5 Days in a Fem Dom life.
The First. day…. Tuesday Sept 13..
Out of prison after 3 years for marijuana possession, the only job Claudine could get was at the checkout of Baums, the local supermarket, back in the same small town where she’d lived ten years ago. Before she’d met Bobby Renecker and become involved in all his treachery and games and dope and bullshit. Which had left her holding the bag–literally, and taking the fall for a half kilo of BC Bud, left in her car, but not by her.
Back in the small town by the river Kitabek in the snowbelt. No good jobs here, and hardly any of the people she’d known when she’d lived here before. Some had died, like her mom, of lung cancer at 63. But all the kids she’d gone to school with had left. Some to Chicago, a few to New York. Danny Zingerman had gone to LA, of course. Nancy Ruedel had gone to Florida and married some rich guy. Tony Perino had gone to Pittsburgh and was running a gay bar. So that solved that mystery, Tony had been a faggot. Well, well, you lived and you learned.
So, Claudine was out of the pen, but she was living in a miserable old trailer, up a dirt road outside a dinky little town, and she was now thirty fucking years old and she had very few prospects.
And Bobby? Christ, that bastard motherfucker! She hadn’t heard from him since way before the trial. He’d gotten her busted, made sure she took the fall for the weed, and he’d vanished. What she’d heard from friends up in Buffalo was that he’d gone to Canada and then to France. He did speak French, she remembered. He had a whole new identity, a new life and he wouldn’t be coming back to the US of A.
In fact it was getting to the point where she was thinking about throwing herself off the bridge into the foaming River Kitabek. It was a hundred foot drop, there were rocks down there, it was a famous place for suicides.
A big part of her hated the thought, however. She had a strong urge to live and to prosper and enjoy life. She knew she deserved better than this miserable existence. At night, lying on the beat up bed in the ratty old trailer, listening to the raccoons fighting and fucking outside in the woods she tried to think of a way out of this trap.
She needed more money. She needed a man.
She’d bought an old computer at the pawnshop. Got it cheap when she let
old Silas Hoenick put his horrible old nose up into her panty crotch. He’d offered her
a hundred bucks to come back and sit on his face for half an hour.
She was tempted. It took twelve hours of working at Baums to make that much.
Half an hour of sitting on old Silas in his smelly office? How bad could that be?
Claudine had dreams. Interesting dreams.
In prison she’d started out a femme and really taken some abuse. Women could be so cruel. So she’d switched. She’d learned how to fight. She’d learned to be hard and tough. She’d learned to be a top, a Domme. She’d gotten so good at it that she’d almost enjoyed her last year inside at Alterton, what with having little Mashonne as her slave, keeping her nice and relaxed every night with lots of lovely oral.
But Mashonne was doing 11 years more for her crimes, such as they were. And when Mashonne came out she was going right back to Chicago. Forget her.
Claudine needed a man. But the right kind of man. She understood a lot more about the world now. She surfed the internet. Thankfully, the trailer had cable and she had broadband. She explored the world of Professional Female Domination that she saw on the internet. She thought she could do that, beat men for money. Treat them like little boys, spank them, tie them up, piss on them.
But she couldn’t do it here. Nobody had that kind of money here. Or almost nobody.
She looked at herself in the mirror. She didn’t have much, but she did have her looks. And she was fit. She’d gotten that much out of prison. She could run off
thirty full body pushups. She could run five miles. Her face was leaner than it used to be, harder, with some lines around the jaw that didn’t used to be there, but her hair was still silky, long and black. Her tits were still big and round. Her ass was firm and good looking.
Men, or a man, that was the problem.
The men in the 2 bars in town were horrible. Smelly, tattooed creatures of the low and the lowest. She wanted nothing to do with them.
Where did an aspring Fem Domme stuck in this hick town hunt her prey?
Online? Yeah, that was an option, and she communicated with slavefred4u in Florida for a while until she figured out he was married and just a wanker. And she almost got into online training for littlestephen out in Arizona, but then he suddenly upped and disappeared, just like that. Turned out his mommy had caught him in the act and he was getting some real life spanking now. Lots of it. What she’d never worked out though was whether littlestephen was like, ten years old and thus doing time over his mother’s lap, or was an adult and was going over his wife’s lap for some ass slapping warmups. Mommy hadn’t made it all that clear in the final email from the account. Well, that was the internet for you. Tricky.
Another day at the checkout. Run the stuff through, print the ticket, run the credit card, take the cash, bag the groceries. Smile and be nice. Put up with Ricky, the son of Mr. and Mrs Baum, who thought he was hot stuff, with his ten year old Beemer and his
‘tude and his stupid clothes and his invitation to her to come suck his cock and he’d
“take care of her.”
All this for minimum wage?
But then, starting in August there was this guy. Better dressed than almost any other customer in Baums. Wore a suit, a tie, white shirts. Bought frozen dinners, fruit juice, humane eggs from cage free hens. Organic stuff. Never even bothered to look at the ticket.
He was cute too, in a smaller man kind of way, with a small nose and a shy smile.
She was nice to him. He looked at her tits. She could tell he was interested in her.
