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READ THESE DISCLAIMERS!
This series is SUPPOSED to be DISGUSTING, which is what makes it so thrilling to write! You SHOULD get bad feelings reading it, which is why I consider it HORROR! I try to gross myself out as I write, getting into the mindset of a perverted VILLAIN. We're all acknowledging he is evil and wrong. Obviously nothing he does should ever be done in real life! I’m assuming we’re all mature adults that can separate fantasy from reality.
This is more PORN than PLOT.
All characters are 18+.This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to events, locales, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This story is not meant to be a direct reference to any real-life cultures/religions. I just liked the idea and wanted to push it to the extreme.
FETISHES / WARNINGS
-Rape / Non-con / Male-dom / misogyny / violence / sadism
-Mind control / slavery
-Gross bodily smells/taste, unwashed, fluids, sweat, ATM, Piss
-Period sex to mouth
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Book of Genesis 1
“God made all kinds of wild animals, all kinds of cattle, and all kinds of creeping things of the earth. God saw how good it was.” - Genesis 1:25
Six months after acquiring the Book…
The more my dreams come true, the more I’m left with nothing in their stead. A vile vacuity that looms larger in my mind each day. I see the inky black words whenever I close my eyes. Every Law I’ve written seems to scroll through my head at all times. An obsession, like shadows attached to each thought. But as always, these feelings of dread dissipate when I lay eyes on the first naked female of the day. A warm reminder of the world I’ve crafted.
“Good morning, sir!” I’m greeted at the front desk by a cheerful voice like always. With the Book tucked neatly away in my briefcase, I enter the office building, taking in the familiar sights. A modern and stylish lobby, with Anne the secretary completely naked behind her desk. She offers herself to all men as they enter. Offers her holes. Always smiling, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. She even offers to make calls to have any girl in the building brought out by request.
I politely decline all this with a wave, “Nah, not today, thanks. I’ve got work to do.” I continue on, greeting and smiling at several more people, routine morning pleasantries. No one bats an eye at the fact that nearly every female employee walks around naked.
The workplace environment here has become so friendly it’s almost cult-like. Morale is at an all-time high, with happy faces and laughter all around. Men are free to de-stress however they want, creating a chill atmosphere that would make even the ‘coolest’ of Silicon Valley tech companies envious.
I wave good morning to Dave from Finance, watching him casually pushing Charlotte from the Tech department up against the wall in the hallway, kissing the blonde’s neck and shoving his hand between her legs. Women are put on a rotating sign-out sheet. Guys that meet their productivity metrics for the month can openly walk up to any woman and sign her out for the day. Females used in this way are teasingly referred to as ‘Cow-Workers’, treated like nothing more than cattle. I pass another man fucking a girl right out in the open outside the restrooms. His face is calm, almost bored, as if this is as mundane as grabbing coffee.
With this Book, I’m like an author able to manipulate characters as I please. Or like a prophet creating Laws that others follow blindly. This building is like my church, and people are brainwashed to follow my Word without thinking too hard about it. To them, this is what women are for. As unpleasant as it is for the females, it’s simply the way of the world. There’s no sense questioning it.
Passing by the open workspace of the Sales department, I see low-walled cubicles with male employees working away happily. Jason has Lindsay kneeling underneath his desk, head bobbing dutifully. Brian has simply forced Alice to give him a back rub for a few hours. I see the lovely Hispanic MILF, Carla, up on a desk, twerking her ass in Phil’s face while he works. And Trevor has the chubby executive, Lisa Labinger, down on all fours under his desk, remaining perfectly still and acting as a footrest while he talks with a client on the phone. Servants, casual entertainment, even furniture. And everyone sees this as ‘normal’.
Sure some of the women look embarrassed and uncomfortable, but they smile and greet me as I walk by nonetheless. The occasional scream or pained outcry is met with apathy by everyone. After all, the men are just acting on their natural instincts. Holding back those urges, no matter how aggressive, would be considered strange. I’ve created total freedom for us men to act on our true desires. But in order to do that, I needed to enslave.
