Crushing Lust
How easy it is.
Men are blinded by lust. They see a beautiful woman, and the hormones surge, raging, urging them on. Their mind becomes clouded, and they are easily manipulated. They do things they would never normally do.
A smile was all it took, really. Just a smile. Timed correctly, when he wasn’t expecting it. I could almost see the flush of chemicals running through his body, the slight quickening of his heart, the start of an erection in his pants. I could see his eyes dialate, a sure sign that the mark had been hit.
The date went smoothly, we both had a good time. He really enjoyed himself, as did I. As the evening went on, I could tell his mind was working overtime, trying to evaluate just how well the date went, and just how much I liked him. And of course, just how much of a slut I was.
We danced for a while, and I made sure to dance with at least a couple other guys, just to keep him on his toes. Then I simplified things quite a bit. I suggested we get out of there, that I was a little claustrophobic and it was hard to talk. We needed a little one on one time.
His eyes lit up and we were in the car driving to my place before you could say “do me”. He was an eager beaver, I can tell you that. I expect he had a hard on before we parked and walked up the steps. Just before I unlocked the door to go inside, I stood on my toes and gave him a kiss. He moved in for more, but I held him back with my hand on his chest and said “Hold on there… I want this as much as you, but if we are going in, you have to understand some rules.”
“OK” was all he could manage.
“First off, I have different tastes in sex. You have to be open to new experiences, if you are going to spend the night with me. If not, that’s cool, we can have a drink and you go home. If you are open, then you get to promise me that you will at least try.
“Second, I can be a little dominant when it comes to guys. I like girls too, but with guys, I tend to be in control. It usually works out really well. Can you deal with that?”
“Um… yes, I think I would like that actually,” he said in a husky voice.
In response I wrapped my arms around his neck, tiptoed to his mouth and gave him the long, deep kiss he had been wanting all evening. I could feel his erection through his jeans, and I was sure to move my thigh between his legs just a little to give it a slight stroke. He was ready.
We went in, dropped our jackets in the hall and I wrapped myself around his body as the door swung shut. I kissed him hard and long, tongues digging deep and our hands roaming around to every part of each other’s body. Belts got in the way, and they were undone. My top proved cumbersome and was removed. His pants slid off quickly. About this time we struggled to the bedroom, and I pushed him down on the bed and climbed on top.
In moments, he was undressed and I had slipped down between his legs and begun attending to him. From his moans he appeared to appreciate what I was doing, so I stopped. He began to rise up to see what was going on, but I pushed him back down on the bed. “Wait.”
I went to the closet, and returned with several lengths of rope. He saw what I had, and his eyes got wider. His left hand was idly stroking himself, so I took it, wrapped several loops of cord around it and then wrapped the rope around the side frame of the bed about halfway up. The cord reached to the other side, and his hand was quickly tied there, as well. Before leaving his upper body, I ran my fingers across his chest, up to his cheek and turned his head to kiss me. I smiled at him, and he smiled back.
He trusted me. Awwww.
I kissed and licked down his body, stopping at sensative areas of interest, until I reached his erection once again. There I remained for a moment, before quickly tying his ankles to the legs of the bed on either side. Once completed, he was spread eagled on the bed, legs stretched wide, but hanging off the end just a little with his ankles tied to the legs below the bed near the floor. I stood and admired my handiwork, satisfied and just as happy as could be.
His penis was throbbing a little. It seemed to bounce just a tad with the beating of his heart. It was really engorged, which was kind of nice to watch. I played with it a bit, and he thrust his hips, not that it really helped any. The time came to try the next step.
I asked him politely… “would you please wait, just a moment? I will be right back.” And smiled at him.
“Uh. OK,” he said, not getting the sarcasm or irony.
I left, obtained a toy I had recently purchased, and returned.
“This is a ball press,” I held it up for him to see. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but I really have been wanting to try it out. Can I? It will be fun!”
He was wising up, but very slowly. “Will it hurt?”
“Oh… well, yes maybe a little. Don’t worry. You just let me know if it gets to be too much. This kind of stuff reallllllyyy makes me aroused. I get so wet. What do you say?” My top was off, and I leaned over and kissed him, pressing my naked breasts on his chest.
Positioning between his legs, I examined what I had to work with. Not bad. His scrotum was a little tight, but a little manipulation would take care of that. And he had a raging erection, which I was sure I could maintain, and use to maintain control. So, I began.
Thumb and forfinger around his scrotum, above the testicles. Pull gently. At the same time, stroke up on the penis, then squeeze it. In moments the scrotum was distended, and I placed the upper clamps around it, above the testicles, which bulged out below like two small overly inflated baloons. I took the opportunity to examine him closely. He was circumcized (not much of a surprise), and had a decent sized, longish penis. It was hard as a rock, and I kept it that way, stroking it and rubbing the head with my thumb periodically. His testicles were larger than I was used to, but that was a good thing. He was hairy, unshaved, and I could see the veins in his scrotal sack, and observed some of the lumpish form of the testicles inside.
It was time for the next step. Slide the bottom plate on to the posts extending from the top clamps. Slide it up, so that it began to press on the testicles slightly, and then apply the wing nuts. Quickly tightening them so that his balls were pressed slightly, I heard him grunt a little. To prevent too many protestations at this phase, I took his penis in one hand and slid my tongue up along the bottom, and then my lips over the top. He thrust upward, and I allowed it in to my mouth about an inch, and my tongue played with the head. He moaned, a good sign.
As I continued manually stimulating his penis, I also continued the slow tightening of the press. His testicles slowly flattened as the pressure built, and I could see his discomfort mixed with the desire to keep me going, stimulating his penis. His hormones were really in place now, kicked in and wanting me to keep him going. It was enough for him to accept some pain.
My hand job continued, with some added lube, and so did the very slow tightening. Finally, he grunted and cried out, “Stop! Please, that really hurts! No more!”
I stopped the tightening, and continued stroking him, bringing him close to orgasm, but slowing down before he reached it. He was moaning and thrashing a bit, I think partly frustration, partly desire and arousal, and partly pain. “Please… please… ” he was saying.
“Please what, dear? Tell me what you desire?” I whispered in his ear, laying next to him.
“Please… make me come… take that thing off…”
“Which is it dear? Make you come? Or take it off? Be clear, now. Which do you want?” I was idly stroking him, feeling his muscles contracting just a little in my hand.
“Make me come. Please. Make me come!”
I kissed him deeply, and returned to his penis. I took several long licks up each side, and slid thumbs underneath the head, fingers on top of the head, and continued licking from the base to the tip. He was thrashing about, straining at the ropes, and I put my hand between his legs, under his scrotum, where I could feel the tension and muscle contractions as he tried to come. At last it came, and it was like a huge burst, squirting up and out, over his stomach, past his belly on to his chest. He spurted again and again, until finally the orgasm subsided.
“Take it off! Please, the pain is all over my stomach!” he cried after he finished ejecting his semen.
I undid the wingnuts, relieving pressure, though I knew the pain would continue for a while after I removed the device. Once removed, I climbed up and lay next to him once again. I was topless, but still had my jeans on. I put on leg over his, my arm on his chest, my head on his shoulder. “I really enjoyed that,” I sighed.
He was still in pain, but had recovered enough he could still make advances. “Let’s do it. Ride me. Climb on me, I want to fuck you.”
“Perhaps… sometime… but not now. I think you have had enough for now.”
He thrashed a bit, pulling on the ropes. He begged a little. As the pain receded, he was getting fighsty, wanting more of me. More than I was willing to give right at that moment.
“Come on… I am laying here naked, tied, I played your game, and you haven’t even taken your pants off!”
“Don’t you like my breasts?” I frowned. Displeased.
“Of course I do. You have a gorgeous body. I just want to see it! Come on! Do me… be fair…”
I thought for a moment, and then offered a solution. “Tell you what. You are right. Its not fair, you had the orgasm, I have had nothing. I think I should have the chance at release, don’t you think?”
I knew what he was thinking. He was willing to compromise, if he could have me sit on his face for a bit he would probably be perfectly happy.
“Yes, yes… I will help… let’s do it,” he grunted eagerly.
