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Homecoming Hypnotism

Chapter Four

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Controlling the Cruel

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by anonymous

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“You, boy, are going to learn some manners…"

That incident had happened a long time ago when mark had only been a small child – he'd not hit his growth spurt, in all honesty, until later than most. The others boys had shot up like beanpoles and he had still been the smallest of them all, which had only made it all the easier for his other grandmother, Agatha, to loom over him and scowl down, lips turned down into that ever-present frown of hers that never failed to promise trouble.

That time, he couldn't remember quite what he'd done wrong, although he knew it had had to be something. It was always something and it was always him. A child couldn't make any more sense of it than that, even if there was always going to be more to the story than what actually met the eye. He wasn't allowed near her all that often but, when there was no school, sometimes they'd run out of options for childcare and, eventually, he'd had to be left with her. The maids could only do so much and one too many falls out of trees had convinced his mother, of course, to get him a nanny, yet their illness came at a most inconvenient time for them.

Mark could not have said just what turned him from Agatha, with her jet black hair and narrow, beady eyes. She would have been a beautiful woman in her youth and had the potential to truly be regal in old-age, but her sourness hollowed her face into something sallow – something that needed a smile to bring and breathe back life into.

“Little boy, you are going to learn…"

She advanced on him and he knew no more, shutting out the memory of the arrogant woman and all that had happened. Nothing physical, of course, but a verbal tongue-lashing from a tiny but mighty woman such as her was more than enough to make him quail when he was that young. He had hunkered down and tucked himself away and his mother had done her best to protect him, ensuring that, after so many reports of screaming and tirades, Grandmother Agatha no longer had the influence in her grandson's life that she wanted.

Yet standing before her in her own home, a smaller mansion that she resented her whole life even with all her resounding, stealthy kind of wealth, he was no longer that little boy anymore and he could draw himself up tall and proud, looking down at her. There was a good foot and a half in height between them and she could hop and make ugly faces at him all she liked with a face that should have been so much prettier than it was. Really, there was no power she could hold over him anymore and even what she had sought to take and claim for her own when he was but a young boy had been brief and tentative, as much as the wounds gaped and scars itched in memory.

“A pleasure to see you, grandmother."

It was formal, too formal, but he was not there for pleasantries. Agatha frowned – proving, yet again, that it was indeed possible for her lips to turn down more than they already were – and parted her lips in preparation for the tirade to come. Venting was her strong point and scathing rants her forte but there was no longer any time or place in his life for the cold-hearted woman to get even a single handhold on over him.

He cut across her with the skill of a bolder man, becoming the king that he truly envisioned himself as, lips curved up in the very faintest essence of a smile. It was time. Her voice would no longer be heard in that manner any more. Never again.

“Pacta Sevanda."

She wavered, lower jaw falling slack, and then dropped mentally, falling into the grasp of his will as if she'd always been meant to linger there, to belong there. She was not the woman who should have ever tried to take a controlling hand over his life but a mere pawn, a slave to his whims and desires, regardless of the direction they came from or what influence, indeed, they ended up having over her own life. In her sitting room, the reception that she entertained and received visitors that never came to visit her, she tipped from one side to the other without losing her balance, allowing him to look her over in the moment of stillness, no longer apoplectic with seething, roiling rage. It had never served her well anyway.

Licking his lips, Mark stifled a groan. Not yet. The time would come for that. But there were too many swathes of fabric over her body that he had seen in far less during the course of his lifetime, a long dress falling down to the ground as if she would not even allow her ankles to be shown, feet neatly tucked away in the appropriate and demure heels for a woman of her age. That was something that he would be quick enough to change but it was time to see what goods she had on offer to him, if her body was as delectable as he remembered from the stolen peeks and nuances glimpsed through steamy baths and clothes that draped and caressed in a very different fashion. It had been innocent, way back then, but things were about to become a whole lot less innocent than they ever had been before.

Her breasts could not be concealed, however, even though they were cupped behind her dress. After seeing a bra back when both of them were younger again, he knew that she was a G-cup: further detail did not matter to a giggling boy, however. He didn't need to know more either as an adult revelling in that information for a very different purpose this time, knowing that she would never have allowed her perfect body to slip and fall; her breasts, of course, would be lifted perkily in the brassiere she wore even though she would not have retained perfect perkiness during the course of age. That could not be helped but seeing how her body had progressed through the glory of ageing would make it all the sweeter and experience for him in the end too.

And yet he wanted more. More from the woman who pressed her lips together and smiled serenely, hands folded together before those breasts that he lusted after as if in prayer, although he was sure that she had never prayed a day in her life, despite going to Church. She was perfect as she was with the grey streak in her hair, perhaps left as a dignified symbol of age where she could have had the entire length of her hair dyed and any signs of ageing hidden away. Maybe she was proud of it, of having gotten so far in life that she could, in fact, boast that grey streak.

“Now, you are my toy," he said, lowly and calmly, a deathly note of purpose in his tone. “You will do as I bid and, oh, Agatha…"

Chuckling quietly, he brushed his hair back from his ears where it had grown a little too long, eyes darkening with swift and seedy intent.

“I will have my revenge on you, Agatha, for what you did to me. That is not how you treat a man. Did you not know that?"

She shook her head, expression and features softened by the smile that he bid her don like a new shawl that could cover up other imperfections. But, in her case, it revealed what she could be if she dropped that shroud of arrogance only seemly for those who were dead and gone, the joy of a woman who would become her very best self at his feet, just another member of his harem with so much more in her life now that he had taken complete and utter control over her.

“Strip. Show me your breasts."

Agatha sucked in a breath, moving quickly to obey, although she could not have quite said just why her heart was in her mouth. It was her grandson before her but he looked different, stronger and more powerful than he ever had done ever before. Her dress shivered and fell, unhooked at the back by twitching, jerky fingers that drew stiff in old age. And yet she managed it all well enough as her heart pounded, skin flushing in hot, red patches – though with what desire, she could not have said. The room before her should have been familiar to her with the armchairs and the coffee table, the sideboard with talking pieces and the up to date and very much in fashion sofa that anyone would have been talking about if she'd had anyone at all to invite over. But it was not and he was not the man she remembered, not having seen him for many years beforehand.

Yes… Yes, it was right to be naked before him, the dress shivering to the floor in a whisper of cotton, practical for her. It didn't seem right to dress up for him to come over to see her – she had not understood the desire and intention behind it – but it felt oh so very right indeed to be naked before him, standing in just her underwear, plain and unbecoming to such a figure. Even as age caught up with her, she had just about managed to retain her very large buttocks, the curves of her body held in place by a brassiere and strong shoulders, however, small she was, that lifted up her frame and carried her forth into the light of each and every day that came for her.

But he wanted more and a flick of his fingers had her unhooking her brassiere too, the nude fabric concealing more than it hinted at. When that fell to the floor, her underwear followed, the non-matching, plain briefs joining the rest in a pile that she briefly thought that she would have to have the maid clean up. And just where was she anyway? For his influence and control over her was not quite so deep that she could not feel annoyed that she was standing beside a mess that needed clearing, even if she could not find the energy or strength of will to ring the bell for her maid too to come and take care of it for her.

No matter… His eyes locked onto hers and Agatha moaned breathily, the sound seeming to come naturally to lips that had not moaned in many, many years. Her breasts spilt out, free, heavy and full, imagining them as they had been in the very prime of her life. Oh, how beautiful she had been and just how much she could do for a man, the perfect body, a figure to die for… It was no wonder, to others in hindsight, that she was so arrogant and flippant with everyone when she was the object of so much envy for the way that she looked, sashaying about and posing with every which man until she was taken. Why, she'd even done some modelling in her younger years, which had served her well until she'd settled for living off his salary, the money that the breadwinner brought in.

Mark smiled, desire stirring in the pit of his stomach, a sensual, driving curl of heat snaking up through his guts, the space where his organs should have been. If they were still there, they were overcome by the searing heat within him, burning up from the inside out as if a fire had been lit there, although he knew well enough that that too was impossible. And yet he drank in the sight of her greedily, those breasts drawn down lightly by age and the weight of the flesh, nipples a little darker than those belonging to his other grandmother, each one a divine flower to be enjoyed in their own way. But even flowers could have their petals crushed.

“Show me."

She knew what he meant solely because he planted the image of what he wanted her to do in his mind, holding onto the trigger words in a corner of his mind in case he needed to push her further into his control all over again. There was never any telling, after all, when one of his delightful quarries would try to break free and, although his cock ached to take her right there and then, he was determined to savour the moment the very best he could. Moaning softly, Agatha rolled her head back and grasped a breast in each hand, taking a firmer grip than perhaps a younger woman would have had to do. Her fingers dug lightly into her pale flesh and she hefted them up for him, squeezing and massaging as the manipulation tingled through her skin, penetrating deep.

Unable to take her eyes off him as he bid her, in quiet, mental conversation, to grope and massage her breasts, nipples perking up against her wrinkled fingers, Agatha breathed more heavily, lips parted for breath that was not enough to satisfy her need. But what did she actually need from him? He looked so strong and manly before her, just how could she not have noticed him in that way before? The need in Mark rose in the bulge at the front of his pants, fingers curled into a fist, and she whimpered softly, pressing her tits together into a cleavage that she hoped against hope would lure him to her.

Why was she doing what she was doing? Oh, that thought didn't need to be followed… Better not to think, to slip and sway on sinuous sensuality, her head pleasantly spinning and spinning and spinning as his fingers deliberately closed around her wrist and he turned her, commandingly, to the door. There was no denying him as he led her, without a single word, from her home, locking the door at her heels, which were also bare, and she went with him willingly to his car, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as the cool of the day after a recent rain licked at her skin as if it too was hungry and eager for her. She only hoped one man was, even if the hope seemed to have no root or founding that she could discern.

Thinking that she could please him, do a little more, the mental control hastened her to the car, fingers on the passenger door before his voice cracked out like the lash of a far more foreboding whip, slicing through the air between them.

“No." He stared her down levelly, pointing elsewhere, Agatha's eyes, very slowly, dragging along the line of his finger, where he wanted her to look. “Get in the trunk."

As Agatha moved to obey, the trunk looming like the mouth of a pit from which there could never again be any return from, before her, he smiled hollowly.

“You don't deserve a seat."

