Enslaved. Part I

Message from the author:

Phew, it seems like a long, long time but now we're finally here. Thank you all so much for your patience with me, finding my pace again. You're the best. And thank you for sticking with me through my parting time with Dr. Alan Grant. That was necessary just for me and I hope I made it a bit more appealing with Jasmine and her evening. But now we're finally here. Rania. Not gonna lie. I got pretty intense with her and I hope I respected your vote in the poll enough but, like most of you, I'm a big softie at heart and in the end, there will surely be another poll to make sure Rania gets her deserved place in the harem.

In terms of kindness, this chapter is a bit darker. To her and some other characters I finally been able to include in the story. The college-life part of the MCD almost broke me month back but now I know pretty well where I want to go with Lakota, Tana and Susan, as well as with Rania, Lynn and Candice as well. So good times for me and I hope you can sense that. But be warned. if I did my writing right, you will need a strong stomach to make it trough the chapter.

From here on, Finn's world will open up more and I can't wait to make that happen.

Hope you have a great time reading and a good Saturday.

Now, please enjoy...

Chapter 89. Enslaved. Part I.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

That’s already the third alarm I’ve set for myself this evening—each one fifteen minutes apart—and I’m lucky I planned so well. Because I know I’m going to stay on this bed for another fifteen minutes.

I will lie here and hump his pillow toward another powerful climax that will make my body shake and my mind tremble.

It’s been like this for days. I’m tired. I’m hungry. I’m drained. And, above all, I’m parched. My entire bed is sticky and crusted over with a mix of squirting, orgasms, sweat—who knows what else. My body has become part of this mess. A dirty, disheveled, sweaty, stinking body, grimy skin, dry lips, aching nipples, and raw, chafed labia from all this pathetic humping.

“I’m a slut…” I whisper, my voice hoarse from thirst. “Such a slut…” But I keep on humping. I’ve come so many times that the last few days have blurred into a hazy, hot, steamy mess of sex and despair.

Because I know why I’m doing all of this. It’s because of him.

“Finn…” But no matter how hard I try, I can’t manage to inject any venom into my voice.

He broke me, and now the only thing swimming around in my empty head is the urge to climax—and to obey him.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Looks like another fifteen minutes have passed.

“Just… ah… one more… ah… ah… aaaah!” I squirt into his pillow, soaking it with my juices, and bite into the salty, pungent mass I’ve wrapped my body around. My fingers dig deep into the sodden fabric, and a single tear rolls down my cheek. I’m not capable of anything more. Just basic instincts to fuck and come.

Ping!

“Huuurghaaa…” I roll over, weary, and grope for my cellphone. I nearly knock it to the floor as my hand slaps against the screen, leaving droplets of cum. Then, it almost hits me in the face as I read the message:

I clench my teeth and groan as memories of my… my… my one-night stand with Finn flood my brain—just as my juices flooded the pillow. I can’t escape him. Perhaps I don’t even want to anymore.

I write back, smearing the screen with my cunt slime.

Pathetic little slut, I think. He’s so right. But at the same time…

I stick out my tongue and lick the screen in a humiliating display.

“Ahhh…" Lick. Lick. Lick. "Such a dirty little slut… for you… Finn…”

Even my disgust with myself feels dull and numb against his willpower—and, in a way, I’m glad for it. It means I don’t have to criticize myself for thinking of him—over and over and over again—while I soaked his pillow with my girlcum. Over and over, I’ve replayed the way we fuck, the way he dominates me.

This is my life now. Fucking and obeying.

And hoping.

Hoping it doesn’t come to that.

And hoping it does come to that.

Because I hate him.

And I need him.

But I no longer have the time to reflect on this complicated, terrifying situation. Two hours left—the sun is just setting—and then I have to be ready for something that terrifies me.

And makes me incredibly horny.

Two hours. Enough time to shower, get dressed, put on makeup, and head over to him to…

Ping!

"Of course, Master! Right away."

