Small gallery of covers of Ma’am the celebrated F/m spanking, corporal punishment magazine.
The Mistress prepared Farm Slave Boy for his day’s work on the ranch. It was a hot day and the Mistress knew that the work would get the boy hot, sweaty and horny.
Naked, the boy waited, arms and legs spreadeagled to the wooden columns holding up the barn. The obligatory Farm Slaves were slung around his neck, and the three stuffed into his mouth made his cheeks bulge. They tasted bitter from the cum which had soaked them the previous night when his Mistress had subjected him to a ruthless Farm Slave wank, making his cock sore yet ache for more.
The Mistress arrived with the restraints. A rubber chastity belt was tightened around his waist and his cock and balls pulled through the hole in the front. The Mistress pulled the bottom strap tightly back between the boy’s legs and used it to secure a wide double door knocker butt plug into Farm Slave Boy’s arse. The whole device was secured with padlocks.
Next his cock and balls were wrapped in a Farm Slave and his cock fastened up against the front piece of the chastity belt by tight rubber straps which made any expansion of his cock difficult and very painful.
Around the Farm Slave-covered balls the Mistress locked four metal shackles which stretched and tightened the balls, making them stand well proud of his body.
The boy was told to get dressed and he put on a flannel shirt and loose button-fly jeans. He knew what was expected and buttoned the fly around his balls which stuck out through the gaps in the buttons showing his Farm Slave bondage off to the world should it ever stray this way.
The Mistress reached inside the shirt and put clamps on the boy’s tits. These she pulled upwards with leather thongs which she clamped onto the boys ear lobes. Each head movement would pull on one or other tit, yet the clamps were so designed to tighten with tension rather than slip.
Next Farm Slave Boy’s feet were wrapped in piss soaked socks and thrust roughly into leather work boots which the Mistress laced up tightly.
Around Farm Slave Boy’s waist the Mistress locked a wide leather belt from each side of which ran a chain which ended in a lockable cuff. The chains were long enough to enable the boy to do his work but short enough to prevent him from reaching his tits or arse or head.
The gags in his mouth were secured with a wide folded piss soaked sock, another tied as a mask over his nose and mouth and a further one as a cover for his head.
Finally his hands were gloved in Farm Slaves so that the only parts of his own anatomy that could be seen were his deep dark eyes looking expectantly at his Mistress.
He worked all day collecting straw, sawing and piling logs, sweeping out the barn and obeying his Mistress’s orders. Never once did he shed a single item despite his arse tingling and twitching from the stimulation of the plug, his mouth aching from the gag, and his bladder bursting to piss the two pints of water he has been told to drink before leaving the house.
As it got dark the Mistress undid the chains and belt and the boy lay face down on the floor. The Mistress pulled some ropes down from a hook on the wall and secured first the boy’s feet, then his hands together, pulling them together until Farm Slave Boy was just one hog-tied Farm Slave bundle.
The ropes pulled his tits harder and pushed the plug deeper into his ass. His balls bore his own weight as they lay sandwiched between his thighs and the hard floor.
The Mistress took the mask off the boy and replaced it with the sodden rag, taking the old mask with her across the floor where she sat against a wall but well within view of the bound boy.
Folding the cun-soaked cloth in two, the Mistress double- masked the boy and left him for the evening to breathe in his Mistress’s smells and to strain against his Farm Slave bondage.
Originally posted 2011-07-20 06:47:51.
Naturally if a woman is going to command a men she’s going to spank him as well.
Modern Sissy, Special Sissy Puppy Issue
I’m always impressed that someone had the energy to create things like this.
Sissy male pets need to be fed.
No orgasms for this sissy male.
Cuckolded sissy husband’s strap-on service to his Mistress.
Holiday Corporal Punishment
This happened when I was a senior in high school. I must have been held back a grade when I was younger because I turned 18 at the beginning of the school year. I didn’t have to stay in school, but I was told that I should. This made me very rebellious. I just wanted to do the least possible to graduate.
Anyway, when Halloween came around, I thought I would cause a lot of mischief. I hid behind trees, and if I saw kids without their parents, I would take their candy from them. As it grew darker outside, I set off firecrackers and smashed pumpkins. I was having a jolly old time. Then I picked a house at random, and threw toilet paper all over the trees.