And he came back. He always came to her, even when another counter was empty, he’d wait in line for her.
She studied him. Got his credit card once, when the reader wasn’t working. Robert Korner, it said. She checked him out. He’d bought a nice little house on Brick Road. He drove a Mercedes SUV and he owned an internet company that specialized in providing online accountancy advice to small businesses. He was making money.
Folks were surprised that someone like him would move here.
Everyone said he was very shy. Phyllis, big fat cunt Phyllis, who managed Baum’s said he was a fag. Nobody else agreed with that. Cute Barby, the teenage slut who worked weekends, said he was, like, too nice. There was something soft about him, at least when it came to women. “There’s no spine there.”
Then, one day, she heard Elmara Tompkins, who was working as the receptionist and general office person at his company, talking with Phyllis over behind the tobacco display.
Elmara said that Mr. Korner was not a fag, but that he was kind of vulnerable, and that was his problem.
“He has a hard time telling women no.” She said.
“Just women?” said Phyllis.
“He’s nervous around women, not around men. I see it all the time. He prefers to hire men because with them he’s in charge. But with me, and Louise, God, he
almost asks our permission before he tells us to do something. Louise says she wishes she were twenty years younger. She’d drag him home and keep him.”
Hearing that started wheels turning in Claudine’s head.
The Second Day. Friday.
He came in about six, straight from work. She could tell. HIs tie was loose and he’d left his jacket in the car. He was obviously tired, but he made sure to get in her line. Her shift was over at six fifteen. She wondered if she should mention it. to him, see what response she got.
“Hi,” she said, all friendly, with a button undone at the top of her blouse. She was wearing a firm-up bra and she knew she was offering plenty of cleavage.
“Unnnh, hi,” he mumbled. He was flustered. He blushed.
“Your name Robert?” she said.
He looked at her with something like terror in his eyes. “Unnh, y-y-yess,” he said with an obvious effort.
“Nice name.” She smiled. Bagging his groceries, taking her time, letting him
see her nice, big, full tits. Imagine having these tits in your face, sweety, she wanted to say.
“Th-th-thankyou,” he stuttered. He dropped his credit card. He had to bend down to pick it up. He made a mess of signing the slip. He grabbed his bags and
Claudine went back to the internet for further study.
She came up with a crazy plan.
The guy was almost certainly the right kind. He was totally shy, but drawn to her. Probably because of the combination of her looks, her figure and her ‘tude. That he hadn’t taken any of the opportunities to say anything to her, spoke volumes about what was going on in his head.
There was a strong probability that he was a submissive male, maybe a masochist too. He was terrified of women, because in his mind, his ideal woman, his dream, was a Dominatrix. And he was frightened of having that truth revealed to anybody.
Because he was a dominating business guy, with a company to run. So his daily life and his dream life were completely at odds.
A little more research, a chat with Louise Schach, confirmed Claudine’s suspicions.
He had no women friends, no girlfriend, for sure. Louise had interesting opinions about her employer. Louise took care of the schedule, fitting each new job into the work flow. The company was spread all over the country.
“Why does he live here?”
“He liked the country around here. He liked the house he bought. He wanted somewhere that was completely unlike the city.”
“But the snow belt? Why not Florida?”
“I think he has family up here somewhere. Maybe in a home. He goes off somewhere now and then for a couple of days. It’s not on the schedule. Then he comes back and he seems, oh, like, satisfied or something. So maybe he visits his mother.”
“You sure he’s not gay?”
“You bet. He’s into women, but he can’t deal with women.”
Louise had Robert down. But only so far, and no farther, because women of Louise’s generation just didn’t understand Fem Dom and the whole world of BDSM.
They thought it just applied to them. That guys wanted to tie them up and beat them, and sure, there were plenty of guys with that dream, but then there was the other side, the Fem Dom side.
Claudine was sure of her target now.
The next discovery was also very interesting. Robert treated himself to one really nice meal a week. He drove down to Milltown, thirty miles away, to have dinner at the Auberge, a French restaurant. Apparently he ordered a nice bottle of wine, had
a big meal and ate alone.
The Third Day– Saturday night.
Claudine checked into it. She drove down to Milltown herself, checked out the Auberge. There was a nice little bar. She invested twenty bucks the next Saturday night, driving down there, wearing her best outfit, a little black dress and some black pumps, with her hair up and makeup on. She had an appetiser and a glass of
chardonnay at the bar. Three guys hit on her inside forty minutes. Two of them were married, one of them even had his wife there at a table on the far side of the room. God, men! Such fucking pigs! She played nice, even took a phone number, but kept her eyes on the door.
Robert came in at eight fifteen. They had a table for him in the corner. The waitress, a curvy little thing of about twenty, was all flirty and friendly with him, and he seemed comfortable with her. He ordered a bottle of wine, she poured him a glass, he drank some and looked around the room.
Claudine had positioned herself so her back was to him, but she could see him in the mirror behind the bar. He didn’t seem to take any particular notice of her.
His food arrived, he had more wine.
She paid and left, slipping out the door and went across the carpark to her beat up old ride and sat inside and watched.
