Lawless

A private lender collects on an unpaid debt. As collateral, he claims a woman who's been put through a deep training program for total obedience. Very dark content rating, 5k words.

Content Warnings/Tags: human trafficking; implied/referenced brainwashing; murder (of an antagonist) (not sexualized); implied/referenced physical abuse; objectifying and degrading language; nonconsensual dosing with aphrodisiacs; general inability to meaningfully give consent.

There's a lot of the old city left under New Boston. You know that if you've ever visited--it's in all the tourism brochures: guided walks down through the old architecture, boat-rides on the Charles River to look at the half-sunken remains. There're even scuba tours of an old skyscraper, one of the ones that's still pretty stable.

Those are the family-friendly parts of the old city. There's a lot more to it. Most of it's a death trap--crumbling ruins that will drop you down into water full of rusted scrap metal, occupied by eel and bluefish that've gotten fat on the remains of dumbass urban explorers that didn't make it out.

There are some parts, though, that are dry and stable. Not maintained by anyone, but still safe enough to walk, if you know what you're doing. The kind of places that people go when they want to avoid the eyes of the law.

Those are some of my favorite places to conduct business.

The old hotel on Rowes Wharf, in particular, is one of my favorite meeting spots. The building has a certain air to it: the crumbling majesty of the old brickwork, the thundering sound of water rushing through the tunnel. Only one of the two wings is really safe to use, and only in the upper levels, but it's nice and secluded. Not many people know how to get down there, and most of those that do know to stay away if they don't have a good reason to be there.

This time, I'm there to meet with this dipshit who calls himself Niko. That's not his name, and the fake Russian accent he puts on for me is terrible, but it's funny enough that I haven't called him on it yet. His real voice is probably just as annoying.

Niko owes me money. A lot of people owe me money, actually--I'm a sort free market lender, extending personal credit to folks who can't borrow from the typical institutions. You could say I'm sort of a philanthropist that way. An investor in the local community. I'm really reasonable about repayments, too, so long as I don't think you're jerking me around.

Niko is definitely jerking me around.

When I lent him the money, he put it to me like he was buying something that he could move quickly. He never said exactly what--product, he called it, said it was a discount purchase opportunity, that someone was liquidating assets. I assumed party drugs, because Niko looks like the kind of guy you'd see selling in the alley behind a club.

I gave him a month to pay me back with interest. It's been three, and I've got nothing to show for it. The market's not right, Niko keeps saying. Connections fell through. He'll get me the money, he tells me.

Sure. Like I said, I'm reasonable--up to a point. So here I am, again, ready to hear more of his excuses and give him another reminder of the late fees he's wracking up in my ledger.

He's always come to all of our prior meetings alone, so I'm a little surprised this time when he shows up with a girl.

Now, don't mistake me. I don't mean to say that this girl is underage. She's fully grown, maybe in her late thirties, if I were to guess by looking at her. I call her a girl because she's clearly not allowed to go wandering around on her own: Niko's got her on the end of a leash, and the collar around her neck isn't meant to come off. There's no latch.

It's pretty obvious what she is. Like I said, the old city is a lawless place, and "Niko" is the kind of guy that likes to think he thrives in that kind of environment.

Other than the collar, she's just wearing lingerie--and sneakers, thank God, because the Wharf is no place to go walking around barefoot, but it does make for a funny combination. She doesn't look at me, or speak to me. There are some nasty bruises on her arms and her face.

Niko doesn't introduce her, acts like she's not even there, so I follow his cue and ignore her at first. It gets harder as the conversation goes on, though; I'm irritated with Niko, and much more interested in her, and she's kind of squirming. She's crouched down next to Niko's feet, and she keeps shifting her weight and wobbling a little.

And I'm curious why Niko brought her along this time. Maybe he thinks I'll be nicer with her around, to not scare her? I've heard I have a reputation as being a soft touch with women. I don't think most of the women I know personally would agree--but maybe compared to what Niko's been doing to this one, I qualify.