*

Home was where he chose to take his revenge on her in the slow and sensual fashion to which he had become accustomed with his so very devoted family. At the long dining table that was usually reserved for formal occasions with the elegant, dark wood, he sat with Sarah, although she was a couple of places down from the head of the table, as befitted her new position in his household. There was no reason, after all, that she needed to be closer to him unless he wanted to make use of her and, in that case, he could just order her to come to him, commanding all around him in his growing kingdom.

Of course, she was not the object of his attention at that moment, even though she was his first. Sarah slipped beneath the table at his direction, her meal half-eaten, although the plates that they usually ate from were, very strangely, absent. His mother eased down his trousers for the treat of his aching cock and Mark exhaled a hiss of breath through his teeth, looking down with pleasure at the sight of Agatha laid out before him on the table with food spaced out along her body. In the absence of plates, she would do more than well enough to hold their meal, although it was him that would enjoy her the most, with her breasts each donning a ring of pineapple, still glistening wetly with juice around each nipple.

Gammon was a feast and Mark's attention wavered, Sarah's hand around his cock, pumping and squeezing sensually. The feast laid out before him was there to be enjoyed, rising and falling gently with each and every breath of Agatha's. But he could not slip from his enjoyment, devoted to the pleasure of each and every second, lifting a ring of pineapple, very delicately, with the tips of two fingers. He made sure to deny her the brush of his fingers against her tit, however, Agatha shuddered and nearly spilling the rest of his dinner from her body in her need, her rampantly controlled desire, to have him touch her, to use her and abuse her just as he pleased.

She did not know how far down his control over her had gone, although there was still some sense of humiliation lingering there, clawing along the back of her mind as if it could, once again, scramble over the mental wall he'd thrown up there and pull her back to reality.

Pacta Sevanda.

_ _

Mark chewed the pineapple slowly, savouring the taste as much as he savoured the sight of her, a spread to be envied. Her legs had been positioned apart too so that the curls of hair at her crotch were on show and the soft folds of her pussy behind, tight for her age. Although he had not yet taken the pleasure of fucking her, his fingers had teased inside her just to see what was lying in wait for him, the sweet first time between them yet to be taken.

He was not a patient man but was patient enough for it to mean something more when the time came, bodies coming together as his new slut of a grandmother showed him just how much of a whore she could be. Laughing to himself, Mark ignored Agatha's admittedly delicious squirm as he trailed a fork down her front, the cool of the prongs prickling lightly as she chose a piece of gammon from her thigh. Close to her pussy but not enough to satisfy the yearning that he planted there, he took it again without touching her, skin to skin, and the moan that she gave was more than simple music to his ears. To hear her so frustrated brought a rise of goose bumps to his skin like nothing else ever could and he swallowed down the meat with relish, cock throbbing in Sarah's hand even as she quietly and obediently placed herself well out of the way so that he could enjoy his main course.

Helga entered with a tray of hot sausages, steam rising from them and a decidedly evil smirk on her face. There was no need for any kind of announcement or command that would let her know just what he wanted her to do: Helga's training was already coming on nicely, the maid working hard to please the king while she got to reap the spoils and benefits of her position in ways that she would never before have considered possible to enjoy.

With a flourish that was entirely for Mark's benefit, she took the sausages carefully between the tongs and fed them, one by one, straight up into Agatha's tight and waiting pussy. Well, there was only one possible way that the lusty woman could react as her need swelled like the rising tide, the wind picking up for a storm that threatened to tear out the very foundations of the home and housing that had protected her for so many years. But to come into a new stage of being and, indeed, training too, one had to give up everything that had gone by in the past and moan out their lust as scorching hot sausages were inserted into them, a toy to be enjoyed and, when he was done with her, cast aside in light of another.

Agatha twisted and wriggled her fingers but did not move so far that she disrupted the food, folds of flesh jiggling where they were to be found. Her large buttocks, thankfully, offered her a solidly soft place to rest herself as she heaved for breath, only one pineapple ring remaining around a hard and ready nipple that longed for another's lips locked around it. The sausages were nowhere near enough, although there was no pain, only a hint of embarrassment. Were those supposed to go into her? Questions were not allowed in the mind of one that was going through her training, however, and she blushed heavily, heat plastered down her neck in unappealing patches. No, she was just there to be used, as embarrassing as it was to have his eyes boring into her in that manner, as if he saw far more of her than was even laid out for them.

Her pussy clenched around them and she tried not to moan, although his mental control over her just made things harder, taking away her willpower. Of course, Agatha could claw for it as much as she wanted and groan and even swallow her pride, but there would never again be a thought in her mind that was borne of her own free will. She did not know just how much control Mark had aimed to pull over her, breaking her down into nothing more than his obedient little slut until the end of her days, but it was too much to have every last one of those emotions flittering through her as if they were thoughts – thoughts that she was not allowed.

Hot… So hot! Whimpering, she twisted and panted, eyes rolling back as her chest pushed up as if she was even trying to grind down onto those sausages, get them up even deeper inside her. Another found its hot and slick home up inside her, meat squashed together, and she dug her fingers into the fine tablecloth, bundling it up in her hands as her back made an arch, her aged body no longer feeling all that aged as all built to the throbbing thrum of a climax that not even she could have expected.

And, when it came, her orgasm shocked even her with the force of it – had she ever, ever before had a climax like that? That kind of sexual pleasure simply had never come into the encounters she'd had with men so very long ago (well, not so long ago if her husband was to be counted in those occasions). Helga smirked above her as Agatha howled, humiliation rising up in the powering pulse and drive of orgasm, her climax sending her on and on into throes of lust that one body did not seem capable of containing.

Mark drank it all in with the thirst of a deprived man, although he never again intended to see himself deprived of anything at all. No, there was so much in the world and his life that he had to enjoy and Agatha was just one of them, the trembling woo of her breasts calling his eye down, nipples such hard nubs that even he craved the sensation of them pushing into his mouth, locked between his lips right where they belonged. He wondered if he could get both of them into his mouth at once as her pussy clenched down dramatically on those sausages, no doubt yearning for a thick piece of meat, even though he did not quite yet intend to give her that offering.

Obediently, Helga stepped back on placing all of the sausages where they belonged, although she had had to crush and squash some of them to sink them all home. That, however, was not going to matter to the family as their pleasure delved into more sensual, lustful enjoyment rather than the simple act of putting sustenance into their mouths. Her pussy juice soaked the meat in the very best of ways and Mark found himself unwilling to waste any further time as he yanked one unceremoniously from her cunt, treating her as the mere object that she now was to him, pushing it between his lips to savour and sample her taste before biting into the succulent, perfectly cooked meat.

Sensational!

_ _

Some things deserved to be called by their proper term and he moaned even as he greedily gulped it down, too keen to proceed as Sarah locked her lips around the very tip of his cock. He hardly had to exert any manipulation over her anymore with how deeply her training and indoctrination had taken effect, although he did rather enjoy forcing her to feel humiliated too from time to time, just to remind her of what she was to him, everything that he had forced her to do and the implications of that in the wider world. She would be his little whore, however, the perfect female toy to satisfy his every need with, and Mark groaned long and loud, making it a bit more of a show for Helga and Agatha, spending his seed deep into the back of her mouth.

And she gulped it all down too just like he had sampled and savoured Agatha's taste, the woman before him almost a passing thought when it came to the delectability of his own climax, which, of course, took precedence over all else. It was all for his pleasure, after all, was it not? The king deserved more, so very much more, and he would be treated as such by his family and so many others around, his social circle growing with Victoria's contacts sweeping in, each and every one under his control as he enjoyed the rise of his kingdom.

One orgasm could not satisfy a belly that needed food, however, and he drew back Sarah's chair, leaning down the table as she lapped and cleaned his cock slowly, eyes half-lidded with her own sense of pleasure in servitude. No, she would not stop doing what she had been trained to do until he told her otherwise and Mark smiled in self-satisfaction, knowing that her indoctrination was nearly complete. However did he become so good so swiftly at such mind control? His teachings had been effective, to say the very least of it all.

“Sarah, come up."

He spoke to her as if she was a dog, his voice not revealing a single hint or drop of emotion in his tone, except for the pleasure shown to himself in being able to control her. She moved up at his command, face mimicking something of such complete and utter serenity that one may have been well enough forgiven for thinking her to be one who went off into the wild to meditate and reach another stage of enlightenment altogether. But the only enlightenment that had come to her as she pressed her thighs together, pussy slick with her own arousal, was that she needed to be with her son, her king, her everything. Only he could make her feel whole and everything he did was to make a better world and kingdom for them all.

“Eat."

That command made sense and she leaned forward, selecting pieces of meat that he had passed over, eating second and following his lead. Helga was permitted to enjoy herself too – Agatha, after all, was lower down in the pecking order than her while Mark resided in his rightful place at the top. And what better thing to do and enjoy than a body laid out in a spread that was to be luxuriated over, even if conversation was not the matter of the day?

Mark smiled to himself, sitting back in his seat to observe his kingdom, a few more sausages gone from Agatha's cunt. She had so much more to give them and even he did not know as yet just how far he would and could push her, just how she would be when she was truly broken, his control lifted to reveal the obedient whore in his harem. She would be beautiful, truly, when she came to her ultimate sense of being, and he eagerly champed at the bit, awaiting the day and the time when he could slam into her, taking both her pussy and her arse with cruel, raw, wanton abandon.

What king could have possibly have wanted for more? What more there was to be had, he could take at any time and he did so, running his fingers, for the first time, over her thigh, delighting in just how her skin shuddered and twitched, isolated as if she had become an equine from the stables with far finer muscle control. The tiny hairs on her body stood on end, goose pimples prickling up into tentative life, and he chuckled throatily, his lust still high and cock hardening up all over again for such pleasures that were now very much to become just par for the course of his everyday life.

Her tits though… Ah, he could not forget those, could not forget the time to linger on them. There was a sexual edge to every tiny shift in his body and rake of his gaze but he did not move to perform something so overt as to lock his lips around her thick nipples as yet, letting her want them even as he fed image after image into Agatha's head. Him on the sofa, her riding his cock, her head thrown back. Agatha on all fours, screaming his name as he pounded her arse, making her useless to any other man who may have ever wanted to take that hole. Drawing out one teasing image into hours upon hours of wicked breast play, making her climax over and over again to seal in his control, licking and suckling at her tits as if they were the only thing in the world for him.