An hour and a half later, at ten fifteen, he came out. He had a paper bag in one hand, obviously the remains of his bottle of wine. He walked over to his Beemer, which beeped as he hit the unlock key on his keychain.
She watched as he drove away.
And now the wheels were turning very methodically in Claudine’s brain.
The Fourth Day– The next Saturday night.
Robert Korner checked into his favorite FD chat site one last time. There were some terrific facesitting pix that had been put up by BBWlover. Looking at them, fondling his dick made him horny and submissive at the same time. It was a warm, pleasant sensation. He didn’t masturbate though. He wanted to save it for later. He had a new FD video download that he’d been saving, starring Mistress Nicole and her new slave. It had all the things he liked, particularly, Mistress Nicole, who had big tits, hair the color of brass, and a great attitude. She was suitably fierce and Dominant, but she also cracked jokes the whole time. And when it came to riding on a sub’s face, she was one of the best in the business. He would watch it when he got back from the restaurant, and then he’d jerk off. It would be great.
He showered, shaved, dressed, deciding on the new tan slacks, and the new
Doyle and Kerns brown shoes. He looked good, he thought, when he checked himself out in the mirror.
He drove down to Milltown, got there in good time and strolled into the restaurant at ten past eight. Ivette was there to greet him, all smiles and happy to see him. Which is what he expected, after all, since he was the biggest tipper the Auberge had. He drank the best, most expensive wines on their list and he always tipped
twenty percent or more. Ivette spent lots of time on him as a result, and he liked that. He liked her fragrance, and the hints of her own scent underneath it, even her sweat on hot nights in july. Sometimes he even imagined being under Ivette’s cute, young female ass, being dominated and smothered. But, of course, he knew it would never happen. Ivette was totally normal, totally femme, totally into some big, stupid, hunk guy who would knock her up, maybe marry her and live with her in some horrible modular house. Maybe he’d drink, maybe he’d punch her around sometimes, maybe he wouldn’t. They’d get fat together and so would their progeny. It was all such a waste, at least as far as Bob Korner was concerned.
He ordered the braised tenderloin and a nice bottle of California Pinot Noir. He drank his wine and surveyed the restaurant. There was a nice feel to the place. Wood panelling, checker table cloths, the soft clatter of cutlery on plates, the buzz of conversation. A loud pop came from the bar as Jim opened a bottle of wine.
HIs food came and he ate, sipping the wine, which was excellent and worth the hundred bucks they charged. It’d been a good week for him. The Manitoba Grain Association had signed up. It was his biggest deal to date. He’d already booked the services of twelve accountants over in India to deal with the formal paperwork. It was a sweet piece of business. He would charge the Canadian farmers a bit less than their previous accountants in Winnipeg, but his own costs would be really low because he would combine his computer system, his software, with cheap accountancy labor from India. In the first year he thought he’d clear at least three hundred grand on the operation.
Maybe he’d see if Mistress Irene could see him more than once a month.
His visits to her were his biggest expense, because he booked her for two whole days and nights. It was what she called “Immersion FemDom.” She did everything, from
giving him Dommy Mommy scenarios that she thought up, to cageplay, the CBT that she was so good at, and the face sitting and Queening sessions that he adored.
He always came back from his visits to Her completely calm, relaxed, and
fulfilled. The proximity to her special farm over in Wexboro was why he’d located here in the Kitabek valley. He wanted to be close, but not too close. So it was an hour’s drive to Wexboro, but he was sure that he’d never run into anyone he knew while he was there. And that was very important, because the biggest fear in his life was that someone would expose him. It was important that he be a real man, a dominant
business guy. He was slightly smaller than average, and not blessed with a big voice or any other obvious way of dominating a roomful of guys. He had to stay on top. He had six young salesmen, and three women, working for him and he had to know they were afraid of him. That they knew he was the boss.
Well, the women weren’t afraid of him. He knew they could sense his weakness with womankind. He was just about helpless with women. It took a big effort of will just to ask Louise to change something in the schedule. And secretly he fantasized about Louise too, even though she was in her late fifties. She still had a good looking ass. She’d make a great Dommy Mommy, and in his bedtime dreams, sometimes she did.
But he kept the women to the support staff positions, and hired guys for the rough stuff. Making the calls, pitching the business, setting up meetings with customers all over the region and even beyond. And with the guys he was tough. He was in charge. Nobody gave him any shit. Anyone copped an attitude with him and they were gone, just like that.
But if the guys knew about Mistress Irene, then those guys would lose all respect for him in a dead second. He’d have to shut the business here and relocate and start all over with a new name. But even then, he’d be ruined, because it would be all over the internet.
That was his worst nightmare.
He’d always been like this with women too. He’d only had one girlfriend in school, Peggy Sturmer. Peggy had her way with him for three years. She went out with other guys whenever she felt like it. She treated him like dirt. Bobby was her slave, and everyone knew it. Just thinking about certain summer nights at Peggy’s house was enough to bring on a raging erection and a huge, sense of shame. Peggy had taught him to love eating female ass. She had spanked him too. He’d spent many hours over her knee and under her ass. But she’d never been serious about him. For her he’d been a service, a useful tool for getting rid of sexual tensions and enjoying orgasms from oral servitude. After he’d begged her enough, she would sit on him in panties and jerk him off into a condom. That was all she would ever do for him.
