24/7 Slave

By DX

Copyrighted 1/2006, 4/2026, all rights reserved.

 His heart pounded with fear and excitement as his trembling hand reached to ring the bell. Alan had done this once a week, every week, for years, but this time it was different. 

 His mistress had told him not to come for a few weeks while she had her dungeon re-built. In the meantime, she locked him in a steel chastity belt to keep him from improper behavior. Those weeks had dragged forever. The chastity was well built and comfortable to wear, but was impenetrable.

 Alan was very motivated to get it off, and then get him off.

 The door buzzed before he touched the bell, and Mistress Angeline's voice commanded him over the intercom to get his ass up there.

 Alan didn't wait for the elevator. He ran up the stairs.

 He smoothed out his clothes and caught his breath as he walked down the hallway. From down the hall she took his breath away. She waited for him at the door with a bemused smile on her full, voluptuous lips. Her long, black hair ran like liquid tar across her bare shoulders. Her huge heaving breasts bulged in the confines of her tight bustier that nipped her already tiny waist to nothing. Her long, long legs peeked from the slit in her skirt and flowed from her curvy hip. Her black whip, like a curled, sleeping snake, hung from her low slung utility belt.

 She closed the door to her apartment and with a beckoning finger, led him to the apartment next door. She glanced back with a smile and opened the door. She turned and plunged into darkness, and he followed like a boat trapped in the eddy of a whirlpool.

 Mistress Angeline's old dungeon had been the spare rooms of her apartment-well equipped, but tiny. She compensated easily with her domineering will, controlling Alan completely, not only during their sessions together, but mentally controlling him during the rest of the week. 

 Where she led him was new. Heavy rubber curtains of black, purple and red hung like walls to create a wild maze. Aimed lights created diabolical shadows and, winding back and forth as she guided him gave the illusion of a vast room.

 She parted a curtain and white light beamed through. She motioned for him to enter. Alan gasped as he beheld a morbid medical exam room. Instead of sterile white, everything was black and industrial green latex. Hoses and tubes sprang from the walls and beakers and vials filled cabinets. Mirror polished tools from a Civil War surgeon's bag glistened in the white light.

 Alan felt the tight confines of his chastity belt.

 Dominating the room was a rubber covered hospital bed. Straps, an incredible amount of them adorned the rubber bed to include a molded pillow that would immobilize the patient's head. Anyone strapped to that bed, would be unable to move a muscle, and be at the total mercy of his mistress.

 Alan could not wait.

 Angeline's latex clad finger pointed to an antique chest sitting in the corner. Alan needed no further prompting. He quickly stepped over to it and opened it up. It was empty. Alan quickly began to undress and put his things into the chest. This was part of the session. He took everything that made him a person, his identification, his fashion, his armor against the world, and put it in the chest. While he was in Angeline's dungeon, he was a nameless, naked, defenseless thing for her to play with.

 "I can tell you like the new set up." Angeline's honey voice made him shiver. "I worked very hard, saved every penny and invested wisely," Her eyes sparkled as she watched him undress. "allowing me to build the dungeon of my dreams." Her long eye lashes fanned slowly across her cheeks. "I purchased this entire building, reserving the top floors for myself. Sound proofed, environment controlled, and a security system that is unparalleled." Her hand stroked the bed. "See this bed? State of the art. Designed for coma patients, someone could be kept here for years without worry of bed sores or blood clots." She looked at Alan, her eyes roving over his near naked body, affixing on his chastity belt. "With my special modifications, that is."

 She held out her hand and let a silver key dangle from its fob. She stepped over to him and unlocked the belt, removing the protective plate and exposing the surgical steel inner sheath that kept his penis under control. His manhood bulged painfully within its confines. She didn't remove it. "We'll keep this on for just a little longer." She said tapping it with her long lacquered nail.

 She turned and pulled back a curtain to expose a shower stall. 

 Alan stepped in. She blew him a kiss and pulled a lever to start the ice cold water flow.  He gasped and screamed as the frigid water carved into him like a million tiny blades. Once he was sufficiently wet, she turned it off. She took a squirt bottle and sprayed him down with a disinfecting wash. She order him to stand there, shivering for several minutes before turning on a warm air jet to dry him off.

