Sex stories

Erotic fiction and short sex stories




Becca's Slaves at USC

Friday

Becca wore a pleated white skirt and maroon colored tennis shoes.

John was in handcuffs and on his knees licking them with his tongue.

She tugged on his leash.

He raised his eyes up to her at once.

"Slave, I have a question."

Adorned in the apartment that had once been his was graffiti. Slogans. Proclamations. Hashed out in spraypaint. He'd have a hard time explaining them to the landlord if he had to.

Becca is my Goddess.

John is Becca's slave.

Becca owns me.

And Becca truly did own him.

I hadn't happened over night. It was slow. First the slave collar. That was the start of it. It started out as a joke. What it had evolved into, though.

John was the first one. But after he emptied what was left of his bank account, she knew that she truly did have complete control of him.

Becca was a cheerleader. But not just any cheerleader. A USC cheerleader. The sexiest kind imaginable. Her tan smooth legs were the first thing that John noticed about her when they had met. The sexy trim legs of a beach volleyball player. That had been almost three months ago, when they first met at the Starbucks where he worked. She had ordered a latte from him. It was the first of many orders to come.

"What is it, Goddess Becca?" He'd have found a way to turn the sky red if she ordered him to.

She playfully kicked his cockcage as if she might let him orgasm that night if he answered the question correctly. The key to it was on a thin necklace around her neck.

"Have you finished my stat project?"

He had to survey a sample of students for a statistics project. Well, it was Becca's homework assignment, really. But he was doing it for her. It was Rule 13 in the Slave Contract that he had signed earlier when they made it official. He did all her homework.

John wasn't the only one. Becca had three of them now. One by one, students on the campus of USC were collared and enslaved by her. She had them doing all manner of chores. Everything from laundry to groceries. This allowed her to focus more on beach volleyball. If they obeyed sometimes they were allowed to watch her at her games.

John hadn't obeyed. He hadn't finished the stat project, and it was due on Tuesday.

"I was planning on doing it this weekend. I had work last night." His Starbucks tips were aggregated in a bowl that he kept on the kitchen table. She collected them every Friday.

"Have you surveyed any students yet?"

"Not yet."

"Slave, it's Friday. How are you going to finish it this weekend if you haven't surveyed any students?"

He fumbled to come up with an answer but couldn't.

"If you don't do as I say, then I have to punish you."

She dropped the leash. She threw her backpack on the ground and opened it. From inside she pulled out garments. She threw the clothes on the floor in front of him. He nearly fainted at the sight of them.

A schoolgirl skirt. Stockings. Black heels.

She unlocked his cuffs.

"Put them on."

He hesitated.

"Put them on, slave. Obey."

John slipped the stockings on his naked legs. The skirt was next. He didn't like how feminine he felt in it.

"Now the heels."

He had to wear them as punishment when he didn't obey her. The ankle cuffs went around his ankles. They were padded with pink fuzz on the insides.

"Thirty minutes." She said it firmly.

Click!

The cuffs were back on.

"Yes, Goddess Becca." He said it with his head down. The ballgag was harnessed around his head.

She led him outside on his leash. He looked like a piece of property. Which he was.

Most students had finished their classes and were enjoying the Californian sunshine. The ones that happened to be meandering around the Tuttle house were shocked when they saw John being led on a leash to the beach by Becca in her sexy white USC cheerleader outfit. Girls in sundresses snickered. Many clicked away with camera phones and uploaded the photos to social media websites.

Becca owned him.

Becca was a blonde, sexy cheerleader.

John worshipped her existence.

Becca had power over him.

She led him down to the beach. A woman walked by and placed her hands over the eyes of her little boy at the site of him.

Near the pier there was a bench affixed to the ground. It might have been used for something other than clipping a slave's collar to on any other Friday afternoon.

She ordered him to his knees and clipped the slave collar's D-ring to a pole on the bottom of the bench so that his face was practically touching the walkway and his ass was in the air.

While she locked it in place with a Masterlock John could smell the cocoa butter on her soft hands.

She drew her lips up to his ear. "Thirty minutes," she whispered, and walked away.

It was humiliating. To be locked up wearing a schoolgirl skirt in public.

Chained to a park bench like a dog.

He wished he had surveyed the students like he was supposed to.

Becca owned him.

