Born to Be Used

Anonymous asked: would you be able to do a bit about a guy with a use/degradation kink, please?

Anonymous asked: actually, could you make that last ask anonymous pls??

Jennifer Johnson said: This one might upset some folks. People hate when I write stories about sadistic men who steamroll younger women. People also hate when I use bondage in such a story. There's always someone saying, "This isn't BDSM!" and I hate to break it to people, but this is BDSM, it's just not the safe and sane kind that goes "by the book." This is a reminder that this is fiction and written for a request. These characters are not real, although they do resemble people who really exist. Consent is always necessary in real life and this is not an example of how you should conduct BDSM practices in real life. It's a nasty, terrible story that gets people off.

*Trigger Warning* Dubious Consent: Sex in this story is presented as nonconsent, but later the main character gives consent. Please read with caution, and if you are triggered by rape fantasy stories or rough sex, please avoid this story. Real rape is wrong. Do not rape people. This is just a story written for people who enjoy rape fantasy as a fantasy and understand the difference between fantasy and reality. All characters are over 18.

Born to be Used

I was used to being pushed around all my life by my four older brothers and my father. My mother left shortly after I was born, and I became the servant of our household. I was taught to cook and clean for all of the boys, and I was expected to do whatever they asked, no matter the task. I never really thought anything of it until I finally moved out. I moved to a small town in Kentucky and got a job as a cleaning lady for some rich folks who had recently married and would soon welcome a new baby.

I was only nineteen, and though I'd lost my virginity, I didn't have much sexual experience. I was shy when it came to sex, yet I knew there was something perverted in me. I never talked about sex, but I listened as others gave their accounts of sexual encounters. Some of my friends from high school talked openly about their sex lives, but none of it sounded very appealing to me. I wasn't sure what I wanted from men, but I knew it wasn't love. I didn't know how to accept love.

"Dahlia! Get in here! Now!" Mr. Schooner, my boss, called.

"Coming!" I ran as quickly as I could to the bedroom, smoothing my braids before opening the door. As soon as I entered the room, Mr. Schooner closed the door.

"Sit down on the bed. We need to have a little talk."

"Okay," I said, sitting down. I wondered why he looked so tense. His shoulders were pulled up toward his face, and the expression he wore was one I couldn't read. I wasn't afraid, but maybe I should have been. Looking back, I can see that Mr. Schooner had plans for me. He hired me for a specific position, which was on my knees.

"I hired you for a reason," he told me. "It's because you're young and beautiful. My wife isn't either of those things anymore, so I thought you could help me out."

"With what?" I asked innocently.

"With this," he said, pulling his dick out of his pants.

"Oh my God! Eww!" I screamed. I didn't have much experience with penises, and I had never seen one that was old and used like Mr. Schooner's. He was probably in his late fifties, judging by his gray hair and how he walked with a limp because of his arthritis.

"Shh. Dahlia, calm down. We can help each other. I'm sure you would love to earn a little more money, wouldn't you?"

"More money?" I asked carefully. I figured he was about to offer me money for sex, and I already knew that my answer would be no.

"Yes. There would be a couple of stipulations to our agreement, but you would earn more money for performing more services."

"What kind of services?" I couldn't look him in the eyes, and I fixed my gaze on the ground in front of his shoes.

"I need a young woman who can serve as my slave. Whenever I ask for something, you will need to do it for me. That doesn't sound so hard, does it?"

"N-n-no," I stammered. My heart was pounding.

"Get on your knees. Right here in front of me."

"But-"

"I said get on your knees!" Mr. Schooner screamed, and it scared me the way he was looking at me like he might kill me if I didn't agree to let him abuse me. I wanted to run, but I didn't. Instead, I sunk to my knees in front of him, his old, wrinkly dick in my face. "Now, close your eyes."

I closed them, and he tied something around my head like a blindfold. I couldn't see when I opened my eyes. I was scared, but I didn't cry out. I felt him push something into my mouth, and it tasted slightly salty.

"Open your mouth wider, Dahlia. I want you to take it all."

I knew it was his dick, and I was disgusted but afraid to run away. I was scared to do anything but what he was telling me to do because of how I'd been raised. My brothers made me do their bidding, but they had never done anything like this to me. Mr. Schooner held my head as he stabbed the back of my throat with his dick.