“Are you willing to pay for the privilege?”
He looked puzzled… “what…?”
I held up the ball crusher again.
“Oh, god, no. Not again. Damn… ”
I got up and reached for my top.
“OK! OK!”
I put my top back down, winked at him, and returned to his semi-erect penis. A few strokes had it erect again. A few twists of the wingnuts and his testicles were nicely flattened once again. He began taking deep breaths. I stood, removed my jeans and panties. I then straddled him, over his stomach.
I was wet. The whole scene had turned me on, and I thought I had been doing a great job of hiding just how aroused I was. I scooted up to where my breasts hung down over his face, just out of reach. One hand went between my legs, and I began masturbating. I could feel the excitement wash over me, knowing he was in pain below me, watching my body, wanting and desiring my body, watching me pleasure myself, but experiencing only pain himself.
He moaned and suddenly thrashed against the ropes. “Sit on me, sit on my face. Let me do it!!!”
In response, I lowered my left breast (the most sensitive one) to his mouth, and he eagerly took it and suckled. I was breathing heavily. It wasn’t going to take long to come. His attentions to my breast were getting me off, and I could feel the rising warmth of orgasm below me. My climax was coming. It just needed one extra thing to make it perfect.
I slid down, my hand still working my clit and fingers sliding inside, and gave the ball crusher wingnuts a sudden twist, tightening them further. He cried out, not quite a scream, but something more than a groan. The pain I had just caused him shot through me like a shot of morphine, pleasing me, bringing me to orgasm. I moved quickly back up, to where he could clearly see me, my hand working my clit and vagina, and my other hand on my breasts.
The climax swept over me, my nipples were rock hard as I felt them with my left hand, my chest and neck flushed, and I shuddered and cried out with pleasure, as he was moaning in pain below me.
When it was over, I collapsed next to him. His thrashing had slowed, and he was laying on the bed moaning, tears slowly trickling down his cheeks. I kissed these symbols of his suffering, and removed the ball crusher.
I lay next to him, as he recovered. As his breathing slowed, he looked at my face. “You are one evil bitch, you know that?”
I laughed. “I have been called that, yes. In worse situations than this. Do you feel like going again?”
“NO!” He almost cried.
“OK, don’t worry.” I untied him.
When he was free, he examined his testicles closely, and felt them gingerly. He then reached for his clothes. I pulled on an oversized T, but nothing else. Lighting a cigarette, I watched him dress.
As he was leaving through the front door, he stopped and turned. He kissed me, and I kissed back. “Are you free next Friday?” he asked with a curious look.
“For you dear, yes.”
He turned and left.
Hunting Girl
Damn woman…
He thought of the girl he had been pursuing for the last few weeks. She had put him off again, and he was unsure what to do next. His mind was preoccupied with her shape, smell and the feel of his body’s lingering desire.
He trudged across the fields, heading to check some of the traps, clear brush and repair a wall along the field access road. His job was not glamorous, but it allowed him to keep his own cottage on the border of the estate.
Dirty boots slopped in the mud. It was a warm day, and walking through the muddy fields was tiring. He diverted from his shortcut to the dirt path.
His preoccupation with the the girl was interrupted by the sounds of dogs in the distance. A hunting party, coming across the fields, he thought. He stopped… and heard the sound of approaching hooves, as well as the hunting horn. They were coming this way.
Oh great, he thought. With my luck I will get trampled by aristocracy today…
He pressed against the stone wall next to the path, out of the way, as the horses came in to view, and with a huge cloud of dust, pounded past. Horses leaped over the three foot stone wall, one after the other, with grace.
All but one. As he approach the mare that refused to clear the fence, he saw it was ridden by a woman, dressed in hunting attire that complimented her form. The horse simply refused to clear the fence. He went to the nearby gate, and opened it.
The woman guided the horse to the gate but then stopped. He looked up at her… and truly noticed her for the first time. Squinting in the sun as he look up, he saw the outline of a magnificent woman. She looked at first glance to be about 25. Her sandy hair was tied back, but wisps had come down and blew in the breeze. A long face, young, slightly haughty but still undeniably cute looked down at him. Freckles barely visible, otherwise clear complexion. A slightly turned up nose. Brown eyes looked at him as if evaluating a dog…
Her impressive figure was outlined against the sky and he felt a pang as he realized she was appraising him. As if sensing his reaction, a small smile appeared on her face.
He removed his hat, and greeted her. He talked of the weather politely, and she responded. Smiling, she made light conversation. Her voice was light, higher than he expected, full of confidence and femininity, all at once.
The awkwardness of the situation was pressing on him. He was not of her class, should not even be talking with her as if she were his equal. It felt as if she had him in a spell. He held her mount’s bridle and realized she had just asked if he could walk the horse with her back to the estate.
Of course… simply walking with her might be enough for him to dream of her for the next month. He stole glances as they walked, memorizing her figure. The perfect cut of her riding outfit emphasized her bust and thin waist. Her leather boots conformed to her calves perfectly, and shone with polish. At one point they brushed his shoulder… and then again.
As they approached the barn, she reached down to pat her horse’s neck and her hand brushed his where he held the bridle. They touched. It was brief, but still, a little too long for just an accident, and long enough for him to have the sensation of her warm, smooth skin.
His erection was becoming obvious.
As she dismounted he saw there was a slight sheen of sweat on her. She removed the riding jacket, exposing her figure to him. It seemed as if every move she made was a dance, an erotic gesture. She new what she was doing, and she had him focusing on her. Nothing else was of concern to him.
She stepped over to him and looked in his eyes. There was desire there, and something else that he could not identify. Whatever it was, it excited him. He reached out to her, arm around her waist and pulled her to him. They kissed, suddenly, urgently, with desire. Her hair came down, long and silky around her shoulders.
As they began fumbling to loosen their clothes, they fell to the straw on the floor of the barn. Fingers clawed skin as they became free of the restrictions of clothing.
Just as he felt ready to place himself inside her and reach the ultimate joining to climax, she stopped him. Pushing him back… kissed him and said… “indulge me”. By now, he was rack hard and literally ached with desire. Watching her with glazed eyes seeing nothing but her perfect shape, he saw her reach for a leather harness…
“Wear this for me…” she said. He was not in a position to disagree, as she brushed her breasts against him while buckling the bit in his mouth, blinders and straps around his body. The leather felt strange against his skin. She tightened the last harness, and then lay down, a satisfied smile on her lips.
While strange, he was more aroused than he had ever been in his life. She was the most beautiful, desirable woman he had ever had… or was about to have. He climbed over her, the bit and bridle preventing him from kissing her, but she moved him in to place and they joined.
The sensations of being inside her were incredible. The combination of hovering over her on hands and knees, thrusting, the tight leather and restrictive bit in his mouth, was incredible. When he finally came, it was an explosion, a release like none he had ever experienced.
He collapsed to the side and began to recover. She lay beside him… breathing hard. That was incredible…
She wanted to go again. He was flacid… unable, though he was sure with the proper prompting he would be able to resume soon. She responded. “Let me help…”
A strap was tied to his harness, securing him to a ring in the wall. He was kneeling on hands and knees, and started to get up. There was a sharp pain, a stinging slash across his ass and he dropped back to the floor. She had struck him, hard, with the riding crop.
He knelt on the floor, a slight drool coming from his mouth because of the bit. He was completely aware of what was happening now. She had him completely strapped with harness, secured to the ring in the wall, and had struck him twice with the cutting crop when he moved. Remaining still for a second or two, she felt her kneel beside him, nuzzle his ear, and reach between his legs.
He was embaressed… his erection had returned. Her hand grasped it firmly, as he kneeled before her, shuddering slightly with the humiliation he was experiencing. But there was something undeniable… he was aroused, hard, ready, and he wanted her in whatever way she would give herself.
After stroking him for a little while and nuzzling him, brushing her body against him and whispering reassurances in his ear, she rose and took the harness strap. Unlocking him from the ring in the wall, she led him, on all fours, across the stall. When there was hesitation, he felt the sting of the crop.
As they walked, moving together as she led him with the bridle, he was able to catch sight of her amazing form, naked and shiny with sweat from exertion.
