Rhoda's Pet

I was led out into the biting cold of the night air. The hood muffled the sounds of the building behind me, but the rhythmic tap of the walking stick ahead of me was clear. The Shuvanni, the grandmother’s sister, was leading me. We walked across the gravel courtyard, the sharp stones biting into the soles of my bare feet.

A door opened, and a hand pressed the top of my head down, guiding me into the dark interior of a luxury sedan. The leather seats were soft and smelled of luxury. I sat, and a seatbelt snapped across my chest with a sharp click. I was a prisoner. My hands were cuffed behind my back, and the seatbelt was locked tight across my lap and stomach, leaving me no room to move.

I felt the engine start rather than heard it, the soundproofing in the car's walls being so thick. A hand moved the seatbelt across my lap, pulling it up to dig into my lower stomach. Immediately after, another hand found my cock. It was firm and steady, stroking me with a mechanical precision that bordered on cruel. I sighed into the gag, the vibration useless against the rubber.

"Your parents will be our slaves, just like you," she said, her voice raspy and ancient. My mind was in turmoil, struggling to fight back against the reality of her words. "Then your sister. We have many plans for her."

The stroking of my cock was firm and steady, unyielding. It was a slow build, but she could sense the friction. Her hand loosened, just letting me throb helplessly in her grasp. "Your friend David will be useful, though he will have his freedom to choose, not like you, my little tigan."

Her laugh was a dry, rattling cackle that sent a shiver down my spine. I groaned into the gag as she continued to stroke me, dragging me higher and higher, promising release she had no intention of giving.

We drove for about thirty minutes, a stretch of darkness where time seemed to dissolve. The car jerked, hit a slight bump, and then came to a halt. The door opened, and she finally released her grip on my cock. There was a groan of satisfaction as she stepped out into the night.

"Bring him to my room," she commanded.

The door closed, leaving me alone in the dark with my thoughts and a twitching cock. I frantically tried to formulate a plan—how could I warn my family? There had to be a way. And David had been dragged into this mess just because he knew me. My thoughts shattered as the door beside me slid open. The seatbelt was undone, and I was hauled out of the car. I stumbled, tripped hard, and fell to my knees, but I was given no quarter. The leash jerked upward, tightening around my neck and choking the air from my lungs.

I clawed my way to my feet, my legs shaking, and was dragged up a flight of wooden stairs. We moved into a room lined with deep, thick carpet, then up another flight of stairs. We stopped in another room. "Unbind him," the old woman ordered.

The hood was ripped from my head first, the rubber pulling at my skin. Then, the gag was yanked out of my mouth, and the cuffs were uncoupled. My arms screamed as blood rushed back into them, the muscles seizing with relief. I stood naked, save for the collar and the leash.

She leaned into me, her breath reeking of stale cigarette smoke. Despite the humiliation, my cock hardened at her proximity. She unclipped the leash and tossed it into the corner. "Bring me wine," she commanded the person behind me, the stranger I hadn't yet seen. "And a glass for my guest."

The Shuvanni picked up a silver case, flipped it open, and pulled out a long cigarette. She lit it with a golden lighter, the flame illuminating her weathered face. I took a moment to look around the room, a sanctuary of excess. A massive four-poster bed dominated one wall, draped in heavy velvet. Antique furniture lined every surface, and a plush chaise lounge sat before a floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the dark landscape.

She stood directly in front of me. Though she was eighty, she was nearly as tall as I was. She was a relic of beauty, her elegance now faded by time's ravages, yet her eyes were sharp enough to cut glass. She looked right into my soul.

"You killed my sister," she said, her voice like dry leaves skittering across pavement. "And now you belong to us."

She blew a plume of smoke directly into my face. A strange sensation washed over me, familiar yet twisted. The room seemed to darken, the edges of the light pulsing like a heartbeat. I stepped back, my legs trembling, as if I were about to fall off the edge of the world.

The smoke was thick and choking, heavier than tobacco. It tasted of iron and old dust. The room dissolved at the edges, and a familiar face emerged from the haze. It was the woman from the train yard, the face that had haunted my dreams since the accident. She stood right in front of me. I felt different, smaller somehow, as the world shrank to accommodate her presence.

"Hello again," she said. Her voice wasn't just sound; it was like honey, thick and sweet, dripping into my ears.

My cock was at bursting point, straining against the air. She reached out to touch me, and I leaned in instinctively. Her hands were warm, welcoming, grounding me in the moment. She caressed my face, her fingers tracing the lines of my jaw, then moving to stroke my cheeks. Her thumb traced my lips, a gentle, worshipful movement.

She smiled, and I mirrored her expression, tilting my head. She tilted hers back, and I copied the motion. She placed a finger under my chin, lifted it slightly, then kissed me.

I had never felt anything like it. It was a sensation beyond description, a merging of souls. In the periphery of my vision, I noticed a mirror. In the reflection, an old woman was kissing a young man. I knew it was me, but the realization was distant, floating at the back of my mind, where all my free will was imprisoned.

