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A Completely Female Led Family

By Priscilla

I married a man 20 years my senior. This is my second marriage and his first. I have two daughters; a 14 year old, and a 10 year old from my first marriage.

My daughters and I are quite close and able to discuss every aspect of our life. We realized that my first husband (their father) was virtually worthless, and we vowed to each other that we would not be living that kind of a life in the future. Thankfully, my new husband did well in his career and his income is sufficient to support our lifestyle.

I am often astonished at how some young and even preteen girls understand the idea of male submission, humiliation, and punishment. My two girls realized from the beginning of my marriage that they should take charge right away. Even I learned something from their devious little minds. He did not stand a chance and they knew it.

My daughters have collaborated with me on his every humiliation. The 14 year old has learned about boys from other girls at school and from certain web sites. She knows what excites them, how to control them, how to manipulate them. She, like many older sisters, has taught my 10 year old the ropes (sorry for the pun).

I never realized how submissive my new husband was. However, the girls launched a full interrogation program that included a great deal of innuendo and teasing commentary. His experience with girls was minimal and he was fascinated by their questions and how they planted the seeds of submission. Their goal was to develop a man that would OBEY. They say jump, and he would be trained to automatically ask “how high Miss”?

The girls began by suggesting a family meeting just before bedtime. They wore short and skimpy and frilly girlie things. They new that this type of dress would get his attention. My oldest started the conversation by asking a series of leading questions that the girls had written down. Here are a few of their interrogation questions;

  1. Do you think that your new wife and her daughters should be treated like princesses?
  2. Do you think that your new wife and her daughters should have complete control of running all family affairs?
  3. Will you be ok taking orders and obeying even your 10 year old stepdaughter (giggles here)?
  4. Do you believe that your role is to make life easier for the princesses in the home?
  5. What excites you about girls? (He is now babbling and stumbling for words). I am really enjoying how the girls are handling themselves. The bulge in his pajamas and his wriggling was so noticeable.
  6. In the event that you do not make your princesses happy will you accept being punished, tormented, and humiliated in order to improve your behavior?

The above was really just the beginning. The girls agreed that getting him addicted to girly things would be the best way to condition his behavior.

His first permanent assignment was that all of our panties would be

washed by hand on a daily basis. The girls wanted this done using a certain procedure. He was given three bowls of water, one hot, and two warm and they were set on a table. The hotter water was used for the initial soak, the second would have a little feminine soap added and the third would be a final rinse. Once each pair of panties was thoroughly, and I mean thoroughly washed and rinsed they were hung to dry.

His reward, and this was absolutely precious, he would be drinking the “panty soak water” from a baby bottle. Talk about humiliation and teasing. They made him beg for that bottle. It was not long before other liquids were added to the soak water before it went into his baby bottle, i.e. our spit, etc. etc. That’s all he gets to drink and he actually begs them for it. It was amazing how that nipple brought him to his knees.

Originally posted 2011-01-30 20:12:00.

From Strap-on to the Real Thing

By Angela St. Lawrence

It is in front of your face. You can smell it. It is cock. It is the cock you are going to suck tonight. Perhaps it is a cock that will fuck you, too. You have no say. You are, after all, only a Cock-Pig.

Once you were a man. You lived a free life, had a fairly successful career. You worked hard, you played hard. Lots of young, hot women. Footloose and fancy free, as they say, living what you thought was the good life.

But then you met Krysta. Tall, beautiful and wickedly sexy, she was different somehow. Different than the girls you usually bedded and forgot about. At first, it was just filth whispered into your ears as she fucked you. Then it was porn while she sucked your cock. The porn started getting kinkier, freakier. And you couldn’t get enough, could you? You were obsessed, wanted to be with her all the time.

And that is how she began training you, although you were too stupid to know it at the time. Even now when you think of before and now, you’re not sure exactly how she did it. Soon, though, you began living your weekends in a cage in her basement, your cock in a device that kept it hard, yet wouldn’t permit orgasm. You were an animal.

Krysta’s Cock-Pig. That is what she started calling you. She would come to you with a strap-on and make you suck it. Then she would promise orgasm, that she would remove your Cock-Pig chastity device if you bent over and spread your ass and begged for her big, girl-dick. And you did. You would have done anything to cum. The thing is, just like she knew would happen, you started liking it, didn’t you? You started to like taking that big, fat strap-on up your ass.

It wasn’t long before she’d tricked you into leaving your job and turning over everything you had –your money, your house, your car, your savings– to her. She took away your life as a free man and put you in the cage full time. You became her 24/7 Cock-Pig.

That was when she began cum-training you. You would hear her upstairs fucking some guy –you never knew them, at least at first– and your dick would twitch and strain against the chastity device. Later she would come down to you. She’d taunt you, show you her swollen pussy lips. “Remember how tight this pussy is, Cock-Pig,” she’d ask, pushing on her stomach, causing milky cream to drip out of her slit, down the crack of her ass. “Remember when I used to let you fuck me?” You did remember and it made you crazy hot. So easy for her to make you eat her out, lap up all that cream pie. You would have done anything to get your chastity device off at that point.

Then she started bringing you down cups of cum, even a bowl of cum one time. “Come here, Cock-Pig,” Krysta would say, putting the bowl on the floor right inside your cage. “Crawl over here and get your cup of cum, Cock-Pig. Come lap it up and I will take off your device for a little bit. Maybe I’ll even give you a good, hard fucking.”

And so it went. You really were some new low form of animal, Krysta’s Cock-Pig. But Krysta had a plan. And you soon learned you could even go lower.

“Oh, Cock-Pig,” you heard her calling as she came down the stairs. Only this time she wasn’t alone. There was a second set of footsteps. Heavy footsteps.

And then she was there in front of you, a man beside her. A very big man with his very big cock in his fist. “Now I’m going to show you what a Cock-Pig is really good for,” Christa cooed, opening your cage. “Crawl out here now.” Her voice was as sexy as ever, but there was a breathiness to it you hadn’t caught before. This was exciting her. This was where she’d been leading you since the beginning.

“Suck it, Cock-Pig. Suck this big fat cock. When the cock cums, you get to cum.”

And so you sucked it. When he was getting close to cumming, Krysta removed your chastity device and whispered in your ear, “When that cock cums, you can cum. From now on the only time you will ever cum is when you are sucking a cock and it comes.” And she wrapped your own hand around your dick. “Play with it, Cock-Pig. Jerk it while you suck that cock.”

And she stayed so close that you could hear each of her breaths, smell her perfume. Soon the man was grunting, thrusting his hips, grabbing your head. And then you were taking your first load right from that swelling, jerking, squirting cock and cumming all over your own belly at the same time.

And you were finally real. You were Krysta’s Cock-Pig.

Visit Angela’s Blistered Lips for more stories.

Originally posted 2007-09-30 05:41:04.

Cougar Mistress

It was a cougar who introduced me to the femdom way! When I was 24 I started dating a 36 year old woman–or I should say she started dating me.

Up to that point I had several girlfriends my age and I was used to getting my way sexually. I wasn’t abusive of course; I just didn’t know any better because that’s how males are taught to think about women and sex. Then I met Carol.

After our 3rd date I tried to get her into bed and she rebuffed me by saying that it was too soon and she would let me know when she was ready. I tried again after our 4rd date a few days later and she said the same thing. The very next night I tried a 3rd time and success!

She led me into her bedroom, started undressing me and got me into her bed. She then used scarves to tie my hands and feet to her bed, which was a first for me because I was used to being in charge in the bedroom but I thought “what the heck, I’ll let her and next time I’ll tie her up” Then she gagged my mouth and explained to me that sex is a gift from a woman to a man and the woman decides when and how to have sex, etc. and we would discuss this further in the morning.

She left me naked tied and gagged the whole night.

I was very embarrassed and humbled, especially after trying to get free and not having any luck. The scarves didn’t seem all that tight but I may as well have been in steel handcuffs–Carol really knew her knots!.

The next morning we had a discussion about our budding relationship and she stated that she was going to lead the relationship and I could either accept it or we could part ways then and there. When I agreed to her demands, we had the most mind-blowing sex I ever had up until that point, with me still tied to her bed.

We were together for almost two years in a totally female led relationship and she remains the most influential woman I have ever had in my life. I still run into her on occasion (we are on good terms) and it’s amazing just how sensual she is to me even though she is now almost 60 and has grey hair and has put on weight.

All the women in my life–including my wife–have benefitted from my time with Carol.

Originally posted 2010-07-12 12:08:06.

Man Spanked & Disiciplined by Fiancée

Man’s Lifetime of Spanking Discipline & Punishment

When I was growing up, my mom used to always spank me. You see, my dad was an over the road salesman, and was only home on weekends. So my mom took care of the day to day discipline around the house. At first it was just a tap on the back of the legs with a yardstick. My mom liked to sew, so she always had a yardstick near by. But as I grew older, I had to pull down my pants and underwear for a spanking on my bare bottom.

I was also spanked through high school and when I started college. My mom felt that as long as I lived in the house under her rules, I deserved to be spanked. In high school, she usually had me bend over the end of the sofa, or a chair, for a spanking with a paddle. My mom also got various paddles over the years. Some had holes in them that really stung, others had different shapes to them. My bottom was always turned quite red, and many times I had to stand in a corner after the spanking. The spanking did make me really respect my mom.

