My Teacher, My Wife

A young female teacher once slapped my face in 5th form – for being cheeky to her in class. Looking back on it now, I thoroughly deserved it and didn’t really find it all that painful. Much more painful was the severely onerous quantity of lines she had me write out for her after school as a further punishment.

As I spent hour after hour writing the lines for her, I couldn’t stop thinking of her and that faceslap. Perhaps it was the fact that she was so gorgeous and sexy, I began to fantasize about her giving me a really good face slapping.

Later in life, I was fortunate to marry an equally gorgeous teacher who loves to slap my face in simulated classroom scenarios. We have set aside a room in our house as her classroom where she takes me and warms my cheeks when the mood takes her. She dresses in the classic pencil slim mini skirt and stiff white blouse for these occasions. The session consists of the teacher examining the pupil orally, and all incorrect answers are punished with a stinging slap across the face.

My wife affirms that she particularly loves the sound of her beautiful hand landing full force on my cheek. Unfortunately, just like my teacher who gave me my first faceslap, my wife also loves giving me lines to write out as a punishment. Though I hate having to write lines – its the price I have to pay to have her beautiful hands repeatedly slap my face.

Originally posted 2009-04-04 17:59:21.

Femdom Pain Slave

All my life I have longed to be a total slave to a dominant woman or group of women who daily take delight in a nearly nonstop onslaught of extreme sexual abuse on my person. Each day begins with me being bound underneath their toilet seat and forced to consume any wastes, liquid and solid as they pour out of the orifices. To ensure that I satisfactorily accomplish this, one domme is always posted between my legs with her fingers gripping my cock and balls, squeezing and slapping as needed to ensure full and enthusiastic compliance on my part.

Often, a domme will elect to sit directly on my face and force her shit out into my mouth and up into her ass crack, then make me lick her asscheeks clean and swallow everything. Likewise, I’m forced during the day and night at any moment to apply my open mouth to any proffered cunt to gulp and totally consume a load of hot piss.

Frequent genital whippings, extreme cock and ball torture, including piercing and electro torture would be an ongoing part of each day, and interjected would be whippings, paddlings, spankings, plus savage and prolonged asshole rape, fisting, and rough deep insertions of huge dildos, vegetables and other objects calculated to cause great pain and stretching of my anal tissues.

I would frequently be placed underneath a female sub/slave in 69 position with my cock in her mouth and my mouth opened wide over her cunt. Then her lips would be sutured to the flesh around the base of my cock, and my lips would be sutured to her cunt lips. Our nipples would be sutured together then so that any movement by either one of us would result in severe pain to the sutured tissues.

My wrists are then bound to her ankles, her wrists to my ankles, and spreader bars affixed to hold our limbs wide apart. Next, males slaves would be brought in to ass rape the girl while the dommes take turns doing my ass with their fists and strapons. After several of the male slaves have ejaculated into the female slave’s asshole, their combined cum and her shit begin leaking out, running down her ass crack and into my mouth, seeping between our sewn together lips. Each time a domme pulls out of my asshole, their strapon or fist is wiped clean on the female slaves face and the male slaves wipe their cocks clean on my face.

Naturally all the pumping in and out at our assholes makes for a lot of movement and severe pain in our sewn together parts. During all of this, other dommes are alternating in whipping, paddling and electro torturing each of us at unexpected times and places on our bodies so that we are constantly jerking, convulsing, and moaning with pain and terror.

This torture scene goes on for hours, and occasionally the female slave and I are flipped over so she is underneath me, exposing my back and ass to the whips and paddles. When we are both pushed to utter exhaustion and about to pass out from the extremities of our tortures, each of us is filled with a full gallon enema of saved up piss laced with lots of lemon juice to induce severe cramping. Then our assholes are securely plugged and we are left to suffer for another hour, at which time we are placed in an inflatable wading pool, our ass plugs are removed and a replaced with short flexible plastic tubes which are inserted between the sutures into our mouths and the enemas released. Our instructions are to swallow everything we can, and since that proves to be impossible due to the force and fury with which the enemas are expelled, we find ourselves wallowing helplessly in an increasing depth of our own liquid wastes where we are left for the next few hours, relieved only by those of our tormenters who choose to come piss on us, shit on us, spit on us, jeer at us and humiliate us by naming us as filthsluts and human toilets.

Originally posted 2008-12-25 11:59:57.

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

Dominant Wife Severely Punishes Slave Husband

Slave Husband’s Disciplinary Suffering

Miley was let from the car first. She brought the shovel and pick out from the trunk, unloaded the bags holding their bloody and dirty clothes, and gave a wave to Kirsten and Patricia. She carried the bags into the garage, then put the tools in the shed behind the house. Musing on the night’s activities, she let herself in the back door.

At once she went to the refrigerator and poured herself a large glass of milk. It soothed her dry throat and she licked her lips.

On her way to the master bedroom she slipped her own grime-slicked dress over her head and left it in the bathroom’s trashcan. She climbed into the shower and scrubbed herself down, languishing in the stream as it massaged her spine and the base of her neck . Miley stayed until the last of the hot water was gone.

She toweled down vigorously, then stroked baby talc over her alabaster skin and then, stretching, she stepped into the bedroom.

It was almost midnight, but she was far from bed. She still intended to party.

For some minutes she touched up her face with make-up. She slipped into a leather panty-thong, then a luxuriant full-body leather jumpsuit, which Miley laced at her wrists and ankles. She slid a pair of four-inch pumps onto her feet. Then she pulled the zipper at her crotch up until it came between her breasts, and around her waist she belted a three-inch wide stiff leather belt.

From a stand meant for holding wigs, Miley tenderly lifted a richly-fashioned executioner’s hood. She stroked its smoothness with her fingers; the breath in her throat, she let the soft leather fall over her face and hair. It was loose, spreading over her shoulders and upon her nape. She glanced into the mirror upon her oak dresser . the hood covered the top half of her face, and she met her eyes through the cut cat eyes. She saw her shadowed eyes, her cruel lips. Miley blew a kiss at her image.

Light-footed, she made her way through the house, down two flights of stairs, past the back door. At the bottom of the basement stairs there was a three-foot squared landing, with a metal fire door set between walls of cinder block and foundation concrete.

The door wasn’t meant to keep others out. Miley took the deadbolt key from its peg and fit it into the lock. It opened smoothly, and she entered.

With immense satisfaction, she took in the basement, built to her personal tastes. Glazed terra-cotta tiles, powdered cinder block walls, black lighting. In the near darkness, Miley picked out the working rack, the cage, the bondage chair and the horse . she grinned, knowing of one thing more which was not, at the moment, visible.

She reached a flipped a switch.

A spotlight lit upon the naked male strung out over a two-foot thick, three-foot high stone cylinder, rounded at the top and resembling a stiff male penis. It was set into the center of a shallow bowl, all set with tile, and a bondage ring set at each sign of the clock. The male was spread-eagled. Ropes leading from his wrists and ankles used four of the available rings, the forebone of his hip pressing upon the great cock’s head. His face appeared above his shoulders, as he lifted it towards Miley, features contorted in pain and exhaustion. Seeing her, his agony briefly gave over to grateful recognition . and then, helplessly, he dropped his head once again.

“Hello dear .” she said sweetly. “I’m home.”

It was her husband Jim. Her slave of eighteen months, of his own free will . in the beginning.

He’d never been a strong man. Three weeks after they’d met, Jim cried on her shoulder over some small thing, a depression he felt about losing his job. Miley remembered holding him, fascinated both by his vulnerability and his weakness, and still finding herself falling deep into desire for him. Their relationship grew . and he admitted his personal quest for bondage and discipline. She listened to his stories, to his requests, and began to explore them herself . and she learned.

By the time of their marriage, their experiments had already become involved.

At first, she simply tied him down . she gave him instructions, at his urging, at how he should make love to her, to truly please her. He wanted to know everything about her body, what places brought her the most pleasure-and he desperately wanted her to be his quality control, to keep him on his toes, to insure that he was always her perfect lover. If he wasn ‘t, Jim told her, she should feel free to punish him. And by that, he meant that she should use a whip.

