Selling Brielle, Part 16

Selling Brielle, Part 16

Story by All These Roadworks (2024).

Author's Note: Writing pays my bills and keeps the lights on - so if you enjoy this story, please consider supporting its creation with the purchase of an e-book or membership from AllTheseRoadworks.com. (Click here to view the store.)

Also - my kinks aren't my politics! I support respect, equity and positive, enthusiastic consent. (Click here to read more on my content policy.)

===

Jillian was due to see Joel at 6 pm, but she wanted to keep Brielle occupied until then - and to stay occupied while she was away. Right now, Brielle was confused, insecure, guilty, and ashamed - as long as those emotions were playing in her mind, she was unlikely to question Jillian’s own actions and activities.

Jillian loved her wife - but she needed Brielle to keep feeling like shit for a while longer, to make this whole thing work.

Brielle was crying softly after their demeaning on-camera sex, but Jillian pretended to ignore it, and instead brought a small table into the bedroom. She presented Brielle with a crayon and some paper.

“I just want you to explore this idea that you’re not really a lesbian, but just a slut,” she told Brielle. “I want you to write lines, like you did in school when you were naughty. Write ‘I’m not a lesbian, I’m just a slut.’ Then write, ‘I want to fuck men.’ Then play with your pussy for exactly 10 seconds - no more, no less. Then write them again, then play with yourself again. Keep doing it for two hours - and then send me a message saying how you feel.”

Brielle tried to demur. “This isn’t real,” she said. “I’m not… I mean, I *am* a lesbian… I just…”

“Honey, you don’t need to be defensive,” said Jillian. “We’re just exploring the idea. Obviously *something* is going on with you, because you got very wet just now while you were telling me you weren’t a lesbian. And I’ve *seen* the way you cocktease your pastor. Just do this for me… as an experiment, okay?”

She paused, and then added, “It’s not much, after you went and filmed us on secret cameras like you did…”

Confused, and flushed with guilt, Brielle could not argue. “Okay,” she said meekly.

“And then afterwards… maybe watch some straight porn, and see if you like it,” Jillian went on. “I found some and put it on a USB drive for you. Just get naked and sit on the couch and watch it on the TV, and rub your pussy, and see if you get wet.”

The USB contained the same **** porn that had first awakened Jillian’s own confusion about her sexuality. She had wanted to share it with Brielle for a long time, and she wished she could actually be there to watch Brielle’s reaction as she saw it. Would she think it was disgusting? Or would she become desperately wet, the same way that Jillian had, as she watched the male actor in the video **** one of a pair of hot lesbians as her girlfriend watched?

She didn’t know - and it didn’t matter, as long as Brielle remained a confused, guilty, slutty mess until Jillian could sort things out with Joel.

She dressed in one of her nicest and sexiest dresses, as Brielle began to write that she wasn’t a lesbian, only a slut.

“I’m just going out for a bit, honey,” she told Brielle. “To sort some things out. I’ll be back late tonight, okay?”

Brielle didn’t even question it. “Okay,” she said, staring at the demeaning words she had written and lightly fingering her cunt.

===

Jillian felt like she had everything under control as she got behind the wheel of her car and began to drive to Joel’s mansion. She had a plan, Brielle was being compliant. Everything was going to work out.

But by the time she had driven out of her suburb, she was a mess.

It was beginning to rain - just a light drizzle at first, enough to make her turn on the windscreen wipers - but quickly intensifying to the point where she needed to slow down to ensure she was driving safely. The raindrops beat on the roof and hood and windows of the car in a loud, hissing percussion, and her tyres began to kick up spumes of water as she drove through increasingly deep puddles.

The watery smears on the windscreen meant that, at first, she didn’t even realise she was crying, and when she wiped at her face and found that the blur was not in the glass, but in her eyes, it was a surprise to her.

She had fucked it all up. She and Brielle were supposed to belong to Joel. They were supposed to be his pretty, obedient lesbian pets. His property, and no one else’s. But now Brielle’s pastor was involved, and she had agreed to do things for him - without consulting Joel - and…

Her tears got thicker, and made it difficult to see. She knew she should pull over, but she drove on, partly **** to see Joel, and partly driven by an ugly impulse towards self-destruction that whispered that crashing her car would be only what she deserved.

As she hurtled on through the pounding rain, she realised that crying was smearing her makeup, and she knew that she should stop, but it just made her cry harder, because she wanted to look pretty for Joel, especially after how she had ruined the wonderful relationship she had been building with him.

It was honestly a miracle that she made it to Joel’s mansion in one piece, but she did, and soon the elegant modern facade of his sprawling house was looming above her, and she was parking on the driveway and getting out.

It was only a dozen metres from where she had parked to the door, but it was enough to drench her completely, and by the time she rang the doorbell, every inch of her was soaked.

There was a long, long pause. Jillian thought about turning, running, and getting back into her car.

Then the door answered, and there was Joel.

In Jillian’s mind, she thought she must have looked like a monster. Wet, bedraggled, with smeared eyeshadow, like something that had crawled out of the swamp.

