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.

police-women-spank-man.jpg

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.

SWAT, SWAT, SWAT.

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.

SWAT, SWAT, SWAT

“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.

SWAT, SWAT, SWAT

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.”

SWAT. SWAT, SWAT

“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.

woman-ueses-mans-face-as-foot-rest.jpg

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.

matriarchal-punishment-spanking-police.jpg

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.

kitchen-inferior-male-worships-superior-female.jpg

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.

Female Superiority School

At this educational institution pain is used to remind males of their inferior status and women’s superior position.

Female Supremacy School Spanking

Originally posted 2012-10-30 12:03:43.

Male Weakling : 7

And the next day she had me call my old friend, tell him that I had become the slave of a woman – her personal human doormat – and explain the situation to him. He accepted her invitation, and the next day, Grace had me clear all of the furniture out of the living room, remove all the decorations, leave it utterly bare. That evening, Mack showed up at the house of the woman I served.

“I don’t know who the hell you are, Miss, but I find it personally disgusting what you’re doing to my friend. That’s why I’m accepting your invitation to a three-way duel. I’m not going to fucking toy with you cause you’re a lady, I hope you understand. I’m personally offended at how bad you’ve pussy-whipped my friend; I think you degrade his masculinity; I think you–”

“He HAS no masculinity, buddy, and from the looks of it, neither do you. Now shut up and let’s get it on.”

Mack glared at her. I could tell he was steaming. Grace removed her pants and her shirt — stripped down to a tight sportsbra and underwear. One of our advance agreements was that no-one would wear shoes; that they could be used as weapons, which were forbidden. Mack pulled off his boots.

“I see you’re trying to psyche us out with your pretty, feminine bod. Pretty slick, babe, but I can do the same.”

He removed his T-shirt, and stripped down to his underwear: black jockey shorts, which strained to support remarkably large balls and a thick, lengthy cock. I undressed last, feeling my manhood diminished by comparison to his.

For a very brief moment, the three of us stood still. My head was swimming; I felt nervous about what might happen. I was worried for Grace: worried that after we subdued her, Mack wouldn’t be able to control himself. If she hit him even once, would I be able to restrain hold him back? I had fit into my role as a sub really comfortably; would I be able to continue serving a dom who I had taken part in physically dominating? Could her speeches about male inferiority continue to ring true for me after I’d seen her getting beat up and raped by an old friend of mine?

As these thoughts criss-crossed in a silly maze in my head, Grace stepped up to Mack with an expression of utter stillness and threw a flurry of punches – at least five – that landed on his right cheek, his left eye, his mouth, and his solar plexus. He was rocked backwards – totally taken off guard. He groaned, bend forward with his arms now up as sheilds. My dom turned to me briefly, and pounded my jaw with a right hook that felt like a ton of cement. I fell to the floor.

I turned back, and through the lights glimmering in my vision I saw Grace continuing to clobber Mack with lightning-fast combinations. He was staggering; he wasn’t able to fight back at all, he was just holding up his arms in a flaccid effort to try to deflect her blows. This hardly worked, though; his arms couldn’t cover all of the targets she found as her combinations became fancier, more resourceful.

In a few seconds she had him up against the wall; she was thoroughly drilling him, and I began to hear deep, masculine sobs come from him. And something in me broke, seeing my old buddy trashed like -this strong, muscle-bound male figure being ravaged by this slender, cunning woman. I became enraged: I lurched across the floor, grabbed Grace by the legs, and pulled her onto the floor.

After a few quick seconds of wrestling – in which she drove a knee into my stomach, pounded an upper-cut into my nose causing it to squirt blood – she had me pinned to the floor, and proceded to wail on me with her fists which, like Mack’s face and my own – were now bloodied.

And then Mack rejoined the struggle, in what would prove to be the very last effort either of us men could manage. He moved up silently behind Grace, and punched her in the back of the head. But he was weak – really already defeated by Grace’s clear superiority in face-to-face fist-fighting – and his blow was ineffectual.

Grace bounded off me, spun around, and landed the five finishing blows to Mack’s chest and face. Mack tottered vertiginously, then toppled backwards onto the carpet. His body shook in massive, heaving sobs.

“Get on your knees, Mack,” Grace ordered him.

With his voice garbled by tears and a swollen mouth, he replied, “Fuck you!”

Continued ….

Originally posted 2009-01-30 15:00:45.

Male Weakling : 4

“Man.”

She sat with her childhood photo album, occasionally stripping away the plastic sheet to remove a shot.

