Pixie Isobella

New steamy erotica now available!

Molly knows her place – she’s the compliant office fucktoy, ruled absolutely by the senior men of her firm for their own pleasure. She is the perfect slut – a big-breasted, fuckable animal who never says no and is always available to please her bosses.

With the collar locked around her throat, she knows she can never escape – and she thinks she has accustomed herself to her fate. But then Molly gets an unwelcome surprise when her masters inform her that her ‘mentor’, the brutal and crude Mr Charles Axel, wants to spend more time with her.

Molly has long known that resistance is no longer possible. But as she feels the collar tightening around her neck, can she make one last, desperate bid for freedom?

Molly’s Collar (the fourth in the Molly series) is now available on All These Roadworks!

Read below for a sneak peak at Chapters 1 and 2!

This contains spoilers for the earlier Molly books, so please only read ahead if you’re OK with that ❤️. Alternatively, you can find Chapter 1 of ‘Molly’s Cage’ here.

Molly’s Collar: Chapter 1

[Molly’s Collar is femsub maledom office erotica with non-consent, discipline, chastity belts, enslavement, lactation and impregnation themes.]

The collar around my neck buzzed, spiking me with electricity.

A moment later, heady arousal flooded into my breasts and groin, overwhelming my senses. I moaned with arousal as shivers of electricity ran around my breasts, constrained and forced forward from my body by leather straps. The sensation continued down into my groin, flooding across my sensitive clit, bringing me fully alive.

My body, finely tuned to my masters’ orders, was already calculating the message. One short buzz on the collar would mean that my supervisor, Mr John Saunders, wanted to fuck me in his office. Two short buzzes would mean that Mr Adams, the head of the firm, wanted me in his office.

This was neither of those.

This was a long buzz, followed by a distinctive pattern. The pattern told me that Mr Sam Holland, senior partner in charge of takeovers and mergers, wanted me for sex in his office. My orders were to take a beer with me for him from the fridge, already opened.

I rose from my desk, already obeying by rote. My obedience is largely mindless these days — my masters give orders and I obey.

My name is Molly and I’m the office slut. I used to be a person — a junior lawyer at a prestigious law firm — but now I am collared and chained, forced to obey every minute of the day. I exist to fuck and be fucked.

It all started last year when my boss, Mr Blake Hunter, called me into his office to show me some old nude pictures I had done when I was at university. I thought he was going to fire me but instead he blackmailed me into wearing a chastity belt all day, every day. He told me that he was trying to train me out of being a slut — but his actions had the opposite effect.

Forced to wear a chastity belt and a dildo inside me all day, every day at work, forced to let my boss grope me, forced to let the senior partners stick their dicks inside me whenever they want… I discovered that I couldn’t stop thinking about sex. Mr Hunter made me lactate for him and he even started selling my ‘services’ to the clients — all under the guise of ‘teaching’ me that I wouldn’t enjoy being a slut.

Mostly I went along with it. Maybe that was a mistake but I couldn’t help it — I enjoyed the sex too much.

I always told myself that I could leave anytime. But a couple of months ago, that all changed. My junior co-workers decided to sell me for sex and — inevitably — my bosses found out. In response, and to punish me, my bosses loaned me for the night to a favoured client of theirs, Mr Charles Axel, to discipline me.

That night, Mr Axel brutalised me and treated me like an animal — and horribly, I even enjoyed it.

The following day, I lost almost all the last freedoms that I had. Mr Axel fitted this collar around my neck, before gifting it and the matching restraints on my breasts and pussy to my masters. Of course, my bosses have thrown themselves wholeheartedly into the enjoyment of this new toy to control and punish me. Now, my days are controlled by the collar around my neck, and the matching devices attached to my breasts and clit.

My days and nights are set to the whims of my bosses. If a man wants a blowjob, I provide it. If a man wants me bent forward across his desk, his dick buried in my cunt or arse, then I obey. If a man wants me on the floor, bent in half while he slams himself into me, then I do as he says. After work, my bosses line up a series of clients to fuck me.

The collar means that every moment of my day is structured and controlled. I must walk via a certain path from my desk to the kitchen and it isn’t the most direct route. If I deviate, I receive an all-body shock that pulses painfully through me, beginning in my throat but landing eventually in my breasts and my sensitive clitoris. On the way to the kitchen from my desk, there are two places where I must stop and wait an indeterminate length of time until the collar pulses around my neck to tell me that it’s safe to proceed.

My colleagues always look at me strangely as I stand there, then they step around me, muttering to their colleagues about ‘Molly taking up space again’.

Sometimes, just for their fun, my bosses change the routes without telling me. I must map the new paths and the only way to know I’m going the wrong way is to take a step — then I have to force myself to be silent as the painful full-body pulse threatens to overwhelm me.