Her own awakening had only come with time. At first, she didn’t understand his fascination for receiving the pain he so wanted her to give. She could comprehend at once her own reward . but long habit in more “vanilla” relationships filled her with mystification whenever she saw him stretched out, ready for the whip. At first, guilt for causing him simple pain or discomfort kept her awake at night . but that she could learn to push aside, for he so clearly wanted her to be cruel. The guilt which came afterwards was more insidious. Miley found that, for the longest time, she hated herself for having a dark, inner soul-a soul that liked hurting him.

When had she realized that she did? When was the first time she’d lifted the whip without a single thought for him? Miley couldn’t remember. Dimly, there were clues still in her, reminding herself that she must have cried afterwards for the little part of her that broke that long-lost day; but the clues were mere wisps . the Miley now could not relate to the Miley then.

Was she insane? Undoubtedly. Again, Miley marked the instruments of torture about her and found herself bemused by their presence. They’d been collected and constructed over time-most of them between the time of their marriage and the evolution of the bond between them: the day she tied him up . and never let him go.

Miley turned her attention again to her slave husband, bound over the stone cock. Jim was being punished. A month before, Patricia had suggested that Miley get more involved with others in the community. Agreeing, Miley had taken Jim to a bondage party in Calgary. She made it quite clear to Jim that they must make a good first impression; she fixed him into a harness, dressed him in a pair of spandex bike pants and a muscle shirt. She cuffed him, and they rode from Red Deer to Calgary with Jim laying quietly on the back seat.

The party was at a private house. There were a dozen people about, in various stages of dress, discussing whips and paddles and so on. Jim was forced on display for the inspection of the other dominant women, and Miley pondered how good it would be for Jim, over time, to get out, to know that he was a slave, even among others. Even in public.

She didn’t know then that he was about to embarrass her.

The Hostess of the party, a pre-operative transsexual calling herself Kim, had offered to suspend a volunteer from the ceiling. Miley offered Jim. He went forward obediently, taking his clothes off. Kim hung him up by his wrists with a chair and little difficulty and, as the room looked on, Jim dangled, toes a few inches above the floor.

“Whip him,” had said Miley.

Kim selected a white-and-blue knotted cat-o-nine-tails, and then addressed Jim: “Do you understand that my safe-word is green?”

Jim nodded absent-mindedly, wanting only to be polite . but it incited Miley’s anger a touch . the ire could be heard in her reply: “My slave doesn’t play with safe words,” she said.

“That’s not a good idea,” said Kim.

“I’m his Mistress,” returned Miley. “I’m his owner. I will say when he’ s had enough. Whip him as hard as you like.”

Miley knew what she was suggesting. One of the slaves at the party, a petite Japanese girl, had already been turned out for everyone’s interest. Her master demonstrated her ass, which had been so bruised that the skin seemed like onion paper laid upon her richly blackened cellulite . the blood hemorrhage was quite distinct-and had been achieved by daily beatings with a most deliberate effort.

Kim looked into Miley’s eyes and saw truth. Without a word, she exchanged the cat for a flexible slapper fashioned from a dozen layers of kitchen-counter arborite strips, each an inch wide, epoxied together to make a thick “finger.” Two fingers were then attached to a single handle. As Kim picked it up, the slapper’s flexible lengths gently waved. “Can I hit him with this?” Kim asked.

Miley raised an eyebrow. Jim had never felt anything like it before. “Go ahead,” she said, her voice eager.

Kim didn’t strike with all her force, at first. Jim howled only at the third blow . but six more showed that he could stand it. Kim drew back for a firmer onslaught.

When it began, Jim gasped, and lost his wind. His body contracted, his feet rose from the floor, knees bent-his hands strained for the ceiling, dragging his whole weight upon his wrists. The second and third blows elicited a frenzied screaming from the bottom of his throat . a fourth, a fifth blow landed with brutal force. Jim cried. He gnashed the air with his teeth. His legs kicked, straining for purchase and finding none . the muscles and fat of his abdomen rippled.

Kim watched these coilations with delight as she continued to slash at him . but at a total of twenty-two blows, she broke it off, letting Jim’s shrieks fade away. She glanced at Miley.

Miley nodded. “He can handle ten more of those,” she said quietly.

Jim’s head snapped up. “NO!” he shouted. “Please . no!”

Kim guaged Miley’s reaction. Miley’s teeth were set-she verged on displeasure with Jim’s pathetic displays-and she repeated, “Ten.”

Kim shrugged, and began again.

Every eye was drawn by the electricity of Jim’s suffering. Miley looked around herself, and decided that this was a pleasure she’d have much, much more often. The wonderful excitement of being able to display her slave for everyone’s amusement started a wetness in her that rose up from between her legs, heating her. What a coup! she thought. All these people, whom she’d just met, now fascinated with her, admiring her, and stunned by the ready, submissive tool that Jim had become.

Just as that thought came, however, Jim shattered everything.

“GREEN!” he cried out. “GREEN, GREEN, GREEEEEEN!”

Kim stopped at once.

None of the spectators breathed or spoke for almost a minute. Only Jim’s long wailing, followed by whimpering and tiny cries as the fire upon his asscheeks diminished, broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” said Kim. “I can’t continue after he’s used the safe-word.”

“I’m sorry too,” said Miley. “Could you please bring him down?”

Kim and one of the men brought a chair for Jim to stand on, and they released him. At once Jim fell at Miley’s feet, kissing her boots and begging forgiveness. “Get dressed,” said Miley. “We’re leaving.” She said nothing else.

No one dared ask them to stay-they kept their eyes averted and wished the tension would just go away. Miley’s anger burned so visibly that they wanted no part of what they knew would happen.

Miley was shocked. Jim had embarrassed her beyond forgiveness. She knew his pain threshold, knew that under her own hand he’d have accepted the remaining blows without complaint . but none of the people in the room would ever believe that she was anything but an irresponsible sadist-and so she couldn’t show her face in their company again. Ever.

Miley could barely restrain herself from blacking both his eyes and bloodying his nose. She allowed Jim to follow her meekly from the party to their car, and let him him sit in the front seat for appearances sake-and though his ass gave him good reason to wince, he knew better than to show it as he sat down.

After driving away, however, Miley came to a dark school yard a few blocks away, where she made Jim get out of the car. Angrily, she slapped him, viciously, until he cowered again on his knees. She said nothing to him, opening the trunk. From among the paraphernalia within, she snapped up a roll of duct tape and quickly strapped together his wrists, elbows, ankles, and knees, effectively immobilizing him. Ruthlessly she pulled him from the ground and tipped him backwards into the trunk, not caring that he landed on several iron tools, the tire jack and the bondage toys kept there for convenience. Miley clutched at one now, a three-inch penis gag, and drove it between his teeth . she fixed it tightly around his head, slammed the hood down and returned to the driver’s seat.

It took more than an hour to drive to Red Deer. Miley fumed, turning the radio on and off the whole trip, unable to be satisfied either way. Hearing the music as it alternately blared and vanished, Jim correctly concluded that her fury wouldn’t quickly subside.

She didn’t let him out of the trunk that night. She parked the car in the garage and left him locked in until the next afternoon . fifteen hours passed before she could bring herself to see him again without causing him a real injury.

It had taken two months for Patricia to give her a chance with the bondage group. Miley had pleaded for the chance-she’d imagined her influence being felt by the group, and that with the prestige she’d win there’d be other things she could do-she might even become part of Patricia’s faction, though Miley hardly understood what that meant. But now that was destroyed. Jim had destroyed it. Patricia would hear about the faux pas. Miley dreaded that . and she didn’t know what punishment she could ascribe to Jim to make up for that dread. She only knew she didn’t want him to have the pleasure of seeing her face. So when she finally returned to the car, she wore the hood.

She cut his ankles and wrists free of the duct tape with a utility knife, leaving his elbows and knees strictly bound. She removed the penis gag, but made it clear without speaking that he, too, should be silent. Jim didn’t need to be told. He didn’t resist as she pulled him unkindly through the house to the basement . where Miley threw him into the cage and left him.