I was standing in front of the neighbor’s house admiring my work, when I felt someone grip my arm. I turned around and a big woman was holding me tightly so I couldn’t move. “You’re coming with me,” she said. I was dragged into her living room and forced to sit on a chair. She stood in front of me so that I was unable to move out of the chair.
“I’ve been watching you all evening. I saw you take kids candy, break pumpkins, set off firecrackers, and T P my neighbors yard. How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” I said.
“You’re legally an adult, now. If I call the police on you, you could spend time in jail.”
“I’m sorry! I must have gotten carried away with myself. Please don’t call the police on me!”
“I’ll give you an alternative. Either take a spanking from me, and everything that goes along with it, or I’ll call the police.”
I thought a spanking from her would he hit over my jeans with a paddle, so I said, “I’ll take your spanking.”
“Good choice,” She said. “If you don’t like your punishment and spanking, I’ll stop at any point, but then I will call the police.”
“You will not say a word unless you are spoken to or I tell you to talk.”
“You will do exactly what I tell you to do, without complaint.”
“And you will call me Mistress.”
“From now on, you should say “Yes, Mistress’ or ‘No, Mistress.”
“Very good! Now what is your first name?”
“Joe, I want you to take off your shirt, shoes and socks.”
“Yes. Mistress.” I thought this was strange, but I did as I was told.
Then she came out with something from the kitchen. “These are wrist cuffs. After I have them on your wrists, please turn around so that I can secure your arms behind you.”
Now I had wrist cuffs on and my arms were secured behind me. “Let’s go downstairs where your spanking will take place.” Once we got downstairs, she opened a room that had whips and paddles, a wooden horse, and a wooden X on the wall. This would be more than a simple spanking, I said to myself. “If this is too much for you, you can back out now and I will call the police.”
“I’ll still go ahead with it.”
She sat on the only chair in the room and said, “Now I want you to stand in front of me and not say a word.” Then she proceeded to unbuckle my belt, unbutton my jeans, and unzip my zipper. I was helpless, because my hands were secured behind my back.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I told you not to talk. If you say anything else, your spanking will be more severe. You need to be completely naked for my spankings.” Then she put her fingertips in my briefs. And soon they were also around my ankles. I felt so embarrassed. Only the boys in gym class had seen my naked like this, and my mother. “Step out of them, now.”
She looked me over and said, “Let’s go over to the wooden X for the first part of your spanking. Stand with your nose almost touching the wooden X.” Then I felt her undo my wrists in back of me, and immediately secured them spread apart above my head. Next she attached anklets to my ankles, and secured my legs together.
“I am going to start you out using the flogger on you. It contains many fingers of leather. They will turn your skin pink and they will sting a lot. Are you ready for m to begin.”
There was nothing else to say but, “Yes, Mistress.” She started up near my neck and worked her way down my whole body. Everytime time the flogger hit me, it felt like a hundred little pins had been stuck into my skin. She also had it wrap around the sides of my body. It made my entire skin tingle.
She quit flogging me and I felt her down by my feet. “Spread those legs.” She commanded. I spread them apart and she still said, “Spread them even further than that.” I spread my legs as far as I could. Then I felt her attach each leg to the ends of the wooden X. I felt completely vulnerable. My cock and balls were now completely exposed and hanging down.
“Now I will be able to get to your inner thighs and other sensitive places.” Then she started to flog me some more. I wanted to get away from the flogger, but I was secured in place. It really shocked me when she flogged me between my legs.
“You look pink all over, now. I am going to switch to a paddle and concentrate on your butt.” Then I felt the sting of the paddle on my bottom. She spanked me first on one cheek and then the other. I felt my butt getting real warm.
After spanking me for about ten minutes with the paddle, she said, “Now I am going to use the riding crop on you.” Where the paddle seemed to sting me in a wide area, the crop was painful in a straight line. She was also able to cover small areas where the paddle hadn’t reached. Then she flicked it a few times between my legs. It really stung my cock and balls and I wiggled about. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t falling asleep on me.” My bottom was now feeling very warm and tender.
“I am now going to release you and put you over the wooden horse.” I felt her release one foot then the other and she said, “You can put your legs together, now.” It felt so good having my legs together, but now I was aware of how tender my inner thighs had become.
