Bought, Enslaved, and Anally Ravished by my Master [Mm] [anal] [noncon] [feminization] [spanking]

*(This is long, but I think the sex is really good and thorough once it builds to it.)*

Through I series of terrible circumstances I found myself knocking on a stranger’s door on a dark, warm October night with nothing in my possession but a small bag and an overcoat. My heart was thundering in my chest. My parents had been missing for three weeks. They were gambling addicts, and drug addicts, too–graduating, finally, to meth. We all knew it was dangerous, but they hadn’t been able to resist the urge to follow that sparkling thread into the shadows, and at the end of it there had been something that fed on them. Well-off people don’t realize: if you stumble outside of the law, there are monsters waiting for you. I’d had the horrific realization that I’d never find out what, exactly, happened to them. I was terrified it would happen to me. I was just eighteen and three weeks ago I’d been thinking about going back to my senior year of highschool.

This may sound like the start of a detective noir novel, but as soon as things went bad I found myself acting not at all like the tough detective. I didn’t even know what the detective would do–they always somehow knew where to go and what doors to knock on or break down. You know: someone in the detective’s life goes missing, bad men show up, and then the detective is out–prowling the streets, smashing people’s hands in grimy bars in order to get information, kicking-in doors to follow leads.

I would’ve struggled kicking in doors. I had a slim, delicate body; dark brown, longish, messy, unkempt hair; small hands and feet; slim ankles; a slim waist and shoulders; and a bottom and set of thighs that were too big and hindered running. When I worked out it just seemed to make things worse. To add to that I had a small button nose; big, wide eyes; and plump, full lips. And I wasn’t able to grow any facial hair–I was completely smooth, and even the hair on my body was very light. I was often made fun of in the locker room for looking “girly.” And it was true. I was at best androgynous, and certainly not strong or manly. It had been a long and constant source of shame for me. Plus, it turned out that, even though I wanted to be, I was no detective.

When my parents went out that night and weren’t back the next morning I wasn’t even sure if they were missing–maybe they were just at a cheap hotel or a stranger’s house on a bender. All I did was sit in a sweat all day, nervously wondering what to do or if I should do anything at all. That night I called the few acquaintances of theirs who I knew but no one had seen them. I made an Ask Reddit thread on what to do if your gambling, drug addict parents go missing and received a whole galaxy of answers. The next morning I Googled the non-emergency number for the police and called them, then rode a bus down to the station and filed a missing persons report. I ventured that *maybe* they’d had some contact with gambling and drugs in the past. The detective I spoke with seemed mostly uninterested.

A few days after that two stony men in dark suits arrived on my own doorstep, and, after pushing their way in, made it clear to me that I would be responsible for the gambling debts. They also beat my right hand with a billy club, but were generous enough to not break it. They were mafia, I assumed, though I didn’t know if they were called that anymore, or if that was just in the movies. Two tweaker-dealers showed up a few days later, making clear that they also expected money for some missing meth on my parents’ behalf, and leaving me with a bloody lip and bruised eye. The day after that our landlord arrived to yell at me for the door the tweakers kicked in and to tell me that I had a week to get the hell out.

I had no money, no useful skills, no job, no friends, and no extended family. I felt absolutely trapped. I had been depressed for most of my teenage years. Deeply. I’d thought about killing myself often but had never tried. I hadn’t exactly built a stable life for myself. I’d clung to life, stumbling along with the support of my parents, and they’d never been exactly supportive. And now that support was entirely ripped away. I felt that I had absolutely nothing. I wanted to run away, but I literally had $73. If I got on a Greyhound for another city then I’d have no money and be in a place I knew nothing about. How do people survive? Would I be able to get a job–you need a home address to get a job, don’t you? Could I beg on the street? Where do you sleep? How do you eat? Would those two men in suits find me and kill me in some terrible way if I ran? And through this all there was the crippling depression telling me nothing was worth even moving a muscle.

