Malignity of Stone Ch. 08: Epilogue

Epilogue: A Successful Mindbreak

John

John Burns was not overly concerned with instant gratification.

After all, he was a patient man. He knew that the best position to enjoy in life was on the strategic offensive but tactical defensive: letting trends do the work for you, growing your strength with every passing day.

That was why he still endured, when so many other bigwigs of his generation had fallen to a scandal or another. That was why his rule over the school still went unchallenged after all this time, and why he could keep a finger in many pies, and walk alongside the rich and wealthy.

For all of this, though, Burns had to indulge himself every now and again. Even his most patient side couldn't deny one simple truth: he'd won.

For confirmation, he only needed to look at the floor.

Cathy was visibly unable to meet his gaze, kneeling on all fours as close to the ground as she could, like a tiny little mouse trying to make itself invisible.

Smiling to himself, John remembered the first time she'd marched into this office, all prim and proper with her holier than thou attitude. She thought he was a disease, and that she was going to succeed where all others had failed.

And look at her now. He'd inflicted such a crushing blow upon her, a defeat not just against her, but her entire gender, that she'd gone from standing to crawling. From teaching to cleaning the office, by hand and on all fours. From speaking, to whimpering.

From lecturing, to polishing cock with her lips.

He knew that what little remained of her personhood was shrivelling even now under each new humiliation. There was almost nothing left to disassemble. She was writhing under his thumb, but purely by reflex by now. She'd been tamed.

And it made his dick so, so hard.

"You missed a spot," he said, puffing on his cigar. "I want this office spick and span. You don't want to get fired, do you?"

The pained, throaty whimper of sheer animalistic desperation that came out of Cathy was music to his ears.

She would never teach again, would never be able to see herself as the equal of any man, would never get out from under the thumb of Irene and Nick and even Cindy. Cathy Cooper was done, broken. Even her bank account was his own now. The sum inside was considerably smaller than his own wealth, but still nothing to sneeze at -- the Cooper family had done okay for itself.

But no longer. As he'd had Cathy herself repeat multiple times before he finally accepted her credit card, women couldn't be trusted to manage their own money.

Eventually, Burns cleared his throat.

"I marvel at your incompetence as a maid. Is there anything you're good for?"

Cathy began to visibly shake, and that made John rub the stone through his pocket. Best investment of his life, no doubt about it.

"Yes Sir, there is," Cathy whispered, knowing what was expected of her. "S-s-servicing cock."

"In that case," Burns said, unzipping his pants, "drop that pathetic excuse of a cleaning job you're trying to do, and make yourself useful for once."

There was no hesitation in the way Cathy dropped what she was doing, and -- remaining on all fours -- began to crawl towards his desk. Burns studied her closely, and not for the usual stuff, although that was glorious too.

Yes, her shapely thighs filled the nylons of the maid uniform in a way that looked personally sculpted by god. The frilly skirt, the form-fitting blouse, the way her curves looked open and available as she crawled forward, were all his god-given duty to enjoy after his conquest.

But the detail he was looking for was that rarest of prizes. It was in Cathy's eyes.

They were glassy. Vacant. Devoid of any emotion.

This had been a girl with a dream, once. She'd devoted most of her young life to studying, networking, improving herself, pursuing that dream with relentless determination.

And he'd snatched that away from her, before snuffing out her intelligence, her self-respect, her autonomy, her sense of belonging to her own gender. For no better reason than because he felt like it.

"You know what time it is right now?" Burns asked, as Cathy's obedient, conquered lips adhered to the head of his cock, and she released a sigh of submissive pleasure.

His strong, knotty fingers clutched at her hair -- not to regulate her pace, but just to remind her she was owned. There was no need to direct her blowjobs anymore. In a way, they really were the only thing she could do well by now, all thanks to his rigorous training.

"It's nine AM," he continued, as she was clearly unable to talk, with her tongue demurely massaging the underside of his hardening cock. "That's when your class used to begin. Isn't it?"

Cathy didn't even bother trying to respond. Mindful of her duty, she continued her loving ministrations to his dick.

It was glorious. The best feeling in the world. He'd taken her money, her career, her future, her body, and of course, her very mind. There was nothing left.