She unhooked my hands above my head and then she lead me over to the wooden horse. “Please bend over it so that your hands and feet are touching the floor.” First she attached my arms to each of the legs in the front. Then she grabbed one of my legs at a time, and spread and secured them to each leg of the horse. In this position, I could look between my legs and see her.
“Now I am going to give you six strokes of the cane. Have you ever been caned before?”
“Well, it can be quite painful. I want you to count each stroke out loud, and also say ‘Thank you, Mistress’. Do you understand?”
I felt a tapping on my butt, heard a whistle, and then it felt like a hundred bees had stung my butt in a straight line. I tried to stand up to rub my butt, but I was held in place by the horse. I yelled out, “Ouch! That really hurt.”
“Yes were suppose to say, ‘One. Thank you, Mistress.’ But since you didn’t, that stroke will be repeated again. So this will be stroke number one, again. Do you understand?”
I felt a tapping again, heard the whistle, then the pain again. This time I said, “One, Thank you, Mistress.”
“Hopefully, after your spanking, you will never behave like you did tonight, ever again.”
“Here comes number two.”
I felt the intense pain, again and said, “Two, Thank you, Mistress.”
“Tomorrow, after school, I also want you to apologize to my neighbor, and help him clean up the mess.”
Then I felt the next stroke of the cane. “Ouch, that hurts. Three, Thank you, Mistress.”
“And if I ever catch you making trouble in this neighborhood again, you can expect another spanking like this one. Is that understood?”
I felt the next stroke on my tender butt. “Yes, Mistress. Four. Thank you, Mistress.”
“Will you stay out of trouble?”
I felt the next stroke on my tender butt. “Yes, Mistress. Five. Thank you, Mistress.”
“This will be your last stoke, unless you forget to count it out.”
I felt a tapping. Heard the whistle sound, then the pain. “Six. Thank you, Mistress.”
“Let me put some lotion on your poor butt.” She said. Then I felt her soothing hands on my butt, rubbing in the lotion. “You have seven parallel welts on your bottom. It will probably be somewhat painful to sit down for a couple of days.” She released me from the horse, took off my anklets and wristlets, and said, “You can get dressed now.”
It was painful putting on my briefs and jeans. We went upstairs and I finished getting dressed. The spanking was quite painful and more than I had expected, but it was better than going to jail. As I was going out her front door, she patted me on my tender butt and said, “Remember to apologize to my neighbor, and help him clean up the mess.
“Yes, Mistress.” I replied.
My behavior drastically improved after that weekend. I will never forget that Halloween.
Originally posted 2013-04-11 15:59:26.
I always end up working after midnight. It’s my favorite time for creative thinking. Nobody around wanting to talk to you, no sudden telephone calls, no background noise… Only me and the computer, in an empty computer building, where I can stay for hours and hours writing term papers. I can pace back and forth, talking aloud to myself, discussing with my alter ego all the scholarly details of my next masterpiece, without being frowned upon. All those books around me… waiting to be opened and read, their fragrant smell so enticing to the intellect. So much information that needs to be understood, put in order, made clear and put to good use as a new approach to an old problem. Ah, that will be a good paper, sure enough. It had better be; it is due tomorrow. “Some Remarks on the Comparative Morphology of Northern Amazonian Languages”. Good title! Hmm… maybe I’ll center that. OK. Looks better. Now, my name under it… should it be in parentheses? Or should I reduce the font size? Or change it to Helvetica? Gosh, a scholar-to-be’s life is full of hard decisions. There is no running away from them.
I looked at the ceiling with a sigh, which coincided almost exactly with the noise of the door behind me suddenly opening.
“Helen?” I said, turning around to face the woman in the black dress who entered the room where I was working. She looked distressed; although she was moving slowly, almost softly, there was an aura of nervousness about her that I could simply not ignore. Her beautiful eyes looked deeper than usual, and her hands, which would usually be playing with her red hair, were now hanging almost motionless. Worse yet, there was no smile on her lips. “Did something happen?”
Continue reading Mistress’ Night of Confusion
Mistress Locks Up His Penis
She stroked me to waken and reminded me she hadn’t let me cum last night, or the one before, or for a long time. “How long has it been since you’ve cum?”