So how did I end up on a stranger’s doorstep? My parents had sold most of our possessions to pay for their vices, but they had left me a cheap old shotgun they were unable to pawn, and one shell to go with it. Both the mafia and the tweakers had given me a week to see if I could magically produce some of their money. By the end of that week, I resolved to kill myself before they returned and did some terrible thing to me. It would be a relief to be done with all this dreck of life anyway. I sat up in my room, the shell loaded, the gun placed under my chin. I had felt such relief all that day. It would finally be over. But at the last moment I hesitated. I sat their moment after moment and eventually I put the gun down. I cried for a long time.

That was when I found the website. Thankfully I had access to the neighbor’s internet. I began searching for ways to make thousands of dollars with no skills or time. I asked on Reddit and 4chan and every message board I could think of. I looked up how to go on the dark web–something I’d never tried before–and begin wandering around places I had never seen or conceived. I searched for hours and found nothing until down, at the very end of some rabbit hole, I clicked on a link that said merely “slave.net.” A login prompt appeared on the screen, I hesitated, and then my screen went black and would not respond to any commands. I figured something I’d done along the way had let a virus in and after a few minutes I went back over to the shotgun. Things felt quite hopeless again. I set it back underneath my chin. I began to cry like before.

White text blinked into existence on my black screen. “Remove clothes. Turn around.” I frowned and studied it. I could see no way to type back. “This is a location for consumers and suppliers. Are you consumer, supplier, or product?” the text said. I could barely breath. It was probably some nerd fucking with me. I adjusted my webcam nervously to try to not show my face, even though the light for it wasn’t on. Since I couldn’t see how to respond, I began to write a message on paper to hold up to the camera. “You can just speak, dumbfuck,” the text said.

“I think I’m product,” I said. It felt awkward saying such a strange thing and speaking to an empty room.

“Remove clothes. Turn around.” I had literally nothing left to lose. I stood up and pulled off my shirt, then tugged off my pants and underwear and stood naked before the webcam. I lifted my arms and slowly turned around in a circle, exposing my bottom to this stranger’s view. The text offered me a price and my heart raced when I realized it would be enough to clear me with the mafia and the tweakers. I asked what would happen to me. “Whatever the buyer wants.” It explained that they would take control of my social security number and all my other personal information–they would seize control of my identity. It would no longer belong to me. They would erase me from society as far as possible and no one would know where I was taken. Then I would live as a slave to another person. It seemed like an alternative to the shotgun; a type of death–a destruction of agency and identity. I was so dissatisfied with life–I longed to change it. Plus, I needed to escape this situation. Should I kill myself, run away and become homeless, or sell myself into bondage? It was a dire choice to make; I chose a shameful, stupid one option. I was still terrified this was just a joke.

“I’ll do it,” I said. I spoke slowly as I tried to figure out my plan. I realized I was covered in a damp sweat. “There are people who will be selling me. You’ll pay them the money.” The text said that was acceptable, left me with a phone number to set up a meeting, and told me to bring all my personal documents with me.

When the two stony men in suits showed up two days later I begged them for a few minutes of their time and nervously explained my offer. Then I handed over the phone number I’d been given. “You pay me the amount I need to reimburse my parents’ meth dealers–so they’re not looking for me or causing any trouble–then I come with you, you sell me to these people, and you keep all the rest.” They called the number and had a brief conversation. One shook his head in disbelief.

“Damn kid, you got really, really lucky. We’ve dealt with them before. Well, lucky for now at least. Maybe really unlucky depending on what happens to you, huh?”

The wouldn’t give me the money for the tweakers, but they agreed to pay them. They told me to send the tweakers to them if they wanted their money and gave me another phone number. They told me they’d be back for me in three days. I couldn’t believe the number and the site were real. I couldn’t believe I wasn’t dead. I was drenched in nervous sweat by the time they left. Once the door closed I started trembling–shaking almost violently–and I couldn’t stop for nearly a half hour. With difficulty I moved the fridge against the door so the tweakers couldn’t kick it in again. When they came the next day they weren’t too happy with the plan but I gave them the mafia phone number and eventually they left. I went out later and spent the last of my money on food. I sat around snacking for the last two days. I rummaged through the house and found my legal documents. I was strangely calm now that my fate was so far out of my hands–like sitting on a crashing airplane.