After I started college, I moved out of the house to an apartment of my own. By the end of college, I had found a woman that I really liked and wanted to marry. I had taken her over to see my mom and dad, and they really liked her, too. After I graduated from college, I finally got engaged to Khymberly and I was looking forward to being married to her. Since we were engaged, she had a key to my apartment.

At this point, I was beginning to take Khymberly for granted, even though we weren’t even married yet. She was washing all of my clothes, making my meals, going grocery shopping for me, and I was treating her more as a servant than as my soon to be wife. Anyway, I guess Khymberly talked to my mom about this, and one day when I came home from the office, I was greeted by both my fiancée and my mom.

“Khymberly tells me that you haven’t been showing her much respect, lately.” My mom said. “She has been doing all of the work around your apartment, and that you have been treating her more like a servant than your future wife. Is this true?”

“It hasn’t been that bad,” I pleaded.

“She tells me that she does all of your laundry, takes out your trash, makes your meals, and even runs errands for you. That’s not how you should treat Khymberly.”

“Why not! Khymberly is willing to do it for me,” I said.

“Khymberly feels like she has become a personal slave to you, and that you don’t treat her with respect anymore.” My mom said.

“I didn’t realize I was acting this way towards her,” I said.

“You have been treating Khymberly very poorly, and I want to make sure she stays in the family.” My mom said. “I have decided to show Khymberly how I have kept you behaving in the proper manner. So Khymberly and I are going to give you a good spanking.”

“A spanking? But I am too old for that.” I said.

“You deserve a good spanking for what you have been doing to Khymberly, and you are never too old for a spanking,” my mom said.

“I’ll act better towards Khymberly,” I said. “You don’t have to spank me.”

“This way you will remember to treat Khymberly with more respect,” my mom said. “So go over to the end of the sofa and prepare yourself for a spanking.” So I slowly went over to the end of the sofa and dropped my slacks and underwear, so that they were at my ankles. Meanwhile, my mom was telling Khymberly, “I brought my paddles along that I used to spank him with. After we spank him today, I can leave the paddles with you so that you can spank him whenever he needs it.” My mom looked over at me and saw that I was still standing up and she said, “Bend over the sofa so that we can start your spanking.”

So now I was bent over the sofa with my bare bottom sticking out, awaiting for Khymberly and my mom to spank me. “I like to use the paddle with the holes in it. It stings his bottom more than the other paddles.” Then my mom started to spank me. While she was spanking me, she told Khymberly, “You should spank him going from cheek to cheek, and he’s a big boy now, so you can spank him hard. Now you try it.” Then she handed the paddle to Khymberly and she was spanking me. She wasn’t spanking me as hard as my mom until my mom said, “Go ahead and spank him harder. He can take it.” Then I felt the paddle stinging my poor bare bottom even harder. “Sometimes I change to other paddles when I spank him,” my mom said. “They make different noises and they feel different for him. You should spank him until his bottom turns a nice red color.” So Khymberly tried other paddles on me and kept spanking me.

“His bottom looks pretty red now, should I stop spanking him?” Khymberly asked my mom.

“Give him a few more swats, then you should stop,” my mom said. After a couple more swats, my spanking stopped and my mom said, “After I spank him, I always have him stand in the corner with his pants still down and his hands at his sides. So you can stand up, now, and stand in the corner.”

I really wanted to rub my poor hurting bottom, but I went to the corner and stood there with my arms at my sides. Then Khymberly and my mom talked for what seemed like a long time. My mom told Khymberly that I should be spanked on a regular basis, so that I would always respect her.

“Why don’t you leave him standing in the corner until after I leave,” my mom said. “Don’t be afraid to call me if you have any questions about when and how to spank him.” So then my mom left my apartment, and I was alone with Khymberly.

“You can pull up your pants now.” Khymberly said to me. “I’m going to enjoy spanking you, to keep you from taking me for granted.”

And so after this, my wife spanked me on a regular basis after we were married. It has made me appreciate my wife, and behave a lot better.

Originally posted 2013-04-07 04:50:15.

Hand Job Humiliation

By Angela St. Lawrence

“Get your fucking pants down, now!”

Heart racing, you struggle with your belt. She doesn’t have a right to treat me like this, you think to yourself. You try to ignore the clammy grip of nervous sweat around your balls. I ’ve paid good money after all; she is really nothing more than a whore when you get right down to it.

The more you think about it, the braver you’re feeling. Mistress, my ass! Just who in the hell does she think she is to talk to me like that?

Ignoring your own better judgment, forgetting that your pants are now down around your knees and your dick is sticking straight up, you look up to say something, to somehow defend yourself against her scornful abuse.

“You timid, little piece-of-shit, loser. Who in the fuck do you think you are looking at?”

Her voice is cruel and unforgiving as she looks at you with cold, icy blue eyes—first straight into your face and then down to your naked, twitching cock. She smirks, and you know you are beaten, that she has you, that she knows you for the warped and twisted degenerate that you are. Your bravado is gone, your words caught dry and useless in your throat.

Wiggling her slender hand into a latex glove, stretching and pulling the latex to fit snugly between her fingers, she continues, her voice a wicked snarl, “Don’t even think about smart-mouthing me, asshole. You’re the one who called me. You’re the one who was so damn curious about a “FemDom” handjob. You’re the butterfingers who evidently can’t jerk off your own dick. You’re the underachiever who evidently needs an instruction manual on how to fuck pussy correctly.” Her voice is sharp and cold and you know now that there will be no kindness, no mercy. But your cock is throbbing as you watch her squirting lube into the palm of her gloved hand.

“Five.”

She spits the number out at you as her slithery fist grabs your prick and moves down the length of it. The shock, the suddenness of it, is so visceral that you almost shoot your load right then.

“Don’t you fucking dare, weasel boy. This dirty, nasty, useless prick of yours doesn’t cum until and when I say so. And that would be when we get to the number one. Got it?”

“Christ! Fuck! Shit! Yesssssssssss, Ma’am.”

You hear yourself, a whimpering, blubbering, mindless automaton. You are her toy: a helpless, filthy cock-toy to abuse and molest at her whim.

“Four.”

As her hand moves—once up and once down—you feel her grasp tighten ever so slightly. Oh, she is a gifted Goddess. You know that now and your urge to cum is almost overpowering. You can’t help yourself and begin to actually wail. “Please, Mistress. Please let me cum now. Oh, please.” You hear yourself and are ashamed, but cannot stop. “Please, Mistress. Let me cum now. Let me be your dirty filthy boy and cum now. Please, please, please, please.”

Abruptly she loosens her grip and—before you even understand what is happening—smacks your cock. Once. Twice. Three times. There is nothing, nobody but you and her, her hand and your dick. You actually swoon and feel yourself dropping towards the when she grabs your arm and pulls you you back up.

“No you don’t,” she whispers sweetly, lips grazing your ear. The unexpected change in her manner has you spinning and powerless, totally focused on her. You struggle to speak, to tell her you adore her, to tell her you belong to her while your abandoned cock twitches and drips, pointing directly at her: your Mistress, your Queen.

“You came here for a FemDom handjob. Don’t you remember? Or did your brain melt and drain into your balls and leave you stupid? If you spew already, you’ll miss the show.”

She giggles as she moves away from you to sit in a nearby chair. You are tempted to beg her to come back, to jerk your cock again, that you will be a “good boy.” But seeing the look on her face you think better of it and are silent.

“That’s more like it,” she says, pointing between your legs. You are helpless, exposed. “That dick is now my property, my personal gear shift. Got it?”

Afraid to look at her, you nod, staring straight ahead. “Yes Mistress.”

“I’m going to start again in a moment, but this time I’m going to start counting back from ten.” Unable to stop yourself, you moan in frustration.

“Make that fifteen.” You bite your tongue.

“You’re learning,” she almost—but not quite—purrs as she stands up again and walks toward you.

“Now stand there with your pants down around your ankles like the gimp-loser dick-wad you are while I lube this glove up one more time.”

“And then we’ll try again.”

Visit Angela’s Blistered Lips for more stories.

Originally posted 2008-01-22 05:35:40.

Total Mind Control & Enslavement

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.Whir.Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. He sighed, that was
it the CD back on repeat again. A CD of pure white noise, buzzing in the
heavy old-fashioned headphones. Each time it came around he tried to listen,
to try to hear anything during the brief pause, but it was no good the
headphones themselves were heavy enough to cut out most sound on their own.
The breaks in the CD had been the most exciting thing to happen to him
for the last three and a half CD repeats. He estimated a CD repeat as
lasting about 45 minutes, but really he had no idea. Before that he had been
spoon fed his meal of vegetable lasagne before his water tube was taped back
into his mouth and the gas mask with the blacked out eye sockets was
replaced.

Continue reading Total Mind Control & Enslavement

Originally posted 2013-03-02 08:03:25.

Submissive Boyfriend’s Morning Spanking

“Wake up my pet.” I felt her fingers rifling my hair.

I smiled then opened my eyes. The clock showed I’d slept much later than usual.

Looking up at her beside me on the bed I caught the crooked smile on her parted lips and what I think of as That Look. It was if she were looking through me. She tried to explain it to me once. I looked barely six inches tall sometimes she said.

“I’m almost sorry to need you right now.” She neither looked nor sounded apologetic. I shivered. Not first thing in the day. Now I had the right to get on my knees and very humbly beg her to accept my inability. And she would’ve. But I was awake, no demands on my time and didn’t feel bad just worried. I could say I swallowed my pride but I was already seeing her as my Goddess, no pride was left. I just swallowed air. And nodded.

