Malignity of Stone Ch. 08: Epilogue

And in that moment of utter brain crash and convulsing pleasure, as Burns firmly planted his seed into my womb, I finally, without reservations, accepted my fate, and embraced the beginning of my new life.

***

Cindy

"Come again?" I asked, blinking slowly, breathing rapidly.

My heart was hammering against my chest. The deafening music of the club made it difficult to hear well -- but also to just stay calm. I couldn't stop myself from shaking.

"I said," Nick repeated, leaning into me and performing a sweeping gesture with his arm, "welcome to your new workplace."

"N-n-no," I whispered, my lip trembling, as I contemplated the basement before me.

I'd been here before, of course. Serving upstairs was demeaning, but it was nothing, compared to what went on down here.

I'd been dragged from one dungeon to another, bound, blindfolded, caned and whipped, subjected to heat and cold, tickled and filmed, verbally and physically degraded.

Most of all, I'd been fucked. Fucked by men and women (but mostly men) I never even got to see, like I was just a thing, a part of the furniture, dungeon equipment to be used and discarded.

I could tolerate it. Nick wanted me to star in the basement for the club, so I did it. But... work here, every day? For real?

I was a loyal servant of the patriarchy now. I knew men existed to rule, and women to serve. But this... this felt just... too terrifyingly, inescapably real. It set off my flight instinct. A part of me wanted to run.

The rest merely expected to submit.

I felt his hand clasp my neck possessively, his lips at my ear, and I shivered. A small, instinctual, animalistic part of my brain remembered what kind of a ruthless misogynist Nick actually was. Who it was, of all people, who had come to wield such power over me.

His hand of my neck triggered all sorts of primal instincts in my subconscious. It was such a male gesture. Assuming, arrogant, disrespectful... and masterful. The kind of manhandling associated with unruly domestic animals.

And women who misbehave.

I was scared.

"Now that you're my girl," Nick whispered, "you don't really need a degree anymore. It's just a piece of paper. I've got a nice job lined up from my dad anyway, more than enough to provide for us."

"No..." I whispered meekly. He continued as if I hadn't even spoken.

"You'll get to work here while you're young and beautiful. Just for a few years, I swear. After that, you can stay home like a nice, trad little girlfriend. Barefoot and pregnant."

I visibly flinched at the last two words, trying to squirm away from his grasp -- which he immediately put a stop to, his fingers clasping tighter against the back of my neck.

Reminding me that I was owned.

"You should be thanking me, really," he said, his voice dropping so low I could barely follow. "I'm going to make so many people love you. And here in the basement, you'll get the chance to lez it out in public with a perfect aliby. I've thought of everything, see?"

Of course he had. He was so much smarter than me -- a concept that I would have found hilarious bordering on the offensive, before I realized what my proper place was as a woman.

He was a man, my boyfriend, and my master. Of course he knew best.

"Isn't that right, dyke?"

"Y-y-yes, Sir," I said in a mousy voice, my eyes downcast. "T-thank you for thinking about what's best for me."

"You're welcome," he said, brushing my chin in a smug fashion, priding himself in his toy.

And with that, my future was settled. No more higher education for me. No more career, no financial independence, no self-actualization... Ahead of me was only service.

Personal service to Nick... and to the select clientele of the club and its basement.

It was so unfair. I'd done anything Nick asked of me, tossed aside my own sexual orientation, served him in any way, whored myself out at his command, doing my best to be a good, lovable, loyal, obedient little girlfriend.

And this was my prize. Even more abuse. Even more slavery. The iron heel of the patriarchy, twisting ever deeper into my neck?

Nick couldn't care less about my shock and turmoil. He took me by the waist -- his hand travelling downwards towards my butt, where it finally rested possessively -- and guided me through the basement.

Most of the dungeon doors on both sides of the hallway were shut, but from the open ones I could glimpse all the tools of the trade -- stockades and St Andrew's crosses, whips and leather masks, collars and chains.

My new workspace. No, worse than that -- my new classroom. The one education Nick considered worthwhile for a woman he owned.

I shivered, and not just from fear. By pure training alone, I was beginning to respond to the catastrophic, irreversible reduction in my social and personal status.

It was hot.

Nick continued to speak, oblivious or perhaps simply uncaring about my discomfort.

"I have a specific role for you in mind," he said, leading me into one of the open dungeons. "There's this new feature we're introducing, to appeal to a... broader clientele. We've hired an apprentice dominatrix, and she needs a little sexpet to complete the act, you see."

