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This continues "The Stables: Marcie's Story" and precedes "The Stables: The Psychotherapist". The first draft was much less kind to the girls. Though The Stables involves some elements of coercion, the girls are mostly prisoners of their own desires. This story begins with Marcie fearing she will be expelled by The Stables. They psychological crux is her desire to stay. I'd like to hear whether readers prefer this to darker possibilities.
The Stables -- Psychological Intake Update
Subject: Marcie [formerly M--]
Date: [Redacted]
Clinician: Dr. E. Vayne
Session Summary -- Post-Compliance Interview
Subject presented subdued, disoriented, but compliant. Minimal resistance. Responds to authority with visible internal conflict: lingering pride, overruled by fear and a desire to please.
When questioned about last night's session, Marcie described it as "not as bad as I expected", followed by visible shame. She repeatedly asked whether she would still be "expected to keep doing that."
...
The Matron looks up from the report. Marcie is kneeling 10 feet away, using the approved posture, visibly nervous. She wears a pale blue silk slip that rests lightly on the artificial breast forms she now wears. The slip reaches mid-thigh. Her hair is tied back but she is not wearing make-up. The Matron wears a black basque displaying her very real breasts, and lingerie. She knows it is unnecessarily sexual, but she indulges herself on these occasions. She enjoys breaking in new girls, particularly relishes teasing them, arousing them while she introduces them to their new life of sexual frustration.
The Matron read the last line out loud. "She repeatedly asked whether she would still be "expected to keep doing that."" Marcie looked at the floor. She knew it sounded ridiculous.
"You were a virgin when you came to us?" and before Marcie could respond, "Before you let yourself be fucked for money, that is." Marcie blushed still looking at the floor, suddenly more keenly aware of the substantial butt plug Dr Vayne had made her wear. "To loosen you up" she had said.
"You know what you are becoming" continued the Matron. "Impressively, each time you've been fucked you came. You're a natural!"
Marcie looked up, perhaps about to say something, but was cut off by the Matron. "I know, I know, you prefer women. How about I let you make love to me?". She said it so naturally, invitingly. Marcie looked up, confused, but was cut off again. "Of course, you'd find it difficult with your chastity cage. And girls who can cum from being fucked don't need access to their little clitties anymore." She let this sink in. "You're staying locked young lady".
"But because we're big on consent here," the Matron said lightly, her tone almost indulgent, "you're going to beg me to lock you up permanently."
Marcie froze. Her posture didn't falter, knees apart, back straight, hands folded neatly. But her expression cracked for a moment. Just a flicker.
"Permanently?" she asked, before she could stop herself.
The Matron looked up from the file, amused.
"I just meant-" Marcie's voice was soft, almost plaintive. "I thought... can't I stay temporarily. I could help out, serve for a while, see where I stand. I didn't think-"
"Didn't think you'd be any good at it?" the Matron interrupted. "Or didn't think we'd want to keep you?"
Marcie flushed. She hated how quickly her body betrayed her - the rush of blood to her cheeks, the sudden awareness of the cage pressing against her. She tried to answer but nothing coherent formed.
The Matron smiled faintly, watching her.
"You came the first time you were fucked, Marcie," she said, almost conversationally. "For money" she said again, just to make the point.
"Most of our girls can't come that way. That tells me something. It tells you something too. You're not just here for a little experiment. You're here because you fit. You've been aching for this, whether you knew it or not."
Marcie looked down. She tried to form a reply, but the words wouldn't come. She wanted to say something clever, deflecting. Something casual, like "maybe I just need to get it out of my system." But her tongue stayed still.
"You're still telling yourself it's just for now," the Matron continued, her voice low, steady. "A little adventure. A sabbatical from failure. And then you'll... what? Pack up your slip and your cage and go find a girlfriend?"
Marcie's eyes flinched shut. She was wet with shame, shame at her former inadequacy.
The Matron by contrast was enjoying herself. She hadn't known how much she would enjoy this. The power in taking young men apart and reshaping them into something useful. Useful to her anyway.
"You won't leave, Marcie," she said gently. "You don't want to. So I want to hear you beg."
Marcie looked up. Her eyes were wide.
The Matron smiled. "Beg. To be locked. Forever."