Of course, that was not true: it would never be true when there were so many interesting things to take up his attention, his world growing with fresh and new possibilities. Yet Agatha was not the only thing for him and he was hungry, picking from her and squeezing her tits just to see her lips flutter open in an eager gasp of breath. But she could gulp down all the air she could and look as pretty as she liked too with her oiled, black hair, shining as if she had gone to a professional salon, and he would still tease her, teaching her, moment by moment, who was truly in control while she was forced to be nothing more than his not so innocent puppet on display.

Sausages from her cunt shifted and slithered as she twisted and tried her very best to keep her hips pinned down, the food laid out on her like every last piece was designed and so placed to point to her cunt and physical assets. She pressed her lips together, wriggling as she tried to hold back her moans, the need for something more setting in well and truly even while she shrank away. Yet where she was supposed to go when she was pulling back into and up against the table itself? The tablecloth was not going to hide her, sweat and juices from both her body and the food soaking into it. Maybe that would be a job that later fell to her instead of the maids, just something more to cement her lowly position in the household, and she grunted in the back of her throat, swallowing the groan that threatened to rise up as much as she wanted to push it back, lock it down… He was her grandson?

The king before her smirked and leaned it to take the pineapple ring off her other tit, leaving the vegetables for later, although he did not use the fork this time and leaned in instead to suckle her nipple into his mouth. His lips locked down right back where they belonged and Agatha gasped and arched, fingers fluttering as if she was going to call a halt to things – as if she thought still that she had any ability or power to take back control! No, any humiliation or true knowledge of what was happening to her was only in her mind because Mark bid it to exist there, creeping sickness crawling through her gut like sickness even as a much larger, more dominant part of her lusted after the sweet sensation of his lips caressing her nipple, tongue pushing out over her flesh as if it had always been meant to be there.

Maybe her king was really the one for her… No! Her mind dipped and swayed like a tiny boat on the summer lakes that she had frequented as a child, back in days that were, by then, long gone by. She was as much a whim to the influences around her, twisting her head back and forth from one shoulder to the other as she heaved for breath, eyes wide and staring, glassy with an odd mixture of both fear and desire. Never before would she have considered the cold lump of fear that abject humiliation could actually turn to in her gut, yet heat still tingled along her skin and, most noticeably, her extremities. How was that so?

No… No, more questions. She needed him – despite everything going on in her mind, hips rocking up as he drew the very last sausage from her, every last nerve-ending in her body on fire. Agatha may have had an orgasm then but the rush of juices from her over-stimulated cunt could well have been from the simple build-up of desire too, everything coming to a head as she panted like a dog that had been denied water, nothing more than a bitch in heat whose master seemed adamantly determined not to place with a suitable partner to rut too. Mark was the only one she wanted to fuck, to be fucked by, her own, twisted mind pulling scenes out of thin air even though she could not have honestly have said just where they had come from.

More and more… She moaned and begged them to stop even as he licked her tits, swirling his tongue around each nipple in turn to suckle off the juice he found there from the fruit, well known for going with gammon, it had to be said. All she wanted was to be pinned down, taken and used by him – was that too much to ask? She didn't need to be in control, she never had, she should never have upset her family so, not when there was so much pleasure to be had in pleasing them all, feeding the lusts and whims of their desires and appetites over and over again. Even there, her daughter-in-law smiled down at her, not seeing her as someone to go up against any more in order to protect her son, just another part of the harem coming to the just and sensual realisation that she was a hot piece of tail to be fucked and teased and burned up into flaring, tantalising desire like nothing else she could have possibly have experienced before.

Mind control did that to a person and neither of them had to understand it even as Helga cleared away the cutlery, the main course nearly finished. Throughout it all, Sarah did not use the cutlery, instead obeying her master and king in using only her fingers and mouth to pick at the morsels of food that he turned his nose up at, left with the majority of the vegetables, as was to be the way going forward. He didn't have to eat anything he didn't want to and the rest of his life was solely to be concerning the fact of enjoying everything that he could take and what others were kind enough to offer to him.

But Agatha was not privy to that and she moaned openly, breaking her silence as she gasped and whimpered and made all manner of noises, unable to lock her gaze onto any one thing. His face, his hand, the rampant rise of his cock, dripping with pre-cum, down the length of her body, nearly devoid of food now… There was too much to look at and her pussy helplessly and hopelessly clenched down on nothing at all even as she lusted after something, anything, that could he rammed in, all to fill her and drive her straight over the edge into yet another high, something to ease the tightness in her chest, the craving that had never before been present.

Did he know it? Oh, of course, he did! What with that little smirk of his that sent a sickly chill down his spine. She was as good as bound and physically restrained there before him but Mark did not care to consider her feelings in the matter, toying with the level of mind control, letting her feel a wash of horror that was instantly followed by the heat of sexual yearning, turning hot and cold all over again in a matter of seconds as if he could turn the dial of her emotions up and down at will. Torn between conflicting manners, she parted her lips in a silent gasp, head tipping back even as her pussy squirted weakly or at least gave the impression of it, her body a simpler matter entirely than that of her mind. Yes, her body knew what it wanted and that was sexual release, wherever that came from, while her mind was tormented between the source of that release and reeling from it in the sickening realisation that her grandson was finally getting every last bit of revenge on her.

Just a whore…a toy. He fed the words into her mind as she closed her lips around an imaginary cock in an 'O' of pleasure, desire intermingling with the rampant throb of heat that boiled up inside her. The last time that she'd felt that kind of heat had been back in anger, such a coiling, writhing drum in her gut that demanded attention above all else and to be released too. Yet that release had never come from herself but the influence of others, unable to control even as she so very desperately clutched at it before the king took her into his hold.

He was so good to her, so very good… She rolled in a haze of lust, eyes half-lidded and hips rocking up very lightly. Oh, how she needed him. Why would he not sate her need, her king above all else? Could Mark not see that his dear family needed him? Yet she knew too that it was not for her, Agatha, to decide just what course of action the king wanted to take even as his fingers traced a path and a line down her stomach, the indent of her belly button, and danced fluently across her crotch, tempting at what could be, if only he was so inclined to be kind to her. Whether he was or not, of course, was the king's decision and not hers. And it was about time that she came to that realisation, understanding it for herself when it truly mattered the most.

“P-please," she begged, Mark allowing her the sweet gift of speech, her throat releasing sensually from such tightness that her voice box was all but closed off entirely before. “Please… Let me…"

But he didn't have to let her do anything and it was about time that Agatha knew and understood that. Mark growled under his breath, Sarah and Helga's eyes locked on him: something was coming. Agatha did not know even as she scraped and moaned, striving to get her feet under her, to show just how badly she needed him, rocking and grinding and thrusting her hips like a woman possessed, not seeing the reality of the moment before her. Humiliation was by the by when it came with such a raw note of desperation, sweat somehow managing to trickle down between her shoulder blades, dampening the softer curl of dark hair at the very base of her neck that she usually tried to keep tucked in and out of the way, a little jot of vulnerability that had no true place with her.

And then, quicker than any of them could come to terms with, Mark's fingers were inside his grandmother all over again, thrusting deep and taking the place of those sausages, grinding and seeking out the patch of irresistible nerves that was her G-spot. It did not come immediately but he knew that the sparks would soon fly, caressing and teasing at that lustfully sensitive spot until her toes curled and her breath caught, eyelashes fluttering and eyes rolling back as if she was forgetting to breathe in the heat of it all. Whether she was breathing or not was not his concern, however, for everyone was in a safe enough environment if anything did, in fact, happen, his fingers driving, three digits awkwardly but successfully squashed together into the imitation of a faux cock.

It was not the real thing and Agatha knew it even if her body did not. To her body, his fingers were just what it needed and it screamed in the yearning for lust, muscles tightening, one by one, in the prelude to climax. She could not have quite said which muscles tightened first or if any were lacking in any form of tone or contraction but there was a drawing of tautness in her lower abdomen, breath coming more and more swiftly as she raced with the keenness of a much younger woman up to the point of no return and beyond it.

Falling. There was little she could put to words to describe the mind-blowing sensation of that climax, hips rising up as if pulled there by a string of a being that she neither could see nor understand. Orgasm ripped through her, pulse after pulse, lasting far longer than anything a man could boast. Oh, but Mark was so kind to her, so very, very kind, and she didn't deserve any of that kindness at all from her king, whom she was solely there to serve. His fingers were gone but that did not stop her from opening and closing her mouth over and over again in thanks, her king holding her firm and tight in intoxicating control so that not a single hint of humiliation was left in her mind.

Wiping off his fingers on Agatha's thigh, Mark smiled tightly, eyes dancing.

“Helga," Mark said lowly as Agatha writhed in climax, ongoing even into the softening warmth of the afterglow. “Bring dessert."

And Helga knew just what to do, the notes of what he wanted from her easing into her mind so smoothly that they may as well have made themselves known through osmosis. Dessert, of course, was ready and prepared and all she had to do was bring it back from the kitchen with a smile on her face and a bounce in her step, Mark's rule having given her a fresh spring and burst of life in recent days and weeks… How long had it been? Ah, it was too hard to keep track of things like that when everything had become so much more interesting in life, her family well-cared for and the days of her employ coming into ridiculously saucy light.

The fact that she wasn't wearing any underwear either in her pretty maid's outfit (unpractical but so flirtatious!) made it feel all the more naughty as she leaned over the table to lay out the dessert, which could have been considered both an adult affair and a childish one both at the same time. For there were many desserts on the market that had been improved with age and she had heard Sarah say time after time again just how Mark had adored Jell-O in his younger days, the recipes improving as time went on. Nothing would ever compare to her own, however, and she laid out the spread with a seductive flourish, making sure that the king got a good view of her buttocks and pussy as she bent over. Where was the harm in giving a show?

Maybe she'd been too easy to control to keep their secret, playing into the fun as the words, Pacta Sevanda, bobbed and wove through her mind over and over again. She didn't have to put the desserts all over Agatha, using her as a serving platter and a plate all at once, but she wanted to see her lowered down into humiliation too, those in high positions of power down where, maybe, they should have always been, under the control of Mark. Of course, he was the one left on the top of it all but that didn't detract from the personal enjoyment she took from it all in the slightest.

