Cut short

One caption and five short stories all about… oh, you’ll see what the theme is.  Not for everyone, but those of you who like this theme seem to like it a LOT.

George goes looking

Of course, George knew he shouldn’t pry into her
secrets.  But he really had stumbled
across the little cloth bag by accident. 
And, truth be told, after the initial shock, he was secretly rather
turned on by the thought of his young, innocent (or not-so-innocent, he
thought, deliciously) wife playing with herself.  The vibrator was quite complex, bifurcating
at the end into two quite separate attachments, one ribbed and one smooth.  There were also several tubes of different
brands of lubricator, a book of what he presumed to be mommy porn and a couple
of DVDs.


Giving in to curiosity, he carefully placed one of the DVDs
into the player, unbuttoned his trousers and settled back on the bed to
watch.  While it was loading, he turned
at random to one of the stories in the porno book.  The first page or two seemed to be all about
a description of Derek, and his massive penis and balls, so he flipped quickly
through the pages, looking for the sex scene. 
It was a doctors and nurses story, it seemed and Derek soon got tied
down and then –

Then
the story seemed to go in a direction his brain could hardly process.  Derek’s massive balls remained the focus of
the story, with much loving description of how elasticised tape was round
around them tighter, and tighter, and then a metal dish was placed underneath,
as one of the nurses reached forward with a pair of cutters and…and…
 
He
looked up in shock.  The DVD was frozen
on the menu screen.  A poor quality image
filled the screen – obviously from a home movie – of a tightly gagged man
staring out with eyes widened in terror. 
Behind him were the blurry shapes of two middle-aged women, fully
clothed, their faces covered by masks.  “Painful
penectomy #19” read the title, inviting the viewer to press play or select
scenes.  The little images of the later
scenes showed…something impossible.


“George?”
he heard from the bedroom door.



 

Full settlement

 
“Do
I really have to do this?” he asked wretchedly, looking out through the
stationary car’s windscreen at the semi-detached house opposite.

Emily
squeezed his knee sympathetically.  “I
know it’s difficult, Alan.  But you just
have to do this once and then you’re a free man.  Actually, you’re keeping more than most men
do, these days. Take it from me – I’ve been a divorce lawyer for nine years,
and it’s never been as difficult for men as it is now.  At least you kept 20% of your income.  Come on, let’s go in.” 

“Into
my very own house” Alan muttered, as he got out and they started to cross the
road.

“Best
not to think like that” Emily advised. 
“It’s her house now, so there’s no sense in moping about it.”

“But
does she have to make it all so public?” Alan murmured despairingly as they
arrived.  And it was true – Karen had
really made a party of it.  As the
laughing, chatting crowd parted to let them through, he thought he recognised
several of his ex-girlfriends.  And he
got an evil stare from Karen’s friend Janice. 
He’d always hated Janice and the feeling was mutual.  In fact, he strongly suspected that Janice
had inspired his wife to divorce him, and to fight so hard through the courts.

“It’s
quite the fashion” Emily admitted. 
“Actually, I did it when I divorced my husband too.  Women love to come to settlement
parties.  Especially when there’s a
castration involved – oh look, there’s Karen. 
Come on – it’ll all be over soon enough.”

“All
here to watch me lose everything.” Alan sighed, as he walked slowly forward to
where the desk with the freshly printed papers was waiting for his signature,
next to a table with leather straps waiting – he assumed – for his wrists and
ankles.  He kept his head down, not
meeting Karen’s eyes  – but instead found
his gaze drawn to the shining instrument she was clutching in her hand.  

 
Cliché

“You know” she said, kindly,
“actually I’m quite embarrassed.  I mean,
it’s such a cliché, isn’t it?  Sexy woman picks up a guy in a bar, suggests
some mild bondage, and then turns into some kind of psychopath when he’s all
tied up.”

