Male Weakling : 8

Grace stepped up, grabbed the elastic belt of his shorts, then pulled him up onto his hands and knees. Mack swatted behind him to brush her away, and she swooped low to hammer her knee into his ass. His body lurched forward from the weight of the blow. She told me to come over, which I did. She told me to pull down his shorts – which, reluctantly, I did. His balls were huge; the size of hens’ eggs. His soft penis was extremely thick, and at at least six inches long.

“Now fuck him up the ass, David.”

Mack groaned.

“Shut the fuck up, you scum!” Grace kicked him in the head, silencing him. “Do it, David!”

I was too frightened to defy her; I had never seen her batter anyone like she battered us that day, so I had no intention of disobeying her. She became impatient though: she stripped down my underwear and grabbed me by the testicles.

“Get it up right now, or I’m going to rip these off and stuff them up your friend’s nose.”

I grew rigid, and she made me kneel behind Mack. She let me put my saliva on my cock; I could hear Mack crying softly with fearful anticipation. And then I penetrated him.

I could tell Mack had never been fucked up the ass before. He wailed, his voice booming so loud that Grace had to beat him some more. I plunged into him with my full length, feeling my medium sized balls swing forward and collide against his huge balls. I felt like he was my junior; I was second-in-command below my dom. I was an agent, or a tool of her will: teaching him a lesson. And it felt good.

When I was about to come, Grace reached from behind and took my testicles in her hand. I shot my sperm into Mack with my domme pumping my balls. Mack folded onto the floor. I could tell he was exhausted; I could tell he was humiliated. And then Grace ordered us to switch places.

To my surprise, Mack had no trouble at all getting an erection. I didn’t see it; I didn’t want to see it, knowing it would dwarf mine; but after he briefly stroked spit onto it, I could feel it slam into me — and I knew right away it wasn’t as long as the cocks my dom wore when she wanted to rape me. I estimated it was nine inches. Mack plowed into me with a vengeance, though; I could tell he hated me for hurting him, and was determined to hurt me just as much.

The most hurful thing for me was feeling his gigantic testicles swing like iron weights beyond my spent nuts into my stomach. I was astonished at how big they felt, pounding up into my body with each thrust of his cock. I realized that as a man, he truly outclassed me. But I knew when he grew limp before coming that it was because he recognized that he wasn’t hurting me. And this made him feel frustrated and impotent.

“What’s the matter, boy? Did I say you could stop?”

Grace was all over him. I smiled secretly. My domme was going to put this insolent man through the ringer.

“Did I say you could go limp?”

He didn’t say anything. I turned around to watch, and him sitting on the floor, his bruised, blood-stained face looking chumpish and defeated. She shoved him onto his back, kicked his legs apart, then planted her foot on his genitals.

“When I tell you to do something, boy, I expect you to complete the job.”

She laid her weight onto her foot, crunching his nuts against his body. He howled, and she laughed. She reached down and grabbed his long, thick cock. He mummbled something, incoherent and desperate, about calling the police. This made her laugh even louder, and she rewarded his wit by slapping him across the face a few times, then plunging her fist into his well-endowed groin.

“Go ahead, call the police when I’m through with you. Tell them you and a male friend of yours were beat up then raped by a woman. But in the meantime, get it up for me, or I’m going to rip it off, bronze it, and stick on the wall as a trophy.”

She grabbed his testicles – had to use one hand for each – and worked them over: gripping, squeezing, tugging, banging them together – until he got a full erection. She mounted his tall, thick penis, and rode him for an hour.

I could tell she enjoyed it thoroughly: the raw physical thrill of having such a huge cock inside her was made even more delicious by the fact that she had physically conquered another male. When Mack ejaculated and went limp, she beat him some more – driving her elbow into his groin several times, threatening to have me rape again – until he regained his erection. Then she drained him thoroughly, hammering out the last shred of his macho-maleness like an exorcist.