She couldn't tell how far under his control she was and neither did she care, smiling as she laid out the desserts: wobbling, jiggling, glorious Jell-O and a divine Ambrosia cake that she had also made herself. Her skills were many and the Ambrosia was placed on top of Agatha's pussy, her crotch taking the place of a plate where she was spread out for them to enjoy. Her thighs still quivered from the after-effects of orgasm but it was no problem to Helga to make sure that there was no spillage, the heavy, thick cream of the Ambrosia cake shivering almost as much as the Jell-O. Everything was carefully designed to make a mess as one Jell-O was placed on each breast, the sides rising softly in rounded 'bubbles', perfect from the mould that she had used for her recipe.

“Helga?"

Mark stayed her as she went to step back, hand outstretched.

“Join us."

And, so, Helga was invited in to enjoy the dessert too; truly, she could have had the main course if Mark had not been faithful in knowing that she was a wonderful cook. Cooking skills was one thing that he could not implant in the mind of one who served him and he allowed Helga to do her work even as he actively sought out Agatha's particular brand of humiliation, taking her down the many, many notches that were required to show her just where her place was even after so many years. It was never too late, after all, for revenge.

Mark took her left breast while Helga enjoyed the right under his direction, this time foregoing the forks and spoons entirely in lieu of a kind of sensuality that could only really come about under absolutely bizarre circumstances. The Jell-O rounds were small enough that each could be a single serving, even though the Ambrosia was richer and more delectable still, a messy eat that smeared over her pussy and down to her pussy lips too as it was devoured. That one was for Sarah to enjoy, however, and Mark took as much cruel pleasure from watching Sarah slurp away at the messy cake, crumbs and cream going everywhere as he did in swallowing down the Jell-O, relieving simpler times even while he brought the family right along into a more erotic one.

It was a different thing entirely to seeing Sarah with her own mother, Victoria, the step-mother of her life never really holding anything much of a motherly presence in her family. To say that they had never gotten on with one another would have been an understatement and that made it all the more poignant to see Sarah enjoying her, sitting up to dab delicately at her face with a napkin as Mark nodded her on. She would not make too much of a mess of herself with him watching; that wasn't part of what he was looking for. It was Agatha and her rosy cheeks, lips parted in a smile that overcame her embarrassment, that he was looking for, just how she felt at being used to serve up their dinner while she, very pointedly, did not even get any for herself.

Sitting back, Mark finished his helping of dessert with a spoon, leaving the ladies in his kingdom's harem to finish just with their lips and tongues, hands banned in the intoxicating nuance of mind control. They simply did not consider as they scooped up the offerings with little giggles and exchanged glances that made his heart leap and pound all the harder, cock eager, that there was another way to eat: they simply accepted his will and his way. And that was all that Mark, truly, was looking for from his harem and the world he was bringing together, even though that in itself opened up a world of infinite possibilities too.

He grinned, one hand on his cock and the taste of sweet, sweet victory on his lips. For a moment, he just had to revel in it, for what kind of life would it be for him in his charge and rule if he did not enjoy it too from time to time? There was time for everything, absolutely everything, that he could ever come up with to control his kinky family.

Life was good. But there was always time for a second helping of dessert.

*

Agatha's fingers trembled, although, for once, it was not because of her arthritis, age catching up with her and striving to pull her back, to keep her down against all odds. The leather of the harness was brand new and did not flex as well as she otherwise may have liked as she drew it over her shoulders, buckling around her waist, the harness crisscrossing her chest so that her breasts were separated and put on display, drawing the eye. O-rings connected the straps where a buckle was not necessary and, nude, her arse was easily left on display too, pushed up in her black high heels with a wickedly seductive point.

She drew in a breath, eyes wide and staring like that of a horse taken to harness for the very first time. She didn't know what was going on but the settled, calm part of her mind told her that she was merely following orders, that everything was good and well and that she was doing just what the king wanted her to. Agatha knew the king, even though he lurked in a memory of another time, her memories of the world before him coming and going to varying degrees throughout the course of the last few days. But she knew too that she did not have to worry even as she blushed and shied away from the notion of actually backing into the shafts of the cart, which had not by any means been designed for a pony or even a horse to pull.

No… That cart was so that she, a proud grandmother, could pose as the beast of burden, hooking herself carefully into it and looking straight ahead with a little huff and a tremor that signalled that she was ready. It weighed heavily at her hips, pulling her back and down, and Agatha was forced to brace against it, tensing and contracting muscles that weren't' really designed in her age for such activity, although her stamina and ability would soon, very much, be put to the test well and truly.

What was she doing? Swallowing hard, she shifted her weight, Mark's car parked next to her, although there had been talk of purchasing more models still, something faster and more exciting again for him to enjoy. Her heartbeat fluttered in a mad manic, fear bidding her to run, to run far away. But she was strapped into the harness and the cart of her own accord and her body veered drastically between wanting to please him, her long, black hair lying down between her shoulder blades like the tail of an actual equine. Oh, and the other emotion? Well, that was simple: that part of her yearned to run away, to not be a part of anything with him anymore, to flee back to her comfortable mansion and never again ever speak another bad word about it. She'd been complacent and to be in such a vile position of humiliation... It was something that would break her if she spent too much time thinking about it, the heels growing weary on feet that were too old to really be able to wear them for any real length of time.

But that was just why Mark allowed her to think about it, forcing her to go over all of the events that had happened time after time again, hardly sleeping as she tossed and turned in one of the guest rooms, desperate to climax all over again and yet not truly understanding the 'why' of why the desire was there, what lay behind it. Grunting, she turned her head from one side to the other, looking helplessly about the garage for an escape as her arms grew heavy, pulling her body down and down and down as if to lodge her into cement, the building material that was bringing so much to the world. There was so much they could do but it was constructions that were lodged in it and not human beings, although she wasn't even all that sure that she was even a human anymore.

Maybe she wasn't. And yet she felt the dildo crammed up into her pussy, passage tensing around it, the butt plug filling her most forbidden of holes. Nothing, however, was actually forbidden when it came to Mark and she was forced so very easily to wear both of them, another strap of the harness coming up between her legs just for the sole purpose of keeping the both of them in place. She didn't know what she'd be doing but she could not have honestly have said that she didn't have an inkling of an idea of what was to come, her heart leaping and stomach sinking in terrifyingly equal amounts.

“One last thing."

Mark was there and she could not help but shiver away from him, even though it was hardly any motion at all. Like a breath of wind that ruffled the wings of a moth, her resistance was futile and her halfway broken mind understood that too. No point in pulling away: better again just to please him, to do what her king wanted her to do. He smirked, lips quirking up on just the one side, and then there was a sudden prick of pain in her nipples, sharpness settling swiftly to a dull, glowing burn. Never before had she felt anything at all like that and she gasped, swallowing hard as she fought to bear through it, although she kept her hands well away at the bequest of her king. It would disappoint him if she tried to relieve the pain and pressure.

Squeezing down inadvertently on the plug and dildo rammed into her, Agatha slowly looked down, wincing at the nipple clamps that jingled there, one on each nipple connected with a string of silver bells on a chain. They jangled lightly, musically even, with every last little shift of her body and Agatha groaned softly, tucking her chin down as her body, very slowly, became used to the pressure of them, the ridged clamps biting and digging in, although there was no doubt at all in her mind that they would leave marks on their removal. It wasn't for her to think about, however, as Mark nodded his approval and left his duly humiliated slave to her task of the day, joining his mother in the cart.

Sitting back with a self-satisfied little groan, Mark put his hands back behind his head and smiled, Sarah already working at his belt and his trousers for what he needed her to do for him. It was a brilliant, sunny day and there was only one thing that would make it better as Sarah knelt down in the steady cart and squeezed her tits around his cock, which was already growing lustfully hard as if he'd known all along that his obedient first slave would be keen to please him, breath coming more quickly but in a very, very pleasant way.

The task, however, of giving her king Mark a boob-job was made just a little more difficult as the cart juddered into motion, Mark flicking out a driving whip to catch his grandmother on the backside with it. It was not the most efficient position in which he could send her on into a light, stuttering walk but it most certainly was the most erotic to him as he grunted and sat back, one eye on her as she moved them out of the garage, finding her feet once again in the high heels that she must not have worn in many, many years. That was just one more thing that Agatha would have to get used to and he wasn't going to concern himself worrying about either her care or comfort when she had never, not even once, done anything of the sort for him.

Let her struggle.

_ _

And it was a delicious struggle that he bore witness to as she drew the cart out into the private grounds, birds singing in the trees – many finches – unaware of what saucy acts were going on. Maybe they only saw humans or maybe they even passed by, seeing that they did not have any food for them on that particular day and the feeders would, again, be restocked soon, so they would not go scarce or hungry for too long when there were easy pickings. Just like the birds sought out the easiest source of sustenance, Mark sought out what would give him the most pleasure in any given moment and Agatha's tight, flexing rump was one of those things. She huffed as she pulled, slipping deeper under his control as her resistance weakened further still with the physical exertion, her body hardly fit enough for what he ordered her to do.

“On!"

The whip cracked out and caught her buttocks, her thighs, across the other side, lovingly wrapping the flexible tip around for a stinging cut. Agatha howled but that was a bad idea even as the pain rang through, a sting that could not be ignored and definitely not denied. Pain was a new concept for her, something that had not really been anything at all of a part of her life since she had last given birth, and she yawned her mouth open in a silent scream, stride jerky and juddering as if she could not quite step out enough, pulling back inside. Of course, the heels shortened her step anyway and that simply was not good enough for Mark who frowned even as his cock was drawn, just the tip, into his lustful mother's mouth, lashing her in every spot between the straps that he could aim at in motion, buttocks rising in a flush of angry, red welts in particular.

It would have been prudent to avoid the kidneys but Mark did not have that knowledge and a few blows cracked across her back, marking the woman even as she picked up the pace into an awkward jog beneath the trees, knees lifted uncharacteristically high with the shoes. A beast of burden indeed, there was nothing she could do to hide the shift and grind of the sexy toys inside her, making her clench around them, breath coming more and more laboured by the moment. She couldn't even tell whether that was because she was being forced to run or because she was getting closer to the thing that she didn't want to admit to either but it was coming either way, the tension of muscles more difficult to pin down as she strode out and on, sweat trickling in glistening rivulets down her body, blending and merging into the leather straps.

On and on he drove her, the whip lashing and layering her body, the tightness growing and growing more and more with every moment that dared to pass, muscles screaming for relief. She was not fit enough by far for what they wanted her to do and yet they didn't care for that – Mark didn't care. Sarah very much may have had no opinion on it at all if she had been consulted but she was rather a bit more pre-occupied with sucking off his cock, swapping between squeezing it between her tits and using her mouth to give her king the most pleasure possible.