The “cage” had, at one time, been a closet. Together, Jim and Miley had gone to work on it, replacing the existing dry-wall with sheets of tin, riveted on the back to the concrete foundation and otherwise to the wooden stud-walls. They’d polished the overlapping seams, finally soldering them so that Jim wouldn’t someday be able to pull up the edges with his fingers. At the front, instead of a wooden door, they’d attached a door made up of metal bars, wide enough for him to get his arms through, but no more. It measured four feet by twenty inches, which was just enough for him to sleep in a fetal position. He could stand upright, and sometimes Miley would chain his hands to the ceiling.

The interior was completely sanitary, if cold to the touch . sunken about three inches below the level of the floor, it had a three-inch hole in the center floor where he could defecate or urinate, which Miley emptied with a wet vacuum when the small septic tank below was full. Sometimes she would fix a plug in the hole and let him lie in his own waste.

Building it had been a moment of growing together for them. Jim had still been in the position of urging Miley to more ambitious experimentations then, and he, as much as her, was proud of the way the cage had been designed. At the most, he’d imagined spending a few hours in it . perhaps, in the back of his mind, Jim had fantasized about a much longer period-but never seriously. Miley left Jim in the cage for two weeks. She would appear each morning, hood over her face, holding the dog’s dish, filled with exactly twenty-two hundred calories of watery paste resembling ice-cold oatmeal. This was to be his day’s rations. Each day, he pushed out his empty dish from the day before, through the three-inch slot in the bottom of the door, and she would push in his fresh food.

She didn’t speak-not a word. Jim tried, the second day, to talk to her . after a week he thrust himself at the bars, reaching through, wanting to touch her, wanting her to speak her anger-he even dared scream at her. Miley responded by gazing at him expressionlessly for several minutes, then turning with his full dish and leaving him alone in the basement.

That ended all attempts of his to talk for some time. A full day without food sufficiently broke him. When Miley returned the next morning with his normal caloric provision-dog food, instead of gruel-he took it as silently as she gave it.

Long days spent inside the cage, with no view but the violet-lit sight of the other available tortures occupying the dungeon, gave Jim time to think. He suffered from hunger, since the calories were barely enough for him (and he suspected she was reducing them each cumulative day), and from a craving for solid food. Often he found himself gazing longingly at the steel door set into the cinder-block entrance way, separating him irrevocably from the outside world . Jim couldn’t help reassessing all his original tastes for submission. Wryly he though-when he had the energy to think-that it hardly mattered what his tastes were and were not any longer. He had succeeded in recreating Miley into his fantasy image . and old story. Galatea crippling Pygmalion.

After two weeks, the punishments began.

He still wasn’t allowed to see Miley’s face, or hear her voice, at least for the first week. Those beginning tortures were quick affairs, lasting but a few hours . but their brevity was more than made up for in raw fury. Miley struck him without finesse, unable to resist her desire for pure compensation. She breathed heavily, through her teeth, driven by revenge. She clubbed or whipped him for an hour at a time; she fucked him until the skin inside tore and bled, which Miley remedied by stuffing him with tampons; she tied his cock to a four-foot, inch-thick dowling rod, which stuck out on either side of her body . and amused herself for an evening by hitting the opposing sides with her riding crop.

Her favorite punishment, however, was the rack, which she applied at the end of the first week. Jim had never even known that it really worked; they’d had it built by a contractor which Patricia suggested . it was meant to be a bench, more for show than for use . or so he’d thought. Jim had no idea that Miley had ever rigged it for real effect-he wasn’t even scared, on the first day, to let her tie him down to it. But by the second day he was thoroughly terrified . and Miley seemed indifferent to that, or to the horrific possibility that he’d never walk again.. For two terrible days, twenty-four hours to be exact, she’d left him on it, rolling it a half-turn every hour-enough to stretch him a half centimeter each time.

Insidiously, she’d moved a chime-clock into the dungeon, which rang on the quarter hour. Jim would hear the quarter change, a pattern of four notes, a quarter after then hour, then the same pattern followed by another, at half-past. Sometimes Miley was absent; sometimes she would be sitting, comfortably on a padded stool, watching him, beside the table where he was stretched. As he felt the minutes of his time ebbing away, Jim’s pleas would increase in desperation and intensity. He tried every ploy . he addressed her formally, and as his wife, by name and by pet names; he talked nostalgically . he talked about all their plans, about moments when they’d laughed, about her family, about his. And through it all, she would listen, never taking her eyes, in their cat-like frames, from his. The third quarter would strike the clock . and Jim would scream at her,

“Miley . stop this! Miley . I love you! You know I love you! We’ve been together for four years, and it’s good, it’s all right that you want me as a slave. I want it, too! Oh god, Miley! You know I want it! But . oh Christ, I’m dying! I can FEEL my bones pulling from their sockets! One more turn and you could cripple me for life! FOREVER, Miley, forever and ever . and THEN WHERE WILL YOU BE? I won’t be a slave, I won’t be able to move! Please-Christ, Miley. Miley, listen, OH GOD, WHY WON’T YOU LISTEN TO ME? Please, I love you! Do you hear me? You told me you loved me too . oh please, please, please! NO MORE! I DON’T WANT TO BE A CRIPPLE! Miley! DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?”

Through it all, she’d sit impassively, making no expression at all. Then the clock would sound, playing through the four changes of the full hour; then a pause; then the striking of the clock . and Miley would rise as it began, moving to the great, many-spoked wheel fixed to the table.

By means of steel cords and carefully set gears, the wheel’s turn allowed for a great swing in exchange for a tiny, precision gain in tension. But, taut as he was, very little extension was needed.

Her hands would touch the wheel. Still, utterly without expression, as both of them would hear the echo from the last strike of the clock . the wheel would turn in her hands.

Screaming, back arching, Jim suffered the newly-pressed drawing . with infinite patience Miley would complete the tur, observing him passively, mechanically, never allowing the corners of her mouth to betray the immense satisfaction she received.

Then she’d return to her seat, to watch Jim by degrees, reaccustom his body to the fresh agony. And then the play would begin again .

That night, Miley freed him from the rack. Jim couldn’t guess if the damage to his arms and legs was permanent. He had to crawl by inches from the rack to the cage . where she then allowed him to remain for the following thirty-six hours. He couldn’t sleep for the pain . until the next morning, after he ate his gruel, which he suspected included painkillers that Miley had crushed into the mixture. All that day and the next night, he slept groggily.

Upon awakening, he sat her, upon her stool, outside his cage. For the first time, he heard her voice.

“It’s been three weeks since your pathetic weakness brought us both to this,” Miley announced. Jim had been unsure of the time . he thought it might have been twelve days, or fifteen.

“I wish you to know that your punishments will be yet another three weeks,” she continued; “. if you perform satisfactorily. During that time you will still be denied the sight of my face. Also during that time, you will not be permitted to speak.

“As I listened to your pathetic pleading during your trial on my rack, I found myself wondering-with no little amusement-if there was anything you could say that could move me. For that reaso, I allowed you to utter out your every though as you pleased. I am happy to say that none of your gobblingh affected me at all-as no doubt the feeling in your joints will testify. Therefore, since you’ve failed to raise any pity in my, you won’t be give further opportunities to plead your case.

“The punishment for the first word spoken, by you, in the next three weeks, will be a day without food. You shall spend that day with a penis gag in your mouth. For the second word, you shall spend a similar day standing in your cage, while I torment you. If you are stupid enough to utter a third word, you’ll earn yourself two days without food and an additional week of punishment. And so on. Please nod if this is all perfectly clear.”

Jim nodded.

“Good,” said Miley. “You’ll be happy to learn that I’ve been granted a week’s vacation, and so there will be nothing for the next little while to interrupt our lessons.”

Miley stepped out of sight for a moment, and then back into his view. Now she was holding a familiar looking slapper fashioned out of kitchen formica. The two fingers waved menacingly. “You recognize this, yes? This is the little item that began all these troubles. And so it is only fitting that your road to recovery should begin here .”

Male Slave’s Penetration Punishment (F/m Medical Scene)

“Who does this body belong to, slave?” Goddess asks archly, as if reading my mind, but with my mouth firmly gagged, all i can do is laboriously make faint unintelligible sounds. “Surely, you know I could do anything I want to you now, slave, don’t you? And I will.”