I’m no longer a cog in a machine, mindlessly trudging through life, repressing every thought and craving and biological inclination. I no longer need to pretend I’m not imagining a girl naked while I’m talking to her. Or pretend I don’t want to bend every girl over, sniff them, lick them, fuck their brains out. I don’t need to tranquilize myself just to fit into society, avert my eyes, hide my perversions. And it’s not only me that’s been holding back this whole time. When these men were given real freedom, most of them savagely unleashed themselves upon the women of the office. And I’ve never seen them happier, more alive.
As I walk by the men’s room, the door opens and a man walks out. “Hey Dan, how are ya?” I say politely. He returns the greeting and continues on. I glance inside the restroom before the door swings shut, catching a brief glimpse of my most cruel invention.
I smile and shake my head, wondering if I’ve taken things too far. Urinals, with naked women strapped to them. Men come and go, relieving themselves on the poor ladies, even occasionally fucking them right then and there. Girls I dislike or have grown bored of often end up assigned as Urinals. As I look, inky words creep up across my vision, but I blink them away and continue walking.
Even outside this building, I’ve reshaped my entire life, written all my darkest fantasies into reality. My wife waits for me at home, enslaved. And when we visit her family, I have my way with her mother, her sister, and even our nieces. I’ve carved my own personal heaven out of the world around me.
I walk down the last hallway before my office. It’s still under renovation, my latest plans not yet complete. I pass a few workers installing padded holes all along the walls. I can’t wait to see the ‘pillory’ in action. Girls will be stuck in the walls, free to be enjoyed like nothing more than decorations.
Finally I enter my grand office. A magnificent wooden desk is in the center of the huge room, modern decor on the walls, a liquor cabinet off to the side. And floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the beautiful grounds far below. Those stupid inky words overlay my vision again as I glance out the windows, and I feel a tugging sensation, as if something’s pulling me toward them. I shrug the feelings off and sit down at my desk.
Immediately I’m greeted by little Chloe Seitz kneeling patiently under the desk. “Oh hey, Chloe. Your turn today, huh?” I have them surprise me with a new Cow-Worker each day to keep things fresh. This one is one of my favorites, a young saleswoman with long light brown hair and a petite figure.
“Yes sir,” She smiles nervously, then unzips me and gets to work. “Oh and sir? There was a call from a Mr. Smith. Something about the deal being ridiculous? Unfair?”
I pet her hair and chuckle, “Oh he won’t say no.” I press a button on the phone, buzzing for the secretary. “Anne? Hey call Mr. Smith back for me will you? Have him come in so I can talk to him in person. Thanks.”
I hang up and look down at Chloe, grabbing hold of her hair, stiffening in her mouth. I smile. They never say no once they come visit.
* * *
Six months earlier…
Dayton, Ohio. The Birthplace of Aviation. Even back then people did everything they could to fly away from the mundane drudgery of Ohio life. Hell, we even had some of the most famous astronauts. What is it about this state that makes people want to leave the fucking earth?
Freedom Marketing LLC. Yeah the job is as exciting as the company name would imply. ‘FML’ is right. The worst part is days like today when they make us all come in for a big company meeting and ‘team-building’. Thankfully I don’t have to visit the downtown office here too often. Lately I get to work from home most days.
On my way out after the dreadful day, I almost trip over the guy. A homeless man lying on the sidewalk by the door. “Shit, sorry man,” I apologize politely. But he doesn’t notice me, keeps mumbling something to himself. I start to move on, but I do a double-take when I see his face. I’ve seen him before. Maybe he just hangs out around here a lot? But I could swear he looks like someone. Someone I’ve seen on TV. Yeah there was this famous guy. A CEO or owner of some company. Some rich hotshot. Obviously not the same guy sitting here talking to himself.
“I don’t want it. I don’t want it anymore!” The man is rocking back and forth, twitching, holding a beaten up old book. “Take it away! Make it stop!” He throws the book at me.
I turn and quickly put some distance between me and the guy. He shouts even louder as I walk away. I turn to glance back just as he bolts out into traffic. Tires squeal, but the truck couldn’t avoid him. Crunch! Thud! Then screams from a few onlookers.
