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Oh I know. He can wait. All his ‘I’m straight’ crap for years. Even his friends knew the score.

Hey. Be nice. Getting out isn’t a simple thing, especially when you’re a sub. He’s here to see you because he wants a cage.

Oh I know. He can wait. All his ‘I’m straight’ crap for years. Even his friends knew the score.

Hey. Be nice. Getting out isn’t a simple thing, especially when you’re a sub. He’s here to see you because he wants a cage.

“You’re getting hard, I can feel it!” I told him, proud I was right.

“No, I’m not hard. I just chubbed a little. It doesn’t count,” he argued.

I moved my ass on him more. Pushing back on him harder to accomplish what I knew I could do.

“Fuck,” he sighed and grabbed my hips and held me against him. “You were right.”

“Told you!” I said, happy that I proved him wrong.

He slowly humped his cock in the middle of my covered cheeks and told me how good it felt and that he was horny now.

“I’ve taken dick before,” I admitted to him. “Joe used to put it in.” Joe was my best friend before we had to move.

“Shit. Really? That would be crazy if I did. You wouldn’t mind though?” He asked.

I had a feeling he planned this. That he knew I was going to make him hard and things might go this way. He pulled down my underwear and then his.

“Just go slow,” I told him.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promised.

He pressed the head of his dick on my hole. It had been months since I had felt someone behind me. I forgot how much I enjoyed the feeling. He pushed forward until his dick went in. True to his word he went slow, making sure he didn’t hurt me as he disappeared into my body.

“Fuck, I could cum already,” he said as he pushed the rest of the way in.

“Really?” I asked, surprised.

“You’re fucking tight, god it feels good,” he said and pulled out and shoved himself back in.

He repeated it over and over until he was slapping against me with his body. Moaning and telling me how awesome I was for letting him do this.

“I can’t hold it any longer,” he announced. “Can I finish in you, please?” He was almost begging.

“Sure,” I told him.

Joe always came in me, I didn’t care. He pumped his cock a few more times and then cried out in pleasure.

“Oh god! I’m doing it,” my brother said. “Right in your ass, holy shit!”

He reached around and stroked my dick as he pushed his cock in deep.

“Cum, it will feel nice on my dick,” he told me. “Your ass will milk it out of me.”

I didn’t have much choice. Feeling his hand on me made me lose it, I began to cum all over the floor and he laid on my back and enjoyed my ass holding and squeezing on to him.

You might think me cruel. Well, I’d wager you'd do exactly what I did if you were in my place. Do you have any idea how it feels to be so much smarter than everyone around you? How frustrating it is to be stuck in a world that sees young women as non-threatening and inferior? How humiliating it feels to be eighteen and having to suffer the rules of a highschool and the deluded notions of power from a mother more interested in her workout routine than anything intellectual?

Can you imagine how lonely it is to be so far removed from everyone else?

What would you do if, like me, you had mastered the science of subliminal indoctrination and still were treated like a useless girl? Surrounded by dumb, vapid bitches every day… wouldn’t you use your skills on them? Put them in their place? And yet they sent me to the principal’s office. Me! Marched to an old man’s meaningless fiefdom like a fucking child. Sure, I’m small in size, but far from a kid. I may not be the… headturner my mother is, but no one would confuse me for anything other than a woman. And yet the principal talked to me as if I was twelve.

He never worked it all out, of course. I’m frankly surprised he got as far as he did. He managed to put together that the only thing in common between all those girls skipping class was that I also just happened to be absent when they didn’t show up. They weren’t friends, and they sure as shit weren’t close to me, so I thought I was safe. Well, they did have another common feature: they were all hot and dumb. Dumb compared to me, I mean. I couldn’t tell if they were smart for normal girls. They all kinda seem the same next to me. 

Having all that available material to work with, was I supposed not to turn them one by one into my devoted slaves? Was I supposed not to have them eat me out whenever I wished? Was I supposed to refrain from making them take slutty pictures for me? Was I supposed to not make them break up with their stupid boyfriends, to not make them steal from their parents for me, to not treat them as the pets and dolls they were obviously meant to be? Was I bad for giving them much more fun personalities, turning them into bimbos or masochist humiliation junkies or porn addicts? Obviously, the principal couldn’t imagine the truth, so he settled for accusing me of giving them pot. Pathetic, and impossible to prove. The girls would defend me to the end, but he didn’t need an excuse to exercise his miniscule power. 