Mack moved out of town; I never saw him again. That event – our defeat at the hands of my domme – lingered in my mind for two reasons: it was further proof of women’s physical control over men, and it was something that Grace occasionally brought up to me: how superior Mack’s cock was to mine; how puny my testicles were in comparison to his; how she wished I was endowed better.

“You’re inferior in so many ways,” she said once. “But of course, ultimately all men are.”

The End

Originally posted 2009-02-07 15:00:41.

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Originally posted 2011-11-05 14:59:40.

Female Punishment Police

When Gynarchy arrives there surely will be Punishment Police. Police officers will monitor all public male behavior. When fault is found the guilty male will be taken to the nearest police station.


There women whose full time job is the correction and discipline of immodest, recalcitrant men will learn a rough lesson. After three visits to the station the male will be sent to a rehabilitation center.

Thirty days of whippings and hard labor will improve the male deportment and instill proper respect for his female betters.

Man Spanked for Being Rude to Women (Matriarchal Society Punishment)

Gynarchic Behavior Modification Center Spanking

After my first trip to the Behavior Modification Center, I was really careful about how I was treating women. So I was very surprised when I received another red letter in the mail. It said, “This is notification that you have broken various laws and have been disrespectful to women. Your indiscretions have been caught on our cameras and recorded. You are to report to the Behavior

Modification Center at xxx address at 7 PM on 8/25/2018. If you do not report to the Behavior Modification Center within a half-hour of the appointed time, you will be arrested and the consequences will be even greater. However, you may also arrive up to one-half hour earlier than your appointed time. Wear casual clothing and expect your appointment to last up to two hours. You will receive discipline and behavior correction for the laws that you have broken. It is recommended that you do not schedule any other activities after your appointment. Be sure to check in at the registration desk as soon as you arrive.

Continued from: Spanked for Disrespecting Women (Matriarchal Society Punishment)

Be aware that this will be the second time that you have needed to report to the Behavior Modification Center.

The Women’s Patrol Unit”

I remembered the severe spanking that I had received, and I wasn’t looking forward to be spanked again.

Like the last time, I got off of work early, and arrived at the Behavior Modification Center at 6:45 PM. When I reported to the reception desk, the receptionist said, “Many things have changed since your first visit here.” She handed me a clipboard with a paper in it. “Please read this over, sign it, and then return it to me.”

By signing the paper, I swore that I would not tell other men about my experiences in the Behavior Modification Center. I also acknowledged that I was to remain silent and only speak when spoken to. There were also many minor rules such as how I should address the women when I was permitted to speak.

The paper also stated that the center had been recently remodeled, and that some of the procedures had been changed. I signed the paper and handed the clipboard back to the receptionist. “Someone will be with you shortly. Please have a seat.”

The center also had the same rulebooks for you to read while you waited for your name to be called and I was surprised to see the large number of men who were in the waiting room.

Soon, a very young woman who was wearing a white uniform called my name. “

Clyde, my name is Jane. Please follow me.” We walked down a long hallway until we got to a room called, ‘Prep Room Eight’. Like last time, the room had some benches in it, some lockers, and a large television screen on the wall.

“Have a seat and watch the screen in front of you.” Next I saw myself in situations where I was acting very disrespectful and a real jerk to women.

After each situation it told how many demerit points I was getting for this poor behavior. At the end of all of the incidents, the screen said I had a total of fifty points, ten more than the last time at the Behavior Modification Center.

Jane then turned to me and said, “Clyde, I want you to undress and put your clothes in the empty locker. You may keep your socks on, if you like.” Then she just stood there and looked at me.

The last time, I was given a thin gown to wear and some slippers, so I asked,

“Aren’t you going to give me a gown to wear and some slippers like last time?”

“Clyde, you now have earned two extra demerit points for talking out of turn and not addressing properly. Our procedures have changed from your first visit to the center. We had to change them because of the large number of men who needed their behaviors corrected. So be sure you address anyone who works here as “madam”, and start getting undressed. I am going to stay in the room and then escort you to the punishment room.”

I didn’t want any more demerit points, so I started to get undressed. I felt embarrassed having to undress in front of a young woman who I had just met.