“You are My property, slave, body and soul,” Goddess continues. “It would be best for you to give up all thoughts of resistance and give in to My TOTAL control. You will surrender to Me more completely than you ever have before.”

I slump back into the chair, all of my taut muscles relaxing their pressure on the bonds holding me imprisoned. Goddess places a blindfold over my eyes and my bondage is complete – i am utterly helpless, unable to move or control my body, unable even to see what new tortures threaten. Goddess orders me to grunt three times if i am in any extreme distress and makes me test out my ability to make myself heard through the strict gag. I hear footsteps in the hallway approaching the room. I hear the click of Her heels on the metal floor and the tantalizing sound of Goddess speaking in a hushed voice, and a male voice responding.

I strain to listen, and as they come closer i begin to make out the conversation. I am able to gather that the unknown male has some sort of medical training and is here to assist Goddess in the whole procedure She has planned. I wait in a state of dread imagining what’s in store for me. I am thankful for the anonymity the blindfold affords me and again impressed by Goddess’ ability to look after my welfare and safety.

I soon discover what sort of punishment awaits as i hear the word catheter spoken and hear the snap of latex gloves being put on and a plastic bag being opened. I realize immediately what a brilliant punishment this is for having betrayed Goddess’ trust by willfully sticking a q-tip up my greedy slave cock. I am absolutely dumb-struck at the way that Goddess can seemingly read my thoughts and anticipate my slutty daydreams, making all of my long-cherished desperate fantasies into reality and then pushing my degradation into uncharted territories, torturing and humiliating me in brilliant and imaginative ways i never suspected.

“Let’s prep the patient,” Goddess exclaims, feigning an official voice. I feel and smell as a cloth dampened with medicinal antiseptic is used to carefully cleanse the tip of my cock and the entire genital area. Goddess now thrusts the substantial tube of a well-lubricated catheter against my pee-slit, penetrating my erect penis.

After invading and dominating my mouth and ass, making me conscious of Her power over every recess of my body, Goddess is now determined that no part of me should remain hidden from Her probing discipline.

Goddess declares Her absolute power over Her slaveslut.

“If it is My pleasure, slave,” my Goddess softly but firmly declares, “I will penetrate any orifice, open your powerless body up to the most thorough exploration, break down any barrier or defense. Bound as you are, you have no choice, do you slave, no defense. You cannot stop your Goddess from raping that filthy selfish little cock, from pushing this silicone tube all the way into your compressed bladder. I will discipline and torture any part of your body, slave, in any way I choose. I possess and control this cock, this ass, this throat, every sensitive, vulnerable recess.”

Yet, equally powerless to resist or to demonstrate my consent, my mind screams out a mute yes yes yes as i feel myself swooning in an ecstasy of intimate surrender. I desperately want to feel Goddess inside of me, consuming me, annihilating me, taking control of every sensation, stripping me of my will and individuality. Every new violation of my defenses, every outrage against my independence and dignity moves and arouses me intensely.

I can feel the insistent push of the tube as it slowly slides in and drives deeper and deeper, pressing against the inside of my urethra, opening me, stretching me as it opens me up, inch after inch.

Suddenly i can feel it probing past the prostate, the stimulation is intense, my internals are singing as i feel a riot of sensations inside me, the pressure of the balloon in my ass, the utterly unfamiliar pressure of the catheter on my prostate starts to cause that familiar hum of my slutty hot ass climbing towards a spasming climax. I feel the tube push past the sphincter of the PC muscle, breaking through into my bladder.. The entire sensitive lining of my cock feels only the constant pressure of the tube opening me up for Goddess’ wicked water-sports, i am stripped not only of the control, but even of the awareness of the progress of my urine through my own cock.

Suddenly the pressure on my bladder eases significantly and i feel a warm wetness on my leg. My Goddess makes a startled exclamation and laughs a wonderful, hearty laugh, Her soft, achingly expressive voice betraying suppressed annoyance, good-humoured surprise, and a hint of malevolent arousal at a world of new possibilities and diabolical humiliations. “We’ve struck gold,” She exclaims, “where’s the bedpan?”

The removal of my bladder-control has led to an unexpected fountain of my slave piss. Goddess, with a wicked chuckle in Her voice, shames me for making a disgusting mess, declaring teasingly what a perfect blackmail video-tape this scene would offer. The very mention of video-taping me in my helpless plight would have been very disturbing – a quick cold shower snapping me from my erotic reverie and awakening me to all the dangers to which i so often expose myself in submitting so eagerly to Goddess – had i not learnt to trust Goddess Khrystal and surrender myself to Her power and vigilant protection through the inexorable progress of Her tender, caring domination. The remark actually serves to arouse me further by reminding me of the heady intimacy of sharing these depth of passion and surrender, known to so few and so often misunderstood or condemned, forcing me to imagine how an unaware casual observer might react to seeing me like this, bound, collared, gagged and blindfolded, naked except for my bonds, my ass and mouth stuffed to the limit with rubber balloons, pump-bulbs hanging obscenely out of each, and my spitted cock spraying my own piss uncontrollably all over out of a plastic tube.

I am ashamed as i feel my cock getting harder, despite the tenderness of my urethra as it is impaled on the catheter, greedily stretching out for more of the invader, welcoming it, feeling more and more of its length inside of me. I wonder what sort of shameless kinky little slut i have become when each degrading step in stripping me of my independence, dignity, and self-control only turns me on further.

Bound and helpless, i am entirely at Goddess’ mercy, and as i am made to piss myself and wallow in my own filth, i can still plead the excuse that i was unable to resist, all power over my own bladder and all ability to hold in my own piss forcibly stripped from me by the silicone tube Goddess uses to core and ream my cock. Yet i know that i would be equally docile with no straps to restrain me. But who could put up more than a token resistance to Goddess’ commands.

Originally posted 2013-04-30 06:31:11.

Mistress’ Farm Slave

The Mistress prepared Farm Slave Boy for his day’s work on the ranch. It was a hot day and the Mistress knew that the work would get the boy hot, sweaty and horny.

Naked, the boy waited, arms and legs spreadeagled to the wooden columns holding up the barn. The obligatory Farm Slaves were slung around his neck, and the three stuffed into his mouth made his cheeks bulge. They tasted bitter from the cum which had soaked them the previous night when his Mistress had subjected him to a ruthless Farm Slave wank, making his cock sore yet ache for more.

The Mistress arrived with the restraints. A rubber chastity belt was tightened around his waist and his cock and balls pulled through the hole in the front. The Mistress pulled the bottom strap tightly back between the boy’s legs and used it to secure a wide double door knocker butt plug into Farm Slave Boy’s arse. The whole device was secured with padlocks.

Next his cock and balls were wrapped in a Farm Slave and his cock fastened up against the front piece of the chastity belt by tight rubber straps which made any expansion of his cock difficult and very painful.

Around the Farm Slave-covered balls the Mistress locked four metal shackles which stretched and tightened the balls, making them stand well proud of his body.

The boy was told to get dressed and he put on a flannel shirt and loose button-fly jeans. He knew what was expected and buttoned the fly around his balls which stuck out through the gaps in the buttons showing his Farm Slave bondage off to the world should it ever stray this way.

The Mistress reached inside the shirt and put clamps on the boy’s tits. These she pulled upwards with leather thongs which she clamped onto the boys ear lobes. Each head movement would pull on one or other tit, yet the clamps were so designed to tighten with tension rather than slip.

Next Farm Slave Boy’s feet were wrapped in piss soaked socks and thrust roughly into leather work boots which the Mistress laced up tightly.

Around Farm Slave Boy’s waist the Mistress locked a wide leather belt from each side of which ran a chain which ended in a lockable cuff. The chains were long enough to enable the boy to do his work but short enough to prevent him from reaching his tits or arse or head.

The gags in his mouth were secured with a wide folded piss soaked sock, another tied as a mask over his nose and mouth and a further one as a cover for his head.

Finally his hands were gloved in Farm Slaves so that the only parts of his own anatomy that could be seen were his deep dark eyes looking expectantly at his Mistress.

He worked all day collecting straw, sawing and piling logs, sweeping out the barn and obeying his Mistress’s orders. Never once did he shed a single item despite his arse tingling and twitching from the stimulation of the plug, his mouth aching from the gag, and his bladder bursting to piss the two pints of water he has been told to drink before leaving the house.