No! No more! There was no more that she could take, twisting and whipping her head back and forth, mouth gaping as if she had somehow managed to poise herself like a truly obedient submissive slut for a ball gag or similar. But that was not to be the case on that particular day as he forced her on, calves burning and hamstrings complaining in a hiss from the strain. Just how was she meant to keep on? It should have been more embarrassing than it was but it was funny how physical exertion could swallow up humiliation, locking her down tightly so that she could only focus on pushing on, trying to please him, even if it was just so that he might stop whipping her.

Agatha could not have honestly have said that pain play did anything for her: she was one who had all of her sex in her younger days in standard positions, as much as men had lusted after her and her ideal body back then. It was vanilla even if frequent (she told herself it was only for conception but, well, she'd lied about not liking it even back then to maintain her face and snarl of an image) and it had never, ever, not even once, involved anything at all to do with pain play. That wasn't something that she'd ever considered coming into use or effect but she was driven on like a horse but treated far, far worse than Mark would have ever thought of treating an animal in his care, simply because she was far lower in his eyes and value than the creatures that brought him such joy throughout his life.

Sickening heat… It built and built in the pit of her stomach as she wobbled and tried to stride out, breasts rising and heaving with the need to draw breath and yet each and every breath came with greater difficulty than the past. Her breasts did not remain steady at all as she pulled away from the stinging bite of the whip, the burns from the welts dulling to something thick and throbbing, residing deeper, beneath the surface, but jiggled with every little motion of her body. That was just one problem with having her between the shafts of the cart with Mark behind her: her breasts were not on show to him. However, Mark was still very much able to admire her large backside, wrapping the whip lovingly around each rear cheek in turn, although it was far from a lover's kiss or caress in its bite.

More and more… They passed beneath the trees, leaves layering a light carpeting before them from the recent storm, cherry stones crunching underfoot. Her heel slipped on one and she cried out, ignorant to what the rising clenching tension in her body meant. Of course, she could not be held at fault for not being entirely with herself in the moment, not truly present in a body that she was fighting and fighting to force on to do something that it very much was not prepared to do. Her body had served her well over her years – just why was she treating it so terribly? The answer to that lay in the hands and the will of her king seated back behind her, residing in a complete and utter position of power, a smirk on his lips and the whip commandingly clasped in his hand.

Whip after whip rained down on her and she cried out suddenly, head jerking up as orgasm crashed unexpectedly through she. Agatha didn't have a moment in which to wonder just how that was even possible as she moaned and shuddered through ecstasy, pulse after divine pulse of pleasure making running in the heels even more difficult as her already laboured pace slowed and slowed, coming with greater effort with each and every stride. Her pussy clenched down on the toy within her, sucking at it as if she was trying to draw it in even deeper than it already was, the butt plug a very strange sensation indeed. So strange, in fact, that the very act of her body tightening up around everything inside her pushed her to cry out in another orgasm, one powering into the next or even as the first drew itself out and out, legs shaky and tits wobbling back and forth as if she had truly become nothing more than a sex doll placed on parade.

And the humiliation returned in a drove with her climax, hot embarrassment crawling over her skin, through the pit of her being. Yet the pleasure could not be denied either, neither her body nor her mind within the scope of her control as Mark, more careful, flicked out the whip, wrapped it around under her arm on each side to 'kiss' first one breast and then the other. She screamed that time, an unearthly, otherworldly sound that should never have come from the lips of a woman, and yet it only seemed to make her orgasm all the more powerful, lust pounding her into the ground with the sheer, raw, unadulterated force of it.

She shouldn't have been out there, passing by the fountain with the bubbling water and the cherubs perched on top, so serene in their innocence. The eyes of they were bare and unfeeling even as their carved smiles followed her, wings fluttering as if based on that very point of flight, becoming weightless in their stone garb. They reminded her of an earlier time, of parties held before similar fountains. Moaning even as her guts twisted, orgasm demanding attention, pace slowing and slowing, she wondered just what those people that she had entertained back then would think of her now, just what they would say about her. They'd say just how far she'd fallen, that she was worthless, a slut for a man, that they'd known it all along. Maybe words like that, however imagined they may or may not have been, had been just the reason that she had thrown up such walls in her life, seeking to control all around her.

But none of that mattered now that she had a king in her life to take that control back into his rightful hands. He could do right by her and he would, even if it meant having her tits out, the lightly sagging – but still reminiscent of youth – flesh glowing with the heat of her body. Legs aching in a white-hot throb of pain, she could not keep going any longer and slowed to a walk, head hanging and pussy still far, far too tight for comfort around those toys slammed up into her. Should she run? Pull away? Rebellion curled up, simmering anxiously, in her gut, although it was destined to be quashed as quickly as it had appeared to begin with. After all, Mark had not undergone such extensive teaching to be thwarted by a woman like her and Agatha had been on his list to control and dominate right from the start, the woman and the prize looming in his mind's eye until he had her in his grasp.

Too much.

“Pacta Sevanda."

Back where she should be, her face softened into a beatific smile as if she was no longer present in the moment, although she felt everything in gloriously precise detail. Her feet pressed into the heels as if they had been custom-made for her and she pranced like a pony herself as she trotted on, lighter than she ever had been before. Agatha didn't know, of course, that the lethargy and soreness would return later but, right then and there, she was a proud servant of the king where humiliation had no place in her life.

On and on, around the back of the mansion to near where the garage was situated, passing by the deck. It should have broken her and her breathing did not help, skin hot and patchy, sweat pouring down her even as she tried for him. Of course, it was all under his influence and Agatha could not, by any means, be held at all accountable for putting in so much effort, but even the motion of her breasts swaying back and forth with the natural jolt and jostle of her body sent a tingle of pleasure through her, the butt plug feeling larger than ever.

Dropping his control, Mark smirked and thrust lightly between Sarah's tits, already having climaxed several times during the course of the kinky carriage ride. Agatha slowed instantly, moaning and hanging her head, no longer stepping out proudly but tottering around in the heels that, really, were a bit on the big side for her. The ache spread up from her toes up her legs and she staggered, nearly throwing the cart itself off balance and course as she groaned, even that cry of complaint seeming weak and pitiful coming from a woman in her current situation.

It would not have been possible to make Agatha pull them along any longer, sweating so heavily and tripping over her own feet, so Mark had her take them, at a much slower pace, all the way back to the garage, letting her know that, even when drained of all energy, he was still very much in charge. He didn't need to take care of Agatha, leaving that to the maid who rushed up, even though she handled the woman with a coarse sort of curtness that should have really have been reserved for someone with a much lower status in life. It wasn't his place to do that kind of work, after all, and the women were far better suited to things like that than he was.

No, leaving Agatha huffing and sweating in his wake, he strode into the house and straight to the phone, dialling a number with the rotary wheel with a small smile on his face and lust gleaming in his eyes…

The object of his attention that time was in her own home, Victoria busy washing the posh glass table in the sitting room that was merely for show, although seemed to gather rather a large number of Mai Ling's fingerprints over the last few days. Mai Ling herself, however, sat in front of the television, her eyes fixed on the screen, the very picture of relaxation in one of Victoria's elegant evening gowns that had, by now, been tailored to fit her like a glove. She knew what was good with her position as she crossed her legs demurely, yet that act too was made less elegant by the mere fact that she was not wearing any underwear, inner thighs pressing together softly in the thicker pads of fat there, reminding her of the luxuriousness of her new life.

Of course, Victoria had not been allowed any clothing at all and her tits jiggled lightly as she leaned over the table and put all her strength into scrubbing it clean with soap and water, the bucket frothed up with bubbles. Her nipples had perked up in the cool air of the sitting room, the private quarters shut off from the gardens with floor length curtains, cosy and yet still elegant at the same time. She was not cosy at all, as nude as she had been the day she was born and yet in a far more erotic way as a fully-grown, elderly woman. Victoria could not hold herself tall and proud and yet Mai Ling had dressed her in ropes of costume jewellery, not even precious stones or diamonds, that hung down between her breasts, drawing the eye there, all to highlight her sexuality. The ones in her ears rattled as the cheap beads were disturbed and Victoria longed for the caress of cool diamonds, the respectful weight of them about her neck and on her fingers. And yet there was nothing she could do about it but puff from the physical exertion and scrub away at the table, following the course of orders in keeping the house clean that Mai Ling had had to instruct her on over and over again as if she simply was not capable of getting it right.

The phone rang, a burbling tone that shimmied through the house even though it was on the small, round table right beside Mai Ling. Without pausing or hesitating in the slightest, the former maid answered it with a flourish, one eyebrow curiously cocked.

“Hello? King Mark?"

She seemed to know that no one else would be calling at that time, his control stretching further than anyone could have expected, a smile on her face that could only have been considered as devious. Why would she not be pleased that he was calling, after all? Everything the king had done had turned her life around! She may have still worn a maid's get-up from time to time (she could not have said just why but it gave her a hot flush that tingled right the way down into the tips of her fingers and toes) but the fine dresses and elegant shawls made her feel more than worth a million dollars.

“Pass the phone to Victoria."

Mai Ling obeyed instantly: it was not for her to say anything or to complain to Mark for not wanting to speak to her. Her place and position in the household was as solid as it could ever be and there was nothing, truly, that she could complain about, wearing such fineries that now may as well have belonged to her for the free reign she had using and abusing them. And, so, she was quite alright with playing along with his little game, even if it was well within his rights and capabilities simply to force her to do as he bid even if she did not want to. That, after all, was the way of the king.

It was not a long phone call and the shift in Victoria was electric, shoulders rounding forward as she moaned and rocked her hips, need rising. Of course, she still had the butt plug and dildo shoved up into her respective holes, held in place as if they were part of a chastity device but it was solely so that she could be kept full and stretched at all times. She shifted her weight from side to side and helplessly rubbed her clit as Mai Ling grinned widely, imagining the inner turmoil that she was going through, a useless whore who needed her master for her sexual satisfaction. Truly, nothing else would do.

“Yes, Mark… Right away!"