Eventually, I interrupt Niko's repeated assurances that he'll get me the money next week to point out, "Your girl seems uncomfortable."

She cringes a little when I gesture to her.

Niko laughs. "Oh, yeah. Slipped her an aphrodisiac this morning, I'm sure she's feeling it by now."

"One of the synthetics?" I ask, and he nods again, giving me a rat-face grin. Those are hardcore, the synthetic aphrodisiacs; some people take them for fun, but I can't stomach it, myself. Certainly can't imagine being forced to take one. "Why, you want her to get off when you fuck her?"

"Fuck no." His grin twists into something meaner, and he pulls the leash short, tugging sharply at her collar. "She knows better than that. She's trained to hold it. Can't come without permission."

She squirms again, her hips twisting a little when he says the word come.

This gets me intrigued. "Not at all? Did she go through complete obedience training?"

"You bet. She doesn't squirt without permission, either, even on the synths. I put a vibrator up in her once and left it until the battery ran out--half cooked her brains, she didn't say a word for days, but it didn't break her training." He tugs at the leash again, making her wobble; she looks up at him, her eyes big and dark and imploring, tears already gathering at the edges. I wonder how hard it is on her, crouching there and trying to keep still and quiet when her insides must be burning with need. "She's just a cocksleeve, and cocksleeves don't come. Isn't that right, slut?"

"Y-yes sir," she stammers out, her voice breathy and feverish. She's got a bit of a lisp, and I see it's because she's got two tongue piercings--studs, presumably to provide more pleasure to whoever's using her mouth.

"Say it," he instructs, tugging harder at the leash, nearly unbalancing her.

She whimpers, and then starts to hiccough her way through the words: "C-cocksleeves--cocksleeves d-don't--"

It's taking her a while to get through the sentence, and I've seen enough. I don't wait for her to finish--though I guess she's probably used to that.

I put one hand on Niko's left, where he's holding the end of the leash. The other goes to his shoulder, gripping a little too tight to be friendly, even as I smile at him. "How much does a girl like that cost, eh? Complete obedience training--that's pretty expensive, isn't it?"

"Huh?" Niko's confused, but still smiling. Not totally sure what's happening. He's not very bright, this guy.

"Did you spend my money on this girl, Niko?"

He's looking alarmed now, probably because I'm squeezing his left hand pretty hard, twisting the leash away from him. "I, uh--listen, I've got this plan, renting her out--"

"Good plan. How's it working out for you?"

"I just gotta, um, gotta figure some things--" his voice cracks when I crowd closer to him, forcing him to take a step backwards, closer to the window at his back. All the glass was knocked out of that window a long time ago; it's just a big open space, nothing between us and the open darkness beyond, the water roaring through the tunnel below. "--Wait, okay, listen, do you want her? She is, she's worth a lot, you can take her!"

"Yeah, I think I will. Thanks."

He looks relieved for a moment, and he lets go of the leash.

I smile at him, and then give him a solid shove with my shoulder, sending him tumbling out the window.

The sound of his impact is not a splash. There are some places in the old city that are good for that sort of thing, urban cliff-diving, but not the Wharf; there's a lot of old brick architecture between you and the water.

The girl stares at the spot where Niko was. She turns her head, slowly, to stare at the window, and then starts to stand up. Her legs are shaking a lot--maybe from the aphrodisiac, maybe also from crouching in one spot for so long.

"Ah-ah," I tell her, cupping a hand under her arm to draw her up and away from the window. "You don't wanna look out there." Most parts of the old city are pretty dark, even during the day, but the Wharf is near enough to the edge of the New Boston infrastructure to let in some light. Enough to see by, sometimes, and I don't think she needs to see what's left of Niko.

Though she's probably seen worse. I don't know what happens in those blackmarket training facilities, what they do to the ones who don't come out right, but it can't be anything good.

