The Anchor's Throne Pt. 03

Late one night, the studio stood empty, the crew long gone. Laura and Alice hauled me back to the set, their grips bruising my arms as they tied me to a low bench for a midnight reckoning. I'd been a man once, a director with power, but now I was their plaything, a slab of flesh for their final verdict. My body screamed for rest, but my mind was louder, trapped in the loop of their dominance, wondering if I'd ever claw my way back or if I even wanted to anymore.

Laura spoke first, her voice cold as stone. "This ends now. One of us rules, the other falls, and he's the stage we settle it on." Alice nodded, her eyes glinting like knives. "Fine by me. We wrestle. Strap him down, settle on him, and whoever knocks the other off takes it all." They strapped me to the bench, my head at one end, my torso at the other, my limbs bound tight. I lay helpless, my mind a storm as they prepared to fight over my broken body, their war my only reality now, my existence reduced to their battlefield.

Then the wrestling began. Laura sat on my face, her thighs flexing around my head like steel cables, her ass grinding down with deliberate force to anchor her seat. Alice straddled my torso, her hips rolling, her muscles taut as she clamped onto me, refusing to budge. They grappled, hands clawing at shoulders, elbows jabbing ribs, each desperate to unseat the other.

PPFFFRRsssbbt!

Laura's farts blasted, her voice a snarl. "He's choking on my farts and he loves them, Alice, you're a nobody." Alice smirked and twisted, she bounced her ass and landed her firm cheeks heavy on my balls. The sharp pain made me flinch under Laura's ass, shaking her balance for a moment. But she tightened her thighs around my head even harder to regain it, her ass shifting to pin me harder, her glutes clenching to hold her ground. Alice's hips rocked, her weight and grip crushing my waist as she flexed her thighs, fighting to stay put, her legs tightening with every shove.

They stood briefly, trampling me as they wrestled. Laura's bare feet slammed onto my chest, her toes digging into my skin as she shoved Alice's shoulder, her soles grinding bruises into my flesh. "He gags for me, you cheap wannabe," she growled, flexing her legs to balance, her weight sinking into my ribs. Alice's heels stabbed my stomach, bruising deep as she pushed back, her stilettos leaving red marks. "He's squirming for me, you tired old cow," she hissed, her calves tensing to hold her ground, her heels grinding into my thighs. I gasped under their weight, my body a mat for their fury, their trampling a new layer of pain that made my vision blur. Locked in they sat again, Laura's ass smashing my face, her thighs bulging as she locked me in, Alice's hips slamming my torso, her glutes clenching to stay seated.

They rose once more, trampling harder. Laura's soles crushed my throat, her weight choking me as she yanked Alice's hair. Alice's heels gouged my thighs, her steps deliberate as she clawed Laura's arm, their feet relentless as they battled. Back down they went, Laura's ass slamming my face, Alice's weight bruising my chest. Laura's breath came heavy, her thighs trembling with effort as she landed a brutal elbow to Alice's side, her ass grinding deeper on my face to hold her throne. "He's mine, you pathetic leech," she roared, twisting hard. Alice gasped, her grip slipping, her hips sliding as she fought to stay on. "You'll never take him, you bloated tyrant," she spat, but her strength faltered. Laura shoved with all her might, her thighs flexing like iron around my head to get a grip, sending Alice tumbling off me and the bench with a thud.

Laura stayed seated, her ass heavy on my face, and slammed her bare foot onto Alice's neck as she lay sprawled on the floor, defeated. "I'm the queen, Alice. He's my throne, and you're just dirt under my heel," Laura declared, her voice a triumphant bellow as she farted one last time, the wet blast sealing her victory. Alice glared up, her breath ragged, her body limp under Laura's foot. "You've won...," she muttered, her throat ceiling crushed under Laura's foot, her eyes dull with surrender, her defiance shattered. I lay broken beneath Laura, my mind a haze, her victory my cage, and I knew I'd never escape. Laura's throne was my world now, and Alice's defeat only tightened its walls.

I used to run this place. My name, my title, Director of Programming, still hung on the office door, etched in gold like a relic from a forgotten era. But Laura ruled now, her word absolute, her presence a force no one dared challenge. After she crushed Alice in that midnight wrestling match, pinning her with a foot to her neck, Laura didn't just claim me as her throne, she claimed the entire channel.

Meetings I once led now bowed to her will. Schedules bent, sponsors groveled, segments reshaped, all at her command. Her popularity was a wildfire, ratings climbing higher each week, and the execs, blinded by the numbers, never questioned her grip. They didn't see the truth, didn't know I lay strapped beneath her desk each night, my face buried under her ass, my tongue raw from her service. They didn't see Alice, once her rival, now her servant, kneeling at her feet, her defiance crumbling under Laura's relentless pressure. The channel soared to new heights, a glittering empire, and I was its secret foundation, my pride ground to dust. I'd built it all, only to hand it to her, and now I wondered if I'd ever been anything else.