Suspend me? The audacity of worms is breathtaking. 

That wasn’t the worst humiliation, however. My mother bought what he said like the dumb cunt she is. I suppose she felt a bit guilty and decided to do some parenting instead of obsessing over makeup and skincare. She grounded me. I almost want to laugh. Ground me? Like I’m some… kid? I didn’t even point out that I’m legally an adult: I didn’t want to hear the obvious “while you live under my roof” speech. So I took the punishment. Fine. The stupid bitch didn’t know what she was doing by keeping me in the house. 

She was giving me time. Time in the same house she lived in. Was I wrong for using that time to teach her a few things? Is just retribution evil?

I must admit I enjoyed it, perhaps a bit too much. She never noticed the low-frequency speakers I hid in the house, or the subliminal flashes I installed in her precious phone, or how I edited her favorite workout songs. I wonder if she felt it happening, if she realized on some level that she was changing. I hope so. Still, just seeing it was reward enough. 

Watching how she spent more and more time in her room, doors closed- as if I didn’t know she was playing with her pussy nonstop… it was fun. Of course, after a week of that I changed the conditioning slightly. She wouldn’t cum. She didn’t deserve to. She would reach the very edge of orgasm and then… nothing. Things got really interesting after that. Desperation makes people careless. She moaned like a whore louder and louder each time, not caring that I could hear her. Soon, I started walking in on her. She wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. I could see her shame, her frantic fingers fucking her soaked slit hard as she looked straight at me and tried in vain to control herself. Poor, dumb cunt. Control herself? No, that control was mine.

Obviously, that was a point that needed to be reinforced. I started making demands of my dear mother. Small ones, at first. “Make me dinner. Chicken”. She complied with a confused look on her face, trying and failing to hide the way her knees trembled with pleasure just by obeying. She instantly retreated to her room, and I enjoyed my dinner listening to her needy mumbles and moans. The link was there, and over one month I strengthened it. “Hand me my phone”... “Give me your credit card”... “Put on your sluttiest lingerie”... Every time, she did as she was told. By the last request, she didn’t make it to her room for the aftermath: she just collapsed and edged on the floor in front of me, her huge tits coated in her drool, jiggling as she ravaged herself. I made her kiss my foot, just as an afterthought.

Now, I could have stopped there. Perhaps you’d say I should have. In that case, let me ask you this: wouldn’t you take the opportunity to experiment even more, given the chance and the knowledge that whatever happened to your subject, she had it coming? It wasn’t cruelty. It was retribution.

I think she’s happier now, I really do. She doesn’t have to worry about anything ever again. She has no name- hell, she has no idea she should have a name, nor the capacity to form such a coherent thought. Money is no problem: my girls keep us comfortable, selling their bodies and their family’s valuables for me. 

No, the being that had been my mother has nothing to concern herself with except edging and drooling and obeying. I like her much better this way. And to be honest, she’s a much more entertaining conversation partner, even if she can only repeat one half-moaned phrase.

"I am a worthless cow, and my Daughter owns me."

"I am a worthless cow, and my Daughter owns me."

"I am a worthless cow, and my Daughter owns me."

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work and get access to the full library at patreon.com/prettynosferatu

You might think me cruel. Well, I’d wager you'd do exactly what I did if you were in my place. Do you have any idea how it feels to be so much smarter than everyone around you? How frustrating it is to be stuck in a world that sees young women as non-threatening and inferior? How humiliating it feels to be eighteen and having to suffer the rules of a highschool and the deluded notions of power from a mother more interested in her workout routine than anything intellectual?

Can you imagine how lonely it is to be so far removed from everyone else?

What would you do if, like me, you had mastered the science of subliminal indoctrination and still were treated like a useless girl? Surrounded by dumb, vapid bitches every day… wouldn’t you use your skills on them? Put them in their place? And yet they sent me to the principal’s office. Me! Marched to an old man’s meaningless fiefdom like a fucking child. Sure, I’m small in size, but far from a kid. I may not be the… headturner my mother is, but no one would confuse me for anything other than a woman. And yet the principal talked to me as if I was twelve.

