tagBDSMStretch Marks

Stretch Marks


©2013-2017 Embers

"Open wide," Vibha said, pushing the metal ring between my lips and straining them uncomfortably wide. I felt the tingle of blunt spider-hooks digging into my jaw. I knew full well that the worst was yet to come.

"Last time, you put up such a fuss. Good thing I stopped by the hardware store..." she said as she picked up a six-inch stainless steel pipe from the coffee table. Aiming it at my pried-open mouth, she pushed it halfway through the hoop. I felt its rough grooves scrape against my tongue. "I got the measurements right this time."

She slipped the tube all the way to the edge, deep enough to bypass my squirming tongue. I tensed as it teased my gag reflex. "Down the hatch, madam secretary," she said with snide grin on her face. She held a big wobbling bucket in her hand, tilting it forward slowly.

I reflexively bit down, which only rewarded me with a tooth ache. I knew resistance was unwise, but I'd always been a fighter—it was still in my nature to struggle. That fact only amused the girl even more, I could tell.

Looking up at her, I still had difficulty understanding the power she had over me. All my life, I thought I had a "type"—nothing exotic, nothing wild, and certainly nothing like her—but now my defacto tastes didn't seem matter. She had somehow redirected my inclinations in perplexing ways, and in a surprisingly short period of time. Not even in months. Weeks.

She's young enough to be my daughter, for Christ's sake, I thought to myself. She's lazy, she's rude to everyone...What was I even thinking when I hired her? By now, these were not new musings. And I knew they lead nowhere.

Maybe it was her brazenness that first hooked me, a trait which seemed to spring from some place far outside of my comprehension. Was it sheer confidence? And if so, how did she acquire it, at such an age?

In any case, I knew this couldn't go on forever. Either I would break, or she would tire of toying with me. Most likely it would be the latter, in which case I'd be quickly discarded and forgotten. She told me this herself, and having bore the brunt of her cruelty several times already, I had no reason not to believe her. Still, in the moment she seemed as determined as ever to continue furthering my ruination.

The heavy bucket in her hands was filled with my daily intake of "slut slop." This was a goopy concoction of her own creation which she prepared for both our noon and evening meetings. It contained only three elements: about a half dozen Cold Stone milkshakes, several cans of hydrogenated lard...and 10 mg of Premarin.

What is Premarin, you ask? It's a drug. Vibha tells me that its main ingredient—estrogen—is derived from horse urine. I wish I was making that up, but do your own research if you don't believe me. It's a thing. And it has several uses, all of which seem reasonable to me, with one very conspicuous exception: this.

This, you must understand, is more than an aberrant lifestyle. That's the way I'd once thought of it, but having fallen so far into it already, I came to realize that it's a unique form of hell. A plush pink hell perhaps, but hell nonetheless. At least that's how it felt to me.

Even without the addition of the drug, I found the other components of the "slop"—lard and melted ice cream—to be vile even in principle, let alone taste. To someone as health-conscious as I believed I was, it just seemed unthinkable. And yet I did nothing but wait, powerless.

I shuddered as the bucket tipped in her hands, sending a steady stream of the glutinous mixture down my throat. I heaved and gurgled as it splattered across my chin and cheeks. I wretched and squirmed, my knees tousling the tarp beneath them.

"Yum yum," she said with a snigger, pausing a moment as she waited for it to drain down into my stomach. I coughed, sending spurts of the syrupy sludge belching up through my useless mouth only to have it ooze back down again. My jaw ached severely now.

Tears began to form at the edges of my eyes. Tears I didn't want her to see. But I knew she did, because she leaned over to catch them with her tongue before they could roll to my cheek.

"I know you prefer your slut slop, but you should really taste your tears sometime. They're quite delicious," Vibha said, patting my head. She dipped her grinning face around to my side. I could hear the jingling of her necklaces and smell her hot Spearmint-scented breath. She spoke sharply into my ear.

"You know, you're getting quite plump, Miss Ingraham," she said, stressing the identity she was working so inspiredly to impress upon me. "Especially around that big fat ass of yours, which I guess is the whole point of this," she said.

I looked across her messy, well-lit living room, catching my dim reflection in the darkened window. She was right. I was beginning to look rather bloated. Over the course of the past year, I'd put on nearly 100 pounds. But my weight was not what bothered me most.

