[FMK] Her Reluctant Slave: Chapter 7 (Patreon)

CHAPTER 7

It was Monday, and Bee was back at her father’s house for the week. When I got home from school, I saw Kate in her element, lounging on the porch with a martini in her hand and big sunglasses on her face. I thought that she was sleeping, so I tried to make no noise as I crept up my driveway.

Then she called out to me. “Not going to say hello, Andy?” she said.

When Bee wasn’t there, she was like a different person. I couldn’t help but think that she preferred to be away from her daughter; she preferred to have the house to herself, so she could live like a childless twenty-year-old, free from any responsibilities.

“Hi,” I called out, stopping, wishing that she would have just been asleep.

“I’ve spent the day enjoying your pictures. You have a real talent for this.”

“Okay,” I said, looking around. And then, I felt a small jolt of bravery; it wasn’t much—just enough to make me stand upright, just enough to make me feel like I had a chance to stand up for myself, and I didn’t want to miss it. “I’m sorry, Kate, but, uh, I think I want to be done with all of this. It was fun at first, but—but school is getting really busy and I have a lot of homework, and I’m going to start doing some other activities soon, so I won’t really have the time to do all of this stuff with you—I mean, for you.”

She sat up. I could see that her eyes were narrowing, even though she was wearing those big sunglasses. “Excuse me?” she said. “But I don’t remember telling you that this was just something you can stop whenever you want.”

I was quickly losing that bout of confidence. I assumed she was just going to give in. I assumed that the fun was wearing off for her—but I was wrong.

“I’m just really busy,” I said softly, now looking around to see if anyone was within earshot.

“You’re going to do it,” she said, “if you want to keep being rewarded.” She looked down at her breasts, which were hardly covered by her tight bikini as she tried to absorb those early-autumn sun rays.

But it had been a while since we actually had sex, and it seemed like she was pushing me more and more into doing things on my own: dressing up in my room, playing with dildos, and so on. “I—I guess I can pass on the, uh, rewards,” I said. “But thank you. It was fun while it lasted.” I was trying hard to be polite, not wanting to tick her off, but I could tell that I was failing miserably.

“Are you turning me down?” she said, and I could see the fire behind those big sunglasses.

“No,” I said. “Just—Just saying we should do it later, when I’m not so busy with school and stuff.”

“There’s no way you’re turning me down,” she growled. “You can have me—right now—however you want me. Come up to my room.”

She was speaking loudly. I had to turn and look around the neighborhood. Worried someone was going to hear her, I decided to move in closer, cutting across the lawn. “It’s nothing personal, ma’am. It’s just…”

“Don’t call me ma’am,” she snapped. “You want to fuck me in the ass again? I’ll put on lingerie. You can have me. I already have an outfit picked out for you—and a toy that I think you’ll really like.”

“It’s just…” I said. I really did want to go up to her room and get off in her ass, but it wasn’t worth the consequences. I’d already been punished by my mother. “I’m actually grounded right now. I’m supposed to be up in my room doing homework. My mom found the clothes you gave me.”

“That’s your problem!” she snapped suddenly. “You will come up to my room, put on the outfit, and fuck my asshole!” She was yelling now. “If you don’t, I’ll release everything!”

She was turning dark red. She definitely wasn’t messing around, and I knew that I needed to stop prodding. I was just making things worse by trying to weasel out of this ‘arrangement’, though it seemed less like an arrangement and more like a punishment for something I never did.

We went to her room. I put on the outfit: a French maid outfit that was very, very tight everywhere but the skirt, which was very, very short. She even made me put on a wig, eyeliner, mascara, stockings, and high heels. She made me talk like a girl. She made me lay on my back, knees against my chest, while she pushed her pointer finger into my asshole. I kept my eyes closed and counted down the seconds until it was all over with.

Then, she gave me my ‘reward’, bending over and spreading her butt cheeks with both of her hands, making her asshole pucker, inviting me inside. I will admit that it was a blissful five minutes while I slid in and out of her, making her moan, but the fun vanished as soon as I was finished, and she was making me drop to my knees to suck the product out of her.

Then she spanked me. Then she made me practice my speech. She made me walk laps around her room, focusing on posture that she was forcing me to learn—and when I slipped up, she spanked me again. She did other things to me—things I’d rather not mention, things that were beyond my comfort level (and still are today). She made me sit on things that were not meant to go inside of humans. At one point, I shed a tear. She decided to punish me for rejecting her earlier (something I thought she’d already been doing), by tying me to the bed: spread out like a star, and then tying a small vibrator around my cock using an elastic band. She put another vibrator—long and phallic—into my ass, and then she let them both run for twenty minutes, until I was coming again—and then guess what she did? She took a spoon and scraped the cum off of my chest, feeding it to me.

The punishment went on until 7:00 PM. I could hardly walk once she was finished me. But the worst of it all came as I had one foot out the door. “Keep practicing,” she said to me. “Tomorrow, we’re filming our movie.”

“What movie?” I said softly. “I don’t want to jerk off on camera. I—I just can’t do that.”

“That’s not up to you,” she snarled. “But that’s not what we’re doing anyway. I have a special friend coming to the house at three. You’ll be doing a scene together.”

“Excuse me?” I said. I could feel my skin turning white.

“Is there a problem?”

“What do you mean, a scene? What are you going to make me do?” I wanted to cry. I was so trapped. How could I possibly get out of this? I couldn’t see an end in sight, unless it involved so many embarrassing pictures—and probably videos too—being released to my friends and family members. I was trapped being her slave forever.

“The girl who used to live in that house over there—she’s still a good friend of mine,” said Kate, pointing across the road. “She comes over from time to time. Look her up sometime: Kay Flowers.”

I just stood there, not sure what to say, not sure what to do.

“Well? Go home! You’re going to miss dinner, and then you’re not going to have energy tomorrow.”

I scurried off, wiping my eyes with my wrist. I had no idea what to expect—though I got a pretty good idea later that night when I looked up the girl. Searching Kay Flowers didn’t come up with any results—until I turned off my search engine’s Safe Search feature. Then, it was nothing but porn: over a dozen videos of a thin girl with short blonde hair. She had a thin frame, small breasts, and she wasn’t so much different than me, because she was biologically male.

Kay Flowers was a trans porn star. She’d starred in scenes with many different men, women, and trans girls. It took me a long time to build up the courage to click on one of the links. I had to wait for my parents to be asleep, and I made sure that the volume was turned low, with headphones on my head. I watched the first minute of the scene and then I had to stop. In the shot, a young man was sucking Kay’s long cock, getting it hard. And as it got hard, it became bigger and bigger and bigger.

She was huge.

I skimmed forward and saw her pumping the man from behind while he went limp, groaning—and maybe even crying.

In another scene, she was with a woman, but this time she was being bent over, getting rammed with a strap-on.

Then there was a scene where she was with another trans girl. The other girl looked afraid. The scene involved BDSM straps, whips, spanking—and I skimmed forward and saw that the girl was in a lot of pain, and could no longer watch anymore.

It wasn’t so much the content that terrified me; it was the setting. Every scene was filmed in Kate’s bedroom. I was seeing all of the victims of Kate’s unusual and evil hobby…

She’d been trapping young men and women and grooming them to star in films with this prodigy of hers. This must be how she made her money; I always just assumed that her money came from some divorce: alimony that was going to run out soon, once Bee was an adult and moved out.

I couldn’t believe it. I walked over to my window and looked into Kate’s bedroom. She was in there, but her curtains were closed. I could see her moving around, probably getting the room set up for filming day. And just what was she going to make me do? What would I have to put my body through to satisfy her horrible fetish?