Marcie's mouth moved but the words caught. She hesitated, then shifted slightly. The cage ached. She was aroused again, deeply, helplessly. It wasn't rational. She hated how her body responded to this, to being cornered like this. But something in her found it hard to resist.
"Please, Matron," she whispered, the words half-formed. "Please lock me up permanently."
The Matron paused. There was a flush in her chest, and she was aware of it, aware of the soft pulse of her own arousal. Something about Marcie - the earnestness, the fear, the flickering defiance - was making her wet. She would summon Nina to her chamber later.
"That was better," she said quietly. "Still not very convincing, but at least it sounded like it came from your cunt, not your mouth."
The Matron's unusual crudeness hit home. Marcie hung her head in shame.
"And why do you want to be locked up permanently?" asked the Matron. What came out during these sessions was often illuminating, and this was no disappointment.
Flushed with arousal and humiliation, Marcie's restraint dissolved. "Because I'm a dirty little slut who can't get a girlfriend, and I deserve to be fucked and used by men" she blurted. Then, surprised at what she had just said, added lamely "Please". The Matron smiled. They had come a long way from questioning whether Marcie would be "expected to keep doing that".
"Much better" she said and sent Marcie off to continue her chores.
2.
Marcie's induction continued. She was put on a diet to get the slim feminine figure the clients favoured. She learned to apply make-up, to walk like a woman, and to speak in a feminine voice. And she served two clients. The Matron and Dr Vayne discussed her progress. "She gets on with the other girls", Vayne noted. "She is attached to Jules. They cuddle at night sometimes. The only problem is ... she is enjoying the clients too much." The Matron raised an eyebrow.
"Sexual frustration is driving her. She came both times."
The Matron laughed. Dr Vayne's contempt for men, even feminised ones, could be amusing. "And we can't allow our girls to enjoy themselves too much?" she queried teasingly. Vayne didn't try to deny it. She thought the Matron too kind to the girls. Perhaps she was, but she also wasn't going to miss an opportunity for further training. She summoned Marcie later that day.
Marcie entered behind Nina, mysterious, glamourous and gagged as ever. Nina curtsied prettily and left. The Matron appraised Marcie, noting the changes. Her outfit was much sluttier -- a short maid's dress, white stay up stockings with pink bows, black stiletto heels. Her hair was longer, her make-up was skilfully applied. Her walk had become sexy, and she radiated a more-sexual presence. The Matron concealed her approval. She herself was dressed in a business suit, slightly severe.
She waved vaguely. Marcie knelt on the indicated patch of floor, her hands resting on her lap, on top of her cage. This cage was smaller than before, tight but -- as Marcie was sadly aware -- usually not that tight.
The Matron stood by the filing cabinet, looking at a document. "You've been ... busy" she said. Her tone held stern disapproval. Marcie felt an unexpected twinge of fear in the pit of her stomach.
"Clients say you're overeager. Both of your sessions ended with you moaning like a debutante."
The words hit hard. She'd thought she was doing well.
"Do you think this is about you enjoying yourself?"
Marcie's throat tightened. "No, Matron."
"They also both commented on your poor oral skills... perhaps you are just too eager to be fucked. Too focussed on your own pleasure. We don't have room in the Stables for sluts with poor attitude."
"I'm trying," Marcie said quickly. "I want to get better..."
"Do you?" The Matron's tone was light but laced with something sharper. "Or are you just playing house here? Scratching some itch before you go back to that charming little incel life you had?
So, here are your options. We disposed of your cheap clothes and effects, but we could send you back in something fetching. Back to your old life as a sad wanker, gooning to porn alone in a grimy bedsit. You might even get your old dead-end job back". She let that sink in. Marcie looked as if she was going to cry. The Matron felt the familiar flutter of excitement wielding power. It showed in her voice as she continued.
"Or I have a contact at another facility that might be more appropriate for an undisciplined slut like you."
She reached into a drawer and removed a glossy tri-fold brochure. A photograph showed 'girls'- blonde, brunette, anonymous - lined against a tiled wall, collars clipped to chains. Lips parted. Knees wide. Blank stares. Some of them were clearly hard.
"No names there. No cages. Just numbers. Perfect for a slut who just wants to be used."