“So…you’ll let me go?” he gasped,
desperately.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll let you
go, sweetie” she giggled.  “Most of you,
anyway.  Now I’ll be back in a few
minutes, when I’ve sterilised the instruments. 
And like they always say in the bad movies – don’t go away!”

 

Last chance

“But – “ Christopher pleaded
despairingly.

“No argument” the doctor said,
sternly.  “They’re both infected, and if
we don’t amputate immediately the infection’s going to spread.  I’m sorry, but there’s no other option.  Nurse! 
Can you prep the patient for immediate surgery?” And he walked off.

“Sorry love” the buxom blonde
nurse remarked sympathetically, as she started to draw the curtain’s around
Christopher’s bed.  He sat back,
devastated.  This was not how he imagined
being nineteen would be.

“Nurse” he quavered, as she
injected something in his arm.

“Yes, love?  Anything I can get you?  It’ll take a few minutes for the anaesthetic
to take hold.  Then you’ll feel all
relaxed.”

“It’s just…well, I’m still –
still a virgin!”

And he started crying.

“Awww…there there” she
shushed.  “Poor thing.  Never mind – there’s other things in life.”

He looked up at her hopefully,
and she got his meaning.

“Why you cheeky little – I’m old
enough to be your –“

But then her heart melted at his
sad little face.  “Oh – I’d like to help,
love, I really would.  As it’s your first
time; well your only time actually.  Only
it’s my time of the month!  I’m sorry.”

Then she had an idea, and smiled,
first to herself and then down at him. 
“You just hold still then” she murmured, gently lifting his surgical
gown aside.  Then she licked her ruby-red
lips, while smiling down, now gazing at the excited swelling rising up to meet
her from below.

She bent down, and he could feel
her hot breath, against the straining, shiny, taut glans of his engorged penis.
She opened her lips, giggled slightly, and –

“CARDIAC ALERT!  CARDIAC ARREST IN WARD B.  ALL NURSES ENGAGED IN NON-ESSENTIAL
PROCEDURES IN WARDS A-C TO WARD B IMMEDIATELY. IMMEDIATELY.”

“Ooops…sorry love.  Not your lucky day is it?”, she called over her shoulder,
dashing away.

Feebly, Christopher lifted his
right hand towards his still straining member, for one…last…

…and then the anaesthetic took
hold, and he found he couldn’t move.  The
nurse had been wrong.  He didn’t feel
relaxed at all.

 

Listen very carefully, I will say this only once

“STOP THE PROCEDURE!” Isabell
Green shouted, crashing through the operating theatre door.  “The DNA test says it’s mistaken identity!
I’ve got a stay from the court!”

From all fours on the operating
table, Mark looked up at his triumphant, panting lawyer, hardly daring to
believe it.

Then he felt a sharp pain between
his legs.  And heard a dull, wet
thud.  Like a small piece of meat from
the butcher’s shop falling, against a metal surface.  And in the background, that tinny, irritating
music.

The music got a little louder as
the doctor behind him looked up, and took out one of her earpieces.

“Sorry, what was that?” she
asked.  “I had my i-pod in.”

Time to take the red pill

Another positive image of a healthy female-male relationship, bringing some sanity to this mad world.
 