The following minutes are a blur. I can’t believe I just watched a guy die! A crowd forms along the sidewalk. Shouting. Ambulance. My heart racing. People all around, asking questions, a bit panicked, flashing lights as the cops start to block off the road. In all the chaos, I notice that old book again. Forgotten. Sitting there on the sidewalk. I don’t know why, but I pick it up. Put it in my bag.
* * *
Back home that evening, I walk through the front door of my house in the suburbs. Small and comfy, nothing special, but it’s always good to be home. I’m greeted by my wife Lizzy calling out nonchalantly from the living room, “Hey babe. How was your day?”
“Yeah about that,” I let out an enervated sigh, then chuckle and proceed to tell her all about the homeless man running into traffic. I leave the book out of the story, a bit embarrassed that I actually took it.
Liz is shocked and sympathetic, and she immediately gets up and flings her arms around me, “Oh my God, are you ok?!” She’s always such a sweet girl, pure of heart, such a bubbly, uplifting personality. I hug her deeply, the feel of her soft little squishy body never gets old. Short, naturally thin even though she never works out, but with an hourglass figure, a plumpness in the right areas. The embodiment of soft femininity, we always joke how she’s made of marshmallows, not a muscle on her body. I nuzzle my face down into her wavy shoulder-length hair. Brown spirals that taper down into blonde, an ‘ombre’ hair dye style I think she calls it. And her sweet scent always puts me at ease. Always so pampered with nice fruity, dessert-like products, always reminding me of baked goods or pies.
We’ve been married several years now. She’s in her mid 20s, I’m a couple years older. It’s been a happy but boring life as time goes by. She decided against having kids, and ‘hasn’t gotten around’ to changing her last name after we got married. But I make concessions like these happily because of moments like this, when I come home to a woman who makes me feel so filled with life, so rejuvenated after a horrible day.
We relax the rest of the evening. Same old routine. Dinner. Watch whatever show we’re currently into. Bed. And as we both automatically turn our separate ways in bed, like most nights the option of intimacy not even a consideration, my mind keeps returning to that weird book.
* * *
Late the next night, I sit in my office at home, staring at the strange markings on the cover of the ancient-looking tome. I flip through the pages. The first few are written in some foreign language. No, several languages! Arabic? And that’s Greek I think. It seems to be instructions, an introduction to the book, but it’s as if it’s trying to be as cryptic and hard to follow as possible. After the first few pages, the rest of the book is blank. Almost like a journal. Or a book left intentionally unfinished. And there are pages missing. Roughly, almost angrily torn out. The homeless guy really didn’t take good care of this thing, whatever it is.
A bit of Googling and I find similar looking characters. It’s not just Arabic, but Classical Arabic, from the Middle Ages I guess! Not used for much nowadays. Then Ancient Greek. And Hebrew too. And maybe three other languages I can’t quite figure out. A total of six! With every sentence switching to another language. What the fuck is this book?
I text a couple old friends from college. One has Muslim family, another studied theology and history a lot. I decide to not really tell them what I’m trying to do, not wanting to explain the story of how I got the book. And for some reason, I also feel the need to keep it to myself, protect it. Between the two friends, I’m able to get a few shitty links to websites that give rough translations. Classical Arabic isn’t exactly like Modern, which makes it harder, but even the parts I’m able to figure out only make up a fraction of all the text. The other languages are just as bad or worse.
But I’m able to figure out bits and pieces. I get the words ‘Djinn’ and ‘Iblis’ and ‘Shaitan’, which reference genies and demons and the Islamic version of Satan. I get similar words in the Hebrew and Greek parts, as if I’m reading the Old and New Testaments or something. But without translating all of it, I don’t really get the context, don’t understand what it’s really saying about them.
The number 9 comes up a lot for some reason. ‘9 after the beginning’? Or is it saying ‘it ends after 9’? 9 what? Is it a duration? 9 days? Weeks? I also get the word ‘slavery’, and it keeps saying ‘the law’ this and ‘the law’ that. As well as what seems to be a phrase instructing me to ‘scribe names and places of those around you’. Maybe it’s saying to write names or places into the book? That might explain all the blank pages.
But I hit a wall, unable to get much more out of it. After a while I remember how dumb this is anyway, and I shove the book in my desk drawer and go to bed. Lizzy is already fast asleep when I get there.
