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Chained Cheerleader

30000 words

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Sex Slavery / Training

Dana remembered when she was the golden girl with the golden life and the golden bronzed body. Head cheerleader and smugly beautiful, she had taken everything in life for granted. But that was - so long ago, weeks, really, though they felt like months. Locked away now, chained and beaten, forced to obey and please her captor, an ancient, disgusting man who lived just two doors down from her.

Now every day was a frantic scramble to please a man she hated, who hurt, degraded and humiliated her at every opportunity, treating her as something less than human even as he delighted in forcing her own body to betray her. None of her admirers would recognize the desperate, writhing, naked slave as the arrogant princess she had once been. But Dana still dreamed of freedom.

Price:  $6.95

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She stood straight, with her bottom pushed back, and her hands behind her neck. Her long, athletic legs were parted and her back arched slightly as he sat next to her. The window, a broad picture window which covered half the wall, was inches in front of her rigid nipples, but the glass was one-way, and unbreakable. She had already learned that the hard way.
She gazed out onto the street and watched the people walking back and forth, watched children playing, watched traffic, including police cars sweep past, and they could see nothing of her, had no idea she was even there, or that he sat beside her in the shadows.
His hand, large, work-roughened, caressed her firm, young buttocks, then slid over her hips and around to her front to stroke her belly. His hand moved slowly upwards, enjoying the sensation of her soft, silken flesh as it passed up over her chest and across her full, taut breasts, straining against her chest wall as she arched.
It was her street, Dana’s street. She had lived here for many years, though not in this house. Her house was two houses over, but she hadn’t seen it for weeks now. She had no idea when she would get to see it again. Or even if she would get to see it or her family again.
She had a dancer’s body, the body of the cheerleader she was, or had been. She was all soft curves, but with muscle beneath, her full breasts high and rounded, her thighs firm. She had once had blonde hair which fell across her shoulders in waves. Now she was bald. He had slashed her hair away to taunt her, to make her realize there was no quick return, no going back to her old life. Then he had carefully shaved her head so that not a trace of stubble remained.
It was her job now to keep it that way, one of her many daily tasks.
She stood in place, facing the street, as if in sight of all the neighbors she had known and who knew her. Yet they seemed like strangers in another world as his hand moved slowly over the surface of her body. His fingers kneaded her breasts now, then gripped her nipples and rolled them slowly between the pads of his fingers, plucking and pinching them.
The sun moved slowly overhead. It was a bright day outside, but the sun was on the other side of the house, leaving this room in shadows as his hand slipped slowly down between her legs. She was even more carefully shaved there, and he had made her very clearly understand the penalties of his fingers detecting the slightest hint of hair.
His strong, thick fingers traced the thin, tight line of her sex now, and she felt a wave of rage and misery as they slid across her clitoris and a surge of excitement twisted her belly. His fingers stroked up and down, up and down, up and down, and she could feel her insides beginning to roil, could feel the warm, musky heaviness beginning to spread up through her groin.
She held her position, for he had trained her well in just these few weeks, these few weeks since he had taken away all that she had been and made her into his toy, his slave, his animal, his possession. He told her that was what she was now, that she was no longer a person, and that she had no name. And then he taught her what it meant to be a non-person, to be a thing.
She shuddered weakly as his fingers now pushed up into her body. Shame filled her yet again, and self-loathing at how moist she had become, and how quickly. His fingers pushed up and her body felt a wave of shimmering heat as they slid wetly through her opening. Then his thumb hooked up across the top of her sex and began to stroke across her clitoris from side to side.
Her breathing caught in her throat and she felt her heart skip a beat. Her nipples were rigid, quivering with excitement. A cruel, demanding heat spread out through her breasts and made her long to feel something against them, to feel rough hands squeezing and kneading them. But even if she would ask – and she would not, for she loathed him – she was no longer a person and was not permitted to speak.
She wore a shiny, stainless steel collar around her throat, and matching shackles on her wrists and ankles, but fear, not the restraints, kept her in position. In just a few short weeks, she had learned not to disobey him, not to fail to please him.
He rose slowly from the chair and pressed himself against her from behind. She felt the hardness of his body against her back as his left hand came around her chest and began to knead her breast. Her body reveled in the touch and she felt her hips grinding softly as the churning sexual pressure began to take hold of her. Dismay filled her as her body betrayed her yet again, and she lost her effort to keep her breathing even, her chest now fluttering like a caged bird as she gulped in air.
His left hand slid back around her, caressing her ribs, her belly, her hip and then reaching back between her buttocks to her anal opening. He had placed butt-plugs inside her since he had taken her, progressively larger ones to accustom her body to his large size. They were always inside her, keeping her ready should he want to use her there.