Cathy Cooper was now a loyal slave to the patriarchy, and would be for the rest of her life.

"I'll be swinging by tonight," he said, his breath quickening as Cathy's by-now world-star cocksucking skills began to truly stimulate him. "Cook something nice for me. And tell Cindy she's on duty tonight. I'm in the mood to celebrate," he said, and this time, he did force Cathy's mouth deeper onto his dick, enjoying the squealing sounds as his erection breached the entrance to her throat.

And why the hell not? Skilled at sucking or not, she was just a woman, after all.

***

Cindy

"Stay still, slut," I said, and my elder sister demurred beneath me, doing her best to obey.

I was sitting, with my feet raised up and firmly planted on Cathy's face. I was carefully applying polish to my toenails, and there was little in the world that sent a shiver of pleasure through me like turning Cathy's face into a footstool for something like this.

Yes, I too had fallen down the social ladder, but it was nothing, compared to Cathy's own vanquishing. So long as I had at least one person beneath me, I could take a small consolation in it. Maybe most importantly, Cathy's enslavement gave me someone to take out my frustrations on, from the life of servitude I led outside this house.

And I had a lot to take out lately.

It was so fitting, in a way. I had dethroned her here at home. I was prettying myself up for my date with Nick at the club tonight, and she was having to just kneel there, defeated and objectified, mumbling and whimpering under my feet.

God, what a power rush. I really couldn't blame Burns, or Nick, or Irene for doing what they were doing. Power was such an aphrodisiac. Addictive, even.

I wasn't as good as them. But I could at least carve out my own little kingdom here, where I could sit back, put my feet up (literally!) and enjoy.

It was a feeling my poor little sister was never going to experience, not once in her whole sorry lifetime. She'd never know what it feels like to stamp your authority over someone, establish that you're more and they are less. That a relationship is fundamentally unequal, and that's okay. Desirable, even.

"Our sisterly bond is much better ever since you became the little sister," I told her in a soft voice, soft enough to let me hear the quiet sob that died in her throat before even making it to her lips. "Don't you think, pet?"

The last time I laid this sort of trap for her, the bitch stepped right into it and nodded. Nodded! She could have messed up my toenails. I smiled, thinking of how thoroughly I'd disciplined her that day -- in a way Burns would approve of, naturally.

But Cathy was too natural a servant to let that happen twice. She responded too well to training and domestic discipline, like a well-behaved dog. So this time she stayed perfectly still, mumbling in agreement beneath me.

Oh well. If I really needed an excuse to punish her, I always had the opportunity to make one up later. But for now, I really needed to get going.

I got up, enjoying the sight of my sister's face, looking up at me in expectant worship and fear. I'd spent so long doing my nails, I could still make out the outline of my feet where they'd dug into her cheeks and forehead. Amazing!

"You did very well today," I told her, running a hand through her hair. She leaned into my touch like a purring cat. "That's a good girl," I cooed. "Burns is swinging by later. You better get started on his dinner. You know your womanly duties."

Saying that out loud made me tingle with arousal. I felt like such a little gender traitor, for instructing my sisters in how to properly welcome a man home at the end of a long day. Maybe that was what I was now. A traitor to womankind. A planted, secret agent of the patriarchy.

The thought made me chuckle a little... but it also made me lick my lips. God, I was so far gone. I'd never get old Cindy back, would I?

And all because I wanted to be loved... and because men were simply too good at sensing a weakness like that, and exploiting it. It wasn't their fault. A cat kills a mouse not out of hatred, but because it's in its nature. Taming women was just what men did.

And submitting in hope for mercy was just what women did in return.

I gave Cathy a light slap on the rear, to which she replied with an exaggerated yelp, and I smiled to myself as she made her way into the kitchen -- the one place in the universe where she truly belonged. Where most defeated women belonged.

As for me, though, I had a different sort of duty tonight.

I finished applying my makeup and lipstick when a key turned into the front door's lock. Conscious of my own training, I immediately dropped what I was doing and rushed to kneel by the entrance, with Cathy at my side.

Above us loomed Burns. It was weird, how used I'd become to looking up at him. Here was a man who represented everything that made men, well, men. Rock-solid authority and certainty. He always had a plan, always knew what to do, what was best for him as well as silly girls like me.