As it got dark the Mistress undid the chains and belt and the boy lay face down on the floor. The Mistress pulled some ropes down from a hook on the wall and secured first the boy’s feet, then his hands together, pulling them together until Farm Slave Boy was just one hog-tied Farm Slave bundle.

The ropes pulled his tits harder and pushed the plug deeper into his ass. His balls bore his own weight as they lay sandwiched between his thighs and the hard floor.

The Mistress took the mask off the boy and replaced it with the sodden rag, taking the old mask with her across the floor where she sat against a wall but well within view of the bound boy.

Folding the cun-soaked cloth in two, the Mistress double- masked the boy and left him for the evening to breathe in his Mistress’s smells and to strain against his Farm Slave bondage.

Originally posted 2011-07-20 06:47:51.

Halloween Spanking Mistress

Holiday Corporal Punishment

By Clyde

This happened when I was a senior in high school. I must have been held back a grade when I was younger because I turned 18 at the beginning of the school year. I didn’t have to stay in school, but I was told that I should. This made me very rebellious. I just wanted to do the least possible to graduate.

Anyway, when Halloween came around, I thought I would cause a lot of mischief. I hid behind trees, and if I saw kids without their parents, I would take their candy from them. As it grew darker outside, I set off firecrackers and smashed pumpkins. I was having a jolly old time. Then I picked a house at random, and threw toilet paper all over the trees.

I was standing in front of the neighbor’s house admiring my work, when I felt someone grip my arm. I turned around and a big woman was holding me tightly so I couldn’t move. “You’re coming with me,” she said. I was dragged into her living room and forced to sit on a chair. She stood in front of me so that I was unable to move out of the chair.

“I’ve been watching you all evening. I saw you take kids candy, break pumpkins, set off firecrackers, and T P my neighbors yard. How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” I said.

“You’re legally an adult, now. If I call the police on you, you could spend time in jail.”

“I’m sorry! I must have gotten carried away with myself. Please don’t call the police on me!”

“I’ll give you an alternative. Either take a spanking from me, and everything that goes along with it, or I’ll call the police.”

I thought a spanking from her would he hit over my jeans with a paddle, so I said, “I’ll take your spanking.”

“Good choice,” She said. “If you don’t like your punishment and spanking, I’ll stop at any point, but then I will call the police.”

“Okay.”

“You will not say a word unless you are spoken to or I tell you to talk.”

“Okay.”

“You will do exactly what I tell you to do, without complaint.”

“Okay.”

“And you will call me Mistress.”

“Okay.”

“From now on, you should say “Yes, Mistress’ or ‘No, Mistress.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Very good! Now what is your first name?”

“Joe.”

“Joe, I want you to take off your shirt, shoes and socks.”

“Yes. Mistress.” I thought this was strange, but I did as I was told.

Then she came out with something from the kitchen. “These are wrist cuffs. After I have them on your wrists, please turn around so that I can secure your arms behind you.”

Now I had wrist cuffs on and my arms were secured behind me. “Let’s go downstairs where your spanking will take place.” Once we got downstairs, she opened a room that had whips and paddles, a wooden horse, and a wooden X on the wall. This would be more than a simple spanking, I said to myself. “If this is too much for you, you can back out now and I will call the police.”

“I’ll still go ahead with it.”

She sat on the only chair in the room and said, “Now I want you to stand in front of me and not say a word.” Then she proceeded to unbuckle my belt, unbutton my jeans, and unzip my zipper. I was helpless, because my hands were secured behind my back.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I told you not to talk. If you say anything else, your spanking will be more severe. You need to be completely naked for my spankings.” Then she put her fingertips in my briefs. And soon they were also around my ankles. I felt so embarrassed. Only the boys in gym class had seen my naked like this, and my mother. “Step out of them, now.”

She looked me over and said, “Let’s go over to the wooden X for the first part of your spanking. Stand with your nose almost touching the wooden X.” Then I felt her undo my wrists in back of me, and immediately secured them spread apart above my head. Next she attached anklets to my ankles, and secured my legs together.

“I am going to start you out using the flogger on you. It contains many fingers of leather. They will turn your skin pink and they will sting a lot. Are you ready for m to begin.”

There was nothing else to say but, “Yes, Mistress.” She started up near my neck and worked her way down my whole body. Everytime time the flogger hit me, it felt like a hundred little pins had been stuck into my skin. She also had it wrap around the sides of my body. It made my entire skin tingle.

She quit flogging me and I felt her down by my feet. “Spread those legs.” She commanded. I spread them apart and she still said, “Spread them even further than that.” I spread my legs as far as I could. Then I felt her attach each leg to the ends of the wooden X. I felt completely vulnerable. My cock and balls were now completely exposed and hanging down.

“Now I will be able to get to your inner thighs and other sensitive places.” Then she started to flog me some more. I wanted to get away from the flogger, but I was secured in place. It really shocked me when she flogged me between my legs.

“You look pink all over, now. I am going to switch to a paddle and concentrate on your butt.” Then I felt the sting of the paddle on my bottom. She spanked me first on one cheek and then the other. I felt my butt getting real warm.

After spanking me for about ten minutes with the paddle, she said, “Now I am going to use the riding crop on you.” Where the paddle seemed to sting me in a wide area, the crop was painful in a straight line. She was also able to cover small areas where the paddle hadn’t reached. Then she flicked it a few times between my legs. It really stung my cock and balls and I wiggled about. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t falling asleep on me.” My bottom was now feeling very warm and tender.

“I am now going to release you and put you over the wooden horse.” I felt her release one foot then the other and she said, “You can put your legs together, now.” It felt so good having my legs together, but now I was aware of how tender my inner thighs had become.

She unhooked my hands above my head and then she lead me over to the wooden horse. “Please bend over it so that your hands and feet are touching the floor.” First she attached my arms to each of the legs in the front. Then she grabbed one of my legs at a time, and spread and secured them to each leg of the horse. In this position, I could look between my legs and see her.

“Now I am going to give you six strokes of the cane. Have you ever been caned before?”

“No, Mistress.”

“Well, it can be quite painful. I want you to count each stroke out loud, and also say ‘Thank you, Mistress’. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

I felt a tapping on my butt, heard a whistle, and then it felt like a hundred bees had stung my butt in a straight line. I tried to stand up to rub my butt, but I was held in place by the horse. I yelled out, “Ouch! That really hurt.”

“Yes were suppose to say, ‘One. Thank you, Mistress.’ But since you didn’t, that stroke will be repeated again. So this will be stroke number one, again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

I felt a tapping again, heard the whistle, then the pain again. This time I said, “One, Thank you, Mistress.”

“Hopefully, after your spanking, you will never behave like you did tonight, ever again.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Here comes number two.”

I felt the intense pain, again and said, “Two, Thank you, Mistress.”

“Tomorrow, after school, I also want you to apologize to my neighbor, and help him clean up the mess.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Then I felt the next stroke of the cane. “Ouch, that hurts. Three, Thank you, Mistress.”

“And if I ever catch you making trouble in this neighborhood again, you can expect another spanking like this one. Is that understood?”

I felt the next stroke on my tender butt. “Yes, Mistress. Four. Thank you, Mistress.”

“Will you stay out of trouble?”

I felt the next stroke on my tender butt. “Yes, Mistress. Five. Thank you, Mistress.”

“This will be your last stoke, unless you forget to count it out.”

I felt a tapping. Heard the whistle sound, then the pain. “Six. Thank you, Mistress.”

“Let me put some lotion on your poor butt.” She said. Then I felt her soothing hands on my butt, rubbing in the lotion. “You have seven parallel welts on your bottom. It will probably be somewhat painful to sit down for a couple of days.” She released me from the horse, took off my anklets and wristlets, and said, “You can get dressed now.”

It was painful putting on my briefs and jeans. We went upstairs and I finished getting dressed. The spanking was quite painful and more than I had expected, but it was better than going to jail. As I was going out her front door, she patted me on my tender butt and said, “Remember to apologize to my neighbor, and help him clean up the mess.

“Yes, Mistress.” I replied.