"I'm going to train you to be my little cum whore. Would you like that? Would you like to be my special little princess?"

I didn't answer because he was fucking my face.

He made me lay down, draping my head over the side of the bed so he could get his cock further down my throat. I choked so much that I puked a few times, but he wouldn't let me stop. I screamed as he throat-fucked me and tried to wriggle free.

"I didn't say you were done!" He screamed at me. "Open your fucking mouth!"

I opened my mouth and let him fuck my throat until I puked several more times. Eventually, there was no more vomit left in me, and though I retched, nothing came up. Now, he could fuck my throat as hard and fast as possible. I did my best to take the assault, but I started to cry when he came all over my face, getting cum in my eyes.

"Why are you crying!" he screamed when he finished his orgasm. "Just for that, you're going to do it again."

I started to get up. "I need to wipe my face!" I whined.

"No, you don't! I like your face messy like this! I love the way you look coated in my cum. This is your job now. You are my sex slave, and you won't tell Mrs. Schooner. If you do, I will make you very, very sorry. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I said, my voice small and insignificant.

"Get back on the bed the way you were. I'm not done with your mouth." He pointed to the bed, and I did as he asked. I endured hours of him fucking my throat and cumming all over my face.

I left his room that day defeated, and I suppose I could have quit, but I was used to being the obedient daughter and sister that did anything for the men around me. I was a perfect candidate to be Mr. Schooner's little victim. The face fucking went on for several weeks. My throat constantly ached from being fucked so hard and fast. I had dried cum and spit all over my face most of the time, but Mrs. Schooner never seemed to notice.

Mr. Schooner soon grew bored of fucking my face and moved on to my ass next. I'd never had anal sex, but he had a special stool that he made me sit on that made it easy for him to adjust my height to get different angles when he fucked my asshole. At first, it was so painful that I could barely breathe. I held onto the sides of the stool and begged him for mercy. It's too bad he never showed me any.

"Mmmm, your tight, little asshole is so much better than my wife's. You know, she won't let me fuck her in the ass anymore? Since she's been pregnant, she won't let me use her. Good thing I have you to use. Do you like it when men use you, Dahlia?"

"I don't know," I answered.

"Yes, you do, you little whore!" he screamed, and he covered my mouth with one hand and wrapped the other around my chest, pinching one of my nipples. He fucked my ass harder than ever, and I screamed into his hand, tears running down my cheeks. "This is what you're good for, Dahlia. You're a set of holes and a heartbeat. That's it. Men only want you so they can use you like this. Do you like being used, Dahlia?"

"No!" I whined.

Mr. Schooner reached up and slapped me upside the head. My head whipped to the left, and I cried out.

"Wrong answer! Try again!"

"Yes!" I spewed as if it were a curse word.

"I like when you cry like that. Do you feel how hard my cock is getting? That's because of you."

"It hurts!" I whined, and I noticed his dick got even harder. He was getting off on my pain and suffering, and I hated it.

"Tell me how bad it hurts."

"No!"

"Fine, then. I'll make it hurt worse!" He gripped me by the shoulders, steadying me so he could pound my asshole harder than he ever had. I screamed as pain seared through my asshole and spread to my brain like a wildfire.

"Stop! Stop!" I growled. I sounded like a cornered animal, and I thrashed against the force of his cock.

"Take this, you slut! Take my dick in your fucking ass! Scream for me!"

I couldn't stop screaming. I was lost in a sea of pain, being pulled under. The pain became so intense that it shifted into something I could never have imagined. I felt like I would die if he didn't stop, but just when I thought I was finally leaving this earth, something miraculous happened.

"You whore!" Mr. Schooner screamed.

"No! No!" I screamed just before my entire world began to shatter. Something inside of me broke, opening the floodgates between pleasure and pain. They met in a sick, twisted union inside me until I felt like I was about to explode. I was panting like a dog in heat, growling from deep within. I didn't sound human anymore, but it didn't matter. I could no longer remember where I was or what I was doing. All I could feel was pure pleasure, which emanates from deep within and whispers the truth of all moments to your soul. I howled as the pleasure moved through me, though I couldn't remember who was doing this to me or why.

I couldn't hear myself screaming until my orgasm was over. I'd never had a real orgasm before, and I'd been told that I would know it when I had one. I definitely knew that it had finally happened.

