Uylesses Equisite Femdom Erotica Looks like Ulysses / Youlysses F/m and stories site is defunct.
|
Some months ago my Goddess Wife, in Her wisdom, decided that I should submit to daily discipline sessions.
Immediately after we put the children to bed I ‘prepare myself’ – I go to our bedroom where I remove my clothes and fix cuffs to my wrists and ankles, with rope loops attached to each cuff. I remove our firm, plastic whip (if anyone wants to know more about this whip please let me know) from Her wardrobe where it lives, and I lay on our four poster bed and loop the ropes from my feet and one of the wrist cuffs over three corner posts, and await the arrival of my Goddess.
When She arrives my Goddess Wife loops the fourth rope from my free hand over the fourth post of the bed, and I am now bound, naked, butt presented, unable to free myself. At Her mercy for my daily discipline and any punishment She deems necessary.
My daily discipline (designed, for any of you who have not read Elise Sutton, to remind me of my subservience to Her) consists of six strokes to my butt. It is obviously up to Her how hard the strokes are – they are never ‘token’ strokes – they tend to vary from firm to pretty severe, depending on her mood on the day. They always hurt – especially if my butt is sore from recent punishment.
If I have not earned further punishment, my Goddess Wife releases the rope from one wrist, and I thank Her (‘Thank you, Goddess’) and free myself from the remaining ropes before proceeding downstairs to serve and be with Her through the remainder of evening.
When my Goddess Wife first decided that I should receive daily discipline, I thought this was a little harsh. Elise Sutton’s book had suggested periodic discipline – once a week or something like that. Daily seemed a bit much. But by then we had already debated the issues around ‘topping from the bottom’ – this decision, like all decisions that affect our lives, was Hers alone to make, and my role was and is to submit to Her will. I’ve had (at least) six disciplinary strokes to my butt every day since.
This is a great illustration of how wonderful my Goddess Wife is for me. To take the idea of ‘periodic’ discipline and choose to apply it daily was a stroke of pure genius on Her part. I am never far from the last or my next discipline session, and so am constantly reminded of my subservience to Her. Equally, She too is reminded of Her dominance over me. It works great for both of us.
Originally posted 2011-07-12 11:24:51. Republished by Blog Post Promoter
The final query I shared with Goddess was my discomfort over being allowed or not allowed to cum. When I approach orgasm I always inform Goddess of my impending release, in a matter of fact way. Goddess then decides whether my pleasure should be prolonged to orgasm or terminated, and Her decision always applies. I recently referred to my rules on this, and note that the situation is not explicitly covered in the rules.
I explained to Goddess that I felt awkward informing Her of my pending orgasm, because it felt as if I was telling Her not to let me cum, or to let me cum, either way telling Her something, rather than simply awaiting Her instruction. I explained, with some difficulty, that I was not asking Her to allow me to cum, or to not allow me to cum, and that I was happy for that to be Her decision, but that I did not want to be appearing to impose a decision on Her either way.
Goddess said that She is happy with the current arrangement, and that I should always continue to tell Her of any impending orgasm, whereupon She will decide, at Her complete discretion, whether to allow me to cum.
Again I thanked Her for such clarity. I am happy to know that I am acting in accordance with Her wishes, and that my opinion or desires in this respect are not relevant.
These problems have been troubling me for a month or two now, and I am always reluctant to raise Femdom Supremacy issues with Goddess least it be interpreted as ‘topping from the bottom’ or being critical of Her (Last time she judged that I topped from the bottom I rolled a painful six).
I guess on this occasion I handled it better because Goddess was not critical of my raising these issues, and the talk helped to bring clarity and an improved relationship.
That very night in a long steamy session involving a lot of licking on my part, and a number of turns with Goddess on top of me (which recently is emerging as Her favourite sex position) Goddess finally allowed me to cum in Her, and then lay back while I cleared away a substantial week’s worth of output.
As usual I did not enjoy the taste or sensation, but knowing that She knew I was not enjoying it made the experience truly rewarding.
Originally posted 2011-07-14 15:58:15. Republished by Blog Post Promoter
Amused, Cressada flicked Malcolm’s rump, saying, “I’m pleased you’re so in tune with – ah… petticoat rule and wearing the boots, child, but why single out Langdon for your kind attentions?”