Laura's takeover wasn't instant. Alice fought back at first, her eyes flashing with the same cunning that had once challenged Laura's throne. In those early days, she'd slip into the studio late, trying to pull me aside, whispering plans to undermine Laura. "We can turn this around," she'd hiss, her voice sharp but shaky. Laura caught her every time, her instincts razor sharp.

One night, she hauled Alice into the dressing room, slamming her against the wall while I watched, bound to a bench. "You think you can sneak behind my back, you little snake?" Laura barked, her voice booming with contempt. She sat on my face, farting loud and wet, and ordered Alice to kneel. "Lick my heels clean, now, or I'll bury you." Alice hesitated, her jaw tight, but Laura's glare broke her. She knelt, tongue scraping Laura's shoes, her defiance cracking as Laura laughed, a deep, mocking sound. "That's right, Alice. Learn your place." Each failed rebellion, snide remarks in meetings, subtle jabs on air met Laura's wrath, her punishments harsher each time, until Alice's fire dimmed, her shoulders slumping in surrender.

The studio buzzed with preparations for a major broadcast, a showcase of Laura's reign as the channel's face, her show the main attraction drawing millions. Backstage, away from the crew's eyes, Laura called us to her dressing room, her private arena where she molded us however she desired. I lay on the floor, wrists tied to a low bench, my head braced for her weight. She strode in, heels clicking sharp on the tile, Alice trailing behind, her gaze fixed on the floor, her once sharp eyes dull with defeat. Laura kicked off her pumps and sat on my face, her bare ass slamming down, crushing my nose flat.

PPPrrfffsssbt!

A hot, sour fart blasted into my lungs, the heat searing my throat. "Swallow every bit of my gas, it's a privilege for you to inhale my gas." she commanded, her voice dripping with glee. "You're here to make me comfortable." I choked it down, the taste bitter, clinging to my tongue as my chest heaved under her.

Alice stood rigid, her hands clenched, a flicker of defiance still twitching in her posture. Laura noticed, her smirk widening. "Still got a spark, Alice? Kneel, or I'll grind it out of you." Alice's lips tightened, but she dropped to her knees, her resistance fading under Laura's stare. Laura tilted her head back, a stream of piss flowing slow and deliberate into my mouth. "Drink it all, my loyal seat," she taunted, her tone rich with triumph. "Show Alice how it's done." I gulped, the sharp salty liquid burning my throat, and flinched as a trickle spilled down my chin. She lifted slightly, glaring down. "Lick me clean, toilet boy. Get every drop," she ordered, and I did, my tongue scraping her skin, the taste humiliating as I wiped her dry.

She turned to Alice, her voice a playful lash. "Your turn, pet. Put that mouth to work." Alice leaned forward, her tongue darting between Laura's thighs, licking her pussy with a desperate precision, her breath ragged as Laura gripped her hair between her legs and grind her ass deeper on my face. I shifted beneath, my tongue finding Laura's ass, licking slow and deep, the musky taste overwhelming as I followed Laura's unspoken command. The hierarchy was clear: Laura at the top, Alice her servant, me the base, my existence reduced to their will.

PPPfffrrssssbtt!

"Not bad, Alice, but he's eating my farts like a champ," Laura said, laughing as another wet fart ripped out, blasting into my open mouth. "Swallow it, bitch, make me proud." I choked, my throat burning, while Alice's tongue faltered under Laura's grip. "Keep up, girl," Laura snapped, yanking Alice's hair. "You're such a bitch, and you." she bounced on my face, "Get that tongue deeper." I licked Laura's ass faster, penetrating her hole as much as I could. My tongue aching, my mind a haze of shame.

This was Laura's empire. Her channel, her show, her rules, and we were her pillars, broken and remade. The crew outside prepped the broadcast, blind to the ritual that fueled it, and I wondered if I'd ever been more than this, a shadow beneath her crown.

The studio lights flared to life, the dual anchor desk gleaming under their glow, a monument to Laura's reign. I lay strapped beneath it, my head braced at one end, my torso stretched toward the other, wrists bound tight with leather cuffs. The channel's success was Laura's triumph, each rating spike a testament to her control, my title a hollow shell as her show ruled the airwaves. Laura slid in first, her dress rustling as she settled her bare ass onto my face, the weight crushing, familiar. A silent fart slipped out, hot and acrid, filling my mouth. I swallowed, the gas coating my throat as she launched into the headlines, her voice smooth, commanding, the face of the channel no one could rival.