"Dahlia! Answer me? Are you okay?" Mr. Schooner asked me, lifting the blindfold off of me. His dick was no longer in my ass, and I was face-down on the bed, my ass still in the air.

"I think so. I think I had an orgasm." I admitted.

"Good. I'm glad you can cum from anal sex, and I'm glad you're okay, but I'm not done with you. Today is the right day for me to finally fuck your pussy. I want all of your holes to be completely mine. Flip over. Open your legs," he ordered.

I flipped over and opened my legs. I was no longer afraid of him. Now, I was in awe of him and what he had done to me. I welcomed his cock into my pussy and moaned with excitement as he pressed his cock into my tight hole.

"I'll go slow for a few pumps before I fuck you the way I want to fuck you," he told me.

"How is that?"

"You'll find out, you little whore."

I held onto the comforter with both hands as he fucked me. At first, he was gentle, but that didn't last long. His strokes pushed hard and deep, ramming into my cervix with every thrust. He was bruising my insides, and though it hurt at first, the pain didn't last long before it turned into pleasure.

I cried out, not sure if I could handle a fuck this hard.

"That's right, slave. Cum for me. Cum on my dick and learn to enjoy it. Learn to enjoy being treated the way you deserve!" Mr. Schooner's hand pulled back and then smacked me across the face.

"Ouch!" I screamed, but then the craziest thing happened. My pussy immediately began to cum.

"You like being treated like a punching bag!" Mr. Schooner smiled widely as he smacked me again.

My pussy came even harder that time, so he kept smacking my face harder and harder. My orgasms were bigger and better with every smack. He reached up to my neck and choked me. I was a bit scared, but when my pussy came so hard it exploded, I felt nothing but pleasure and relief.

"I knew you would make the perfect, little fuck doll. Open your legs wider. Take my dick deeper! You like that?"

I tried to answer, but he choked me so hard that I couldn't speak. I came instead, my pussy gushing with wetness as it leaked my sex juices all over Mr. Schooner's comforter. I wondered if Mrs. Schooner would smell them or see the stain or if she wouldn't notice at all. I wondered if she knew what a sadistic fuck her husband was.

Mr. Schooner pulled his dick from my pussy and stuck it back into my ass, using my pussy juices as lube for my ass. His dick stung in my asshole like I had a thousand tiny cuts, and the lube was made from alcohol. I cried out, and Mr. Schooner's cock stiffened inside of me. I was still on my back, and he bent down to lick my nipples as he pulverized my asshole with his big dick. I was utterly spent by the time he came, and I limped off to bed early.

Mr. Schooner spent every day fucking me while Mrs. Schooner was at work. He worked the night shift, so I did all my chores and helped his pregnant wife around the house. Sometimes she talked about how she didn't want sex anymore since she was pregnant, and I realized why Mr. Schooner needed me.

***

"I have a surprise for you," Mr. Schooner told me one day when I woke up. "Take a shower and then come out to my shed."

"Your shed?"

"Yeah, you know, the green one on the side of the house. Come out there when you've showered."

I took my shower, then made my way to the shed. My heart was pounding as I tentatively knocked on the door.

"Come in, Dahlia."

I opened the door and gasped when I saw what looked like a cross that Jesus was hung on. I had no idea why it was in the shed or what it had to do with me until I saw the shackles and chains and the sadistic grin on Mr. Schooner's face.

"What are you going to do to me?" I asked, both curious and afraid.

"I'm going to hang you on this cross and fuck all of your stupid, little holes all fucking day. Come on over here and get those clothes off. I'm extra horny today, and I'm pissed off too. I need you to be my little fuck bag."

"What's a fuck bag?"

"You're a bag of flesh that I like to fuck, stupid. Now get over here and let me get you set up."

"Okay."

"Say yes, sir."

"Yes, sir," I said obediently, and then I let him string me up and shackle me to the cross. I wasn't uncomfortable, but I couldn't move. He moved one of his stools under me to support my weight so he could fuck me more easily.

"You look like a piece of meat hanging in a butcher shop, slut."

"Thank you, sir," I said, knowing that he preferred it when I didn't like things. It got him off when I was scared, and I suffered.

Sometimes, I was agreeable just to spite him.

"Just for that, I will destroy every hole today." He stared me down. He was on to me.