When I got down to my boxer shorts, I hesitated. “Those come off, too.” Jane said. “Be quick about it. There are many men waiting to be punished.”

“Yes, madam.” I quickly replied as I put my shorts in the locker.

“That’s better.” Jane said. “Now come over here with your hands on top of your head.” Jane was now seated on one of the benches. I had an erection as she examined my penis and balls. “Now turn around so that I may examine your ass.” I turned around and felt her hands all over my ass. “How has it been since you were here last?”

“About six weeks, madam.”

“Because you can’t tell if you have ever been punished, before. But that will change in a few moments. Now turn around and spread your legs so that I may put a lead collar on you. Be sure and keep you hands on top of your head.”

Then to my surprise, she took a small leather strap and fastened it to the base of my penis and balls. Then she connected a chain to it.

“Now I am going to lead you down the hallway to the correction room. Be sure to keep your hands on top of your head and only speak if spoken to.”

Then she pulled me by my penis and balls down the hallway. They had remodeled the center so there was no longer another waiting room, and there were now many more correction rooms. I also passed many other men with their hands on top of their heads, and being lead by a chain attached to their penis and balls. I felt so humiliated being led around the center in this manner.

Soon we got to ‘Correction Room Number 20′. Jane opened up the door and we walked in. This room looked different from the other room I was punished in.

It still had the many whips, crops, paddles, etc on the walls, but the spanking bench was different. It was like a large stainless steel table that had a large ledge on it, which was padded. There was also a small mirror that was attached to the middle of one end of the table structure.

Jane sat down on a chair and said, “Come over here so that I can take off your chain.” She fondled my erection as she took off the chain. Then she stood up and went over to the wall and turned a dial that lowered the bench closer to the floor. “You can lower your arms. Go over to the spanking bench and kneel on the padded ridge with your arms stretched out in front of you.”

“Yes, madam.” I said as I knelt and stretched my arms out in front of me.

First, Jane fastened a strap around my waist to keep me in place. Then some more straps secured my arms and wrists. Next, my ankles and thighs were secured in place. Now, no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t move.

Jane went over to the wall again, and to my surprise, the spanking bench started to move. Soon my head was close to the floor and my naked ass was sticking up high in the air. Jane turned another dial and soon my legs were being spread apart. Now I felt really vulnerable, with my ass sticking up in the air, and my penis and balls dangling between my spread apart legs.

With the small mirror that was mounted on the spanking bench in front of me, I could watch what was happening in back of me. Jane picked up a clipboard and said, “I see that Nancy will punish you, again. I will be back for you after your punishment.” Then Jane left the room. I couldn’t hear much because the room was soundproofed, so all I could think about was how vulnerable I was in this position.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened and Nancy walked in. She picked up the clipboard and said, “I’m Nancy, your correction officer. By your records, it looks like I punished you the last time you visited us. I see that you earned fifty demerit points plus two points for talking out of turn in the short time you have been here. That means you will receive twenty SWATs of the paddle, twenty SWATs from a tawse, ten SWATs from a riding crop, and eight strokes from the cane. Do you have any questions?”

“No, madam,” I replied.

“Good. So I may as well get started. But first let me adjust the bench a little more.” Nancy raised the bench a little higher and angled it down a little. Now my ass was really sticking up in the air and unprotected. She went over to the wall near me and selected a paddle. Then in the mirror in front of me, I could watch her position herself in back of me to start my punishment.


Nancy was using the paddle to make sure every inch of my bare ass turned red with fire. She even used the paddle on the tops of my thighs.


“That’s twenty with the paddle, now the tawse.” She hung up the paddle and next I saw her grab a tawse with many long leather fingers on it. The last time the tawse was used on me, it really stung. I could feel the leather fingers wrap around my whole ass at the same time. They also went into the tenderest parts of my ass, since I was bent over with my legs stretched apart.


Now my whole ass felt like it was on fire, again. “Your ass has now turned a nice red shade.” Nancy said. “You should be able to feel this punishment for a whole week.”