My behavior drastically improved after that weekend. I will never forget that Halloween.

Originally posted 2013-04-11 15:59:26.

Mistress’ Night of Confusion

By Sergio

I always end up working after midnight. It’s my favorite time for creative thinking. Nobody around wanting to talk to you, no sudden telephone calls, no background noise… Only me and the computer, in an empty computer building, where I can stay for hours and hours writing term papers. I can pace back and forth, talking aloud to myself, discussing with my alter ego all the scholarly details of my next masterpiece, without being frowned upon. All those books around me… waiting to be opened and read, their fragrant smell so enticing to the intellect. So much information that needs to be understood, put in order, made clear and put to good use as a new approach to an old problem. Ah, that will be a good paper, sure enough. It had better be; it is due tomorrow. “Some Remarks on the Comparative Morphology of Northern Amazonian Languages”. Good title! Hmm… maybe I’ll center that. OK. Looks better. Now, my name under it… should it be in parentheses? Or should I reduce the font size? Or change it to Helvetica? Gosh, a scholar-to-be’s life is full of hard decisions. There is no running away from them.

I looked at the ceiling with a sigh, which coincided almost exactly with the noise of the door behind me suddenly opening.

“Helen?” I said, turning around to face the woman in the black dress who entered the room where I was working. She looked distressed; although she was moving slowly, almost softly, there was an aura of nervousness about her that I could simply not ignore. Her beautiful eyes looked deeper than usual, and her hands, which would usually be playing with her red hair, were now hanging almost motionless. Worse yet, there was no smile on her lips. “Did something happen?”

[Read more...]

I Sold You Today : Part 1

by eosuchus

“I thought about just letting you go,” she said, shifting her position on the massage table so he could work on her inner thighs, smoothing, pressing, removing tension.
“But then I thought, what about all the work I’ve put in to make you into a really good slave? I figured I deserved to get something for all that. So I decided to sell you.”
“Sell me?” He was stunned. He knew things had been going downhill for a few months. He knew that his lovely, dominant wife was no longer interested in dominating him very much. She wasn’t even bothering to cuckold him in obvious ways like she had during the winter. Back then she’d made him dress her for her dates and
then clean her up with his tongue when she got home. She’d really enjoyed that, he knew, because while he swallowed some other man’s sperm she would tell him all about her date and how they’d gone to some fabulous hotel and how much money the guy had spent to impress her and how she’d made the guy strip naked for her, and introduced the guy to the beginning stages of Female Domination, and then how she’d fucked the guy’s brains out and how big his cock was and how hard it stayed, for hours at a time.
And all the time, while she was having the guy give her the rumpy-pumpy to orgasm after orgasm she knew that her slave husband was at home handwashing her panties, scrubbing the kitchen and vacuum cleaning the house. She got a huge kick out of all that.
But he was so totally dominated now, so completely enslaved, that for her the
thrill was gone.

“See, what I like is the chase,” she’d told him many times. “I like to get a guy hot for me, desperate for me, begging on his knees. Then I like to break him and take him down. Get him used to my ass on his face. Get him into taking a good beating whenever I feel like giving him one. Take him with the strap on like he’s the girl. Turning him into my personal servant, my housemaid, my total slave.
She would grin, listening to the sound of his kisses on her toes.
“Like you.”
That had been then, this was now.