My bosses are brutal, a fact I am only just starting to fully appreciate.

Today, luckily, the men had not changed the route.

I collected Mr Holland’s beer from the work fridge. The collar around my neck buzzed sharply on a higher setting as I searched for the beer opener. Mr Holland was getting impatient as he waited in his office to fuck me. I found the opener but my fingers were shaking from a second impatient buzz that flooded through me, sharply activating the electrodes that I wear on my breasts and my pussy and clit as well.

Gritting my teeth, I popped off the bottle cap and set off for his office.

If he was already impatient, I knew I would inevitably receive more shocks along the way. The pathway that the men have mapped for me to Mr Holland’s office is one of the most indirect — I need to go via the upstairs floor, climbing up the stairs and traversing through the litigation department, before descending again. The last walk along a long straight corridor, there are two places I know I must stop and wait.

The slow route is deliberate, of course — Sam Holland is one of the most impatient of all the men here and the men who set my routes know that he will punish me.

Mr Holland must have been getting seriously impatient by the time I reached his corridor. I guessed he was holding his hand down on the buzzer because a low-level continual shock started to pulse through my entire body, punctuated by sharp zapping spikes. The sadistic asshole was holding the button down and simultaneously jabbing it with his finger.

The senior men in this firm love their control over me — it’s an aphrodisiac for them. I knew Mr Holland would be hard and ready to fuck me when I walked through the door of his office.

The man who owned me for the next hour might be punishing me for my ‘tardiness’ but I still knew better than to speed up along this corridor. I stood waiting for the collar to give me the all-clear to move again, while Mr Holland held his buzzer down ferociously — deliberately hurting me.

Finally, after what felt like an aeon of punishment, I received the signal that told me I was allowed to move again. I set off towards his door, hating him.

Mr Sam Holland fucks me at least once a week. He’s a mean, sadistic man who loves to torture me while pounding me brutally. Like all the men, he’s taken to using the shock collar like a duck to water. If I’m too slow to obey while he’s preparing to fuck me, he’ll slap that damn buzzer like he wants to break it in half, and I’ll feel the resulting shock wave through my body an instant later, overwhelming me with sharp pain.

Sometimes the game is to make me obey, sometimes the game is to make me hornier and sometimes the game is to make me pass out from the overwhelming sensation. The men like to fuck my fainting and unconscious body, and I never know in advance which it’ll be.

I stopped for the second time along the corridor, gritting my teeth even though Mr Holland must have been deliberately slapping his buzzer by now. My fingers were shaking, threatening to drop the beer bottle each time the pulses of electricity flooded through me, but I forced myself to stand still.

If I broke and walked before the buzzer allowed me to, I knew I would collapse onto the floor, overwhelmed by the sudden shock exploding through me. The public office answer for my collapsing is that I have a rare nerve disorder — harmless but unpredictable and debilitating.

I haven’t ever bothered to correct anyone, as the truth is too humiliating.

The wait seemed endless as I kept my eyes fixed on the artwork on the wall at the end of the corridor. A senior male colleague, Mr Phillips, walked past on his way to the men’s bathroom, sniggering as he saw me waiting there.

‘Forgotten your route again?’ he asked, sneering. ‘How long have you been working here, Molly? I’d have thought you’d know your way around by now.’

I was silent, wanting to glare at him. He was so unfair. They all were, all the time, and I couldn’t even escape from them anymore, if I had ever wanted to. The collar around my neck looks like an innocuous velvet choker as does the matching strappy fabric that runs perfectly along the lines of my body around my breasts and groin. But it will make me collapse, even send me unconscious, if I move a step out of line.

My masters map my path and tell me where I may be every second of every day — when I may rise from bed, when I can go to the bathroom, when I must leave my house for work, even when and where I may shop for groceries on the weekend. Any deviation, even the most minor infraction is punished automatically.

In the mornings, the buzzer tells me when to roll out of bed and the buzzer reminds me if I’m in the shower for too long or if I’m too slow getting dressed.

I used to tell myself that one day I would leave my degrading servitude here at Adams and Hunter law firm. But the collar has made that practically impossible, a fact that I try not to think about too much.

The only way I can leave is to persuade the men to let me go and I have never managed to persuade these men to do anything they didn’t already want to do. Of course, me blaming the collar for my entrapment only sidesteps the real issue that I trapped myself here by my own arousal and desperate, continuous need to be fucked, to be penetrated and pounded brutally every day.

‘Who’s fucking your slutty hole today?’ Mr Phillips sneered again, standing leaning against the wall, clearly deciding to wait and watch the end of my torturous walk.

He was being cruel. He knew I had didn’t even have the option of walking away. I had to stand here and take it. The leer on his face showed that he was enjoying the utter power he and his contemporaries have over me.

