Welcome back to the Free Use Cunt Klub, or F.U.C.K.!
One woman. One hundred days. No limits.
A college professor sells herself into a world where she is nothing but flesh to be used, her body and mind broken, bound, and remade. From free-use degradation to ritualized submission, she is driven past every boundary and forced to crave the chains that bind her. This is not just submission—it is annihilation, and she’s never wanted anything more.
This is the bridge episode from Season 1 to Season 2. If you have just discovered this series, you can go back and start with Episode 1 now: F.U.C.K. Part 1
He found me crying.
The grass was still warm as the sun began to sink behind the trees, and my chest rumbled, but I’d found my spot, and there was no moving. Not while…
I laid there, eyes shut against the tears. My schedule. My bed. My routine — all of it gone. Reminders of what I’d done, let myself want. The website. The form. The signature. Amy’s lips on mine as she whispered encouragement, her vodka breath, her fingers sliding lower as she guided me deeper into those dark webpages. We’d drunk and dared ourselves past the point of no return. She warned me, and still I scanned the forms, clicked Send, and chose one hundred days of being nothing but a cunt.
I could still see the webpage now.
Free. Use. Cunt. Klub. F.U.C.K. One hundred days of being a free use cunt, and I called the faculty office the next day, my hands trembling as I told them I would be taking the summer in Europe to begin researching my next book.
Footsteps in the grass stop next to me. It was him, of course. Who else?
I’d given myself to everyone else. Or they’d taken what was theirs to take. Me. My holes. My mouth. My ass. Again and again and again. My body was filth — cum drying on my face, leaking down my thighs, dirt ground under my nails, polish long gone. I crawled from flowerbed to house, broken but desperate, used and left behind, begging silently for one more touch.
His touch. His touch was everything now that the rest of my life was gone.
How long had it been? The days blurred, one to the next — me in motion, waves of emotion, a desperate need, a blinding lust. The farm swelled with students earning credits, each promised one use a day. The women were the cruelest, spitting and pissing on me, laughing as they used my mouth. And I thanked them. Crawled back for more. I needed them. But I needed him most of all. His voice at the end of every day — the only tether I had left.
I worked to please them. I woke and slept to service them. I toiled to earn their cum. And to hear Daddy’s voice. Would I miss his voice, his touch, his cock? Would I beg him to stay? If he said I could, would I even want to leave? A hundred days. What could happen to a person in one hundred days? Who would I be in one hundred days? Would Amy even recognize me? Would she touch me? Would she even ask? Or would she see something she wanted and put me on my knees at her feet, too?
“Up, cunt,” Daddy said.
I trembled. Covered in sweat and cum and tears, I could barely meet his gaze.
“Starting tomorrow, other men and women will be here,” he’d told me weeks ago. “They’ll want to fuck you. They will. You serve the farm now. Your body belongs to us. To me.”
How long ago had that been? Weeks, I knew, but how many? And how many more to go?
“Eyes here, cunt,” he said again, and this time I felt him close, kneeling in the grass. Warm fingers grazed my shoulder, and I opened my eyes, finding the brown orbs I’d fallen into that first day taking me in, his lips flat but with a curl up on one end. He was still in the light blue tee from this morning, when I’d crawled off to tend to my first flower bed. From lunch, when I’d sucked his cock around wedges of watermelon he’d pressed into my wanting mouth, the juices dripping down my chin.
I blinked. The setting sun painted his brown hair gold. My god in this place.
“Look at you,” he said, and I shuddered. “Filthy whore. How many cocks today?” He gripped my chin and turned my face, and I felt my clit come alive. “What a disgusting cunt you are to take every cock in the place day after day, crawling back to me covered in cum, and…,” his smile widened now, his fingers slipping between my legs, finding my molten heat, “and loving it.”
His fingers plunged into my aching pussy, and I groaned.
“Is this what you wanted?”
I moaned in response, rolling over, opening my legs. His fingers slipped out, and my whole body gasped when his open palm cracked against my pussy with a hard, wet slap. “Is this what you wanted, cunt?” I blinked through the pain of a second slap, a third, and then his fingers drove into me again.
“Is this what you are?”
Pain and pleasure collided, and I gasped, my mouth croaking out air while my lips failed to form words. My mind slipped into oblivion. Blank. The fog of need filling the empty space. His voice cracked through with a growl, and the world slipped away. “Show me how a dumb cunt comes.”