Without saying a word to Mai Ling, she dropped the phone on the table and ran out to the car, completely oblivious still to the fact that she was not wearing anything at all bar the kinky gear that he had picked out for her – the dildo and plug holder. But that did not matter to one of the servants in his harem who had been duly called by her master. Victoria had a call to answer and she rushed to obey, slipping into the driver's seat even though she much preferred to have a chauffeur and leaving Mai Ling well behind to relax and spend her day whiling away the hours in a king's fantasy-land.

By the time that Victoria arrived at Mark's mansion – it could not really be called Sarah's anymore now that he had taken up his fair and rightful residence there – things had progressed. Agatha had caught her second wind with some sustenance provided by Helga and, as soon as she had come back to her senses and been freshened up in a quick and cooling bath, Mark had wasted no time in making further use of her. Leaving Sarah bent over the arm of the sofa, pushed up onto her toes with her backside high in the air and glistening with his semen, he knelt over Agatha, flat on her back on the sofa itself, and pressed his achingly hard shaft between her tits.

There was nothing quite like making use of his harem and never again would there be, for he was spoiled in such a position of power, her soft flesh squeezing him in a sweet caress. Agatha moaned loudly and lewdly, putting on a show for her king that pleased him greatly, eyes rolling back into her skull as if she was at a point where she was not quite breathing properly. If she slipped away and out of consciousness, however, from the sheer force of sexual attraction, he would only put her aside to recover for a time, making use of another. And the training that he would provide to his obedient slaves too would ensure that they remembered just what they needed to do in order to please him, day in and day out, without such inconveniences in the future. Even for them, it was all a learning experience to be the best servants they possibly could be to their lustful and dominant king.

Agatha groaned and tried to lick the tip of his shaft every time it pushed through her breasts and yet Mark playfully kept it out of her reach, pushing her deeper and deeper into submission from the simple matter of how much she wanted his cock. And yet he would not let her have it, merely using her body for his pleasure as he adored the softness of her breasts, slamming between them over and over again, skin pleasantly flushed with his more gentle exertion. His knees tucked in tightly around her arms, keeping them in place, but it was completely up to her to hold her breasts there, flesh jiggling and wobbling delectably as it was manipulated, covering his cock completely in her luscious sensuality.

Trembling in the doorway, Victoria dropped to her knees and bowed her head, grey hair falling loosely over the back of her neck and down to her shoulders. Not as prim and proper as she would have been, under her own care and jurisdiction, it had not been washed that morning but that was just as well considering just what Mark had in store for her.

“Ah… You have arrived."

Affecting a bored expression, he barely looked at Victoria even as she hovered there, head respectfully lowered. His hips did not stop or even slow – if anything, he sped up his thrusts, keen for his high as something more alluring approached. She had taken long enough.

And he made a show of taking his time as he spent himself over Agatha's tits and face, ropes of semen splattering her neck too in a visual show of his vitality. Pride flushed through him, red-hot with need. It was no wonder that he was the king when he was such a stud, so virile and powerful in his sexuality. Agatha whimpered beneath him, her orgasm denied, and squeezed her breasts around him all the more eagerly, only thinking of pleasing him as her humiliation deepened. Yet the moment could not last forever as beads of cum trickled down her perfectly made up lips, a mark of him staining her forevermore, semen glistening temptingly on her luscious breasts.

Standing, Mark raised an eyebrow and crooked a finger in Victoria's direction. She had not moved a muscle. Good.

“Come with me."

Out in the garage, his plan became clear as he lovingly dressed Victoria in a matching leather harness to what Agatha wore earlier, although Agatha was left to dress herself. In a matching pair of black high heels too, his grandmother from his mother's side tottered, the points of them far too high for any semblance of comfort too. The dildo and butt plug were locked into her and she whined softly, eyes plaintive – but only because he wanted them to be. He wanted to see the humiliation crossing her expression, trying to push it away even as she lusted after everything he did to her, the need so terrible that she had to do the very things that she yearned not to in order to get her high each and every time.

What that high was, exactly, ah…there was a trick. It was simply the matter of course in the pleasure and pleasing of him, of course. But they didn't need to know what gave them their very special kind of 'fix'. Mark smiled, stepping back to admire his work, Agatha struggling into the harness and tightening the buckles snugly and securely for herself. He'd keep that knowledge all for himself, to use and abuse.

His sluts stood tall if not proud, cheeks red and breasts rising and falling in such a way that he could not help himself, taking one in each hand for a squeeze. Agatha groaned and tipped her head back, exposing the vulnerable expanse of her throat, but he was not interested in his whores at that moment in time when they could do a far better job of pulling his cart through the grounds while he revelled in his power.

And so they did, driving through the gardens at a smart yet more leisurely pace than earlier, both women in the shafts as they strained to please him. All the while, Mark enjoyed Sarah in the back, calling out directions to them while she rode him, thighs burning with the strain of grinding down on him even as she screamed out her delight, his thick length forcing her body through orgasm after orgasm. Hissing through his teeth, Mark spat a curse, fingers digging into her heavy tits, groping and massaging them as she ground down over and over again, moving as if a mindless machine – yet one caught up in such throes of lust that it may well have been difficult to consider it even a machine at all.

The ladies pulling the cart grunted and groaned but their needs were destined, at least for the moment, to go without being tended to, leaning forward to better pull their weight, their intent on one thing and one thing alone. They didn't need to think, mindless in their devotion, although Victoria glanced about as if she was fearful that she would be caught there, out in the open, by someone she knew. Of course, even if she was, her humiliation would not lead to anything further as Mark would ensure that word of his kingdom did not spread without his due direction but she was not to know that as she moaned and tucked her chin down, striving to hide even where there was nowhere to actually hide.

Agatha fared no better, loathing every moment of being strapped into the cart beside Victoria. There had been many reasons that she had become more and more estranged from the family over the course of time passing and she was the top one. Yet she moaned all the same as the sex toys within her pressed together through the thin wall of flesh dividing her pussy from her anal passage, jostling and pushing her closer and closer to orgasm with every passing minute. Her breasts pulled down more heavily with a more aggressive pair of nipple clamps than the delightful, jingling bells that Victoria wore and she rolled her eyes as the pain and aches grew, despite the tingling warmth tap-dancing through her body, a drug that she would not have wanted to admit to.

But that wasn't the point. The only point was in her pulling the cart while Mark groaned out his climax behind her, filling Sarah over and over again as their ride progressed around the estate. With the gardens in bloom, it could not have been considered as anything other than a beautiful day and petals drifted from the flowerbeds up against their legs, one caressing a nipple as it floated higher in the passage of their bodies and the cart. And that little touch alone was enough for Agatha to orgasm in the shafts of the cart, stuttering and drawing Victoria back as she was swiftly joined by the other grandmother of her own grandson.

Mark grinned. There could be no finer pleasure than enjoying his harem in the grounds, it had to be true! And he had many more plans for them too that would soon come to fruition as he filled his mother with yet another dose of seed, breasts clasped in his hands and tits heavy with flesh that yearned to be suckled into his mouth.

Soon… Very soon.

*

Mark sat back on one of the terrace chairs, a wicker affair, as Victoria rode him, feet flat on the wooden boards as she took his cock deep into her pussy over and over again. And yet his attention, for once, was not on the one currently engaged in while Agatha had been sent to work in the gardens, her body on naked and clear display under the glare of the hot sun. She did not know how to conceal or lessen her shame as she bent over in the dirt, kneeling with her legs lewdly spread without any sense or capability within her own will to stop herself from the abject sense of humiliation.

It wasn't right but it wasn't wrong either – so what was it? Agatha's cheeks could not have glowed more with embarrassment and yet it was not the only emotion in her. Her pussy was empty of a toy, for once, and it felt so very wrong to be empty there, her juicy love-tunnel clenching down on nothing over and over again as if it was trying to tighten up or find something that could be forced up in there. Weeding out the carrots, she grunted and shook her head, a strand of black hair floating into her eyes, perspiration dripping down her forehead, a rivulet running down her cheek. Her buttocks were on show and she couldn't stop herself from lifting them up and grinding back as if onto an imaginary cock, a whore on show for the only one in her life who mattered going forward. Maybe Mark had been the one that she should have always been paying attention to but, well, there were only so many mistakes that could be kept in a mind cluttered with them when she needed to focus on all she could do for him instead.

Wrong but right, right but wrong… It was the theme of it as she dragged her tits through the dirt, dragging out the weeds, hands grubby with the essence of the soil. Oh, how she needed to please him, to have him finally fuck her, as much as a part of her knew that she should not want that at all. Yet that did not change or detract from the need at all; on the contrary, it only made it stronger. Her loins burned and seemed to tense, although she would not have known how to manipulate the muscles there, breath coming more laboured than it even had been when she'd pulled the cart. But maybe that was in her mind as it swirled and the words, Pacta Sevanda, floated around her mind over and over again, his indoctrination controlling her every last little motion.

“Agatha."

She looked up at him then, not even having heard his approach. But he was her king and he stood over her, her grandson in all his vehement power and all that that entailed. His stare pulled her and she rose to her feet with carrots in her arms – just how had that happened? She didn't remember picking them up but the dirt stained her breasts as she stood there, waiting on him as he plucked several from her arms with a smirk that sent a curl of foreboding anticipation rifling through the pit of her stomach.

And, one by one, he forced those carrots up into the sodden mess of her cunt while she stood there, legs spread and slightly spread for him. Agatha heaved for breath, need trying to rise up inside her, yet there was no sense of being allowed to orgasm as she moaned and rocked her hips, grinding back and forth as if her body itself was trying to persuade him, convince her king, to use her more, to do even more to her as her head swirled and spun with undeniable lust for him.

“Oh… So big!"

Such a simple phrase, a whore's words, for a woman who had, once, been so elegantly spoken even if there had been nothing sweet about her back then. Pumping the thick lengths of knobbly vegetables deep inside her cunt, Mark rubbed his thumb over her clit, the swollen nub seeming to crave his touch as she moaned crudely, hips pumping as if for more.

So good… Thought after thought flashed through her mind, one ardently chasing the tail of the one that came before it as if they could not be told apart in the lack of privacy of her own mind. Never again would anything at all be private for Agatha as she was controlled, made to do every decrepit act and more that Mark could think up, pussy squeezing down on those carrots, faux phalluses at their best. But they were no substitution at all for a cock, the real thing, and she whimpered, needing something more even as she tried to pull back and found herself only grinding down onto the vegetables even harder, lusting after more. Yet it was never hers to demand as he laughed, shaking his head at her antics, the playful dance between lust and humiliation that could never be pulled too far in one way, for he was too busy enjoying the endless tug of the two.

