“You’re getting into pretty good shape, David. You’re getting big and strong…”

I asked her – making sure to chuckle at myself while I spoke -if she ever worried that I’d become so physically powerful she’d no longer be able to dominate me. She laughed, then explained that physique is irrelevant to the female/male dominant/submissive relationship: men are submissive by nature; they are like drones, and cannot exist without a queen. Their inherently confused minds, their constant need for sexual reinforcement — both of these things establish their submissiveness as something rooted in male chemistry. They need to be given directions in order to function properly – directions which cannot come from other inherently addled creatures – and they need to be reminded of their status in the world by the regular degredation that male orgasm entails: the feeling of being spent, of squirting out in an ugly, thick, aimless spray the only thing that makes you useful to the continued existence of the race.

Grace told me that, aside from that, men were too slow-witted, too sluggish and bulky as fighters to pose a serious threat to her.”Take your friend Mack, for example,” she said, “Do you think you two – ganged up against me – could win?”

Though I didn’t say so, my answer was Yes. Mack was someone I’d known since junior high school; we had been close friends. While I had gone into track, he – being stockier, heavier-set – had joined the football team. But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to challenge her, because regardless how she’d fare against me and Mack she could have her way with me any day of the week. She was stronger, quicker, and smarter.

“What do you think? You and Mack?”

“Oh, I…I dunno.”

“You don’t know? Well, what do you THINK?”

“I…I’m just not sure…”

“So you think there IS some way you and Mack could beat me up?”

“Well, I mean…” I heard my voice quivering, “I guess it… depends on how rough you played.”

She stared at me; her eyes flashed.

“You mean if I agreed not to exploit your pathetic male weakness; if I agreed not to bash either of you in the balls, you think you’d win as a team?”

I was afraid to answer her.

“Tell me! Yes or no?”

I hesitated again, and this irritated her: she grabbed a handfull of my hair then yanked my face right up to hers; she moved her other hand over my ass, jammed two of her fingers into my anus, plunged them in deep, then yelled, “Answer my fucking question!”

“Yes,” I squeaked, terrified.

“Yes, you think you two could beat me up?”

Feeling tears of anticipatory fear well up in my eyes, feeling her fingers drive roughly into my unlubricated hole, I nodded.

Continued …

Originally posted 2009-01-27 15:00:32. Republished by Blog Post Promoter

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Male Weakling : 6
Female Led Relationships - Femdom Erotica, Female Domination Fiction, Submissive Male Fantaises, F/m Stories

“Sit up on your knees but keep your head bowed. Do not speak unless invited to.”

“For the next week you aren’t my lover. You aren’t my pet. You are my slave but that won’t be your title. Nor am I your Goddess. I am your Owner. You are my property.”

“What am I? Answer.”

“My owner.” She kicked my right knee.

“What are you? Answer.”

“Your property.” She kicked my left knee.

“If you had the proper mindset you wouldn’t be wondering why you were kicked. But I know you: you wonder why.”

“You will learn how to speak as property.”

“I forbid you to use pronouns or adjectives. You will use nouns and verbs. Nothing else.”

“You should have said ‘Owner, owner.’ Property can never say my because property has nothing. Never address your owner without using your owner’s title.”

“You probably think you should have said ‘Property’s owner.’ But property has nothing. You must say ‘Owner of property.” Never use the possessive.

“Unless I tell you to use other words. Spoken protocol may change by day or hour. I may call you many things. You exist only to please my whims.”

End of Part 3

Originally posted 2007-11-12 06:30:52. Republished by Blog Post Promoter

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Owner / Property : Titles
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I knelt, not knowing what might come next.

She said “Your new life will begin.

“Pull that stool into the closet.”

I obeyed.

Then she handcuffed my arms behind me. She grabbed the heavy sandpaper and put it on the stool. Ordering me to sit she grabbed my testicles and locked them tightly to the stool forcing me to sit and shut the door. Alone in the dark I tried to rise but could not. The scraping across my buttocks was held back by the jerk on my balls as tried to move away.

Unable to relax I tried helplessly to balance the pain on my bottom against the pain between my legs I was insoluble. I sat there in the dark fidgeting, hoping to rest but unable to.

Steadily I grew both more tired and tense.

Finally the closet door opened. She unlocked me and without speaking pulled me by my balls behind her. She took me outside and had me kneel on the ground beside the back porch. I found myself locked tightly in place.

As I sat there she raised her dress and pissed on me. Her urine traced across my head, face and body. Saying nothing she went inside and left me outside and alone stinking.

I sat on the dirt wondering how long I’d be left alone in my own backyard.

It seemed a very, very long time as I lay there helplessly in the dark. Finally the back door opened. And she pissed on me again. Then she unlocked me from the porch and yanked me behind her back into the house.

She dragged me to the bathroom and ordered me into the tub. Locking me in place she told me that the tub was where I’d sleep that night. I lay there in her stench unable to relax or get comfortable.

Waiting to learn what would come next.

Continued in Part 8.

Originally posted 2007-11-30 20:13:07. Republished by Blog Post Promoter

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Wallowing in Her Piss
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She circled me – I was still rather dazed – and took a couple of swipes at my head. They landed, but I didn’t feel any worse for it; I felt like I had already lost, and was just waiting for her to take me down and obliterate me. She grabbed me by the arm, twisted it behind me, put her foot around my ankles and tripped me to the floor. When I was down, afraid to get back up, she slammed her foot into my rear end four times in rapid succession. I howled in pain and humiliation. Then she bent down and slammed her fist into my mouth: instantly I tasted blood, mingled with tears.

