The man River knew simply as ‘Owner’ strode out of his front door, a welcoming smile on his face. Approaching from the end of the front path was a curvaceous young woman with long red hair, wearing glittering green eyeshadow that matched her intense emerald irises.

“Hey look, I found Nemo,” she sniggered.

“Very funny,” he replied drily. “Find a book for anyone lately?” Rolling her eyes, Dewey, his foster sister, stepped in close and allowed him to draw her into a warm hug. “I like the eyes,” he commented. “Very Poison Ivy.”

“Thanks! I figured it was a special occasion.” She tilted her head back and smiled at him with genuine warmth. “Long time no see, and everything.”

“Too long,” he replied, kissing her on the forehead. “I’ve missed you. All of you.”

“Me too. Going it alone’s been hard - but I think it’s been good for us. Well, you and me, at least!”

Nemo gave his erstwhile ‘sister’ a lopsided smile. “I never worried about you, Dew - I knew you’d land on your feet. You were always more sensible than the others...”

“Not a high bar to clear!”

There was a nearby engine rumble, and an expensive-looking BMW rolled up nearby. Glancing over Dewey’s shoulder, Nemo recognised the driver and stepped out of the hug. “Speak of the devils...”

An androgynous, Gothic youth hopped out of the driving seat and sauntered towards their friends. “Nice wheels, Stokes,” Nemo remarked, meeting them halfway.

“Present from my sugar mummy and daddy,” Stoker replied with a small smirk. “Lovely couple. Very versatile. Might even keep ’em.”

“Showoff,” Dewey pouted, even as she embraced her foster sibling. “Where are the Tweedles?”

“Where d’you think?” They pointed a thumb carelessly over their shoulder, at their fancy car. Nemo sighed at the sight of two humanoid shapes sprawled across the back seat, the smaller figure’s head bobbing up and down between the larger one’s legs.

“Did you do that?” he tutted.

“Course not man, you know we’re immune to each other,” Stoker responded with a tut of their own. “They just haven’t met up for a while. Not as long as the rest of us, but long enough that they can’t keep it in their pants.”

Approaching the BMW, Nemo banged on the roof with his fist, earning a noise of protest from Stoker. “Hey, horny fuckers, we’re losing daylight,” he shouted out.

The silhouettes slowed to a stop, and then began scrambling upright. A second later, the remaining two members of Nemo’s family - the muscular Tranq, and the tiny, wiry Trill - climbed out of the car. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, mate,” Tranq said with a low laugh like a rumble of thunder, zipping up his flies with one hand and slapping his older ‘brother’ on the back with the other.

“Not objecting to what you’re doing, just where and when you’re doing it,” Nemo said with a long-suffering sigh. “I’m supposed to be throwing a garden party. You can get all the blowjobs you like back there.”

“That a promise?” Trill tittered, scurrying towards Nemo and puckering her lips. “C’mon, give your lil sis a kiss.”

“I’ll decline, thanks,” Nemo laughed, planting his palm on Trill’s face and shoving her aside. Laughing, she rammed her shoulder into him and began trying to wrestle him to the ground. Tranq, who could have knocked any of them flat on their backs in a second (without throwing a single punch), leaned back against the BMW and watched the friendly tussle, chuckling.

“Someone mentioned a party, right?” Dewey said pointedly, as she and Stoker wandered over to join them. Nemo ceased his scuffle with Trill and ambled back towards his house together with his foster siblings, his arms around his sisters.

“So, where are the lovely ladies?” Dewey asked as she stepped inside, the first of them to enter the house. “I expected them to be waiting to take our coats, like helpful little serving maids.”

“Nah, Nemo never goes for the obvious,” Stoker grinned. “If I know him, he’s doing something real weird with ’em.” Nemo inclined his head and smiled, acknowledging the compliment.

“Well, I can’t wait to see ’em in person,” Tranq remarked, rubbing his massive hands together in anticipation.

“Yeah, jerking off to those pictures of ’em in those degrading positions is all well and good,” Trill chuckled crudely. “Ain’t the same as fuckin’ the sluts in person, is it?”

“Obviously not,” Dewey sighed, rolling her eyes at her ‘sister’, who stuck her tongue out at her.