“Now it’s time for the riding crop. I like to have fun with this!” Nancy teased me by flicking it in my armpits, and along my sides. Then she would surprise me with pain as it crashed up my upturned ass. I didn’t know what to expect, a little pleasure or a lot of pain. Nancy also flicked it between my legs. Although my ass felt like it was on fire, it caused me to keep an erection. The ten SWATs seemed to take forever since she was teasing me so much.

Then she hung the riding crop on the wall and pulled down several canes. She swished them in the air next to me and I could hear the distinctive whistle of the cane. Nancy selected a cane and put the others back on the wall. “This one should do nicely.”

Next a heard a speaker on the wall say, “Nancy, is it alright if a tour with four young girls observe you?”

“All I have left is eight strokes of the cane, but you can go ahead and send them in”.

It was bad enough being punished like this, but I didn’t want to be observed in this position. “Please, no. Please don’t let them see me like this!” I pleaded.

Nancy went to the wall and grabbed a gag. She shoved it in my mouth and quickly tied it around my head. “You know better than to complain like that.

Now you have earned an extra stroke of the cane.”

I heard the door open and I saw four teenage girls enter the room. “My Name is Nancy and this is Clyde. I have just given him twenty SWATs from the paddle, twenty SWATs from the tawse, and ten SWATs from the riding crop. Now he will receive nine strokes from the cane.”

“My we feel his red ass?” One girl asked.

“Yes, go ahead.” Nancy said.

Then I felt eight hands feeling me all over. They were even grabbing my penis and balls. “His ass feels real hot. Why isn’t he complaining?”

“If you notice, I put a gag on him right before you came in. That way he can’t complain.” Nancy said. “Now stand back so that I can finish his punishment.”

Then I felt the tip of the cane on my already tender and sore ass. I could see her draw back her arm in the mirror, then Whish, Crack. It felt like a hundred bees had stung me in a row. I wiggled about, trying to free myself from the leather straps that were keeping me in place because of the so great.

“See him move about. That is because the cane is so painful.” Nancy told the girls.

Whish, Crack.

The second stroke felt like a line of fire on my ass.

Whish, Crack.

The caning continued until I received my nine strokes. “I need to leave to punish the next man,” Nancy said to the girls. “You can examine him all you want to. Just leave his gag on and him strapped down. And Clyde,

Jane will be back in a few minutes to escort you back to your clothes.”

The door shut and I was left in the room with four curious girls. They were running their fingers along the nine parallel welts that were left by the cane.

My penis and balls were also being fondled by them. I felt double punished.

First by Nancy with her paddle, tawse, crop and cane, and now being touched and examined by these four teenage girls.

I heard the door open and Jane walked in. “Who are you?” Jane asked the girls.

“We are taking a tour of the facilities and Nancy said we could stay and examine how she had punished Clyde.” One of the girls said.

“Yes, Nancy does do a good job with punishing the men who come here. But you better get along with your tour, because I need to get Clyde dressed and out of here so that we can punish some more men.” Then the girls finally left the room.

Jane took the straps off me as well as the gag. “Stand up with your hands on your head so I can attach the chain to you. Be sure to stay quiet.” Then she connected the chain back onto the thin strap that was around the base of my penis and balls. I was lead down the hall in this fashion, again. My ass really burned and was sore, but I had to keep my hands on my head. This time, some women stopped Jane so that they could examine my sore red ass. They asked Jane who had punished me and were delighted to see my sore red ass.

When we got back to ‘Prep Room Eight’, Jane opened the door and said, “Keep your hands on your head as I unhook you. Then you can get dressed and leave.

I hope that you have learned your lesson and we will never see you again.”

Even though my ass really hurt, I still had an erection from the thin strap being around my penis and balls. But I quickly got dressed and left the Behavior Modification Center. I had a pillow in the vehicle so that the ride home wouldn’t be so painful. I felt that punishment for a whole week.

Her Protocols

Suddenly her palm shot out and slammed into my cheek.

“Do you know why I slapped you scum?”