“That's too small for you, isn't it?" He goaded her, pinching a nipple just to see her lips part in a gasp, pain and heat rushing to the spot that he had hurt. “You need more… Come. Do not drop any of them."

And, like a good little slut, she followed him to the side of the mansion where the glass house resided, designed so that the gardener, under normal circumstances, could tend to vegetables and fruits that, usually, could only be found in warmer climates. Her cunt squeezed down viciously on the vegetables stuffed into her as if she was to be placed onto the table as another feast to be enjoyed all over again and her breasts shivered in delight, nipples perky and hard as if they too craved stimulation, left out for the moment. The end closest to the door, blistering with sultry heat, was full of cucumbers, the object of his going there in the first place, although Agatha was not to know that. Grinning madly, he took a cucumber from the tall plant beside him with a flourish, snapping off the stalk that connected it to the pain body of the plant, the thick bulge of green in his hand promising something far more delectable than carrots could ever have provided.

“Bend over."

She did so instantly and the carrots in her cunny shifted as he made room for the cucumber, not even removing all of them before thrusting in the green vegetable, hard and ripe and ready to be picked. Perhaps it had, however, never imagined being picked for such a purpose but that was none of his concern as he drove it deeper and deeper, forcing her tight passage to stretch around it even as she curled her toes and cried out a groan that was, truly, more of a howl. Her lips contorted and twisted, turning her pretty face into something ugly, but he did not stop, forcing it as deep as it could possibly go as her pussy instinctively gripped it, relishing the penetration.

Agatha's orgasm did not stop him either, squeezing and groping her tits as he forced her through it, her body a toy that he could do with as he pleased. Her pussy became swiftly slippery with her juices, the vegetables moving more easily within her as he drove them up so deeply that the very ends of the carrots were crammed up alongside her innermost barrier: an uncomfortable but at least somewhat secure position for her.

“Good," he breathed, eyes alight with desire, burning up from the inside out. “And now, fetch me a pear… Without dropping anything."

That one, thankfully, was not to be stuffed into her but Agatha was not to know that as she drew in a sharp breath, eyes wide and chest tight. Waddling awkwardly with so much shoved up into her, she carefully made her way down to one of the more exotic pear trees, only able to bear fruit out of season due to the carefully controlled internal climate of the glass house. Whereas it was a blessing to have fruit at all times of the year, it was not so much of a blessing to have to fetch him one with her heart in her mouth, trying to squeeze down on the cucumber and carrots with all her might as she stretched up onto the tips of her toes to reach.

Higher and higher, she reached, tits wobbling, and finally got the pear that he wanted, plucking the ripe fruit from the branch as the cucumber in her cunt slipped. She only caught it in the nick of time, dropping back to the flats of her feet with a huff, turning with a triumphant smile to present it to her king with a flush of utter devotion.

And he was pleased, so very pleased, as he took a bite from the pear, juice dripping lusciously down his chin. But he was far from done yet as he growled in the back of his throat, loosened his belt and sat back against one of the ledges that kept the earth in place around the base of the glass house plants, cock out and in his hand before Agatha could catch up with just what he was wanting from her, focused entirely on holding the vegetables inside her cunt to the exclusion of even what was happening around her.

“Mount me!"

Her body jerked to obey even as her mind tried to catch up with just what he wanted her to do but it was too late as she sat down on him, his shaft bumping up against the filling in her cunny. There wasn't room! She parted her lips but all that came out was a moan as he instead repositioned her, sliding his cock up deep into her arse instead without any preparation, fingers clenching around her bony hip to force her down even if she would have rather have had a slower, more gentle penetration.

“Oh… Oh, master…"

Of course, it was him putting the words into her mouth, feeding Agatha the terms that he wanted to hear, groaning and hissing between his teeth as he planted his shoes and thrust up into her, intent on seating every last inch of his cock up into her tight backside. Tighter than even he could have anticipated, her backside squeezed down on him, trying to force him out even as he burrowed deeper, not willing to be even one little bit denied of what he wanted. Agatha opened and closed her mouth in silent moans, head thrown back in a silent cry of pleasure, that curl and tingle of orgasm rising up inside her once more. It was warming too, but that could have been the heat of the glass house, intoxicating warmth pressing in from all sides just like the will of the man that simply could not be escaped.

As she rode him, his hands landed on her breasts once again, squeezing and massaging and groping to his heart's content. And she did not stop him either, breathing heavily as she rocked her hips, taking his cock deeper as she became more and more used to the sensation – besides the butt plug, she'd never had anything up her anal passage before! It simply wasn't done! Yet it was a sultry feeling indeed to be filled from both of her holes and, against herself, Agatha found herself lifting her own hands to her breasts, her mind wandering as it considered just what would bring her king the most pleasure as he made good use of her in the heat of the moment.

Her tits… Oh, how he adored them! Breathless with lust, Mark fed her image after image of what he wanted to do with her breasts, pinching and slapping and squeezing them over and over again. There could be no possible end to all the ways in which he could make use of her and he had time enough to see that she could, eventually, orgasm just from him groping her breasts alone, a broken toy that was good for nothing but being controlled. His cock slammed into her as she cried out, pain lancing through the nuance of pleasure, the pressure unbearable as, helpless and humiliated to have her arse fucked, she squeezed and pushed her own breasts together, just to see his smile widen.

It was good: good for Mark. Her king. Always her king… Agatha's long, black hair trailed down her back as she rolled her head, hips working in erratic time as he took over, driving, slamming thrusts sending a tremor through her body with each and every rampant stroke. Her jiggling tits were contained by her hands and his, all fumbling to get the best grope and grip on her body, Agatha's hands easily batted aside even as she fervently, desperately, tried to play with them, all to appease him. It was wrong, so very wrong, but she had to! Who knew what would happen to her, after all, if she did not do her very best to please him at all costs?

Mark knew this all very well and crammed as much of his cock into her as possible, the curl of hair at his crotch finally coming into blissfully victorious contact with her curvaceous buttocks, fat and rippling with flesh that he too ached to dig his fingers into, to sink his teeth into. But not yet, not then, not when there were other, sweet treats on offer, the grip of her anal ring seeming to grow tighter and tighter all over again, more and more with every passing moment. He knew just what was happening and let out a harsh bark of laughter that came out as more of a snarl, hardly humorous in the slightest as she languished and rolled in his control. Caught in a net from which she could only wriggle and not even imagine freedom, she moaned and grunted like a whore who only desired him and his cock, his slave and his servant.

He'd have to have her pussy tattooed too, he thought dimly, thrusting with raw abandon, hips working furiously. She needed to know, to know that she was his and his alone, his forevermore. Such a slut! Agatha's tits begged his attention and he imagined a nice pair of nipple clamps to adorn them, the chain jingling, another note in which she would be reminded of her servitude to him, revenge coming through strong and clear for all the wrong that she had done to him in years gone by.

It was too much pressure for her body, however, moaning and squeezing down with such force that she could barely understand just what it was that her body was doing, what it was craving. The vegetables jostled and squashed in against one another as she bore down, panting at the very point of it – but it could not be held back! Orgasm swept through her with the natural force of a tidal wave, unstoppable in what the world could drive her to, pounding her little body down to the sea bed and tossing it back up against on a spray of salty, white foam. The salty treat that would come in time would be from the smooth head of his cock but she wasn't thinking of that as every last muscle in her body tightened, bearing down and down and down, all for his ultimate pleasure. After all, her orgasm was just something that was a bonus and side-effect to his ecstasy. What did Mark care whether she enjoyed herself or not? He could make it so, either way.

Her orgasm did not call halt to proceedings either and he dropped his hands from her breasts to her hips, letting them sway pendulously and erotically in the wake of his movement. With his eyes fixed on them, he tipped up towards her, sitting up, and took a nipple hungrily into his mouth, suckling wantonly, and pulled her down against him, thrusting in short, sharp jerks of his hips, seeking out his own high even as her anal ring squeezed even more tightly around him. It was as if she was deliberately trying to make it hard for him to fill her, to thrust, and that thought served to drive him on, growling like a feral creature as he pounded her for all he was worth.

As the first spurt of cum flooded her anal passage, Agatha howled, sweat beading on her skin from the heat of the glass house, only made hotter again from the movement and gyration of their bodies. One spurt was not enough, however, and he nipped at her nipples as if he was striving to glean something from them, shot after shot of oh so very virile cum pouring into her, filling her forbidden passage. She would never have allowed her husband to do that and she squirmed deliciously, moaning in the shame of it all, her skin prickling and tight, too tight for comfort as if she had been squeezed into someone else's body. And yet the body that she wore in the here and the now was one subject to pleasures that she would have to come to accept in time, her mind only very weakly tugging and pulling at his control, soon to give up entirely. There was no point fighting, after all, when Mark would gain whatever he wanted whenever he wanted from her in the end.

Her holes, however, both clenched down so desperately at the point of his orgasm, the force and pressure too much, that the vegetables squished, crushed within her, touch skins broken and the softer flesh of the cucumber revealed. The watery fluid mixed with her pussy juice, dripping down her inner thighs to his crotch, Agatha tipping forward to hesitantly rest her hands on his chest. She needed his support, as much as it made something in her chest tighten to require it, stomach sinking lower and lower, a dullness residing in lingering humiliation. But she had no choice.

He didn't allow her to clean herself up before heading home, as he would not have wanted to spend a night in his mansion with her until he knew that her mind was completely and utterly broken. Rebellion from her simply would not be an option and he paced her to the car like a small child that needed to be led and guided, placed just so where they needed to be. A slave didn't have the presence of mind, after all, to make rational decisions or have sensible thoughts and he no longer expected anything from Agatha expect what he put there, turning her far, far from the woman that she had once been. Yet, in her case, it could only be said to be an improvement.

“In."

The car was too good for a body that was dirtied and marked with mud and dirt and cum, sweat layering trails across her otherwise perfect skin, oiled and well cared for over the years. He would not have her on the seat of his car, oh no. And so she was forced, once again, to crawl into the trunk, her buttocks lifted and on show for a longer moment as she drooled cum from her anal ring, stretched and gaped and freshly fucked. The vegetables had been left dangling from her pussy, some slithering out in the mess of orgasmic and vegetable juices, but her punishment for letting them fall would come later, when he was in the mood for it.