After a few minutes of this, his bridle was once again fastened to the wall. His erection remained huge, hard, straining. He wanted more… of anything from this amazing, dominant woman.
Reigns were attached to his harness.
Boots appeared before him. She was wearing nothing… but her boots. And the spurs on them. The shock of what might happen… the spurs… made him buck and attempt to move away once again. Once again, her crop mixed with her warm skin and soft reassurances calmed him. Her hand went once again between his legs… and he stood passively as she kept him aroused.
He had forgotten completely where he was… what he was… simply that he was there, with her, and she was training him. He wanted to please her, somehow. He just needed the guidance from her. And more than anything… he wanted to enter her again. He clung to that promise, the hope.
He waited… wondering what she would demand next, and whether he would be able to take the spurs if she used them. But then… he also knew he probably had no choice.
Pain Brings Pleasure
The testicle destruction was to be televised, the first one in over a month. Always a spectacle, the public punishment was a popular entertainment choice. There would be crowds of women in the prison arena, as well as millions tuning in to the show.
She got comfortable in the large recliner she kept in her office. It was after hours, nothing pending for the day. The door was locked, and the large flat screen TV came on with the opening commentators for that evening’s public punishments.
She had removed all her clothes except for her panties. They were reserved for a little later. Her conservative gray suit hung on a coat rack by the door, next to her judicial robes.
For a judge, she was remarkably good looking, and healthy. Perfect breasts, small but well formed, rose slightly above her flat stomach. Below, a well trimmed pubic area was nestled between two thin but strong thighs. She was a dark honey blond, and her cute face did not show her 36 years.
Sitting in her recliner, she moved the chair back, watching the events on TV. Her right hand casually stroked her panties, beginning the slow process of masturbation idly, almost unconsciously. The left hand reached up and pinched her nipples just a bit. She licked the fingers to lubricate them, and then slid them over her sensitized nipples slowly.
As the moment arrived and the criminal was about to be brought out to the prison yard, she reached down and slid off her panties. She was getting excited, as she always did when this happened. Her breathing had quickened in anticipation, and she bent her knees, sliding her naked legs up and over the side arms of the chair. She was reclined naked, legs spread wide, facing the images on the TV screen, when the prisoner was brought out.
At first sight of the young man, convicted of unauthorized copulation, she took a short breath and touched the soft flesh of her pussy directly for the first time. She remembered him, from two weeks ago when he stood in her courtroom. She had been incredibly aroused when she had sentenced him, though she could not show it. Now she indulged it, inspecting every feature as he was dragged from his cage, arms bound behind him, naked except for a the loincloth. He was muscular, and looked a lot better without clothes than he did when he fell sobbing in her courtroom after she condemned him to this torture.
She massaged her pussy, staying away from her clit but slowly moving her fingers all around and dipping slightly into her wet slit. She switched hands, taking the wet fingers and sliding them over her breasts. She licked them, tasting herself, and continued stimulating her mound and her nipples.
The prisoner had been hauled onto the platform, where he stood dazed, starting out at the 2,000 or so women that had come to see his public humiliation and punishment. There were a few men in the crowd as well, mostly the escorts of richer women that had brought their men to see the spectacle.
A tall, strong woman approached the prisoner. She was the executioner, a favorite of the public. She wore black pants and black wife beater that showed her ripped arms and shoulders. With one strong yank, she ripped and removed the man’s loincloth, exposing him to all. The camera zoomed in to his flopping genitalia.
At the site of the condemned’s cock and balls exposed for all to see, the judge stroked herself slightly faster. The camera pulled back slightly as the prisoner was dragged over to a wooden frame. Made of a rough wood, the frame had the general shape of a chair, but with front legs wider apart than the back, and the back rest angled back slightly. It was only a frame, there were no flat surfaces on which to sit or rest, just the wooden framework to which the prisoner would be restrained. The naked man was shoved down into the chair and quickly strapped in place. His legs were spread and tied to the front legs, his hips and waist tied to the lower frame and back. Arms were strapped to the back frame, slightly behind him. The head was left free so that he could choose what he watched and saw.
The image on the screen split, with half showing the victim’s face, and the other half the objects of interest in his groin area. He appeared frightened, and alternated from looking at the cheering crowd of women in front of him, and leaning his head back to stare at the blue sky. He was struggling against the straps slightly, the strain showed in his face and neck, but this was useless and he stopped.
The executioner moved in front of him, and took his cock in her hands. Her hands were oiled, and with a few quick but expert strokes, the man’s cock had grown hard. The crowed cheered, jeered and laughed. The man’s face, large with the closeup on one half of the screen, looked agonized but set, as if resigned to this public humiliation. He now stared almost constantly upward, no longer surveying the crown of women calling for his punishment.
The closeup on his genitals pulled back slightly as the executioner took the crushing device and began attaching it. It was a simple device, two slightly curved plates which were placed above and below the man’s scrotum. Once in place, the back was snapped together, so that the plates hinged and opened outward toward the camera and audience. The testicles rested comfortably between these plates, awaiting their task.
Above the crusher, his cock remained hard, pulsing slightly. The judge knew that he had been given a powerful drug derived from viagra that assured a prolonged and perhaps painful erection. In some prisoners it even caused an ejaculation, usually after the punishment had been completed.
The naked judge was extremely aroused now, savoring the slow preparations and the fear in the prisoners face, but feeling the need for release. She hoped the executioner would get to it. Her hands roamed her body, touching every sensitive area, as her eyes focused on the man’s face and the look of fear that had possessed his features.
The last item was put in place – a gag. Not a comfortable ball gag, but simply a wood dowel that would keep him from biting off his tongue. The procedure had been added just a few months ago, after a prisoner undergoing a public penectomy had bitten off part of his tongue, and had then swallowed and choked to death on the tissue. A most disappointing display.
At last all was in readiness and the judge moved her fingers slowly closer to her clit as the executioner took hold of the crusher and screwed two bolts through holes in the front of the crusher. As she screwed these in, the two plates were forced closer together. The first pressure was put on the condemned, the pain showed in his eyes, and the judge slid one finger over her clit, all in unison. It was perfect, the rush of pleasure from her touch was enhanced by the view of pain in the victim. She loved this part.
Wriggling in her chair, feeling her nakedness and the extreme pleasure as she fondled her clit, the young judge watched as more pressure was placed on the prisoner’s testicles. The executioner twisted the bolts, moving from one to another, bringing the two plates together slowly but consistently. The testicles were flattening slowly, flesh from the scrotum squeezing out from the openings of the crusher plates. The prisoner began “the wriggle”, as it was called. The involuntary attempt to get free, to stop the pain that was slowly accumulating in his genitalia and then spreading through his hips and stomach. His face had taken on a wild look of panic as he stared at the sky and his muscles strained against the straps that held him. His teeth bit down hard on the wooden gag.
The judge continued stroking her clit, patiently, faster, as the crusher squeeze tighter and tighter. She squeeze her nipples hard, feeling just a hint of pain that was encapsulated in the image before her. This aroused her even more, and she rubbed herself harder. She felt that she might climax soon now. The timing felt right; the testicles on the screen were flattened and the image of the prisoner’s face showed that he was screaming, though she could not hear it. His cock remained hard and throbbing throughout this whole procedure, an ironic image which made the naked woman so sexually excited she imagined it entering her, even as the man screamed in agony.
The climax inside her naked body began to build, she felt it coming and spreading, just as the prisoner’s left testicle exploded. Contained in the scrotum there was no blood or fluid, but from the close up shot, there was no doubt what had happened. There was a sudden change in shape of the left testicle bulge, it flattened completely suddenly and the skin of the scrotum on the left side took on a balloon like appearance.
She was rubbing her clit and pussy vigorously now. The climax flooded over her as she took her extra hand and pressed two fingers deep inside. Her nipples were rock hard and pointed with the overwhelming physical sense of extreme pleasure. On the TV screen the prisoner’s silent screams continued as the pressure that had been applied to the left testicle pressed on his right. One more turn of the bolt from the executioner, and the remaining testicle exploded as well.