She's quivering as I reel in her leash, her body trembling when I tuck her against my side. She doesn't resist--but then, she's probably been trained pretty well not to.

"Are you scared?" I ask her.

She just blinks up at me and swallows, looking a little confused by the question. Maybe it's not a fair one to ask; the total obedience training, it can interfere with inconvenient emotions like fear.

And the aphrodisiacs are probably messing with her, too. I have no idea how strong of a dose Niko gave her, or what strain, but she's clearly pretty badly affected: now that she's standing, I can see that her lacy panties are soaking through, the insides of her thighs slick and wet.

"You're alright," I tell her, instead of asking again. "I'm not gonna kill you. Understand?"

She gives a jerky nod, and does seem to relax a little--just for a second. When my fingers brush along her hip, she twitches, sucking in a quick breath of air.

"You're trained the way he said? Total obedience?" I ask, because it occurs to me just then that Niko could've been lying. She might be some woman he just picked up off the street and dosed, maybe too drugged or too in shock to make a run for it.

But she nods again. "Y-yes, sir."

"You know how much he spent on you?" I ask. She shakes her head. "No? That's alright. You're gonna be a good girl and help me make my money back, right?"

"Yes, sir."

I stick my hand between her legs then, and she lets out a choked yelp. She's a complete mess down there: panties sopping wet, her crotch fever-hot.

At first I think her clit is so swollen that I can feel it through the fabric, but then I pull the lingerie aside and realize that what I'm feeling is actually a piercing: a little metal ball resting on top of her clit. She whimpers pathetically when I spin it between my fingers. I can't quite find her clit underneath, it's one of those little ones, but the piercing dips under the hood and must be rubbing right up against it.

"That feels good?" I ask.

She whines again, a despairing sound, and leans heavily into me like she's having trouble staying on her feet. One of her hands plucks at the hem of my jacket, nervous and uncoordinated.

"No? Does it feel bad because you can't come?"

"S-s-s-sir..."

"Niko called you a cocksleeve. Is that what you're good for, mostly? Taking cock?"

She nods, so I turn her around and push her up against the wall. She knows what I want, or maybe she's just acting on muscle memory; she bends forward and braces herself, spreading her feet, pushing her hips back into me so firmly that she smears a wet spot onto my jeans.

"That's it." I unzip and pull out my cock, pressing it against the wet silk of her panties.

She twitches and mewls, rolling her hips back, grinding against me. Eager to service me, regardless of how frustrating it must feel for her.

"There you go, sweetheart. You know just what to do, eh? Hey, are you spayed?"

"Y-yes, sir."

I'm only half hard to start with, but the soft, hot slide of her silk-clad cleft gets me the rest of the way there fast enough. It helps that she keeps making those cute little noises, whining and gasping like she's so desperate for it that she's in pain.

She probably is. I don't really know how aphrodisiacs would interact with her training. No idea when she was last allowed release, or what effect that on its own might be having on her.

The thing with total obedience training is that it's not really the same thing as training an animal. It's not like she's choosing to hold back her orgasm because she wants to be good, or because she's afraid of the consequences.

Total obedience is something else. It's a process cooked up by one of the alphabet organizations--I heard it was originally used to train sleeper agents and spies, but who really knows? The details are a guarded secret, obviously, but I've heard things. There are drugs involved, they say, to increase suggestibility; a deep hypnosis state, used to layer the training beneath the conscious mind.

The point is, she doesn't really have a choice any more about whether she can come or not. Her biology obeys the training all on its own.

It works best for stuff controlled by the nervous system. Orgasm control, for example. Emotional state. I've heard of total obedience being used to turn pain into pleasure, or vice versa. Sometimes there are commands that can be used to create pain out of nothing--just tell the nerves that they're being punished, and they feel it.

