Welcome back to F.U.C.K., a decadent tale of surrender. FUCK has it’s own section now, so if you scroll to the top, you can find all the episodes in order. Enjoy!
I quaked in a darkness of my own making.
Muscles taut, burning, my breath coming in gasps, I felt the first tears before I even heard her footsteps. The mask hugged my face like a second skin, ropes tightening around me with every simple movement. I squatted in the darkness, trapped in a web, anchored to the spot as my body screamed out for relief.
I swallowed the first sob. The second. Gulped air and tried to picture him as fear slid through the cracks.
Why? Why did I do this?
Ruddy cheeks, browned by the sun, flashed across my mind. That broad chest. Fingers thick and meaty with a strength that had made me tremble each time he touched me. Control with only a smile, a word, a gesture. I’d fallen to my knees without inhibition and soaked up his warmth, his power, his immediate ownership. Everything I’d read had prepared me for something else, but the sun was shining when he’d unpacked me, pulled me naked from the box and named me. Made me his.
Cunt. Dumb cunt.
My legs trembled, the position impossible to betray. I shifted my head, trying to lean back, take the pressure off my toes, ease the burn in my thighs, but the grip of the line on my nose ring wouldn’t budge. It pulled me forward like gravity, my shoulders burning with tension behind me as I balanced somewhere between kneeling and sitting, squatting perfectly on my toes. No forward. No back. Just a careful, endless dance of firing nerves and screaming tendons.
Pain and darkness that clutched at my heart and numbed my thoughts.
His cock filled me, stretching my cunt. My ass. Stretched again and again until the pain shifted into pleasure. His big mitt around my throat, his breath heavy on the stubble that darkened my skull after that first day. A twitch, a groan, the shudder that preceded each eruption -- I’d grown to know it so well, feel his pleasure rising, and mine with it. An eruption, flooding my cunt, filling my ass. Gagging, choking his cum down as he fucked my throat.
Dumb cunt.
His voice rolled through the darkness, filling mine -- all the horrors I’d touched myself to. My fingers snaking through the slick folds between my legs as I dreamt of evil masters and terrible mistresses. A cage. A hole. A life in chains. Each movement like a breath -- a command exhaled into my lungs as I inhaled their needs and made them mine.
Show me how dumb a cunt cums.
All my pleasures owned by another. All my hopes and dreams fulfilled by a darkness I’d shaped for myself.
But not him. He was gone, and I was alone and helpless for what lay ahead. Alone in darkness.
Seconds. Minutes. Hours. I’d wrestled with the darkness. The moment I’d seen them, their faces in masks of shadow and a wane light, she’d slid the hood over my head and I’d inhaled leather and leftover fear. Naomi, her voice in my ear, tightened the straps. “You will kneel here while they bid. You will move as instructed and show yourself as the agent directs. Otherwise, you will remain silent and still until you are acquired and I come to collect you. Do you understand?”
I’d nodded and settled in, letting the quick pulse of the auction flow over me, unable to follow the agent’s call, see the masks that bid. Twice I was told to stand, to bend over and present myself, my holes, my breasts for inspection. Invisible fingers grazed my skin, the delicate touch sending shivers across my flesh until I felt the rush of need between my legs. Fingers parted my cunt, and I trembled as they probed. Fists clenched, I focused on maintaining position and balance, while my clit throbbed for attention, and my knees quaked, ready to submit to the inspection further, to give them whatever they wished to take.
Would they fuck me right on the stage and see what kind of desperate whore they could own for a night?
I grunted when the fingers in my cunt and ass came together, playing a rhythm along that thin wall that had me gasping and moaning. Hips grinding, back arching, I pushed my ass higher and pressed my tits to the stage, letting them see what I could become. What I wanted to become. What I’d sold myself for the summer to become. If they would mouth the right figure and clip the leash to my nose ring, I would follow and surrender.
When the moment came, when the room went silent, I felt the emptiness fill up the surrounding space. The heat of their collective attention dissipated, and suddenly I knelt on the dais alone, naked and aware of the first spark of fear in my belly. Someone had made the last bid, and I would be the property of a stranger.
I woke to tears inside a shape someone else had drawn for me.
Light poured through high windows, bright yellow beams washing over the floor like fire as the curtains were drawn, and I felt the sun laying across my skin again. I inhaled, saw the fields behind the farmhouse again, smelled the wet grass, the earth worked with careful fingers around each manicured rose bush. Warmth. Sweat. The taste of his cum lingering on my tongue. The ache between my legs — empty, needy, waiting for him to fill the one hole he’d claimed as his.