In a freak occurrence, the hard penis which stood straight out from the mangled remains of his testicles suddenly spurt a white substance. The crowd roared approval, and the judge reached the peak of her orgasm, eyes rolling back in her head as she cried out in pleasure, head back, staring at the ceiling. The sight was more than ironic as the man and woman, both naked with legs splayed wide, experienced the peak of pleasure and pain at the same time.
The cock continued spurting semen, over and over, more semen than would ever be normally ejaculated. As the judge slowly descended from her orgasm, she watched with satisfaction as the last bit of sperm was squeezed from the victim. When his cock began to spurt blood, the executioner released pressure on the remains of the victim’s testicles, unscrewing the bolts and removing the plates. The scrotum was purple-black, and dangled down like a sack of mush. No evidence of the testicles remained.
The camera pulled back, and showed several guards approaching the prisoner. They unstrapped him and pulled his limp form from the punishment chair. The judge watched as he was dragged off stage, sobbing, unable to move. Her body was relaxed from the orgasm which still faded, and she lay with her legs splayed wide and hand idly moving in circles around her clit. Her skin glistened with sweat, but the office air conditioning quickly dried her.
Finally, she placed her bare feet on the ground, turned off the TV and walked over to her desk. Still naked in her chambers, she took out her calendar to see who was in the docket tomorrow.
Raped
I lay on the bed, tied, spread wide and exposed. I wonder idly what this idiot has in mind, short of the ball gag.
He approaches, pants down around his ankles, and I roll my eyes. Such a pale, squalid character. He is going to rape me. Its ok, its the only jollys he gets, I am sure.
He starts pushing against me. I wonder what is going on. When is he going to ram in to me? He keeps pushing, its getting a little tiresome, and I raise my head to look down at him. He seems to me having fun, but for the life of me, I can’t understand how.
Then I realize.
I can’t feel his cock because it is so small. He is doing his best to rape me, but he just doesn’t have much in the way of tools to do it.
I laugh. Hysterically, my breasts jiggle and stomach bounces with my laughter.
All too soon, it is over. I lay there, disappointed, as he backs away. All that buildup, all that drama, excitement… and then… nothing.
I yank on the incompetently tied ropes, easily getting one hand free. I undo the other wrist, and he turns to look at me as I am undoing my ankles. Fear runs through his eyes, as he sees I am free.
I step over to my purse, remove my lipstick case knife, and turn to him as he is about to attempt to overpower me. His expression is surprised as I sink the blade in to his heart, whispering in his ear “next life, get a bigger cock…”
Applying for a Position, Part 2
In part 1, Greg seeks a position as slave to Mistress Emily. His initial experience during the audition is painful, but he survives and continues training.
Before exiting the concrete torture room, Miss Siobhan placed a heavy round weight below Greg, and fastened it securely to his testicles. When standing, the weight pulled painfully, distending his scrotum and pressing his balls. Fortunately, Miss Siobhan barked “On your hands and knees!”, and Greg gratefully obeyed.
Crawling after Miss Emily as they headed toward the kitchen, the weight dragged behind him. His testicles were sore, but it was better than the pain when standing. They entered the beautifully equipped and styled kitchen. There was a dog dish and water bowl, to the side. Miss Emily pointed.
“There is your food. Only go there when you have finished whatever task you have been given. For now, your task is to clean the tile in the kitchen with that sponge,” Miss Emily indicated a small wet sponge sitting on the floor in the corner.
Greg started to head over to the sponge on all fours, but Miss Emily grabbed the cord that wrapped around his balls and jerked. “I didn’t tell you to begin. You presume far too much. For this, you will be hobbled.”
Greg waited patiently on all fours, his testicles aching from the yank. When Miss Emily returned, she put one foot on his back and shoved him down to the ground on his stomach. Pulling one elbow back, her boot still on his spine, he felt her slip a strap under his arm. The same was done to his other arm, and a single strap was now threaded beneath both his elbows. The strap began to slowly tighten, bringing his arms painfully behind him.
“Oh… OH… AWWWgggg” Greg felt his elbows touch behind his back, and the heel of Miss Emily’s boots pushing painfully down on his spine. He grunted, moaned and whimpered as the strap was secured, and the heel removed. His hands were free, but with elbows pinned together behind his back, he could hardly use his hands. He was stuck laying on the floor.
“All right, slave. Get going. Clean the floor, and do a good job.” Miss Emily sounded satisfied, turned and left.
Greg began wriggling along the floor like a worm crossing the sidewalk after a rain. He was able to get to his knees and waddled over to the sponge. Once there he knelt and thought about what he could do next. His arms bound behind his back, he was going to find it difficult to scrub the floor. He sat and tried picking up the sponge with his feet. That worked, but not very well. He could hold the sponge, but there was no way he could effectively scrub the floor. He turned, and picked it up with a free hand. Yes, he could do that, but… twisting and turning to get the sponge on the floor and scrubbing was once again impossible without a lot of pain and cramping in his arms and shoulders.
Finally, he tried using his mouth. Certainly less than ideal, but this method allowed for a steady back and forth scrubbing motion.
For almost an hour, Greg’s naked body writhed on the floor, sliding the sponge across and back and forth. When the sponge became so filthy that he couldn’t stand for it to be in his mouth any more, he raised up, went to the sink and rinsed it out. Filled with fresh water, it tasted a little better and he descended to the floor to continue cleaning.
The testicle weight slowed him down, and created a constant aching in his balls. While he could reduce the pain by making sure that he moved slowly and carefully, the constant dragging of the weight pulled and jerked on his scrotum. At times he simply sat, not cleaning, in order to relieve the pain.
He remembered this entire time why he was there. He was auditioning to be a submissive to the most beautiful creature he had ever met. He found that he had an erection for most of the time that he cleaned. He was a bit nervous that he would not please her, but he was so thorough that when he was done his hard erection was standing out, as if in pride.
Greg finally returned the sponge, and then moved to the dog dishes. He slurped water up, thirstier than he realized. Then he attacked the dog food, which tasted terrible. But he was hungry, very hungry, and slurping up the last of the water, he sloshed it down.
Miss Emily entered the kitchen, surveyed the floor, and seemed pleased. “Well, slave… it is not a bad job. It needs to be completed in about half the time though. This was far to slow.”
Placing a heavy slave collar around his neck and locking a 3 foot chain to it, Miss Emily guided Greg into the living room. Commanding that he stand before her, at attention, Miss Siobhan arrived with a platter of toys. Standing in pain from the ball weights, Greg awaited Miss Emily’s pleasure, but took this time to marvel over the Goddess before him.
She was wearing jeans and a tight T shirt. He could see her perfect breasts outlined clearly through the shirt, not large and saggy, but large enough to have a perfect round shape that stood out from her slim body. He wanted to worship those breasts, so suffocate in them, suck on the nipples. Just above her chest was her neck, the alabaster perfection of smooth skin, the rise and fall of her clavicle, and the flesh disappearing under the long, smooth, dark hair which hung across her shoulders. Her face looked cute, girlish really, and she had a tendency to smile with a quick smirk that was so endearing…
Searing pain jerked him back to reality as Miss Emily placed a nipple clamp on his left nipple. It was tight, smashing the sensitive skin and invoking a yelp of pain. Miss Emily smiled at the sound. A small weight slid onto a ring hanging from the bottom of the clamp. Another yelp, as Greg’s right nipple was crushed with its own clamp, with its own matching weight.
The clamps slowly accepted more and more weights, dragging down on his nipples. The pain from his tits was penetrating, increasing and spreading across his body, and descending to join the cramping ache that spread across his hips and stomach from the testicle weights. He whimpered.
But he had a raging erection; in spite of his pain, he stood before Miss Emily with the obvious arousal of a slave in love. His cock throbbed slightly, bouncing with the beat of his heart, as well as shaking with his moans and whimpers. If only… if only those smooth hands would touch him there. If only he could orgasm at her touch, he would be complete.
Instead, after nearly an hour of this play, his testicle weights were removed suddenly. Then the clamps were removed without warning. His nipples had become completely numb, but when the clamps were removed he screamed at the pain when the blood rushed back in. He tried to stay at attention, but bent over slightly from the resurgent agony.