But after Peggy went away to college, he’d been lost. He’d tried a few dates, but he was too shy, too submissive, too odd for all the women he’d met.
Ivette came back to take his plate and pour some more of the Pinot Noir. He watched Ivette’s cute ass as she walked away from him. It would be so great if a
cute girl like Ivette was into Domination, but he knew better. Most girls would run a mile at the mere whisper of the word Dominatrix. They wanted to be thought of as
nice, and cute, and sweet, not as cruel, dominating and bitchy.
It was pointless to try and explain. “Bitchy” was not what domination and submission was about. It was about sexual power, about the Female ruling the
submissive male and making him her happy slave. Girls didn’t want to hear that. They didn’t want men who wanted to be dominated. All of that went against all their social
Bob turned his thoughts away from Ivette. He thought about the checkout lady at Baums. Now that female could be the real thing. She had a great bod, and she
had some kind of ‘tude, you could really feel it around her.
But, of course, she was just some redneck bitch. Probably lived with one of the
stinking, fat, working class men that you saw driving around in huge pickup trucks, smoking, drinking beer all day. Robert loathed those guys, even as he knew they hated him for his Beemer, his expensive clothes, his money and his lifestyle.
Still, he fantasized about that checkout lady often, and he always took his cart to her line. Just so he could get a glimpse of her cleavage. She had great tits. Once, she’d asked him his name. Taken by surprise he’d embarrassed himself there. And in the car later, he’d cursed himself for being such a fool. But then, that nght, he masturbated, imagining being with her, being at her mercy and under her control.
It wouldn’t be like it was with Mistress Irene, but, it would be very exciting anyway.
At least in his imagination.
For dessert he tried the new super chocolate warm pudding cake, with whipped cream and raspberry sauce. It was delicious. He enjoyed it with a last glass of wine, then had a decaf coffee and sat there feeling full and happy, while the alcohol
wore off a bit. He was safe to drive, but in the current climate, you had to be careful. The local cops were all over drivers on that stuff and it could cost you a small fortune if they pulled you over and charged you.
As he sipped the coffee he thought about Mistress Nicole and her new slave, the hot video download he had waiting for him at home on his laptop. Man, she was
so good at the game. Her new slave was a big guy, with a heckuva build. One of her
greatest tricks was having him do pushups with her riding on his shoulders, or sitting on his back talking on the phone. The guy was really strong and he could run off
hundreds of pushups, even with her going up and down like that. Idly, he wondered what it would be like to be that strong and powerfully built. You’d get more respect from the fat, lazy pickup guys, that’s for sure. Would a Domme value you more?
No, he decided. Dommes were in business for the money, like anyone else. That was their key factor. If you were a piece of good looking beefcake, then that was just more icing.
Ivette brought the check, he paid and Ivette put his unfinished wine bottle in a paper bag and sealed it for him. Feeling right with the world he stepped out and walked over to the car. It was dark out in the parking lot. He noticed that the usual
light, fixed to the side of the restaurant, had gone out. No matter, he pressed the stud on the key chain and heard the Beemer unlock.
Ahead he was imagining a short ride up the road and then some fun watching Mistress Nicole. He opened the door, leaned way in and put the wine bottle in the back seat.
And then his evening took a wild, unpredictable turn. Something, or someone slammed into him violently from behind. It was like a football block and he was already off balance, leaning into the car, so he just went face down into the passenger seat of the car.
He cried out, but whoever had attacked him, didn’t let up for a moment. His legs were seized and shoved, hard, ramming his face down into the space in front of the seat.
He lashed out, kicking backwards, striking something.
For his pains he got a crushing punch in the balls. He heard himself shriek, then pulled up his legs as pain and nausea competed for his attention. His attacker had climbed into the driver’s seat and thrust a boot down, really hard, into his chest. He felt the breath whoosh out of him, and he struggled to breathe. It was hard, it was so claustrophobic, and he couldn’t move.
The car door had shut. He was scrunched up, on his back, with his legs folded over, a boot on his chest, unable to see whoever had attacked him. It was a really
And then it got worse. Something cold, hard and metallic snaked down past the boot and jammed into his cheek.
A voice grated, low and angry.
“Shut the fuck up. You feel this? You want to get a bullet in your stupid head you make more noise, unnerstan’?”
He whimpered, there was no other way to describe the little sound he made.
“Gimme the car keys, now!”
To his amazement he found that he still had the keys in his left hand. He raised that hand up. The keys were snatched from him, the car started. Backed up, turned and drove out of the carpark, still with him upside down, head on the floor in front of the passenger seat.
The gun was out of his face at least, and the boot was off his chest but the car was moving fast. The driver braked, then turned sharply to the left and sped down a road with a lot of curves. The violent movement of the car kept him off balance, but he finally got a look at his assailant and received a real shock, because instead of the
redneck male he’d expected, he saw breasts, big breasts, pushing out the front of a
dark colored hoody. He tried to see her face, but caught only a momentary glimpse of eyes lit up by oncoming headlights, and then the car swayed through another turn and his legs swung back and blocked the view.