Marcie's throat clenched. Her pulse pounded. Her gaze fixed on the pictures. They were ghastly. But... She imagined being just one of them. No decisions. No expectations of grace or femininity or improvement. Just a mouth. A hole. A meat-puppet on repeat. It made her wet with precum. And it made her want to run.
She looked up to see the Matron was watching her with amusement. The Matron looked as if she understood.
Marcie blurted "No. I mean ... it's awful but..."
"Really," the Matron said drily. "You will be very popular there."
Marcie felt panic rising. Neither of her options were good. She was afraid of which she would choose. She felt the Matron's gaze, inscrutable, waiting for a response.
Marcie blurted, "Please let me stay here! I can improve. Let me just do oral, I can just be a mouth. Please keep me!"
The Matron continued to stare at her levelly. Marcie's panic overflowed.
"When I'm not being used please keep me gagged like Nina so you don't have to listen to my nonsense!" she said. Then remembered the Matron's apparent special affection for Nina. Maybe the comparison wasn't wise. She rattled on without thought "... and cane me regularly so I'm good. And keep me in a cage. And..." she faltered, running out of ideas. What the fuck had she just said? She had never been caned and feared it, and definitely she didn't want to be kept in a cage. She didn't want to suck cock either for that matter, but in her panic she had said anything she could think of so she would be allowed to stay.
There was a pause. Marcie waited tensely, found herself hoping, fearing. Then the Matron opened a thin folder.
"Caned and caged? That's very interesting. But that's not in our programme just yet, but I'll note it on your file. And... very well, I will keep you on on a trial basis, if you can develop adequate oral skills. We are an elite establishment. Mediocrity is not tolerated.
But we are also supportive to our girls. To help your oral skills we can arrange improvements. This would improve your technique, not to mention your general appeal". She handed Marcie a glossy pamphlet. Marcie stared at the lurid pictures in shock.
"Unless that conflicts with what you just said."
Marcie looked again at the pamphlet.
She'd just said she'd take anything. Do anything. Be what they needed. She felt her pulse throb in her ears.
"No, Matron," she whispered. "Of course not."
The Matron didn't hide her amusement now. Her voice warmed, almost affectionate:
"You'll be grateful for it later. You're a slow learner, but you're trainable. And this will be a constant reminder of what you're for."
Marcie lowered her head. The pen trembled in her hand as she signed the surgical release form.
3.
Marcie woke to the sound of a trolley wheel catching on the floor.
A white ceiling. Bright light. The smell of disinfectant and latex.
Her mouth ached. Her lips felt swollen and slick. She'd expected that, but it felt strange. Her tongue, too, throbbed - a sore, metallic ache.
"Look who's awake," said a voice.
A woman stood nearby in loose scrubs, no name badge. She wore gloves, but there was a smudge of foundation near the collar of her top. Her mask was looped under her chin. She was smoking a joint.
She smiled at Marcie like a bored babysitter.
"Feeling sexy?"
Marcie blinked. Her mouth opened. Closed. As far as it could be closed.
The nurse moved closer and tugged the sheet down. Marcie gasped, arms twitching to cover herself, but the woman insisted.
"Shh. Let's not be shy. You're a big girl now."
Her tone was amused. Mocking.
Marcie looked down.
Her chest rose and fell. Her nipples were pierced, small bars, neat and clinical, smeared with antiseptic. Her navel too. She hadn't...
She started to speak but bit her lip as her tongue caught on metal. A sharp jolt. Pain, and then shame at the noise she made.
The nurse grinned.
"That one's cute. You make little sounds now when you're trying to argue. It's gonna be very persuasive."
Marcie tried to sit up.
The nurse put a hand on her shoulder and pulled the sheet back farther.
"Oh, and the big one. Wanna see?"
Marcie didn't.
But she looked.
The cage was still locked on, but it fit snugger than before. More like a fixture. But worse was the glint of metal beneath it, where a ring exited the underside of her cock and clipped tight into a little bar at the base of the device. No more sliding.
Her stomach twisted.
"You were flopping around too much," the nurse said. "So now it won't come off unless your owner says so. And guess what I think? I don't think she will."
She patted Marcie's thigh gently.
"Don't worry, you're healing up real nicely."
She tapped Marcie's lips with her gloved finger. Not cruelly. Like she was inspecting a cake.
"I like them, by the way. You look like a slutty little duck. In a good way."