"You belong to me now," it occurs to me to say, as I pull her panties to the side again and slide two fingers through the dripping mess of her vulva. She might have some sort of built-in emotional tie to whoever owns her; maybe it's destabilizing, if she's not sure who that is right now. "I've repossessed you from Niko. You understand? Who do you belong to?"

"To you--sir--sir-r-r--"

She stops talking so good once I get my fingers inside her.

Her g-spot is swollen up properly: a hot, throbbing little lump, so hard that I'd be a little worried if I didn't know already about the synthetic aphrodisiac in her system. When I rub over it, she trembles like a leaf, muscles inside tensing up as her body fights with itself, the unstoppable force of her needs running up against the immovable object of her training.

Most of the synthetics, they make women squirt a lot. Maybe that's why she's so miserable; she's probably full up, ready to bust. I don't know what that would feel like for a woman, but I can imagine it could hurt.

I'm feeling kind of sorry for her. She's clearly had a rough go of it, belonging to that nasty rat Niko, and who the hell knows what her life was like before she fell into his hands.

"No coming, but you can go ahead and squirt," I decide, still rubbing firmly over her poor g-spot, rotating my hand to cup her slit and shield myself a bit.

"Uh--!" she grunts, shocked and almost pained--and then lets out a serious of frantic hiccoughs as fluid immediately gushes out of her violently, flooding her panties in a hot rush.

She's choking back most of the sounds, sounds like she's nearly strangling herself to do it, and it occurs to me that maybe that's part of her training, too. "You don't have to be quiet. Make as much noise as you want."

"AHH! OH OH OH OH OH--!" her voice immediately off the empty bricks around us, her chest heaving as she gasps in air and then squeals it out again. Her cunt contracts hard on my fingers and she releases more fluid than I think a woman should be healthily storing up in there. It's running down her legs, dripping to the floor in a puddle, and I can feel from how her muscles move around me--can hear in the desperate pitch of the sobbing cries she's letting out--that her body wants to be coming at the same time.

"Shh-shh," I soothe her, pulling my fingers out and rubbing her thigh as I line up my cock with her twitching cunt. "That's it. No coming, now, but you can squirt whenever you feel like it, alright? Just a messy, desperate little cocksleeve, hmm? Scream all you want for me."

I don't bother with slow and gentle; obviously, she can take it. I just slam in to the hilt. The sound of our skin meeting is obscenely wet, punctuated by her noisy sobs and yelps, the audible splatter of fluid on the floor as she squirts again.

Her insides are doing something nice to my cock, clenching and clutching at it. Maybe that's part of the training, or maybe it's just her body warring with itself, struggling not to orgasm with each violent squirt.

It's good, whatever it is. The kind of fuck that men will pay good money for, if you know the right places to rent out a girl like that. Niko clearly didn't; the man wasn't exactly flush with connections.

"That's it," I murmur, because her wailing and sobbing is growing more raw now. "Just feel it, sweetheart. You're doing so good. Does it feel good, getting to squirt all you need to?" She nods vigorously. "Does it hurt, not coming?" She keeps nodding. "Yeah, that's right. Good girl. You are good at taking it. Tell me what you are again?"

"A c-c-cocksleeve, s-sir!"

"That's right. Making my cock feel just right," I praise her.

I slip a hand down the front of her soaked panties, squeezing gently over the mound of flesh that hides her clit, grinding the ball piercing down into the sensitive flesh; she lets out a broken bleating sound, hoarse and animalistic.

"Niko mentioned cooking your brains. Is that true? You need to come so bad that it's turning you stupid?"

She lets out another despairing wail, and then stammers, "wh-whatever--whatever y-you say, s-s-s-sir, oh, oh, oh--"

"Are you not allowed to say you need to come?" I wonder, squeezing again. I'm being mean about it, a little too much pressure, but I don't get the feeling that it's the pain she's upset about. "Can you tell me? How bad do you need it right now, on a scale of one to ten?"

"C-c-c-c-cocksleeves don't need--don't need t-to come, sir!" she cries.