* * *
A few nights later, I sit in my office, pen hovering over a blank page. Over the past few nights, my curiosity has kept dragging me back to the Book, obsessing over it. I give up. I only understand a bit, and I doubt I’ll get much more no matter how hard I try. What’s the worst that can happen? I begin doodling on the page. But this immediately feels wrong, makes me feel oddly sick to my stomach. I sigh and decide to take it more seriously.
Let’s see, it seemed to be asking to write a name, right? Specifically the name of someone around me. Someone I know? Someone nearby? So I try the first name that comes to mind, ‘Lizzy’. Ok and then I think it was saying something about laws. Maybe an action? A command of some sort? Liz has the TV on in the other room and I hear that old Jump Around hip hop song playing in the background of whatever she’s watching. I shrug, that works I guess. I write ‘Jump Around’.
A moment later, loud thumping sounds start coming from the living room, hitting the floor over and over. I rush in to see what’s wrong. At first I think it’s a coincidence, think she’s joking around. I mean my wife has a pretty goofy personality. She’s in front of the TV, bouncing wildly up and down, vaguely to the beat of the song. But the music stops… and she continues. Her face oddly blank, just staring at the screen same as always, as if this is a normal way to watch TV. She looks over at me, “Hey babe.” Then looks back at the screen, still bouncing.
“Liz, what the fuck are you doing?” I’m so confused. I don’t get the joke.
She looks at me again, frowns, shakes her head with a bit of attitude. “What?” she snaps back as if annoyed. I stand and stare, dumbfounded. She’s in her comfy sleepwear. Tight joggers and a tight long-sleeve shirt. A low neckline, showing just a bit of cleavage, clearly no bra beneath, tits bouncing around freely. I’ve never seen her act like this. She’s modest and shy, even around me. She’d never do this.
I rush back to the book in my office. Heart racing, I stare down at what I wrote. ‘Jump around’. No fucking way! This has to be some prank. But I can’t think of any other explanation. I quickly pick up the pen and jot down the words ‘stop jumping around’.
The noise from the living room stops almost instantly. My heart is throbbing in my ears, my head spinning. This can’t be real!
I gingerly walk back in the living room, eyes scanning my wife, trying to make sense of all this. She’s back on the couch, breathing heavily, face flushed, but otherwise just continues watching TV. She glances at me again, giving me a weird look, “Babe, what’s wrong? Why do you keep looking at me like that?” I’m at a loss for words.
“Uh- I- Lizzy, what were you just doing?” She looks around, annoyed and confused. “Just now. You were jumping up and down.”
She looks at me like I’m the crazy one, “Ummm so? What’s your problem? I’m just watching my show.” She’s getting angry. Clearly she’s convinced that whatever she was just doing was perfectly normal. I back off the topic, nodding like she’s right, then return to my office.
I stare down at the book. My mind racing. She must be fucking with me. But how? I look around the room, at the ceiling, under the desk. There’s no way she saw what I wrote, or when I wrote it. She acted upon the commands immediately, like she was hypnotized or something! I sit down and stare at the book for probably a full hour, deep in thought, petrified and bewildered. Then I slam it shut and hide it in my desk.
We go to bed later, but I lie awake. If this thing is real, what else can it do? It needs names or places. And then some sort of command, or law. And it takes things very literally. I didn’t write how long to jump around for, so she kept going until I countered it with another law. I need to be extremely careful with my wording, practically lawyer-like.
And I’m still not convinced this is real. But there’s one way to find out for sure. Jumping around is one thing. But if I make my wife do things she’d really never do…
In the middle of the night, I sneak out of bed without waking her. Back in my office, I pull out the book, pick up the pen, and carefully craft another law. Closing the book and hiding it again, I hold my breath and wait anxiously, heart thumping.
I swivel in my desk chair, facing the door as I hear it opening slowly. Lizzy walks in to the dimly lit office.
“Babe?” My voice is shaky and unsure. My wife’s face is calm, but there’s a hint of unease. Her eyebrows a bit furrowed.