But the air here was still, perfumed with something sharp and mineral. The ache in my legs told me this wasn’t a memory; the pain in my back and shoulders; the way I sagged in my bonds -- inescapable and inevitable -- like the moment the lid closed on the box. I’d sold myself, and all I could do now was accept what would come.
The sharp clip of heels echoed on the tiles. Leather brushed my shoulders. A hand — small, sure, and gloved — tilted my head up, and I shuddered as my nose ring stretched. Pain coursed back into existence as sleep fell away in sheets.
“So you live,” she said. Her voice was smooth, aged like wine. “Good. Good. It’s no good owning an instrument if she cannot enjoy how she is played.”
The Matriarch. Naomi’s last words bubbled up over the fear that gripped me. “The Matriarch has bid. On you, cunt. You don’t know what that means.”
The leather peeled away, and I blinked into the morning light, happy to breathe freely, the fear spreading as I looked into her crystal blue eyes. She was not beautiful in any conventional sense. Her face was bare, pale, unafraid of the lines that age drew away from her eyes, her mouth. White hair sat perfectly piled on her head. She wore a simple black shift, sleeveless, loose, hem brushing her calves as she squatted before me in a simple pair of black heels.
She studied me as though she were evaluating sculpture rather than flesh. The granite that would become sculpture. I saw myself reflected in her eyes: a trembling thing, slick with sweat, half-formed and trembling. She touched the ropes that still held me fast, trapped in the form Naomi had placed me, a deep squat, my legs tied in place, my arms forced up behind me by still more ropes. Her fingers followed their pattern like an artist inspecting her own brushwork.
“Endurance,” she murmured. “It’s the first language the body learns when it’s told to forget itself.”
Her fingers rested on my jaw, then pulled my mouth open. I wanted to answer, to ask how long I’d been there, what she wanted, but her gaze silenced me. She didn’t need words; she commanded with stillness. The air seemed to obey her, and I knew without a doubt that I would as well. “You will learn to speak it fluently,” she said, and I caught a glint of metal before she buckled the ring gag in place, leaving my mouth gaping and ready for whatever she desired.
She paced once around me, heels clicking softly, plucking at the ropes, watching me twist in the grip of her web. “Pain is a map,” she said. “Most people run from it and spend their lives lost. You—” She paused behind me, close enough that I could feel the cool whisper of her breath against my neck. “—you will follow where it leads.”
The ropes came loose one by one, and yet I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My arms fell behind my back, still locked together but unable to maintain the stress position alone. My nose ring remained anchored to the floor with a single thin strand of string. Eyes down, I focused on that endpoint, feeling her moving around behind me, my ears fighting to catch her every breath over my heartbeat.
She returned moments later — maybe hours — and her dress whispered against my bare back, her breath on my neck. I inhaled her, closing my eyes, trying to clear my mind for the journey ahead. I was hers for as long as she wanted me, and there was no way back to the farm — to him. The slim line that anchored me to the floor proved my place, and I wouldn’t move to release it, even if I could.
Her scent was faint and clean — linen, paper, a hint of vanilla. Her voice, when it came again, was low and clear, neither kind nor cruel, but filled with the authority of someone who has never needed to shout. Warm hands now, skin against skin as she found my breasts, and then a whimper from my gaped mouth as clamps found my pebbled nipples.
I felt her smile, my eyes still on the anchor point, legs trembling as she shifted around in front of me. Suddenly, the string gave way, and my head came up, released from its prison. Her lips curled into a smile, faint but real, before she lifted a small metal box that hung just out of sight. My eyes locked onto hers as she flicked a switch, and I found her lips turn up when she saw my reaction.
The box hummed with intent, and I felt a spark of fear.
“Good. We’re ready to begin.”
Author’s Notes: I’ve gone a number of ways in this story in my head, trying to find our heroine’s path, and I’ve settled on this way — the auction that leads to a number of different experiences, but none more important than her experience and budding relationship with The Matriarch.
Where will it lead? We saw Cunt spend the first part of the summer surrendering to pleasure. Now, we will see her surrender to pain, to endurance, to aspects of life that she has never even considered. The goal, of course, is to unmake her. Her goal — one she’s not offered to us as the readers yet, but we will see it come out in time. For what drove her to be interested, exciting, compelled by this journey in the first place?
It’s only in this unmaking that she can find herself and know who she is and what she will become. And that will give us the rest of the story and all that comes with it.
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I’m loving this so much 💦💦😈
Thanks, I’ll read this ASAP 😈