"No?" I flutter my fingers against the metal ball marking her clit, grinding my cock hard inside her, so that she pants and wails. "Let's pretend you're a woman, then, instead of a cocksleeve. How about that? If you were a real girl, would you need to come real bad right now?"

It seems to take her a moment to process this. Maybe it's confusing because of her training; maybe it's just that I haven't stopped moving my fingers.

When she does, though, the words flood out of her, pressurized, with the same violence as her squirting: "YES SIR YES I NEED IT I NEED IT I NEED IT--"

"There we go. That's what I thought. What a good girl," I assure her, gripping tight at her crotch again, grinding the piercing against her as I pick up the pace again. "Is it fucking up your head? Making it hard to think?"

"Yes sir, ye-es--" Her words are punctuated with a heavy groan as my cock drags over her g-spot and she's forced to, once again, squirt without climax. She's mostly empty at the moment, so it's more of a vicious internal squeezing than anything else, only a little fluid dribbling out.

I hum. "That's okay. You don't have to do much thinking with me, alright? I'll tell you exactly what you need to do." I roll my fingers over her crotch, then catch the piercing between my fingers. I'm fucking her hard and fast now, and each jolting impact moves her, tugging the little ball against my grip. "What do you say to that, sweetheart? I'd like to hear a little gratitude for how nice I'll be treating you."

She whines and squeals, trembling in my grip, and then slurs out, "s-sorry, sorry sir, sorry, thank you, th-thank you for--for telling me--telling me what t-to do--"

"That's right. That's what you really need. Brainless cocksleeves need to be told what to do, isn't that right?"

"Yes sir yes yes yes--"

"Good girl. Fuck. I'm gonna come now," I inform her, and then I do, hard and dirty and deep inside her.

She chokes out a shout, shaking under me, like being the receptacle of my satisfaction is a new torment for her--or maybe that's just because my hand is gripping so tight at her crotch, grinding that little piercing down mercilessly against her clit. Her cunt squeezes and pulses around me, milking my cock as she struggles through another no-doubt hellish and unsatisfying squirt of her own.

"Alright," I murmur once I finish, petting her hip soothingly. "Alright. Good girl, you did really well. That's enough squirting now, I can't have you making a mess the whole walk home."

She whimpers out a little hurt sound, her hips jolting and her cunt giving another uncertain squeeze around me--and then she whimpers again when I pull out, dragging intentionally against her g-spot as I do. It's still swollen and desperate, pulsing for release.

A normal dose of aphrodisiac can last for hours; even if she had gotten to come, it wouldn't have been a long-lasting relief. Could be there's something in her training to keep her aroused all the time, too, even without drugs. I won't know for sure until the synths wear off.

"Good girl," I tell her again, petting down her spine and massaging her hips, which are still canted up, still offering her hot, needy pussy. I slip a couple of fingers inside and swirl around in the wet mess of our mixed fluids, massage her g-spot, rub my thumb up over her slit and the little ball connected to her clit. Her fingers flex and claw at the brick, her knees suddenly wobbling. "Oh, look at that. You having trouble staying on your feet?"

"Y-yes," she gasps out, almost a sob. "Sorry, sir, 'm sorry, guh--"

I pull her in close, letting her grab onto me as I tug her panties back into place--not that they're doing much for her modesty: the fabric is so soaked that it clings to every curve of her vulva, dripping with filth. She wobbles like a baby deer when I start walking her towards the stairs, her eyes wide and doe-like.

"Bambi," I decide, looking down at her. "What do you think of that, eh? For your name."

She blinks up at me, confused and hazy, her eyebrows pinched together in a pathetic reflection of her unrelieved suffering. "Th... thank you, sir."

"My Bambi. You're going to work hard for me, aren't you? Make back all my money that Niko spent."

"Yes, s-sir."

I support her all the way up to the lower levels of New Boston. It's fine, she doesn't weigh all that much.