But she steps forward, “Is- is it a bad time? You want me to… you know?” Her pale blue eyes glance down at my crotch as I sit carefully reading her face. She sounds heartbroken, scared, but weirdly determined.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want.” A compromising phrase I’ve used countless times with her. And my words are still vague, careful not to incriminate myself in case this really is all some misunderstanding.
But she shakes her head and kneels down on the floor before me, “No, I do. Don’t I? It’s my wifely duty, right?” Oh my God! Those are exact words straight from the law I wrote!
“That’s… right… but I- I haven't showered since this morning…” Against every urge in my body, I’m still giving her an out, still giving her the typical politeness. This is usually where she takes me up on it, gets what she wants.
“Why would that matter?” She looks genuinely confused. She’s right, with the way I worded the law, this is her duty no matter what. I shrug and shake my head, then beckon her to me with a nod. She crawls closer slowly, letting her hips sway beneath her tight nighttime sweatpants in an almost laughable attempt at seduction. She’s hardly ever done anything of the sort, and it shows. But I feel my dick stir in my shorts all the same.
Lizzy sits back on her heels, kneeling between my knees, reaching her hands up to start tugging at my shorts. Her eyes are bashful, but she can’t hide her anxiety. She keeps glancing at me, adorably trying her best to appear sensual, clearly no idea how. Her round cheeks a bit rosy with embarrassment. The light smattering of freckles on her face only visible when you’re this close. A face that always looks much younger than she is. And those lips. A natural pouty puffiness, curling up into slight dimples that always make her seem like she’s smiling a bit, even when she’s not.
She helps me slide out of my shorts, and without underwear, my bare ass feels the cool leather of my office chair. I can’t believe this is happening! I chose this particular command because I was sure it wouldn’t work, thought for sure this would prove the whole magic book thing to be bullshit.
My wife hasn’t done this in years. When we were dating, she used to begrudgingly agree to it, more eager to please me back then. But she hates it. Always says it makes her want to puke. Finds it degrading. So over time I asked less and less, not wanting to make the woman I love do something she despises so thoroughly. But eventually less often became not at all.
None of that seems to matter now. As Lizzy’s warm palm grips me, my cock stiffens. Her hand pumps gently, remembering how to work it. Within a minute, I’m full-mast, pulsing in her hand, a bead of precum getting squeezed out the top.
She makes eye contact again, feigning a smile, batting her eyes in an attempt to emulate what she thinks she’s supposed to do. She rarely has to take charge like this, always passive and modest, even during sex. But she was given specific commands, and she dredges up every memory of what women seem to do in this situation. Of how to please a man as she should.
And I see through the facade. I know my wife well. She’s terrified. So fucking uncomfortable. Her face scrunches up a bit, clearly smelling my cock. I’m not that dirty, but it’s been a long day. And it’s always common courtesy to shower or present yourself nicely before sex, let alone before having my dick a foot away from her face.
My heart races as she leans forward and engulfs my cock. The heat and wetness envelopes me. Her tongue slides along the shaft. A tooth scrapes gently along my tip, but I couldn’t care less. I’m inside her mouth! I had given up on this, contented myself with a boring sex life where I’d probably never do this again. But here she is! Stuffing my meat in her little mouth!
She moves slowly up and down. Both hands gripping and caressing the hilt of my shaft as my swollen cock fills her up. She goes as deep as she thinks she can, coughing here and there. I can’t help but grin as she stares in concentration at my belly button, struggling every step of the way. I’m suddenly reminded of just how bad she always was at this. At least I know she wasn’t faking it, was always giving her best, as pathetic as that was.
I let her take her time, my elbows up comfortably on my armrests, just happy to be buried in my wife’s face once again. And she hates every second. Her pretty eyes quiver, the look on her face priceless. She can’t stand the taste of my dirty cock. But her tongue laps away anyway. Swirling around as she bobs up and down.
Lizzy has seen porn, I mean everyone has. She knows some tricks, knows what to try. She hums, her voice trying to stimulate me with vibrations. She slurps and sucks, trying to make lewd noises. And then eye contact again as she lifts off me and licks all the way down the side of my dick. I feel sorry for her, her eyes tired from waking up in the middle of the night to do this, going bloodshot from the exertion. But as she stuffs me back inside her mouth, a shiver of desire washes away any reservations I was feeling.