“6 1/2 weeks I said.” She took my balls gently and asked again more firmly, “Do not lie to me. I want the truth. Have you really been completely chaste all this time?” “Yes Ma’am, I have really.” I pleaded.
“I know you play with it all the time. I know you get hard during the night and I’ve seen your hands move toward playing with it with me right next to you. You don’t really think I believe it’s an accident when you “find yourself” between my legs do you? It’s not, IS IT?”
“No Ma’am,” I pleaded when she squeezed my balls hard. She released with an order to get out of bed, get her coffee and bring it back with her hairbrush. I started to say something but resigned myself, this was what we’d agreed to. I had asked her what she thought of Femdom and when she admitted it intrigued her, I confessed my secret yearning for it. In one evening a few months ago I went from casually asking her opinion to begging for her dominance and pledging myself to her discipline.
She nodded to the nightstand and I set her coffee there. Propping her back up on pillows, she held out her open hand for me to hand over her hairbrush. Ordering me to kneel on the bed in front of her, she raised her knees and used one foot to tease my penis to a fast hardon.
“I know you haven’t cum and I appreciate your honest effort Sweetie, but to tell the truth I’m not completely satisfied. Are you?” “Yes Ma’am i am because…” “SHUSH!”, she cut me off, “Yes Ma’am or no Ma’am will be sufficient. And another thing, stop moving and rolling your hips around at me. You are not playing with my foot, I am playing with your penis. Is that understood?” To which I began a long series of Yes-Ma’ams.
“Do you want to do as you’re told? Do you think you can? I doubt it, you’re hard right now and you are under specific orders not to get hard without asking permission, right? Listen Sweetie, when I told you I wanted to control all of your sexual pleasure and make you dependent on me for all of it, you begged me-BEGGED me to make your penis my slave. You recall? Did you mean it? I thought so and fyi, I like having a penis slave and have no intention of ever giving it up. You like that thought don’t you? Yes, it would seem so by its response.”
“Did you use the rest room while you got my coffee?” she asked matter of factly. I had. “Well I didn’t. Lean over and you can be my toilet again this morning. Do-not-spill-a-drop-understand!” This new twist was getting more habitual, and I was pretty sure she intended to keep on using me for her toilet on a a fairly frequent basis. Two things were obvious. She was getting more and more sadistic in her sense of dominant degradation and I was sinking deeper and deeper into humility before her. Which I guess is what we wanted.
She finished and ordered me back to my knees. “Now, before we get back to my hairbrush all over your bottom for last night, here’s what I’ve decided to do about your penis from now on. Since you can’t or won’t control your erections, I’m going to go ahead and lock it up.”
“I’ll be using a real cage that will never even allow erection while you’re in it. It’s a real lock and a real key and I will have it and you won’t. The rules are getting simpler. Your behavior has landed you in penis prison. Once I lock you in, your only way out will be when I’m in the mood to tease you. And from now on, your penis will truly be my slave because every time I unlock it, your hands will be cuffed behind you. You will never be able to play with yourself. My hands will be the only hands you feel and the ones you’ll go crazy begging for.”
“Oh Sweetie I know! I see it in your face. I know you’re scared about submission you can’t escape. I know you want it too. I can tell by the way your loins are almost gasping for breath. Do you want to cum right now. Go ahead, this will be your last…Don’t touch…No…I won’t either. This is your last chance if you want to cum go ahead…
…Okay Sweetie that’s enough…I love you for trying but that’s ok. I’ll take care of your penis from now on. Now I want you to lie on your back and eat me while I put this on you. You’ll have to lose that erection or I’ll have to use these hairbrush bristles to get rid of it for you.
“I thought about just letting you go,” she said, shifting her position on the massage table so he could work on her inner thighs, smoothing, pressing, removing tension.
“But then I thought, what about all the work I’ve put in to make you into a really good slave? I figured I deserved to get something for all that. So I decided to sell you.”