 Clean, she pointed to the bed and he climbed up and laid down.

 She fastened his wrists and ankles. "I have a real job you know." She said as she handled a large gag. "I'm a chemist." She stuffed the gag into his mouth, stretching his jaw painfully. "I work for a large pharmaceutical company." She buckled the straps across his chest, his arms, his neck, his stomach. "I developed a new artificial skin for burn victims." She paused, looking him in the eye. "I'm not boring you with this, am I?"

 Actually, she was. He didn't care about her real life. In fact, he preferred she didn't have a real life. He only wanted to think about her as his mistress. 

 She ran more straps across him, his pelvis, above knees and again below. "My percentage for my discovery helped me to buy this building. It also allowed me to have reduced work hours." Her eyes roved over his now immobilized body. She took a glove that slipped over his fingers and then secured that to the bed, keeping his hand flat on the table. "This way, I can spend more time with you." She strapped down his other hand. "You see, I like being a mistress. I like having a slave. It thrills me to control a man, but chemistry satisfies my mind.  Given a choice, I'd be a mistress 24/7 and Chemistry would be my hobby, looking for new ways to control a man." She took a tray from the counter and set it on the bed beside him. "So with my new dungeon, I need a new slave." She pulled back the cover from the tray and exposed syringes, catheters, and shunts. "That will be you."

 Alan thought she was kidding, thought it was just role play, but panic swept over him as she dabbed the back of his hand with alcohol. He struggled to no avail. He couldn't move a muscle. He could only watch as she slipped the needle into his vain and then tape it down.

 This game had gone too far! Alan screamed into his gag, but barely a mew could be heard. She only smiled at him. "There has to be a change in our relationship. You come here each week and pay for a service. You pay me to spank you, call you names and milk your manhood, but that means that you are in control. You control what happens. That makes me the slave and you the master." She pouted as she connected an intravenous feed. "I don't like that arrangement. I want to be in control. You are going to be my slave, 24/7. I will rebuild you into something of my liking. I will condition your mind to serve me and there isn't a damn thing you can do about it."

 Alan could do nothing as she reached under the bed and slipped a enema hose into his anus through a convenient hole. He suddenly felt his bowels flood quickly, making him swell painfully. The pain climaxed violently, and just as he knew he was going to rupture, it suddenly drained, neatly cleaning him out.

 "You are going to be in that bed for many months." She said, slipping a catheter into his urethra. "As my slave, I want something pretty to look at. I will transform you into my bitch slave. Since I enjoy torturing many males, I will maintain many clients. Your job will be to assist me during sessions and instead of me milking them, you will. But to do that, you must be an attractive bitch. While you lie here, your muscles will atrophy. I will control your diet and slim your chubby belly. Then I will use electrical stimulus to build your muscles back up to how I want them, svelte and feminine. When I'm done, you will have slim, attractive limbs." She peered down on his terrified face. "You will be dead sexy." She smiled and winked. She then took a syringe and injected it into his intravenous. "To help you along, this is a muscle relaxant. It will also make you sleepy."

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Copyrighted 2006/2026, all rights reserved

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Hucow Weddding

By DX

Copyrighted, 8/2025, all rights reserved.

 As the sky blushed with dawn, the auto-car rolled grouchily down the long, rough road to the little farm.  As the driverless auto-car made its way, I peered out the window and noted the lush green fields, trees, and giggling brook, as if I had never seen them before, even though I had.

 That moment, it was all new.  That moment, if all went according to my fantasy, everything would be new.

 “Hildy?”  I called my computer assistant.

 “Yes, Doctor McCoy?”

 “Stop the car.  I will walk from here.”

 “But Doctor, it is half a kilometer to the house from here.”  Hildy cautioned.

 “I know.”  I confirmed.  

 The auto-car rolled to a stop at the security gate.

 “I must warn you Doctor.”  Hildy went on.  You are about to enter a working farm.  A farm can be a very dangerous…”

 “I am aware of all danger.”  I stopped her routine speech, having heard it a thousand times before.  “Open the door, please.”

 “The road is suitable, and I can drive us to…”

 She was being overly impertinent.  “Open the door, Hildy.”  I ordered.