The epithet hurt almost as much as the slap but I was focused on being mindful enough to say “No, owner.”

“Because I can. Slaps, kicks and whatever pain it amuses me to inflict is now a given in your life. Nothing like uncertainty and fear to keep a worthless creature in place.”

She laughed.

“As property your life will be confined by rules and protocols. Memorize them. If you are lucky in learning my commandments you will suffer just a little bit less.”

“When I enter a room you will drop to your knees and bow your head. And stay there until told otherwise. Every time: no exceptions.”

“Before entering a room I’m in you will fall to the floor and crawl to me. Bow your head and remain there until permission is granted to do otherwise.”

“If I send you to obtain something for me you will crawl back on your knees. Once near me you will bow your head, raise your arms towards me to present what you’ve brought to me.

“This time only you may say ‘Thank you’ to express your gratitude in being allowed to serve me. Once I take what you have presented to me you will drop you your hands with your head bowed.”

She paused “Do you understand?”

There was nothing for me to say other than “Yes, owner.”

She laughed again. “You say that so easily. But living it won’t be. And I’ll eat your struggle like a tasty treat.”

End of Part 4

Originally posted 2007-11-17 17:00:29.

Use a Man’s Face as Your Foot Rest

Using a man’s face is a simple way to condition the lesser sex; a gentle but terribly irritating punishment.

He is prone, at your feet. He knows not to speak. He dares not move for fear of worse punishment.

He has become mere furniture. Your boots move about his head with no recognition of his humanity.

This dismissive dehumanization will leave any male more anxious to satisfy his Mistress’ smallest whim.


Matriarchal Punishment Squad

In the female run future corporal punishment will be considered a cornerstone of society. Specially trained women will operate in squads correcting errant males. For minor offenses like jaywalking men are taken to the nearest station bound and whipped. The slave’s Mistress Owner is notified normally leading to additional punishment when the male returns home.

For more serious crimes against the Matriarchy the male appears before a Mistress Justice who orders a more complete and intense series of punishments.

Trained spankologists earn extra money with their skills. Busy women often hire them to provide maintenance spankings that the Mistress Owners are too busy to provide themselves.

This is the system of justice developed by the Matriarchal state to help inferior males be mindful of their lives as slaves and menials.


Worship Your Owner in the Kitchen

Women should have their male slave worship them in the kitchen.

Actually the slave should show adoration and humility to his Mistress in every room in the house.

Every room should offer memories of his self-abasement. The male slave expressing its knowledge that the woman is superior. Men by their complete inferiority are born to serve and obey. Males have no rights, no freedoms. They are objects for woman’s use.


Male Weakling : 5

As my relationship with Grace became increasingly one of service and submission, my self-definition evolved dramatically: I no longer thought of myself as a solitary creature with a finite, rather average amount of power with which to exploit other solitary creatures randomly encountered in life. Life was no longer a series of potential attacks and conquests, whose only meaning came from ephemeral emotional entanglements and transient pleasures.

I began to approach life from a more oblique angle when Grace became my domme. The ordinary experiences of life lost their importance; the everyday struggles lost their urgency. My perspective was much more elevated – allowing me to reject much of typical human life – in two ways: first, I felt I was taking part in a sublime – though somewhat underground – movement to serve women as the pioneers of a True Civilization.

The modern world was characterized predominately by male “rationality” and the typically male instinct to smash anything in nature that is incomprehensible or seems uncooperative with the witless male conception of social order. That modern, male-smudged world has failed. It has been a crushing disappointment, and – with the help of my dom – I could see that the race needed to disengage from that old dissordered perspective.

I had a small part (as is suitable for males) in the avante garde of a new, female-dominated world order. This gave me a tremendous sense of meaning.

The other way my view of the world had marvellously changed was by serving Grace as an individual. She was the voice and the embodiment, in my life, of what was best in human nature. I surrendered to her because her vision of things was clearer than mine – magnificent and illuminating – and by stepping into my life and taking the reigns, she improved me vastly. I felt an insatiable need to repay her. I wanted to do this through total, unflinching slavery. She deserved nothing less.

