WARNING: This is a violent and graphic story containing a non-consent sexual encounter. It is fiction, meant for entertainment, not meant to be acted out in real life. Consent in real life sexual encounters is absolutely vital.

Contains: NC, Dom/brat, stepfather/stepdaughter, restraint, virgin, rough, anal, spanking, triple penetration, violence, force.

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My new stepfather is pathetic. I tell him this straight to his face.

"Brett, you are pathetic," I sneer.

A flicker of anger flashes across his face for the briefest moment, then it's gone.

He is hot, I'll give my mom that much.

But I've never met anyone so meek and mild and repressed.

He moved in just a few months ago, right after my 18th birthday.

Brett works days and mom works evenings, so I end up spending a lot of time alone with him.

I've been trying to figure out how to push his buttons. I don't know why I'm like this. Maybe I just like to feel in control.

I started by shamelessly flirting with him. Giggling at his terrible jokes, stroking his arm a little too intimately when I passed by. Nothing. He politely ignored it.

Next I got bolder. I'd make excuses to parade in front of him in lingerie or a not-quite-big-enough towel.

"Oh, I was just getting dressed but I really needed a drink." I'd bite my lip and bat eyelashes before I bent down to get a glass from the low cabinet in a lace thing that left nothing to the imagination.

I'd turn around and he'd be facing the other way, absorbed in the newspaper like it was most riveting thing on the goddamn planet.

I was starting to think he was a closeted gay. But that didn't track with the noises I'd hear from my mom's room late at night. She would howl and moan like he was some sex machine.

It didn't exactly track with the bland, boring Brett I saw every day.

I started to invite men over. Older men. Rough looking, tattooed, biker types. I'd time it so they'd leave just as Brett got home from work.

"Who was that, sweetie?" Brett would ask, politely.

"Oh, you know, just a friend," I'd giggle suggestively.

"He seemed nice," he'd say, without even a hint of sarcasm. Brett was just so fucking nice.

For the record, I wasn't fucking these men. Sure, I'd give hand jobs, or even the occasional blow job to appease them. I was a virgin and didn't plan to change that until I met the right guy.

This show was all for Brett. I don't know why I was so obsessed with cracking his veneer of dull domesticated man.

But I'd find a way to break him.

One morning as Brett was leaving for work, he stopped in the doorway.

"I'll be home early today, about noon, to show the landscapers around the yard," he said.

"Okay," I replied dismissively. Noon.

Mom is away this week for a business conference. It will give me time to really put the pressure on Brett. Let's see who he really is. No one could really be that nice.

Noon rolls around and I am stark naked, lounging on the couch, watching TV. This is my most outrageous stunt yet. I hear the keys in the door, hear Brett's voice talking to someone.

Brett steps inside. We make eye contact. He turns.

"Just give me a moment," he is saying to an unseen person outside. He closes the door. Eyes cast down, he grabs a coat off the rack and, holds it out to me, says, "Please, sweetie, we have company."

"It's my house," I say, bratty, standing up but ignoring the coat in his outstretched hand.

"Please," he implores. He sounds defeated but he's not yelling and he hasn't even looked up.

"Hmmph," I sigh, and stalk away towards the stairs, stomping up and slamming my bedroom door like a petulant child. Maybe this man is unbreakable.

That night, Brett calls me down for dinner. He always cooks.

"Sweetie, please, I love your mother so much," he is saying, "I really wish you could show me some respect." He sounds so whiny. "Please. I want this to work."

I say nothing. I just stare blankly at him.

"Please," he is begging, "Can we try to be a family? Can you stop this... behaviour... around me?"

I see red. How dare he try to change my behaviour in my own damn home.

"Brett, you are pathetic," I sneer.

A flicker of anger flashes across his face for the briefest moment, then it's gone.

"A boring, bland, pathetic loser," I am raging now, "I can't believe my mom settled for a spineless prick like you."

Brett's face is unreadable, a stone wall.

We eat the rest of our meal in silence.

Brett cleans the kitchen while I watch TV, and goes upstairs to his bedroom in silence.

I think I've found the button to press.

The next morning, I'm sitting at the kitchen counter drinking coffee when Brett comes downstairs.

"Sweetie, I have a surprise for you," he says. I guess he's forgiven me for last night. I light up.

"Oooh," I squeal, "Tell me!"