‘Mr Sam Holland,’ I replied, my voice shaking a little.

Gods, how could Mr Phillips just stand there, comfortable and relaxed, approaching the end of a successful workday, sneering at me? He didn’t have a dildo inside him and a chastity belt strapping it into him. He didn’t need to pee from not having been allowed to go to the bathroom since this morning. He didn’t have giant breasts on the front of his body, filled with milk, the nipples clamped tightly to stop the milk from flooding the front of his body.

His body wasn’t pulsing with electricity, threatening to overwhelm him if he took one wrong move.

‘Come to my office after,’ he smirked. ‘I’ll be ready to relax by then. I’ve got a package right here, ready to dump inside you, girl.’

He gyrated his hips obscenely as he spoke and I trembled. There was a time when I wasn’t a general fuckdoll and cumdump for a group of arrogant senior men at my firm, but that time is now so long ago that I can’t really remember it anymore. I spend the day feeling tender and sore, their cum threatening continuously to slide out of me and run down my legs.

Mr Holland will be the fifth man to use me today and Mr Phillips the sixth.

‘Yes, Sir,’ I whispered, feeling with relief the zap of the choker that means I’m allowed to walk again.

I set off, Mr Phillips watching me go, a leer on his face. Thankful that my walk was over, I slipped inside Mr Holland’s office, shivering as I met his eyes across the room, before dropping immediately to my knees. Mr Holland likes a show of submission. He’ll probably fuck my face here up against the door, then he’ll drag me across the room so he can pound me across his desk or the back of the lounge.

The electricity threatened to overwhelm me all over again as I sank to my knees. Watching me, his lips set in a deliberately thin, uncompromising line, Mr Holland was holding his hand firmly down on his button that controls my collar.

‘You took your time,’ he sneered unpleasantly. ‘Anyone would think you don’t enjoy the time we spend together,’ he laughed shortly. ‘But we all know you’ll take any man, won’t you, darling?’

‘Yes, Sir,’ I whispered, flushing.

‘Be faster next time,’ he snapped. ‘My time is money, or didn’t you know that, you silly girl?’

‘I’m sorry, Sir,’ I whispered, feeling the electricity ricochet through me, flooding through my breasts and cunt. The ribbed dildo that I wear inside me all day, every day, felt like a rigid rod of iron inside me, reminding me all over again how large and uncompromising the penetration was.

My masters tell me that I need to be filled and controlled every minute of the day, or I will fuck any man I see.

‘Let’s get started,’ Mr Holland said after a long moment, standing and walking towards me. ‘I’m going to fuck your throat, then I think I’ll just zap you until you pass out so I can enjoy your unconscious body without having to listen to you whining.’

‘Yes, Sir,’ I whispered, forcing myself to swallow. My lips felt dry as I watched the brutal man approach. His cock was already stiff inside his work trousers, ready to fuck me.

Mr Holland stood over me, looking unsmiling down at me as I quivered.

‘Let’s get started, shall we?’ he asked unpleasantly.

Chapter 2

You mustn’t think that I don’t enjoy my life, of course.

It’s just not the life I expected.

I may be trapped now, of sorts, but I also had plenty of chances to leave, and I didn’t take any of them. I stayed because I enjoyed the sex. I need it and I can’t walk away from this life where I get pounded hard several times a day. I can’t walk away from this life where I enjoy the feeling of the men’s dicks inside me. I like them cumming inside me too. I even have a guilty daydream that one day despite my birth control, their seed will take root inside me and breed me.

Mr Holland fucked me brutally as expected. Mr Phillips must have messaged him, because when Mr Holland was done, he leered evilly at me and — ordering me to bend forward across his desk — inserted the empty beer bottle into my cunt instead of the dildo I usually wear.

It was thick and not really designed to go in a girl’s cunt, but he didn’t care about that. He shoved it deep into me, forcing my body to stretch unnaturally wide open. I felt ridiculous as I stood again, my legs bowed wide with the unnatural penetration. I knew my eyes were wide open with shock — the whole beer bottle was inside me except for the long stem of the bottle protruding humiliatingly outside my cunt.

‘Take that to Phillips for me,’ Mr Holland grinned. ‘Try to walk naturally,’ he winked at me crudely. ‘You don’t want people to guess you’ve got a beer bottle shoved up your fuckhole, do you?’

I went straight to Mr Phillips’ room, walking stiffly and awkwardly with the bottle inside me. Mr Phillips laughed out loud at the degrading sight, of course. He left it in me while I gave him a blow job and when he finally removed it from my wet vagina, he used me as roughly as he had promised. He came inside my cunt twice, groaning deeply each time, squeezing my breasts painfully hard as he did so that my milk splashed out over his fingers.

It sounds demeaning but I find it so fulfilling when the men use me like this.