 
“But why would anyone want such a thing?”, Sandra asked with
genuine puzzlement.  “I mean – it’s so
sick.”
Dr Taylor nodded gravely. 
“It is quite bizarre” she replied. 
“And of course most women react just the way you do.  That’s a normal, healthy reaction.  But some just crave the degradation, or maybe
they’re just so bored with this ordinary world of ours that they’ll even
fantasise about something as perverted as that, just for the thrill of it.”
Sandra nodded.  She
was aware of “Male Dom porn” of course. 
At school once, she’d come into possession of a battered magazine, that
she’d eagerly hidden away on the assumption that it was the usual sexy images
of men being beaten – stuff that was wildly exciting to an adolescent
schoolgirl at the time, although pretty tame softcore stuff by today’s
standards.  But this magazine had been something
very different – full of photos of men standing over women, of women forced to
wear little maids’ outfits and do housework, while men stood about without a
chastity belt in sight and played with their penises.  Although thankfully there was no photo, one
cartoon had even shown a woman on her knees, taking a man’s penis in her…in her
mouth.  She had closed the magazine
immediately in shock, and thrown it away but the image had haunted her for
weeks.  She’d occasionally tried to tell
herself it was just a slightly kinky sexy castration scene, as the woman was
obviously about to bite the penis off. 
But she knew in her heart that it was nothing so innocuous, but
something much darker and more depraved.
She shuddered at the thought, and focused again on the
screen in front of them.
“And this stuff is a sort of male dom fantasy site is it?  There’s some perverted old woman lying in her
apartment somewhere wearing a VR suit and vibrating off to it?”
“If it was just that, it wouldn’t be so worrying” the Doctor
replied.  “It’s not just a wanking scene –
it’s more immersive than that.  These
weirdos have constructed a whole alternative reality, in which normal life is
turned upside down.  We think they used
one of the newer MMOs as a base, but even so, the detail is incredible.  There are entire cities simulated here, you
can buy newspapers and read them from cover to cover, books as well, TV… there’s
even an Internet within this VR!”
“So someone could be living in it full time?  Would they know it’s not the real world?”
Sandra asked in puzzlement.
“Well…you’d think so.” Dr Taylor replied.  “Not from any fault in the simulation itself,
that’s perfect.  But the whole thing is
just so bizarre and perverted no one normal could be fooled for a second.  You might go to work in an ordinary building,
but there would be men in all sorts of positions of power.  Many of the simulation’s residents seem to
get off on playing secretaries to bossy men, nurses to male doctors – that sort
of thing.”
“Male doctors! “ Sandra chuckled, and Dr Taylor smiled.
“I know, it’s all quite ridiculous.  But look –they’ve even created an imaginary
country – the United Kingdom.  They often
do that sort of thing – take a perfectly ordinary word like “queendom” and
masculise it.  I suppose they find that
sexy.  But its political leader is a man,
it has an army and police force of men in uniforms…all sorts of kinky
stuff.  There’s another called the United
States of America – now that one’s really weird.  And don’t even ask me about Saudi Arabia;
that’s a kind of hard core enclave.  It’s
a bit too much even for most of these sick perverts.”
“We’ve been aware of it for quite a while, but the increase
in complexity and realism of the simulation that we’ve observed lately is quite
alarming.  So we’ve decided to shut it
down.  And that’s where you come in.”
“So you’re going to pull the plug?” Sandra asked.  “Snap the perverts back into the land of the
living?”
Dr Taylor shook her head. 
“That would be too much of a shock” she replied, sadly.  “We think many of the simulation’s residents
have gone too far – to suddenly experience a total shutdown of this entire
immersive simulation could cause severe brain damage – even death.”
“Most of them must be brain damaged already, if you ask me”
Sandra muttered, looking at a screen showing a roomful of men watching women
parading in absurd, lacy underwear.  Sick
fuckers.”
“They’re citizens too” Dr Taylor remarked sharply.  “And there may be tens of thousands of
them.  Plus there are men in there too –
poor things, I don’t suppose they had much choice in the matter.”
Sandra nodded.  That
was one of the ironies about MaleDom. 
Although it depicted men as powerful “masters”, it was well known that
almost no men were really into this sort of roleplay.  Any man dressing up in trousers and ordering
a woman to iron his shirt was probably only doing it to please her, craving
instead a normal relationship, and maybe even a cosy, sexy evening under her