“Well, wait no longer,” Nemo said grandly, leading the group through the house. “The centrepieces of the party are prepared and ready for your enjoyment.”

As his foster siblings exchanged grins that were as amused by their leader’s antics as they were excited to meet his brainwashed playthings, he opened the back door and showed them the tableau he had created.

***

River was reliving a past ordeal, and enjoying it immensely.

It had all been Owner’s idea, of course. All good ideas were his. She could never have any of her own, being a useless set of holes. Any time she did come up with a vaguely inventive notion, it became his as soon as she told him - she literally gave him all her good ideas, forgetting they were hers as soon as she did so. And it turned out, when she’d proposed this punishment and immediately relinquished any claim to its conception, Owner had taken note of it after all. He’d just decided to save it for a special occasion. This party he was throwing for his friends, to show her off as his pathetic, powerless pet, seemed to qualify.

Now, just as she’d self-destructively suggested, she was buried up to her neck in her garden once more, this time in the middle of the lawn. She’d spent much of the morning digging a pit deep enough to encapsulate her nude body, and had then sat in it and grinned up at Owner as he’d filled it in, embedding her in the earth’s embrace.

There were a couple of extra touches this time. Obviously she was wearing her nosehook, which she didn’t have when she was previously buried because she didn’t yet comprehend her true fuckpig nature. Resolving a regretted missed opportunity from the last time he’d done this to her, Owner had scooped up a small handful of dirt, with a few earthworms mixed in, and dumped it on top of her head. The filth had fallen over her face, giving her a nice dusty coating of soil, while the worms wriggled amidst her hair, weaving themselves into it. One of them dropped down across her mucky face and onto the ground before her, and she tried to make some inviting noises to encourage it to slither back up her chin and into her mouth, which was being held open by the other new innovation, a forceps gag.

Owner had wanted to make it easy for creepy crawlies to clamber inside River’s mouth, and, as a lover of insect life and of furthering her own degradation, she had been all for it. She’d eagerly opened her mouth as wide as she could so that he could fit the gag, eager to prove that her warm, wet face hole could be useful as a nest for garden fauna as well as a cocksleeve. He’d debated aloud about finding some way to secure her tongue so that it protruded from her mouth - he’d suggested a clothespeg, tied to a tent peg by an elastic cord - but decided not to, preferring to leave her able to stop herself from choking on anything that crawled too deep inside the warm pink cave. She was currently trying to scoop the worm into her mouth, but her tongue wasn’t quite long enough.

The one downside of this predicament was that whilst she was in it, she was unlikely to be used for sexual relief. She had hoped, naively, that Owner using her head as his humping pillow the previous evening would be the end of her sentence of denial, but no such luck. He had kept her naked, horny and frustrated while she carried out her chores, preparing his home (formerly hers before she’d given up ownership of her entire existence to him) to host his guests, and hadn’t touched her once the whole time. She hadn’t even had a chance to masturbate properly - aside from last thing last night, when she’d rubbed herself to sleep as usual. And now, encased like this, helpless and humiliated, her arousal was skyrocketing. She couldn’t even squirm very much, the packed earth holding her too tightly - which only increased her desperation, of course.

It was hard not to think that she deserved this. That she was unworthy of being fucked, of being filled, of being fulfilled the way she wished. That she was so worthless, she was better off being buried in the ground so bugs could crawl on (and in) her face, below view and below contempt. And that line of thought made her throb endlessly.

As she continued to grunt and moan open-mouthed, her Owner led his friends out into the garden and began showing off his pets. He didn’t bother introducing them to River - why would he? She wasn’t worth talking to. It was enough that she knew they were important to him. But she did hear him refer to one of them as Stoker as they strolled away for a moment, returning with a clump of something in their cupped hands. During their absence, a busty girl named Dewey kicked off her shoes and stepped towards River, rubbing her foot all over the buried fuckpig’s face. At her one-word command, “Lick,” she dutifully put her tongue to work, lavishing attention all over the scarlet-haired woman’s sole.

Dewey only removed her foot so that Stoker could stoop down and show River what they were cradling in their palms - four slimy slugs. Laughing cruelly, they stuck one to each of River’s cheeks, another to her forehead, and the last on her tongue, which she obediently stuck out at their request. As she slowly drew her tongue back into her mouth, being careful not to unbalance its passenger, another guest, a short sinewy girl named Trill, came over and grabbed a couple of stray worms, threading one into River’s right earhole and another up her left nostril.

