Femdom Forced Homosexuality & Bondage Story
There is a small hairline crack in the wooden floor. I can see it clearly because my head is forced to within inches of it by the short chain leash running from a heavy bolt in the floor to the thick black leather collar around my neck. I kneel, waiting, my hands cuffed behind me, studying the floor as much as possible to keep my mind off the ache in my bare knees. She knows how it hurts to kneel without padding on the floor and I know this is what She wants – this small insignificant pain level to torment me while I wait. Beauty is in the details.
Little else of the floor is clearly visible as the only light in the dark room is directly overhead. I know, because I flicked the light switches, clipped the chain to my collar, and cuffed my hands – I did this because She wishes it.
And now, with no way to get out of the cuffs or get the collar off my neck, now I wait for Her. Because She wishes it. And somewhere, deep inside the twisted dark corroders of the part of my brain where the Beast lives, I wish it. Long minutes stretch out and nervous perspiration wells up on my skin. She likes me to turn the thermostat down in this room, chilling the air (more beautiful detail), so I know the sweat that starts in the musk of my armpits and groin is more from a mind that is already lost in Her power. As my skin begins to show a glistening sheen, my body trembles. I tell myself that it is totally from the chill, but I know different.
I pull on the chain connecting the collar to the floor, twist my hands in the handcuffs, shift my knees and direct the pin-needle pain around – I know I’m not going anywhere until She wishes, I know that right now I am in Her power, helpless to resist anything except what She desires, and this fills me with heat – a heat that stirs my dick and flushes my skin. Part of the Beast inside me wants to be claimed, wants to be tied down and tied up and controlled and manipulated and tormented and forced to cater to Her and serve Her and please Her and make Her proud of me …
The handle on the door behind me turns and my heart misses a beat. She’s here.
Dread and excitement explode from my belly and I find myself barely breathing.
The sound of my heart is the only noise in the room and I feel Her eyes on me. Then the door closes. I shift my eyes, careful not to look up or turn my head to Her. I feel air move behind me and the thunder of my heart intensifies until the fabric of my world shifts with every thump. Fingers in my hair pull my head back and I close my eyes from the sharp light overhead.
Pressure against my lips and I open my mouth automatically. She has a thing for gags. Once, as I lay at Her feet, listening to her gentle breathing and feeling the warmth from her calf against my cheek, She told me that She could never tolerate anything filling Her mouth – She was a mouth-breather and hated the sensation. That was why She always wanted to fill my mouth with as much as She could – sort of a wicked way to beat Her demons. And stifle my moans.
This thing that is sliding over my tongue and pressed against the back of my mouth is huge and tastes like a soft rubber shaft. My gag reflex kicks in and it is pulled back a little – but as I relax, relieved that I won’t have to caress this huge thing with my mouth, it slides back in deep and the leather around my head keeps it there.
It’s a penis gag – I can feel the fake veins and the tip at the end of the shaft. I moan and feel blood rising to my face. I’ve had never had a penis gag in my mouth. Scarves, balls, even Her panties (as a reward), but never this. Fear creeping into the sweat glistening my skin, I wonder what I’ve done to piss Her off.
Then hands on my wrists, testing the cuffs. I shift, the needles in my knees shooting white agony every time I move. Leather cuffs are wrapped around my wrists and cinched tight. Then a hand on my ass. With my head held to within inches of the floor, my ass is sticking up and exposed. Suddenly, this vulnerability takes the place of the pain in my knees and I tense, waiting for a slap, a scratch of Her fingernails – She is merciless in tormenting my balls and they are almost as exposed as my ass. But what I feel soothes me. A hand, warm and firm, rubs both cheeks, working the taut flesh. A finger briefly skims the fleshy opening of my asshole and softly rubs the delicate skin between my balls and the hole. I moan in spite of myself and immediately tense, fearing Her fingers digging into my ball sack. But the rubbing continues and I close my eyes.
Hands on my shoulders, messaging the muscles forced to accommodate wrists locked together behind my back, probing, rubbing, working the flesh. I lean forward, forgetting the explosion of pain in my knees and rest my head on the floor. I can feel her warmth behind me, a small distant part of my mind wondering why Her fingernails aren’t scratching while She messages – a torment within a pleasure that She is acutely aware of.