She braked, spun the wheel and the Beemer went over a bump and rattled through some vegetation and came to a halt. She shifted into park.
The gun was shoved back in his face.
“Keep your mouth shut. Put your hands up between your legs, wrists together.”
“Who are you?”
The gun rammed back harder into his cheek.
“You really wanna get shot, you stupid piece of shit?”
No, he really didn’t. Whoever this woman was she sounded very angry and very likely to do something he was going to regret.
He put his hands up between his knees.
Something was wrapped around his wrists and pulled tight. His hands were
His position was horribly claustrophobic, but he wasn’t getting out of it anytime too soon. Especially as she slipped something around his legs, just below the knees and a moment later it was wound tight, like the band around his wrists. Now his legs were squeezed together, with his wrists shoved up between them, and both wrists and legs were bound.
A dark cloth was tossed down to cover his face. Now he couldn’t see her no matter what he did. Nor could he move. The car started again, reversed, turned and
went back over the bump. Christ, he hoped she didn’t fuck up the car, driviing like this.
Then he thought how stupid could he be, worrying about the damned car, when he was car-jacked, completely helpless in the hands of a madwoman with a gun.
Unable to see a thing, lying on his back in a grotesquely uncomfortable position, he could only imagine where they were going. The car was driving now at what seemed a reasonable sort of speed, without any violent swaying around. She was on a highway, and she was in traffic, he assumed, and she wasn’t about to attract any attention. They continued like this for about twenty minutes, he guessed, though it might have been less. Every second in his excruciting position seemed awfully long.
They slowed, came to a stop. A traffic light, but where? And where was she going? Where was she taking him, and why?
They were rolling once more, but not fast, and there were curves on the road because he was swaying back and forth as she negotiated them. And then the car slowed again, turned sharply, and drove up a gravel drive. He heard vegetation scrape along the side and then she braked and cut the engine.
“Listen up,” she growled. “I’m going to put a blindfold on you. You give me any trouble and you’ll really wish you hadn’t. Got that?”
“Y-y-yess.” he managed to squeak.
He felt her reach down, lift his head and pass a band around it. She arranged it so it was tight over his eyes.
“Okay, we’re getting out now. I’m gonna open your side and help you out. Just remember, do as I tell you and don’t do anything else. Or I will seriously fuck your shit up.”
The driver side door slammed. Seconds passed. He wondered, with a degree of desperation, if there was anything he could do about this. Then he recognized with his wrists bound, and stuck in this humiliating position, there really wasn’t.
Once he was out of the car? Well, his wrists would still be bound and he’d be blindfolded. But he could pull the blindfold off, couldn’t he?
Well, as it turned out, he couldn’t. Because before she dragged him out of the car she looped a line around the band holding his wrists and then made a noose out of the same line, put that over his head, snugged it around his throat and pulled it tight so that his wrists were pulled up hard against his throat and held there. It was difficult to even breathe.
Only then did she pull him out of the car, a process that left him kneeling in his good slacks in the soft dirt until she yanked him up onto his feet.
“Get moving, don’t make a sound, and don’t give me any trouble, or I swear you’ll be sorry.”
He couldn’t see a thing, his hands were jammed up against his throat. There was nothing he could do except allow himself to be pushed along, stepping blindly forward and praying he didn’t fall on his face.
He heard a hinge squeak, then she said in his ear.
“Step up, about a foot. Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall.”
He raised his foot, put it down and stepped up. She was right behind him. The door slammed.
“Okay, just come over here. Now sit down.” Her voice had softened several degrees. Some of the stress had lifted.
The floor felt spongey, almost soft. There was a faint smell of decay and mold. Something hard was pressing against the back of his knees.
“That’s a chair, sit down.”
Quickly, frighteningly so, it seemed to him, she tied his ankles to the chair. Then she freed his wrists, it didn’t take long, so he assumed she knew something about knots. More than he did, anyway.
“Get your jacket and shirt off, now. And remember, just do what I tell you, or
you’ll pay, big time.”
It wasn’t easy. His arms ached from being tied up so tightly, but he obeyed. He got his jacket off, then his shirt.
“Put your arms down in front of you. Try anything and I will fuck you up so bad, you’ll wish you’d never been born.”
Something was looped around his right arm, just above the elbow and pulled tight. It felt like the collar on the blood pressure machine at the doctor’s office. His left arm was treated similarly. Something was clipped to the band on that side, then passed behind him and clipped to the right side. His arms were effectively bound to his sides, though his forearms and hands were free. Next he felt her hands at work on the bonds at his ankles. A few moments later he could move his feet.
“Get up,” she said, her voice much lighter, much more relaxed. He sensed that she felt a new confidence about everything. Her hands pushed him, turning him to his right. Then he felt his belt being undone and his pants pulled down. “Lift your right foot.” He did and she pulled his pantleg free. She followed up with the left leg.
“Good,” she said, now talking in a husky, sexy voice.
“Now I’m taking down your panties. Do you understand? You’re gonna be naked.”
And then, with a suddenness that was shocking and yet, somehow, weirdly liberating, he had a glimmer of understanding. And almost immediately felt his cock harden.