Fervently keen though she was to accommodate her Owner’s guests, not to mention her garden’s denizens, the wriggling sensations in her nose and ear provoked a primal panic response, and she began to squeal and shake her head, snorting and sneezing instinctively to try and dislodge the intruder in her airway. It did her no good. The worms remained stuck, the other halves of their bodies writhing in mid-air like tentacles emerging from her face. Her Owner’s guests cackled and mocked her, making her cunt pulsate and soak the surrounding soil.

Without much further ado, Owner led his guests on, showing off the rest of his bizarre art exhibition. Soon the worms lodged in her nose and ear freed themselves and dropped to the ground, and River began to calm down, breathing heavily. She wished she’d been able to control her hysteria and impress her Owner, but her body had betrayed her.

Still, despite the worm ordeal, she thought she was better off than at least one of her fellow fuckpets. Owner had wanted to go all out to entertain his guests, so River’s former colleagues Ellie and Mya were also in attendance. In fact River could see Ellie straight ahead of her - no, wait, that was Mya. It was funny to think her stupid piggy brain had been getting their names mixed up all these years.

Mya’s plight actually didn’t seem too bad in River’s opinion - but then again, Owner had yet to show her the full extent of how he treated his fuckpigs. (He had explained to River that her two old friends didn’t yet know what they were - they thought they were just normal girls, and that they did what Owner said because he’d bought ownership of their arses. She’d been allowed to laugh with him over how absurd that concept was. It was nice to know that as thick as she was, there was fuckpigs around who were even dumber than her!)

She couldn’t see Ellie from where she was, because of the picture Owner had put together using the pair of them. But she’d concluded that Ellie was probably suffering the worst of all three of them. God, River envied her. But she had her part to play in his piece of art, and she played it gladly.

She was so proud of her Owner. He always had such good ideas!

***

Ellie Mason didn’t exactly mind attending a party thrown by her new apprentice TA - even as the entertainment, rather than a guest. She just wished she’d been given slightly more notice.

She’d been on her way to meet her partner Daniel for a special lunch at an expensive restaurant, to celebrate their anniversary. Then the text had come through: “I need your arse now.” So she’d reluctantly made a U-turn at the first opportunity and headed in the opposite direction, making an apologetic phone call to her disgruntled boyfriend. She promised herself she’d make it up to him later, but for now Owner was the priority.

She had made sure to touch herself during the car ride, enough to get nice and wet. Owner liked it when she and Mya arrived with their panties already fairly soaked. He habitually confiscated them and kept them as a trophy (sometimes after incorporating them into their sexual encounters), wryly noting that it added a whole new meaning to their ‘debriefings’ - one of the few jokes he made that Ellie understood and sincerely laughed at.

Owner had just about finished burying River when she’d arrived, patting down the muddy surface surrounding her disembodied head with the flat blade of his shovel. Ellie had been a bit alarmed the first time she’d seen the woman she’d known as Brooke being degraded and dehumanised by her new boyfriend, but Owner had explained that River, as she was now known, was a fuckpig, not a proper person. In the months since, Ellie had come to see the way he treated her former friend and colleague as normal. After all, River really was a worthless lesser creature, there merely to be used and abused. It was hard to make any connection between her and the woman she’d once respected - a woman she now knew had never really existed at all - particularly after the numerous times she’d used her tongue to lubricate Ellie and Mya’s buttholes, acting on Owner’s orders.

There were more holes dug in strategic places across the lawn, one of which was a little way behind River’s head. Owner explained that he was throwing a party for his foster siblings and wanted to impress them with an artistic display, of which River, Ellie and Mya would all play key parts. “It’s very important to me to show off your and Mya’s arses in the most aesthetically pleasing way possible,” he’d explained.

Ellie had nodded with interest, but had become perturbed when he’d gone on to describe the role intended for her. “Why can’t Mya do that?” she’d protested.

“Because I already had my heart set on this other thing for Mya,” he replied, gesturing to the other side of the garden, where more holes were dug for Ellie’s best friend and TA. “But I really want to do the whole ‘headless horseman’ picture with River, so by process of elimination, that’s where you fit in.”