His cock remained hard and wanton in his trousers as he drove her back, as keen for what was to come as her lust-addled and halfway broken mind was for him, wanting something and yet wishing it was not real at the same time. And yet that was just the conundrum he wanted her to be in, torn between opposing courses of action with her body implanted with the desire to orgasm over and over again for the rest of her life. But little did she know that her sexual pleasure would only ever come from King Mark going forward, the man that she had hurt so now in control of even that crude little detail of her life.

Still, he did not let her shower as he stood her in the kitchen, dirt smeared all over her breasts, marking her nipples. Filthy, she swayed there, eyes wide and his control lowered, panic setting in amongst the red-hot wash of utter humiliation. Just what did she think she was doing? He had no right to do that to her? But what was it? The thoughts slipped from her mind as soon as she was there to breathe life into them, panting heavily, underarms clingy and damp with sweat, thighs pressed together as if that would help hide her shame in some small way. Of course, it did nothing of the sort with him looming over her, knowing that her juices were slick on her thighs, her pussy wanting… No!

Agatha's mouth opened and closed but no sound came out, horrified humiliation swamping her, blood roaring in her ears. The dirt under her fingernails could not be denied either and she closed her helpless, useless hands into fists, even though she could not use them for anything.

“Pacta Sevanda."

Her head dropped instantly, lips parted in a breathy moan. Yes, yes… It was alright, Mark was there for her. Her king would look after her and she had to please her king, that was all she had to do, ever had to do. Of course, it was embarrassing to be put in such situations but, oh, was the pleasure not worth it? Not her pleasure, that was, but seeing that smile on his face, turning her cheek into his hand as he caressed her so sweetly? Mark's fingers closed around her face, holding her tightly, and she groaned softly in the back of her throat, pressing her lips reverently into the palm of his hand.

“My king… Thank you."

Her adoration was manufactured but she would never be one that would fall sweetly into obedience, her nipples soft for the moment. Mark would soon fix that, however, and trailed his fingertips down her neck, between her tits, admiring the fall of them, as dirty and disgusting as he ever could have liked. There were even clumps of mud in her black hair, loose and ragged around her shoulders, in obvious testament to just how far from her world of grace she had, indeed, fallen.

“You will be loyal to me only. You will speak to me with respect. You will obey me. You will ask permission for everything that you do. You will be loyal."

He repeated it for emphasis, tipping forward earnestly, a set to his lips that could not be denied. Leveraging his control, he bore down on her mentally until she swayed, breaking before him as if crumbling. Of course, her body did not physically crumble but the last shred of her defences did, slipping down and away as if they had never even existed.

Nodding slowly, Agatha blinked, her expression flickering to dazed for a fraction of a second. However, it lasted but a moment, dropping to serene as she kept on nodding and nodding.

“Yes, my king. Of course, my king."

“Excellent. Let's go for a ride. When I say this, you will become my pet again. Do you understand?"

She nodded quickly; words were not needed. Mark pressed his lips together, not willing to show her too much approval, and tilted his head to the side, eyeing her sceptically.

“Yet you have done so much to atone for, Agatha… And being my pet is only the beginning of it."

Agatha sucked in a breath, eyes wide and staring, although she was not really seeing anything that was actually before her but a series of images. She saw herself out in the grounds of her own estate, squirming and writhing in a pile of mud, the flowerbeds a broken and crushed mess around her – just like her. Petals clung to her skin as if in a predetermined pattern, angling in to nipples, and she moaned lusciously, seeing herself as if she was floating in the air above her body. Why she was there, she could not have said or answered for herself, breathing heavily and watching as she groaned and caressed her tits, pinching her nipples.

But, no… She was not pinching them even though the thrum of pain, biting and tentative, could not be denied either. There was a pair of nipple clamps on the image of her in the flowerbeds, the clips biting in so hard that she wanted to lift her hands to her tits in erotic sympathy. Yet it was a good sort of pain and she wanted to be down there too, to experience it all for herself as her breath came in short, sharp pants, rampant with desire.

Still more to come, Mark smirked and pushed her further, showing her pictures of her in the vegetable plot, on all fours and grinding back onto a thick courgette, the fatter bulge of the base stimulating her to a screaming orgasm. There were more vegetables too, carrots and parsnips, and she crammed them all into her cunt as if she simply could not be sated, moaning and squealing as she rolled around in the dirt and smeared it all over her breasts and nipples. No part of her body was left untainted as she rolled her head back, experiencing orgasm after orgasm as she lay right there in the dirt naked, a slave to the whims of one who controlled her.

As Agatha's fingers twitched, wanting to move to her pussy, so empty, but finding that she could not move, Mark knew that his job there was done. At least, for that day. He could rest assured, however, that his grandmother would have some interestingly exotic and erotic dreams that night that would further cement his control over her, bringing her down into a mere puppet for his desire. Yet she would not remember what had happened to her until he wanted her to, until he told her that they were going for a ride again and turned her into his obedient pet, a toy to be played with and left to clean itself up afterwards.

Leaving her with an implanted desire for vegetables and dirt that would never have been so or fit or becoming in her past life, he left her home with a smile on his face, confident in the knowledge that she had been claimed into his harem too.

*

After all that, Agatha was not to know what she was doing. Although she would have usually have had a maid shop for her or some other kind of errand-boy in her employ, she had not been able to find anyone at all around her mansion, which struck her as frustratingly odd. However, Agatha was not a woman to give up when faced with adversary either and she had dressed herself up smartly in a buttoned blouse and long, floor-length skirt that kept her body demurely covered to go into town, driving herself for the first time in a long time. Driving was a mark of freedom that she had retained, insisting on being taught how to drive, although teaching Agatha anything was a trial indeed in not pulling one's hair out and, of course, endless patience. And not many had any kind of patience at all to deal with Agatha.

Shopping was a strange experience. Where were the high-end boutiques? The market was not what she wanted it to be and she wrinkled her nose in the store, her hair pulled back into a tight, black bun that was not to be trifled with in any way. Did the people there not know who she was? No one got out of her way like they were supposed to and clustered around her, scowling and bumping her with fat, rounded shoulders while her bony ones seemed to stick out at odd angles, causing her issues with frowns and others thinking that, well, maybe she should have been the one to give way.

She would have had many a retort to feelings on that matter too if not for the cucumber stand. She paused before the vegetables, her basket in hand, a glassy expression overcoming her face as if she was slipping away to another life and another world, somewhere where society and social norms did not exist. The cucumbers gleamed temptingly under the artificial lighting and it was almost with a sense of reverence that she stepped up to the stand with bated breath, taking one between her hands to feel the shape and smoothness of its 'skin'.

“Yes…"

It was only one word but one word was enough for her to begin, placing a foot up on the edge of the stand, still clad in her low-heeled shoe, mind running amok with everything she could do, what she would do. For some reason, she was not wearing underwear and that made it an easy matter indeed to tease the vegetable up between her legs to her eager pussy, already dripping and slick with arousal. It was just the right thing to do, what she needed, and she moaned as she sank it in, letting the phallic shape stretch her out, taking everything that she pushed in.

“Goodness!"

Another woman in the aisle startled away and dropped her basket, tomatoes rolling across the floor, as Agatha groaned openly and worked the cucumber deep up into her pussy. Oh, how she needed it… And it was just what she needed too! She needed it, so very badly, and only one was not enough as she grabbed another, breasts rising and falling even beneath the fabric of her blouse, skin heating up as she eagerly sought what her body so very terribly desired. Another cucumber and then another again were wedged up into her desperate cunt with some difficulty, but there was still her arse to fill, whispers and cries of shock surrounding other aisles of the store. Word of what was happening spread but there was nothing that Agatha could have done to stop what she was doing, the rumours spreading and the reasoning behind her self-masturbation out in pubic destroying her reputation for further than even she could care to admit.

She didn't just need to have them in her pussy though – there was another hole down there that needed to be filled to. And, so, she worked another two cucumbers up into her anal passage without any lubrication bar what came from her pussy, a little smeared back over her forbidden hole. Her skirt fell down on one side but left the other lewdly exposed, public hair and all, to all who cared to watch her, although Agatha could not have said if there was anyone there or not, caught up in her own little world of pleasure, all in the service of her king.

A screaming orgasm there in the shop was her due and she waddled happily to the checkouts to pay for her goods, the new-fangled technology that seemed so far out of the realm of what would have been normal in her younger days. They could slowly scan her shopping but several cucumbers, of course, were added on that she would later wonder about, the experience somehow managing to slip from her mind. Mark, however, would be able to pull it back up at a moment's notice, using the humiliation of it all to his advantage, all to further serve him in his control of her.

Going home led to a more delectable treat and it was in her flowerbed that she ended the day, avoiding the roses in favour of pink and yellow carnations, devoid of thorns. Rolling over and over, destroying her outfit and stripping it off, she coated herself in dirt and muck, shoving her fingers and one salvaged cucumber ravishingly into her holes over and over again, moaning through orgasm after orgasm. There seemed to be no end to her lust as she twisted and destroyed the flowers, petals clinging to skin damp from the earth itself, ecstasy coursing through her even as the rain pattered down, dancing a tune upon her skin.

The coming rain brought a peaty rise and scent to the soil, Agatha arching up onto all fours with her hair loosened and wild about her shoulders, out of its tight bun. It was right to be there, her head thrown back, twisting and writhing and squirming like the sexual being she was. She relished in each and every minute sensation, groping and lifting her breasts as she rose up on her knees, panting and groaning through each and every orgasm, although there was hardly any distinction at all between any of them anymore. She just needed another, just one more, and she took it too, pressing her shoulder blades down between her prize flowers as she forced her hips up and drove the mangled mess of the cucumber up into her no longer tight anal ring.

Her body was used, a vessel for pleasure, even though she would not understand that. Neither did Agatha need to understand it as she howled out her pleasure, thunder rolling and the lightning storm of pleasure ripping through her, unstoppable in its driving force. People could talk of her but she would only later come to know and understand the humiliation of it, degrading herself out in public as if it was nothing at all – right up until the moment it was everything, hot, sickening humiliation flooding her body as if she was being burned, simmering from the inside out.

Never again would she be just Agatha. Never again would the world know her for who and what she was. No… She was something far more than that and far less, truly still, that what she had been. No longer a person.

Agatha was Mark's slave now.