There was a soft knock at the door, and a young man entered carrying a silver tray. He walked to the small table and set the wine down, his eyes flicking over the scene without comment. He seemed used to seeing an eighty-year-old woman passionately kissing a young man a third her age, or perhaps he had simply seen it too many times to care. He faded into the background, a silent observer to our exchange.

The Shuvanni broke the kiss, her hand moving to grip my cock, stroking it gently while her fingers wandered lower to squeeze my balls. Her touch was possessive, electric. "Undress me, my love," she whispered, her voice a honeyed trap.

I reluctantly pulled back, my hands trembling as I undid the silk ties holding her blouse together. With a soft rustle, the fabric gave way, and her large, firm breasts sprang forth into the cool air. Her nipples were hard as bullets, protruding from pale, wrinkled skin. I took each one in my mouth in turn, sucking hungrily. She moaned, her fingers threading through my hair, pulling me closer. If I had looked in the mirror, I would have seen a different picture entirely—a stark contrast of youth and age, the reality of her sagging flesh and cracked nipples set against my younger lips.

She pushed me to my knees between her legs. I unfastened the studded leather belt and held it out to her, my hands shaking. "What will you do for me, my love?" she asked, her voice dropping an octave.

"Anything," I replied, looking up into her beautiful, dark eyes, drowning in their depths.

"Will you endure a little pain for me? Just to prove you love me?"

"Anything."

She smiled, a beautiful expression of power. She raised the belt and brought it down across my back. I arched backward as the impact drove the air from my lungs, but I stayed silent. This was what she wanted. She delivered five more strikes in rapid succession, the heavy leather and metal studs digging into my flesh with each hit. Something warm and wet began to run down my back.

I looked up, breathless. She smiled down at me, her eyes filled with pure, twisted love. But in the mirror beside us, the old woman was looking down at me with sheer, unadulterated hatred.

I finished undressing her, my hands trembling as I unfastened the last latch of her dress. She stood, towering over me, and pulled me into a searing kiss. She took my hand and led me to the massive four-poster bed, gently pushing me onto the silk sheets.

My back was a mess, blood and sweat mingling and making me stick to the fabric. I tried to lift my arms, but they felt like lead weights. "You cannot move, my love, unless I move you," she whispered, the truth cutting through my haze.

She lay down beside me and clapped her hands sharply. The young man appeared instantly. She undid the cage holding his erection, and my eyes widened at his sheer size. She stroked him, then pulled me up by the hair. "Kneel, my love." My body obeyed the spell's command, moving on its own.

She kissed my cheek. "Your lover is going to need some lubrication before you fuck." I was ready to go down on her, but instead, the young man's cock was in my face. "Take it for me."

I had no resistance. I willingly took his cock into my mouth, the taste overwhelming. She stroked the back of my head, her eyes filled with pride. "Good boy, such a good boy."

Then, the young man took control. He grabbed the back of my head with both hands and began to thrust, his thick cock ramming into the back of my throat. I was helpless, held in place by her spell and his strong grip, gagging as he used my mouth for his pleasure.

"Now," she commanded, and the young man pulled out immediately, leaving my mouth feeling empty and abused. She moved me, turning me so I knelt on all fours between her legs, facing her. "Kiss me, my love. Taste my sex."

I leaned forward, burying my head between her thighs. The bed shifted behind me, and I felt the hard press of a body against my cheeks. I cried out into her pussy as he shoved himself inside me, stretching me wide. Her hand grabbed the back of my head, holding me in place against her crotch while she worked herself against my face. At the same time, his fingernails dug into my thighs, sharp and painful.

I had read somewhere that pain gives way to pleasure, but it was a cruel lie. Every thrust was raw agony, a burning fire that tore at me. The lady screamed as she came, her body seizing and clamping down on my face. Shortly after, he pushed against me deep and hard, and I felt a surge of heat as he filled me with his come.

We stayed in that position for a while, the heavy weight of the moment pressing down on me. Eventually, he pulled out. A sudden emptiness followed, then I felt his tongue cleaning me as the mix of fluids dripped from my hole. She released my head, and I was made to lie back on the bed.

She climbed on top of me, positioning me and guiding my cock into her. She rode me slowly at first, the rhythm hypnotic and agonizing, then she sped up as her excitement mounted. Her eyes closed, and she screamed, "Come for me, my love."

That was the trigger. Four weeks of constant denial and torture exploded within me, and I came hard, emptying my balls into her. As I did, a thick mist lifted from my head, clearing my vision. I blinked, horrified. The old woman was grinning down at me, her eyes cold.

As my senses sharpened, I looked around. Kneeling beside me on the bed was the old man, his limp cock still slimy. "Get me the glass," The Shuvanni ordered the old man. He returned with a small glass vial. She climbed off me, and the old man scooped some of my semen from the old lady's pussy, holding it up for her inspection.

She looked down at me, her voice the final word in my sentence. "Sleep."