Her hands occasionally remember to massage my balls, and her head works faster and faster as she starts to see me reacting more heavily. She wants this over as quickly as possible.
But for some reason, that nags at my mind. A spark of cruelty shoots through my thoughts. I put on a poker face, hiding how aroused I’m getting. And I try to hold out instead of just giving in and letting her end this. Normally she whines and wins me over. Anything uncomfortable, anything difficult, and she’s normally let off the hook, pampered like a little princess. She deserves it usually, to be honest. Such a kind girl, such a sweet face. But as I sit here watching that face pumping up and down on my cock, tears forming in her pretty eyes. It’s just too good of a moment to pass up. Just this once, let me have my way, let me use my wife as I please.
I deliberately hide all signs of my impending climax, letting her work as hard as she can, thinking she’s got a long ways to go. Her blonde waves flop as she moves. Cheeks pink from the effort. She lets out a loud cough, and I feel a nasty splatter of saliva shoot down my shaft. Her lips quickly slurp the slime back up, trying to regain any amount of decency she can in this situation.
Seconds away and I still remain calm. Urp Urp Urp! My innocent wife starts gagging on my cock, working me as hard as she can. And for some reason, it’s not enough. I need to go all the way, do something I’ve never gotten to do with her.
My hands fly forward, gripping her roughly by the hair. She yelps, but I shove her down hard, gagging her, driving myself down her throat. Her hands flail and fight me reflexively at first, but she seems to realize she has to do this, accepting that this is just part of her ‘wifely duties’.
And for the first time ever, I unload down my wife’s throat. Through coughing and gurgling, my cream shoots out inside her. The feeling is unreal, my entire cock engulfed in her warm face-hole, my tip being squeezed repeatedly by her clamping throat. My fingers can’t help but dig into her scalp, gouging at her hair with a bit more roughness than I’ve ever shown her. She tries to scream, cough, and hold back from puking all at the same time.
And in the process, my jizz explodes every which way inside her. Splashing around my cock, shooting down her poor esophagus… and even squirting out her nose! Lizzy squirms and shakes her head around in utter disgust, my cum leaking out her nostrils, onto my groin. But my hands hold her there, savoring a few more precious seconds within her mouth.
Finally, breathing heavily, my hands let go of her blonde locks, allowing her to burst off of me. She collapses hunched over on the floor, coughing violently, hands covering her mouth. I give her all the time she needs, just grinning to myself as I sit there letting my heart rate slow. My cock flexes and oozes the last few spurts of cum, dripping down my shaft as my eyes hazily watch my wife coughing between my feet.
Then after a few seconds of recovery, Lizzy kneels upright again, faces me, and visibly gulps with her mouth closed. My cock jumps in excitement again as I watch for the first time ever… my prude of a wife swallowing my cum! Without a complaint, without a word, she leans forward and finishes me up. Her tongue flicks out as she grips my softening cock in her hands once more. She laps at the dribble of white cream slipping down my shaft. Her face crinkled in sheer disgust. But she carries on, sucking at the urethra, then cleaning up every other inch of her husband’s dick.
My eyes just stare in disbelief. It worked! Look at this! A sight I never thought I’d see. Lizzy… cleaning my jizz, eating it up off my spent cock.
After a minute, she leans back and looks up at me, trying to smile again, giving me a look that asks ‘am I done?’
I press my luck just a tad further, “Open up?” Worded as a question, my politeness still clinging on even after all that. She opens her sweet mouth without hesitation, sticking her tongue out, showing me she swallowed. A brief whiff of the smell of my own cum hits my nose as she exhales an exhausted breath.
My voice is kind and thankful, “All good. Thanks babe.” She smiles, still hiding her humiliation and discomfort under a thin veneer of wifely warmth.
She gets up, leans over, and kisses me on the cheek, “Oh no problem. Night babe.” Her voice is already softening, as if just glad the annoying part of being married is over. As if this was all just a normal day, she walks out of the office to head back to bed.
Leaving me still panting alone in the room. My head spinning. I turn and bring the book back out, setting it on the desk and just staring in awe. She followed every command I wrote. The inky black words seem alive on the page.
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