I just stared at him, slack-jawed. He put a hand on my chin, closing my mouth.

"I know you're pretty far gone, but it's no time to blow invisible dicks, doll," he said, the words making my cheek redden.

"It's a pretty easy job, you see. You'll act as the submissive dyke and human footstool for the apprentice dominatrix. I did say I'd get you an alibi to lez it up in public!"

With a bunch of men watching, of course... But I knew my lot in life. I could be grateful for small mercies. So once again, with a mousy voice I'd never used in my life prior to recent events, I did as was expected of a docile lady.

"Thank you, Sir."

"When the clients get sufficiently riled up, they'll get to use you, of course," he added, an evil glint in his eye.

"Of course, Sir," I said, too cowed to defy him. At that moment, the very last shred of my resistance and independence was snuffed out. I would do as Nick demanded.

I would give up my pretense at an education. I would entertain, and serve, and pose, and suck. In a way, the old Cindy, the Cindy I used to be, died for good the moment I bowed my head in submission.

A new Cindy was born. One that would obey with no hesitation.

"As for the domme herself," Nick said with a smirk, "I believe you two have a bit of history together..."

I turned to the sound of heels, and at the sight, I immediately dropped to my knees.

Because I now obeyed with no hesitation.

Before me stood Irene, clad in a leather jacket, a pair of faded jeans, and the most beautiful, dominating pair of knee-high leather boots I'd ever seen in my life. She wielded a riding crop, which she theatrically slapped into her open palm.

A remote part of me was completely horrified at the idea that I was quitting my education and my entire shot at an independent future, to literally work under Irene for the pleasure of rich, powerful men.

But another part of me thought this was only so fitting. And Irene had broken me in so thoroughly that I didn't even require any further instructions.

I crawled forward, conscious of Nick's gaze burning against my back, and placed a devoted, desperate kiss on the tip of Irene's boot.

The leather beneath my lips felt wonderful, polished, hard and unyielding. Mine was a desperate kiss, the kind that begs for mercy and promises a bottomless source of worship. She'd taught me well, and I knew my place.

Irene didn't even crouch to speak to me. She used the riding crop -- lightly tapping it against my cheeks, then sweeping it underneath my chin, and pulling upwards.

"We're going to have some fun, you and I," Irene said as I obediently followed the movement traced by the riding crop, feeling it press against my skin, until I was looking up at her.

She was breathtaking from down here, her toned legs lovingly complemented by her boots and jeans, the leather jacket looking almost like an imposing uniform on her.

The way her dark locks framed those cruel and clever eyes, the feral grin she flashed at me as she contemplated the full extent of my defeat.

I nodded demurely against the riding crop, which only caused Irene to smile even harder, and to utter her own promise to me.

"Welcome to the rest of your life, slave."

***

Cathy

This was where it all began, in a way.

Burns' office. Exactly one year ago, I had stepped into his domain with my head held high, believing I had a career ahead, and the ability to determine my future.

On that very day, Burns had put me off balance for the very first time, with as simple a trick as the throw of a stone. Even now I wasn't sure why I found that particular event to be so significant... but it represented the beginning of my end.

Now, a year later, I was formally no longer a teacher. Recently pregnant, with no control over my finances or my body, I spent my days cooking, cleaning... and pleasing. My younger sister, herself under the yoke of the patriarchy and deprived even of her education, was my ruthless overseer.

My life had changed in literally every respect. Which was why seeing this place again made me feel like I was gazing into some deep, magical mirror, looking at the past, or perhaps at an alternate world, or maybe even into my own soul.

It was the place where it all began... and where old Cathy met her end.

I found myself thinking of her, very briefly. Old Cathy had such a full life, in a way. Full of ideas, full of opinions. Her shelves were full of books she actually committed to read. Her social media presence was full of memories and takes, usually informed by her feminism.

She was full of ambition, optimism, and pride.

Then, as my gaze moved to the man sitting behind the desk, I remembered why it all came crashing down. Like a poorly steered ship, my old self crashed ruinously against the solid rock that was John Burns, my lord and master.

In my failure, I sank into the depths of the sea in storm, and was reborn. No longer full of anything, except cock. Empty, I was blissfully empty, and perfectly obedient.

That was why I was in this office again, after all. Burns wanted me here. I didn't know why, but slaves don't ask why -- they just obey.