It was my overall appearance. I couldn't deny it anymore.

I now looked almost identical to my sister. The same sloping gray eyes, rosy cheeks, round lips, narrow chin, flowing blonde hair. I had even begun to acquire her curves.

It was as if the drug had unearthed some hidden blueprint within my DNA, waking it from dormancy. I had been trying to avoid looking at myself lately, hoping it wasn't as bad as I thought. Now I couldn't help but wonder how much longer I could even pull off my public persona.

"Besides, all you are is an ass to me, Miss Ingraham," she said, leaning over to place the bucket on the floor. "So we might as well make yours as big as possible."

She began rifling through her duffel bag. "And bigger in every way possible," she added, to which I gasped. I knew exactly what she meant by that. My crying was still silent, but my breathing was becoming noisier, and I knew she reveled in every second of my despair.

Before I'd met her, I'd prided myself on a lot of things, one of them being a sculpted physique. There was a time, not long ago, when my body inspired obvious jealousy at the gym. That was just one source of confidence among many in my life as a respected policymaker. I could only imagine what the folks back at that gym would think if they saw me now. I hadn't been in many months.

"It's time for your butt-fucking," she said cheerily, retrieving a leather harness from the bag. It had a gargantuan black dildo attached to it, dangling ominously. She had this custom made with her name engraved on the hip. And she used my credit card to buy it, just like she did everything else.

I remembered the measurements she recited to me when she first told me about it: 19 inches long, 15.3 inches in circumference. Just hearing those numbers made my heart race. But the scariest part was that I was starting to get used to it.

"Stand up," she ordered. That self-satisfied smile on her face was so abrasive, but I couldn't resist her. I tried to say, "Yes, Vibha," but it came out as a garbled grunt.

She laughed at me. "Hm, I guess we can take that out for a while..." she said, pulling the pipe out of my mouth-ring and unfastening the straps at the back of my head. I gasped, feeling the tension around my mouth finally relax as she removed the gag. My front teeth throbbed at the gums, and my jaw felt slightly dislocated and raw, but I did not complain.

I slowly rose to my feet, embarrassed to find that my nipples were stiff to the point of rawness. She grabbed the waistline of my dress pants and yanked them down past my knees in one motion, causing the front button to pop loose from its thread. I'd have to resew it later, most likely.

With another yank, my silk underwear came down. The cold air flowing from under the door rose goosebumps on my exposed bottom.

"Oh, we're out of butt grease, by the way. I got lazy and forgot to go to the drugstore today, so you'll have to make do with that tub of Vaseline over there," she said, pointing at a nearby table. I looked up and saw it. It looked old and slightly dirty. I shivered and picked it up.

"Gimme," she snapped, ripping it out of my hands. She then reached out and began and smearing it up the extent of my sweaty ass crack impatiently.

"Oh god," I let out, feeling her fingertip streak across my anus once, then twice as it slipped back down my crack to target it. "Please, can you go slower than you—"

Vibha ignored me, plunging two fingers through my sphincter with a harsh stab. My twitching hole sizzled with pain as a third finger quickly joined in, pushing the slippery glop deeper inside of me. She dug into me with complete disregard for my comfort, adding her pinky finger, then her thumb. I felt faint.

She crouched to get a better angle below me, her her fingers swelling into a tight fist in my rectum. I then felt her forearm tense as she pushed upward a few inches.

My anus gripped her wrist like a bracelet. I then felt her surpass it, slowly sliding in about halfway to her elbow. I groaned loudly, but held still.

"Remember how I could barely get a finger inside you when we met? You've come a long way, baby," the young girl taunted as she pulled back, suddenly ripping her balled hand from my burning anus. I screamed in shock. Quickly after, my stuffed rectal bellows pushed out a loud, long, hollow fart.

"Jeez, your ass is so loud. If you were up there filibustering on stage right now, I bet your mic would pick it up...it'd go viral," she said, laughing. I bit my lip hard.

Behind me, I could hear her slipping the massive strapon over her bluejeans. That was another thing: she never took off her clothes around me. Sometimes she'd wear a slightly more revealing sleeveless shirt or shorts in warmer weather. Very rarely—if I was lucky—I'd get to see her in her bra.

