Rhoda's Pet

Isabella scrubbed my face with a coarse towel, acting as if I were a toddler who had just smeared mud all over myself. She tutted and scolded me for being so messy, the rough fabric stinging my skin. When she finished, she patted my face dry, leaving it red and raw.

Then she looked into my eyes, her gaze heavy and assessing. "Very pretty," she whispered, a strange, possessive glint in her grey eyes. She leaned in and kissed me gently, but while her lips were soft, her hand was not. It reached down, stroking my still-erect cock with a familiarity that made my knees weak. "I know you're upset about Rhoda going out on a date," she murmured against my mouth. "But she's a virile young thing, and you get her so excited."

I closed my eyes, surrendering to the sensation, as the anger faded into a haze of arousal. "And it wouldn't be right for you to consummate things before you're married, now would it?"

Her hand was back on my cock, her thumb tracing the ridge, while her other hand stroked the leather of the collar that choked my neck. It was twisted, illogical logic, but it fit perfectly into this crazy, upside-down existence forced upon me.

"Come on," she said, pulling away. "We need to talk."

I followed her into the bedroom, my mind already drifting to whatever new humiliation awaited me.

Gwen was already lounging on the bed, the maroon bra and sheer stockings visible against the silk sheets. Isabella didn't waste a second. She shoved me backward against the wall where heavy iron rings were bolted into the plaster. She turned, leaned down, and pulled Gwen toward her by her hair, crushing their mouths together in a wet, hungry, and loud kiss.

Isabella pulled away, her lips shining, and looked at me with a dark smile. "You’ll find we are a very close-knit family; we share everything."

Gwen, please get me a long strap and something for its legs.

Gwen shuffled off the bed, rifled through the antique wardrobe, and came back with a heavy leather strap and a pair of fur-lined horse hobbles.

They positioned me. Gwen grabbed my balls hard, digging her fingers in, and ordered, "Up on tippy toes."

I obeyed. Isabella threaded the strap through my cuffed wrists, then looped it over the ring on my left, across to the one on my right, and back down to my hands. Once the strap was threaded, Isabella pulled the end through the buckle at the other end and hauled back.

The leather belt pressed into my underarms. It felt like it was digging into the bone. I groaned as she pulled it again with force, buckling it behind my back. She finally let me go.

When she let go, there was no slack. I was forced to stand on the balls of my feet, my calves screaming, the muscles locked in a permanent state of tension. Gwen knelt down and fastened the hobbles around my ankles, locking me in this agonizing, upright prison.

Isabella turned to Gwen and spread her arms wide, a silent command. Gwen didn't hesitate; she stepped forward, her eyes hungry, and kissed her mother with a bruising intensity. Her fingers moved to Isabella’s blouse, tearing the buttons loose one by one, her lips following the path of the falling cloth to worship the flesh beneath. She kissed the chest bone, traced the curve of the breasts, tasting the skin with a fervor that bordered on worship.

Soon, Isabella stood exposed, wearing only her sheer stockings and garter belt, a vision of naked desire. She turned and moved toward me. She pressed her body tightly against mine, the warmth of her skin burning through the air, her nudity alluring. Gwen nestled into Isabella’s back, her hands sliding over her mother’s curves, tugging at the rigid nipples until Isabella arched her back with a soft, guttural sigh. The leather strap bit sharply into my tender underarms with each breath

Isabella leaned in, her eyes locking onto mine, and captured my mouth in a kiss that was nothing short of an invasion. I leaned forward, ignoring the fire burning under my arms, and met her lips. I groaned into her mouth as her hand guided my straining cock against her, the friction of our bodies electric, agonizing, and undeniably erotic.

She turned her back on me, her attention instantly shifting to her daughter. The tension between them crackled with a fierce energy that made my skin crawl. They kissed intensely, teeth clicking, tongues battling in a display of hungry affection that left me exposed just by watching. They fell onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and silk.

Isabella shifted onto her back, her legs spread wide to reveal her crutch, her hand making a silent, commanding gesture. Gwen didn't speak; she simply obeyed. She kissed her way down Isabella’s body, her lips tracing the path of veins and muscles, until she was exactly where she was instructed to be.

Isabella arched her back, a bowstring pulled taut, as Gwen made contact. The wet sounds of her daughter’s tongue were obscene in the quiet room, muffled only slightly by the mattress. Isabella’s fingers twisted her own nipples, pinching and pulling until her breasts rose and fell with ragged breaths. She looked over at me, her eyes half-lidded and dark with lust, seeing my cock twitch uselessly against my stomach. I could feel every pulse through the silicone ring.

My back and shoulders ached intensely, the leather strap biting into my flesh, and the strain of standing on tiptoes igniting my calf muscles. Yet, the sight before me softened the pain, turning it into fuel for a dark arousal I couldn't resist.