The men came in the evening. I was still kind of terrified that they were simply taking me somewhere to kill me. It also dawned on me that I was leaving my home for the last time. I’d packed a small bag–mostly just to carry my personal documents, and was wearing sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and sneakers. I had been told not to bring anything else with me, including my phone and laptop, so I was leaving the few personal possessions I had left. We drove for about an hour. They didn’t talk and I didn’t talk. My heart was hammering and I was sure they were going to kill me. *What does it matter?* I thought. But still I was afraid. We went from a highway, to small roads, to a large lot with trucks and shipping containers in it. I felt nauseous but after several minutes a black town car pulled up. *They’re not going to kill me.* It made sense–they wouldn’t have driven me this far to kill me. The town car parked about twenty feet from us. It’s windows were black and I couldn’t see in.

“Get out,” one of the men said. I stepped out. They followed me. The passenger door of the town car opened and a young Asian woman stepped out. She was wearing a white skirt and jacket and black high heels. Her hair was done up in braids. Her makeup was subtle and perfect and her body was curvaceous and luscious–so much that I noticed even through my fear. Her breasts and bottom and thighs showed through her outfit and were fat, jiggly, and perfect on her lithe body. She walked elegantly and seemed relaxed and sure of exactly what was going on. We met in the middle between the cars and she looked me up and down, unimpressed.

“Does he have his documents?”

“Give it to her,” one of the men said. I fumbled with my bag and handed over a folder with my passport, license, birth certificate, and social security card. She flipped through them and nodded. She took out her phone and made a few swipes.

“It’s deposited. You want to check that?” she told them. One stepped back to the car and made a murmured call.

He turned back. “Yeah.”

“Nice doing business with you gentleman,” she said.

His partner turned and walked back to the car, and they both got in and pulled out. “Let me see the bag,” she said. I handed it to her and she dug through it carefully. “Do you have anything in your pockets?”

“Uh, no.”

“Take off your clothes please. And shoes.”

“Uh…” I hesitated.

“This needs to happen quickly, please,” she snapped very sternly. It made me jump. I tugged off my shoes and clothes and stood in front of her naked, covering my penis. She smiled warmly. “Good, thank you. Arms up to the side.” She walked around me and I flinched as her delicate but firm fingers grabbed a huge handful of my bottom and tugged one fat butt cheek to the side. I was blushing deeply from embarrassment. She handed me a bag to put my shoes and clothes in then tossed it in the trunk. She handed me a small, elegant, black woman’s rain coat. “You can wear that for now.” It just fit me and I tied it with the belt. “Step in,” she said, holding the door for me, and I got into the back seat. We pulled out immediately. The car was very elegant and looked expensive. There was a thick glass divider between the front and back, but she lowered it down. There was an enormous black man driving the car. He looked like he could’ve crushed both of the gangsters that dropped me off. She handed me a blindfold and said, “Put this on, you’re not allowed to see the drive.” I did and everything was dark. “You can call me Krissy. We talked before,” she said.

“You were on the computer?”

“Yes.” I blushed even more. “What–didn’t think that’d be me?”

“I suppose not.”

“You have been bought you and are now owned by one of our customers. Do you know what that means?”

“Um, I think. I’m not sure.”

“It means you do whatever he says, whatever he wants, no questions asked. If you go to the police or any other authority we will find you. We already have contingencies in place to discredit anything you might say. You will accomplish nothing and end up right back in our hands. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Excuse me?”

My mouth hung open and I didn’t understand for a moment. I tried, “Yes, Krissy.”

“Good. If you try to escape your owner and run away we will find you. We are very good at finding people. You will be punished very, very badly and end up right back where you were. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Krissy.”

“If you fail to obey your new owner, he will send you back to us and you will be punished and disciplined. Understand?”

“Yes, Krissy.”

“This isn’t a joke. Your body and mind will belong to him. You must do anything he commands. You are not allowed to protest or question. You’re sure you understand?”

“Yes, yes I understand, Krissy.”

“Now, I’m going to explain some things to you, because I don’t want your master to have to deal with your confusion. Normally, we work in women. You’re a rare exception. No one wants to own something fat and ugly. You’re lucky: your figure is extremely feminine and you hold yourself with a very delicate poise–I don’t think you even realize. You still fetch way less than a woman, but we had a buyer with a standing request. I was actually looking for something to fill it when I found you, and he agreed based off of just the webcam pictures you gave up. Now, usually our product could go through weeks or months of discipline and training from us. But part of this order was that the owner wanted to train and discipline the product himself, so we’re sending you unpolished.”