That didn’t seem entirely fair. But she had to cooperate with his bizarre wishes - she had no choice. He literally owned her arse, and this was where and how he wanted it.

The process Owner took to complete his human sculpture was quite elaborate. First, naturally, he had Ellie strip nude, and then sat her down on a lawn chair. Then he put two transparent plastic bags over her head, securing them in place with a thick elastic band. He stood back for a moment to enjoy her growing distress as she quickly used up the air left to her, causing the plastic to suction against her face and squish her features out of shape, plastering her frizzy red hair to her scalp. She was on the verge of asphyxiation when he finally used a knife to punch a hole straight through the layer of plastic over her mouth (which was already wide open to try and inhale any tiny bit of air she could get), saving her in the nick of time.

Owner threaded a long rubber tube through the hole, sticking it into Ellie’s mouth, and she gratefully wrapped her lips around it and started sucking more oxygen into her lungs. Standing her up, he marched her over to the hole behind River, lowered her to her knees, and tilted her forwards, sticking her arse up into the air. Whimpering with dread, she nonetheless let him push her plastic-wrapped head into the hole in the ground, slotting it in until it was concealed from the neck upwards.

She held perfectly still as he began shovelling earth into the tiny gap surrounding her head, after first making sure that the end of the tube was free and clear, so she’d have all the air she needed. Once her head was completely buried, he began to reposition her arms and legs, securing them in place using a set of arch-shaped metal tent pegs (which he’d shown her beforehand). He fitted the arches over her wrists, her inner elbows, her ankles, and the pits of her knees, hammering them into the earth with a wooden mallet. By the time he was done, she could do nothing to free any part of herself. She had been utterly incapacitated, reduced to part of an art piece he’d dubbed ‘Headless Whores, Man’ - with River playing the role of her ‘severed head’ a little way in front of her.

Having found she was so firmly confined that she couldn’t even turn her head in its dirt prison, she forced herself to take deep breaths through her tube to stave off panic. She couldn’t quite believe she’d stood her partner up on their anniversary to come and be a helpless, humiliated human sculpture for her TA to show off to a bunch of people she didn’t even know. They wouldn’t even see her face - all they’d see of her were her naked body and, most of all, her exposed, proudly displayed orifices, raised high and spread wide open, with her legs pinioned far apart by cold steel.

But then, that was rather the point. After all, the Owner of her arse had conceived of this entire spectacle to show off his property - and to allow his friends to make use of it.

At least she could take comfort in the knowledge that she wasn’t the only one suffering. River had seemed unbothered by her own plight, but that was only to be expected, given that the depraved creature fed off this kind of cruel treatment. Ellie wasn’t entirely clear on what Mya’s predicament would be, but hoped it’d be even more sadistic than her own - although she couldn’t imagine how.

Just when she’d more or less got used to her situation, she felt a hand land on her bum without warning, squeezing possessively. She let out a stifled squeak, squirming as much as she could at the unfamiliar touch. It wasn’t Owner’s hand - she was very familiar with how that felt. No, this must be one of the guests - someone with a daintier, more slender hand, though no less enthusiastic and exploratory than his.

More hands joined in, varying in their sizes, shapes and attentions. They groped her butt cheeks, and delivered playful slaps - and less playful ones. Fingers crept into her crack, played with her anus, teased her labia, stroked her slit, caressed her clit... Other hands roamed across her body, fondling her breasts, rubbing her nipples...

Wait - that wasn’t right! They weren’t supposed to touch her in those places! Her arse was available to them, because it belonged to Owner, but the rest of her was merely meant to be the frame, the surrounding decoration. They were meant to look at her naked body, not touch!

But it was starting to dawn upon her that the distinction didn’t much matter. After all, her head technically didn’t belong to Owner, and she’d still let him bury it, ostensibly to serve his artistic vision and better show off her behind. Ellie was starting to realise that she’d surrendered more of her autonomy than she’d initially realised when she’d signed away a body part to her TA. If he owned her arse, he essentially owned the rest of her, too. (Besides which, it wasn’t as if she could defend herself, pinned in place and partially buried as she was.)