I send the photo, but there’s no reply. No 'thank you.' No acknowledgment.

I don’t care. Even in this state—fucked and horny—I know I deserve it.

I look down at myself.

Two hours. Enough time to…

"Just…" My fingers slide back inside me, and I pull the pillow—damp, heavy, and reeking of sweat—over my body. As if he were the one fucking me. "Just a few more minutes."

The look on the face of the taxi driver—whom I’d hired to get me as quickly as possible to the guy who apparently owns my body—says it all. He can smell me! I could die of shame while stinking of sex and hormones. He also watches me as I gaze dreamily out the window at the city, which is growing darker by the minute.

It’s not just the taxi driver. Anyone who knows me—even briefly—can clearly see that I’m a changed woman. He changed me. He took me and molded me into exactly what he wanted: a sex-obsessed monster, so fixated on him that I can’t help but think of nothing else. He has made me do terrible things. And I know he will continue to make me do them in the future. I am his filthy little slutty sex slave, I know. But it doesn’t bother me.

At first, I tried to understand what was happening to me. Deep down, I know that nothing I do is natural or right. It’s twisted and terrifying. But I simply cannot bring myself to think about it. Whenever I try to fathom why I obey him—why I act like a whore for him, why I fuck my own friends for him, why I fuck him, or anyone else he puts in front of me—my mind goes blank. It feels as if a vacuum is trying to pull the walls of my skull inward.

There is only one explanation for why he was able to enslave me…

But that explanation eludes my empty brain.

So, I gaze out the window at the steel-gray city, filled with people who have no idea what is happening to me. My family is wealthy—not as wealthy as Candice’s or Lynn’s, perhaps, but wealthier than most people here. I’m certainly wealthier than Finn. I’m better educated. I have a better future.

And yet, the only thing I can think about is how much I hope he liked the pornographic picture I sent him.

Another tear rolls down my cheek, while my fingers cradle my weary, exhausted head. I sniffle softly and try to blink the tears away—but in vain. Just like everything else I attempt to do on my own.

Once again, I think of him, weeping quietly in the solitude of the cab.

Yes. There is only one answer to my situation—to why I am the way I am.

“Everything okay, miss?” The taxi driver has to stop at a red light—of which there are more in New York than there are stars in the sky. “I don’t mean to intrude… but…” He turns around quickly and holds out a tissue. Without a word, I accept the kind gesture and wipe my face. “A lovely young thing like you shouldn’t be crying on a night like this.”

“Thank you.” I sniffle and give him a genuine smile—something I’ve never done before. In the past, I would have just overlooked someone who drives cabs trough New York. Just another man that does a job no woman feels down on luck enough for. He's nice. But he's not important.

Now I smile at him, caring and weak, as I grab the tissue and dry my face. After getting in his way, he's everywhere. Finn. He's in my dreams and in my head when I'm awake. I know just one feeling that feels like that... Remembering back when I was a nice girl.

Seems like Finn has brought out my true self.

“So… what…” the cab driver asks, wanting to help me.

“It’s okay,” I assure him. And I smile. “I’m just in love.”

Message from the author:

Yeah I said it at the start of the chapter. I couldn't resist but with four bitches, I realized I have plenty of opportunities to let them react to their enslavement in a different way. And yeah, what can I say. I made Sluttypig Rania fall in love with Finn... Shit man, that was planned at first, then I decided against it, but couldn't bring myself to write it out of the story. Stick to your first instincts, I guess. So I didn't forget the poll that said Rania shouldn't become a girlfriend and I found a great way to let her down gently and still make her happy. So don't worry and, you know me, in the end, it will up to you. I have both paths for her mapped out in my head.

Oh and hey, the new CHYOA tools are AWSOME! Granted, sometimes it seems you need to ba an NSA hacker or something but I'm really hyped they give me the tools for a nice phone conversation now. And there are even more opportunities now that I can dig into. Really a fucking great update we got here, let me tell you.