"I have to show you," says Brett, "But I need you to put this over your eyes." He produces a silk scarf.

I let him tie it around my eyes.

He takes my hand and is leading me through the house. A door opening. Two steps down. We're going into the garage. The smell of old engine oil mingles with sawdust. What on earth could he have for me in here?

"Bend forward," Brett says sweetly. WHAT? I hesitate.

"It's okay, sweetie, don't you trust me?" Brett croons as he strokes my hair, "Please, it's me, just trust me. It's part of the surprise."

I'm frozen. What the fuck is going on? I am wracking my brain for any possible thing he could surprise me with that requires me to bend forward. But... This is Brett. Boring, dull, mild-mannered, weak, pathetic Brett. I've shamelessly paraded myself in front of him for months and he never even seemed to look.

I start to bend forward. His hand is between my shoulder blades, guiding me.

"Legs straight, that's it, slowly does it," he guides.

My chest and abdomen make contact with something hard and rough.

"Good girl," Brett is cooing, "Very good girl."

This is not right.

I'm about to tear off the blindfold and stand up when something tightens around my waist.

"What..." I start as my hands instinctively go to grab at the strap now pinning me at the middle.

Brett catches both of my wrists and pulls them downwards. Two quick clicks and I am locked in place.

"What the actual fuck, Brett?" I am demanding, "Let me go. LET ME GO!"

This has gone too far. I struggle against the cold metal that traps my wrists but it's futile.

I open my mouth to scream and cold hard metal is suddenly against my cheeks, inside my mouth, forcing it to stay wide open. Cloth is crammed into my mouth, it tastes dirty and metallic and like... engine oil? I gag at the taste. I think it's a dirty old cloth from the work bench.

I'm fighting with my feet now, kicking out wildly. He catches them both easily. He wrestles them downwards and I hear two clicks again as they are locked into place.

I am totally immobilized. Blind. Gagged. At Brett's mercy.

"Sweetie," whispers Brett with a sneer I've never heard in his voice, "I'm not sure you are going to like your surprise very much."

I'm trying not to panic. This is Brett. He's not going to do anything. He's just trying to scare me.

Suddenly, the blindfold is pulled away and I blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the harsh fluorescent lighting.

I take stock of my position. I'm strapped to a wood beam. A saw horse with metal legs. I can see my hands locked into metal cuffs which are welded onto the legs. My feet must be the same. I can't see what is around my abdomen but it feels rough - maybe velcro? My feet are only just touching the floor, stretched into place by the bindings. My chin rests uncomfortably on the wood beam near one end, and I can feel the rough edge off the beam pressing into my skin just above my pussy. I am utterly vulnerable.

Brett steps into view.

"Admiring my handywork, I see," he says jokingly, "I built it for your mother. She's a freak you know."

He leans down right in front of my face and winks.

"But you, sweetie. You are a brat," he turns away to the work bench behind him and returns holding up some large scissors. "A spoilt little brat. And brats," he continues, "Well, brats need to be broken and trained."

He is cutting my pajamas off and tearing away the shreds of fabric. The rough wood beam is directly against my skin now and I can already feel the splinters working into my skin.

I am crying now, tears and snot streaming down my face. I am begging too but the cloth and the mouth spread are making words impossible.

He is back at the workbench now and I can't quite see what he has there.

"Your mother and I, we have quite the collection of gear," he is saying, "More toys than you could even imagine."

He turns and my eyes bulge with shock. He's holding a short, thick dildo and a roll of duct tape.

"This is for you throat," he says, matter-of-factly.

I try to turn my head away from him. He pins my face down, cheek to wood beam, with a firm hand pressed on my other cheek. He pulls out the cloth and I briefly manage a scream before I'm gagging on the thick dildo being forced into my mouth, down my throat. The flaired base reaches the edges of my gaged mouth. He tears off duct tape with his teeth and spreads it over the top, sealing my mouth and holding the dildo in place. More strips of duct tape. Then one all the way around my head.

Satisfied that it is secured, Brett lets my head go.

I am really crying now, partly from the humiliation and partly from choking on the dildo. I'm swallowing and trying to relax my throat, like I do when I give blowjobs.

"Good girl, just like your mom," Brett is petting my hair, "She really knows how to take a cock to the throat!" He laughs. I knew he was repressed, but holy fuck! This man is depraved.

He's back at the bench and I'm terrified about what he'll turn around with.