“Bah!” Margery snorted, “He’s always burned my little Frances… thinking he’s so all-fired smart,,, and he’s twice too big for his britches. The kicks I’m getting seeing him cut down to size… Bob now, is a nice inoffensive laddie… but this one…” she swaggered so close to Malcolm’s scrubbing head that he had to veer it aside, “this treatment is exactly what he deserves. Any boot licking mouse that lets a woman thrash him and make a damn fool of him gets no sympathy from me.”
“You’re sweet,” Sada swayed aside. “Let’s be comfortable, girl. I can oversee the husb. from over there. And he asks for no one’s sympathy. He crawled under my heel with his eyes open. And he begged for his punishment, my dear, simply crushed by his inability to defy me.” The blonde, lissome maiden and the dark strapping beauty reclined on a lawn chaise. Fingering the ugly rawhide, she accounted for every move of her toiling groom with chilled-steel grey eyes. A deep surge of despotism swelled her momentous bosom, thrusting the sumptuous furs apart. Margery watched Malcolm’s degration snootily. “One time I respect that man,” she said, “but now he’s just a disgusting worm.”
Originally posted 2007-08-04 03:29:29. Republished by Blog Post Promoter
Imagined consequences tortured Malcolm as he dogged the flashing knitting-needle heels downstairs, forth into the balmy afternoon and thence to an unkempt terrace behind the old manor house. Cressada strutted upon the balustraded enclosure, her heel tips smiting sparks from the flagstones. “You…” she leashed him to a suds-filled pail, “will now scrub these flagstones… to the bone. At any sign of a let-up, there’ll be th’ whuppin’. Pick up that brush.” Malcolm groped for the heavy scrub brush, blinded by the sunlight reflected from her patent leather boots. He vaguely noticed that two straps were a-dangle from the hand grip. “You’ll scrub in the meanest way,” smirked Sada, “so the lesson sinks in. Open that mouth.” She wrenched his head back roughly by the hair, jammed the brush handled between his teeth and buckled the straps around his head until his skull creaked.
Originally posted 2007-07-26 19:26:23. Republished by Blog Post Promoter
“Don’t say that,” Sada reproached her, “he’s a perfect dear of a worm who worships me and its no discredit to him if I show my affections by whippings and humiliation as well as the lovey-dovey. He’s a very happy man under me.” Margery appeared skeptical, particularly when Sada stiffened, head upflung, eyes wide and glacial, nostrils arching in her fine-ridged nose, her full red lips brutally down-drawn. Then rising to her commanding height, the furred and booted woman strode to her man with all the overbearance of a slave-driving Juno.
“I told you to lean on that brush!” Furs billowed and rawhide snapped over his thrusting head. “Take longer strokes, you sluggard, bear down till your neck cracks!” The lash seared his rear and her tone made his flesh crawl. “SCRUB, damn you. You’ll clean this terrace, you loafing muckworm, if you have to slave until you drop.!” Malcolm scrubbed wildly with his mouth-clenched brush, acutely suffering the rawhide consequences of disobedience, dazzled by the patent leather brilliance of pink and lavender boots. Getting into the swing of things, Margery strolled to the happy pair. “Look,” she pointed, he’s left a mess right here.” Sada lowered her whip arm and looked around herself. :Yes… and here’s another mess he’s left behind, HUSBAND!” she bawled, “get to them, you whelp!”
Originally posted 2007-08-08 15:30:59. Republished by Blog Post Promoter
As had been promised, things did not improve for Malcolm upon their return to his home, now called Masoque Manor. The nephews have not yet arrived, but meanwhile there is no letup in discipline, either by word or deed.
Returned to the boudoir, the statuesque beauty’s eyes chilled haughtily, her strong chin hardened. “Fun and games are over, husband.” Her tall heel crashed. “Open that cabinet.” Malcolm’s knees weakened on seeing the ominous arsenal of straps, lashes, birch-rods, whips, cats, canes, crops and switches that hung within. “You see, lover,” Sada smirked, “I have the means to flog you unconscious – or just make you sparkle. There’ll be disciplining here, without letup, and you’ll learn that chastisement is the heart and soul of it.. You’ll be put to the most debasing drudgery; you’ll slave in any way that might amuse me…without word of protest. I begin your training as a lady’s maid in earnest now. Get me out of this dress – at once!” Her grey-gowned, scarlet-belted luscious figure undulated. Apprehension and servile closeness to the overbearing goddess made Malcolm fumble…and he took several training cuffs before Sada stood forth in the magnificence of black-corsetted deshabille.