Alice took her place at Laura's side, no longer a co-anchor but a subordinate, her role reshaped by Laura's relentless dominance. She knelt beneath the desk, her hands finding Laura's bare feet, massaging them with careful precision, her tongue darting between Laura's toes. Laura's thighs clamped my head tighter, another fart blasting, longer this time, wet and searing. "Suck it down, seat," she murmured mid sentence, her composure flawless as she segued into a breaking story. I choked it down, my chest heaving, while Alice licked Laura's soles, her breath soft against Laura's skin. The hierarchy played out in silence, Laura ruled, Alice worshipped, I endured, my name erased as the channel soared.

Laura tilted her head back during a lull, a quick stream of piss leaking into my mouth. "Drink it, my perfect toilet," she said, her tone teasing but ironclad, smiling for the camera. I gulped it down, the warmth sliding down my throat, and she shifted slightly after, planting her lips in my mouth. "Lick me clean, tongue boy. Don't miss a spot," she commanded, and I licked, my tongue scraping her skin, wiping her wet lips dry as the mix of urine, sweat and her juices filled my senses.

Laura lightly slapped Alice's face with her feet, giving a non verbal command, and she quickly followed. Her hands pressed harder, massaging Laura's arches, her tongue tracing Laura's heels, her submission complete after months of Laura grinding her down. "Nice try, Alice," Laura whispered, her voice mocking. "But this is my kingdom. His face and balls are my property, your tongue's just a bonus." The broadcast rolled on, a flawless spectacle, ratings climbing as Laura's voice carried the night, her show the channel's heart, her empire unchallenged. I lay beneath, my mind heavy with her triumph, my role as her throne the only truth left, my title a lie swallowed by her reign.

Post broadcast, the studio emptied, the crew's cheers fading as Laura locked the dressing room door behind us. The channel was hers, my title a formality no one questioned, her decisions law as her show drove the network to heights I'd never imagined. I'd built it, but she'd claimed it, and I was just her shadow, my monologue a whisper in the dark.

She strode to the center of the room, her presence commanding, and pointed to the floor. "Get down," she said, her voice rich with victory. I obeyed, my head braced against the chair, ready for her weight. Alice knelt nearby, her eyes fixed on Laura, her body still, her defiance long since crushed by Laura's unyielding pressure.

Laura kicked off her heels and straddled my face, her bare ass slamming down, crushing my nose against her skin.

PPpsssfffrrblt!

A loud fart erupted, wet and hot, filling my lungs. "Swallow it, my seat," she said, her tone gleeful, grinding harder as I choked. "You're built for this. Show Alice how you worship me." I gulped, the warm air searing my throat.

She turned to Alice, her voice a whip. "Get to work, pet. Prove to me you're not useless." Alice leaned forward, her tongue finding Laura's pussy, licking with a frantic need to please, her breath ragged as Laura coiled her legs around Alice's head. I shifted beneath her ass, my tongue licking Laura's ass, slow and deep, the musky taste coating my throat as I followed Laura's will. "You're working hard, Alice, but he's stealing your shine," Laura said, her laugh booming as another fart blasted into my mouth.

PPPSFFRbbbttsstt!

"Suck it down, my fart filter, make me proud." I gagged, my lungs burning, while Alice's tongue faltered under Laura's grip. "Pathetic, Alice," Laura mocked, yanking her hair. "He's eating my ass better than you're eating my pussy." I licked Alice's ass harder, my tongue raw, my mind a haze of submission. The hierarchy was absolute: Laura at the top, her decisions ruling the channel, her face its icon; Alice beneath her, serving with her tongue, her pride shattered; me at the bottom, my face her seat, my title a ghost as her show thrived. The ritual stretched on, Laura's farts and piss relentless, Alice's oral desperate, my licking unending. She stood finally, her foot grazing Alice's cheek, then mine, a queen claiming her court. "You're both mine." she said, her voice a final command, her empire secure.

Her broadcasts were a triumph, the channel's ratings untouchable, Laura's show the main attraction, her face the network's soul. My office stood empty, my title a formality, my decisions hers as her empire grew. The crew worshipped her, blind to the truth, me beneath her desk, swallowing her gas, licking her clean, Alice kneeling at her feet, her tongue and hands her offering. The network was my creation, built on my back, and I'd given it to her, piece by piece, until I was nothing but her throne. I'd been a director once, a man with power, but Laura had rewritten me, and Alice too, into her story. My mind turned inward, heavy with it all. Had I ever been more? Did I want to be? Her ass, her farts, her piss were my world, and Alice's submission only tightened the chain. The channel soared, and I sank deeper, my voice a whisper swallowed by her reign, my last thought drowned in her victory. Laura's throne was eternal, and I was its base, forever hers.

THE END