Lesbian or not, I was grateful for his dominion over me. I needed his supervision to do well in life.

We threw ourselves into the greeting ritual, my lips pressing worshipfully against his strong, callused, meaty hands, a gesture of utmost respect and submission. I kissed each of his fingertips, as if willing them to be gentle with me. I kissed the open palm of his hand, as if begging him not to slap me, like I knew I deserved.

And even though my eyes were closed, I could hear the faint wet sounds of Cathy's tongue humbly lapping at his office shoes, down below. That made me smile. It was such a perfect representation of the hierarchy of the household.

Eventually, Cathy and I met in the middle, our lips brushing against one another's as we demurely kissed his dick through his pants.

It was already hard. I knew Cathy had a long night ahead of her, and in a way, so did I.

"That's nice," Burns said, petting my head like with a favorite dog. He always made a point of sidelining Cathy. It never failed to elicit hurt and fear in her eyes. I loved him for subjecting her to this manipulation.

"You're doing a really good job supervising the slave," Burns continued. "But you really gotta go now, Nick needs you."

"Yes Sir," I said with one final handkiss. I rose to my feet -- at least he was taller than me, so I could still feel overshadowed, as was right and proper -- and began to gather my things and head out.

As I did so, they moved to the kitchen. The door was open, and every time I passed by the kitchen, I saw Cathy -- busy cooking away for her new owner -- and Burns, standing behind her, pressing himself against her, letting his hands roam all over her body, pinching her nipples...

A cat, toying with a trapped mouse.

I left just as Burns was about to eat. I knew Cathy would be kneeling under the table. She would only be permitted to feed once he was done. The mere idea of it -- this level of discipline, of female domestication -- made my pussy quiver.

It was our place in the world.

With a mix of awe and fear for men and the patriarchy, and a newfound appreciation of my position in life, I closed the door behind me.

I did so to the fading sounds of my vanquished sister, gagging and sucking on Burns' cock.

***

Cathy

It occurred to me, in a weird moment of realization, that I haven't had sex on a bed in ages.

I've been fucked on pretty much every horizontal and vertical surface Crawford High has to offer. Here in the house, I've spent the majority of my sexy time on the floor. Of course, Cindy did wake me up in the mornings by sitting on my face, but that hardly counted at this point.

Mr Burns himself, though... he'd never shared a bed with me. Which is why, when his big strong hands sent me tumbling onto the mattress, my heart fluttered.

It was silly, I knew, to think of love, intimacy and tenderness with a man so dominant. He had no time for the whimsical, fleeting hopes of silly girls like me. He was here to take what was his.

To take me.

My traitorous thoughts immediately went up another gear, as Burns' weight landed atop me, crushing me face-first into the mattress.

In the vivid imagination of my mind's eye, even that was a gesture of pure symbolism. The way his knotty fingers clutched the back of my skull, pushing me into the mattress like I was defeated prey, being made to sink into the mud...

I quivered in horny anticipation as his cock teased my thighs. I'd diligently blown him for the duration of his meal and a movie besides, and my oversexed brain had been bombarded all night.

His hands had inspected me, toyed with me, manhandled me. Reminded me why femininity is by nature submissive.

After hours of stimulation, I could barely take this anymore. I just wanted my conqueror to finally claim me, to put it out in the open, to end this endless downward journey and finally hit rock bottom.

I wanted him to openly, unequivocally, unabashedly fuck me. Put me in my place. Finally let every hidden crevice of my subconscious admit and accept the fact that I was a kept woman, as his slave.

The mattress groaned in complaint as Burns steadied on his knees behind me, his hand flipping my clutched hair like a makeshift rein, regulating my position. Making me climb to all fours, my rear presented to him.

I was perfectly responsive to his every direction, my body fully cognizant of who was his real owner. He tugged hard on my hair, forcing my head up. A small groan of pain barely escaped my lips as he pulled harder, slapping his cock against my buttocks for good measure.

I could barely see his form at the periphery of my vision, if I craned my neck just enough -- which only made me arch my back even more, responding to his masterful pull. I couldn't take the teasing any longer, but I couldn't dare say a word. Not without his prompting.