Now his fingers gripped the base and slowly pulled it free. She moaned softly, gasping lightly, then groaning, the sexual tension rising to an unbearable level as she felt the delicious softness of his skin against her, felt him pushing into her opening, the round, flared head of his cock easily pushing through where her sphincter had surrendered. She felt his cock sliding higher up into the warm tightness of her anus, past where the butt plug had held her open.
She was tighter now, but he was through the ring of her opening and his cock burrowed deeper as his left hand returned to her breast. His right was still in her sex, his two middle fingers thrusting slowly up and down as his thumb stroked across her clitoris.
She let out a soft whimpering moan, and he thrust forward, his cock driving higher, giving her cramps now as it drove into the center of her belly.
He reached up and gripped her wrists, pulling them away from the back of her neck and slapping them against the window up and out to either side, pushing her forward so her face and breasts mashed against the hard, cool glass. He spread her legs wider, pulled her hips back a bit, then began to thrust into her.
It hurt, and she trembled in pleasure at the feel of his cock, so stiff, so slick, so soft, so horrible, thrusting up and down inside her, pumping like a piston in a shaft, his hips slapping against her young buttocks. For she was young, younger than his own daughter, the daughter he had raised on this very street, sent to her school, sent off to college and life.
She gasped and groaned as his thick shaft thrust up into her again and again and again. Her cheek was grinding against the hard glass, her breasts pillowed out, squeezed between her chest wall and the glass beyond as he sodomized her. She saw out of one eye, the mailman walk calmly up the walkway, turn and pass right before the window, perhaps five feet away. He stopped at the door, sorted through the mail, and she stared at him even as her mind was enveloped in the dark hunger of her captor’s lust.
The mailman was youngish, thin, tall, wearing a pale blue shirt, polyester, ill-fitting, she thought, with that former mind. He had long fingers, and she watched him sort through the mail as she grunted and gasped and jerked against the window. Her entire upper torso was pressed against the window now, her hips thrust back, legs spread, and her ragged panting breaths fogged the glass a little as the mailman opened the box, and dropped some bills and fliers in, then turned and walked past her without seeing.
His hips continued to work steadily, but with increasing speed, his hard, angry prick pumping inside her, the nose jamming achingly deep. Yet he had taught her body, forced her body to learn how to love that ache, how to glory in that ache, no matter what her mind might think or want. He thrust hard enough that his hips bruised her buttocks, and forced her half up onto her toes with every stroke. Her breasts were mashing and rolling against the window as her chest pushed up against it in time to the rhythm of his strokes.
She was a tall girl. He told her that was one of the reasons he had selected her. He liked her long legs, liked to be able to spread them wide and still take her in either hole, he had said, liked to have them wrapped around him, or pushed back over her own head.
She had been all but a virgin when he had taken her. Her two sexual experiences had been short lived and unimaginative, the fumbling of teenagers. She had never imagined sex like this, never imagined he could train her body against her will to love the touch of his fingers and the hard thrust of his big cock.
Her eyes were glazing over as the sweltering sexual heat overcame her. Her eyes became glassy, and her jaw went slack so that her lips drooled slightly against the glass as he forced her body up and down, up and down, in and out by his steady, hard thrusts.
His fingers were still between her legs, still thrusting into her, still stroking against her, and she felt the orgasm sweep up around her. She cried out, softly, in a gurgling, gasping, animal moan that went on, then rose, then rose still higher as the orgasm began to flip to higher and higher levels of intensity. It rose to a crescendo, where the sensations screamed inside her like an explosion, tearing through her mind and body so that nothing else mattered, nothing else existed, but the raw, animal pleasure.
And at the center of it was his cock, thrusting, thrusting, thrusting up into her. She felt it; her awareness, such as it was, focused on the sensation of his big, hard phallus as it pushed up and down inside the warmth of her belly. It hurt, and the hurt was glorious.
He withdrew, slowly, the long, slick, fat body of his cock pulling at her insides as he drew back. He pulled entirely free, and thrust the butt plug into her instead. He drew back, and she remained in the position he had set her, gasping, her insides twisting and roiling.
She gasped as the strap cut across her buttocks, gasped again at the second blow, whimpered at the third, as the skin over her firm young buttocks reddened and grew hot. Another blow, and another, the long strap slashing down across her flesh with a loud Crack! of sound as her body flinched and jerked to the stinging pain. Her breathing became more ragged still, her chest fluttering against the glass. The strap slashed down again and again and again until her bottom was flaming, and then he stopped, yanked the butt-plug free, and thrust himself deep into her belly with a speed and strength that made her scream.