Saturday

Rob was relieved when he finally heard the door open. It meant that Becca was done playing volleyball at the beach.

He cocked his head and through his peripheral he could see that she was wearing ass-tight denim shorts. The sound of her flip flops was all he heard at first through his muffled breaths.

She crouched down onto her knees so she could be nearer to his level. She grabbed the bars of his cage with her hands and caressed them. He watched her fingers move helplessly in his hogtie The sight of them reminded him of what she might do to his cock if he played his cards right.

"Happy to see me, slave?"

He mumphed through his ballgag that he was.

He could feel his cock swell uselessly against the cockcage that she made him wear.

She reached through the bars and unlatched the clasp of his ballgag. It fell to the bottom of the cage in the puddle of drool that had collected there.

Next she held the key in front of his eyes. It was close, but with his hands tied behind his back he couldn't do anything but long for it.

"If you're a good boy, slave, then I might play with your cock today."

"Yes! Please, Goddess Becca! I'll do anything you ask! Please let me come today!"

His dorm room had been converted into a shrine. A massive photo of Becca in an Alice in Wonderland outfit was stapled to the wall.

He had a book on the desk with the words "Poems for Becca" written in cursive on the cover.

She got up and went to the desk where the poem book sat. She picked it up and flipped through it haphazardly.

"Maybe I'll let you come today, slave, and maybe I won't. Depends."

"On what?" he begged.

"On your poem. Which one have you decided on?"

"387." He had it memorized.

"You think it's good enough?" She flipped to it. She read aloud.

"Rebecca Alex Morrison. Goddess." She smiled. "A good start."

She continued. "I do not own my own hands. They exist to serve you. You control my penis. You control my thoughts. I would slaughter an army to whiff your blonde hair. I am your possession. You own me for life. I belong to Becca Morrison."

She smiled. "It'll look good on you."

She grabbed the D-ring of his collar. It was an uncomfortable metal thing and he had spent all Saturday in it.

"So? Are you going to let me come today?"

She didn't respond. Instead she just giggled and read through more poems one by one. After a few minutes, she sighed and unlocked the key to the cage.

"Can I come tonight?" he asked again.

"Not yet. Let's go to the tattoo shop first."Friday

Becca wore a pleated white skirt and maroon colored tennis shoes.

John was in handcuffs and on his knees licking them with his tongue.

She tugged on his leash.

He raised his eyes up to her at once.

"Slave, I have a question."

Adorned in the apartment that had once been his was graffiti. Slogans. Proclamations. Hashed out in spraypaint. He'd have a hard time explaining them to the landlord if he had to.

Becca is my Goddess.

John is Becca's slave.

Becca owns me.

And Becca truly did own him.

I hadn't happened over night. It was slow. First the slave collar. That was the start of it. It started out as a joke. What it had evolved into, though.

John was the first one. But after he emptied what was left of his bank account, she knew that she truly did have complete control of him.

Becca was a cheerleader. But not just any cheerleader. A USC cheerleader. The sexiest kind imaginable. Her tan smooth legs were the first thing that John noticed about her when they had met. The sexy trim legs of a beach volleyball player. That had been almost three months ago, when they first met at the Starbucks where he worked. She had ordered a latte from him. It was the first of many orders to come.

"What is it, Goddess Becca?" He'd have found a way to turn the sky red if she ordered him to.

She playfully kicked his cockcage as if she might let him orgasm that night if he answered the question correctly. The key to it was on a thin necklace around her neck.

"Have you finished my stat project?"

He had to survey a sample of students for a statistics project. Well, it was Becca's homework assignment, really. But he was doing it for her. It was Rule 13 in the Slave Contract that he had signed earlier when they made it official. He did all her homework.

John wasn't the only one. Becca had three of them now. One by one, students on the campus of USC were collared and enslaved by her. She had them doing all manner of chores. Everything from laundry to groceries. This allowed her to focus more on beach volleyball. If they obeyed sometimes they were allowed to watch her at her games.

John hadn't obeyed. He hadn't finished the stat project, and it was due on Tuesday.

"I was planning on doing it this weekend. I had work last night." His Starbucks tips were aggregated in a bowl that he kept on the kitchen table. She collected them every Friday.

"Have you surveyed any students yet?"

"Not yet."

"Slave, it's Friday. How are you going to finish it this weekend if you haven't surveyed any students?"