Miss Siobhan led Greg, still waddling from pain, to a small closet off the hall. Inside was an eye bolt in the floor and a large box filled with sand. She locked his chain to the eye bolt, and pointed at the sand box. “Your toilet,” she indicated, and then shut the door.
Greg lay inside the dark closet for hours, recovering from what was a most painful introduction to Miss Emily’s household. After the pain subsided and he lay chained to the floor, he thought of Miss Emily, dreaming of her naked form touching him in any way she pleased. He in turn touched himself, slowly stroking and imagining it was Miss Emily teasing his cock, slowly bringing him to climax.
Eventually he came, spurting cum repeatedly on his stomach. After he was done, he realized he could be punished for pleasuring himself in this way. There was nothing to clean himself with, so he spread the semen across his body in a fine film, and then rubbed his body on the floor, trying to hide the evidence. Finally, he used his toilet box, and then slept.
The Gob of Jabbar
Her legs slid up the strong thighs of her son, wrapping around his hips as he lay on top of her. His violent pushing was reaching a climax, his cock deep inside his young mother, and Paul was straining for orgasm. The involuntary contractions had begun, and he lost consciousness of the woman beneath him, her breasts against his chest, their legs entwined; he could feel nothing but the smooth texture of her insides which enveloped his cock, pulsing, squeezing, demanding his sperm.
With a gutteral cry, Paul shoved deep, his cock pressing against her cervix as the contractions began, the climax taking his body with repeated convulsions that left his mother gasping and clutching her son to her body.
When the last drop had been milked from him, his complete weight fell on the naked form of the woman beneath him. Her fingers carressed his wide back, soft lips brushed his scruffy cheek and neck, and her legs stretched out straight as his cock began to lose its hardness and withdraw from her. Finally, he rolled to the side with a heavy sigh and lay next to his mother.
“That was perhaps the best yet,” he said dreamily.
His mother, a strikingly beautiful woman of about 36 with long dark hair and muscular body, lay staring at the ceiling, feeling the slowly departing warmth of orgasm slide out through her limbs. She also felt the viscous liquid which he had left inside her, and raised her knees so that it would trickle deeper within. Pregnancy had eluded her for the year she had been fucking her son, but she had a feeling this might be the time.
“Yes, I felt it too.” She rolled over and placed one leg and one arm over Paul’s strong body. “It might be the time. I don’t know what I would do without you… ”
The Lady Jessica fondled her son’s semi-erect cock, as they shared the afterglow of their union. Finally, raising her hand to turn his head toward her face, she broached the subject that had been on her mind for days.
“Reverend Mother Teresa is here tomorrow.”
Paul looked at her with a frown. “Why? What would pry her away from the dungeon of that castle, tormenting the lost souls of men?”
“She is here to confirm your position within the order. To appraise your skill. To… declare that you are truly human.” The lady Jessica lowered her eyes as if she knew this was simply propoganda, politically correct cover for the true activity which was to come.
“Fine, I will meet her. Do I need to prepare? Dress up? Bring condoms?” He snickered slightly, laughing to himself. The Reverend Mother was a well known pedophile and pervert with strong tendencies toward the theatrical.
“No. Just yourself. She will be testing you. She will be subjecting you to… the Gob Jabbar.” Here she paused for a moment, and Paul sensed her body tense slightly. “It is necessary if you are to be deemed human, and enter the exclusive ranks of the Benny Jesuit.”
Paul Atrophy was the offspring of the Lady Jessica, a high ranking nun in the order of the Benny Jesuit, and Duke Fido Atrophy, the head of the House Atrophy, ruling the planet of Caladan. Lady Jessica was part of a breeding program sponsored by the Benny Jesuit, and believed that if she could become pregnant by her son that the resulting child would be the Queezy Haddock, a prophesied messiah.
But… in order to be accepted by the Benny Jesuit, Paul needed to pass the loathsome test of the Gob Jabbar, administered by the perverse reverend mother.
The next day, Paul was called to the meeting. The Lady Jessica kissed her son once for support, and walked him in to the room where the Reverend Mother was waiting. As soon as they entered, Paul sensed the hostility oozing from the old whore’s pores. She was not convinced the Paul had been trained by his mother well, or that he would pass the test. She also knew of Lady Jessica’s intention to bear the Queezy Haddock, and was profoundly jealous.
The woman stood as the two Atrophys entered, and immediately snapped, “I can see you have been fucking your son, Jessica. You know that any offspring that you may have before he passes the Gob Jabbar will be considered nothing but an animal and destroyed. You toy with destiny…”
Jessica ran on hand up her son’s arm with affection, “I understand Reverend Mother. But… he is a really, really good fuck. And I have every reason to believe he will pass today.”
“Very well,” the Reverend Mother spoke cruelly, “Paul, remove your pants. Jessica, wait outside.”
“Wait, what?” Paul stuttered, unsure what was happening. Was the old pedophile of a witch going to try to get him for herself? She was nice looking enough, with a good body, but was a good 10 years older than his mother. He much prefered the younger woman.
Lady Jessica reassured him. “It’s OK Paul. Just do as she says, and we will be together as two equals in the Benny Jesuit order before tonight. Then we shall have an orgy such as the likes has never been seen…” She slipped out of the room and shut the heavy wooden door behind her with a *thump*.
“Remove your pants, Paul. Let’s see this cock that has Jessica all in heat.”
Paul removed his pants, and stood with his cock and balls exposed. He felt slightly embarrassed that his cock was engorged and standing erect. Mother Teresa moved slowly over and took it in her hands. Her fingers were cold, but she slid them down the shaft expertly, massaging his erection to the maximum possible engorgement.
“Yes… you have a good member… very good.” Mother Teresa admired him, and proceded to handle his dangling balls. “I think you are ready for the test. Let’s begin.”
From a suitcase sitting on a side table, the Reverend Mother produced a small box, perhaps 6 inches square. In the top was a round opening, gaping black. Nothing could be seen inside the box.
“Come over here. Position your legs on either side of this bench. That’s right,” Mother Teresa guided Paul to straddle a bench. Sitting in front of him, she continued massaging his cock, keeping him erect but not too stimulated. He felt she was teasing him, trying to see if he would lose control. He smiled a little at the image of the Reverend Mother with his cum splattered all over her face.
“You smile… well, smile as you can. We shall begin,” the Reverend Mother placed the box, open hole side up, underneath his straddled legs, immediately below his dangling balls.
“Lower your balls into the hole, slowly. Once the test begins, there are only two ways for it to stop. First, for you to cum — orgasm, spurt your load, ejaculate, climax. If you can not do that, then the test will stop with the loss of your balls. Severed, cleanly. Oh, don’t worry, if we get that far, you will be begging for it.” She grinning up at him, still stroking his hard cock.
“Remember, nothing you feel when you enter the box is real. It is completely in your head. Separate your mind from the sensations in your balls. Control yourself. Focus instead on my hands, your cock and reaching climax. Go ahead now, place your balls inside…”
Paul slowly lowered his balls, sweating with nerves and fear. This was not what he expected. Something was going to happen–
Suddenly, just as his scrotum completely entered the hole and his balls were inside the box, the circular opening contracted tightly around the scrotal flesh with a *snap*. At the same time, his balls began to hurt. If felt as if tremendous pressure was building up, squeezing them, pressing them. He gasped, and grunted. The pain was severe, but not overwhelming, he looked at Mother Teresa, who had continued stroking his cock.
“Refocus… separate yourself from the pain… it is nothing. Your only hope of escape is to focus on the pleasure, embrace the pain as part of the pleasure…” The Reverend Mother Teresa continued stroking his cock, adding some lube, increasing her rhythm.
Paul, in turn, moaned loudly, and concentrated on the sensations in his cock. Just as he thought he might have a chance at ejaculating, a simmering heat began to scorch his balls. He screamed, as fire within the box began to burn his poor balls. He could feel the thick flesh of his scrotum bubbling and peeling away, and he screamed again.