“Roll onto your hands and knees. Bring your feet over the edge of the bed. I obeyed.

Her palm smacked into my buttocks until I could feel but not see their blush. This was just the warm-up. Athletes warm-up so do masochists’ butts.

Then there was the wait. Whatever instrument was about to strike me she’d have chosen before waking me. I was being allowed to worry. Would it be that cat o’ nine tales that I could barely tolerate? I’d barely thought of that when one of her crueler floggers cut into my skin. My response was somewhere between “yeep!” and “ow!” and several other meaningless sounds.

“Legs down!” The flogger hit the back of my calves. I’d forgotten to hold my legs flat against the bed. I’d do my best to comply. Displeasing her would only earn me more lashes.

But how many lashes? She hadn’t told me. She wasn’t counting. I certainly wasn’t. Given what that flogger could do she was relatively restrained. Not that a single stroke left me silent. Once I unintentionally started to move up and it slice into my back. I fought to hold myself still, except for my tongue. There was no controlling that without a gag.

Really it probably didn’t last that long. But when it was over all I knew was the successive burning stings that had cut into my ass. It wasn’t until I felt the vastly milder burn of an antiseptic spray that I knew she was done.

“Now that is the way to start the day.” I didn’t quite agree but I relaxed. I could tell that she was done. For all I knew that had only been the beginning. Once again I felt her fingernails gently move through my hair. My normal pleasure at this was mixed with a mortifying gratitude that he need to see me suffer was satisfied for now.

“You just relax, hon. I’ll fix a nice breakfast for you.”

This morning I’d be eating standing up.

Originally posted 2012-10-24 06:20:00.

Slave of Three Women

There I was, lying on my belly on the floor of my own bedroom, naked and severely hogtied. My arms were wrenched around painfully far behind my back, straining my shoulder sockets considerably and arching my bound torso upward. Quarter-inch cotton cord tied my elbows together high behind my bowed spine, then described a tight spiral all the way down my pressed-together forearms to my elaborately lashed-up wrists. Another long rope was wrapped quite redundantly about my upper chest and shoulders, but it wasn’t these bonds that troubled me. My feet were very widely spread, with my ankles lashed tightly to either end of a sturdy wooden broomstick. Normally, this wouldn’t be too bad either, but my housemate Gisele had also left me with my legs severely back-angled at the knees, my bound feet pulled all the way up behind me so that the center of the broomstick could be part of the elaborate lashing securing my forearms and wrists. This cruel hogtying pulled my restrained, contorted body into a taut bow, stressing every muscle and joint. Yet not even this comprehensive bondage was the worst of my predicament. One more short, taut, quarter inch rope was braided into my ponytail. From here it ran down the center of my back, through the crack of my ass to finally be tied pitilessly tightly about both the base of my genitals and the head of my back-bent erection. Trapped full of blood, fully engorged and pulsating, my straining hard-on was thus yanked cruelly backward between my spread-apart legs. Not only did this crush my rope-bound balls back up into my anus, it made it impossible to lower my blindfolded, ball-gagged head in the slightest amount without causing my hyper-extended penis and crushed testicles incredible pain.

I’d been bound up this way for over an hour, waiting for my delectable female housemate Gisele to finally return here with her two equally hot friends Jakki and Natalie. But then I finally heard them opening the apartment door, and my already pounding heartbeat lurched into overdrive. Their voices were all high and delighted and excited, and I could hear them still discussing the bizarre situation.

“You mean he’s sponsoring the whole damn party? Providing us with a quarter once of coke, an once of reefer, and a cold case of Heineken?” This was Natalie, the one who really made my heart pound. “And in exchange for that he wants us to torture him?”

“That’s right!” crowed Gisele. “We get to tie him up, dress him up, whip and beat the shit out of him, feminize him, sodomize him, and do anything we can think of to torture, degrade, and humiliate him, for as long as the party lasts!”

“We don’t have to have sex with him?”

“Hell no! That’s the best part of the deal. He doesn’t get to penetrate any of us. He gets to ejaculate once, at a point and by a method of our choosing. But we get to penetrate him all we want! That’s why I insisted you bring over all your strap-ons. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to get totally coked-up and dildo that little sissy-boy housemate of mine to death! After I whip the living shit out of him, that is.” There were cries of disbelieving excitement about that prospect, more giddy chatter, as Gisele led her two friends across the small apartment and into my bedroom. The other girls got their first sight of me naked and elaborately trussed up on the floor then, and they both burst forth into shrieks of laughter.

“Look what we’ve got to play with!”

“No way! You weren’t kidding! Is that Tom? It is!”

“Nope,” announced Gisele. “For tonight, that’s just a torture-slut fuck-object that has no name. It doesn’t deserve one. But for convenience we can it Slut-boy. Look, what did I tell you: two fat eight-balls on the mirror, an ounce bag of sin semilla and papers, and the cold case of Heineken’s in the fridge there. A totally awesome private party for three very deserving girls. But best of all, we’ve also got us a completely helpless, tightly trussed-up torture-slut to do whatever the hell we want with!”

“I’m getting some downright sinful ideas already!” exclaimed Natalie, sending shivers down my bowed spine, and Jakki eagerly agreed. I was of course blindfolded by buckling black leather, and too overwhelmed with humiliation anyway to even think of looking up at these women as they gloated over me. But their gorgeous faces and forms were as familiar to me as their voices, and I could easily picture and was tormented by their beautiful superiority.

Natalie was of course the worst. Five-foot eleven, a hundred and sixty pounds, she was a very big girl with orange-freckled skin, huge breasts, big arms and shoulders, columnar legs and long, thick, shiny reddish-golden hair. She was so beautiful, yet so large and strong that she pushed all the right buttons in my submission-obsessed psyche. Gisele, my housemate, was her best friend and total opposite, being incredibly slender and just above petite at five-feet four. Her best features were an angelic, heart-shaped face; china doll features; long, wavy, flowing red hair a shade darker than Natalie’s; and of course that succulent, tiny-waisted, pointy-nippled, incredibly lean and spare little body. Jakki was of more average build, with straight blond hair that fell to her shoulders, but even she was patently way too hot for my slump-shouldered, shallow-chested weakness. All three women had of course habitually rejected my sexual advances contemptuously. They were in their early twenties, and had no use for me at all at thirty-four, which they considered sexually defunct. Thus the sure knowledge of my inferiority to such incredible creatures both tormented and turned me on no end, until at last it drove me to make them this outrageous offer. Still they were discussing it.

“But why? I mean look at him there! Why did he agree to this? Why does he want us to tie him up, butt-fuck him, humiliate him, and torture him?”

“Because he’s fucked up! He’s a pervert! Who the fuck cares! Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth here! Let’s just have some outrageous fun! We can get royally fucked up, marshal all the anger and humiliation of the unjustly oppressed female sex, and take it all out on this pathetic little Slut-boy here! I think I’m going to corn-hole him until I come about a thousand times! Beat the crap out of him; ream him out, maybe even piss in his face before I’m done. Are you guys into it, or what?”

“Hell, yeah!”

“Whoo-hoo!”

The girls slapped high-fives, hugged and kissed. Candles were lit here, there, and everywhere; Jimi Hendrix was put on the stereo, and Gisele got three cold beers from the fridge. Groveling blindly, sucking the big gag-ball, I lay on my belly on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, where the drugs I’d promised them were all laid out. The three girls sat on the couch to drink and party, resting their feet on my hog-tied form, occasionally kicking or spurning me when they changed position or merely felt like it.

The first few beers were guzzled down, a fat joint was rolled and smoked, and there was much chopping and sniffing from the table above me. Soon the girls were talking and laughing happily and excitedly, everyone going a mile a minute, and I seemed almost forgotten. Or so I thought. But then suddenly someone reached down, grabbed the taut rope connecting my ponytail and my back-bent erection, and pulled on it hard. I gave a strangled bleat into the ball gag, and then recognized Natalie’s sneering laugh.

“That’s great! Clever bondage trick, Gisele! But will he be able to eat pussy like that? My black boyfriend doesn’t believe in it, and I could use a good tongue-slut.”

“I know a way to find out!” sang Gisele

“And if he can’t, we’ll just have to untie him,” added Jakki. “After all, we can’t very well whip him raw and butt-fuck him the way he is now.”

“The way it is now,” corrected Natalie. “This thing has no longer has any fixed sex. It exists only to be used in whatever fashion we, its Mistresses, see fit. I myself intend to use it as an automatic cunnilingus machine. After that I say we untie it, feminize it, tie it up again in a more accessible fashion. Then we can beat it and fuck it to within an inch of it’ s measly life!”

“Agreed!” the others chorused. Bottles clinked, and they drank to the plan. A few more lines of coke were snorted, but it was my heart that was truly racing. At last the girls pushed the coffee table away, and Natalie moved around to confront my blindfolded, ball-gagged face. Strong hands brusquely removed both restraints, and soon I was gasping and blinking up at the woman I most coveted, my face flushed red with unbearable shame. She sneered back, beautiful, contemptuous, and snarled at me.

“Here we go, slut-bitch-piece of shit! Here’s your first test of the night! I want you to suck on the crotch a nigger fucks! And you’d better do a damn good job of it! I haven’t come in someone’s face in over a year now, and I fully expect to come in yours! If I don’t.Oh, baby, your night is going to be such a living hell!”

