Three sex slaves

Three young women. One abandoned homestead. They thought it would be an easy score.

They were mistaken. Fucking mistaken.

Instead of an empty house and a few valuables left by a dead old woman, they found him. A recluse with the build of a bear and the eyes of a predator. A man who doesn't call the police. A man who sees an opportunity. A man who takes what he wants. They became his property, his toys. And the story is just beginning.

Tags: BDSM, dominant male, submissive females, slave, ownership, punishment, spanking, rape, virgin

Words: 7408

Sample of story - 

That damned creaking ripped me from my sleep. Fuck, what is it this time? Bugs in the walls? My mother's old house was full of sounds, but this sounded different. Something was shuffling around downstairs.

I peeled my eyes open and the darkness in the bedroom was thick as tar. I just listened for a moment, my heart starting to pound a little faster. No, this wasn't rats.

I slid out of bed, bare feet on the cold floorboards. Instinctively, I fumbled for the nightstand. The cool steel of my nine-mil felt reassuring in my palm. I pulled it from the drawer along with a magazine and silently slid it in. Only in my shorts, with the pistol in my hand, I crept to the bedroom door. Adrenaline was already pulsing in my veins. Whoever the fuck was breaking in here was going to regret it. This house was mine now, and I wasn't the type to welcome uninvited guests with open arms.

I slowly turned the handle and opened the door just a crack. The light from the hallway was faint, just the moonlight filtering through the windows on the staircase. The sounds were coming from the living room. I stepped carefully on the creaking stairs, every muscle in my body tense. My weight, all one hundred and twenty-five kilos of it, isn't exactly built for silent creeping, but I tried. My broad shoulders almost kept me from getting through the narrow staircase; I felt like a bear in a henhouse.

When I reached the last step, I peeked around the corner. And there they were. Three of them. All in dark clothes, with balaclavas on their heads. One of them was just trying to pry open the lock on my mother's old display cabinet. So these were the night visitors. Petty thieves. Anger rose in me like bile.

"Don't even move, you bastards!" my voice thundered through the space. They flinched in surprise. The one by the cabinet dropped his crowbar, which landed on the wooden floor with a clatter. The other two froze on the spot. The pistol in my hand was aimed right at them.

"Hands up where I can see them! And turn around slowly!" I commanded. They obeyed, though you could see their knees were shaking. Their hands slowly rose into the air and they turned to face me. Through the eyeholes in the balaclavas, I could only see their terrified eyes.

"Masks off! Now!" I barked the commands. The one closest to me hesitated, which brought me to a boiling point. "I said off, fucker, or I'll put another hole in your head!" I aimed directly between his eyes. That convinced him, and he quickly pulled off the balaclava.

And my jaw almost dropped. Underneath the black fabric, it wasn't the face of some hardened scumbag that was revealed, but a young woman's face. A brunette, with dark, now terrified eyes, a little tanned. In my shock, I almost forgot about the other two; my world for a moment narrowed to just her.