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Domination (Vashti la Soeur)

Domination by Vashti la Soeur

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When she is eighteen, Denise’s foster-parents decide it is time she started to earn her keep, so she applies for a job with Marvin which promises to “Make Money from Make-Believe”. Her sadistic, disciplinarian foster-father warns her she will get the strap - again - if she doesn’t get the job.

Denise is accepted and sent to a Training Centre where she experiences degrading sexual acts and whippings to break her spirit and encourage blind obedience. Life does not look good but she asks herself if it is worse than being at home with the harsh disciplinarian foster-parents.

She makes friends with a fat girl who has been nicknamed “Splodge” and who has been sent to the Centre to be trained as a slave on her rich brother’s estate. The girls console each other as they endure their various ordeals, anxious to reach final graduation and leave the awful Centre.

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 1 / 2018

No. words: 30350

Style: Male Dom - M/F

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Chapter 1

Foster looked up from his newspaper.
"You're eighteen now," he said to Denise. "Old enough to earn your keep. There's a job advertised here which will suit you.
"'MARVIN'S MAGICAL MOMENTS', it says. 'MAKE MONEY FROM MAKE-BELIEVE'. Interviews are being held today and you'd better go. Good pay, excellent conditions. You've got half an hour to get ready. And don't come back without it, or it'll mean the strap again if you do."
"We've kept you long enough," Mrs. Foster added, "and Father has been good to you all these years. I'd advise you to do as he says. You know how angry he gets when you disobey. Unless, of course, you want me to give you the cane first."
The woman's thin lips broke into a smile as she spoke. Her flat chest heaved as she picked up the cane that Denise has felt so often across her globes in the past.
"Shall we have a little warm-up practice?" Mrs Foster whispered, "something to remind you how much we love you and how kind we are to you?"
Denise's lips quivered as she listened to her foster parents, but she knew better than to argue.
"Yes, Mother," she said, terrified at the turn the conversation was taking. "You're both very kind to me. And I know you love me - and I love you. Both."
"And you know you get the strap because we look after your interests, don't you?" said Foster.
"Oh, yes, Father. I do know that."
"So that's why you'll get the strap if you come back without the job."
"Yes, Father."
"Do you think she ought to get a taste of it before she goes, Father?" Mrs Foster suggested hopefully.
Seeing Denise's frightened look, Foster laughed. "Not enough time left for that," he grinned. "But if she doesn't get the job, I'll put her over the kitchen table with her knickers down. Well, go and get ready," he added.
"And put your yellow blouse on," Mrs Foster said. "The one that shows your figure ... "
"Your tits, she means," Foster broke in. "You've got good tits. Show 'em off. That's what tits are for. I remember when I first met your Mother, it was her tits that interested me."
Mrs Foster looked confused.
"Abel!" she said gently.
"Well, it's true, Bess. Always said you had the best pair o' tits in the town, didn't I? Didn't know about falsies in those days." He laughed as he put his hand up his wife's skirt. "Still ye've got a nice drop of crumpet, ha'n't ye, Bess?"
He ran his hand backwards and forwards over her shaved pussy and gave a short laugh as she squirmed.
Denise was looking at them, not sure whether she should stay or leave them alone.
"Abel!" Bess Foster said again breathlessly, her hips moving uncontrollably as his hand ran across her slit. "Oh, Abel!" she moaned softly.

When Denise came downstairs to the kitchen before leaving she found her foster-parents sprawled across the table. Foster had his trousers unbuttoned and had dragged his wife's dress up above her waist. He was pumping into her, their grunts and sighs sounding as if they had not been doing it for a long time. But Denise was able to hear them through the thin wall as they did it every night.
They paid no attention to her. Knowing it was not safe to let them see they were being observed, which would mean another thrashing, she crept quietly out of the house.