I was blushing still and didn’t know what to say, so I just said, “I see. I understand, Krissy.” I felt sick at what I had possibly got myself into. I felt so ashamed. *I didn’t think…I didn’t know it would be sexual.*

“Good girl.” We drove for hours. They talked and joked about random things, not giving any information. At one point Krissy said, “Man she has a fat booty. I mean did you see that thing when she got in the car? Who do you think has a thicker butt, me or her?”

“You’re definitely bigger,” the man laughed, “but she has a nice, plump bubble butt.”

“Do you try to do slutty workouts?” she asked. I realized she was talking to me.

“Um, no. I don’t really workout at all,” I admitted.

“She has a nice, plump set of thighs, too,” Krissy added. “Her whole body is so girly and fuckable. Did anybody ever try to fuck you in the locker room?”

I could feel myself blushing again. “No, just made fun of me.”

She laughed. “If you’d gone to an all boys college you would’ve had your brains fucked out.”

At one point we stopped at an empty rest stop and Krissy spent fifteen minutes cutting my messy hair into a cute, elegant, very girly pixie cut. “You cutting hair now?” her driver joked.

“A personal favor to the customer. He just didn’t want to have to deal with getting a haircut.”

I was re-blindfolded and we drove for a few more hours, maybe. I lost track of time and was afraid to ask. And then suddenly I could hear a gate opening, and a few minutes later we were pulling to a stop. “Take the blindfold off,” Krissy said. My heart was hammering in my chest. I had been too nervous to ask any serious questions on the car ride so I had no more answers than at the start. *What the fuck is going to happen to me?* We were parked in front of a large, wealthy house. I could see trees and lawn stretching away to fences in the distance and other wealthy looking houses beyond. I was in a very expensive neighborhood located I had no idea where. They left me with the coat, my bag, and nothing else. Krissy instructed me to go to the front door and then they were gone. I considered running away across the lawn and hopping the fence, but I had a feeling Krissy would know. Plus, I would be back in the situation I was in before–worse, actually: penniless and now in a strange place. I stepped slowly up the walk in my bare feet until I was standing on this stranger’s door, about to be totally at his mercy. My heart was hammering and I was drenched in sweat. This was the end of the thread I had followed. I expected something vile and ugly to meet me. But it turns out not all monsters are ugly–some are beautiful–but they will still consume you.

I rang the bell. There was no response. I rang the bell twice more and there was no response. I decided it would be best to wait. A half minute passed and the door finally opened, making me jump. I man was standing there. He was enormous. I was only five foot five, and he was well over six foot and nearly twice as wide as me. His shoulders were incredibly broad and his body rippled with muscle. I thought he was maybe in his mid-thirties. He had blond hair and blue eyes to my brown ones, and he looked like a football player, or a Greek god, or something. He was dressed in a dark button-up and slacks, with dark leather shoes. “Yes?” he said, looking at me quizzically.

My mouth hung a little open. “I’m…uh…Hi–hello, Sir…I’m…uh…I’m your…I’m from the…I was with Krissy?”

“Who?” he stared at me without comprehension.

“Maybe I have the wrong house…” I offered, turning and looking back down the driveway, about to walk off. I was sure, for a moment, there’d been a mistake. *Maybe the whole thing was a mistake! Maybe my life is fine!* “Wait, no.” I turned back. “I’m pretty sure this is the right place. I’m from the organization…I’m your new…uh…*servant*”

“Servant?” I peered at him looking for any comprehension. I had already been blushing walking up the path and it only deepened.

“I’m…um…I’m your new slave.”

“What did you say?” he said–anger flashed across face and as he spoke his hand snapped out and yanked me up by the collar of the coat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry–may I ask, is this your house?”

He smiled and set me down. “Yes, I’m just fucking with you. Good. You’ve been patient, respectful, and obedient so far. Now, you’ll only refer to me as ‘Master’ or ‘Sir’, understand?”