My body needs their penetration, you see, and that’s not all. My very soul warms deep inside me with pleasure when I feel them cumming inside me. I’m doing my duty and I know it’s messed up for me to say this, but it makes me happy when I can please them.

I’m doing my duty as their fucktoy each and every time one of them gets his pleasure inside me. I know that pleasing my bosses like this wasn’t what I was meant to do when I trained at law school but I’m making the most of it.

It used to be Mr Hunter I imagined fucking and breeding me the most but that was back in the day when I had a stupid crush on him. Now, even worse, I fantasise about whichever of the men has been most brutal recently — I think about each of them holding me down and fucking me so hard that his cum gets into my womb and impregnates me right past my birth control.

Mr Hunter says the men who cum inside me own me. He says that no girl can ever truly not be a man’s property if he’s ejaculated into her. Somewhere along the way, I acquired a fetish for being dominated, brutalised and owned — because I know the man who decides to impregnate me will own me even more indelibly than ever.

My days are a comfortable-uncomfortable cocoon of arousal and penetration. I may sound like I complain endlessly — I do complain a lot, to be fair — but when a man snaps his fingers and tells me to get onto my back, legs spread, I obey without hesitation, desperate all over again to feel him pushing his hard erection into me. And, however brutal or crude the men are, I usually enjoy it anyway.

I can’t say I like my bosses but I’ve learned to live with them. I have no choice, not anymore.

These days, there’s only one man I’m scared of.

Mr Charles Axel.

Mr Axel calls himself my mentor or my trainer. I just call him my nemesis. I haven’t seen him since the day he put the collar on me. He always treats me differently to the other men — he’s harsher and rougher and infinitely more brutal.

Some days I would be happy if I never saw him again. Other days, I catch myself stupidly yearning to hear his voice again. He never says anything nice of course — he sneers at me sneering at me for being a lazy animal and only occasionally praises me for my big breasts or my fuckable available cunt.

When I think about him, I remember how he treated me in his apartment that last time I saw him. He gave me three rules and I can’t stop thinking about how those rules made me feel.

Number 1. You don’t use the furniture without my express order. My dog doesn’t sit on the couch and you don’t either.

Number 2. You don’t walk on two legs in my house unless I give you an express order. Animals walk on four legs in my house.

Number 3. You don’t have a name while in my house. I’ll call you what I want to — slut, whore, animal, fuckhole, slave, bitch. Try to forget you think you have a name. Untrained livestock doesn’t get a name.

When I think about Mr Axel, I catch myself wondering just how good I would have to be for him to call me trained livestock. I know that is degrading but I can’t help myself. Some stupidly submissive part of me wants to be well behaved for him.

I’m Molly, I whisper to myself sometimes. I’m a person.

But everything my bosses have done to me goes against that and I know that next time I see Mr Axel — he will remind me all over again that I am just an animal.

Try to forget you think you have a name.

Mr Axel called me what he wanted to — animal, slut, whore — and I would die before I admitted that some part of me enjoyed it.

When I think about him, all I can think of is pain and his big dick inside me and how good it felt to please him. Those are the moments when I want to see him again. Those are the moments when I wonder if I’ll ever even see him again. It’s been months and there hasn’t been a word from him.

I also remember the last time I saw him.

I was lying at his feet and he was torturing me with this collar.

All some animals want is cock, he had said. They want to be penetrated and inseminated.

Roll onto your back, animal, and spread your legs, he had said. It won’t stop until I say it can.

Sometimes, late at night when my bosses have finally let me go home, when the endless series of clients they line up to fuck me after hours are finally done with me — then I catch myself fantasising about Mr Axel, about what his voice sounded like that day, what my body had felt like after twelve hours of him brutally fucking me, training me, treating me like an animal who didn’t matter.

His voice rolls around again in my head and I catch myself panting with desperate need.

Roll onto your back, animal, and spread your legs.

It won’t stop until I say it can.

Get your copy of ‘Molly’s Collar’ today!

The full novel has 144 pages (60,854 words) of steamy, erotic fiction – available on All These Roadworks.

And remember, if you haven’t read the rest of the Molly saga, they’re also available here:

• Molly’s Cage: All These Roadworks and Smashwords
• Molly’s Promise: All These Roadworks and Smashwords
• Molly’s Chains: All These Roadworks and Smashwords

Please follow me here or on my creator site for more stories! In the real world, remember to always play safely and practise positive, informed and enthusiastic consent that is respectful of all genders.

It’s not a manifesto

I write a lot of M/f non-consent erotica, including enslavement of women, degradation and forced breeding. In light of political events, I want to say: my stories are not your manifesto or anyone else’s. They are not an expression of how the world should be. Everything I write should stay in the hot world of fiction and play. It should absolutely not become part of the real world.

© Pixie Isobella