“Oh, you’re lost, boy! You’re just like all men, David! You’re a puny, wormy little coward!”

I felt her trying to drag me to my feet – no doubt she hadn’t had enough fun with me yet. She got me standing, then pounded my shoulders a few times. I felt myself swaying this way and that, nearly falling over.

“Take a swing at me, David! Go for it! Try to hurt me, little man! I dare you.”

I was already defeated; I was crushed; rendered as useless as any man confronted with the natural superiority of womanhood. I knew she was going to ruin me before the evening was up, so I decided to obey her; maybe if I tried a swing at her, she’d get mad and get my torture over with, whatever it was. So I swung a lazy fist at her.

To my dazed amazement, I hit her on the side of the face, and she toppled. She let out a pathetic moan, and had to support herself on a chest of drawers. And suddenly I was alive again. Suddenly, I was a man again.

Before she could recover, I hit her again: one more fist to the face. And one more. And one more. And then she was on the floor, crying like a fucking little baby. I stood over her body – she was covering her head with her arms, sobbing – and I spat on her breasts. I kicked her in the side, then put my bare foot over one of her breasts, and pressed on it. And that’s when I had an idea.

I grabbed her feet from the floor, lifted them up, and spread her legs apart. She was too weak, too stunned, to resist. And I laid the ball of my foot over her snatch. Then I began wriggling my toes into her filthy little slit. And I burst into laughter, because I had never heard of a man foot-fucking a chick before. I was treading on her like she had trampled on my manhood. But this was fair: this was the way of nature: man rules, woman serves. And pressed all of my toes into her snatch, and started shoving my foot inside her. At first she screamed, then she began pleading. Then it was all over.

I didn’t see it coming. I didn’t know how it happened. She suddenly freed one of her feet from my grip, then pounded it into my stomach. All of the air was knocked out of my body, and I was doubled over, kneeling on the floor. And then she was all over me like a fucking wildcat; her nails scratching my back, my shoulders, her fists pounding my head and my face. She grabbed me by the hair and yanked my onto my back with a thud, then hammered her fists against my head like drumsticks. Then her pussy, which moments before had been at my mercy, was suddenly gagging my face – she had it over my mouth and nose – and she beat her fists against my chest and my stomach. I gasped for air; I felt dizzy; I became extremely weak, and thought I would black out.

“See, David?” she shrieked at me, “Who’s on top in the end? Huh? And I didn’t use your male weakness against you, did I? DID I?”

She pounded my chest some more, then reached below her belly batter my chin, and reached behind her to thump my head with her fist.

“But you tried to rape me, didn’t you? You tried to fuck me with your foot. You tried to hurt my sexuality. Well, now I’m going to do that to you, David.”

And, holding her hands in a double-fist, she swung them like a jack-hammer against my balls. Not once. Not twice. She hammered my groin repeatedly like a layer of rock to be smashed through to get at valuable mineral deposits. I was weeping again; I was sobbing again. My last memory of the evening was feeling her lips suck up my balls into her mouth; I began to feel her molars grind against them.

Weeks later, after she had begun to train me to serve her absolutely, she asked me if I had ever doubted that she would conquer me. I asked her, in turn, if I had been too easy for her – to little a challenge. I asked her, “If you had to try dominating me and my friend Mack – you know, Mack from the gym – do you think you would’ve won?”

She looked at me, and smiled.

“Want to find out?”

Continued …

Originally posted 2009-01-18 15:00:12. Republished by Blog Post Promoter

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Let me publish something by your or extracts from some a F/m story or novel that you’ve written. I’ll be happy to link to your blog and or ebook. Full credit and copyright stated.

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“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. Republished by Blog Post Promoter

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Her Protocols
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“Listen to me property as I outline your new life.”

She paused and I grew tense within myself.

“I will take all pleasure and comfort from your life.

“You will not masturbate, nor stroke yourself. Your only sexual pleasure will be mine. The only orgasms in your life will be mine.

“I take away your comfort. You will live on the floor and sleep where I allow you. Your nights will be spent in the bathroom or the hall. No pillow, no blanket. If you lie there awake you will remind yourself that your inability to rest is at my will.

“That you once enjoyed eating will become a dim memory. What food I allow you – and often it will be little as I enjoy your hunger – will be functional at best. Like the beast you are, you will eat from a bowl. And your thirst will grow so strong that in being allowed to drink only my piss your gratitude will be all you feel as you lick it up.

“Loneliness will make you ever more thankful that I pay any attention to you at all. Often you will be locked away and forgotten hoping for any attention from your owner.

“Discomfort and neglect will leave you hungry for the worst because that is better than nothing.

“All that will be left to you is acceptance of me as your superior. Your clinging to inferiority hoping that by embracing a role of worthlessness that your service will be more endurable.

“But my demands will never abate. “

End of Part 5

Originally posted 2007-11-21 17:29:48. Republished by Blog Post Promoter

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Accepting Worthlessness
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“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. Republished by Blog Post Promoter

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“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. Republished by Blog Post Promoter

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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. Republished by Blog Post Promoter

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