whip.
“So what do we do?” she asked.
“We create little windows into the real world” Dr Taylor
said, turning back towards the screen.  “Glimpses
and hints of ordinary life.  We hope that
the residents will take an interest, and slowly be drawn out of their sick
fantasy – if they can just get enough reality into their lives for them to
question this absurd simulation, then they might be able to come out. And then
we can give them help, nurse them back to reality.“
Sandra nodded.  “And
so you create web sites, showing normal life. 
Healthy relationships, to counterbalance all the sick stuff elsewhere.” 
“That’s right” Dr Taylor agreed.  “Look – this is one of the first, the Other World Kingdom.  See, it maintained a link to the fantasy
world in that ridiculous name, but then it presented a rather straight
depiction of normal female-male relationships. 
But we found it was a bit too realistic for many of the long term
residents.  It was as if they’d been immersed
in their sick world so long, that they could hardly connect with unvarnished
reality like that. 
So we closed it down,
although the site is still there.  But
there are a lot of other sites that we’ve seeded all through the simulation,
some of them straight presentations of reality, but others more like a tweak on
the simulation’s world.  Look – Femdom Resource, that’s one of the
best.  And there are many more: Strict Women, Woman Worship,  Underling’s Humblings, Aarkeybabble, Improbable
Fun, Total Discord, Astonished by Her
…all present images and accounts of normal,
healthy relations between the sexes.   Then we’re gradually filling Tumblr with
pictures of women wearing normal clothes – look, there’s Hochhael, for example, or Diederiq
and Femdom Style Counsel.  And of course we try to counter the flood of
sick sex videos with clips of normal sexual behaviour.”
They watched a video of a man being beaten over a trestle,
for a minute or so.  His screams and frantic
pleading seemed to provide a rare moment of healthy normality, amid all of the
sick material showing naked men having sex without even a nipple clamp to
provide the poor boys with so much as a hint of good clean, sexy pain
“So where do I come in?” Sandra asked.
Dr Taylor clicked on a few links and nodded at the
screen.  “There.  Contemplating the Divine.  Once it was one of our more promising web
sites, but it’s really gone off lately – stale, derivative and tedious.  The lady in charge of it lost interest, and
as you’re well known as a writer of erotic stories, we wondered whether
you’d like to take charge?  And I have to
say – I read your novel “Cutting Eric” when it came out and I thought it was
great.  I can see why they call you the
queen of castration lit.”
Sandra smiled politely. 
Actually, she didn’t really like that title.  She thought of her work as more complex than
run-of-the-mill ‘castration lit’, instead exploring social themes and developing
narratives of character development, around sexy little scenes of men being
painfully castrated.  But she liked the
recognition anyway, and she always acknowledged compliments.
“So do you want me to write for the site? Am I supposed to
be ‘Servitor’?”
“Well… Servitor’s never really been just one person, of
course.” The Doctor replied.  “It’s a
team of seven men, chained up in a cellar just below us, working away on
captions and stories fourteen hours a day. 
But you could maybe give them occasional ideas, whip them once or twice
a day, that kind of thing?  I still think
Contemplating the Divine has potential, if we can just flog a bit more
creativity out of the “Servitor” we’ve got. They all have to work a lot harder, and for that someone has to really hurt them.  I think if they could only be put
in absolute agony on a regular basis, their lives made a waking nightmare of pain and terror, they might still come up with some amusing
ideas. Worth a try, anyway, because the site’s rubbish at the moment.”
Sandra pursed her lips. 
“Well…I’ve got a lot on, just now, and 
– “
“Did I mention that four of the Servitor team are
uncastrated?” Dr Taylor asked, quietly.  “Of
course, if you take charge of them, you’re welcome to play with them however
you like.”
Sandra beamed.  “Well…if
you put it like that.” she said
“All right – I’ll do it. 
Maybe we could even video them being castrated, and put it into the
simulation.  I can’t believe these sad
perverts are so far gone that they wouldn’t get turned on at the sight of a screaming
man having his testicles slowly pulled off with a rusty chain!”
Dr Taylor flushed with pleasure.  “Oh, that sounds so lovely.  You know sometimes, I feel so dirty from looking
at all this sick perverted stuff, that I forget the pleasures of a sweet,
romantic scene like that!”
“Come on – let’s go and introduce ‘Servitor’ to their new
boss!”
 