“Not that it won’t be anyway!” Gisele chimed in cheerfully. “I’m going to see to that! I’m going to make our stupid little Slut-boy here so fucking sorry it ever dreamed up this ridiculous stunt! Cocaine just makes me so aggressive, so wild and demanding! And this piece of shit fucking begged me to be just as cruel and heartless and creative and inventive and pitiless as I can possibly be in emasculating it! Didn’t you, Slut-boy?”

“Yes, Mistress Gisele,” I managed to mumble at the floor. They all shrieked again with drug-assisted glee. Then without further ado Natalie lifted the leather skirt she was wearing, revealing nothing but a beautifully shaved vagina and winking pink anus beneath. She sat on the floor in front of me, splay-legged, and scootched herself forward until she’d pushed her pubis right into my face. One hand went to the carpet for support, and the other found the back of my head. She breathed down excitedly, “Now, Slut-boy, picture my bad boy Jamie hammering his long hard tool inside me while you eat me out! Wouldn’t you like to taste and feel that big black licorice stick yourself?”

Not giving me a chance to reply, she shoved my face down to meet her hungry vagina, yanking on my connected cock and balls brutally. Torturing my crushed nuts and back-bent prick, she forced me to perform cunnilingus on her while the other girls continued to party and coke up. I even perceived them feeding Natalie spoons as she gasped and writhed and pumped against my face, and the speed with which she humped my flickering tongue seemed to accelerate endlessly. At last she cried out the first orgasm of the night, as her already running with liquid womanhood suddenly spat out a thick ejaculate, straight into my frantically working face. I did my best to lap up everything I could reach, ignoring the slime dripping down my features to tidy up Natalie. This was the culmination of one of my fondest dreams here, and I savored it while the three girls cheered, clinking bottles and chugging beers to the first slut-soiling of the night.

That called for more weed, more lines, and fresh bottles of beer. I lay there forgotten and soiled while they partook of their refreshments, but then at last they turned their attention to truly preparing me for a night of relentless feminization and mental, emotional, physical and sexual abuse. My ankles were untied, my legs released from the terrible broomstick, and then only the cock-rope held me bowed back. This was truly an agonizing state of affairs, and I was aware of little else but the pain in my genitals while the three young women proceeded to dry-shave my legs and groin quickly free of hair. Prickly nylon stockings of purest white were pulled up over the irritated skin, maddening, and then these were clipped to the garters and belt they arranged about my waist. White, cruelly tight high-heeled pumps were jammed onto my feet, and an incredibly confining girdle was laced up tightly about my mid-section.

While I gasped for breath and fought to think past the agonizing sensation of my sex organs being slowly ripped off, Jakki made my face up like worse kind of slut: heavy on the eye shadow, rouge, and lipstick. A white silk ribbon became a choker for my neck, and at last Gisele sprayed me liberally with her cheapest perfume. Then they all stepped back to have a look and a laugh, to do more drugs and revel in their handiwork.

For fifteen minutes I continued to squirm, whimpering at the pain in my groin, pleading abjectly with my eyes, while they extensively and hilariously ridiculed and critiqued my appearance and performance (so far) as their pathetic little torture slut. Then over more lines of blow the decision was made to mummify me with cellophane, immobilizing me and leaving only my head, groin and buttocks open to the air. These areas would then be free to receive the long night’s concentrated abuse, while the rest of me struggled in vain.

This process was carried out by first using strapping tape to bind my legs tightly together at the ankle, knee, and thigh. Then an entire foot-wide roll of ordinary household cellophane was wrapped tightly all about my legs from the pointed toes of my women’s shoes to just above the tops of my horribly scratchy stockings. More tape sealed up this sheath, and in a twinkling my legs had become one unit, itchy, cocooned, able to bend a little together but not budge at all independently. It was determined then that the current rope bindings restraining my arms, head and genitals were too cumbersome to be similarly cocooned, and these ropes were finally released. At last the relentless pressure on my neck and groin eased, and I sobbed unabashedly in relief.

The three girls jeered at me in disbelief (“Had enough all ready? Oh, Slut-boy, we’re just getting started on you!”) They proceeded to tighten the ropes about my chest and shoulders, then to retie my forearms crosswise behind my back in overlapping fashion. This made a much more compact package of my upper body. Another entire roll of cellophane was brought out, and wrapped around and around and around my arms and torso from belly to neck, encasing me completely.

Although now freed from the cruel cotton rope, my cock remained rigidly erect, this bizarre bondage turning me on so much that I was gasping and moaning continuously as they worked on me. Gisele took the tape again then, and after sealing my upper half thoroughly into its immobilizing cocoon, she wrapped a long, thin strip tightly about the base of my genitals, trapping them once again into pounding erection and making them jut out proudly, the only protuberance from my otherwise completely mummified cross-dressed body.

After a bit of debate they took me then, picking me up and carrying my helpless, tightly sheathed form over behind the couch, where they positioned me right in the center and bent me over the back of it. Head down, ass up high in the air, with my hard cock crushed against the wooden frame, I was left then to wait in painful, trembling suspense as they once again coked up, chugged beer, and began picking through the many tools and weapons that Gisele had gathered for this occasion.

There was a bullwhip, a long limber cane, a heavy wooden fraternity paddle, a hairbrush, a riding crop and at least a dozen fine leather belts, most of them mine. Before I knew it I was being assailed by all of these: one, two, or even three at a time, in never-ending succession. My bare ass went from clean and clear white skin to red and purple and then finally a terrible striped and mottled black and blue in a matter of minutes. Yet they surrounded me for what seemed like hours, strapping, paddling, whipping, beating and caning me, all at once or taking turns while the others recharged their buzz.

My sobbing and screaming was as extensive and continuous as this endless ass beating, and at last Gisele stuffed a pair of her soiled panties into my mouth, muffling my piteous complaint. Then these awesomely fit chicks carried on the vicious whipping like any old coke-inspired workout, until they were all flushed and panting and dripping with sweat.

Garments began to come off then, more beautiful skin and curves were revealed among my tormentors, but unfortunately no lovely bare breasts. And then finally my tenant Gisele, in a skimpy t-shirt and filmy panties, at last came back from her own small room sporting a big black strap-on dildo. She was in the process of harnessing it tightly about her tiny waist, where at a good two inches thick and ten inches long it looked ridiculously oversized on her. But in any case this act seemed a signal, and both Natalie and Jakki were also quick to set aside weapons, then produce and don their own fake but horribly life-like looking cocks.

Jakki had a huge, twelve-inch long flesh-colored member that fitted quite well on her own simple harness, looking imposing indeed. But it was beloved Natalie’s equipment that most caught my attention. Dropping her skirt, she opened her bag and dumped an incredible assortment of dildoes, vibrators and butt-plugs onto the couch. Right away she chose a pair of black latex hot pants, so skin-tight they might have been painted on. Once she stepped into these and pulled them up, the big black twelve-inch cock sticking right up and out from her pubis might have been an integral part of her. Beneath, I could see the crotch of the shorts had been cut away, giving my dream girl both a beautiful cunt and a giant cock to take me with, and finally I began to recover somewhat from the trauma of my beating. After all, much worse was clearly in store for my agonized, upthrust ass.

“Who goes first?’ asked Natalie, her blue eyes glittering with coked-out excitement. She was breathing hard, her chest heaving, big tits pushed up and swelling inside the minimal black lace bra she wore. Her nice white shirt and leather skirt lay cast aside on the bed, and she stroked and tugged at her long, thick, life-like member as though really enjoying the sensation of male masturbation. Gisele put down her straw, dusted off her nose and answered. “I do. It’s my home and my little Slut-boy housemate. I’m the one it approached about this occasion. I get to pop the cherry!”

“Oh, all right,” Natalie growled. “But that slut’s got two fuck-holes, and I call the other one. Jakki, it’s your turn to chop up lines. Do a few, roll a bunch of bombers, chug a beer, and then relieve one of us. We’ll rotate through until we’ve all had our fill of each of this sick little bitch’s slut-holes. If we ever get to that point!”

They all laughed at that, and as those big, hard, intimidating, larger-than-life erect black cocks approached me from in front and behind, I dared try to speak. “Please, my Mistresses.”

“Silence, Slut-boy!” Natalie shouted down at me. “Sluts do not use language! They communicate by grunts, groans, moans and cries!” Gisele was delayed a bit, lubing up her big black strap-on, and so it was actually Natalie who scored the first penetration. Moved to punish my impertinence, she knelt on the edge on the couch, grabbed my inverted face, and crammed her big black penis up into my helpless waiting suck-hole.

“I’ve got something you can do with your tongue and lips, you disgusting slut! Suck my mother-fucking cock! Gobble my crank like the perverted little faggot you are, Slut-boy!”

Unfortunately, despite this demand she didn’t give me much of a chance to demonstrate my technique at all. With my made-up face completely at her mercy, she just began fucking it, tipping my head far back on my neck and hammering her huge cock all the way up into my wide-open throat. I was so busy strangling and gagging on this invasion that I almost missed it when Gisele finally arrived behind my upthrust hips. But then her strong hands split my cheeks, and the cold hard knob of her well-greased dildo kissed my anus. Then, despite the fact that my legs were wrapped tightly together and my anal passage thus somewhat constricted, she pushed herself firmly forward and forced the first dick ever deep up into my tender, virgin boy-cunt.