Her fingers slid into the waistband of his boxers and slowly, very slowly, she lowered them. As they came down, he felt his cock rising and emerging from cover.
He heard her chuckle.
“I thought so.”
She continued to slowly lower his underpants down his legs. He felt his erection continue to harden, lofting his cock until he knew his goddamn penis was bobbing up and down now at full throbbing hardness.
“Raise your right foot.”
A few moments later he was naked. Fear engulfed him again and he knew his erection had fallen somewhat.
Her hand took hold of his penis and he shivered, but he hardened to the maximum in a second or two.
“Good,” she whispered. “Now listen carefully. I have taken you, okay? To be my slave.”
Slave. The word hung there in the air between them. He gulped. Astonishment had replaced fear.
“What? What d-d-d-did you say?”
It sounded stupid even as he said it.
Her grip had shifted to his balls. She was standing close to him.
“You heard me,” she growled into his ear. “You are going to be my slave and I am going to be your Domme.”
Holy shit. This was incredible.
He hesitated. His cock was saying one thing, his brain was saying something else. Or part of it was. He was mortally confused.
The slap was a hard one, connecting to his left cheek and knocking his head sideways. It made his head ring like a bell, while his cheek flared and burned.
“Get down on your knees!” she snarled.
He obeyed. He didn’t want to be slapped again. As he got down on his knees so he had a glimpse of what this might lead to. He might end up spending a lot of his time on his knees from now on. A part of him was terribly excited. Another part was terrified and another was angry.
“Look,” he said. “If it’s money you want, I can pay you.”
“Shut up. It’s not just your money. I want you. As a slave.”
Slave…. that word again. It aroused him and it terrified him.
“You’re nuts,” he protested.
Her response went much farther than he’d imagined it could. She grabbed him by the hair, pulled his head down and got busy with rope. He tried to resist, but with his arms effectively pinned to his sides, he didn’t have a chance. In the end he wound up tied over a chair with his ass up in the air and a thick gag, smelling strongly of
female sweat, funk and pussy shoved into his mouth and held in place by a strap made out of a pair of old swimming goggles. He couldn’t talk, or do much more than grunt. At that point she pulled off the blindfold. He saw a ratty old carpeted floor and a metal wall. He understood. He was in a trailer somewhere, and recalling the drive to get there he knew it was well off the road. Then he saw her feet and legs, nice legs,
nice feet. She’d removed her workboots and he could see that she took the trouble to paint her toenails.
Then she started spanking him. She showed him each implement. First there was the ping pong paddle. That hurt. And she kept it up for about ten minutes with that one.
He was screaming for a lot of that time, but his screams were reduced to very muffled gurgles by the heavy panty gag. He was drooling heavily too, because of the gag.
Then she left him, tied over the chair, ass burning like crazy, while she went into another room and closed the door. Before she left, she arranged a picture on the floor where he couldn’t help but look at it. It was a print from the internet of a Namio Harukawa drawing. It showed a woman with a big ass dominating, crushing, a smaller man under that powerful set of buttocks.
His anger, his fear and his sexual arousal were all balanced, like a tripod, but at the same time, he was utterly confused. The questions that kept coming up were like opponents on either end of a tennis court.
How was he going to escape?
Was she nuts?
What would slavery to Her be like?
Was this his dream come true?
And when he looked at the Namio picture he couldn’t stop his erection rising again.
Then she was back. This time with a thin, whippy rod of some semi-flexible plastic.
“Time for your caning, slave. In the future, once you’ve come to accept your new position in life, I will keep this for serious punishment. But tonight I want you to have a little taste of it. Just so you know.”
The cane sang in the air, with a shrill little shriek, and then struck his tender ass with the impact of an asteroid. Or so it felt. His whole body bucked, the chair moved a little. A line of white hot fire had formed across his behind, rising, turning and very slowly fading.
Before it was gone, though, the rod whistled through the air again and once more he shrieked into the gag and bucked.
So it went. For forty full, hard strokes.
By the time it was done, he was done too. He could scarcely gurgle, let alone scream. His ass had gone from being on fire to being molten, incandescent, so
painful that it absorbed his entire being. He hung there limply in his bonds, sweat cooling on his body, just breathing, sobbing, with tears running down his cheeks.
Now she pulled the other chair up and sat down, right within his line of sight. She was just three feet away from him. She had removed her jeans and was wearing
a pair of pink panties, visibly moistened by the thrill of beating him.
While he stared, amazed, even horrified, right into her panty crotch, she slipped
her fingers under the panty and into her pussy.
“Mmmm, that feels so good, slave. I enjoyed that. Your ass is now a really fine shade of red. Maybe some purple too. Gonna be sore for days I bet.”
Her fingers worked under the panty.
“Wouldn’t you like to have your face in here, slave? Wouldn’t you like to give your Mistress a nice orgasm? Or two?” Her voice had gone all soft and breathy.
And his cock had hardened. Even though his ass was burning. Even though he was in a state of terror. He was terribly aroused.
“If you were my slave, and if you were a good slave, and if you did everything that I told you to do. Then every night you would get to eat my pussy. Wouldn’t that be great?”