I didn't even need his prompting. All of my own volition, like a well-trained girl, I dropped to my knees. Even the floor beneath me felt familiar -- I must have knelt in this office hundreds of times, after all.

It was like a condensed version of the past twelve months. I'd step into the office, get my perspective challenged and changed, and fall to my knees. By doing it again now, the memories of all those tiny individual defeats came rushing back to me.

Wordlessly, I re-engaged in my old ritual, and crawled all the way under Sir's desk.

His hands brushed my hair as I nuzzled against him, kissing his hardening cock, then submissively accepting it into my mouth. God, his hands felt so big next to my face, they covered it in its entirety. I loved the feeling. How easily they could hold and master me.

"Do not make a sound," Burns said above me. "I'm about to have a guest."

Old me -- even old enslaved me -- might have flinched, or wondered, or squirmed. I was too broken for that. I simply accepted it as a fact of life, and stayed in my place, kneeling, humbly milking his cock with my lips.

A woman's mouth should be used, after all... and certainly not for blabbering about her silly opinions.

I didn't even stop gently bobbing up and down his shaft as I heard the sound of the door opening behind me, then closing. Heels thumped against the floor -- which did pique my curiosity.

"Ah, Miss Lexington!" He said out loud, in a raspy voice that tried to sound amiable without much conviction. "Thanks for coming in. I wanted to personally welcome you to Crawford High as a teacher!"

"Spare me the formalities," the other person said. It was definitely a woman, but her feminine voice sounded shrill and wrong to my ears. There was no sound of subservience, no low and unassuming tone -- just a lot of opinionated bitchiness.

In a way, she sounded a lot like Old Cathy used to, before Burns stuck his cock into her -- into my waiting mouth.

"I've heard you managed to get my predecessor to quit inside one year," she continued. "Everyone knew Cathy Cooper for a determined up-and-comer. What did you do to her, Burns?"

My eyes widened at the sheer disrespect, but I did my best to stay focused on the task at hand. Lexington had no way to know the determined woman she was talking about was on her knees under this very desk, applying all her skills to emit no sound while sucking cock.

"Miss Cooper's life choices have nothing to do with me," Burns said, puffing on his cigar above me. "Last I've heard, she's simply discovered the joys of being a stay-at-home mother."

The chair on the far side of the desk creaked, no doubt as Lexington adjusted on it in awkwardness at his words. But I knew my Sir. I knew this was just the beginning of him spinning his web.

"In fact," he continued, "I called you here precisely so we could start on the right foot. Clear the air. Melissa -- may I call you Melissa?"

"No," came the cold, flat answer.

"I believe we should start over," Burns said, completely undeterred. "For example, we could talk about what we did during the holidays, as good colleagues do to socialize."

"What?" Melissa asked. I noted with a slight nod, which went well with my demure oral service, that I'd internally switched to her first name as well. All women in the workplace should go by their first name alone.

Or by proper womanly titles like slut, or pet.

"Look, Mr Burns, this has been really charming, but my first English Lit class is starting in fifteen minutes. I don't know what you did to Cooper, but I know your reputation. Please -- stay away from me. For both our sakes."

The chair groaned as Melissa evidently rose to leave. My lord and master didn't lose his composure with her, though, just like he hadn't with me.

"I was in Mexico during the summer break," he said. "Cheaper whores, if you know where to look."

"Are you insane??" Melissa asked, shock dripping from her voice, which allowed me to suck a little harder without being heard, hollowing my cheeks in worship. The story was familiar to me, of course.

Just hearing it again sent tingles down my sex.

"I found a trinket," Burns continued. "The guy selling it was full of big words about what it could do," he said, "and I bought it on a whim. Best purchase of my life."

There was a moment of silence. I couldn't know what was happening in the room of course -- not from my humble place, kneeling between my master's thighs, worshipping at the altar of cock. But even silences can be significant.

For Melissa, this was a silence of confusion and outrage. For Burns, it was the silence of the predator, about to pounce on his prey. And like always with his victims, he was faster than her.

Quivering in anticipated pleasure, I angled my head and then impaled myself on his cock, doing my best to make it breach the entrance of my throat, to give it a nice massage with my airways. I wanted it deep in there for what I knew was coming.

And then, finally, with my pussy quivering in pleasure, and my throat convulsing in service, I heard it. The snap, the sound that signified the beginning of the end.

The sound of the stone, sent spinning into the air.

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

That's the conclusion to Malignity Of Stone! This story may be done, but more hypno maledom tales are already available on my Patreon! 

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