Ah, what heaven. Already choking on Natalie’s huge member, feeling and watching her rubber clad pubis bash into my lips and nose with every merciless, deep-throated thrust, I almost swooned with the uncontainable pain, shame, and depraved excitement of having my deepest secret fantasy realized at last. Finally I was being butt-fucked, righteously butt-fucked, cored out open by a merciless female dominant that wanted only to hurt and degrade me! Somehow perceiving my unholy, incandescent arousal, Gisele began to mock me then as she built up her own hard rhythm, hammering down into me from above and behind while Natalie continued to thrust herself upward into my face.

“You love this, don’t you, bitch! Slut-boy! You love having me fuck your virgin little boy-cunt! Don’t you? Well, you won’t love it for long, you sick little pervert Slut-boy! I’ve only got myself halfway in! You just wait for rest of me!”

Gisele began to really fuck me then, spreading her legs, bracing herself, gripping my hips and slamming her ten-by-two inch cock into my ass until I was finally taking it all, every inch, feeling slender Gisele’s shapely crotch slapping against my terribly bruised and welted buttocks with the same fervor that Natalie’s bigger black rubber pubis bashed up into my face. Bent over the couch, trapped between the two, I willingly took every inch of both huge hard-ons simultaneously, until at last I learned to suppress the constant gag reflex. Then, despite Gisele’s warning, I truly found myself in slut heaven at last, feeling both long, hard, rough rubber cylinders stroke in and out and in and out and in and out of me in frenzied, almost mechanical syncopation.

Together the two beautiful women brutally raped me, until at last it was impatiently clamoring Jakki’s turn. She couldn’t wait to fuck my mouth, so Natalie moved obligingly around to have at my ass while Gisele went to partake of the old refreshments. In this non-stop, tag-team fashion they cycled around and around, two of them always violently dildo-fucking me while the third one coked back up, keeping the energy level climbing and the pain in my brutalized ass and throat always growing ever greater. After a while, fucking the slut became a kind of competition to them, with Gisele and Jakki constantly trying on different dildoes and techniques while Mistress Natalie concentrated on masterfully displaying her skill with that gleaming black fuck-tool built so beautifully into her tight rubber hot pants.

So relentless and inventive was this big butch bitch at gouging out my throat and rectum that at last, after hours of non-stop sodomy (and let’s not forget the face-fucking), the others finally declared her the Queen Bitch Slut-Fucker of the entire house. Then Jakki and Gisele stepped back a bit, cheering and applauding as Natalie gave one more outstanding encore performance alone: standing behind the couch, punching her big sable phallus so maniacally and pneumatically into my upthrust ass that I was once again screaming and weeping unabashedly at the extreme pain and shame of it all. Only when she at last climaxed yet again from the extremity of her brutal passions did Natalie at last pull her thick black penis all the way out of me.

“Whew! That’s what I call a serious slut-fucking! But you know, we haven’t even begun to torture its cock and balls yet. I mean, besides the way you had it tied up for us, Gisele. That was really great, top notch. Did you see the way it squirmed, when we took away the broomstick? Anyway, what do you say we lay it out on the coffee table now, face up? Then we can use our torture slut for a table while we party. With that evil penis sticking right up in front of us, I’m sure we’ll think of some interesting ways to abuse it.”

“I’m almost ready to take a leak,” suggested Jakki.

“No, no, hold it!” urged Natalie. “You know how it is with beer. As soon as you go once, the floodgates open. Let’s party some more, and all of us hold out as long as we can. Then we’ll find some really interesting way to turn our helpless little slut into a toilet!”

This was eagerly agreed to. Straightaway Natalie turned then, and located the largest butt-plug in her collection: a veritable dildo itself of over eight inches long. This fiendish device was nearly three inches thick in places, hard plastic and wickedly corrugated, and she forced it roughly, mercilessly, all the way down inside my now thoroughly stretched-out ass. Then she slapped several strips of the strong strapping tape over it, taping my butt-cheeks together from top to bottom and sealing that uncomfortable insult deep inside me. Finally I was picked up and dragged roughly off the couch. Easily the three young women manhandled me around, and shortly I found myself lying on my back on the big coffee table. The coke mirror rested on my belly, the bag of reefer in the hollow of my neck, and at last the three hard-working young ladies relaxed on the couch: drinking, snorting, and smoking away. Naturally my still un-gagged mouth begged to be used as an ashtray, and it wasn’t long before all three girls were holding thick, lit bomber joints.

Idly they began to burn me with them, pressing the glowing ends against my turgid, taped-up erection. For the entire time it took them to smoke all three cigar-size joints, snort another gram or so of coke and pound down two more Heinekens apiece, the girls cruelly tortured my captive sex organs this way. Dozens of circular burns sure to form painful blisters soon covered my prick and balls, and at the end, all three smoldering roaches were ground out against my sensitive head-bulb before being dropped into my screaming mouth for disposal.

By then none of the girls could hold out much longer, and they began to debate the least messy way (for them) to turn me into a communal human toilet. This disgusting prospect hadn’t been part of my original intention, and once again I dared to try to beg off.

The girls had enjoyed my screaming and pleading under my terrible penis-torture, but now they had no patience for this kind of weaselly wheedling. Gisele once again stuffed her soiled panties into my mouth, and then used an old silk scarf to tie them in. After that she grinned smugly down at me. “There. Now we’ll hear nothing else from Slut-boy for the rest of the night. Let’s go girls, I really gotta pee!” They dragged me off the table by my feet then, letting me thump painfully onto the floor. Then my traumatized ass scraped across the carpet as they dragged me into the bathroom. Natalie took one of the ropes from before, lashed it tightly about my ankles, and then tossed it up over the showerhead. All three girls pulled at once, and I was dragged into the shower stall by my bound feet and hoisted into the air.

They hung me upside-down in there, with my ass and back against the damp rear wall of the stall and just the back of my head and shoulders barely resting on the tiled floor. The drain lay just beyond my face, perfect for what they had in mind, and after tying my feet off, then ensuring my complete helplessness and inability to move by tightly roping my cocoon to the hot-and-cold handles, Natalie was once again the first to take full advantage of the limitless opportunity I’d so foolishly given them.

Still wearing the crotch-less dildo shorts, she stepped over me and squatted, splaying those long, strong, columnar legs out wide. For the first time ever, I had a clear, glorious, absolutely unobstructed view of her beautiful twat. Then Natalie’s hands went from caressing her big black hard-on to cupping her abdomen just above it, and she let out a long and exquisitely eloquent groan. Simultaneously she began to make water, spraying her body’s waste out in a forceful stream that splattered directly down into my waiting face.

Instantly my panties gag was soaked, the noxious urine permeating it completely and trickling through it into my mouth. Absolutely helpless, I could do nothing but hang upside-down there and swallow it, the blood pounding in my inverted head while Natalie pissed, pissed, pissed into my face and mouth. Soon my hair was soaked as well, and I could hear the excess trickling past my ears to puddle about my head and shoulders and then flow slowly down the drain.

“Yeah, Natalie! You go girl! All that beer! Piss all over that worthless slut!”

The others cheered her on, and when at last Natalie finished voiding, Gisele was quick to step into the stall and take her place. Again I was granted a brief, glorious view of heavenly territory forever forbidden to me, then again a hot, salty stream full of bitter, reeking ammonia came arcing down into my face, comprehensively defiling me.

Gisele squeezed her bladder with both hands, groaning while she gushed all over me, and the puddle I was in and the amount of urine I was forced to suck from the gag and swallow doubled. My painfully beautiful housemate laughed gaily at me as she at last finished trickling, and then Jakki stepped up and the entire process was repeated yet again. At last, when the call of nature had been temporarily satisfied, the girls looked around for ways to keep me suffering in there while they returned to my bedroom to continue the party.

It was agreed that much more voiding would have be done, and that I had arrived at my final resting place for the duration of the festivities: hanging cocooned head down in an ever-growing puddle of piss, a communal toilet for my lovely female superiors. In order to keep me occupied in their absence, Natalie turned on the water in the showerhead, but just barely. This caused it to drip-drip-drip relentlessly on my forehead, the dreaded and diabolical Chinese water torture. Then Gisele produced a big Victor rattrap.

With great hilarity the trap was carefully set. Then Gisele gingerly prodded the trigger against my already brutalized but still rigidly erect penis. The trap snapped shut on my taped dick with a force sufficient to break a finger, and I screamed in agony through my urine soaked gag. “Hooray! We’ve caught us a trouser rat!” Another, smaller mousetrap was snapped shut on my balls, and I writhed within my bonds in desperate excruciation. The girls had done their job too well, however, and even my most violent paroxysms proved insufficient to even move me out of the path of the dripping water, to say nothing of freeing my tortured genitals or allowing me to escape. No, this was a hell I’d bought and paid for, and the girls left me to enjoy it alone while they returned to their party.

For the next several hours I hung there then, listening to them party in the next room and both craving and dreading the next cycle in the endless progression of beer-bloated girls who stepped into the stall, squatted above me, and then forcefully pissed out all over my helpless face. The floodgates were indeed open; I must have been soiled at least a couple or even three dozen times. On each occasion, the girl coming in to smirk down at me, spread her legs and gigglingly use me as a human toilet was more and more wasted, and it was clear that they were having an absolutely fabulous time without me. Finally I began to hear moans, and the unmistakable sounds of them fucking each other, as they used their fingers and tongues, vibrators and strap-on dildoes with a shameless drugged abandon. Desperate moans, cries of passion, and utter shrieking orgasms tormented me for at least another hour then, as the orgiastic three-way going on not ten feet away kept the girls far too busy to bother with pissing on me. But finally, after a bit of pillow talk, all three gorgeous females trooped back into the bathroom, closer to naked than ever.