The general office was crammed when Denise arrived for the vacancy. Girls occupied every bit of space, nearly all looking alike and dressed the same. Breasts were pushed forward, nipples straining against cloth. Every one of the girls wore a very brief mini-skirt; some not realising their plump thighs and podgy knees would be better hidden, not exhibited. It was quite possible, she thought, that the vacancy would be filled before she was interviewed. Somehow, she thought, she had to bypass this crew.
"My name is Denise Foster," she said to the bored-looking young receptionist who was disinterestedly filing her blood-red fingernails.
"Find a seat," said the girl without bothering to raise her eyes. "Only about fifty more before you."
"But the newspaper advert said..."
"Sure, they always do. Sit down. Give your name when you're called in."
Just then a bell rang and a pert little young girl who was sitting beside the door to the inner room sprang up. Her face was flushed, her eyes sparkled and her skirt barely covered her pussy. She hurried into the next room saying as she went,
"Maria... "
"Shut the door and si' down," a deep-sounding voice cut her short. "Take everything..."
The door closed and Denise was not able to find out what the girl had to do.
A short while later the door opened again and the girl emerged pulling her dress straight, her face bright crimson.
The bell rang again. The procedure was repeated time and time again. On each occasion a young girl went into the inner room looking full of eager hope. A minute or two later she emerged, her face flushed, carefully avoiding the enquiring eyes of the others in the waiting room. She would straighten her skirt and scurry out without saying a word to anyone into the corridor.
The girl sitting next to Denise leaned closer and whispered, "I must get this job. I haven't had any luck so far and if I miss this one, it'll be the strap when I get home."
Denise nodded.
"Me too," she said in a low voice.
The girl did not seem to hear her.
"I get it regularly Friday and Saturday nights," she went on. "He likes doing it. The slightest excuse and he gets me across the table with my panties down."
"Doesn't your mother say anything?" Denise asked.
"She daren't. He'd have her, too, if she did."
Just then the bell rang.
"Good luck," Denise whispered. But she didn't mean it. As she sat waiting for the girl to come out, she was praying for her not to succeed. The door opened.
One glance at the girl told Denise she still had a chance. The girl sniffed as tears ran down her face.
"It'll be the strap again tonight," she muttered.
At last it was the end of the queue - Denise's turn. She licked her lips, fearing what might come. She knew what to expect from her foster-parents if she were unsuccessful and it was enough to make her resolve to do whatever was wanted. She opened the door ... and was unable to restrain her gasp.

Chapter 2

An enormously fat man wearing nothing but a pair of tight cotton briefs and short black socks was sitting cross-legged on a pile of cushions on the floor. His erection was pointing towards the ceiling and he was busily rubbing his flabby pink hand along its length. As his hand moved, he was breathing heavily, his eyes being half-closed, apparently in a trance.
To one side of him stood a well-built, heavily muscled middle-aged woman dressed in a short leather tightly laced corset that pinched in her waist and exposed her thighs, pushing her round ivory coloured breasts upwards. Her peaked nipples had been rouged. Her cunny was shaved and a few drops of come glistened on its pink lips. She wore black leather thigh boots with curved narrow heels, laced from ankle to the top.
In her right hand was a long flexible cane which she was tapping gently on her flank. A black half-mask covered the top part of her face, allowing her eyes to glitter through narrow slits. She had a cruel, moist, red-lipped mouth. Her pink tongue worked slowly over her upper lip which was drawn back half way to expose her dead-white even teeth.
The cane pointed towards her cunny but she said nothing. Not knowing what she was supposed to do, but remembering her regular Friday evening routine with her foster-mother, Denise fell on her knees and crawled towards the woman. She poked her tongue out and sought the woman's gash.
The fat man giggled.
"Very good, my dear," he said. "Shows initiative."
Denise was shocked to hear a squeaky voice come from this mountain of a man. However, so long as she gained his approval, things could only get better, she thought.
"It would be better, my dear, if you removed your clothes first," the fat man went on. "I like to see a young girl's reaction when she is in a state of pudendum agitatio exhibitum. You do speak Latin, don't you, my dear?"
Denise shook her head. She had not learnt Latin at school.
The fat man sighed.
"Oh, well. It can't be helped. But it would have made such a nice change if you had been properly educated. Still, Farley can remedy that, can't you, Farley, my love?"
The masked woman cracked the cane down across the fat man's shoulders, making him yelp.
"Oow! You are so vicious, my dear," he cried. "But you do know my little foibles. I can never get an erection without your special attention. You will do that, won't you, my love?"
For a reply, the woman brought the cane down across his flabby back again. Denise saw a red weal run across the place where the cane had struck and his prick quiver.
"Toss off if you must, but shut up!" the woman ordered. "And you, girl, why have you stopped? You were about to lick me out, weren't you? Or would you like a taste of the crop?"
Hurriedly, Denise pushed her tongue deep into the woman's crack. She heard a long sigh as her tongue worked its way in and out. The woman began to shudder.
"I'm coming, my pet!" shrieked the fat man. "Put her on. Quickly."
Before Denise could understand what was happening, the woman had grabbed her and pushed her face down on top of the man's organ at the moment it was starting to spurt. Instinctively, Denise opened her mouth and the throbbing tool entered.
The flow gushed into her, filling her mouth faster than she could swallow. She was surprised to find it tasted sweet and salty at the same time. A taste she enjoyed having pushed into her.
"Lovely," said the fat man, "this one is really good."
"Right," said the woman. "Now you've got past that little test, there remains the climax. If you succeed there, the job is yours."
With that, she lifted Denise off the tool which was now dribbling to a halt and turned her so that her bum was facing the panting man. She felt her anus being greased and almost at once, a rigid rod entered her passage. Then she was bent over double, leaving her in no doubt that she was about to be rogered. She did not know what the instrument that was going to be used would be.
A series of high-pitched giggles informed her that it was the fat man who was working the rod in and out.
Suddenly the rogering stopped.
"She'll do," said the woman. "Now we can introduce ourselves."
The rod was withdrawn from Denise and she had to stand with her hands covering her quim in front of the couple who had examined her.

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