 “I am required to remind you that you will be unchaperoned and…”

 “Yes!  I know!”  I barked.  “I am aware of the three meter law.”  Chastised, Hildy unlocked door and I got out.  “You may discharge the car.  If I need one, I can call.”

 “The data-signal here is very poor, Doctor.  The car has a boosted…”

 I cut her off.  “How much time on the set alarm?”

 “You have one hour and twenty-three minutes before the new law takes affect.”

 “Thanks.”  I closed the door and walked to the gates.  Sensing me, they magically swung open.  From behind me, I heard the car start up, make a complicated U-turn, and drive away.

 I had been too nervous to sit in the car any longer, and Hildy was being… too Hildy.

 If all went well, I was going to be married to a wonderful man and live on a beautiful little farm and be a very happy woman.

 As I approached the barn, I watched as the Hucows slowly made their way to the field.  They were level four through six.  They were armless, a common practice to keep them out of trouble and save on superfluous calories.  They walked majestically, back arched, and shoulders rolled back so their bodies could support their massive breasts.  They were yawning, and blinking the sleep from their eyes as they stepped out of the milking stalls and toed into their slippers.  One saw me and ran over towards me, mooing happily.  She was level four and could speak, but chose not too, a common occurrence at that level.  As she advanced in levels, and her breasts grew larger, her Hucow brain would slowly take away her power of speech, and she would only moo.

 Like a cow.

 There was a time, before the eco-terrorist’s bio-manufactured plague killed the oceans, and the resulting storms blew the top-soil away, that there where actual cows, roaming around farms and giving us milk; but those days were long gone.  Instead we have chemically modified women, and some men, who have become Hucows.  With their mammaries massively enlarged, they lactate.  Their milk, harvested several times a day, would be processed into protein chains suitable to make, well, anything.

 To feed a planet with no food.   

 “How are you this morning?”  I asked her.

 “Mmm!”  She replied happily.

 A few other Hucows also wandered over, stopping just shy of the electric fence.  They were all beautiful, strong, and well exercised.  In the early morning light, I could see their bodies glisten from freshly applied sun-block.

 “Hello, Doctor.”  One said.

 “Hello, Mable.”  I replied.

 She turned and showed me her butt cheek.  There was a square self-adhesive bandage stuck there.  “Boo hurt.”  She said with a little pout.

 “I will look at it later.”  I told her, knowing it was a simple bug bite.  “Why don’t you go play?”

 She smiled, and walked off.  She would spend the day walking through the meadow with the other Hucows.  When she was ready to be milked, she would wander into the barn and stand in the stall were the auto-milker would attach hoses to her swelling teats and drain her.

 It was a most pleasurable experience; and I would know.  

 As a level two, my Hucow brain does make me a little slower mentally, but doesn’t impede my ability to be a licensed doctor and veterinarian.  I produce a good amount of milk from my heavy, sometimes too heavy, breasts.

 I watched the Hucows as they began to wander the field.  It was a good life for them, simple and quaint, an oasis in a world of horror and chaos.  The little farm was quiet and isolated.  One would never know out in the world there were cities of starving people willing to riot and kill for a bowl of rice.  We lived in a paradox of too many people, yet not enough population to sustain them.

 “Doctor McCoy!”  A man’s rumbling voice called out a greeting, and I watched Farmer Brown make his way out of the barn.  “Didn’t we just see you?  Is there a problem?”

 His baggy overalls couldn’t hide his powerful frame.  He was a bulk of a man, made hard from farming, and his arms were coiled with scars earned from the war when he was a soldier.

 Although his beard was greying, and his smile was warm and gentle, he moved like a predator.

 And my heart quickened.

 I had a speech prepared.  I had an entire plan carefully laid out that included a spreadsheet with data and precise calculations.  I had even practiced how I would turn, brush my scarlet hair back with a casual flick of my hand, bat my polar blue eyes, make sure the morning sunlight was on my face, and smile, knowing my dimpled cheeks would show.

 It all went out the window.

 In all my preparation for that moment, I had completely forgot to add: ‘milk myself’ to my checklist, and suddenly it rose to the forefront of my mind.  Seeing the other Hucows, my Hucow brain took over and I stammered like an idiot.