On the streets proper, we run into a man who offers fifty bucks to fuck her. It's not what she's worth, but it's not like I'm gonna bring her out anywhere else tonight, so I take it; money's money.

He's drunk. Doesn't even seem to notice that she's already dripping with my come, doesn't seem to care that her cries grow more desperate and pained as he rides against her swollen g-spot, forcing her aphrodisiac-charged body to build up squirt with no permission to release it.

I get to watch her face this time. I get to see how her eyes roll back unseeing in her head, how her mouth gapes open so she can gulp air in and wail it out again. She looks barely cognizant, like she's one firm touch away from blacking out--but that's something they usually fix with the total obedience training. If you just want to fuck someone unconscious, there are cheaper ways to do it.

She whines sadly when he pulls out, her hips hitching and rolling like her body wants nothing more than to keep going, to keep being tormented with what it can't have.

Yeah, I'll make my money back on Bambi for sure.

Dress her up right, bring her to the right parties, she'll be a hit. Plenty of men out there who will pay a pretty penny for a woman to ride his cock like she's about to die without it. The aphrodisiacs would be an expense, of course, but I suspect she'll perform fine without them. I don't mind spending my time on a bit of teasing--could even buy a little bullet vibe to slip inside her or rub over that piercing when I need to get her ready.

It might take a year or two, though, earning back what I'm owed. Not just what I gave to Niko, but the profit, too--I won't settle for less. That's just bad business.

And I'm no fool. I know I can get sentimental. I'm already a little attached to her, truth be told. Otherwise I'd be planning to keep her for half the time, and make back the rest on selling her. Or I could lend her on rent to a brothel--lower profits, but no up-keep or effort for me.

I don't like that idea at all, and that's how I know I'm already locked in.

I'll keep her. And once she earns my money back, she can be mine alone: her sweet, pleading cries just for me, her body needy and willing and waiting in my bed.

Some day, I'll probably even let her come. It'll be a sight to see, for sure, all of that pent-up need letting loose.

Not until I get my money, though.

I decide to be transparent about all of this with her. It's hard to tell how much is getting through to her right now, or how much mental capacity she's got left in general, so it seems like a good idea to be open with her, so she doesn't go drawing her own addled conclusions. But I also don't want to overwhelm her with too much at once.

I get her home first, up to my apartment in New Downtown, get her cleaned up. I fuck her one more time in the shower, after I get her cleaned out: watching her suffer under that other man's gotten me a bit randy again, and I like how she is now, all worn out and soft and still shaking for it, still riding the burning need of the synths.

It takes me longer to come this time, and she whimpers and cries through it, even though I leave her clit piercing alone. I tell her to quiet down again, to not wake my neighbors, and her noises turn pitiful and choked.

Only once I'm already finished do I think that it would've been a good time to give her permission to squirt again, since we were in the shower and all. Oh well.

After all that, as I'm tucking her into bed beside me, I tell her: "You'll get to come eventually, honey, don't you worry. A couple of years, maybe."

She immediately starts to squirm, gasping quietly as she humps into the bedsheets, like just the thought of a future orgasm is doing something awful to her. "Sir..."

"Shh-shh." I slip two fingers into her, let her ride down onto them, push against her swollen g-spot. "You're alright. It's nice, belonging to me, isn't it? Haven't hit you yet, have I?"

"No, sir... th-thank you..." Her voice is thin and thready, cracking on her desperation.

I lean in to kiss her cheek, then scrape my teeth over her jaw, pulling another gasp from her. When I take my fingers away, she whines. "You'll be fine. Good girl like you, there's no need to knock you around. Niko was just an idiot." I give her an affectionate pat on her still-rocking hips. "Go to sleep now."

"Y-yes, sir," she whispers.

I fall asleep like that, cozy and sated, with my new acquisition trembling in desperation beside me.

The aphrodisiacs will wear off by the morning. Probably.

***THE END***