“But…” he sputtered. He’d stopped massaging her. Normally that would have
put him in acute danger of a whipping.
“You heard me. I checked out the Slave Market Report at the Femme Domme Society. They have a rating system?”
She was up-talking, so he knew she was really excited.
“What?” He was still shaking, only in his bare feet though, since he wore nothing in the house except his chastity device and his slave panties. Well, since he hadn’t been outside in more than a year, that was all that he ever wore.
“Yeah, you feed in some pictures of the slave and fill out a form, you know? It asks questions like– how big is the slave’s cock, how good is the slave at cooking, or giving oral, or whatever.”
He was feeling a chill down his spine. This didn’t sound like a joke, unh-uh. Not at all.
“Wait, you can’t sell me. I mean, we’re married.”
She laughed. Put her head back and roared.
“Oh, baby, you are such a deluded dude.”
He felt terribly foolish and vulnerable. What did she know that he didn’t?
She was studying him, her green eyes could penetrate his mind, he knew. She’d always been able to read him like an open book. He’d loved her, he still did, he worshipped her in fact, but he knew she was no longer interested in him.
It was heartbreaking. He felt tears welling up in his eyes.
“I did what you wanted. I thought you liked having me as your, uh, ..” He couldn’t finish. Couldn’t say the word.
“My slave. And you didn’t read the Advanced Marriage Contract either, did you?”
Her smile was cruel now. She was loving this.
“N-n-n-no, I didn’t.”
“In a marriage set up under Female Lead Relationship Rules, okay? Where the Wife is the acknowledged Primary Income earner and has the primary share in all property ownership?”
He stared at her. He’d given up his job on her orders. He’d signed everything over to her on her demand. He’d surrendered completely to her will.
“Then the male party may sign himself over as Chattel Property to the Wife. It was Clause Eleven. You signed it, I know. I made sure of that.”
All he remembered was a fat contract, that he had to sign in several places in duplicate. It had been under the Department of Health and Human Services, the
Marriage Division. He remembered the headline. And afterward, she’d spanked him and sat on his face for hours.
So now he learned that he’d signed himself over to her as a piece of property. Well, he’d always felt that he belonged to her that way. He’d been happy to be her slave.
“See,” she said. “They put that in after the National Femme Domme Society got Senator Julia Masterman to get it through the Senate. You don’t remember that?”
He shook his head. He didn’t know things like that. He was just a slave to a Dominant Wife. He knew about cooking and cleaning and doing her pedicure. The days when he watched the news, or used a computer seemed long ago, in another life.
“Yeah, it was just for the FemDom community, but you know, we’re an important group in this state. So the President signed it. I bet the First Lady was leaning hard on him over that too.”
The President was a man. The first male president in a while too, and he’d heard that he might be the last one, ever. Women had definitely taken over the government.
“So, anyway, we’ll file for divorce under the Female Lead rules. That means I keep everything, except your chastity device and one pair of panties. Everything else will be provided by your new owner. Doesn’t that sound great?”
“My 401K?” he said in a kind of despairing bleat.
“Honey, you’re a slave now. You don’t contribute to that anymore. I get all that, all your belongings. You know, they’re working on slave retirement schemes right now, because some older slaves are already being retired by their owners, and of course they don’t have anything to live on. So the state is setting up slave farms, where old slaves will spend their final years, working for the good of society, growing vegetables and stuff.”
He didn’t know what to say.
“Don’t worry, women are in charge now. You won’t be making any decisions, ever again.”
He stared at her. She was so beautiful, so deadly, so irresistible, he ached to be allowed to kneel before her and provide oral servitude. He longed to feel the collar on his neck and the tug of the leash towards the bedroom. But now, he knew, that tug would never come again.
Suddenly she snapped her fingers. “I don’t recall telling you to stop.”
He dropped his eyes and resumed massaging her lovely, left leg, smoothing and pressing the hamstring muscle between his fingers. She played tennis, jogged,worked out at the gym and did yoga. Her body was a thing of perfection, and she knew perfectly well how to use it as a weapon to subdue and enslave men. As he reached her knee, she brought her legs together and then rolled onto her stomach.
“Massage my ass,” she said with a chuckle.
She knew his weakness in that direction. Her ass was sculpted by exercise and diet into a gorgeous testament to the beauty of Woman. He had kissed those smooth, perfect globes many, many times and had worshipped with his face pressed between them for many, many hours.
Just working on those sacred muscles, which were firm, even hard under pressure, brought his penis up tightly into the chastity tube. It bucked a little until the chain tightened and held him down. He could not have erections. Erections were only allowed under the gaze and control of his owner, whoever She might be. She held the key to his chastity device and thereby to his sexuality.
He continued the massage and after a while she spoke again.
“You always loved my ass, didn’t you?” she chuckled. “I know you did, you were always so responsive to it. Well, don’t worry, your new owner will have one too. Perhaps not quite as pretty as mine, but you’ll get used to it.”
He squeezed, released, gathered his hands together and squeezed again, trying not to weep at the thought of never worshiping at this altar of Female Beauty again.
“Anyway, I visited a slave agency today and talked to a broker. She gave me the documents, pointed me to their website and even helped upload the pictures of you.”
He listened in a state of stunned disbelief. It sounded so mundane, so normal. A Dominant Wife went in and sold her husband and then went out and got another one. Slave husbands had become goods, like cars, or horses, or something.
“Guess what? I had five responses in an hour. Three in-state, one from Florida and one from Hawaii. Isn’t that great?”
He felt an uptick of interest. Was five responses good? He didn’t have the faintest idea. Hawaii?
“You always were a cute guy, and I’ve kept you nice and slim and well toned, and you do have a nice, big cock. Plus, you got your cooking diploma and you passed the State Housecleaning Boards with an A. The broker said you would get some interest. Ladies like men who can cook, and if they’re big down there, then that’s a bonus. So, anyway, I called the two local ladies who bid for you? One underbid on you, so I went with the other.”
“You sold me?” it just slipped out. He sucked in a breath, terrified that he’d gone too far and would get a whipping.
“Yep. Her name is Brenda McKay, she’s forty two and really rather, uh, voluptuous. She bid $6,000, and we settled at $7,500, which isn’t bad at all, really. She’s coming to collect you in about half an hour, too.”
“What?” He’d stopped massaging again. His jaw had dropped too. He gasped. She turned her head, her eyebrows were drawn together in a frown. He trembled.
“If you stop my massage again without permission, she’ll be picking up her new slave with a red hot, striped, purple ass on him. You hear me?”
He forced himself to concentrate on the job at hand. Gathering the marvelous, solid ass muscle in his hand and pressing, squeezing and relaxing it.
“I have the documentation, so I can transfer title to her. You’ll have to have a cyber wedding too, to make it legal. But it only takes a couple of minutes now. You see, once you’ve married into a Female Lead Marriage under the law, you stay there unless the Wife specifically releases you. And I didn’t, did I?’
He could imagine the cruel little smile on her lips as she said that.
Her phone rang. He hurried to fetch it from the sofa in the living room. The number was unfamiliar to him, but he handed it to her and resumed massaging her ass.
“Oh, hi,” she said. “Yes, Floral Park. Just go right down sixty two until you come to the big box mall there. Take the right, then the first left turn. I’m about half a mile farther down. The house is pink with white trim, my neighbors are pale blue on one side and white on the other.
“Yes, he’s all ready. Nothing to pack, after all, is there?” She chuckled. “Well, it was a bit of a shock, but I’m sure you’ll have him warmed up quickly. You sound very experienced.”
Was that good? An experienced Domme? He had no idea. She’d been his first and she’d been experienced enough by the time he fell under her control and signed that fatal marriage contract.
Press together the beautiful ass-flesh of the left buttock. Compress it smoothly between his hands, dig his thumbs in and bring them down together, placing smooth, stress releasing pressure on the big muscles there. He tried to concentrate entirely on the task in hand.
Of course, now that she had her phone in her hand she called Annie, her best friend and co-conspirator in things fun and devilish.
“Yeah, he’s sold. $7,500. Great, yeah? Let’s go out later. Coco’s? Maybe we can pick up some studs, take them to the Pink House. Could be good. Celebrate, yeah?
“How did he take it? Oh, he’s sobbing a little. Well, I know, and he’s gonna miss my ass. Well, I know, it’s the best looking ass for miles.” She laughed.
“Yeah. Yeah. I know. Yeah. Totally. Like, what else is new?” She laughed some more.
“Oh, he’ll get over it. What’s she like? Well, not like me, a bit heavier, shall we say. Oh no, not fat or anything. Oh no, she’s more, like, well, voluptuous is the word that keeps coming up in my mind. The picture she sent me to use for the cyber wedding was pretty amazing. Where? Oh, up in the hills somewhere. Nice looking house. Bigger than mine. I don’t think she has other slaves. I mean, you can only marry one.”
More laughter.
“Have to wait for the next President for that! I could use two or three at a time, I guess. But you know, you’d have to do stuff with each one to keep them happy. You don’t want sulky slaves that you have to whip all the time. And they’re expensive. Did you see they hiked the price of Science Diet by two dollars? Plus the Slave Health Plan went up forty bucks this month. It all adds up.”
He continued massaging the prettiest ass for miles around, but his mind was full of questions. Voluptuous? Brenda McKay?
And behind the questions was the looming certainty. He had been sold. He
was going to be divorced, and then remarried via a website and then taken away by his new Dominant Wife to a new life, somewhere up in the hills.
And there it was, underneath his sorrow, lurking like some crazy, unbeatable
weed, that thrilling FemDom lust. He knew it had gone out of his marriage. He knew she didn’t even care to whip him anymore. But he still loved her and that made him sad
And yet, the thought of this Brenda McKay coming to take him away was arousing that old FemDom lust in his soul. He felt torn in half by it all. But he never stopped massaging her, aware that she would make good on that threatened whipping no matter what.
And then they heard a cardoor slam. Heels clicked up the walk and the doorbell rang.
She got off the table, pointed to the slave corner and went to answer the door herself.
He knelt down in the corne penitent, humble, and yet aroused. His fate had been determined. There was nothing he could do about it. He’d been sold to another woman.
He heard their voices, hers, and another female’s, that one a little deeper, a little huskie. Heels clacked on the floor.
“He’s in here, all yours.”

End of Part One.

Copyright Permian Systems 2008.

Originally posted 2009-07-07 21:26:48.

Slave Training: His First Lesson

Justin was so excited. After he watching the infomercial “How to get gorgeous women to sleep with you” and dutifully sending off his $19.99 (plus shipping and handling of course) his tape had finally arrived! It is not of course that Justin really needed the tape in reality. He was actually kind of attractive. Six foot three inches tall, 180 lbs., fairly muscular (he worked out regularly), but his confidence lately had been shaken. Justin had been involved in a series of relatively long term encounters with beautiful women, all of which had ended badly. This shook the as before, very confident Justin to his core and is usual winning ways with women eluded him. Now when he approached some gorgeous babe at a bar, or wherever, he fumbled for words, looking quite the pathetic idiot. And pathetic and fumbling, regardless of what women tell you is NEVER an effective pick up strategy.

Justin sat down and watched the tape, making careful notes on the section called “Opening lines that cannot fail”. All Saturday long Justin prepared. Armed now with (he thought) good technique he showered, shaved put on his tightest jeans and black T-shirt (all designed to highlight the chiseled body he had been working on). With a new confidence in his step, he got into his car and headed downtown to the club district. He was ready, and his mouth began to water as he thought of all the beautiful and hot women who would be his tonight. It is so sad that he was SOOOOOO wrong!

As he sat casually in the bar (La Traviata) he with as much macho dispassion as the tape had instructed, surveyed the landscape. Man, was this place just completely jammed pack with gorgeous women. He was totally in heaven. As he coolly scoped the room, his hungry eyes came upon Carmen. What a beauty she was. She was a burgundy haired woman wearing a fairly revealing little black miniskirt. Her white blouse revealed ample breasts, so suckable he thought. But by far her best feature were her long luxurious legs. My god they simply did not stop. She was tall. Six feet in fact and those lovely legs just went on and on up into an ass that begged out for his oral attentions.

She too was coolly surveying the landscape. What got Justin’s attention was on her left foot her black strappy sandal was dangling as she sat there with her legs crossed. God she was gorgeous! Justin felt that old familiar stirring in his groin as he watched, totally mesmerized her every move. She sat there, lazily rocking her leg back and forth, her sandal bouncing, dangling to the beat of the music. She was smoking a cheroot! How Freudian he thought as he imagined those thick ruby red lips engulfing his throbbing cock. Yes, she was the one! She would be the one he would approach and no other. What finally convinced him was eventually they made eye contact. She glared at him, not in a menacing way but in a hungry way, the way a cat views a mouse, unblinking, unflinching, ready to pounce. Justin felt his pulse rise as he sensed her eyes on him. With his stomach full of butterflies he made his approach.

Remember lesson 3, remember lesson 3, he chanted to himself as he walked up to her.

“I am calling St. Peter” Justin opened “Because obviously Heaven is missing an angel!”