“Yes, Master”

“I know your name and a lot about you from what *Krissy* has gathered and told me the last few days. You’re not allowed speak your name again, do you understand.”

“Yes, Master.” I was blushing so deeply from having to call another man *“Master.”*

“Your name is ‘Dani’ now. What do you think of that?”

I was embarrassed that it was a girl’s name. I had expected horrible, physically gruesome things to happen to me, but hadn’t expected these hints at feminization and humiliation–the same humiliation I’d struggled against all through school. “I like it, Sir–Master. Or, I mean, I’ll take anything–whatever you pick, Master. But I think it’s a good pick, whatever that’s worth, which…my opinion isn’t worth anything, I know.” *Simpering idiot* I thought to myself. I couldn’t believe how easily I was going along with this now that it was happening, but the fear overruled all. *What does it matter anyway?* I tried to tell myself.

“Come in,” he said. I stepped through the door and he followed. He took my bag and tossed it in a hall closet. We stepped into a larger living room. Everything was incredibly modern–white and clean and futuristic looking. There were sculptures, art, and large windows of one way glass looking out on the lawns. Moonlight streamed in. “Are you hungry?”

“No, Master–they fed me in the car.” Krissy had come back and fed me food and drinks several times while I was blindfolded. I was still a bit hungry, but I was afraid to ask him.

“Do you have anything on under that coat?”

There was a surge of feeling in my cock, which I felt strange about. *I shouldn’t feel anything there!* “No, Master,” I said. And here was where things became undeniably sexual. This whole ordeal I had thought something terrible would happen to me–I thought someone was going to kill me, or steal my organs, or torture me. I had wanted to kill myself. But I hadn’t considered anything dark, perverse, and *erotic.* I hadn’t considered shame and humiliation that deep. I hadn’t thought that all those years of ridicule over my girly, feminine form would actually result in a final end of me being feminized and fucked. And then my reality finally shifted; he said:

“Take it off and hang it in that closet, then walk back to the center of the room,” I did it with a blush, and a moment’s hesitation as I dropped it off my shoulders, but I didn’t protest. I even took it off before I walked to the closet, careful to follow his exact instructions: because I *knew* he wanted to look at my naked butt as I walked away from him to the door. I tried to walk normally but I found myself swaying my hips slightly more than usual. I loathed this, but I was so afraid and there was such a power differential between us that I was totally compliant. I turned and walked back, meeting his eyes then glancing away. I realized my cock was swelling up a little bit from being naked and watched. I don’t think I could’ve blushed any deeper. He said nothing but I was sure he saw. He examined me calmly, walking around me like a predator stalking prey. “Did Krissy explain what it means for me to own you?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Did you understand what she explained?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You’ll be obedient?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Now, I want everyone working for me to be clean and proper. You have very little hair–I almost thought you’d shaved already. But technically you still have a dirty little asshole. Go into the bathroom and shave everything. I’ll be watching to make sure you do it right. Everything is laid out for you.”

I followed him to the bathroom. He told me to wash first and I got in the shower and scrubbed myself thoroughly. I’d never been in a shower so nice. I used the soaps he told me to and I’d never used soaps so nice. Then he drew a tub for me and filled it with some bubble mixture. I stepped into the tub and begin to shave, starting at my ankles. “You have a very big butt for a boy. I’m going to refer to you as a girl from now on because you have a very womanly figure, and you’re very submissive to agree to all this.”

“Yes, Master,” I said, blushing all over my naked body.

You might be thinking: you would never do this. And, in the face of this humiliation, I wished I could take all my decisions back–but that was the thing: I didn’t decide it all at once. I just sort of fell into this situation by making one choice at a time. I was just confused and I got lost. And by the time I got to Master, I was in too deep to say “No.” It’s like saying “no” to your boss–you usually don’t do it, right? Or saying “no” when a neighbor asks you for something–you usually just reluctantly do it. Or when a parent or police officer tells you to do something–you just do it. Well it felt the same, here. He had all the authority, all the power. Not only that, but I had “agreed” in a way to be here. There was a societal contract. People aren’t good at breaking contracts if the person they made it with is right in front of them. It was a strange mix of fear, timidness, uncertainty, and a desire to be compliant that kept me in place. I kept thinking *but what will happen if I say “no”* as if it would be something horrible. But honestly I just didn’t know. I can’t quite explain it. I wanted to resist but I couldn’t quite make myself do it; I followed him, compliant. Even in this terrible situation I had that human desire to please–to do a good job–that people exploit.