He held still, his cock sheathed within her. At first, she had always screamed when he had pushed himself all the way inside her. He was a foot long, and quite thick, and she had thought she would die from the pain. But now, after only a few weeks, her young body had grown accustomed to being deeply penetrated. She ached, but it was a soft, thrilling ache as he stood still, locked inside her, filling her.
His fingers stroked her clit and his hips began to grind against her wounded buttocks, twisting his cock around inside her tight hot belly. Then he began to thrust again, using slow strokes at first which punched the fat, helmet head of his staff into the deepest pit of her aching belly, then lengthening his stroke so that his hips slapped powerfully against her out-thrust buttocks with every stroke.
Her insides twisted and burned and the raw animal heat spread up through her body to her breasts, burning and aching as they rolled against the window. And as he leaned in and clamped his jaw to the side of her neck, she screamed, the pleasure consuming her even as his teeth bit into her soft flesh with cruel force.
Her hips bucked back against his thrusting cock, her entire body flaring wildly with white-hot sexual release as his fingers stroked roughly across her clitoris, as his teeth bit even more painfully into the nape of her neck. The orgasm went on and on and on, threatening to tear away what was left of her sanity, and then slowly eased, draining away, along with her energy.
His fingers eased back, and then his cock slowly pulled back, sliding out of her back passage until she was open again, aching.
“Kneel,” he ordered.
She slid down the glass, panting weakly, breasts sliding along the glass until she reached her knees. She turned and he moved to stand with his hip to the glass. She faced him, and licked her lips as he lay the head of his cock against them. She didn’t move, but held still, staring at it, her lips closed, pursed. And then he pushed forward slowly.
She let her lips be forced open, let his cock slowly slide through them and across her tongue. She didn’t think where his cock had been, or consider the taste of it in her mouth. All that mattered was obeying, pleasing him. No bad taste was going to stop her from doing her best to achieve that. He had trained her well in that regard.
She kept her lips tight around his shaft, but not too tight, her teeth drawn up and back, her hands clasped together behind her back as inch after inch of cock slid through her lips, over her tongue and into her mouth. The head reached the back of her mouth, and kept going. She gagged only slightly as it penetrated her throat, pressed against the back wall of her throat, and was bent downwards.
It was easier to take him into her throat if she angled her head back, but she had not been told to do that, not been given permission, and so she knelt, looking straight ahead, down the length of his cock, or what was left of it, as he pushed it deeper into her mouth and throat. Then she was staring at his curly pubic hair and then at nothing, as her face was jammed tightly against his belly.
His hands were on her bald head, holding her in place, her lips wrapped tightly around the base of his cock. She tried to work her tongue from side to side against the underside of his shaft as his hands slid down to grip her ears. He caressed them lightly, then gripped tightly as he pulled up and back. An inch, then three, then or four slid out of her lips.
His hands shifted, going behind her head, and jerked her forward. She gagged as he drove himself into her to the balls with one stroke. He pulled back, then did it again. His fingers caught a better grip of her ears, and he began to thrust in and out, in and out, hard and fast, and she could not help gagging as his cock raped her mouth and throat. There was nothing to come up, however, for she hadn’t eaten in days. He only fed her when he felt like it, and he usually didn’t.
Her fingers tightened desperately around each other, locking her hands together behind her back lest they jerk out instinctively and push against him. She gagged weakly, the oxygen slowly running out of her, her skull throbbing, her chest burning and aching as he continued to thrust in and out, in and out, in and out.
He pulled free suddenly, and she gagged violently as he yanked his cock out of her in one fast movement which had his come spraying across her face in a hot, spattering rain.
He released her and her hands quickly came up front, her fingers clearing the come out of her eyes. She gulped in deep, desperate breaths of air, reeling from the lack of oxygen, but her hands pressed against her face, rubbing the semen into her skin, making sure not a drop escaped.
“Return to your chores,” he said, turning away.
Dana, or the girl who had once been Dana, sank dazedly to her heels for a long moment, still gulping in air, chest still heaving.
“Present,” he said.
She blinked at him, then gasped and threw herself forward on the floor, torso low, bottom high, knees wide as she presented herself for his use. He picked up the butt plug, and she winced as she thrust it back inside her.
Then he turned and went back to his chair, picking up his newspaper. The girl who had once been a person rose to her feet and padded past him into the kitchen, then sank onto all fours again next to the bucket and scrub brush. She had spent much of the day cleaning his cupboards, taking out every item in them, cleaning them, cleaning the shelves, putting down clean paper, and replacing all the items. Now she was scrubbing the floor. When it had dried, she would wax it.
It was a large kitchen, painted blue and white. The back door was heavy, solid, and bolted. It gave onto his private back yard. On the near wall was a pantry, and past that the door to the basement, a place where she had learned the true meaning of the word pain, the place where her endless nightmare had begun.
No, it was earlier than that. It had begun some weeks ago when she’d been at school.



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