Bedazzled by such Junoesque voluptuousness, he moaned “Oh… oh Lord, Sada, h-how can you be so beautiful…” and then winced when her fingers took his ear.
Originally posted 2007-07-12 13:21:06. Republished by Blog Post Promoter
“Husband, be respectful with that tongue.” Cressada’s lips smirked at his abject humiliation. “Slobber just once on my stocking and you’ll feel this whip.” She raised the foot he was licking, toe up, on the skewer heel. “And a good husband knows that his wife’s soles get dirtiest of all.” Cheek against the floor, Malcolm tongue-washed the slipper bottoms, first one and then the other, and sucked the extravagant heels into his mouth until he gagged. All the time he was conscious of the lash dangling over him, ready to strike. Amused, she pressed his face beneath her foot. “Does this little toy frighten you, Pet?” The lash hissed wickedly past his ear. With one foot riding his neck, Malcolm tongues and retongued the glowing shoes in abject humiliation.
In this fashion the “honeymoon” continued, with Malcolm being subjected to increasing discipline. Meanwhile Cressada warns him that when they return to his house, which is being suitably refurnished, things will be worse rather than better. There Mrs Truella Murdstone, the governess, would be installed; also one Sheila Collins, a personal cook, to whom Malcolm would have to “show every consideration.” Finally, there would be Malcolm’s two nephews, as well as his niece, Margery. Things do get worse for Malcolm, but he gets his first real taste of punishment before leaving the hotel.
On the final day she was out alone till after six and when she returned, a pink-sheathed vision of high voltage glamour, Malcolm was panting at the door to take her hat, gloves, furs and packages. Her eyes had tigerish, predatory glow as he prostrated himself and faithfully tongued her lance-heeled, sharp-toed kidskin boots of lavender. He could feel the tinge of iron when she spoke. “Husband, it’s time you faced the facts of life under me. Tonight you’ll get a true taste of the kind of punishment I’ll be laying on. On your knees and open that parcel.” Obeying her steely voice and pointing finger, Malcolm nearly fainted at the sight of what the package revealed – a murderous strap of belting leather, half an inch thick, two inches wide, and over a yard long, with a stiff leather handle and slim wrist loop. Writhing sensually on the couch, Sada laughed throatily at his reactions. “Just one of my special disciplinary instruments, Pet – specially for you – tonight.”
Cressada Laverge lowered her lids and gloated over the ease with which she was subjugating Malcolm to her complete domination and imposing her firm will upon his rambling family estate, and the two teenaged nephews he supported. She had long yearned to punish them all, and her friend, Mrs Truella Murdstone would be a wonderful ally in her plans. Cressada’s fully rounded hips and magnificent bosom writhed in anticipation, surging from within at the thought of Malcolm’s place in her schemes. Little did that love-dazed man realise what was to come
[Little indeed, one might say! The new bridegroom finds he has to wear a dog collar and is then set to work scouring the hotel bathroom while his wife and Mistress goes out on a shopping trip. He then discovers a whip is his bride's suitcase, and this is soon put to work when she returns. Malcolm is ordered to clean her shoes]
Emotion squirmed within Malcolm’s loins, half love and half grinding fear, as he saw Sada’s strong, tapering gem-laden fingers grasping the handle of the whip. She fondled the lash, dangling the flexible tip before his panic-widened eyes, and pulling the whole supple length of it through caressing, dagger-nailed fingers, while Malcolm, breathing hard from he feared to know what feelings inside himself, at her feet, his spotless handkerchief ready in his hands.
“Put that damned rag away.” Cressada struck the arm of the chair with the doubled whip. “When you wipe your Mistress’s shoes you will do it reverently, with your tongue!” Malcolm looked up, gulping with awe at the derisive smile and her threatening flourish of the whip as he hesitated. Sada’s eyes narrowed. “So…my pet is not full of the proper respect and reverence – yet!”