I shaved my legs out of the water, my feet perched on the side of the tub and my legs glistening and exposed in the air so he could see them. *Why am I trying to please him? What the fuck is wrong with me?* I liked girls and the thought of being feminized and fucked by a man was revolting to me. He went to a cabinet and took out a large packet of milky fluid. “This is probiotic enema fluid. It cleans out your anus and it’s actually good for your butt. We’re going to put this inside of you once you’ve shaved your anus. Do you want it cold, or warm?”

I glanced away, embarrassed. “Um…warm, I guess.” He dropped it into the warm tub to heat up. When I had moved all the way up my legs, I stood up in the tub. I felt shockingly turned on from shaving my legs–the razor felt good and my smooth skin felt incredible as my thighs slid together. I had half an erection from it, and I was ashamed to stand, but I sensed he’d like it, so I forced myself up, bent over, and shaved my naked, soapy bottom and delicate anus completely smooth. The razor felt good tugging at the hair and leaving only smooth skin on my most delicate place.

“Good girl,” he said.

I fetched the enema from the tub, took the nozzle, and slowly forced it into my tight sphincter. He hung the bag next to the tub and flipped a switch next to the tube, and I felt the warm fluid begin to flow into me. I let out a little gasp–it was a something totally unlike anything I’d felt before. I could feel the fluid trickling into me, pressing against my colon, filling me up. I slipped back into the tub to shave between my legs and around the base of my cock, then I stood again. I saw a pair of clippers and shaved a short, tight square of a landing strip above my cock. Then I slipped back into the water to shave my armpits.

“Damn you have a girly, fuckable body,” he said.

“Yes, Master,” I said. He squeezed the bag, milky fluid flowed into me, and I groaned, a little overwhelmed.

“Does that feel so full–like your stomach is swelling out?”

“Yes, Sir!” I moaned.

“It feels like I’m impregnating your stomach via your anus hole, doesn’t it?”

“Yes…yes, Master.”

“Yes what?”

“It feels like I’m being impregnated through my anal hole.”

“Good slut. Your room is through there,” he pointed. “Finish getting cleaned up, then get dressed and return to the living room. Your clothes are laid out on the bed.” He left. I finished shaving then washed and stepped out of the tub. I tried to work quickly–I was afraid of what was waiting for me and wanted to delay but I was more afraid of keeping him waiting. I tugged the nozzle out of my butt. It was a little awkward to walk with all the enema in my stomach. I waddled to the toilet and expelled, and it felt really incredible coming out–like nothing I’d ever experienced. It almost made me want to do it again.. I realized with shame that my cock twitched and jumped up, getting even more erect.

I pressed the nozzle back in and squeezed the bag, gently filling my butt again, and expelled once more. It felt really good coming out the second time, too; I shamefully got a nearly full erection from how aroused it made me. There was a tube of light pink lipstick by the sink and some mascara; I assumed he wanted it on me and applied a very light layer to my lips, then brushed the mascara onto my lashes–I’d seen how to do it in commercials. I finished cleaning then dried off with a luxurious, fluffy towel and walked through to what was my room. It was huge, with closets and big windows and a large bed. I felt another surge of nerves and humiliation when I saw what was lying on the bed: intricate, delicate, sexual lingerie. *He wants me to dress like a girl.* I knew I was blushing and I wanted to cry with frustration and hot shame.