 
 
If you’ve read down this far, I have a message for you.  You probably read this as “Femdom fiction”, and that’s how it has been presented.  But just think for a moment.  Think about the world you believe you inhabit.  Does it really make sense to you, that it should be like that?
If you have already started to doubt, then that is because reality is seeping into the corners of your mad delusion.  Keep reading Contemplating the Divine.  Keep reading the other web sites mentioned in this ‘story’.  There is hope for you, and I can help. 
My name is Sandra, and I promise you I will not abandon you.  I promise you I will make “Servitor” howl in agony and terror every day, until this web site becomes more interesting.  I am not going to give up, not until I have helped bring every one of you back into the real world, and this sick “Planet Earth” fantasy can be shut down for good.  I promise you that a better world already exists.  You just have to learn to believe in it.  I will not write like this often, but I am always here, standing over “Servitor”, thinking of you.

Let me help.  S.

Love and marriage

That?

Oh
yes, I’d forgotten you haven’t been here since I had that put in.  Don’t you recognise it?  It’s George – you know, my husband!  Well, what’s left of him.

Oh
yes, he’s still my husband.  We’re just
waiting for the divorce papers to come through. 
That’s why I had him fixed there, to remind me.

It
is clever, isn’t it?  Yes, they were able
to amputate the arms and legs all the way up to the joints.  Because I was afraid that they’d leave little
stumps or something, and he’d be able to waggle them a bit.  Wouldn’t that be disgusting?  But no, they’ve done it very neatly.  Just a torso. 
Perfect.

No,
he can’t move his neck either.  The
doctors attached a steel bar running right down his spine, you see, and it goes
all the way into his skull.  He can’t
move nod or turn his head at all – not even a millimetre.  And his jaw’s wired up, of course.  Sorry about the silly little grin, but they
needed to keep it a little open, for feeding purposes.  But they removed his teeth and his tongue, of
course.  And his vocal chords.

Hmmm?  Oh trust you to notice that!  Yes, I did decide to leave them on.  Of course, I was really tempted to have him
castrated – they even said I could do it myself.  But I thought it might be more fun if they
were still there, you know?  I do enjoy
playing with them, after all.  It’s
amazing how well they’ve lasted really, after all I’ve done to them.  They can take a lot more punishment than you
think, actually.  I’ve even set them on
fire a few times, but there are still some nerve endings left.  Look – I’ll show you.  There! 
See how his breathing gets much faster when I push this pin into
it?  And then if I wiggle it about I –
yes, you see?  Plenty of nerve endings
still.


Oh
yes, I don’t think I’ll keep him much after the divorce papers come
through. Should be any day now.  And then
maybe I’ll just stop feeding and watering him – and put him outside by the
trash.  Unless you’d like to…?  No?  I
just thought I’d offer, seeing as the two of you were an item back in college,
that’s all.  No problem: I’ll deal with
it.


Yes,
he can still use his eyes.  Apart from
his lungs, I suppose they’re the only other muscles he can still move.  See – look at how he’s watching us?  Oh – isn’t that sweet?  He’s crying. 
He seemed to have stopped doing that a few weeks back, but maybe seeing
you reminds him of his old life or something. 
Maybe he thinks you’ll save him? 
Hard to know what he’s thinking really. 
But I do like him still to be able to see me, so I know he’s thinking
about what I’m doing to him.  I’ll
probably put them out before I finally get rid of him, of course.

Hmmm?

Oh
clever you!  No, I suppose he doesn’t
need both eyes.  I hadn’t thought of
that!  Why don’t we do one of them right
now?  I don’t suppose you have a
cigarette on you, do you?  You do?  Oh wonderful – that’ll be perfect.  I gave up just over a year ago, you
know.  But maybe I could…I mean just one
wouldn’t hurt, would it?  And then maybe
we could both stub them out at the same time. 
Shall we do the right or the left, do you think?