Eventually, at last, Burns plunged forward, entering me. It was a familiar sensation, and I was more than ready for him, yet the choked gasp that left my throat was still like something out of a cheap porno.

He'd been conditioning me. I sounded and behaved less and less like a real woman, and more like a sexpet out of some fantasy.

I closed my eyes as one meaty hand slapped my rear, while the other pulled harder on my hair.

"Remember how high and mighty you were on the first day?" Burns said, pulling me backward onto his shaft, eliciting a feminine gasp of submission from me.

"You thought you were going to make a difference," he said, his smoke-laden breath coming harder with every new thrust. "And look at you now."

I whimpered in sheer, utter humiliation. I couldn't possibly deny the extent or totality of his victory over me. I'd been humbled and reduced, fucked and tamed, demoted and demoted again.

The strong, bright, independent career woman I fancied myself to be was dead. In her place was this pathetic excuse of a cocksocket.

Burns had muzzled my silly feminist protests, domesticated me, and plumbed all of my depths... literally, and metaphorically. And nothing had ever made me feel more womanly than being his unassuming little bitch.

His free hand explored every inch of my body, while his other hand never once relented in its savage grip on my hair. I was bouncing on his cock like I was little more than a toy. His fingers touched all they could, twisting, prodding, stroking.

"Look at this body," he said, panting faster. "You were personally sculpted by God to please men. So inviting, so submissive, so voluptous, so... fertile..."

I writhed in ecstasy and terror, arching my back even further, doing my best to match Burns' every thrust inside my defeated womanhood, even as his words sent a trickle of fear down my spine.

Surely, he couldn't mean... Surely...

"Sir," I whispered, "I..."

"Shut up," Burns said, slapping my rear for good measure, making me yelp in pain. My cheeks reddened at the way his reprimand immediately silenced me.

I really was a gender traitor. All it took was one spank and one word and I was back to my feminine silence, acting as a living fleshlight for him to piston in and out of.

"I've... taken everything from you already," Burns said, his breath quickening, his pace increasing. "Your rights, your job, your money, your mind..."

It was all true, of course. So true. And yet, hearing it somehow made me feel even emptier. Even less of a person. Like the old Cathy truly had died, to be replaced by this hornier, dumber, weaker... truer version of myself.

"My victory over you is complete," Burns said, wrapping my hair around his hand, thus shortening my leash even further. "There's only one thing left to take..."

The dull horror I felt at his words was a distant thing. It was dulled by so many layers of pleasure, training, and obedience -- but it was there.

I knew that represented the final step in the restoration of proper gender roles...

Proper. My own mind kept betraying me at every turn. Of course it was proper that a teacher get down to her knees and suck her boss's cock. Of course it was proper that she accept a reduction in status, confined back to the kitchen.

And of course, the proper expression did say, barefoot and pregnant...

"No protest, just empty eyes, and lots of slutty pleasure," Burns whispered in my ears. "That's my good, glassy, submissive broodmare. Stay there and take it. Accept the patriarchy's yoke. This is man's boot, pressing down on woman's neck. Like it always has. Like it always will."

At his words, my pussy spasmed and clenched harder around his cock. Yes. My entire gender lost every war it ever started. We always ended up back where we belonged, as chattel and broodmares. I was sure my generation would lose this war, too.

I was merely one of the first to fall. One of the first to renounce my feminism, and accept the just punishment of the old order.

And in that moment, my very last defenses crumbled, and I gave in to the joy and bliss of true acceptance.

"Please, my Lord and Master," I whispered at last, my voice quivering as I hovered over the edge of a veritable abyss of debasement and pleasure. "Please, knock me up... Make me yours..."

There was no reply, not an intelligible one anyway. Burns let go of my hair, the palm of his hand smacking against the back of my head, nailing my slutty face into the mattress.

He leaned forward, his entire weight crushing my face, cutting off my breath supply as I thrashed and wiggled desperately underneath him.

My desperate squeals were what finally took him over the edge. As his cock began to convulse inside me, my pussy began to spasm in turn, and his grunts intermingled with my screams at our mutual climax.

It was a shockwave that coursed through every fiber of my being, leaving nothing standing in its wake -- nothing but putty for Master's hands to reshape as he saw fit.