“Yes, Sada,” he stammered, throwing himself belly-prone before the glittering black-shod feet. Street dirt clouded the brilliance of the patent leather at the heel tips and just above the soles. He began removing the dirt, his tongue polishing the leather and gathering the debris which he swallowed. In his haze of adoration and awe he knew that this was the only true way to keep his wonderful Mistress’s shoes clean. With whimsical amusement in her eyes, Cressada toyed with the whip, watching his willing debasement. The pungent taste of patent leather filled Malcolm’s mouth, flavoured by the admixture of dust and offal from the street. His lips laved the pointed contours of the gleaming shoes and felt the dainty garlands of pearls at the slipper throats and sucked the terrible thin spikes of the nearing six inch heels.
“Husband,” her liquid, throaty voice commanded, “Read this to me again.” She leaned over and her electric, full-bosomed assertive beauty dazzled his adoring senses as he read his own hand-written words:
“I, Malcolm Masoque-Laverge (once Malcolm Masoque) this day unconditionally and devotedly yield myself to the complete authority of Madame Cressada Laverge, my wife and absolute Mistress. I vow that: I am to accept her decisions in all matters as final. I am to comply with her every wish, to obey her every command and to always be faithful in heart and deferential in manner to my beloved Mistress. I am to submit my body, mind and soul to her strictest discipline, and expect severe punishment for the slightest disregard of her authority. Said punishment will be administered to me in whatever form my Mistress feels best befits her mood and the occasion.
(Signed) Malcolm Masoque-Laverge
His voice weakened towards the end, and he was conscious of the arch-browed, haughty face over him, her finely carved aristocratic nostrils flaring delicately as a superior smile and sneer touched her moist red lips. Having deferred to this superbly regal Venus from the first, he had written the submission contract in a love-mist of enthralled enchantment, thinking it meant no more than continued courtesy on his part.
“Well read, husband,” the sensuous lips murmured. “Memorize it word for word, so that you can recite it whenever I wish.”
“Yes, Sada, I will,” he answered humbly, not needing the sharp pinch on his ear, or the sparkling, tingling sting on his cheek from the slap of her palm to prove her power over him. He watched her move sinuously to the couch, especially attracted to her glittery black six-inch stiletto heels, and then resumed unpacking as her icy stare met his abject eyes.
When we went up to bed at midnight we both got ready and I walked naked back to the bathroom where Goddess was still brushing Her teach and asked, in accordance with my standing instructions, whether I should present myself.
Goddess thought about it and ermed and ahh’d, and then said “No. I’m a bit tired. But you can get them tomorrow along with tomorrow’s strokes. So tomorrow you will get twelve. OK?”
“Thank You Goddess.” I responded, and went back to bed to wait for her. My mind was spinning. How wicked is She? To think about it and arbitrarily decide to double my strokes the next day, simply because it gave Her pleasure. No wonder I love and serve Her.
When Goddess came into bed She reached behind Her for Her cock, and held it tightly in Her fist, which felt absolutely wonderful. Her cock was rock hard at the fear of getting twelve strokes the next day, and because I have not had an orgasm for around a week now.
Goddess squeezed Her cock briefly, and instructed me to go down and eat Her. I did so, and lapped at Her diligently. As is often Her style, Goddess allowed Herself to the edge, and did not let Herself orgasm, so that She could prolong Her pleasure. I delighted in this, and enjoyed giving it to Her, licking away and occasionally drinking up the juices She produced.
After a while Goddess instructed me to put Her cock in, and I rose to mount Her, sliding my rod in, before pumping gently in and out of Her.
I paced myself slowly, not wanting to reach the point of no return any sooner than I must. Goddess pushed my body a few inches away and reached out to pinch my nipples firmly as She likes to do. As Her fingers bit into my nipples the delight of experiencing Goddess’ pinch and Her love tunnel was more than I could bear and I soon felt myself drawing close to orgasm.
“I am close to cumming,” I informed Goddess, as I gently stroked in and out.
