was not peace. It was something darker: the certainty that they had managed to mix my pleasure with my ruin until they became inseparable.

And that, more than the cage, more than the chains, more than any cock or any punishment, was what truly left its mark on me.