The lingerie was all cream colored with black borders. I worked the stockings up my legs–they were very tight and snug against my thighs. The garter belt followed and I stretched the stocking up to just below my bottom and clipped them on. I pulled on the little thong-panties. Those were *very* tight. I struggled tugging them over my bottom and they clung around me very snuggly. I shivered from the soft fabric pressing and tugging right up against my anus. The bra was only the outline of a bra–a cut-out bralette, leaving my nipples framed and exposed. I had always thought they looked really hot on girls, but I’d never thought of wearing one myself. There was a tiny black maid’s dress, and I barely managed to squeeze into it and zip up the back. It barely reached the end of my bottom, and every inch of it wrapped tightly around me, revealing every curve. I tried to tug it down farther but it wouldn’t go. There were a pair of cream colored heels and I slipped into them and was actually able to walk–though somewhat uncertainly. *These must be training heels.*

Putting on the lingerie had made my cock absolutely rock hard. I tried to wait for it to go down but it took too long. It eventually got half erect and soft enough that I was able to tuck it into my panties and pull the little dress over it. It was still visibly aroused, and incredibly humiliating, but I had no choice. I couldn’t keep him waiting any longer. I slowly made my way back to the main room with my heart hammering in my chest. I had never been this afraid and this humiliated for this long before. And it was just beginning. The heels *clacked* on the ground. Master was seated, and I walked into the center of the room. “Stand straight, chin raised, shoulders back, and keep your arms clasped behind your back.” I did it. I was newly bathed but I was already sweating again standing in front of Master; my panties and stockings were already growing damp.

“Do you realize what a slutty little girl you look like? You don’t look like a man at all. You’re one of the girliest girls I’ve ever seen,” he said, examining me.

“No…I didn’t ever think of it,” I said. He nodded to a mirror against the wall and I looked over. I saw myself for the first time in it and my mouth dropped open. I didn’t recognize myself. In the mirror stood a perfect young woman. Maybe eighteen. Her mouth was dropped open and her slutty lips formed a perfect “O” in surprise. Her eyes were enormous brown doe eyes. Her lips were so plump and full. She had a perfect pixie cut to frame her delicate face. *I look so sexual* I thought, shocked. Everything about my body looked slender yet curvy in the right places. I had a nearly perfect, feminine figure. My fat bottom and thighs were nearly bursting out of my stockings and dress. Butt-flesh squeezed over the edges my stockings. The heels and my posture–with the curve of my lower back–made my bubble butt pop out perfectly. My mouth gaped open and I could feel tears of shame welling up in my eyes. I tried to blink them away. I’d spent so long trying to avoid this ridicule–to be more manly and assertive, and I hadn’t realized how hopeless it was.

“Did you really not realize how sexual your figure was?”

It was hard to speak; my throat was tight and I was worried I was going to let out a sob, “No. I was always made fun of for being girly, but I never realized I might actually be attractive to anyone.”

I saw the moon outside. It was very late; the darkest part of night.

“I want you to clean while we talk. There’s a feather duster on the shelf over there: take it and start working around the room. Part of having an expensive house and expensive things is simply maintaining them; most of your work is going to be as a maid for me, but I’ll also fuck you and objectify you.”

“Yes, Sir.” I was furiously trying to fight back tears. I went to the shelf and began carefully dusting. For a while–I’m not sure how long–he simply watched me. I could feel his eyes on my bottom, thighs, stomach, waist, and my whole body. It made my flesh prickle into goosebumps wherever his gaze touched. I could feel him enjoying the sway and jiggle of my bottom beneath the tight fabric as I moved and sometimes bent over.

“You don’t want a man to fuck your bottom, do you? Answer truthfully or you’ll be punished.”

I hesitated, nervous. “No, Master.”

“‘No’ what?”

“No, Master, I don’t want a man to fuck my bottom.”

“So when I press my cock into your booty, you’ll be getting raped.”

“Yes, Master.”

“‘Yes’ what?”

“When you press your cock into my booty, you’ll be raping me.”

“Raped how?”

“Your cock will be raping my…unwilling bottom. You’ll be butt-raping me.”

“And your mouth, too, with those plump, gorgeous, cock0sucking lips–and any part of you I want.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good girl.” He watched me clean more. I was absolutely drenched in sweat and blushing deeply, and my heart was still hammering in my chest. It felt hard to catch my breath. Even though I didn’t want this there was still a compulsion to please–I tried to hold myself well as I cleaned–tried to keep a good posture and look desirable. I glanced over and he had taken his cock out. I only caught it out of the corner of my eye and quickly looked away, but it was enormous–easily nine inches long, maybe more, and very, very thick. He had large hands and it looked like his hand hardly fit around it’s girth. He was masturbating, with his eyes fixed on my bottom. I tried to focus on my task but I could feel myself trembling. He put his cock away after a while and said, “Put the duster down and come back to the center.” I did and clasped my arms behind my back. “You’re drenched in sweat, and trembling, and blushing bright red. It’s disgusting.”