"I'm sorry, sir. Please don't hurt me," I begged, trying to shift things back to their proper order. I was the victim, and I needed to play my part. That was all a part of being Mr. Schooner's slave. He was paying me well for my job, and I knew I had to perform.

He had all kinds of wooden stools and blocks that he could use to access my holes while I was shackled to the cross. He started by fucking my pussy, pounding it hard and fast until it hurt, and I cried in pain. He was so close to cumming. I could tell. I'd fucked him enough times to know that if I was in too much pain, he would cum.

He eased off of my ass, trying to prolong the moment. I silently cursed myself for not making him cum. That had been my chance.

"I have a surprise for you."

I looked into his eyes and tried to find meaning in his words. He never gave me surprises.

"I'll go get them," Mr. Schooner announced, and he left me there hanging on that cross for what felt like forever. I was beginning to worry that he had forgotten me or something terrible had happened to him when he finally returned, but he wasn't alone. There were four other men with him, and they all laughed at me when they saw me hanging there, naked.

"Damn, she looks young."

"I want to fuck her first!" one of the guys shouted.

"You can go first," Mr. Schooner told him.

Another man set up cameras while the men undressed and lined up, ready for their turn to fuck me. I didn't say no to any of it. I was curious about what these men would do to me and how hard I would cum. I was already strung up on a cross with nowhere to go by this point.

The first one fucked me hard, and I came seven times before he nutted all over me. The second one found a way to fuck my ass by standing on a stool and lifting me up slightly. His thick cock spread my asshole out until I came hard enough to squirt with a little more force than my usual gush. The third was brutal and nasty, calling me names and even spitting in my face as he used both my pussy and ass interchangeably. The fourth one got inside my head somehow, calling me names and making me feel like a total piece of trash as he used me.

I came more times than I'd ever imagined possible. Still, every time I looked at Mr. Schooner, he had a twisted smile on his face, one that told me he was enjoying watching his friends use my body.

"She's a good piece of ass, isn't she?" Mr. Schooner asked his collaborators.

"Yeah, she's better than your last slave!" one remarked.

"Your last slave?" I asked.

Mr. Schooner turned and looked at me with disgust. "No one said you could talk, slave. Shut the fuck up! Did you really think that you would be my slave forever?" He laughed cruelly. "I'll use you until your holes are stretched out, and I'm bored with you."

"You mean when I stop hating you?" I asked, narrowing my eyes and glaring back at him.

"What did you say?" he stood up, crossing the room and smacking the shit out of my face. My head whipped to the side.

"Nothing."

"Nothing what?"

"Nothing, sir," I said.

"For that little remark, you're going to be punished. Stay right there!" he pointed at me and then laughed. Of course, I wasn't going anywhere.

His friends pulled their chairs closer to the cross to better view my punishment. When Mr. Schooner returned, he had more chains, which he used to hoist my legs, so they were up and open. It was very uncomfortable for me, but I knew better than complaining now. He faced me, his cock harder than I'd ever seen it.

"You think I'm going to just fuck you, don't you?" he laughed.

I nodded.

"Think again." He held up a whip in his right hand and then swished it through the air so I could hear the sound of it cutting through the air.

"No! Please!" I screamed. He found another way to scare me, and this time I couldn't fake anything. I was afraid of the pain, but I didn't have much time to think before he whipped my pussy. Pain shot through my body, and the scream I made was the kind that Mr. Schooner lived for.

"That's one."

"How many do I get?"

I asked desperately.

"You said you hated me. I think I'll just whip you until I feel better."

"No!"

"This is so hot," one of Mr. Schooner's friends commented.

Mr. Schooner whipped my pussy again.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! The whip cut through the air and snapped at my clit with unbelievable precision.

Tears ran down my face, and snot dripped from my nose into my mouth. My body ached from being stretched in every direction, and my pussy felt like it was on fire. I didn't know how to endure it, but after seven lashes from the whip, I had what Mr. Schooner calls a sexual breakthrough.

Instead of pain, my pussy began to feel pleasure. Every time the whip hit my clit, I had a little orgasm where my clit twitched a bit. They were small orgasms, but I was grateful to feel something other than pain. As he kept whipping me, I felt something inside of me shut down. I gave up. I realized that if I was going to make it in this situation, I would have to be a good slave and stop fighting against Mr. Schooner.