I didn't deserve the privilege of seeing anything else, she told me, and to be frank I wondered who did. She never spoke of having boyfriends, or girlfriends, or whatever she was into. In fact, I knew very little about her life. Maybe that was for the best.

She grabbed me by the waist, her nails digging into my skin. "Alright, let's see if your butthole's loose enough. Bend over, fatty," she said, patting my bottom with the flared head of the gigantic rubber cock affixed to her waist.

"Please, don't talk to me like that," I said weakly. Immediately a loud whack filled the air, my bare rear end stinging and causing me to squeak in pain. When she hit, she hit hard. You wouldn't guess a girl her size had it in her.

"What's wrong with being a fatty, you hypocrite? Big girls need love too, you know," she taunted, tossing her long black hair out of her face. "Don't make me regret taking that gag out. Now shut up and bend over. I wanna get back to my show," she said, resting her hand on the shelf of my ass.

That was another thing. There was almost always some tacky reality show or celebrity gossip feed she wanted to watch during our meetings. She often seemed more interested in those shows than she was in me. And she would turn the volume up loud.

I couldn't tell you what any of those shows were about, though. I was too busy suffering to process any of it; it was just noise to me, perhaps the ambient soundtrack to the gradual erosion of my dignity. I felt her position the punishingly fat dildo between my butt cheeks, and then her grip tightened around my waist as she pushed inward.

And then I felt utter agony.

I cried out, throwing my head back as my anus collapsed inward. I tried to reach between my legs to rub myself, but she just smacked my hands away. "Tut tut, Ms. Ingraham. You know better than to do that," she said. "Don't worry. I know where your real bitch button is...no need to fiddle with that useless thing between your legs."

That useless thing. We both knew what she was talking about.

That "slut slop" was working on every part of my body—especially that useless thing, which thanks to the Premarin had already begun to look like one of those little canned Vienna sausages. Coupled with the large amount of pelvic fat that had accumulated at its base, it was difficult to even find. I could tell it was aroused, but that didn't matter. It never would.

I whined, feeling her pack my ass deeper with another cruel stab. I stared back at her leggy figure, my eyes full of fear, then some insane form of lust. A pained smile crept onto my face almost subconsciously, only to be obliterated the next moment with her next move.

She worked the dildo what felt about a quarter of the way in, then abruptly ripped it out. The bulbous flared heard strained my ring as it exited, causing me to scream again. I knew that the brush of dry air I felt back there probably meant I was gaping obscenely.

She then she aimed and gored my sphincter again, driving it deeper than before. My tormented groans flowed freely now. My constitution continued to steadily crumble. And all the while, some awful Housewives rerun was blaring over me, those shrill voices rattling my eardrums:

"At least I don't do crystal meth in the bathroom all night long, bitch!"

"You know what Brandi, let me tell you something—BLEEP"

For a moment, Vibha's attention seemed to randomly drift back over to me.

"Hey fatty. Do you think your followers would ever imagine in a million years that this is what you do every night?" she said, grinning as she pushed deeper.

"No, ughh. I can't even...imagine what they'd think," I replied. Of course, I could. They'd naturally assume I was a homosexual, or worse. And they'd feel rightfully betrayed. My name was supposed to be synonymous with family values. I was supposed to be a model of moral continence; that was my whole platform, my whole public identity. Right?

"Hmm. I'm always tempted to show off that little file I'm keeping. You know, those pictures of your progress..." she said, her dark eyes glimmering. "Day after day, looser and looser..."

I refrained from responding. I knew that trying to discourage her would only produce the opposite effect. I just hung my head over the couch and started blankly into the cushion. I felt her rustle behind me for a moment.

"Ugh, this won't do. You're taller than me, remember? Arch your back more, spread out your legs a bit," she ordered. I complied silently, parting my legs and sticking my butt out as best I could. One thing I didn't quite realize about gaining weight is that it makes you less flexible. Bending like this would have been easy not long ago, but now it was a bit taxing.

She ran her hand down my back. "Good girl," she said, apparently pleased with my attempt, even though my calves and lower back ached a bit in this position. "Oh my god...wait—" I repeated as I felt her grab me close, the massive dildo slipping up my stretched ass with less resistance this time.