This isn’t to say I didn’t resist her at times. I resisted quite frequently, because the notion of male independence – even male superiority! – was deeply ingrained in my mind. I needed constant reminding and constant discipline.

My need for discipline meshed nicely with Grace’s fondness for a physically fit male. She designed a rigorous exercise regiment for me, and occupied me for much of the day with laborious chores and errands. It was important that I spent every moment of my life pursuing activities for her benefit; nothing I did any longer was for my own betterment, entertainment, or joy – except in the long run.

Grace spent quite a lot of time lifting weights herself, and she loathed me – when we first met – for being somewhat flabby.

“Too many submales,” she told me, “Are ugly, pot-bellied, sloths. It’s an insult to their dommes. And by no means will I tolerate that from you, David.”

She found, however, that often when I lifted weights or did push-ups, the blood coursing through my veins, the air pumping in and out of my lungs, seemed to charge my testosterone level up: seemed to make me cocky. As if subconsciously I thought that by improving my body I could approach her excellence. As if by polishing my physique, I could transcend my inherently soiled, stupid male nature.

Grace had various ways of counter-acting my testosterone surges. One morning while I was doing my push-ups she stepped up behind me, planted her bare heel on my ass, and shoved me down hard. My chest thumped to the floor under the strength of the steel muscles of her leg.

“Push up, David.”

I tried to surmount the force of her thrust, I strained, my forehead dripping sweat, but couldn’t overcome her. She shoved her heel against the crack between my cheeks.

“Get up, David! Can’t let a woman overpower you, can you? Get up!”

I tried again, but my muscles were fatigued and sore.

“You’re such a pathetic weakling…”

She pressed the base of her heel down against my testicles, pinning them to the floor. I gasped; she nudged her heel against them several times, grinding them against the floorboards. Each time making my groin throb explosively, each time making me gasp closer to the verge of tears.

“You did well, though, David. You did real well, and I think you deserve an applause.”

She stripped off my shorts, exposing my behind to her, then told me to separate my legs, wide. I obeyed her, and she kneeled behind me in the space between my legs.

“Now do one final encore push-up, David.”

As I raised myself from the floor, my balls – their scrotum loose and sweaty – hung low from my body.

“Here’s your applause, Mr. Universe.”

She clapped her hands together several times – clapped them hard, smashing my testicles between them. She made me stay raised up in the air, weeping loudly, while she “applauded” my herculean efforts.

Once when I lay on my back bench-pressing her weights – which she usually made me do naked – she came up to me and grabbed my penis by the head. She held it still, gripping the glans tightly with her nails, clutching it like a pair of toothed pliers. As I became more and more tired, she tugged it harder; as I slowed down, she pulled on it with greater ferocity — never relenting, but as one long tug, as if trying to

yank it from its socket like a carrot from the soft loam of a garden.

When I couldn’t, for the life of me, press the weights one more time, she – still stretching my cock long – slammed my taut penis with her other hand. My body lurched forward involuntarily as I cried out. She pounded on my solar plexus with her fist – knocking the wind out of me – then yanked my penis up to her again, and bit down on it with her molars. I heard myself scream a garbled, winded scream; the room was blurred with tears; my whole body was shaking. Then she straddled me, and said, “Get your cock up, David. Gimme a goddamn erection or I’m going to drop a ten pound ball-weight from six feet onto your groin.”

Under her power, my body would do anything; I managed an erection, and she rode it until it she came, then dismounted.

“Get back to your weight-training now, boy.”

Once when I was bench-pressing her weights, she walked over to me, grabbed my balls in her fist, then squeezed – a vice-like, throbbing squeeze – so tight that my legs began jerking about. She released my nuts, spat on my face, then pumped her fist into my groin. When I clutched at my aching man-parts, she screamed at me.

“Did I say you could stop lifting weights, you mindless, fucked-up ninny? Get back to your work!”

She slammed her fist into my jaw.

Continued …

Originally posted 2009-01-24 15:00:21.