Then she was already turning back to her tray.
"Clothes in twenty. Parade in thirty. Try not to drool on yourself, it's unladylike."
4.
Marcie's robe was clean and soft, but short. Too short. Even in recovery modesty wasn't permitted. The silk slid over her new nipple bars.
She wasn't caged yet. Just gauze and surgical tape beneath her robe, covering the new piercing, too tender for there to be much risk she'd try to masturbate.
Her lips were still swollen, distractingly plush. Just short of grotesque. 'Hypersexual' was what the Matron had ordered, and she was used to getting what she asked for. Marcie's tongue piercing still hurt, but less now. She hadn't spoken much, the words slurred, wet, imprecise. It was easier to stay quiet.
The house officer opened the common room door and nudged her gently forward.
Silence met her. Then the quiet shuffle of cushions. Three girls were in the room. Jules was at the far wall, her black-rimmed glasses on, seated with a book. Ava was on the divan, half-asleep, her hair in her eyes. C. was in the armchair, topless, wearing long boots and black cotton panties, a cup of coffee in hand, as if she had been waiting.
All of them turned. And stared.
There was a pause.
Then Jules stood up.
"Oh... sweetheart," she said softly. "Come here."
Marcie hesitated.
"Go on," the officer said behind her. Then the door clicked shut.
She walked carefully, painfully self-conscious. Her lips felt huge. Her nipples ached. But Jules' voice was kind. Jules tilted her head, studying Marcie's face - not quite touching, but close.
"You look..." She trailed off. A small, conflicted smile. "You look very sexy."
From the couch, Ava gave a soft, involuntary exhale. "God, I want to fuck you."
Ava's voice was heavy with lust, but it broke the tension. Jules giggled. Marcie tried to laugh though her lips and tongue were making that difficult.
C. from the armchair said to Ava, "If anyone is getting fucked tonight, young lady, it's you". Ava blushed, and looked down, suppressing a small, sweet smile. C. was the Stable's only freelance. Statuesque and Amazonian, some of the clients were firmly under her spell. Not locked, she occasionally took advantage of the other girls. Matron turned a blind eye. Normally.
To Marcie, C. said "I'm not allowed to fuck you any more sweetheart. Orders from the top. I will be testing those new cock pillows once they're healed though."
Ava pouted jealously. Marcie's expression was unreadable. Then she began to tremble, from embarrassment, and relief. Ava and C.'s evident desire reassured her, she wasn't hideous. And Jules. She felt a fresh surge of love for Jules. Jules made a space from her on the couch and put her arm around her waist when she sat. She was home.
5.
C. was charged with the final stages of Marcie's oral training. "A job with perks" she commented with satisfaction. She wasn't gentle, but she was precise. Patient. Professional.
When Marcie gagged, C. just said, "Breathe through your nose, slut. And stop tensing."
She guided Marcie's head with a firm hand on the back of her neck, letting her work deeper each time. Sometimes with encouragement. Sometimes with silence.
Eventually, when Marcie could take her whole cock without flinching, C. gave a satisfied sigh and said, "All right. Let's see if you can finish me."
She could.
Marcie didn't enjoy the taste, not yet, but she held it in her mouth obediently, swallowing without complaint. C. stroked her hair as the last of it slid down her throat.
At the end of their last training session C. came suddenly, before Marcie expected. Suddenly hot cum was filling her mouth, and C. was spasming uncontrollably. Marcie skilfully continued to suck and swallow as she'd been taught. When C. had subsided and slipped out of Marcie's mouth she looked down at the kneeling whore with something like an aggrieved expression. "You little fucker" she said, a catch in her voice. Marcie fluttered her eyelids prettily, lips still parted around the taste of C. She felt a small surge of triumph. She was getting to her Amazonian instructress.
6.
Within days Marcie had become a favourite among the clients. On days she wasn't in demand she sometimes helped out at the other girls' sessions. Today Ava was entertaining one of her regulars.
Marcie couldn't understand it. Ava got fucked all the time. Over the bed, on her back, sometimes tied down but mostly just held. Pinned. Fucked. Ava didn't want it. But she opened up, spread herself, took it all. Quietly. Submissively. Maybe that was her appeal.