"Shh. Just rock yourself back and forth on it. Shake your ass too, you know I love seeing your fat butt jiggle..." she said, almost cooing the last words. Her hands held the base of the dildo steady.

I wiggled my big ass up and down awkwardly, feeling ridiculous for accommodating her juvenile commands. I looked back at her, feeling heat rising to my face as I began to hyperventilate with lust.

I then pushed back against the dildo as best as I could. It still felt way too big, but my anus was somehow beginning to adjust, widening with each bob of my waist. I soon found that I couldn't cease my own momentum. My movements had begun to feel almost automatic.

"Hehe. I think your ass wants it even if you don't, Miss Ingraham," she said, bucking her hips in time with my motions at a leisurely pace. My butt wobbled and bounced as her sadistically large dildo plowed through it repeatedly.

"I-I can't...this is too much," I said, my hole ablaze. "Please, Vibha. Aren't you interested in other kinds of sex? I mean...or can we at least switch to something smaller—"

"Other kinds of sex? What else there to do with you? I'm pretty sure my clit is bigger than that baby-dick of yours at this point..."


"But what? Let me remind you, Miss Ingraham, I know what you really are. I know that somewhere behind those glassy eyes of yours still dwells some semblance of that cocky conservative bigot I ostensibly work for. One day I'll pound it clean out of you, but until then, I have to repeat: to me, all you are is an asshole."

"Y...yes, Vibha, but—"

"Shut up, fatty. I wanted a big girl, and you obliged. I wanted a rubber band butthole toy to go with that, and here you are obliging me further. I never at any point said anything about that little pee-pee of yours. So don't see why you should start complaining now."

I tried to relax my body. She suddenly picked up the pace of her movements, her voice getting louder.

"Just remember, I don't like tightasses. They're boringly common. I want a good, loose pig," she said, punctuating each word of her last sentence with a harsh propulsion of her oversized dildo. I groaned deeply with each one.

"When do you think people are gonna notice?" she asked, rubbing my big pillowy cheeks and spreading them wide. She pulled out for a moment, staring at my yawning anus. "I mean, your voice is changing...so's your body. You can only hide it for so long..."

"God, Vibha, no one can know. Please..." I said as I let out another embarrassingly loud, vacuous fart through my sizzling hole. She responded by slamming back into me ruthlessly. The dildo was forced even deeper, and I shrieked at a surprisingly high register, my tiny useless thing twitching below a phallus of undeniably superior magnitude. This was by far the most punishing encounter I'd had so far, and fresh tears were now forming in my eyes again.

"It's only a matter of time, Miss Ingraham. I mean, it'll probably start with those close to you. Your wife, for instance. She's got to see you naked eventually, right? How long can you make up excuses..."

"She really can't know, please promise me you won't tell her anything..." I grumbled, my voice rising and falling with each seismic collision within my bowels. I couldn't help but hate how effete I'd started to sound lately, how creaky and thin my voice was becoming.

"I think it'll be good for you to show good ol' Margaret what I've done to you. If nothing else she'll appreciate your honesty, right? You're always preaching about honesty. Ol' Honest Ingrahams. And then you can tell her how often I go out partying with your credit card..."

She sounded so cheerful about this, ignoring my complaints, pummeling my guts me more swiftly. "Faster, fatty!" she said, cracking my left butt cheek hard with the back of her hand whenever she decided I was going too slow. "C'mon, fuck your own ass. Ruin it. Don't make me do all the work here."

I bounced faster, sodomizing myself. The sadistic girth of her cock was becoming truly unbearable now, however, and I found it incredibly difficult to maintain her preferred speed. I heard her exhale frustratedly behind me.

"Damn it, what the hell? You're still too tight?" she whined. "You know, I think it's time to amp this process up, it's taking too long. What's it been, nearly a year? I was still in high school when we started, for crying out loud. You know, I did some Internet research actually. It sounds like Botox injections into the asshole could hypothetically cause permanent looseness. You can afford that, can't you?"

"Ugh...my God, what the hell?" I grumbled in a daze, standing with weak knees, feeling the deep greasy burn in my ass reach a new height. I stumbled, the hard wooden edge of the couch pressing up into my doughy stomach and making me feel like my "slut slop" might come back up at any moment.

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