 He only stopped precisely three meters away and waited as if he had all the time in the world.

 I quit trying to talk, and instead, tried to hide my blushing face with my hand.  I decided to stop fighting it.  “May I borrow your stand-alone?”  I finally managed to ask.

 He gave a quiet laugh.  “Of course.”  He motioned with his head.  “Have at it.  It’s ready to go.”

 “Would you…”  I struggled to speak.  “install me in it?”

 He paused.  He knew I knew how to use the machine, I had done it a billion times before without any help, but he only nodded.  He knew something was off, but he didn’t ask.  

 “Sure.”  He said.  He reached into the front pocket of his overalls and took out his data-pad.  He tapped on it, held it up to catch my image, then tapped on it more.  

 My data-watch chirped and I tapped it without looking at it.  

 When his flashed green, he took a tentative step forward.  When no alarm sounded, he came over to me.

 I looked down at his mud splattered boots and I could feel his closeness.  At that moment I was not a doctor, I was not a woman, I was a Hucow, and he was not a man, but a Farmer, and as a Farmer could now come closer than three meters.

 “You want to follow me?”  He asked, confused over what was happening.

 I took his hand.  It felt like tree bark, and as hard as gravel.

 It was wonderful.

 Still looked down at our feet, I could see his face of utter surprise in the edge of my vision.  He didn’t know what I was doing.  Neither did I.

 We had never touched before.  It was illegal for a man and a woman to show any display of affection.  Although we both wore our State mandated chastities, standing close, or worse, touching, was a violation.

 But he wasn’t a man, and I wasn’t a woman.

 He was a Farmer, and I was a Hucow.

 “Are you okay?”  He asked.

 “Mmm.”  Was all my Hucow brain could manage.

 He lead me into the barn.  

 Along the far wall were the stalls for the level seven through nine Hucows.  Their breasts were several meters in diameter, and because of the magnificent weight, they could not walk.  For efficiency, their legs had been removed, and their bodies had been plumbed directly into the system so their milk could be continuously harvested.  They had stainless-steel plates permanently epoxied over their mouths connected to hoses so they could feed, and video goggles so they could watch cartoons or listen to music.

 Commercial farmers wouldn’t spend the money for such luxuries.  At level seven through nine the Hucow brain couldn’t process too much information, if any, so they often spent their lives staring at a blank wall—often in darkness.

 But that’s not how Farmer Brown did things.  He believed happy Hucows made happy milk.

 It was one of the reasons I loved him.

 These Hucows had become too old for profit and were designated for slaughter, but Farmer Brown rescued them, cared for them, and kept their brains working.  

 And their production and quality went up.

 Imagine that!

 He led me to the stand-alone.  Because the State accounted for every drop of precious milk, if I used one of his other stalls, my milk would be added to his production and the State would see an unexplained increase in his totals, and a suspicious deficit in mine.  To save a lot of brouhaha, it was easier to use a stand alone, account for my production, and then ‘sell’ my milk to Farmer Brown.  A slight hassle for him, but he seemed to welcome such things.

 As he programmed the machine and waited for State approval, I undid my blouse. 

 Slowly, so he could see.

 He didn’t look.  He was a professional.

 Another reason I loved him.

 When everything flashed green, the stocks on the stand alone opened like the petals of a flower.

 I held out my hand.  He looked at it confusedly before he took it, and helped me keep my balance.  I carefully stepped into the stocks, and as I found my position, the bar automatically swept up and locked my ankles in.  I then leaned forward and set my wrists and neck into the lunette.

 I shivered when they locked in place.

 The gag armature swiveled up, and I opened my mouth wide to get it in.  Farmer Brown then pulled the restraining strap around my head and it automatically tensioned for a snug fit.

 I was locked in, secured, helpless.

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The Device

By DX

Copyright, 5/2025, all rights reserved.

 I met my old lover at a tech convention.  

 As I set up my booth, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, up the row of fellow merchants, and there she was.  It was the curves I remembered, her muscle wrapped amazon legs that went on forever, and the sweep of her battleship breasts.  At first I thought it must be someone else, but it was her, and I instantly remembered the press of her soft lips, the warmth of her body against mine, and the raging heat of her loins as she enveloped my turgid member.