My terror is justified.

He turns back with a butt plug the size of his fist. He laughs at my wide-eyed, mute protest.

"Oh, don't worry, sweetie, this isn't for your asshole," he waves it in front of my face, "My cock will go there. This is to fill up your pussy."

He is walking around behind me.

"Shouldn't be too much trouble for you, with all those rough old guys you fuck," his voice is menacing, "I've been meaning to ask, do they pay for it?"

I tense as the tip of the plug touches my pussy. I'm screaming in my mind, "No! Please! I'm a virgin!" but I can't say anything. I feel the pressure as the tip of the toy works between my pussy lips and presses against my opening.

"Wow, you are tight!" Brett sounds surprised and increases the pressure, "God, I might actually need to lube it." He keeps pushing anyway.

Brett is twisting the toy side to side as it slowly stretches out my virgin pussy. I'm shaking with the force of my sobs. My pussy feels like its being ripped in half. Suddenly, with an agonizing, searing pain, my hymen must tear. The resistance breaks and the plug slams forward, deep into my pussy. The tip slams into my cervix and a deep, guttural noise rips through my throat as the pain becomes unbearable.

Brett is gripping the base of the toy still, twisting it from side to side.

"Wait," he says, "You're bleeding." My sobs are wracking my whole body.

"Ha! This bratty little slut was all talk and no action, I suppose," Brett laughs. He slams both his hands down on my ass cheeks, spanking them hard. "Here I was thinking I'd be fucking a loose, used up whore!"

My pussy is throbbing with pain and I'm still fighting every moment to keep from gagging on the dildo in my throat. Regret courses through me as I think of all the ways I've taunted and flirted and humiliated Brett. I want to break him and it seems like I well and truly have.

His thumb massaging my tight asshole snaps me from my pity party.

"I guess you've never had anything in this tiny hole then, either," he taunts, "Oh boy, this is going to hurt. You and me both! I planned this thinking you'd be well stretched, you see."

His finger is still circling my asshole, pressing into it just to test the resistance, but not enough to penetrate. In different circumstance, it would actually feel good, but I'm too scared and ashamed to be turned on.

Suddenly, something warm and wet replaces the thumb and my face turns deep red as I realise it's his tongue. Brett is rimming me, and somehow it is the most humiliating thing he has done to me so far.

The pain in my pussy has reduced to a dull throb and an intense feeling of fullness. My open throat is still fighting the gag reflex. But the tongue on my asshole is all I can think about and a fresh wave of shame rolls through me as I realise it feel... good. Oh god, I'm being brutalized by my stepfather and it is feeling good.

The tongue is probing deeper now, entering my tight hole in slow thrusts. It's intoxicating. Two fingers have found their way to my clit and are rubbing and pinching it in rhythm with the tongue. I'm crying with shame as I find myself grinding into it. The fullness of my pussy and the fingers on my clit and the tongue exploring my asshole are too much, I can't fight it.

This sick bastard is going to make me cum.

My moans are coming out as strangled grunts around my dildo gag as Brett picks up the pace. I'm feverish for more as I grind and buck into his assault. I feel my orgasm building and I'm desperate for it. Suddenly, the tongue and the fingers are gone. I'm left pathetically grinding the air and groaning. Shame washes over me again.

"I knew you were a filthy little slut," Brett says icily. He is in front of me again. He takes off his shirt. Then undoes his belt. I can see his cock tenting his boxer shorts. Then drops the shorts and I see it; the reason why my mom screams so much. He has a massive cock. It's long, maybe 8 inches. But it is also thick. Thick like a coke can. My eyes bulge again. There is no way that is going in my asshole.

He sees my eyes and strokes himself, laughs at me, "Yeah, it's quite something, isn't it?"

He walks up closer so his monster cock is right in front of my face.

"I hope you enjoyed that rim job," he growls, "It's all the lube you'll be getting."

And just like that, I am sobbing again. Brett is sick. Evil. Depraved. He can't possibly do this to me. It was just some teasing. I don't deserve this.

He's turned back to the workbench. Reaches for something. Changes his mind.

He bends down and grabs his pants from the floor, slides the brown leather belt out of them. I watch as he grasps the buckle, wraps the belt once around his hand, tucks the loos end into his fist. He cracks the doubled over strap across his hand, testing it. He has clearly done this before. I am shivering all over.