“Sell me?” He was stunned. He knew things had been going downhill for a few months. He knew that his lovely, dominant wife was no longer interested in dominating him very much. She wasn’t even bothering to cuckold him in obvious ways like she had during the winter. Back then she’d made him dress her for her dates and
then clean her up with his tongue when she got home. She’d really enjoyed that, he knew, because while he swallowed some other man’s sperm she would tell him all about her date and how they’d gone to some fabulous hotel and how much money the guy had spent to impress her and how she’d made the guy strip naked for her, and introduced the guy to the beginning stages of Female Domination, and then how she’d fucked the guy’s brains out and how big his cock was and how hard it stayed, for hours at a time.
And all the time, while she was having the guy give her the rumpy-pumpy to orgasm after orgasm she knew that her slave husband was at home handwashing her panties, scrubbing the kitchen and vacuum cleaning the house. She got a huge kick out of all that.
But he was so totally dominated now, so completely enslaved, that for her the
thrill was gone.
“See, what I like is the chase,” she’d told him many times. “I like to get a guy hot for me, desperate for me, begging on his knees. Then I like to break him and take him down. Get him used to my ass on his face. Get him into taking a good beating whenever I feel like giving him one. Take him with the strap on like he’s the girl. Turning him into my personal servant, my housemaid, my total slave.
She would grin, listening to the sound of his kisses on her toes.
That had been then, this was now.
“But…” he sputtered. He’d stopped massaging her. Normally that would have
put him in acute danger of a whipping.
“You heard me. I checked out the Slave Market Report at the Femme Domme Society. They have a rating system?”
She was up-talking, so he knew she was really excited.
“What?” He was still shaking, only in his bare feet though, since he wore nothing in the house except his chastity device and his slave panties. Well, since he hadn’t been outside in more than a year, that was all that he ever wore.
“Yeah, you feed in some pictures of the slave and fill out a form, you know? It asks questions like– how big is the slave’s cock, how good is the slave at cooking, or giving oral, or whatever.”
He was feeling a chill down his spine. This didn’t sound like a joke, unh-uh. Not at all.
“Wait, you can’t sell me. I mean, we’re married.”
She laughed. Put her head back and roared.
“Oh, baby, you are such a deluded dude.”
He felt terribly foolish and vulnerable. What did she know that he didn’t?
She was studying him, her green eyes could penetrate his mind, he knew. She’d always been able to read him like an open book. He’d loved her, he still did, he worshipped her in fact, but he knew she was no longer interested in him.
It was heartbreaking. He felt tears welling up in his eyes.
“I did what you wanted. I thought you liked having me as your, uh, ..” He couldn’t finish. Couldn’t say the word.
“My slave. And you didn’t read the Advanced Marriage Contract either, did you?”
Her smile was cruel now. She was loving this.
“N-n-n-no, I didn’t.”
“In a marriage set up under Female Lead Relationship Rules, okay? Where the Wife is the acknowledged Primary Income earner and has the primary share in all property ownership?”
He stared at her. He’d given up his job on her orders. He’d signed everything over to her on her demand. He’d surrendered completely to her will.
“Then the male party may sign himself over as Chattel Property to the Wife. It was Clause Eleven. You signed it, I know. I made sure of that.”
All he remembered was a fat contract, that he had to sign in several places in duplicate. It had been under the Department of Health and Human Services, the
Marriage Division. He remembered the headline. And afterward, she’d spanked him and sat on his face for hours.
So now he learned that he’d signed himself over to her as a piece of property. Well, he’d always felt that he belonged to her that way. He’d been happy to be her slave.
“See,” she said. “They put that in after the National Femme Domme Society got Senator Julia Masterman to get it through the Senate. You don’t remember that?”
He shook his head. He didn’t know things like that. He was just a slave to a Dominant Wife. He knew about cooking and cleaning and doing her pedicure. The days when he watched the news, or used a computer seemed long ago, in another life.
“Yeah, it was just for the FemDom community, but you know, we’re an important group in this state. So the President signed it. I bet the First Lady was leaning hard on him over that too.”
The President was a man. The first male president in a while too, and he’d heard that he might be the last one, ever. Women had definitely taken over the government.
“So, anyway, we’ll file for divorce under the Female Lead rules. That means I keep everything, except your chastity device and one pair of panties. Everything else will be provided by your new owner. Doesn’t that sound great?”
“My 401K?” he said in a kind of despairing bleat.