Gisele wore only her strap-on and skimpy white t-shirt, and the sight of her thimble-sized nipples poking through the threadbare fabric was maddening. Oh how I’d give anything to suckle on those! Oblivious, my sweet little housemate stepped up to be the first one to piss on me again. She smiled, did so extravagantly, and then Jakki followed.

She too denied me the sight of her unclothed breasts, wearing one of my own best dress shirts unbuttoned over her beautifully clear-skinned, bra-less torso. But as always it was Natalie who was most brazen. When she took her place above me in the stall, I was glorified and exalted to see that the dildo-equipped hot pants were all she wore. Her black bra was gone; her beautiful big boobs were utterly naked. The pebbly pink nipples were fully hard and erect and the fat, sloping globes delightfully peppered all over with those evocative orange freckles. She sneered contemptuously at the way I goggled at her, and when she suddenly let go she pissed deliberately straight into my impetuous eyes. Two minutes later, when her burning stream had at last petered out, and I’d finally blinked my teary gaze clear, I saw that she was not now moving to leave the stall, but only turning around and squatting down even lower. To my bottomless horror, I heard her talking, first to her friends and then to me.

“Watch this, you guys. I’m going to dung on its stupid ugly face.

“You want me, don’t you Slut-boy? You’ve always wanted me. You’ve always wanted to be the one to fuck me. I know. You think I’m totally hot. In fact, you’re helplessly in love with me. Aren’t you? Ha! Look at it nod! I knew it. Well, you know what, Slut-boy? This is what I think of you. This is my ultimate opinion of you as a man, a human being, and a potential boyfriend-husband-sex partner.” She lowered herself even further, splitting her most private secret middle as wide open as possible just above my helplessly immobile face. Shifting about, she gripped and spread her perfect cheeks, and suddenly I saw that beautiful pink hole of hers begin to open and grow a sinister brown finger. She grunted then, taking a deep breath and bearing down, and then she proceeded to push her steaming-hot shit right out into my immobilized face. Long, fat, hundred-degree feces slowly uncoiled themselves, dropping and plopping down all over my piss-soaked features in an ultimate insult. Most of them hit, slid, and tumbled off, and over the sound of Gisele and Jakki cheering and laughing hysterically, I heard Natalie curse me.

“Shit. Fucking Slut-boy! Here, give me that!”

From among the cleaning supplies, Gisele handed her friend a heavy rubber work glove. Natalie donned it, wiped herself, then used her protected hand to pick up the fallen turds and smear them deliberately all over my face. Across my forehead, all around my neck, cheeks, lips, chin, nose, even all over my septum, just below the nostrils where I’d be sure to smell it with every breath, she covered my entire face with a thick ‘beauty mask’ of her stinky brown shit.

“There. Now you know precisely how I feel about you, Slut-boy. Not even fit to eat my shit, that’s what you are! I can’t believe I ever let you suck my cunt!”

“Oh my god, look at its cock!” Jakki suddenly shrieked. “It’s so hard and pulsing, the rat trap just moved! Slut-boy loves this! Our stupid little fuck-hole loves having you wipe your stinky shit all over its face, and abysmally degrade it the whole damn time! Why, this is the best part of its whole fucking night”

“Of course it is!” sneered beautiful Gisele. “I told you it was a fucking pervert!” Then she laughed. “Oh, what the hell. One ejaculation was part of the deal.”

She stepped into the stall where I hung there, mummified, piss-soaked and liberally be-shitted. Quickly she removed the rattraps from my horribly wounded prick and balls, and even unwound the tight tape from about the base. Then, carefully pointing my madly pulsating and unprecedentedly erect (if dangerously burned and bruised) penis straight down at my shit-covered face, she gave it three quick, professional, (not to mention excruciating) jerks. That was all that was necessary. My incredibly explosive orgasm burst through me, making me shudder convulsively all over and spew out gobbet after gobbet after hot, spunky splatter of my obviously inferior semen.

Nearly every clot and drop of it hit me directly in the shit-face, furthering my already mind-boggling defilement, and all three girls ridiculed me mercilessly.

Incredible that I should ejaculate so quickly, that I should be experiencing such extreme sexual pleasure from the insane amounts of torture and humiliation they’d been subjecting me to! For nearly five minutes they rubbed my face in as much metaphorical shit as Natalie and my own gonads had already supplied. After that, in a mix of further degradation and rare compassion, Gisele forced me to empty my own bladder.

“That’s right, Slut-boy! You’ve already come in it, now I want you to piss in your own face! I’m going to clamp these raptraps back on you, see, and then we’re going to leave you hanging in here for the rest of this night and probably most of the next day. I don’t want your kidneys to back up, and make you seriously sick. How could we do this to you again next weekend, if you’re stuck in the fucking hospital?”

All three girls laughed uproariously at my look of startled fear, and Gisele continued.

“That’s right. We’re having such a good time tonight that I’ve decided that from now on, instead of me paying you rent, me and my friends are going to do this to you whenever we feel like it, probably at least once a week. So lucky you, Slut-boy! You’re going to graduate from being just my housemate to my permanent sugar daddy, and my round-the clock, cocksucking shit-eating slut-puppy!” She clapped her hands with derisive glee.

“Now I know you’re real excited about this, and we’ll allow you to toast the occasion appropriately later. Trust me. But right now, Slut-boy, I hate to tell you this, but we’re almost out of beer here – although we’ve still got plenty of this good green reefer left. So Natalie’s going to take your wallet, go out and get some more beer.”

“And coke, get more coke,” urged Jakki, stepping up with Gisele’s camera and leering before taking several quick snapshots of me hanging there upside down, bound from head to toe and ridiculously soiled in my cellophane cocoon.

“.get more beer and coke, and pick up our boyfriends. Then you can hang in here all night, listen to us have our incredible orgy right in your own bed, and wait for one of us – boys or girls! – to come in here now and then and piss all over your stupid face. I’m going to pull out those panties and shit in your mouth, too. I think you’re fit to eat my shit at least. Maybe even every time I have to go from now on. Anyway, at the very end of the party, after we’ve all come about a million times, Jakki and Natalie and I will come back in here and douche out our slimy, stinky pussies all over you, adding one last layer of spent, mingled man-spunk to your silly, soiled face. How’s that sound for excitement?!”

Gisele snickered at my look of utter terror and purest misery. She did her best to be both terrifying and reassuring. “Don’t worry, Slut-boy. Tomorrow afternoon or evening – depending when I wake up, after I have my first cup of coffee and cigarette and everything – I’ll need to shit and shower. I’ll piss and crap in your mouth again, then cut you down, unwrap, un-tape and untie you, take the rattraps off your dick and such, and let you loose to clean up the house in your stockings, panties, bra, high heels and shit-face. After that, for a little while, you can go back to being just Tom again. At least, until you heal up enough for our next big slut-fucking party!”

All three girls laughed richly at that, and then Gisele suddenly punched me hard in the bladder. Helplessly I voided, the hot urine once again spilling down into my face. They all laughed cruelly at me as I retched and sobbed and pissed all over myself, sneering contemptuously at my weakness and perversion. Once she was sure I was empty then, Gisele used her expert tricks (and my own twisted, innate compulsions) to jerk me back up into an impressive state of hardness. Then she once again snapped her wicked rattraps back onto my tortured genitals. Watching me sob and shake with agonized despair, she laughed evilly yet again, and spurned me with a tiny, deliciously sexy bare foot. Then she turned, walked out of the shit house and left me hanging there.

Just outside the door, Jakki kissed her, fondling her breast and slipping her the tongue salaciously. Natalie was already dressed again, jingling my car keys and rifling through my wallet. Three, four, five hundred dollars: the rest of my pay for this week. She waved the sheaf of bills excitedly, kissed both her friends, and headed for my car.

Gisele and Jakki began to make out. My horribly abused cock hurt like acid fire. My legs itched maddeningly. I was cold, soaked. Water kept dripping relentlessly on my forehead, driving me absolutely batshit. Two bare 75-watt light bulbs on the bathroom ceiling blazed relentlessly into my eyes. Closing them against the glare hardly helped at all. The girls were moaning in ecstasy again. Please, Natalie, hurry back!

Originally posted 2009-06-30 15:52:50.

Taylor Takes Control 1 – Her Beginning

Taylor sat at her desk reflecting on the way her life had changed since the
arrival of the new boss. Although work did not add up to the total sum of her
life, it still occupied a major part of it. To that end the new atmosphere at
work, one of overbearence and great pressure, was affecting her greatly.
Fred, the new boss, had arrived from the UK some months previously, to
replace Lee who had retired. Life under Lee, at the small real estate firm
in Nova Scotia, had been lively and pleasant. Taylor had worked a total of
five years for the firm, all but the last few with Lee as her boss. When
Fred first arrived, the contrast could not have been starker. Whereas Lee
was laid back, Fred was uptight and demanding. Where Lee had been full of
humour, Fred was very dour and aggressive in his manner.

Taylor, as well as the other staff, was made to work longer hours, with no
immediate improvement in pay or conditions. Ordinarily Taylor would have left
and found another job, but in the current economic climate there simply were
no other jobs. Having taken out a new mortgage and buying the car on HP just
before Fred arrived, she had no choice but to suffer the current conditions.
The condition had reached an intolerable stage after Fred had called her into
his office and demanded that she dressed more provocatively for the clients
and that she should also show more ‘affection’ towards him. Taylor was
dumbfounded, how could this be happening! When she complained to Fred that
she found this request unacceptable he simply informed her that it was not a
request, and that should she not agree she was always welcome to find
employment elsewhere. It was at that moment the Taylor decided to take
matters into her own hands to see if she could put an end to this intolerable
situation.