Yes. God, yes.
Later, scrubbed clean under the hose, I crawled into the dining room. Another day in the garden. Another day of rutting in the dirt. Another meal on the floor with my face in my bowl. Another night of waiting at Daddy’s feet or making the rounds with my mouth.
The room froze around me. A dozen familiar eyes. Then a new pair. I glanced up and instantly regretted the decision.
“Don’t you dare look at me, cunt,” she said, her voice slow, deep. I felt her words as much as heard them. My eyes found the floor — scuffed, unremarkable linoleum I’d crawled across more times than I could remember. So many memories around the dull gray carpet, the linoleum with its white and blue pattern, the feet I’d knelt before, the voices that commanded me. The singular word that fluttered my heart: cunt.
I leaned down, raising my ass, and pressed my forehead to the floor, just as Daddy had taught me, and let my heart hammer in my chest as I took slow, deep breaths. Something was about to change.
“She’ll do,” the woman said. “A replacement is already on the way.”
No. I swallowed, shifted, and then Daddy’s warm hand stroked the skull he’d only just shaved this morning. “Come along then, cunt,” he said, and tugged my collar.
I scrambled after him, the hard leather biting my throat. I gasped and crawled, slow, feeling the room shift around me as we slipped through the back door again to find something that hadn’t registered. A small metal cage. “Obey, cunt,” he said when I balked, and he dragged me the last few steps forward. Then I felt his breath on my neck as he squatted beside me, his face just there out of sight as the cage filled my vision. He stroked my head, fingers trailing down my back, until his fingers slipped inside me. “Still wet. What a good girl,” he whispered, and then he stood up, and his fingers were gone, and all I could see was the cage.
Hands appeared, closing leather loops around my wrists and ankles. I opened my mouth to beg, but a thick metallic gag silenced my words, forcing my tongue down, leaving my mouth gaping. They buckled the straps at the back of my head, and I heard the distinct finality of a metal click. Then, they herded me forward, pulling me up — hands at my shoulders and arms, gripping my legs and ankles, lifting, guiding me into the tiny cage. I struggled, terror spiking, kicking, screaming, writhing against the inevitable.
But there was no stopping it. The cage loomed closer, swallowing me, until there was nothing but thin bars breaking up the crowd gathered around. Daddy stood there, hands in his pockets, his eyes locked on mine as they pulled my wrists behind me, pulled my ankles apart. I stared back through a veil of tears.
The cage closed with a click, and a new spike of fear pierced my heart, rushing down to my loins. And just then, I couldn’t tell if I wanted to scream or beg to be fucked.
The world shifted when they lifted the cage and carried me around the house, a young black woman leading the procession across the gravel to the back of a windowless van. The door yawned open, metal glinting, and they quickly secured the cage inside. I looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of Daddy, and the doors slammed into darkness.
Gone. Helpless. In a cage. A whore with no name. A cunt for one hundred days, and no way to escape. My fantasy found. Tears flowed before the van rolled forward, my body rocking with every turn, every shudder. If only, I thought — if only — and then I knew what I was, what I would always be.
If only I could cum.
Author’s Notes: And so it begins — the long-awaited season two of this story. Long awaited by me, at least, because I started writing this story at least two years ago. But because I write so many stories — erotic or not, including fantasy, sci-fi, mystery, and adventure — I couldn’t get back to this one to take it forward.
This story actually has five main parts — meaning five seasons with each season having at least 8-10 parts. This is the second part of our heroine’s journey of self-discovery after signing herself up to be a free-use cunt for 100 days. A lot can happen in one hundred days, and a lot will happen when she goes home. Who will she be after 100 days of slavery? Only time and this story will tell.
One additional note here — I really do appreciate every reader, and I will always strive to give you everything I’ve got, no matter how you discover it. This second season is a testament to that because it was the readers who asked for more. Thanks for taking a chance on my writing. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.
Wow… what a chapter! Even though the professor accepted all of the degradation from the students on the farm, I couldn't help but feel like I wanted to rescue her from any more pain and humiliation! I kept thinking she was going to get up and walk away instead of taking it anymore… I was wrong.
This is terrifying. I’m sad not to be able to read more, it’s some of the best work on Substack. Thank you. X