Her protests were soon forgotten when she suddenly found herself bobbing her butt rhythmically from side to side, as if dancing to an unheard tune. Her fingers and toes flexed in time with her movements, like she was tapping them to the beat. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out why she was doing it - there was no-one touching her at that moment, guiding her movements. Her body was acting of its own accord. It felt as if she were a marionette, and someone had seized the strings bound to her bottom, bouncing it around for their amusement.

Before she could grow too bemused by her uncontrollable bopping, she found herself slowing to a stop. The next thing she knew, she felt a tongue curl inside her arsehole, slickening it with saliva. And suddenly she felt so sleepy. The earth vice on her head felt soft and comforting, like a wrap-around pillow... She just wanted to close her eyes and slip away into peaceful slumber...

And that was exactly what the tranquilised teacher did, her body slumping but remaining in position, held in place by the metal arches around her limbs. In turn, the fixed pose kept her rear elevated and spread open, so its Owner’s party guests could continue to enjoy it as much as they wanted.

***

Mya Miares thought, at least at first, that she’d lucked out.

With the spring half-term holiday underway, she’d been heading to the airport for a solo trip to Tenerife when her newest colleague’s summons had reached her. (He’d been only too happy to hear of her travel plans, informing her, to her impotent exasperation, that she was going to stay with him and River for as long as she had planned to be overseas.) She was startled, and a bit apprehensive, when she arrived to find one friend buried up to her neck in the lawn, with forceps holding her mouth agape and a pile of dirt and worms on her head, and another with her head stuck in the ground, her limbs bound in place by steel rings. She made no effort to come to their aid, well aware that this was where and how Owner wanted them. But she was rather worried about ending up in a similar state.

Unsurprisingly, she was soon removing her clothes and piling them up on a lawn chair at his command. He then led her to the opposite end of the garden from her friends, where he’d dug two short, deep grooves. With his guidance, she got down on all fours, her lower legs fitting neatly into the parallel trenches, her feet at one end and her knees at the other, while her hands slotted into two more holes, enclosing them up to the wrists. He proceeded to pile dirt onto the back of her lower legs until they were completely buried, and filled in her hand holes as well, effectively trapping her on all fours.

The grooves where her legs were embedded had been far enough apart to spread her buttocks widely, showing off her holes just as Ellie had been forced to on the other end of the lawn. Again, this wasn’t unexpected - she was here so he (and his party guests, apparently) could make use of her arse as much as they liked, so it was only natural that she be put in a position of utmost convenience to them. It was a little startling when he fitted her with a spider gag, holding her jaws agape, and then stuffed both her and Ellie’s wet panties into her mouth. But he did keep describing them as art pieces, and she supposed, given that the overall theme appeared to be degradation, that such additions did add to the effect.

Overall, she was rather relieved. She’d come off alright, all things considered. She’d have liked more freedom of movement, and she’d rather not have the combined taste of her and her best friend’s cunts on her tongue - but at least the majority of her body, including her head, was above ground. Given her claustrophobia, she was grateful for that. Her feelings of relative safety continued after Owner’s guests arrived - turning her head to her right, she watched as the busty redhaired girl and the Gothic enby rammed River’s face full of creepy crawlies, while the stocky Trill seemed to be pretending to conduct a dance routine for Ellie, who was swaying around like she was in some weird upside-down nightclub. Mya looked away when the beefy Tranq started eating Ellie’s ass - she anticipated that kind of thing happening today, to both of them, but that didn’t mean she needed to watch.

Her comparative contentment couldn’t last, of course. Owner soon began playing a game of football with Tranq and Stoker, aiming for the space beneath the bent-over Mya, as there wasn’t a goal in the garden. Given that the gap was quite small, the ball kept bouncing off the edges of the improvised goal, with increasing force as the gameplay grew more rambunctious. Mya let out muffled cries as she was hit on her right side, her hip, her thigh, and her upper arm, hard enough that she was sure she’d bruise. At one point, when Stoker struck her right buttock and cheered loudly, she began to suspect they were actually aiming for her, rather than under her.

Mercifully, the game didn’t go on for very long, with Owner and his friends continuing to chat, reminisce and laugh, while admiring the three partially-buried women displayed before them. Sighing and wincing, Mya went back to her state of placid patience, staring into space and trying to ignore the aches in her arms and legs from holding herself up for so long.