“Man…”

Wearing tight, white Fruit-of-the-Loom underwear – and nothing else – I scrubbed the hardwood floor of her apartment. I heard the sound of another photograph being ripped up.

“Man.”

She tossed the shredded bits of FujiFilm paper onto the floor, and I hustled over to collect them, and put them in the trash bin. She didn’t like her place to get messy – even when she was creating the mess.

I looked at the fragmentary images as I gathered them from the floor: her father, her uncle, her older brother – whom she used to routinely beat up – her step-father, an old boyfriend…

“If only I could’ve known then,” she said, “What I know now.”

I was silent. I could just imagine her, a sixteen-year-old, sitting in a car with some poor, love-struck chump: he – his hand trembling – reaching over to kiss her – a shy, inexperienced boy – and she plunging her tongue into the full depth of his mouth, pressing her hand into his crotch, gripping his balls and demanding, “Big enough for me, boy?” -his surprised whimper mingling with her full, proud laugh. She mounting his erection, pounding her hips against his prone body, tugging his hair back to see his face of submission. Moments later smacking him around for ejaculating too soon – beating him to tears for not satisfying her. Grabbing him by the balls, demanding one good reason why she should let a flaccid twerp like him go on pretending to be a man – in her world. Why she should -

“You idiot!”

She yelled at me: the buzzer in the kitchen had gone off. I felt myself begin shaking. I scrambled to my feet to take her cake out of the oven. I tried to get into the kitchen as fast as I could, but she bounded off of the bed and intercepted me at the kitchen door.

“I told you not to let it burn, you fucking moron!”

I was shaking; I felt myself go pale.

“I’m sorry: I was…I was trying to clean a spot off the floor, so I-”

“That’s no fucking excuse!”

She reached around my head and grabbed the back of my hair. She jerked my head back violently – I heard myself let out a cry – then she smacked my cheek with her palm. My face stung.

“You brainless, fucking coward! You miserable, stupid goon! How dare you ignore my demands!”

I quivered: I knew that wasn’t the end of it. She slammed her fist into my stomach, and – gasping for air – I doubled over. Gripping my hair with both of her hands, she held my head right in front of her pussy. She pounded the back of my head with her hand three times, then held my face there — right in front of her pussy — for about a minute. Then she spoke again.

“Put your hands on the floor.”

I felt tears well up in my eyes: I knew what was coming. Dutifully, I touched my fingers against the floor while keeping my legs straight. I stayed like that – bent over – while she went to the closet. About two minutes later, I heard her footsteps move up behind me.

She stripped down my underwear. I was crying; I heard myself beg: “Don’t,” I was saying, “Please don’t, Ma’am, please don’t – I’m not so bad, Ma’am…please don’t…”

She wasn’t listening. She was smearing jelly on the twelve inch dildo strapped around her waist. While I continued my whimpering, she reached around my waist and grabbed my testicles.

“You fucked up again, boy.”

With my masculinity being crunched in her fist, I felt the tip of her rod between my cheeks.

“You need to be reminded.”

I couldn’t stop shaking. She held my balls with one hand, and a lock of my hair with the other. Pulling back my head, she slammed into me: she broke the gates of my body, and laughed as I tried to muffle my scream. On the first thrust, she hammered the dildo into me to the hilt. I felt like I was being ripped apart inside – my whole backside hurt terribly, almost up to my stomach. She pulled half way out, then pounded into me again. I heard myself wailing as she pulled out, then impaled me again; pulled out, then drove into me again…

When she finally got bored of me weeping and begging, she pulled out all the way. I fell to the floor, clutching at my body. After she removed the strap-on, then grabbed me by the arm and forced me to lie on my back, facing up at her. She yanked my legs apart, exposing my limp, limp cock. My jelly-like balls. And she moved down on me, laying her hot, moist vagina against my genitals. She grabbed a lock of my hair, forcing me to make eye contact with her, then slapped me across the face. She pounded her mons against my penis, then reached down and yanked at my testicles, only releasing them right before, I’m sure, they were about to come off. She spat at me:

“Man.”

She made me get hard, then she raped me. When she was done, she made me finish cleaning the floor.

By the time I was done cleaning the floor, the cake was completely burned. She took it out of the oven; she removed it from the pan, set it on a plate, then placed it on the floor. Its charred surface still smoking, she made me sit on it – nude – for thirty-five minutes: the exact time it should have been in the oven.

While the cake burned against my ass and my scrotum, she took several Polaroids of me sitting there. She put the Polaroids in her photo album, replacing the old pictures of the men she had ripped up.

Continued …

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