Then a sharp crack to my ass and I feel my head being pulled back. I keep my eyes closed and feel the padlock being unclipped from the chain leash. Another moan escapes me – this is a transition and I am always a little nervous at what She has planned for me in the next phase of my submission to Her.
My leash is pulled and I am helped to stand by hands about my waist. I hear the other end clamped off to a chain hanging from the ceiling and finally I open my eyes to briefly gaze upon my Lady, the Goddess who owns every part of my being, and has accepted my humble gift and made me Hers.
I open my eyes on a man.
In the second that I look him fully in the face, I register the intent in his eyes, the slight smirk on his lips, even the attitude that comes from his posture. Then I am looking down, away, confused. I register that he is naked, and for the first time since my trips to the gym stopped a few years ago, I look at another man’s dick – only this time, instead of casually looking away and tending to my own shower, I twist in the cuffs that bind my arms behind me and the leash that holds me, naked before him.
He casually reaches down and touches my dick. I am supposed to remain silent until She wishes me to speak and I am lost enough to almost object. But I look away, into the dimness of the room, and feel his fingers work my dick and balls. Blood rushes to my face as I feel an erection.
I submit to Her. She is the power that controls me when I offer Her the gift of my body, my mind, my spirit. It is complete submission – if She wants to hurt me, She will. If She wants to caress and fondle and pleasure me, She will. If She wants to tie me down and fuck me all night, without even looking me in the face, She will. I bow to Her whim, Her needs, Her desires. Her gift to me of Her power is only reciprocated with my gift of submission and it is I who sometimes lack the strength to give Her what She wishes.
Sometimes I fail.
I shake my head sharply – NO – and am ashamed to look him in the face – a man is stroking my dick into a raging hard-on and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it – including meeting his eyes.
He chuckles and takes one hand away to trace his finger across the heavy strap of the penis gag. His touch is different. Strong, firm, gentle. He rubs a finger around the soft flesh beneath the tip of my dick and I almost come. I close my eyes.
What the fuck is happening? My body is reacting to him as just another stimulus but my mind is screaming that it’s a man doing it. Even though it is Her power touching me indirectly, it is a man’s hands on me, almost bringing me to orgasm. I stop the flood of real world emotion, confusion – vanilla world fear. Fear of who I am and what I am and what I want to be. I feel him drop to one knee, and I close my eyes for what I know is coming next.
But I feel the tight pull of a leather strap around my waist and look down to see him take out a long thin strip of leather. He cups my balls and slowly, methodically wraps the strip around and around and soon the two hard marbles of pinkening flesh are tightly tied off. He walks around behind me, gently puts one hand on the back of my shoulder and suddenly, the free end of the strap is pulled through my crotch and up to the leather strap at my waist behind me.
My balls are pulled painfully back and just when I am sure I can’t take anymore, he ties off the strap. My dick is pointing down and my balls are in agony deep between my legs. Before I can adjust, the metal cuffs are unlocked and my leather cuffed wrists are pulled up behind me roughly. I try to resist, fearing real damage, but he is too strong and soon my wrists are clipped to the same leash that attaches my collar to the ceiling, and pulled painfully up above my shoulders.
What the fuck is he doing? I am Hers, not his, yet he is using me like my gift of submission is his to receive. He has taken my body, the first gift and rendered it in agony and useless to me. He has taken my mind through the dick that throbs on the brink of orgasm. And now, he will attempt to take my spirit. I twist, my head now held in the awkward position my wrenched arms force my torso into.
I am Hers. If She wills this then I will submit and try to accept. But I am Hers until She rejects me …
… or gives me to another.
I shudder. Is this what this is all about? Will I loose Her? Her touch? Her warmth? Her sadistic torments? Is She giving me away to a man? Will I accept this?
I lower my head. This is the last aspect of my submission. My spirit. I submit to Her spirit. All the previous submissions are nothing if I withdraw this last, most powerful gift. Everything that She ever meant to me is nothing. Just a sham, just me selfishly taking from Her what She gives with the pretense that She can take and do anything. That is a lie if I can’t give Her my spirit in every sense, in any case.
I raise my head and look him fully in the face. And purposely lower my eyes in submission.
Originally posted 2014-06-21 04:35:02.