The Reverend Mother continued stroking him, adding more lube, urging him on. His hip started moving back and forth to match her rhythm, the box which surrounded and tortured his balls swinging back and forth. Paul reached out, and convulsively took the Reverend Mother by the shoulders. “Fuck… oh god, please, make the pain stop!!!” he cried out, begging at the same time he continued fucking her hands.
“No, Paul. You will never achieve climax if you don’t embrace the pain; channel it, make it part of the pleasure of your orgasm. Then you will be a true human!!!” Mother Teresa continued stroking him, using her thumbs to stimulate the sensitive underside of his cock.
In response, Paul embraced the pain. He allowed it to drive him, even as he was losing his mind to the irrational agony of the burning, crushing pain in his balls. The searing pain had spread from his groin across his abdomen and hips, and he was having trouble standing. He wanted to simply double over and die rather than continue.
Instead, he took his incredibly hard cock and rammed it into the Reverend Mother Teresa’s face, hard. He penetrated her mouth, rammed his cock past her tongue and into her throat. This gave him pleasure, the pain of his balls was channeled now, channeled into fucking The Bitch. Mother Teresa gave a surprised gurgle, fought to breath, struggled to get free. The pain Paul felt drove him further, ramming deep home over and over again into her throat. He began to feel the semen, deep inside, collecting and building pressure. He would be ready to explode soon.
The box shot blades into his balls. Thousands of needles were penetrating, shredding his gonads. He screamed and doubled over, withdrawing from the Reverend Mother’s mouth. She gasped for air, wiping a bit of vomit from her lips. Paul was stroking himself now, masturbating as the only way to counter the horrible pain of his balls being ripped to pieces. His entire body was racked with pain, sweat flowed freely, his cries and screams continued, echoing in the chamber.
With much effort, Paul regained his focus and channeled the pain. With a swift movement, he grabbed the Reverend Mother and threw her back onto a table. Yanking the skirts of her nun’s habit above her waist, he thrust his cock deep inside, feeling the remarkable wet and soft flesh envelop him. He thrust, convulsively, letting the pain drive him. The Reverend Mother struggled, but she was no match for the focus that the searing pain in his balls had given him.
As he reached climax, the Reverend Mother wrapped her legs around Paul, and urged him on. She was nearing orgasm herself. Instead of spurting semen inside of her, he quickly pulled out and rapidly jerking his cock with his hand, he aimed at her face. A huge stream of cum shot out, arcing several feet and splattering all over her face. The pleasure was the most intense he had ever felt, the pain from his mangled, seared, crushed balls had all been refocused and converted into his massive orgasmic ecstacy.
With the last dribbling bit of cum dripping onto the Reverend Mother’s leg, the horrible box suddenly stopped hurting. There was no pain whatever. With a *snap* the box released him and fell to the floor. Paul staggered back, the pleasure of pain withdrawn mixing with the residual pleasure of the massive orgasm. He sat on the bench, examining his balls, assuring they were perfectly intact.
The Reverend Mother rose from the table, breathing heavily and wiping slimy cum from her face. Lady Jessica entered the room, saw Paul with his genitals intact, the box on the floor, and the Reverend Mother Teresa wiping cum off her face and leg.
“Paul! You didn’t… you didn’t cum inside her, did you???” Paul shook his head and Lady Jessica lifted him to her, giving him a long, deep kiss that expressed both her love and lust for her son. The Reverend Mother was looking on with a look of hatred.
“He fucking raped me. He fucking shoved himself in my mouth, entered me, came all over my face!” she spit some of the white liquid from her mouth. “He is no human. He is animal!”
“No. He passed. He still retains his testicles. He channeled the pain. You must admit this, he was successful!” Lady Jessica held her son.
The Reverend Mother grimaced, and then said “Yes… he did. He is human.”
Lady Jessica smiled, and turned to her son. “Come on, Paul. We have some fucking to do.”
Hand Job
He was decent looking, well kept and muscular. His brown hair was straight and short, framing a firm face with a smile that must have wooed more than one lady. He was slightly taller than I, which gives men a natural sense of superiority, regardless of whether they realize it or not. When we stood next to each other, I looked up slightly, which worked rather nicely. It made us smile, simultaneously.
It had been a long time… since I had toyed with a man. This one was good, and I was looking forward to it.
While he knew I was a dominatrix, and claimed he was open to all that meant, it was clear he was something of a newbie. He had probably played with handcuffs during sex, or something like that, and thought it was a great BDSM experience. To me, he was something like a new puppy, something to cherish and enjoy as well as train.
We came home from that first real date, to my place. He, a perfect gentleman, opened my door, and served me as a man should, all with a pride in his expertise in social convention that showed an innate sense of superiority. We fixed drinks, and sat next to each other on the couch, our bodies touching each other, communicating to each other an unspoken understanding of liking, closeness and intimacy.
I was wearing a black knit dress, that was well fitted and outlined my body. The top ran in a crossover across my breasts, showing my cleavage to its greatest advantage. My long dark hair was loose, over my shoulders. The total effect was perfect, as we sat next to one another, finding excuses to touch.
His arm went around my shoulders, as he turned to face me. He touched my hair, brushing it out of my face more than it needed to be… he touched my leg, as my bare thighs crossed under my dress. He touched my face, to brush something off, and then his lips touched mine, as he kissed me.
It was a good kiss, and our hands roamed almost immediately, as his slid my dress up and explored my upper thigh, and my hand unbuttoned his shirt and reached inside. Our clothing continued to be pushed aside, moved and adjusted to allow access. One shoulder strap of my dress slipped down, and his hand pushed it aside, exposing my left breast. He cupped, and played, and we continued to kiss, exploring each other’s bodies for the first time.
His reaction was priceless… his attention to my neck increased, at the same time becoming more mechanical. His male reaction was so predictable. His attention had been redirected to what I was doing between his legs, and I knew I had him.
In a moment he had brought my other shoulder strap down, and exposed my other breast. His legs moved over mine, forcing my legs apart. His hand that was up my dress pushed higher, searching for its goal.
I stopped him. My hand removing his, sitting up, and explaining… now was not a good time. I was not ready, and it was the wrong time of the month. Any number of reasons… the exact reasons didn’t matter, as his mind was in a haze of desire. My hand still brushed against his crotch, keeping him stimulated as I explained our limitations, and hinted at the possibility of another date, at a better time, when we could be together more fully…
He was frustrated, poor dear. Yes, he was, and as my leg continued pressing against him and we kissed, I expressed my regret that he had to leave unfulfilled… my fault really, but what could one do?
Well, what could one do? Of course.. there were alternatives… and he hinted. I smiled… accepted. He would leave satisfied. Completely, but it was to be done my way. He was to submit himself to me, allow me freedom in providing stimulation, my own experience. He quickly agreed.
His shirt was mostly off, and I removed it completely. His pants were removed, and then his underwear. I in turn slid my straps back up, covering my breasts, and took him gently by the hand. He stood, with his cock erect and huge, and followed me in to the other room, and then down stairs, to the basement.
A couple of buckles and the cuffs were on him, and he was lying on the table, angled up at a 45 degree angle. He was getting nervous, a little afraid, so I straddled him, kissed him deeply as I rubbed his cock with one hand. He calmed, and even began thrusting his hips slightly in response. Thus committed, I made my way down his body, licking nipples, running my hands down his sides, bypassing his cock.
With a practiced motion, his knees were strapped in a spread position, and his ankles followed. He was now secured, ready for my attentions. I felt the thrill running down inside me, starting in my shoulders, down my spine and ending in my pussy, which was getting very wet now that I had him stretched and waiting at my command.
I slowly pulled a stool up in front of his prone, taught body. I applied lube to my hands, rubbing them together. Looking up at him, I saw him observing each careful step I took, as well as trying to see down my dress. A reassuring smile, and I applied some lube directly to his cock, which was hard and pointing up, almost flat on his stomach.
He let out a quick short moan, excited at the sensations, and how they held promise for what was coming.
I took his balls in my hand, and began manipulating them, pulling his scrotum out, and gently playing. His knees were forced apart by the straps, but he seemed so thrust himself out and attempt to widen his legs further to give me access. Such a nice submissive… he was doing well.