“This one almost looks bored,” came a voice from nearby. She glanced around to see the shapely Dewey drifting towards her, a smirk on her face. “Hey Stokes,” she called over her shoulder, “reckon you can help her enjoy herself?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” Stoker replied, strolling after her. The pair of them trotted behind Mya, out of her range of sight.

Moments later, the immobilised girl felt something small and hard being rubbed against her pussy. She let out an outraged squeak, flinching and trying to shake off the unwanted attention of the little object. Whatever it was, it did not feel good. It was solid and unyielding, a blunt instrument being applied to somewhere she preferred to feel a softer touch. The hand holding it was being none too gentle either, remorselessly grinding it against her labia and clit. It was distinctly uncomfortable - almost painful.

And yet, for some reason, against her own volition, she was getting very turned on. Her slit salivated all over the small object, and the fingers working it back and forth. Her grunts of protest had turned to moans of ardour without her even noticing, and she began to hump the hand in her crotch, desperate for more attention, more pressure. No matter how much lubricant her body produced, the unorthodox sex toy was still hard and inflexible, but her pleasure had overtaken her pain. She had a moment of bewilderment, realising that she was about to cum from this cruel treatment - but before she got the chance the hand withdrew, taking the object of her desire and torment with it. She panted heavily, frustrated and mortified, absently sucking the sodden panties wadded up in her mouth.

Dewey stepped in front of Mya with a sinister smile on her face, and held up her hand so the trapped TA could see it. Resting in her palm was a smooth, soaking wet stone, barely wider than a centimetre in diameter. “This is my favourite pebble,” she snickered. “It’s very very special to me. Thanks so much for cleaning it for me!” Mya wanted to glare at her, but she was under strict instructions to be polite to Owner’s guests at all times, so she merely gazed up with wide, demure eyes. Cackling, Dewey wandered away in the direction of Ellie and River.

Mya’s respite was short-lived. Before long, she heard footsteps in the grass behind her. And something else - a sound that made her tense up with fear. A low, rumbling ribbit.

Trill and Stoker stepped into view, each clutching a slimy, khaki-coloured amphibian in their cupped hands. “Our big bro tells us you’re quite the animal lover,” Trill tittered, “and that you’re a big fan of these little guys. So we thought we’d collect up a few to keep you company while you’re stuck like this. Isn’t that nice of us?”

Mya whimpered with terror. She had a massive phobia of frogs. Whenever she saw one, she always fled as fast as she could in the opposite direction. She couldn’t do that now, though...

Stoker reached out as if to place the frog on her head, and she let out a stifled scream, shaking and squirming desperately. Tutting, they turned away. “Dew, could you give us a hand over here? We don’t want our little buddies to get hurt because this idiot can’t stay still...”

The ginger girl returned and knelt down in front of the trembling Mya. “Hey, hey, shhh,” she said soothingly, her calming tone at odds with the vindictive grin on her face. “Everything’s OK, cutie. Just look into my eyes...”

Dewey’s eyes were incredibly pretty. She was very sexy in general, Mya had to admit. She’d always thought of herself as straight, but ever since she’d started seeing Ellie naked all the time, and making out with her for half an hour per day at Owner’s behest - not to mention participating in anal orgies with them both on a regular basis - some latent lesbian tendencies seemed to have been stirred up within her. She paid much more attention to beautiful women these days, and this scarlet-haired shortstack certainly qualified, despite her casual sadism. And those glimmering, gorgeous green irises that looked like genuine emerald jewels - oh, she could stare into them for hours on end...

Dewey abruptly straightened up and stepped aside, but Mya kept on staring fixedly into the space where her eyes had been, her gaze unwavering no matter how hard she tried to avert it. In fact, she quickly realised, she couldn’t move anything any more, except her eyelids. If she’d felt powerless before, buried up to her wrists and knees, it was nothing compared to this. She was frozen, petrified, unable to do anything but breathe and blink.

Even her vocal chords had ceased to function - which she soon discovered when something small, slimy and squirming dropped onto the small of her back with a disgruntled ribbit. A scream of utter horror built up inside her, but couldn’t make it past her throat. She couldn’t even shudder as she felt the frog hop about.