 Like a zombie, I made my way up the row, dodging the press of other merchants scrambling to set up, and walked up to her.  

 Her perfume wrapped me like a warm blanket.

 “Hello, Claire.”  I said, trying to be all cool as she turned.  “It’s me…”

 “Mack!”  She squealed and launched at me.  

 “You remembered… Umm!”  She planted her wonderful lips against mine and suddenly it was twenty years ago when she was an impetuous mustang and I was a goofy kid struggling to keep up with her thunderous charge.  She held me, and I felt her all too familiar breasts against my chest.  When she parted, I gasped.  “I thought you wouldn’t recognize me.”

 “Oh, my Mack!”  She blinded me with her smile and pressed her lips against mine again.  “You haven’t changed!”  She exclaimed as we broke.  “How are you?  No wait!”  She touched my chest.  “You are wonderful!”

 I let out a laugh.  “I’ve a few more miles on the odometer.”  I took her in.  “You look wonderful.”

 She gave me a side glance.  “Do I?”  She reached down and brushed her hand subtly against my fly and felt for my stirring member.  “Oh, yes!  I’ve still got it!”  She took my hand and held it up.  “No ring?”  Her eyes flickered.  “Excellent.  Is it too early to make dinner plans?”

 Desperate to take some control back I laughed nervously.  “So what have you got going here?”

 She glanced dismissively at her booth.  “We’re selling As Seen On TV crap.”  She sneered, glancing at the items being put on display.  She then looked up at the man behind the table.  “Oh, Mack,”  She said remembering.  “This is my boyfriend.”

 There I was, one arm draped around her waist, her arm around mine, and the boyfriend right there.

 I shouldn’t have been surprised.  Claire was intelligent, charming, and explosive in bed.  Her beauty was disarming and cutting.  Her smile could flay a man’s soul.  Of course she would have a boyfriend.  

 Claire never slept alone.

 Trying to act as if I wasn’t just making out with his girlfriend, I held out my hand.  “Hey, I’m Mack.”

 In the din of the convention all, I could barely hear his response.  “I’m George.”  He grinned at me.

 I saw his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

 He clasped his hand in mine and I gave it a congratulatory shake, a bit of; man to man, you got a hell of a woman and I envy the fuck you are about to receive, but his grip was a little lackluster, and I might have over done it.

 He was clean shaven, his hair a little thin, and a bit of baby fat to his cheeks.  He wasn’t a bad looking guy.  He was young, younger than me by a decade at least.  Claire and I were the same age, so I guessed that his dry toast aura magically changed to a hopped up street racer full of youthful exuberance in bed.  Let’s face it, if he didn’t, Claire would chew him up and spit him out.  Claire wasn’t one to waste time and was unapologetic.  If you didn’t measure up, she moved on.  Claire was a radiant lighthouse of seething sexuality, guiding many to her rocky shores, and there was always a line to take your place.  

 I decided not to make things any more awkward.  “Well, I gotta go finish setting up before the crowd comes in.”  I glanced at Claire.  “I’ll see you… ulp!”

 She planted her lips on mine, and her tongue flashed in.  I gently pushed her back, cognizant of her boyfriend standing right there, and broke the kiss.

 I went back to my table, my lips still warm, and yes, my cock still stirring.  When you were with Claire, you were with Claire.  When you were not with Claire, she was a free, sexual, and very wild spirit.  She was a goddess, with long curly hair, suave skin, and polar icecap eyes.  

 It was a little weird for her to be that open in front of her current boyfriend, and I couldn’t help but fantasize they were on the way out and she was thinking of rekindling an old flame, but it was just that: Fantasy.  Claire didn’t need a middle aged couch dweller like me anymore.  She needed a stallion.

 I grinned, and decided to live vicariously through George.

 “Go get ‘em, kid.”  I whispered my encouragement.

 But as the convention began, and the crowd shuffled in, I couldn’t help but peer up the row and watch Claire work her magic.

 She stood in front of her table like a temple of beauty, beguiling customers in.  She didn’t have to sell anything.  She left her aura to do that.  She only had to smile, admire someone’s watch, or tie, and they would linger, and then buy something as an excuse to stay a little longer.