But what Joel saw, however, was something else. He saw her face - ****, loving, ****. He saw her body - and how her soaked dress clung to every inch of it, hugging her tits, presenting her erect nipples, clinging to her groin so closely that he felt he could see the outline of her pussy lips.

“Jillian,” he said. “Come in.”

Nervously, she shuffled into his foyer, still dripping.

“Joel,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

He looked at her.

“Jillian, whatever you’re sorry about, does something need to be done about it in the next sixty minutes?” he asked, with a sharp tone.

She blinked. She had expected him to ask why she was sorry. “No,” she said, surprised.

“Then go upstairs, have a warm shower, and put on the dress I have laid out for you,” said Joel.

She looked down. “I don’t deserve clothes,” she mumbled. “Or a shower. Joel, I fucked up…”

He snapped his fingers. “Kneel,” he said, in a commanding tone.

Without thinking, Jillian dropped to her knees, so fast that she cracked one painfully on the floor. She winced, but kept her eyes trained on Joel’s face with submissive adoration.

Joel hunkered down in front of her - low, his face close to hers, but still looking down at her.

“Jillian,” he said. “Who do you belong to?”

“You, sir,” she breathed.

“Good girl,” he said. “And who owns you?”

“You, sir,” she said again.

“Good girl,” he said. “So I need you to understand this. You do not get to decide what you deserve. Do you understand me, Jillian?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispered.

“The only person who can decide what you deserve is me,” he continued. “And if I require input into that decision, I will ask for it.”

She looked down now. “Yes, sir,” she said. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“And further, when I tell you to do something, it doesn’t necessarily have *anything* to do with what you deserve,” Joel went on. “For example, right now, I want you to have a warm shower, and put on my dress, because it pleases me for you to do so. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said Brielle.

“Good girl,” said Joel. And he leaned down, very tenderly, and planted a kiss on her forehead.

“Now, go and shower,” he whispered.

===

Joel’s kiss did most of the work to reassure Jillian that things would be okay. Joel was in control. Joel would have a plan. Jillian didn’t need to think, because she was just Joel’s property, and that was exactly the way she wanted it to be.

And as for what anxiety remained, the soothing warm water of the shower washed most of it away.

When she emerged from the shower, she saw herself naked in the mirror, and she blushed. She saw herself now as Joel might see her - young, beautiful, sexy… a fake-lesbian fuckdoll that any man would want to possess. And the thought of that - of being nothing but Joe’s toy, his decoration - made her inexpressibly happy.

Outside the shower, she found the outfit that Joel had picked out for her, and once again she was staggered by how expensive the clothes must have been. There were elegant high heels, and emerald earrings, and a silver bracelet. There was a flowing dark-purple dress of impeccable craftsmanship and gorgeous fabric. But she knew now that Joel liked to spend his money to own attractive things - like herself, and her wife.

She put the dress on, and found that it was a little more revealing than it had first looked. The bodice of the dress stopped short of covering her breasts - instead just cupping them, offering them up in a way that drew more attention to them than if Jillian had been nude. And the lower half of the dress was slitted so that only a thin strip of material fell between her legs at the front - more than enough to cover her pussy if she was standing still, but easily pushed aside by the slightest breeze.

There was no underwear.

And underneath the dress was one more accessory - a thin collar, of finest leather, with a subtle silver buckle at the front. It had a round metal name-tag hanging from it, and Jillian saw that on one side it was engraved with the words “Jillian: Fake Lesbian Slut”, and on the other “Property of Joel”.

Beside the collar was a chain dog leash, and a note.

The note read, “Bring these to me in your hands.”

Jillian knew what these items meant - and the knowledge made her instantly soaking wet between her legs. She found herself breathing quickly, and fighting the **** urge to rub her pussy, right here and now.

It wasn’t anything new. Not really. She had already sold herself, and her wife, into Joel’s possession. She had helped him **** Brielle. She had made it clear that she longed to follow his commands, and find ways to please him.

And yet it felt like a point of no return. To wear this collar was to declare that her destiny was not - and never had been - as a lesbian, but rather as a sex-pet for a man to own. It said that she belonged on all fours, on a leash - or more than that, that she *needed* to be leashed. It said that she was less than Joel - little more than animal - and that she accepted that status, not just grudgingly, but willingly, eagerly.

Joel had never **** Jillian to do anything. Even now, she felt that if she told him it was all a mistake, that of *course* she couldn’t sell her wife to another man, that she would give back the money and she would never touch his cock again, that he would allow that, graciously - and probably still find a way to help her.

If she didn’t want the collar, she didn’t have to take the collar.

But she did want it. She wanted it more than she had ever wanted anything.

Was she a fake lesbian slut? She wanted to be, for Joel. She wanted him to spank her ass and spank her pussy for pretending to be gay, and then **** his cock into her mouth to remind of what she truly needed. She wanted to fuck Brielle solely for his viewing pleasure while he watched and masturbated, and then share his cum with her wife when he finally ejaculated.

She wanted to feel *owned*.

And so she picked up the leash, and picked up the collar, and went down the stairs to where Joel was waiting, her bare tits offered up to his gaze, and prepared to truly become his property.

(TO BE CONTINUED)