Isabella threw her head back as a fierce, raw scream ripped from her throat. She climaxed forcefully, bucking against Gwen’s face, her body twitching. Gwen didn't stop; she kept working her tongue with tireless, practiced skill until Isabella’s body finally went limp, the orgasm ending. Gwen slid up her mother’s body, resting her head against the heavy rise and fall of Isabella’s ample breasts, looking like a satisfied cat.

Isabella held her tight, stroking her hair, murmuring praises that sounded like benedictions. "Good girl," she whispered.

They lay there entwined, a tangle of pale limbs and heavy breathing, for a solid fifteen minutes. I was in complete agony, forced to balance on the balls of my feet to prevent the leather strap from ripping my shoulders from their sockets. My toes curled inward, crying out for the ground, and the cramp in my calf was a white-hot spike of pain that shot up my thigh.

Isabella kissed the top of Gwen’s head, murmuring soft words of affection, then signaled for her daughter to get her bag. Gwen stretched, her muscles rippling like water, and left the room.

Isabella stood up and approached me. She looked directly into my eyes and slapped me hard. There was no reason behind it, just a sudden, explosive burst of aggression. I jolted, and the impact sent a shockwave of pain through my back, tearing the skin under my arms.

Gwen returned with the bag and sat on the edge of the bed. Isabella opened a smaller pouch and took out a tube. She twisted the cap, squeezed a dollop onto her palm, and I flinched, expecting the sting of the slap again. Instead, she reached out and smeared the cool, thick cream over my forehead and cheeks. Her fingers were rough and calloused, massaging it in with a deliberate, possessive rhythm.

"What do you remember about the night you were found drunk?" Isabella asked, her voice soft, cutting through the haze of my pain.

Rhoda had told me to answer direct questions.”I remember Furrell's Road. I remember the caravans... I remember throwing rocks. I remember being a little arsehole."

I paused, fighting the urge to scream as a sharp cramp seized my calf. "I remember a woman. Beautiful. Black eyes. She asked for a light. I gave it to her, and then... everything went black. Next thing I remember, a copper was waking me up”. 

I shifted my weight, my toes curling uncontrollably.

Isabella's eyes widened t. "And the caravan?"

"Gone," I whispered.

Over the next few minutes, Isabella worked her magic, slapping thick, cloying layers of mascara and lipstick onto my face until I looked like a cheap streetwalker. She was painting a mask, erasing the successful estate agent and replacing him with a tart for her daughter's entertainment.

As the makeup dried, Isabella began to unravel the truth of that night.

You think it was magic? " She said, leaning in close to check her work. "You were a little asshole, James. You’d been terrorizing that site for days, throwing rocks, destroying property.

She moved closer to me, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You broke a window that night. Your stone hit a pan of hot fat sitting on a gas stove. It splashed, ignited, and the van went up like a torch."

I flinched, trying to remember.

"Luckily for them, only one person was inside that van. The rest of the family was safe in the other one. It was Rhoda’s grandmother."

Isabella’s eyes shone with dark satisfaction. "She got herself out, but then she saw you standing there with that big, shit-eating grin, watching the fire burn. She didn't hesitate. She grabbed a brick and cracked you right on the head. That’s when the idea hit her."

She traced the line of my jaw with her finger. "While the family was busy putting out the fire, she pulled you close. She didn't just charm you, James. She was a witch. She used a spell to plant the seed of obsession right into your young brain."

My stomach churned. The beautiful stranger was just a victim who decided I needed fixing.

The sirens wailed shortly after. Firemen, police, and your parents arrived, probably smelling of money, and they saw you dazed and bleeding. Instead of explaining what you did, they told the cops you were just drunk and confused.

I closed my eyes, experiencing the weight of the lie.

They arrested the grandmother for assault and trespassing, towed the other van, and had it destroyed. You were left with the memory of a beautiful stranger, but the reality was just a burned-out shell and a brick to the skull. “And now," Isabella smiled, tapping my nose with her finger, "you're ours.”

"That isn’t quite t the end of the story," Isabella said, her hand clamping down on my balls and squeezing with brutal force. I cried out, the pain radiating through my groin and shooting up my spine, mixing with the agony from my back and the cramping in my calves.

She ignored my groan and pressed on with her dark history lesson. "Grandmother didn't last long after that. She died burdened by the worry of the court case still hanging over her head, her heart failing. And not a single word of apology or acknowledgment came from you or yours. Your parents buried their conscience just as they buried the truth."

Isabella let go of my balls, but the pain lingered. She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous hiss. "At the funeral, grandmother's sister was there. She also has certain mystical skills, just like her sister. and she decided it was time for balance."

She tapped me on the nose with a sharp fingernail. "She has gathered the tools to enslave your family, James. We will enslave your parents, your sister, everyone. And you will be there to witness it. You'll be helpless to stop it, just like you are now.”