In an unguarded moment she had told Marcie in a whisper that she preferred giving head. "It's easier to stay in control," she'd said, eyes downcast, like it was something shameful. Marcie hadn't really understood. Control? Why would you want control?
Marcie was desperate to be fucked.
Not roughly - not even kindly - just used, properly. Cunt-deep. Screaming. Legs pulled apart by someone who wasn't gentle. But the clients never tried. They just wanted her for her mouth. She was so good at oral. Too good.
Which was why Marcie was kneeling by the bed now, assisting while Ava got what Marcie never did. Marcie wore a violet lace basque strapped tight over artificial breasts. Her full lips were glossily closed over a black ball gag. Her expression was unreadable, but her breasts rose and fell rapidly. Ava's silk lingerie was already scattered over the floor.
The client was taking his time. He liked Ava. Asked for her regularly. Spoke to her gently before he started, touched her like he knew her body well. She was on her hands and knees, head lowered, breathing shallow. Marcie's hands gripped her hips, keeping her balanced as the thrusts began to rock through her.
Ava wasn't resisting, but she wasn't giving in either - not at first. Her jaw was clenched, her eyes closed tight. She was trying, as always, to stay somewhere above it.
But today it didn't last.
The rhythm built. The angle shifted. Her breath caught in a hitch, then again. Her thighs trembled. Her body was moving now - not deliberately, not even responsively. Instinctively. Her fingers clawed at the sheets.
Then came the tears. She began to sob. Her whole body shook. Marcie felt the tremors through her palms. Then she cried out, loud, sudden, guttural, and the orgasm slammed through her like a wave, stealing her voice as it rose.
And with it, the word.
"Daddy!"
It burst out of her like something primal, involuntary. The client grunted, fingers digging into her hips. Ava collapsed forward onto the sheets, sobbing as he finished inside her.
7.
Back in the girls' room, Marcie was brushing Ava's hair. She sensed Ava was tense, but emotional intelligence wasn't one of Marcie's strong points.
"I said daddy." Ava's voice was heavy with disbelief. "I cried, and then I came, and then I said daddy. They've turned me into a slave. Or a slut. Or something. I want him to fuck me again, God help me."
Marcie's head was still full of Ava writhing on the sheets, begging for more. She didn't understand the tears. She only knew had wanted to be fucked like Ava. She didn't get why Ava was so upset. "At least you get fucked," she said wistfully.
Ava looked up, genuinely confused. Jules had been listening. She understood better than most. She put her book aside.
"Marcie, Ava's having a moment here. Let her breathe."
Marcie was feeling her own emotions. "I'd take it! All I get is dicks down my throat. They cum in my mouth and then they leave. I haven't been fucked in weeks."
Ava blinked at her. "You want them inside you?"
Marcie flushed, suddenly realising what she'd said. She looked down, sheepish.
Jules said gently "you're too expensive sweetheart."
Marcie turned to her. "What?"
"You're premium-tier. Your oral is second to none. But there's a further surcharge to fuck you. It's hefty."
Ava pulled her blanket tighter. Marcie sat slowly on the edge of her own bed, her whore lips slightly parted. No one said anything.
While Ava drifted off to sleep, or pretended to, Marcie thought about their situations. She knew her social skills were a little weak. Probably that's why she was here, she thought wryly. But now even she realised that Ava was being fucked to be broken. Of all of them, Ava clung to heterosexuality, but she couldn't zone out while her body was being invaded. Her clients were regular, kind, firm, and always, always fucked her. Maybe they were enjoying being part of breaking her. She had been denied orgasm for so long, and she had begun to fall under the erotic spell of her sexy lingerie, her exquisite make up, the expensive perfumes. It had only been a matter time before she involuntarily lost control. Today was the first time. It wouldn't be the last.
But why didn't they let Marcie be fucked? Marcie liked it. That was the problem, she realised. Penetration made her blush, made her whimper, made her happy. That couldn't be allowed. So they dressed her, painted her, gave her these astonishing cock-sucking lips, and turned her into something beautiful that sucked orgasms beautifully out of her clients. But never came herself.
The realisation hit her with a flash of heat.
They weren't training her. They were just being cruel. As was their right. She was just a slave.
Her thighs twitched. With a shock she realised she was getting off on being denied.
God help her, she was rock hard.
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