“Honey, you’re a slave now. You don’t contribute to that anymore. I get all that, all your belongings. You know, they’re working on slave retirement schemes right now, because some older slaves are already being retired by their owners, and of course they don’t have anything to live on. So the state is setting up slave farms, where old slaves will spend their final years, working for the good of society, growing vegetables and stuff.”
He didn’t know what to say.
“Don’t worry, women are in charge now. You won’t be making any decisions, ever again.”
He stared at her. She was so beautiful, so deadly, so irresistible, he ached to be allowed to kneel before her and provide oral servitude. He longed to feel the collar on his neck and the tug of the leash towards the bedroom. But now, he knew, that tug would never come again.
Suddenly she snapped her fingers. “I don’t recall telling you to stop.”
He dropped his eyes and resumed massaging her lovely, left leg, smoothing and pressing the hamstring muscle between his fingers. She played tennis, jogged,worked out at the gym and did yoga. Her body was a thing of perfection, and she knew perfectly well how to use it as a weapon to subdue and enslave men. As he reached her knee, she brought her legs together and then rolled onto her stomach.
“Massage my ass,” she said with a chuckle.
She knew his weakness in that direction. Her ass was sculpted by exercise and diet into a gorgeous testament to the beauty of Woman. He had kissed those smooth, perfect globes many, many times and had worshipped with his face pressed between them for many, many hours.
Just working on those sacred muscles, which were firm, even hard under pressure, brought his penis up tightly into the chastity tube. It bucked a little until the chain tightened and held him down. He could not have erections. Erections were only allowed under the gaze and control of his owner, whoever She might be. She held the key to his chastity device and thereby to his sexuality.
He continued the massage and after a while she spoke again.
“You always loved my ass, didn’t you?” she chuckled. “I know you did, you were always so responsive to it. Well, don’t worry, your new owner will have one too. Perhaps not quite as pretty as mine, but you’ll get used to it.”
He squeezed, released, gathered his hands together and squeezed again, trying not to weep at the thought of never worshiping at this altar of Female Beauty again.
“Anyway, I visited a slave agency today and talked to a broker. She gave me the documents, pointed me to their website and even helped upload the pictures of you.”
He listened in a state of stunned disbelief. It sounded so mundane, so normal. A Dominant Wife went in and sold her husband and then went out and got another one. Slave husbands had become goods, like cars, or horses, or something.
“Guess what? I had five responses in an hour. Three in-state, one from Florida and one from Hawaii. Isn’t that great?”
He felt an uptick of interest. Was five responses good? He didn’t have the faintest idea. Hawaii?
“You always were a cute guy, and I’ve kept you nice and slim and well toned, and you do have a nice, big cock. Plus, you got your cooking diploma and you passed the State Housecleaning Boards with an A. The broker said you would get some interest. Ladies like men who can cook, and if they’re big down there, then that’s a bonus. So, anyway, I called the two local ladies who bid for you? One underbid on you, so I went with the other.”
“You sold me?” it just slipped out. He sucked in a breath, terrified that he’d gone too far and would get a whipping.
“Yep. Her name is Brenda McKay, she’s forty two and really rather, uh, voluptuous. She bid $6,000, and we settled at $7,500, which isn’t bad at all, really. She’s coming to collect you in about half an hour, too.”
“What?” He’d stopped massaging again. His jaw had dropped too. He gasped. She turned her head, her eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. He trembled.
“If you stop my massage again without permission, she’ll be picking up her new slave with a red hot, striped, purple ass on him. You hear me?”
He forced himself to concentrate on the job at hand. Gathering the marvelous, solid ass muscle in his hand and pressing, squeezing and relaxing it.
“I have the documentation, so I can transfer title to her. You’ll have to have a cyber wedding too, to make it legal. But it only takes a couple of minutes now. You see, once you’ve married into a Female Lead Marriage under the law, you stay there unless the Wife specifically releases you. And I didn’t, did I?’
He could imagine the cruel little smile on her lips as she said that.
Her phone rang. He hurried to fetch it from the sofa in the living room. The number was unfamiliar to him, but he handed it to her and resumed massaging her ass.
“Oh, hi,” she said. “Yes, Floral Park. Just go right down sixty two until you come to the big box mall there. Take the right, then the first left turn. I’m about half a mile farther down. The house is pink with white trim, my neighbors are pale blue on one side and white on the other.