He never worked it all out, of course. I’m frankly surprised he got as far as he did. He managed to put together that the only thing in common between all those girls skipping class was that I also just happened to be absent when they didn’t show up. They weren’t friends, and they sure as shit weren’t close to me, so I thought I was safe. Well, they did have another common feature: they were all hot and dumb. Dumb compared to me, I mean. I couldn’t tell if they were smart for normal girls. They all kinda seem the same next to me. 

Having all that available material to work with, was I supposed not to turn them one by one into my devoted slaves? Was I supposed not to have them eat me out whenever I wished? Was I supposed to refrain from making them take slutty pictures for me? Was I supposed to not make them break up with their stupid boyfriends, to not make them steal from their parents for me, to not treat them as the pets and dolls they were obviously meant to be? Was I bad for giving them much more fun personalities, turning them into bimbos or masochist humiliation junkies or porn addicts? Obviously, the principal couldn’t imagine the truth, so he settled for accusing me of giving them pot. Pathetic, and impossible to prove. The girls would defend me to the end, but he didn’t need an excuse to exercise his miniscule power. 

Suspend me? The audacity of worms is breathtaking. 

That wasn’t the worst humiliation, however. My mother bought what he said like the dumb cunt she is. I suppose she felt a bit guilty and decided to do some parenting instead of obsessing over makeup and skincare. She grounded me. I almost want to laugh. Ground me? Like I’m some… kid? I didn’t even point out that I’m legally an adult: I didn’t want to hear the obvious “while you live under my roof” speech. So I took the punishment. Fine. The stupid bitch didn’t know what she was doing by keeping me in the house. 

She was giving me time. Time in the same house she lived in. Was I wrong for using that time to teach her a few things? Is just retribution evil?

I must admit I enjoyed it, perhaps a bit too much. She never noticed the low-frequency speakers I hid in the house, or the subliminal flashes I installed in her precious phone, or how I edited her favorite workout songs. I wonder if she felt it happening, if she realized on some level that she was changing. I hope so. Still, just seeing it was reward enough. 

Watching how she spent more and more time in her room, doors closed- as if I didn’t know she was playing with her pussy nonstop… it was fun. Of course, after a week of that I changed the conditioning slightly. She wouldn’t cum. She didn’t deserve to. She would reach the very edge of orgasm and then… nothing. Things got really interesting after that. Desperation makes people careless. She moaned like a whore louder and louder each time, not caring that I could hear her. Soon, I started walking in on her. She wouldn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. I could see her shame, her frantic fingers fucking her soaked slit hard as she looked straight at me and tried in vain to control herself. Poor, dumb cunt. Control herself? No, that control was mine.

Obviously, that was a point that needed to be reinforced. I started making demands of my dear mother. Small ones, at first. “Make me dinner. Chicken”. She complied with a confused look on her face, trying and failing to hide the way her knees trembled with pleasure just by obeying. She instantly retreated to her room, and I enjoyed my dinner listening to her needy mumbles and moans. The link was there, and over one month I strengthened it. “Hand me my phone”... “Give me your credit card”... “Put on your sluttiest lingerie”... Every time, she did as she was told. By the last request, she didn’t make it to her room for the aftermath: she just collapsed and edged on the floor in front of me, her huge tits coated in her drool, jiggling as she ravaged herself. I made her kiss my foot, just as an afterthought.

Now, I could have stopped there. Perhaps you’d say I should have. In that case, let me ask you this: wouldn’t you take the opportunity to experiment even more, given the chance and the knowledge that whatever happened to your subject, she had it coming? It wasn’t cruelty. It was retribution.

I think she’s happier now, I really do. She doesn’t have to worry about anything ever again. She has no name- hell, she has no idea she should have a name, nor the capacity to form such a coherent thought. Money is no problem: my girls keep us comfortable, selling their bodies and their family’s valuables for me. 

No, the being that had been my mother has nothing to concern herself with except edging and drooling and obeying. I like her much better this way. And to be honest, she’s a much more entertaining conversation partner, even if she can only repeat one half-moaned phrase.

"I am a worthless cow, and my Daughter owns me."

"I am a worthless cow, and my Daughter owns me."

"I am a worthless cow, and my Daughter owns me."

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work and get access to the full library at patreon.com/prettynosferatu