The lube allowed easy smooth movement and massage of the area between his legs, a hit of a touch of his anus, and then to the base of his cock. Slowly, I massaged his hard cock, enjoying the feel of his skin, the hard tissues inside, the thick vein at the bottom… a gentle pulsing. His muscles were already contracting slightly, and I was just reaching the head.
My fingers smeared the lube around the head of his cock, moving slowly, placing my thumbs underneath on the sensitive underside. A gentle motion, moving my fingers up his head as my thumbs went down the under side, then reversing the motion, thumbs up the underside and down the head. His hips were moving in earnest now, the muscles deep inside pushing his sperm through, struggling to bring it out, to achieve climax. I could feel the pulsing in his cock, as he contracted his muscles, pushing and getting closer to his goal.
One hand stroked his shaft, the other stroked his cock head faster and faster until I sensed the orgasm approaching. I knew what was happening in his body better than he did and the power of my ability to manipulate and cause these reactions was so exhilarating that I almost came myself.
With one short, swift movement, my left hand descended to the base of his cock, and press in hard, cutting off all fluid access just at the pelvic bone. My other hand slid to his scrotum, and I wrapped my fingers and thumb around it just above his balls. I squeezed tight, and pulled down, hard, in a motion very much like milking a cow.
The pain invoked had an immediate effect. He yelped, screamed almost, partly with surprise and partly with some very real pain. His orgasm was cut short just as it had started to build, and while his cock feebly attempted to ejaculate for a few seconds, the rest of his body no longer cooperated. As his cock began to soften, I released my hold of his balls, and the pressure on the base of his cock.
He had struggled a little in his bonds, and calmed as the pain subsided. Reaching out and gently stroking his cock, I moved up until my hair hung over my face and brushed his chest. I looked in his eyes, lovingly, cherishing, and explained that he was to come only when I allowed. He was not to orgasm without my permission.
After a few expletives expressed under his breath, I resumed my position at the end of the table and began again. I put on a medical examination glove, and with plenty of lube, inserted a finger in to his anus. After a little gentle pumping motion, a second finger joined the first, and I curled and pressed to find his prostate. MMMmmm…. there it was, and as I pressed, my other hand resumed gently stroking his cock, which was quickly regaining its hardness.
My toy had been introduced to how pleasure and pain can be mixed, and was adapting. It was easy to keep his interest, allowing him the glimpse of my breasts, a kiss now and then, the stroking and stimulation continuing…
Once again, he began the hip movement, ready to reach a climax, the muscles contracting to push the sperm out… but this time, he called out, requesting permission. Begging to be allowed to come. I continued my stimulation, both inside and outside of him, but denied him.
He was not allowed to climax. He must not climax, even as I continued.
He tried, I saw his muscles relax, as he tried not to react to my stimulation. But he could not help it, and I felt the telltale signs. Once again, at the right moment, severe pressure and sharp pain stopped his ejaculation. This time he howled, and really did jerk and pull on his restraints.
When subs reach this point, I simply must share it with them. I undressed… and naked, placed my body next to his, my leg over his, my pussy brushing his thigh. My breasts pressed against his side, and my face was close to his, kissing him slightly on the cheek as is struggled and swore in frustration.
My presence calmed him once again, as my body absorbed his sensations, felt his struggles and pressed against him. He wanted more of me, wanted control over me. He wanted to be free of his bonds so that he could take me, satiate his desire.
We began, once again… and this time, he was able to hold it off much longer. I approved, and rewarded him. I gave him permission to climax, and he quickly pushed, grunted and moaned as he approached his orgasm. With one small, wet lick of my tongue under the head of his cock, he thrust up and ejaculated his sperm, coming, repeatedly, spraying his male fluids over his stomach, some of it reaching to his chest.
Such was his orgasm that I laughed… the pleasure of having caused this, to have toyed with him and finally allowed him this pleasure… it was a delight to me.
After he calmed and relaxed, he assumed I would release him. Instead, I lay with him again, my nude body stretched next to him. I felt him, was one with him, knowing every feeling, every pleasure and pain and frustration he experienced. At last, I raised myself up, and sat once again on my stool, taking him in hand.
He was ready, once again.
During the course of that night, my new toy learned obedience and control very well. As a reward, he probably had more orgasms in that one night than he had ever had in any other single night with a woman.
Six months later, he and I have still not had intercourse. So far, he hasn’t complained.
Applying for a Position, Part 1
Greg sat nervously in the coffee shop in the back booth, waiting for the woman to show up.
They had discussed some basics via email, and he had sent pictures. She refused to send him pictures, stating that her looks were not relevant. He was applying to be her submissive, and if he was accepted, he wouldn’t be allowed to look at her much anyway. This made him nervous, but he really needed this position. He would not be able to survive much longer without one; he needed the protection from the freelancers that would end up co-opting him. It had been two months since he had been released from his last position and options were looking slim.
A woman entered and looked around. About 5’4″ and 200 lbs with short clipped hair; Greg shuddered, and hoped this was not the woman he was waiting for. She saw him, glanced away, and joined another woman sitting at a table. Greg sighed with relief.
A group of three women entered a few minutes later, chatting. The approached the counter and ordered, happily chatting. He continued to watch the door, feeling a combination of arousal and fear. His cock was hard in his pants, but every time he thought of the unknown woman a chill went up and down his back.
Suddenly, one of the three women at the bar sat down across from him at his table. He focused on her for the first time. She was cute, with a kind face and freckles, dark hair that extended slightly below her shoulders, though it was pulled back tightly in a pony tail now. Could this woman be her? The woman he had waited for? She had sounded rather stern in her emails, this cute thing seemed more like a girlfriend than a top.
She sipped her coffee, and then said in a low voice that didn’t quite match her young, cute features, “Well, Greg. We meet. I must say I am a little disappointed. The pictures you sent showed a more acceptable presentation; and your current behavior does not match how you described your submissive training.”
He could feel his erection suddenly diminish and his heart begin beating faster. He felt his eyes get wider, and he quickly lowered them in a show of submission. This woman was not what he expected at all; she must only be about 24 or 25, was thin though tall (he couldn’t really tell from her seated position, but she looked taller than the other women). She wore a tight fitting black knit top, which showed a slim, perhaps even muscular frame, smallish breasts that were still pronounced through the tight top, and smooth delicate skin on her hands.
Her nails were cut and manicured short. Lesbian nails. He now remembered the leather boots she wore and the key on the chain dangling around her neck. It fell together. This was her. This was his potential mistress. To have gotten an interview with someone this incredibly beautiful, he couldn’t believe his luck.
Passion suddenly welled inside him. He wanted to serve her more than anything in the world. He wanted to be her slave, to do anything for her. In fact, he wanted her to test him, lead him, use him… how could he convince her?
He felt a sudden pressure on his balls; something had slipped between his legs and was pushed against them. It didn’t hurt, but was uncomfortable. He began to shift positions and then suddenly realized… she had her boot up and the heel was pressing into him.
“Yes, mistress,” He said in a low tone, spreading his legs slightly to show obedience.
She shoved a little harder, and he grunted, just a little, from the increased pressure. “I have not accepted you yet. You have no right to call me that. For now, you may call me Miss.”
Greg could smell something slightly sweet, a perfume, or scent that she wore, just wafting past briefly. Her voice haunted him. It was smooth, and mellow, almost kind. The matter of fact way she stated things showed she assumed total obedience, and that nothing less would be accepted. She presented a kind face and attitude, which hid something very dark inside, he could tell.
“Here is how this will work. I will ask you some questions about your training, and your desires. If your answer pleases me, I will withdraw my foot. If it does not, then your testicles will feel my displeasure,” She shifted in her seat, smiled and touched my hand gently, almost lovingly.
“Who was your last top?” She asked.
“Merilee Matthewes, Miss,” Greg stated, looking at the perfectly shaped lips of the woman. He gasped when the boot shoved into his balls, hard. Pain rippled momentarily and spread a little before she pulled back a bit.
“You have not been trained well. Refer to your Mistress properly, dog.”