It took all of Carmen’s powers of concentration not to bust out laughing. My God, she thought to herself, that fucking book. Now here was a guy she would gladly have seduced, taken home and given the fuck of his life to and he had to go and be just another one of those pathetic dweebs buying a “how-to” manual for women. She was about to brush him off when that little devilish part of her brain spoke up. In the words of Susan Powter, it said, STOP THE INSANITY! She would allow this cloddish behavior to succeed, at least initially. Perhaps Justin could be saved, saved from himself. He was after all, quite attractive and in some sort of bizarre materialistic instinct, Carmen wanted to help him.

“HI!!!!” she responded with as much treacle cheerleaderesque fake girlish gusto as she could manage. Thus began the completely boorish tete-a-tete played right by the book. Man, she thought to herself as she saw Justin struggle, he may have bad taste in advice, but he certainly is a quick study. You see, about three months ago, as a lark, Carmen and her girl friends from work had bought this tape as a lark. Sort of a method to study up on the enemy so to speak, so she knew every line in the book and Justiny boy was going right down the list line by line. She, of course, armed also with the same dubious advice responded just as the book suggested these “gorgeous women” would respond. She touched his arm. She curled her hair around her finger and played with it, she giggled (although sometimes it was a struggle) at his lame jokes and not for one second did she take her eyes off of him.

Justin on the other hand could not believe his luck! He kept thinking to himself as he saw his machinations working that that was the best $19.95 he had ever spent. As he was trying desperately to remember the lessons from “show her you are sensitive but no wimp” he completely went blank as he felt her bare foot begin snaking up his leg.

Carmen chuckled as she saw Justin begin to lose his composure. Sure she wasn’t playing fair. She had noticed him staring at her legs and her feet and so she knew she had him. She could do WHATEVER she wanted, he was doomed, but did not know it yet. As she wriggled her toes up his inner thigh and over his crotch, she felt his cock stir in its denim prison. She giggled as she noticed a few beads of sweat begin to form on Justin’s head and run down his cheek. He was losing it, he was fumbling and she was enjoying every damn minute of it.

Justin’s mind raced as he tried desperately to maintain control of himself, but MY GOD! This woman is tormenting him. Within five minutes his composure went from swing lounge lothario back to bumbling Justin. He was thoroughly enjoying her podiatry work on his crotch, but was so afraid he was going to blow it. The book had made it quite clear that the secret to getting a gorgeous woman into your bed was to never lose control, and it was quite obvious, he was completely out of control. As he fumbled for words, Carmen leaned over and grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and pulled him to her. “Take me home, NOW!” she hissed into his ear.

The drive to her apartment was all a blur. Justin had a hard time concentrating on just keeping the car on the road, this woman was incredible. As he drove, she ran her hands up his shirt and began raking her long nails over his chest hair, tickling and teasing his nipples. Deftly she chewed on his ear as her tongue made little circles down his neck. Several times, Justin had to jerk the car back onto the road as his eyes had rolled back into his head.

When they finally got to her place, Justin was impressed. Her apartment was very tastefully decorated. In the center of her living room was a large fireplace and in front of that a big black leather couch, just begging to be used for some horizontal refreshments. Justin grabbed her and kissed her deeply. He was so turned on he was practically crazed. Carmen giggled and said “Not so fast stud, lets get comfortable! Now, I am going to go into the bedroom and put on something a little more, er, revealing, why don’t you just relax and sit down for a while.” Justin nodded, unable to speak.

After a few minutes, Carmen emerged and one could almost hear the sound of Justin’s jaw hitting the floor. She was stunning. Her tall statuesque body was framed with a black silk teddy. Her cleavage just bubbled over and was so inviting. Those breasts, that hair, those eyes, and of course, those long long legs, Justin was instantly enslaved. Carmen plopped down on the couch and recrossed her legs.

Justin could not keep his eyes off of her. Every inch of her was gorgeous. She was truly a goddess. He was planning on sending the producers of his tape a thank you note, when she reached up with her left toe and began to unzip his pants.

“Justin” she cooed “Please get naked for me.”

That was all the encouragement Justin needed. Clothes began to fly off of his body and before he knew it he was standing in front of her, totally stark naked, and completely erect. He was a bit shy so he tried vainly to hide his erection with his hands.

Ooooooh, Carmen cooed with fake enthusiasm, such muscles. Although she was faking this conversation, she was impressed. Justin was quite a specimen, the years of work at the gym showed on him, from his 6pack abs to his chiseled pectorals. She again raised her foot from the floor and shewed his hands away from his crotch. With both feet she gently prodded his balls, now dangling, obviously full of boiling cum. She enjoyed hearing Justin’s breathing get heavier as her toes teased the tip of his cock. “Do you want me Justin” she giggled as she spread her legs wide for him. Her g-string barely concealed her wet snatch, and Justin was delighted to see the wet stains on it. Laughing as she did it she raked her long nails down her legs and over her snatch. “ Do you want to make love to me tonight?”

Justin almost burst into tears on the spot. He was so horny, he was overcome. “OH GOD YES!!!” he cried out, knowing that he had violated rule # 8, never let a woman know that she is driving you crazy. Without thinking he dropped to his knees and began licking her inner thigh.

Good boy, she said as she ran her fingers through his hair. With two flicks of her wrists she untied her panties and draped them over Justins throbbing dick. The feel of the wet silk drove him mad as she slowly pulled them back and forth over him, sending wave after wave of pleasure through his body. He dove into her pussy, so hungry, eager. Carmen was so wet, she literally gushed! Her hot tasty juices were all over Justin, on his face, up his nose, down his chin, he was covered in her. Carmen removed her top and lazily began rubbing her nipples in-between her fingers as Justin hungrily devoured her.

He wasn’t bad she thought, but needs work, as his tongue teased and pleased her clit. Alternating between hard sucking and light licking. She shuddered and twitched as he gave her sweet pussy one long luxurious lick after another, playfully teasing her hot little love knob with his mouth. After a few minutes of this she could finally take no more, her thighs tensed up and clamped down on Justin’s ears, nearly suffocating him as she cried out in a very pleasant, if blasé, orgasm.

Like a little puppy dog that wants to be rewarded for good behavior, Justin stared up at her from in-between her legs, searching her face for some sign that she was satisfied. “Did you like that?” he asked sheepishly. “Yes Justin, I did, but…”

“But?” Justin replied. She, sensing this consternation, reached down and cradled his face in her hand. “Yes Justin, that was very good, but I want more, will you give me more, will you do as I say? I want to please you now! Give you something you have never had!”

Crazed with lust Justin agreed. Hell, at that moment, Justin would have agreed to anything.

“OK, now stand up for me, and put you hands behind your back and close your eyes.” Justin complied, ready to have the what he guessed would be the blow job of his life, his eyes quickly opened as he heard the click of the cuffs and felt the cool steel of the manacles around his wrists.

“What are you doing!” he cried.

“Shhhhhh, be calm Justin!” Carmen reassured as she gingerly cupped his balls in her hand. “I told you I was going to give you something you have never had, and I am. I am going to train you in how to please a woman. It is obvious to me that you bought that stupid tape because of some lack of confidence in yourself. Well, do not fear Justin. When I am through with you, you will no longer have any trouble with women once you learn some basic truths.”

“But, but, but, Pleasssssssse, I am so horny, please let me cum” He begged, his cock now hot to the touch throbbing in the palm of her hand.

“HEHE, well Justin, I am afraid I am not going to be able to let you cum for a while” she cackled “But trust me, you will cum, if you are a good study.”

“Now, time for lesson one – Pussy rules all!”

With that she plopped back down on the couch and pulled Justin’s mouth back onto her. Justin, realizing he was whooped, but actually not at all sad about it, eagerly began to lick her sweet snatch again. Justin was glad to have found an eager teacher and he was a most eager student.

“Oh, and by the way Justin” she moaned as he continued slurping away on her lucious coos “This is the first lesson of 200, so I hope you don’t have any plans for the next week! But once you graduate, we will take care of your little problem there” she laughed as she smacked his hard dick with her foot.

Justin groaned as he continued lapping away. Bound and horny for a week. How would he ever survive.