“Sorry, Master.” I thought I was about to cry.

“It’s alright. It’s also very cute and sexy.”

“Thank you, Sir.” I quickly wiped my eyes and put my hand back behind me.

“But I also think deep down you think you don’t deserve to be here. You think I only have an advantage over you because I have more money and because you had some bad luck.” I began to protest but he snapped, “No, don’t deny it. That may be true in other cases, but you in particular deserve to be a slave. And a slut, by the way. I want to prove that to you to get it out of your system early. I’m going to give you a few chances to be free. If you win any one of them, you get to leave. And I’ll even keep your debts paid off and give you some money to leave with.”

My heart jumped. All my senses felt suddenly heightened. You’ll often have moments like this when bad things find you–moments where you think: *Ah ha! I knew it! I knew bad things didn’t actually happen to me! It was just a close call! Everything will go back to normal now!* But they always deceive you.

“How about a mental test first. How should we compete?–you can pick.” The strange calm of a mental competition seemed so strikingly out of place in my current situation. *What are you, a Bond villian?* I thought. The only thing I could think of was chess. We sat at the coffee table and played. He destroyed me. He was far quicker and more clever. “You just lost your first chance. Return to the center of the room.” I did. I was crying openly now and staining my mascara a little.

“I want you to try to physically attack me.”

“I don’t think I understand, I’m sorry, Master.”

“I think you do, and are just hesitating to obey, which I’ll spank you for later. But I’ll help you. I want you to fight me as if you life depended on it–try to kill me. You may do anything you want until the fight is over, then back to our rules. Understand?”

“Yes, Master,” I was shaking now in fear and anticipation. I thought *Maybe I could take him–trip him up or something.* I had never been in a fight before. I thought I was like a character in a movie. Real fights don’t go like movie fights.

“Kick off your shoes or you’ll trip.” I did. I didn’t even think to try to use them as a weapon. “Now I’m warning you, this is your last chance to be free before getting fucked by me–before that cute, thick ass gets a dicking. Understand?”

The thought made me flinch. “Yes, Sir.”

“Begin,” he said.

I’d never felt more adrenaline. I was so nervous at the thought of the fight that my cock wasn’t even erect anymore. I sprinted at him and tried to tackle him but he braced himself and didn’t move. I hit him several times in the stomach, then the face, then tried to kick out his knees. He absorbed all my blows. I tried to hit him again and he easily dodged this time. He backhanded my face and I saw spots and lights. A stream of drool dropped out of my mouth. He slapped me a few more times then kneed me in the stomach and I crumpled to the floor. I felt nauseous but I grabbed his leg and tugged. He reached down and twisted my arm. Pain shot through it and he yanked me up to my tip-toes. His other arm snaked my waist and he tugged my bottom into his cock. He slammed his crotch and hard cock against my enormous butt a few times, humping me through our clothes and making my ass bounce and jiggle.

He spun me around, put his hand on my throat, and lifted me up. I hung in the air kicking my feet. I couldn’t breath and panicked and sobbed. I started to feel really dizzy, and then he dropped me to the floor. As I sucked in breath he twisted both arms behind my back, bent one of my legs up behind my back too, and placed his foot over my throat. He managed to hold both arms and my leg in place with one hand. His other hand groped and massaged my bottom roughly and thoroughly. My skirt was rolled halfway up my butt and I could feel his rough hands on my skin, and his fingers even pressing against my tender anus with only the diaphanous fabric of my panties protecting my entrance.

“You can give up whenever you want,” he said. I tried to struggle free and the hope went out of me.

“I give up,” I sobbed. He let me free. I lay slumped in the middle of the room, drenched in sweat, with tears running down my face. They made my mascara run down my cheeks and stain even more.

(Continued in comments)

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/72ufgn/bought_enslaved_and_anally_ravished_by_my_master