“Yes, he’s all ready. Nothing to pack, after all, is there?” She chuckled. “Well, it was a bit of a shock, but I’m sure you’ll have him warmed up quickly. You sound very experienced.”
Was that good? An experienced Domme? He had no idea. She’d been his first and she’d been experienced enough by the time he fell under her control and signed that fatal marriage contract.
Press together the beautiful ass-flesh of the left buttock. Compress it smoothly between his hands, dig his thumbs in and bring them down together, placing smooth, stress releasing pressure on the big muscles there. He tried to concentrate entirely on the task in hand.
Of course, now that she had her phone in her hand she called Annie, her best friend and co-conspirator in things fun and devilish.
“Yeah, he’s sold. $7,500. Great, yeah? Let’s go out later. Coco’s? Maybe we can pick up some studs, take them to the Pink House. Could be good. Celebrate, yeah?
“How did he take it? Oh, he’s sobbing a little. Well, I know, and he’s gonna miss my ass. Well, I know, it’s the best looking ass for miles.” She laughed.
“Yeah. Yeah. I know. Yeah. Totally. Like, what else is new?” She laughed some more.
“Oh, he’ll get over it. What’s she like? Well, not like me, a bit heavier, shall we say. Oh no, not fat or anything. Oh no, she’s more, like, well, voluptuous is the word that keeps coming up in my mind. The picture she sent me to use for the cyber wedding was pretty amazing. Where? Oh, up in the hills somewhere. Nice looking house. Bigger than mine. I don’t think she has other slaves. I mean, you can only marry one.”
“Have to wait for the next President for that! I could use two or three at a time, I guess. But you know, you’d have to do stuff with each one to keep them happy. You don’t want sulky slaves that you have to whip all the time. And they’re expensive. Did you see they hiked the price of Science Diet by two dollars? Plus the Slave Health Plan went up forty bucks this month. It all adds up.”
He continued massaging the prettiest ass for miles around, but his mind was full of questions. Voluptuous? Brenda McKay?
And behind the questions was the looming certainty. He had been sold. He
was going to be divorced, and then remarried via a website and then taken away by his new Dominant Wife to a new life, somewhere up in the hills.
And there it was, underneath his sorrow, lurking like some crazy, unbeatable
weed, that thrilling FemDom lust. He knew it had gone out of his marriage. He knew she didn’t even care to whip him anymore. But he still loved her and that made him sad
And yet, the thought of this Brenda McKay coming to take him away was arousing that old FemDom lust in his soul. He felt torn in half by it all. But he never stopped massaging her, aware that she would make good on that threatened whipping no matter what.
And then they heard a cardoor slam. Heels clicked up the walk and the doorbell rang.
She got off the table, pointed to the slave corner and went to answer the door herself.
He knelt down in the corne penitent, humble, and yet aroused. His fate had been determined. There was nothing he could do about it. He’d been sold to another woman.
He heard their voices, hers, and another female’s, that one a little deeper, a little huskie. Heels clacked on the floor.
“He’s in here, all yours.”
End of Part One.
Copyright Permian Systems 2008.
Originally posted 2009-07-07 21:26:48.
The dominatrix has bound her slave man with straps, no part of his body is free. She rests a boot on his head to remind him of his inferior status.
She will punish him late into the night. The slave has been impertinent, slack and lazy. His behavior has disgusted his Mistress Owner.
Tonight she will beat and whip him with ever whip, every cane, quirt and tawse. Her metal clothespins will tear at his skin. Stinging unguent burn his genitals. And she’ll kick him.
Awaking tomorrow his whole body will ache and sting. His bones and his tender rendering every motion agony. Still angry his Domme Owner will keep him locked in a punishment room for the next two weeks.
Her anger spent he will be permitted to serve her once again.
For years this man has craved to be dominated, spanked, whipped and variously punished and tormented by women.
Finally he is tied to a bed. He is helpless. At the mercy of two strange women who promised to help him live his dreams.
The women are pleased with his Femdom virginity. They get to do cruel things to him for the first time. When the evening ends, will he feel satisfied or wish he’d never heard of Femdom. The women don’t care. He gave himself to them for the night. They will use him as they please.
Do you wish it you tied to the bed? Have you often dreamed of a similar moment.