“Forgive me, mistress, I mean Mistress Merilee Matthewes.” He grunted and gasped again… Pain continued to expand from his groin. “Forgive me, I meant… Miss.”
The interview went on like this, and after about a half an hour Greg felt that he would not be able to continue. The entire lower half of his body was swathed in pain, and he felt nauseous. He was doing better, at least half of his answers seemed to please the angelic figure who sat in her chair with a light, imposing presence that contradicted her slim frame and lovely face. He determined he would not give up, that he was willing to do anything to become enslaved to this woman, and gritted his teeth as the boot heel pushed against his balls once again. Tears trickled down his face, but he was determined.
After an hour, she dropped her boot to the floor and sat upright. He chanced a look at her, and saw she was smiling slightly. The smile made her look absolutely stunning.
“You may call me Miss Emily. We will have a second interview the weekend of the 13th. Come to this address,” here she slid a card across the table, “at precisely 6pm on Friday. Be prepared to stay the weekend; don’t bother bringing anything, you won’t need it. Don’t disappoint me.”
“Yes, Miss Emily,” Greg responded, taking the card and feeling excitement ripple through his stomach. He was being granted a second trial, an entire weekend! He observed her closely as she left the coffee shop. Her slim body was a picture of femininity, a perfect figure, and yes he had been right – she was tall, maybe 5’9″ or so.
That night Greg masturbated in his bed, imagining that it was Miss Emily that lay with him and manipulated him. He dared not think of actually entering her, this was something that only the most devoted and accepted long term slaves ever achieved. He simply wanted her touch on his cock. He ejaculated three times that night, the last time somewhat painfully.
Do You Love Me?
“Do you love me?” I whispered in her ear, letting my breath carry the words gently and warm her neck.
“Yes…” She was not struggling against the straps that held her to the chair. Her eyes closed and her head tilted slightly, as if to give my question more access to the bare flesh of her neck.
My own long hair slid across her skin, where goose bumps appeared and then faded. As I slowly moved around behind her I let my breasts brush against her upper arm, first my left… then my right. I wore no bra and I sensed her warmth and imagined that my nipples grew hard just at that moment.
Positioning myself behind her, I lowered my face so that it was next to hers. We both looked forward into a mirror that sat in front of the chair, she looking into my eyes, as I looked into hers. Her legs were strapped to the chair legs, slightly apart. The light skirt she wore revealed smooth thighs (though no more).
Casually, my left hand slid across her shoulder until it cupped her throat, feeling the bare flesh there and squeezing slightly to feel the blood pump through arteries to feed her brain. She did not flinch. After a moment my hand slid down from her neck to her chest, and then under her top as I felt cleavage give way to the softness of breasts. Down my fingertips felt, crawling under the cloth and finding the perfect underside of the sphere until my hand cupped and lifted her right breast. My index finger slid up and played with her nipple, which was hard, waiting for me.
She gasped slightly at the stimulation, and shifted position in the chair, her body feeling the impulse to respond. She couldn’t, which was the way we both wanted it. My right hand slid fingers into her hair, entwining and grabbing and pulling her head back until she looked directly into my eyes as I looked down. I kissed her then, a deep tongue kiss, forced upon her restrained form, and yet willingly accepted. Her tongue flittered and pulled mine in as her breathing quickened. Her kisses were always the best.
I broke the kiss, and withdrew my hand. Her top was partway open from my explorations, her breasts partially visible. Restrained as she was in the chair, ankles, knees, wrists and elbows, she had never looked sexier. My own arousal almost took me made me release her and start ripping clothes off, but I held my concentration.
From behind her, I brought out the thin latex sheet I had waiting. I slowly positioned it over her face, and then pulled it back all the way until it clung tightly, conforming to the shape of her nose, eyes, mouth. Her breathing suddenly became labored. In fact, her attempts to breathe were no longer successful. She stayed remarkably still at first, simply tolerating the rubber that covered her face. But the desire for air overcame her, and her chest struggled, heaving in her attempts to suck in some oxygen.
I released the rubber sheet, and she took a huge, deep breath. Panting for just a moment, she looked at me in the mirror with frightened eyes. Looking back at her in the mirror, I kissed her cheek, caressed her hair, and smiled approvingly. The latex sheet descended over her face once again. This time she saw it coming and took a deep breath before I pulled it tight and cut off her air.
It was only 45 seconds or so, but it was enough. She began to struggle, chest heaving and arms wriggling in the restraints. The latex sheet sucked into her open mouth as she tried to breathe. I released the sheet and she sucked in air, panting, gasping for longer this time. She didn’t look at me for a while, and when she finally did her eyes showed the same fear, and as well as something else…
“Do you love me?” I once again breathed in her ear.
“Yes!” She almost spit out, as if unwilling to give up the air for that simple word.
“Will you do anything for me?”
She looked at the ceiling, took a deep breath, and then lowered her face so she stared at me directly in the mirror.
“Yes!”
It was time. She knew what she was in for, understand the reality. She had committed herself.
From behind her chair I produced a single large clear plastic bag and a velcro strap. I slid the bag over her head. She stared out through the distortion of the clear plastic, still looking at me. The fear was still in her eyes. And yes… that something else. The love. The dedication. The commitment to do all, endure all, for me.
Could I take advantage of that? Yes, yes I could.
“When I place the strap around your neck, it will cut off your air. All you will have to breath is in this bag and in your lungs. The air will last about two minutes. The velcro strap can easily be removed. Just pull on it, here.” I illustrated how it could be undone with a quick, simple pull.
“Once I place the strap around your neck, I will undo your right arm restraints. You may remove the strap and bag at any time. You may breath at any time.” She looked at me with a rising question of fear. She had not expected this– this was a test. A test beyond what she was prepared for. She saw it coming.
“All I ask is that you not remove the bag. That’s all. Give yourself to me, completely to me. Breathe in what air you have. I will be here with you. When consciousness slips away, know that you are still with me, and that it is forever.”
Tears came to her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. “I don’t know… if I can.”
“That’s up to you dear.”
I slipped the strap around her neck, pulled it tight and let the velcro hold it in place. She breathed in suddenly, the bag contracted over her face as all the extra air was sucked into her lungs.
As she continued to breathe, the bag expanding and contracting with each breath, I moved from behind her to the front, kneeling before her and undoing the restraints of her right arm. Her hand reached up and gripped my shoulder. I rose and slid over her, until I knelt betwee her legs, my face close to hers. She looked into my eyes with pain and fear, but I could see that it was fear that she would not make it, that she would give in.
Her sucking breath came faster now. She shook her head from side to side. Her free right hand alternately gripped the chair and my arm. Her skin under the bag was wet, sweaty from exertion and from the humidity of the trapped air inside.
The heaving of her chest was so alluring, arousing, I unbuttoned her blouse all the way, spreading it wide to expose her beautiful breasts. Placing my hands on her bare chest and stomach I felt the strain, the desparation in her body as she gasped for oxygen.
“Please… please…” She gasped. What is was she begged for I did not know, and I suspect she didn’t either. I slid my hands up her body to either side, under, and then to the sides of her breasts and on to feel the ribs under her arms. At the same time I moved up and kissed her through the bag. Her gasping was paniced now, and her right arm clutched my neck, pressing my head against hers as she tried to kiss me with an all consuming kiss that would distract the pain her body felt.
I separated and watched her eyes closely. The fear was gone, the gasping was slowing. She was beginning to go.
Her free hand, which had held my arm tightly, was no longer tight. It was going limp, as her head began to wobble slightly. And then, all at once… her head fell backwards and her body relaxed completely.
I waited a moment, caressing her face, and then undid the strap. The bag slid off and cold, fresh air flooded her face, reviving her semi-conscious form. I slapped her once, twice. Her breathing strengthened and then took hold in slow, deep, starved gasps. Sitting with her head back, looking at the ceiling, she gasped and breathed and finally cried… tears running down her face.
I undid the rest of her restraints, and when they were all undone she fell forward, arms around me. “I have failed you!” she sobbed.
“No, dearest. You succeeded. I simply brought you back.”
We sat together, enjoying the feeling of each other’s bodies against one another as she slowly recovered from the most intense experience of her life.
Feminine Restraint 