He fumbled to come up with an answer but couldn't.

"If you don't do as I say, then I have to punish you."

She dropped the leash. She threw her backpack on the ground and opened it. From inside she pulled out garments. She threw the clothes on the floor in front of him. He nearly fainted at the sight of them.

A schoolgirl skirt. Stockings. Black heels.

She unlocked his cuffs.

"Put them on."

He hesitated.

"Put them on, slave. Obey."

John slipped the stockings on his naked legs. The skirt was next. He didn't like how feminine he felt in it.

"Now the heels."

He had to wear them as punishment when he didn't obey her. The ankle cuffs went around his ankles. They were padded with pink fuzz on the insides.

"Thirty minutes." She said it firmly.

Click!

The cuffs were back on.

"Yes, Goddess Becca." He said it with his head down. The ballgag was harnessed around his head.

She led him outside on his leash. He looked like a piece of property. Which he was.

Most students had finished their classes and were enjoying the Californian sunshine. The ones that happened to be meandering around the Tuttle house were shocked when they saw John being led on a leash to the beach by Becca in her sexy white USC cheerleader outfit. Girls in sundresses snickered. Many clicked away with camera phones and uploaded the photos to social media websites.

Becca owned him.

Becca was a blonde, sexy cheerleader.

John worshipped her existence.

Becca had power over him.

She led him down to the beach. A woman walked by and placed her hands over the eyes of her little boy at the site of him.

Near the pier there was a bench affixed to the ground. It might have been used for something other than clipping a slave's collar to on any other Friday afternoon.

She ordered him to his knees and clipped the slave collar's D-ring to a pole on the bottom of the bench so that his face was practically touching the walkway and his ass was in the air.

While she locked it in place with a Masterlock John could smell the cocoa butter on her soft hands.

She drew her lips up to his ear. "Thirty minutes," she whispered, and walked away.

It was humiliating. To be locked up wearing a schoolgirl skirt in public.

Chained to a park bench like a dog.

He wished he had surveyed the students like he was supposed to.

Becca owned him.

Saturday

Rob was relieved when he finally heard the door open. It meant that Becca was done playing volleyball at the beach.

He cocked his head and through his peripheral he could see that she was wearing ass-tight denim shorts. The sound of her flip flops was all he heard at first through his muffled breaths.

She crouched down onto her knees so she could be nearer to his level. She grabbed the bars of his cage with her hands and caressed them. He watched her fingers move helplessly in his hogtie The sight of them reminded him of what she might do to his cock if he played his cards right.

"Happy to see me, slave?"

He mumphed through his ballgag that he was.

He could feel his cock swell uselessly against the cockcage that she made him wear.

She reached through the bars and unlatched the clasp of his ballgag. It fell to the bottom of the cage in the puddle of drool that had collected there.

Next she held the key in front of his eyes. It was close, but with his hands tied behind his back he couldn't do anything but long for it.

"If you're a good boy, slave, then I might play with your cock today."

"Yes! Please, Goddess Becca! I'll do anything you ask! Please let me come today!"

His dorm room had been converted into a shrine. A massive photo of Becca in an Alice in Wonderland outfit was stapled to the wall.

He had a book on the desk with the words "Poems for Becca" written in cursive on the cover.

She got up and went to the desk where the poem book sat. She picked it up and flipped through it haphazardly.

"Maybe I'll let you come today, slave, and maybe I won't. Depends."

"On what?" he begged.

"On your poem. Which one have you decided on?"

"387." He had it memorized.

"You think it's good enough?" She flipped to it. She read aloud.

"Rebecca Alex Morrison. Goddess." She smiled. "A good start."

She continued. "I do not own my own hands. They exist to serve you. You control my penis. You control my thoughts. I would slaughter an army to whiff your blonde hair. I am your possession. You own me for life. I belong to Becca Morrison."

She smiled. "It'll look good on you."

She grabbed the D-ring of his collar. It was an uncomfortable metal thing and he had spent all Saturday in it.

"So? Are you going to let me come today?"

She didn't respond. Instead she just giggled and read through more poems one by one. After a few minutes, she sighed and unlocked the key to the cage.

"Can I come tonight?" he asked again.

"Not yet. Let's go to the tattoo shop first."

slaves   becca's   usc  

May 9, 2018 in femdom

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