u/honeyblue24

I’m a straight-A junior at a big state university. By day I’m the girl in the front row of lecture hall B, notes perfectly organized, ponytail swinging, answering every question like the overachiever I pretend to be.

By night… I’m his toy.

It started three months ago, right after midterms. I was stressed, horny, and stupidly scrolling through a discreet kink app on my phone at 2 a.m. in my dorm. One message from him calm, direct, no emojis and something in me clicked. “You don’t need to think tonight. Just answer honestly: when was the last time you felt completely owned?”

I answered. Then I kept answering. For two weeks it was just texts. Rules. Tasks.
“Send me a photo of your panties after your 9 a.m. class. No touching yourself until I say.”
“Edge for fifteen minutes in the library bathroom, then send me the video of how wet you are.”

I told myself it was just fun. Just fantasy.

Then he told me to meet him.

He’s thirty-one, works in the city, and has this quiet, terrifying calm that makes my knees weak before he even touches me. The first night he didn’t fuck me. He made me strip in his living room, kneel on the hardwood, and repeat after him:

“I am not a smart college girl tonight. I am an obedient toy. My only purpose is to please you.”

I was shaking. My pussy was dripping down my thighs onto his floor and he just watched me, sipping his drink, completely in control.

That was the beginning of my training.

Every weekend I drive to his apartment after my last Friday class. The second I step inside the door I have to strip, fold my clothes neatly, and crawl to him on all fours. He puts my collar on soft black leather with a little silver ring and suddenly the girl who aced organic chemistry disappears. I become nothing but wet, eager, desperate holes for him to use and train.

He’s patient. Cruelly patient.

He spent an entire evening teaching me exactly how he wants me to suck his cock: slow, deep, eyes locked on his, no hands, throat relaxed like the good little toy I’m learning to be. Every time I gagged he’d pull back, stroke my cheek, and say, “Breathe through your nose, baby. Toys don’t panic. Toys take it.”

I came untouched that night just from the praise in his voice.

He’s trained my orgasms now. I don’t get to come unless he says the word. Last weekend he tied me spread-eagle on his bed, put the Hitachi on low against my clit, and left me there while he watched a soccer game. Every time I got close I had to beg out loud:

“Please, Sir, your toy needs to come. Please let your stupid little college slut come.”

He made me wait until the final whistle. I was sobbing, hips jerking, drooling around the gag he’d slipped between my teeth. When he finally said “Come,” I screamed so loud the neighbors probably heard.

He’s teaching me to hold positions. To wait. To thank him after every slap, every denied orgasm, every time he uses my throat like a fleshlight and leaves me gasping on the floor.

Last night was the moment it really hit me.

I was on my knees in front of his couch, wrists cuffed behind me, his cock resting heavy on my tongue while he scrolled through his phone. Not even using me just keeping me there, warm and wet and perfectly still. My mind was completely blank. No assignments. No exams. No pressure. Just the taste of him and the quiet certainty that I existed for his pleasure.

He looked down, brushed my hair back, and murmured, “Look at you. My perfect little toy. You used to be such a stressed-out good girl… now you’re so much happier like this, aren’t you?”

I couldn’t speak with my mouth full, so I just nodded frantically, tears of pure relief spilling down my cheeks.

He smiled like he already knew the answer.

I don’t know how long this secret will last. I graduate in a year and a half. But right now, every single weekend, I’m exactly what he’s trained me to be:

His obedient toy.

And I’ve never felt more free.

I had been chatting with him for months. Dark, filthy messages where I confessed my deepest fantasy: to be taken. Not asked. Not seduced. Kidnapped. Used like I was nothing but a toy for his pleasure. He always ended with the same warning: “Be careful what you wish for, little girl. Once I have you, there’s no safe word that will save you from what I want.”

I thought it was just talk.

Last night, I was walking home from the bar, a little tipsy, heels clicking on the quiet sidewalk. Headphones in, scrolling through our last conversation where I’d begged him to make it real someday. I never heard the van.

A strong arm wrapped around my waist from behind, a gloved hand clamping over my mouth before I could scream. My phone hit the ground. I thrashed hard, heart slamming in my chest, but he was so much bigger. He lifted me off my feet like I weighed nothing and shoved me into the back of the van.

“Shhh, princess. You’re mine now,” he growled against my ear, his voice exactly like in the voice notes that made me soak my panties every time.

I tried to fight. Really tried. Nails scratching, legs kicking, muffled screams into his palm. He pinned me face-down on the rough carpet, zip-ties my wrists behind my back so tight it hurt, then did the same to my ankles. A thick black cloth hood went over my head, plunging me into darkness. The engine roared and we were moving.

The drive felt endless. Every bump made my bound body slide. I could hear him breathing, calm and controlled while I whimpered and begged through the hood. “Please… let me go… this isn’t funny anymore…”

He just laughed low. “You wanted the fantasy, slut. Now you’re living it.”

When the van finally stopped, he dragged me out like a piece of meat. Cold night air hit my skin as he carried me inside somewhere a house? A basement? I couldn’t tell. He threw me onto a mattress. The hood came off and I blinked in the dim red light.

He was masked, tall, dressed in black. His eyes were hungry.

I was still in my short dress, now hiked up around my hips. He didn’t waste time. Ropes replaced the zip-ties thick, coarse hemp that bit into my wrists and ankles as he spread me wide on the bed in a tight hogtie. My back arched painfully, tits pushed out, pussy completely exposed.

“Look at you,” he murmured, running a rough hand up my thigh. “So young. So fucking wet already. Your body knows what your mind is scared of.”

I shook my head, tears pricking my eyes even as my clit throbbed. “No… please… I changed my mind…”

He slapped my face not hard enough to bruise, but enough to sting. “Too late.”

He ripped my panties off and shoved them into my mouth, then wrapped duct tape around my head to gag me properly. Two thick fingers plunged into my dripping cunt without warning, curling hard against my g-spot while his thumb ground on my clit. I screamed into the gag, hips bucking involuntarily.

He finger-fucked me brutally until my legs shook, bringing me right to the edge… then stopped. Over and over. Edging me until I was sobbing and humping the air like a desperate whore.

When he finally pulled his cock out thick, veined, already leaking he didn’t ask. He just slammed into me in one brutal thrust, stretching me wide. The ropes creaked as he fucked me hard, one hand around my throat, the other pinching my nipples until I cried.

“You’re not a person anymore,” he growled between thrusts. “You’re my kidnapped little fucktoy. I’m going to use every hole until you break.”

He flipped me, still bound, and took my ass next rough, no mercy, spitting on his cock for the only lube. The pain mixed with pleasure until I came so hard I saw stars, squirting around him while he laughed and called me his pathetic, dripping slut.

He used me for hours. Came deep inside my pussy, then my throat, then made me clean his cock while still tied. When he finally untied my legs (but left my wrists bound), he chained a heavy collar around my neck and locked it to the headboard.

“Welcome home, babygirl,” he whispered, stroking my tear-streaked cheek as I lay there trembling and leaking his cum. “This is just night one. You’re never going back to your old life.”

And deep down… even through the fear… I knew I didn’t want to.