 At my table, I handed out some pamphlets, explained the tech, and got some positive nods, which was to be expected.  My goal was to get my name out there and hopefully drum up some future business.

 As I talked to one potential customer, I noticed Claire walk over and pick up my brochure and carefully began to read it.  This caused other potentials to slow as they passed, step back, and pick up a brochure.

 Then she began her magic.

 It took her less than a minute to grasp the tech, analyze the market and customer base, learn the lingo, and line them up.

 I was starting a new side gig.  In the city were hundreds of manufacturers operating machines built during the industrial revolution that currently ran held together by bent paperclips and a prayer.  I had dumped all my savings into a fabricator that when programed properly, could take a hunk of metal, steel, iron, aluminum, and carve it into whatever you needed; meaning I could produce replacement parts for hundred plus year old machines.

 I had spent all day with casual glances and handed out four pamphlets.  Claire had them signing up and placing orders in minutes.

 By the end of the day I had to stop taking sales as I was now on six month back order.  

 I blinked, stunned.  “I owe you dinner!”

 She smiled devilishly.  “George is securing our booth,”  She looked at my table.  “and you don’t have any actual merchandise,”  She looked up at me, her blue eyes peering through her long lashes.   “Walk me up to my hotel room and let me change.”

 I looked abashed.  “Oh, I think I’m going to need adult supervision.”

 “Why?”  She leaned slightly and showed off her cavernous cleavage.  “We’re both adults.”

 I glanced nervously up the row where George was.

 She leaned close.  “He can get his own adult.  I already told him I was going to fuck you.”

 I blushed.  “I should get condoms.”  I murmured in a half joke.

 Claire almost laughed.  “I know you, Mac.”

 We made out in the elevator.

 She took my hand, slipped it under her skirt, and plunged my fingers up into fiery snatch as she sucked deep on my tongue.  The doors opened for another floor and we unhitched and stood there while someone boarded.  They took one look at us standing against the back of the elevator, and decided to take another car.

 We went at it when the doors closed again.

 On her floor, we ran to her room giggling like teenagers.  Once inside, we stripped off our clothes before the door closed.

 Claire grabbed me, pushed me down in to the chair and quickly mounted me.  She slid her glistening snatch against my throbbing manhood before sliding me deep within.  She shuttered, her nails digging in, and I felt her warm tunnel spasm.

 “Don’t move.”  She commanded, and rocked her hips ever so slightly.  She leaned forward with her pendulous melons and pressed her nipple into my mouth.

 I sucked like a starving man and she came hard as her powerful body clenched tightly against me.  She screamed like a thunderstorm.

 “Oh, fuck!”  She panted, shivering.  “That was… fuck I missed you.”  Shuddering, she climbed off me.  “Give me a moment, let me finish you.”

 I opened my mouth to speak, but she shushed me with a kiss.  

 “You be quiet now.”  She whispered.  “Oh, I needed that.”  She shifted to her knees and held my cock.  “Just as I need this.”

 I felt her lips ring around me as her talented tongue went to work.  She slowly nodded her head, pushing just to the point of gagging, and I clutched the arms of the chair as I felt my wave build.

 Her lips, her hot tongue curling like a lizard, her soft cheeks like a cave to the center of the Earth, Claire touched the all the points using the map she had made of my dick so long ago.

 I grunted like a raged bear as I came.

 I laid back in the chair, amazed and stunned.

 Claire got up, a little shaky, and glanced at me with a dubious look, her cheeks a little bulging.  She gave me a casual side glance, then slipped over to the door of her connected suite and opened it.

 Sitting on the edge of the bed was George.

 She walked up to him, grabbed his face, and pinched his jaw until it opened, then threw her mouth over his.  When he gagged from the sudden, salty brine she spat into his mouth, she held onto him.  “Don’t you dare spit it out.  And don’t you swallow it!”  She barked.  “Hold it on your tongue.  I want you to taste a real man’s cum!  You hold it there until I come back.”

 She came back into the room, and closed the door behind her.

 She was smirking.

 I didn’t know what had just happened, but I was hard as a rock.



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Copyrighted, 5/2025, all rights reserved.