One evening while we lay in bed, she held me in her arms, stroking my hair, my bare back, my ass. She seemed happy, and I felt like I was glowing; her approval was an intoxicant for me.
“You’re getting into pretty good shape, David. You’re getting big and strong…”
I asked her – making sure to chuckle at myself while I spoke -if she ever worried that I’d become so physically powerful she’d no longer be able to dominate me. She laughed, then explained that physique is irrelevant to the female/male dominant/submissive relationship: men are submissive by nature; they are like drones, and cannot exist without a queen. Their inherently confused minds, their constant need for sexual reinforcement — both of these things establish their submissiveness as something rooted in male chemistry. They need to be given directions in order to function properly – directions which cannot come from other inherently addled creatures – and they need to be reminded of their status in the world by the regular degredation that male orgasm entails: the feeling of being spent, of squirting out in an ugly, thick, aimless spray the only thing that makes you useful to the continued existence of the race.
Grace told me that, aside from that, men were too slow-witted, too sluggish and bulky as fighters to pose a serious threat to her.”Take your friend Mack, for example,” she said, “Do you think you two – ganged up against me – could win?”
Though I didn’t say so, my answer was Yes. Mack was someone I’d known since junior high school; we had been close friends. While I had gone into track, he – being stockier, heavier-set – had joined the football team. But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to challenge her, because regardless how she’d fare against me and Mack she could have her way with me any day of the week. She was stronger, quicker, and smarter.
“What do you think? You and Mack?”
“Oh, I…I dunno.”
“You don’t know? Well, what do you THINK?”
“I…I’m just not sure…”
“So you think there IS some way you and Mack could beat me up?”
“Well, I mean…” I heard my voice quivering, “I guess it… depends on how rough you played.”
She stared at me; her eyes flashed.
“You mean if I agreed not to exploit your pathetic male weakness; if I agreed not to bash either of you in the balls, you think you’d win as a team?”
I was afraid to answer her.
“Tell me! Yes or no?”
I hesitated again, and this irritated her: she grabbed a handfull of my hair then yanked my face right up to hers; she moved her other hand over my ass, jammed two of her fingers into my anus, plunged them in deep, then yelled, “Answer my fucking question!”
“Yes,” I squeaked, terrified.
“Yes, you think you two could beat me up?”
Feeling tears of anticipatory fear well up in my eyes, feeling her fingers drive roughly into my unlubricated hole, I nodded.
Continued …
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