She was flexing her abdomen now, raising and lowering her panty crotch before his eyes while her fingers continued to lazily stroke her clitoris.
“And, of course, I’d spank you too. Over my knee, with my hand, and maybe a little bit of hairbrush.” She giggled huskily. “Nice spankings, lots of pussy, and more.”
And she stood up. For a moment her pussy passed just inches from his eyes, and then she’d turned around and sat, straddling the chair, with her ass pushed back into his face.
She had a great ass. That was all he could think. Big, firm buttocks, toned from
some kind of physical exercise, and nice and round. She pushed them back to within ten inches of his eyes.
“And then there’d be face sitting, eh? You’d be on your back on my bed waiting for my ass, yeah?”
She reached back and pulled on the pink panty elastic, snapping it lightly against her pale skin.
“Nice ass, huh? Imagine all that ass right on your face.”
He could imagine it and his cock was now rock hard, throbbing, completely
rigid. Sexual slavery, that was what she was offering him. He would be a FemDom slave. Just the thing, just the creature, that he’d dreamed of being all his life, ever since he’d first started masturbating.
She pulled away from him, then began to raise and lower her behind, moving it up and down a couple of feet in front of him. The shape and mass of those buttocks were imprinting themselves on his imagination.
To his shame, his disgust, his horror, he found he was drooling again. Spit had
slipped past the thick gag in his mouth and was running down his chin.
Oh, God, what was happening here?
Which, he knew was a silly question. He was being enslaved, that was what was happening.
“Yess,” she purred, looking back at him over her shoulder. “Every night, a nice spanking over my lap, and then lots of smothering and pussy worship. Hmmmmm?”
He whimpered. He sobbed. This was unbearable. He had to get out of this place. He had to escape.
But a part of him was already weakening. A part of him already wanted to stay.
She stopped flaunting her ass in his face. She stood up and showed him the next implement. A strip of thick leather about two feet in length.
“Now this is gonna rock. I got it from the dump. I think it was part of a drive belt on some kind of farm machine. It was a lot longer, so I cut it down to just the right size for whupping ass.”
She slapped the leather strap into the palm of her hand. It made a nasty little
Once again he screamed into the thick panty gag. Once again he wept and his tears soaked his face and the worn out carpet underneath. Once again she beat him for a good twenty minutes or so, in a regular, fast rhythmn of medium hard shots that
echoed a little in the trailer.
Then it was done and he was left, shuddering, shivering, weeping, while she
walked slowly away across the narrow room, letting him see her panty clad buttocks sway from side to side.
The door closed.
She’d left another picture, by an artist that he was unfamiliar with. It showed
a Domme walking a slave like he was a dog. It was a familiar theme, but beautifully rendered. It was out in public on a busy street. The Domme wore a tight leather skirt and had her long, blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail. She had on gloves, and carried a short whip. The slave went on all fours. His ass had whipmarks. He wore a thick dog collar and leash and a cock tube. Stuck into his ass was a brush like tail, to make him even more doglike.
The picture was a fantasy brilliantly brought to life. The person of the Domme was filled with satisfaction, even pleasure from Her power and Her possession of this male. The male was so enslaved that he was oblivious to the laughter from people in the street scene or the snotty kids pointing at him as he scrambled along on all fours, doing his utmost to keep up a good pace at the heels of his absolute owner.
Once again the agony in his ass was at war with the erotic power of Female Dominance in his mind. Once again he felt his cock harden and rise to a full, towering erection, even as the stinging, burning fury in his behind continued to pulse with his
Minutes passed. He thought he heard water running. His tears dried on his face. The burning pain in his ass faded down to a more general stinging, itching, smarting sensation.
He found his attention more or less riveted to the picture she had left out on the chair for him to study.
It captured so much about FemDom. The pleasure in exercising Female Power over the male. The humiliation and abandon of the male’s submission. His loss of everything that usually matters in human society, all traded away for the favor of his Mistress’s open ownership of him.
In a way it encapsulated his dream, and at the same time it frightened him. To become so completely helpless, to be no more than a woman’s dog, meant losing almost everything that gave a man status. Could he really exist like that?
The door opened, she was back. Anxiously he scanned her hands. What was she going to beat him with this time?
But no new implement was visible. Instead he observed that she had on new, white panties, and a matching bra. As she approached he noticed that she was in good physical shape, an impression he’d already formed earlier. She had to work out in a gym on a regular basis to look like that, he thought.
She moved behind him and began to loosen the bonds that held him tied down over the chair. Then she helped him stand, and moved him across to the bed. She pushed him down on the bed, though contact with the sheets by his burning ass made him whimper. She removed the gag after cuffing his wrists together with a strip of velcro material. He tried pulling them apart and found the velcro easily strong enough to hold his wrists together.
Then she brought a big bowl of warm water and a sponge and wiped his face clean.
“There, there, my poor baby. That was a pretty hard spanking you had to take. Those are seriously sore buns I bet.”
And now, at last, he recognized her.
“I know,you,” he whispered, and then realized he’d uttered his own death sentence. If she felt she had to she could kill him and noone would ever find his body.
But she smiled and kept wiping him clean.