“OK,” She said. “Then you must stop. Go back down on me.” And She pushed me off Her and I returned to eagerly lapping at Her lovely pussy, now engorged by our love making. I lathered Her groin with my tongue, one finger in Her pussy as Goddess likes, and ultimately brought Her to wonderful orgasm, drinking all Her juices as She did so.
Goddess lifted Her leg over my head and away, and I guessed that it looked like I was not going to get to cum this evening. Sure enough, She instructed me to go and unlock the door, which I did before returning to spoon close in behind Her in bed.
“This is the way it will be,” explained Goddess. “You will not be allowed to cum again until you have received your strokes for not being submissive enough in front of Amanda.”
My cock jerked even harder against her butt as I lay next to Her. The excitement was overbearing. Not only had She awarded me an extra six strokes for the next day, but now She was demanding that I be more submissive in front of other ladies in future, and She was controlling and delaying my orgasms, and insisting on giving me my punishment due, all in one evening. My love at Her domination overflowed.
“Thank You, Goddess.” I said. “I think I am better now, and that you can give me the punishment I am due any time You choose.” I did not say this simply because I want to orgasm – I am in fact much recovered, and there is little or no excuse not to face the music.
Goddess agreed that this was fine, and declared that I would receive my punishment the next day – Friday, today. I thanked Her. But She then worked out that my mother would be here.
“No.” She said. “You can’t get it tomorrow, because your mother will be here and she will hear.”
I agreed with Goddess, but pointed out that if She wanted, She could always create a new rule where if I made any noise after a stroke, then that stroke would not count and I would have to receive it again. This, I observed, would ensure that I remained silent throughout my punishment.
Goddess agreed that that was possible, but said that She would be hitting me so hard that my mother would hear the sound of the strokes landing on me, and that was not good.
“You are going to hit me so hard that she would hear the strokes?” I confirmed.
“Yes. I will hit you so hard that she will hear the noise of the strokes landing” She replied. “So you will have to wait until Saturday to receive your punishment.”
My cock twitched again. My bad day was getting worse, or my good day better, depends on perspective I guess. I’m really not sure. Those would have to be some mighty hard strokes for my mother to actually hear them smacking in to me from downstairs. ‘My goodness!’ I thought.
Goddess and I have arranged to meet later today to go and look at schools for the kids – we’re thinking of moving them. I had an idea.
“Thank You Goddess,” I said, accepting Her decision that I should wait until Saturday. “But You are due to come home tomorrow afternoon to pick me up to go to the school. If You really wanted to whack me hard, then You could give me my strokes then, when we have the house to ourselves.”
To be honest, I have long worked to try and achieve this. Goddess and I are both relatively free Friday afternoons, and the kids are not home. In my search for increasing subservience I have thought for some time that if Goddess could use this time to apply punishment, then She would not be constrained by the fear of waking sleeping children, mothers downstairs or anything else. She could strike me as hard as She wants, and there would be no one to hear the noise. I figure that if She does this, then She will actually rip my butt to shreds, and the pain would cause me to fear punishment so much that my submission to Her, and thus Her dominance of me, would be all the stronger for it.
Goddess accepted that this may be a good idea, and that if She can get away from work early enough, then She would come home for 2 o’clock this afternoon, give me my punishment for 15 minutes, and then we would go together to visit the school.
I am a little alarmed at the thought. If She makes it here by 2 o’clock, 15 minutes does not allow very long for the strokes I am due. If I roll the apparently inevitable five then that will be 12 strokes for discipline, plus 25 for punishment – 37 in all. Over a 15 minute period this would require fairly ruthless, constant application of the steel cane – and I know Goddess can apply it ruthlessly when She chooses to. The thought that She might simply give me 37 strokes, full strength, none stop, and not have anyone in the house to worry about hearing, is really quite frightening. But the fact that She plans to do so, specifically to ensure that I am more submissive in front of Her friends is the most exciting and rewarding aspect. I may yet achieve near perfect slavery. I will let you know if She makes it home in time today. I look forward to suffering Her punishment, and to performing better for Her in future as a result.
If I don’t get my punishment today I shall suffer it tomorrow, and probably ‘just’ get the twelve discipline strokes today.
|
Want to Try Femdom in Real Life?
|