He walks slowly around me. The is a still, silent pause and the suspense is killing me.

CRACK, the belt makes contact over my ass and my skin is on fire. The again, and again, and again. Deep, shuddering sobs are ripping through me. The I hear Brett hock up saliva, and the warm wet fluid hits my asshole. This is it.

The head of his cock is rubbing around my asshole, spreading his spit. He finds his target and starts to press. I am resisting him, squeezing my sphincter so tight and praying to a God I don't believe in that he just quits.

CRACK, the belt across my upper back jolts my focus and the head of his cock starts to spread my hole.

"Quit fighting me," Brett growls menacingly, "It'll only be worse." CRACK, the belt hits my thigh and with a pop and a surge of blinding pain, the head of his cock enters me.

I'm screaming so hard that I'm hoarse, even though barely any sounds escapes. I thought the violation of my pussy was the worst pain in the world but it was nothing compared to this. I am tearing in half.

CRACK comes the whip again, around my side, it clips my tit, searing pain explodes through me and his cock drives forward a fraction more.

"Fuck your asshole is like a vice grip," Brett groans. He hocks and spits again. CRACK, this blow hits my other thigh and Brett drives forward a bit more.

"Good little brat," Brett whispers, "Halfway there." It feels like a foot of rock hard cock is already splitting me in two, how can it possibly be only halfway?

He spits again and I feel his hand spreading it down the rest of his shaft. His two hands come to my hips and claw deeply into my skin, getting grip. Brett thrusts forward powerfully while using his hands to drive my hips back into his. His cock tears through me as it drives the rest of the way in in one rapid movement. My dull, hoarse screams are grunts around the dildo and my whole body is shuddering. I am broken.

He stays there, deep inside me, and I feel the belt slide under my neck. I am too destroyed to fight, not that I could do anything to fight him anyway. The belt pulls tight against my throat. Brett holds the belt tight with one hand, choking me, and his other hand tangles into my hair, yanking my head back.

Then Brett starts to fuck me. He is pulling most of the way out and slamming back in with a violent rage. The belt choking me is making it near impossible to breath. The cock slamming into my asshole hurts so much I am begging to pass out anyway.

"You wanted this, didn't you," Brett is spitting his words at me, "You flaunted it for months, begging for it, you stupid little whore." His cock is jackhammering my tortured asshole at a frenzied pace. He unleashes all his repressed fury on my vulnerable body while I lie there unable to stop it.

I'm not even crying anymore. The tearing pain in my ass is still there but it's like my brain has shut off. I am broken, resigned to my fate. A brat who has been broken.

Brett's thrusts become somehow more violent and erratic. He seems to be pounding from all different angles, trying to hurt and stretch new parts of my insides with every thrust. He's an animal.

I knew he was repressed.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, Brett stills and groans and I feel his cock pulsing in my torn, wrecked asshole. Hot, thick cum fills my insides and then his cock slides out along with a stream of cum.

"We'll make a good girl out of you, yet," Brett is crooning near my ear.

I feel his fingers grip the base of the plug that is still lodged in my pussy and he roughly tugs it free. It hurts but I barely registers. I don't even feel like I'm human anymore.

The duct tape is being peeled away from my face and hair and again it hurts but I'm lost. I stare blankly ahead as he pulls the dildo from my throat and a stream of saliva pours from my abused throat.

"Now, sweetie, your surprise," I barely remember the premise he got me in here under. Does he actually have a gift for me? I have been such a good girl. Why has he not unchained my from these restraints?

The blindfold is being tied back around me eyes.

"A brat that acts like a free-use slut," Brett is sneering, "Will be treated like a free-use slut."

I hear a click, and the familiar sound of the garage door rolling up starts.

"Hey, guys," Brett is calling, "I have a little treat for you. You deserve a break."

The landscapers.

Whistles and laughs and the smell of sweaty, dirty men.

"Is... is this a joke?" A tentative voice.

"No fellas, she's all yours," Brett laughs, "She's a filthy slut. She loves this shit! Just keep the spreader gag in and the blindfold on."

More whistles, hoots, claps, nervous laughs.

"The rougher, the better," Brett slaps me on my abused ass and I am too ruined to even flinch.

I see Brett walking away. The door into the house opens. Closes.

And I sense the men around me, closing in.

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What did you think? Should I make this a series?

Let me know what you think in the comments ;)