“Sure you do. And you’ve been coming to my line every time you come to the store. I know what you want, Bobby..”
Her hand had slipped between his legs. His cock had hardened instantly to a throbbing pillar.
“See? You want my domination. I want a better life. I’ll marry you, you’ll be my slave and you’ll be happy.”
“Marry?” he said, astonished.
“Yeah. We’ll move away from here. You’ll have to get your business going in some warmer location. But you can do that, and I’ll spank you every night until you do.”
She smiled, there was tenderness there. And she leaned over him and loosed her lovely breasts into his face. Nipples brushed his nose, then his lips.
“Kiss my tits, Bobby. Suck on them.”
He kissed. He sucked.
She played with his penis, taking him to the brink of coming again and again, but everytime he got close she grabbed his balls and crushed them hard. Then she
put her tits back in his face and started it all over again.
“Maybe Florida would be good, huh? Or Texas. Somewhere that never has snow. And I’ll run the business for you too. I took accountancy classes, and general business too. I can handle that, and that way I’ll be in the office and able to keep an eye on you. Then after work, you can be the chauffeur and drive me home. At home, of course, you’ll be a panty slave, on your knees and on your back, under my nice big ass.”
As she said this her fingers stroked his penis, making him gasp and shudder.
“Won’t that be wonderful?”
And it would, and he knew it, and he knew now that he couldn’t resist.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“Yes, what?” she whispered back, holding his cock hard in her hand.
The Fifth Day. Saturday, one month later. Wedding Bells.
They married at the registry office in Milltown. It was just them. And afterwards, back at his house, Claudine took him with the strap on, face to face, the way she liked it. Looking into Bobby’s eyes as she fucked him, driving the big dildo up into his ass, penetrating him, taking him, owning him completely.
In the month since she’d kidnapped him, Claudine had brought Bobby totally under her control. He wore a handmade chasitty tube on his shaved genitals and she kept the key on a little golden chain she wore around her neck. Bobby only came in one way now, on his back, under her ass, jerked off into a condom. Once a week, on different days, as the mood took her.
He was spanked every other night and she fucked him as often as she could.
Fucking him, and getting off on it, had become her favorite turn on, especially seeing
the look in his eyes as she came to her triumphant Dominant climax, while he was simply penetrated and dominated. She’d started out with a thin white dildo, heavily lubed so as not to hurt him or cause any damage and then once she’d got him used to that she’d stepped it up in stages to this bigger pink one, with the double action so that she could orgasm from it. What amused her was that the bit that went into her was actually smaller than the bit that went into his ass!
Meanwhile, she’d gone over the books on the business and all his accounts. She knew what she needed to know to be sure of controlling him in every way possible. She had made him give her check signing authority on all the major accounts and she’d taken away his credit cards, leaving him with just a debit card on the household account. She made sure he knew that she had her fingers on everything. Rebellion was out of the question.
Domestically, she spanked him, sat on his face and made him serve her as her handmaid. She’d applied a few light touches of feminization, putting him in short skirts and tight pink panties with stockings, garter belt and three inch heels. He said it made him feel emasculated, but when she pulled him over her lap for a spanking in that costume his cock was always rigid.
The house was up for sale, the business was being shifted to Florida and they were negotiating for a nice new house, not too expensive, but much nicer than anything Claudine had ever lived in before. There was an office park just a few miles away and she was already talking to the management there about renting some space for the business.
She planned to surround Bobby with female authority figures. The business staff in Florida would be all female, selected by her and reporting to her. Bobby would still run the male sales force, and that would be the only area in his life where he would have authority. Claudine understood that he needed to be in charge with the guys. But when he stepped into the administrative area, then he would be under Her and she would make sure that all the female staff knew that he was not the real boss.
Considering how difficult it was for him to deal with women already, Claudine was sure that this approach would deepen his feelings of submission to women in general and his sense of inferiority where the female gender was concerned.
And beyond the office, their lawyers, accountants, their doctor, even their dentist, would all be women. Bobby would live in a world run by women, except for his sales force.
She fucked him until she had her own orgasm. It was perfect. She fucked him, she came, and he was humiliated and made to accept that he was just her slave.
“It’s your wedding day, Bobby. Special treat, right?”
“Whatever you say, Mistress.”
She pulled the dildo out, stood up and put her hands on her hips while he knelt and removed the harness.
“On your back, baby. You get to come too, today.”
He lay on the bed, she straddled him and lowered her ripe, round buttocks down onto his face, then wriggled a little until she felt him begin to kiss her anus the way she liked, the way a Dominant Wife demands oral servitude from her slave husband.
Then with a happy smile on her face, Claudine ripped open another condom packet and pulled out the condom. Quickly she slipped it over her slave’s throbbing penis.
While he performed the most intimate and servile act of the male slave to a Dominant Woman, she began to masturbate him, something she had become very good at. She could keep him on the edge of coming for half an hour or more, all the while enjoying his frantic efforts to please her with his tongue.
Settling in, grinding down on his face with her ass, holding his manhood firmly in her hand, Claudine reflected that a determined woman just needed to make her own luck sometimes.
copyright Permian Systems 2008