Trill deposited her frog on Mya’s back as well, and then she and Stoker hurried away to find more. They returned several more times, depositing more of the pond dwellers they’d gathered onto the static teaching assistant’s back, allowing them to climb and crawl around as if they owned the place. One was planted directly on top of her head, and decided to nestle down and make itself comfortable in her dark brown hair, remaining seated there as if on a throne.

Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes, as the creatures she feared most frolicked on her bare back. She was totally defenceless against them, unable to shake them off, held rigid by some force she didn’t understand. Worst of all, her traitorous cunt was pulsating, her body boiling with inexplicable arousal. Why the fuck was she getting off to her literal nightmare scenario?!

Her trio of tormenters still surrounded her, Stoker simply staring and smirking from the near distance while Trill talked animatedly to the frogs, making up names for them and asking them how they were enjoying their new climbing frame. At one point, the girl made a beckoning gesture with her index finger - and Mya found herself gently leaning forwards, and then back again, entirely out of her control. Still frozen, she kept slowly swaying back and forth like a rocking horse, powerless to stop herself.

Dewey crouched in front of her once again, grinning evilly. “Don’t worry love, you won’t be a froggy theme park ride for too long,” she promised. “After all, my siblings want to fuck that fantastic arse of yours - and we don’t want our poor little pals to fall on the ground when they do.”

The anguished, frozen, frog-covered, see-sawing living sculpture had reconsidered. Her ordeal had been at least as bad as her friends’ - if not worse.

***

Nemo was sprawled on a deck chair, a drink in his hand, watching fondly as his foster family fucked with his half-buried playthings. He was glad they were getting so much enjoyment out of the brainwashed women. It was satisfying to be able to give them such a gift after being apart from them for so long.

All five of them had ended up at the same foster home as teenagers. The couple who’d taken them in were well-intentioned but hopeless, so the kids largely ran riot, although Nemo tried his best to keep the others in line for their own sake - their recklessness had a tendency to get them into trouble. Things changed drastically when a fire broke out at the nuclear power plant right by their house. No-one outside the facility was hurt, but over the following weeks the foster siblings began to display some strange abilities. Before long they were mastering their newfound superpowers, adopting new names to tie in with their altered natures.

Dewey, short for Medusa, could cause temporary paralysis with intense eye contact. The buxom redhead had just used the same pebble with which she’d masturbated Mya to similarly edge the slumped, slumbering Ellie, who had fallen victim to the sedative chemical in Tranq’s saliva. He excreted the same substance from his fingernails, enabling him to knock someone out with a kiss or a scratch. Once Dewey had stepped away, Trill drew a smiley face on Ellie’s bum with a permanent marker - an eye on each buttock and a big smile stretching across them both, with the partly-buried teacher’s pussy peeking out like a tongue. Unbuttoning her shorts, Trill eased her dick into the ‘mouth’ before her and stood still, making small waving motions with her hands. The unconscious Ellie began to bob back and forth along Trill’s length, propelled by her power to puppeteer people like a ventriloquist, forcing them to move and speak however she wished. Meanwhile Stoker, whose ability to control lust could turn perfectly composed people into whimpering wrecks within minutes, was poking the paralysed Mya with a pointy stick, enjoying her utter lack of response as they prodded her in the face, tits, belly, cunt and arsehole.

As Nemo continued to watch his siblings amuse themselves with the art display he’d set up for them, Dewey approached him with a sultry sway in her hips, smiling suggestively. He grinned back at her, knowing that look all too well. He’d always found it funny that a woman as beautiful, and as in touch with her sexuality, as her could have anyone she wanted - and often did - yet only ever had eyes for him whenever they were reunited. He supposed that, in addition to the close relationship they’d shared since their teenage years, Dewey was attracted, more than anything else, to power. And of all of them, Nemo’s power was undoubtedly the greatest.