Taylor arrived in the office the very next morning a good hour before
everyone else. She had always been entrusted with the keys since Lee’s days
at the office and the situation had not yet changed under Fred. On this
particular day she was dressed, as she had been instructed to dress, in a
very sexy manner. She had on her highest pumps, being around 5’4″ tall she
always wore high heels to accentuate her height. On this day however, the
black patent pair she had on, had heels over 4″ in height. Her trim legs were
encased in very sheer, black, thigh high, stockings. If one followed the line
of her legs upwards, one would not reach the bottom of her skirt until ones
eyes were only 6″ from her waist. The skirt was black, very tight fitting,
and hugged every contour of her well-defined ass. She had chosen a medium
blue silk blouse, which highlighted her deep blue eyes. The top two buttons
were open to expose a view of her ample cleavage, encased very neatly in a
tight fitting black lace bra. Over the top of this ensemble, was a well-
tailored jacket matching her very short skirt. The make-up for today was
heavy, not sluttish, but strong in its effect. For example, heavy eyeliner to
strengthen her eyes and rich red lip gloss to embolden her full lips.
Although very sexy, the overall effect was that of a power dresser. She had
hated the idea of having to dress up for her clients and her ‘sexist pig’ of
a boss, but by dressing in a powerful but sexy way; she could still
demonstrate some defiance. She had never dressed this way before, and to her
surprise, she quite liked the feeling of sensuality and power, that the
clothes gave her.

On entering the main office Taylor went straight to Fred’s office, and to her
relief the lock on the door had not been changed. Obviously Fred did not
realise that the office keys that Taylor had, also opened his office. Once
inside she closed the door behind her and headed towards Fred’s desk. She
rummaged through some of the papers on top of the desk and then through the
draws, which fortunately had no locks. It was in one of these draws that she
discovered something that aroused her attention. There was a file marked
‘Langham Deal’ under all the other files. Langham was an area, some 5 miles
from the office, which was used as a waste disposal site. What would Fred
have a file on this site for she asked herself? It did not take her long to
find out. It appeared that Fred was striking a deal to sell the land to the
local county for the building of a school. It also appeared that Fred was
posing under a pseudonym as the owner of the property, and was going to leave
the country as soon as the money for the site was deposited into his bank
account. He would defraud the local county out of nearly half a million
dollars and by the time they would find out about it he would have left the
country. It had always intrigued Taylor why this Englishman would want to
come out to the wilds of a small Nova Scotia town, when he was obviously used
to the bright lights of London. Now she had her answer and, it occurred to
her, she had a lot more. For the first time in a couple of months a rich
smile was discernible on Taylor’s lips.

She had to wait a further hour before the rest of the office staff began to
arrive for work. That had given her plenty of time to photocopy the various
documents and to make sure no one would be aware of her presence in Fred’s
office earlier on that morning.

As the staff had arrived all them had commented on Taylor’s upbeat demeanour.
She simply replied that today was start of a new beginning for her. When the
others had asked what she meant, she explained that it was a feeling deep
inside that she felt was to vague to convey in words. This was not too far
from the truth; Taylor did indeed feel the happiest she had felt since Fred
had arrived, in fact she could not remember feeling this content. You see, a
plan had started to take shape in Taylor’s mind and the more she focused on
it the happier she became. Taylor also noticed that the thoughts going
through her mind were starting to arouse her sexually.

When Fred finally arrived at the office at around 10:00am, one hour after the
rest of the staff, he had that usual look of disdain and superiority on his
face. As he passed through the main office to his own he caught a glimpse of
Taylor looking right at him with a huge smile across her face. Fred chose to
ignore this but he found it a little disconcerting, all the same.

The day past much as usual at the office, nothing out of the ordinary
happened except for the fact the Taylor was very late back from her lunch
break. At the close of day, all the staff had left except for Fred who had
decided to go over a few of his new plan, just to confirm that all the
details we correct and that nothing could go wrong. How wrong he was going to
be!

One hour after all the staff had gone, there was a knock on Fred’s office
door. This startled him somewhat as he had locked the main door when all the
others had left for home.

‘Who is it’, Fred enquired.

‘Only me’, came the candid reply, as Taylor let herself in and seated herself
on top of Fred’s desk.

Fred could smell the perfume that she had obviously just applied to her body.
He could also see that she had changed into something even sexier than that
which she had been wearing earlier. This time she wore a dress, as if going
to a gala of some kind. The dress was made of black, crushed, velvet that
encased her body from the top of her neck to just above her shoes. It gave
her added presence partly due to it’s halter neck design but also from the
split at the side which ran right the way up to her thigh. Fred could just
make out her to top of her sheer black stocking. The heels on black patent
stilettos were over four inches high, and added immensely to the impression
she wished to make. The same could be said for her make-up and hair. Gone
were the soft curls around her face, her hair was now pulled back into a
tight pony tail which sat on the top of her head. Her eyeliner was now much
heavier than before making her eyes them seem sterner and less yielding.

‘What are you doing here this time of night?’ Fred questioned, in a rather
abrupt tone.

He had been rather caught of guard by Taylor’s actions and the way she now
dressed. Although part of him still fancied the arse off of her and thought
of those deep red painted lips moving slowly and deliberately up and down his
hard cock.

‘I just thought we should have a little chat about your future’

‘About my future, what the bloody hell are you on about you daft bitch!’

‘Well, lets just say that from now on life, for you, is going to take a new
direction. You see, I’ve had a chance to think about where you future best
lies and how that rather cock-sure attitude, of yours, can best be adjusted.
I was in your office earlier today and happened to come across those
documents that referred to the Langhem Deal’.

At this, the blood left Fred’s face with a speed that surprised even Taylor.

‘It seems you have been a very ‘silly’ boy, and I intend to rectify the
situation’.

She said these last few words in the tone of a mother admonishing a small
child. Taylor was in fact very excited now, she could see by the look on
Fred’s face that she had him by the balls.

‘What do you mean you intend to rectify the situation?’, enquired Fred in a
far more passive tone than before.

‘The documents, or rather copies of them, are in a safe place, and should
anything happen to me, they will be passed on to the appropriate authorities.
You are to come with me now, without asking any more questions and do exactly
what I say. Failure to do what I say will result in the documents being
handed out tonight to the police’.

She smiled sweetly at him and ran her hands slowly up her long legs making
sure Fred was watching every detail.

Fred went to open his mouth but just as he was about to say something Taylor
slapped him hard with all the force her arm could muster. The resulting sting
and red mark on Fred’s face caused him to stare back at Taylor in disbelief.
She thought that he might react at this point, and it was the most difficult
moment since their exchange had begun. She was proved wrong; Fred simply
resigned himself to the moment, to shocked to react. His mind was spinning
trying to find a way out of this situation. He would go along with her for
now and try to reason with her later. That was it, once both of them had had
a chance to settle down he would then reason with her and reach a positive
solution. Just then Taylor interrupted his thoughts.

‘Walk outside to my car and wait for me there, I will be out shortly’,
intoned Taylor

Fred did as he was bade and waited some ten minutes for Taylor to lock the
main office door and then join him at the car. Once there, Taylor told him to
get in and to put on the blindfold she had just produced from her bag. Once
in the car Taylor checked the Fred’s blindfold was on securely and then
started the ignition, driving Fred towards his new life.

Taylor drove around for about eighty minutes before reaching the destination
that was to be Fred’s new home. The house, a slightly dilapidated building,
had once belonged to an aunt of Taylor’s. It was situated some twenty minutes
drive from town, in a very inaccessible part of large woodland. Taylor had
deliberately driven around in circles for sixty minutes to ensure that Fred
would not only be confused as to the location, but to also make him believe
that the house was in a very remote part of the country, quite some distance
from town.

On pulling up outside the house Taylor surveyed the scene. There was no body
around, nobody ever came to this part of the woodland. The nearest neighbours
were over 4 miles away. She opened Fred’s door and motioned for him to follow
her by holding the underside of his arm firmly. Fred followed without making
a sound still believing that this would all be sorted out once Taylor settled
down, then he might be able to laugh about it at some point soon in the
future.

Once inside the house, Taylor led Fred down some steps to the basement. Fred
was aware of a slightly old, dank, smell and realised that Taylor must be
guiding him into a basement. Once Fred had been taken fully into the chamber,
Taylor quickly left him and moved deftly to the top of the stairs. Once at
the top she secured the hatch door behind her. This was no easy task as the
door was made of steel and lead, and was, therefore, quite heavy. She next
passed through the cellar door, which again was hard to shut due to the fact
it was made of the same material and the hatch. She again, secured this door
as she had the other by placing a padlock through the steel latch. Taylor
then went back to her car.

It had been rather fortunate that her aunt had taken the precaution of having
a nuclear bunker installed into the basement of the house. The family had
been against the idea, on account of the expense, but Taylor’s aunt, ever the
pragmatist had insisted that it be built, and built thoroughly. Since her
aunt had died, there were no relatives living who remembered that the old
house had contained a nuclear bunker. Taylor had often thought it was a shame
that the old Colonial style house had been left to turn to ruin, there was
nothing Taylor could do, her had no money when she died and neither did
Taylor. At least now it would serve a purpose.