Although all the foster children had remarkable abilities, none of them could permanently affect the mind or the memory - except their oldest member, whose extraordinary powers of persuasion cemented his status as their de facto leader (despite his younger siblings being immune to his abilities). Opting not to choose a moniker derived from his new talents, he began calling himself ‘Nemo’, whenever he bothered to use a name at all. Unlike the others, he was a foundling, and knew nothing about his original life. As such, he’d never set much store in names or identities, and had in fact developed something of a kink for changing other people’s, tampering with their knowledge and perception of who they were. (His siblings had tried to persuade him to select a name based on ‘charisma’, but he’d sooner die than call himself ‘Rizz’.)

The five foster kids had a fun few years using their powers to make life easier for themselves, causing minor anarchy in their surroundings in the process. But eventually, not long after the tight-knit group all moved out of their foster home and into a shared house, they began to attract undue attention. Too many strange incidents, and instances of bizarre behaviour from otherwise normal citizens, were tied back to the five of them, and they found hostile neighbours uniting and rallying against them. Even their powers couldn’t save them from an angry mob, so rather than face a potential witch trial, they split up and ran for the hills, and had been fending for themselves ever since, rarely getting to meet in person in the ensuing years. This was the first time they’d all been together in half a decade.

Dewey seemed intent on making up for lost time, hiking up her sun dress to reveal her sheer green panties. She went to climb over Nemo’s deck chair, but he held up a hand to halt her, and then got to his feet. Putting a hand on her waist, he guided her back across the lawn, towards the ‘Headless Whores, Man’ exhibit. Smirking, she descended with him onto the lawn, straddling him and shifting her knickers to one side as he lay back on the luscious green grass and unzipped his jeans.

A few feet away, River watched with eyes almost as wide as her mouth, the slug that had been sitting inside having slithered out down her chin. Giggling, Dewey reached out and popped her pussy-polished pebble onto River’s tongue, even as she began to enthusiastically ride Nemo.

Letting his head loll to his left, Nemo could see his other siblings still playing with Mya, having scooped the frogs off her frozen body and placed them safely on the lawn. Stoker had slid their twig up her twat, positioning it to resemble a long thin dick, and was now grinding their cunt on Mya’s face, while Tranq was fucking their arsehole. Still under the effects of Trill and Dewey’s powers, Mya continued helplessly rocking backwards and forwards, burrowing into Stoker’s snatch one second and impaling herself on Tranq’s cock the next, never making a sound. She had been transformed into a human fuck machine, one which would likely see plenty of use throughout the day.

A strangled cry came from his right, as Trill finished inside the snoozing Ellie. Nemo glanced over to see his sister pull out and spray a final few drops of cum up the limp teacher’s back. Then his eyes fell upon his fuckpig’s head protruding from the ground, covered in dirt, worms and slugs, watching adoringly as the man to whom she had devoted her existence cuckolded her with his foster sister.

He felt a pang of affection for his poor, pathetic piggy, as well as a swell of pride in what he had been able to achieve with her. He’d experimented with his powers throughout the last decade, but he’d never used them to such an extent on one person, systematically dismantling her mind and inverting her self-image until she didn’t know which way was up. When he’d approached her on a whim that night at the pub, even he hadn’t known exactly what was to transpire between them. It wasn’t like he’d planned everything he’d done to her - much of it had been on the spur of the moment, from stealing her clit, to making her throw away her teaching career and become a stripper, to convincing her she was a subhuman creature with no value beyond serving him.

It had all been so worth it. He’d ruined her so perfectly. All the time and effort he’d invested in her had made an exquisitely beautiful wreck out of her. He’d taken a smart, hardworking, driven young woman with a promising career, and turned her into a dimwitted, hypersexual, exhibitionist animal. If his powers of persuasion created works of art, River the fuckpig was, without a doubt, his masterpiece.

Mind you, he was well on his way to replicating his accomplishment with her two former friends - their own self-esteem and self-possession was crumbling more and more every time they met. Soon enough, they’d be his pets too, entirely, viewing him as the Owner of their bodies, minds and souls, rather than just their arses.

The mental image of the three of them at his feet, totally subjugated and willing to do literally anything he commanded, combined with the sensation of Dewey’s slick, velvety grasp on his shaft, made Nemo climax long and hard, filling her cunt to the brim. He made sure to look his filthy fuckpig in the eyes, grinning madly at the memory of the self-assured young woman he’d seen at the bar so long ago, knowing that girl would never have believed she could end up in this state.

Perhaps now she truly understood just how persuasive he could be.