On the way back home she felt a growing sense of excitement which made her
whole body physically tinge. She felt her nipples erect against the lace of
her bra. The growing confidence that she felt within herself was now
manifesting itself in a sexual way. To put it frankly she had not felt this
horny in years. Having someone within her power, having a very strong hold
over them had simply been a way of exacting revenge. However, it was rapidly
turning into a sexual journey for Taylor. She did not understand it all, but
it was certainly an experience and sensation she did not want to lose.

Par 1 of 3

Her Spanking WIll Make Him Very, Very Sorry for Being Late

Ninety Minutes of F/m Corporal Punishment

I look at the clock.

You should have been here an hour ago.

Lord knows, I am not the patient sort.

Before you left this morning, you were given a sound spanking with my hand, a bit of a reminder of what to expect when you got home. You were just a bit too mouthy this morning.

Now, you’re late.

You know better.

I don’t care if it’s work, traffic, or an act of God, you know that when you’re in trouble, you’d better be home on time.

I look at the phone. It doesn’t ring.

I lay down on the couch, and take a nap.

When I get this upset, it’s better that I just sleep.

You knew not to be late tonight.

You open the door, and see me sleeping. You know that if I wasn’t

thoroughly ticked off, I wouldn’t be sleeping.

You almost hope that I will sleep all night, and forget that I promised you a *real* spanking.

Real, meaning tears, sobbing, apologies, and quiet time in the corner afterwards.

A spanking that’s going to leave you sore, sorry, and sitting uncomfortably tomorrow.

You aren’t looking forward to this, but you know that you deserve it.

Laying on the table beside the couch is only one implement.

My bathbrush.

You’d love to take that brush and hide it right now.

You know I’m not a sound sleeper, and you doubt whether I’m actually asleep.

You kneel down on the floor in front of me, and touch my forehead. You know that I will enjoy waking up, and seeing you on your knees.

I have no idea how long I’ve slept, so I turn and look at the clock.

Almost an hour and a half late.

I look at you, and you look down.

I’m sorry, Ma’am.

I take your chin, and lift your head, forcing you to look at me.

I am going to make you sorry.

Strip.

You stand, and begin to disrobe.

I sit up.

You fold your clothes neatly, and lay them on the chair.

Your hands are at your side, but you feel like they should be protecting your bottom. Sometimes, you ache to be spanked by me. You do *like* being spanked. You know that you are not going to like this spanking.

You’re not aching right now.

When I punish you, its very real, and it hurts.

and I am going to punish you.

Oh how those words get to you.

You look at the brush laying on the table.

You hope that you’ll at least be able to feel my hand before I start with the brush.

I walk into the kitchen and come back with the timer.

You were what, about 90 minutes late?

We’re going to set the timer on 90 minutes, and when it rings, that will signal the end of your punishment.

You are not going to enjoy the next 90 minutes.

You look at the timer.

You look at the brush.

You look at me.

90 minutes seems like an eternity.

I set the timer.

I take your hand, pick up the brush and lead you to the back of the couch.

You really wish that you were over my lap.

I almost always take you over my lap first.

You know that you’re in trouble when you lay over the back of the couch.

I rest the brush on your bottom, and I wait.

Please spank me, Ma’am.

At least you answered quickly.

I swat you once, *hard* with the brush.

How many times should I spank you with the brush?

You have no idea how to answer this question.

You hesitate. I swat you harder.

As many times as you think I deserve, Ma’am.

Hmm.

Not a bad answer.

I’ll accept that.

In about two minutes, I give you 90 swats with the bathbrush. You’re having a horrible time staying in position, and it hurts.

Oh, does it hurt.

I don’t give you anything that resembles a warm-up.

I let you stand.

You want to rub your bottom.

You don’t dare.

Go to *your* room. Stand in the corner, and wait.

You look at me, but walk upstairs to the little boys room.

You know that I am upset, and that I’m not going to allow you into my< bedroom just yet.

I want you to wait, and worry.

I follow you upstairs, and I bring the timer with me.

You walk straight to the corner, and I go into the bathroom.

You wish you could hide.

90 minutes of spanking is more than you can take, and you worry about what else I could be planning.

I lay a wash cloth on the sink, and a unopened bar of soap.

I walk into my bedroom and set out a few implements.

I let you stand in the corner for a little while. The bathbrush was tough for you to take,and you have a lot more coming.

Your bottom needs a little bit of a break.

You know that I must be planning a severe spanking if I am allowing you to spend this much time in the corner.

I stick my head in your room, and tell you to come into the bathroom.

You walk out of the corner slowly.

Bathrooms terrify you.

You aren’t sure what to expect.

You’re almost relieved to just see soap.

You sit, and look down at the bathroom floor.

You aren’t a terrific fan of soap either, but figure that an enema might be worse.

I take your chin in my hand, and force you to look up at me.

Why are you in trouble right now?

Because I was late, Ma’am.

I slap you.

Hard.

You weren’t expecting it.

No. Try again.

You wish you could look down, but I make you look right at me.

Because I was misbehaving this morning.

I was being smart, and mouthy.

I slap you again. Ma’am?

I’m sorry, Ma’am.

Tears are forming in your eyes.

Why were you so late tonight?

I couldn’t leave work, then I got stuck in traffic.

Ma’am? I slap you again.

And you didn’t call?

No, Ma’am. I didn’t.

Do I need to tell you that you should have called?

No, Ma’am. I’m sorry.

I slap you again.

I watch as tears start to stream down your cheeks.

You wonder how much time is left on that timer.

Too much, you’re certain.

90 minutes is a long time. Especially when I have not one, but two valid reasons to be punishing you.

I hand you the bar of soap.

Unwrap it.

You do so, slowly.

Your eyes are sad. You’re sorry already.

But I’m going to make sure you’re sorry, and that you’re feeling the effects of this spanking for a day or so.

You try to hand me the bar of soap when you are done.

I don’t take it.

Put it in your mouth.

You look at the soap. You think about resisting.

But you know how much trouble you would be in if you did.

I notice the hesitation. You’re going to be tied soon anyway.

You put the soap in your mouth.

I leave the bathroom.

The soap is going to stay there for a little while.

I open my closet, take out your wrist cuffs, and a lock.

I walk back into the bathroom, and take the soap out of your mouth.

I offer you a drink.

Are you going to behave?

Yes, Ma’am.

You rinse your mouth out with water a few times, and I take your wrists. I

lock them behind your back.

You make a sound, almost like a whimper, as I lead you into my room.

I push you over the end of the bed.

You look up on the bed, and see a paddle, a crop, and a cane.

You close your eyes.

You don’t want caned.

and I know this.

I don’t really care what you want at this point.

I’m going to punish you until I’m satisfied that you are sorry, and until I know that you will be sore for awhile.

I walk back to my closet, and take out my blindfold, and a dildo.

I place the blindfold over your eyes, and the dildo in your mouth.

I position you so that I can paddle you, and give you a dozen *hard* swats.

You try hard to keep still, but it hurts. You feel like your bottom is on

fire. You start crying again, and wish that you could spit out that

dildo.

I lay the paddle down. You hear the snap of the cap on the lubricant I like to use. You whimper. I love that sound.

I spread your legs *wide.*

I insert the plug, quickly.

Painfully.

You cry out.

It’s hard for you to keep your legs spread, and harder for you to keep the plug in. You want to push it out.

You know that’s the worst thing you could do right now.

I pick up the cane.

Of course, you can’t see what I pick up, and it’s not until that slicing

pain across the top of your thighs hits that you realize I am holding a

cane.

Tears flow freely.

One stripe is enough.

You breathe a sigh of relief, then remember that the only thing left on the bed is the crop.

I begin my assault on your inner thighs, and I start hard, with no pause between the swats.

You’re soon sobbing. Bawling. You want to force the dildo out of your mouth, so that crying is a bit easier. You know that you can’t.

You want this to end.

It hurts so much, you wish you were unconsicous, and would just wake up when its over.

I don’t let up right away.

I slow down and bit, and make my swats harder.

I drop the crop, and take you by the hand. I sit down at the head of the bed, and pull you over my lap.

I let you cry for a little while.

I am going to spank you till that timer goes off.

You can’t see, and you really have no idea how much time you have left.

I look at it…and it says just over 25 minutes.

I take the dildo out of your mouth. I want to hear your cries, unmuffled.

I want you to be sorry.

I want to hear those apologies.

I want you to feel as if you’ve been punished.

You just rest your head on the bed, and wait.

I start spanking you hard, with my hand.

Normally a feeling you love, my hand hurts too much.

You don’t stop crying.

I am sorry, Ma’am.

Please, Ma’am.

Ma’am, it hurts!

Please, Ma’am! I want it to stop!

I spank you until you’ve stopped apologizing. I’m no longer upset, or angry.

I spank you until your head rests quietly on the bed, tears flowing freely beneath the blindfold.

Your bottom is red, tender, blazing hot.

My hand’s a bit red, too.

Timer goes off.

You hardly hear it. You’re off in your own world.

I stop spanking you, and let you just lay across my lap and finish crying.

You don’t want to get up.

I am sorry.

I rub your back. I remove your plug, and your blindfold.

I leave your cuffs on. I want you to stay in my control for a while.

Your bottom is toasted. You’ll behave the rest of tonight, though you may be standing through dinner.

I know.

I’m not angry now.

But you’re sore.

And you suspect that you will be for a couple of days.

Originally posted 2013-03-30 06:06:26.