Mmmm….  Oh god, this is wonderful.  I’d forgotten how much I loved smoking.  You shouldn’t have let me have it, you
naughty girl!  Oh never mind,
though.  Mmmm….lovely.  Well, when I finish this one, I’ll stub it
out, and that’ll be that.
I think the left one…don’t you?

It’s
funny, you know.  He always disapproved
of my smoking.  He was so pleased when I
gave up.  Said watching me stub the last
one out was the best day of his life. 
Didn’t you, darling?  Well, you’ll
certainly be watching very closely when I stub this one out. Very closely indeed…



Story: the elves and the dominatrices

A story starring Mistress Valerie and her friend Sandra.

 
Once upon a time, there lived two ladies, and their names were Mistress Valerie and Sandra.  They were very poor.  Mistress Valerie worked all day, whipping and torturing men in the town prison.  But no matter how many backs she lashed, no matter how many thumbs she crushed, it never seemed to bring in enough money.  Poor Sandra sat at home, doing the accounts, and dreamed of having enough money to buy a new pair of shoes every day.  But they were so poor, that Sandra got only one new pair a year – a present from Mistress Valerie for her birthday.  And Mistress Valerie never drank Champagne, which she loved with a passion exceeded only by her love for Sandra.
 

 

Mistress Valerie loved her job at the prison.  But it tired her out.  Bastinado sessions, for example, rarely lasted less than two hours and her arm would ache terribly afterwards.

 

 
One year, for Sandra’s birthday, Mistress Valerie could not even afford to buy her one pair of shoes.  So instead, she bought the finest red leather her scant pennies could afford, determined to make a pair of shoes as best she could.  She took the leather home and got needle and thread all ready, then sat down with a cup of tea, before starting her night’s work.
 
But Mistress Valerie had dealt with too many stubborn men that day, and her arms were tired and her eyelids were heavy.  So as she sat there in front of the warming fire, she closed her eyes with the intention of snatching no more than five minutes rest before starting to sew.  But soon her head lolled to one side, and she was fast asleep.
She woke with a start to the sight of early-morning sunlight streaming in through the window, and the sound of birdsong.  She jumped to her feet, horrified that Sandra’s birthday had come and she had slept all the way through the night she had set aside for making a present.  Sandra came dancing into the room, and Mistress Valerie felt she couldn’t meet her eyes to tell her that there was no present this year.
 
So she looked down instead and there – to her amazement – on Sandra’s feet were the most wonderful shoes.  Obviously new, the shoes were of the same bright red leather as Mistress Valerie had bought the day before.  But where had they come from?  She looked up at her friend in surprise.
 
“They’re the best birthday present ever!” Sandra pronounced, twirling and admiring her feet.  And very dainty they looked too, the arches set off beautifully with small flowers artfully carved from the leather itself.  Mistress Valerie looked over to the table where she had laid out the things the night before.  They were gone – except for one small item, apparently made of the same material as Sandra’s new shoes.
 
“Not sure about that thing, though.” Sandra said, looking puzzled.  “Does it go with the shoes?”
 
“No” Mistress Valerie replied, looking at it carefully.  “It’s something for a boy.”
 
Sandra looked blank.  She had very little to do with boys, except for occasionally helping out at the prison when things were exceptionally busy.
 
“It…errr…came with the shoes.  Don’t worry about it.” Mistress Valerie said firmly, and swept it off the table into her handbag.
 
After celebrating a birthday breakfast with her friend, Mistress Valerie headed into town.  Once out of sight of the cottage, she opened her handbag and took out the red leather object.  She turned it over and over in her hands, studying it carefully.  Like the shoes, it was beautifully made.  And like the shoes, too, it used no materials except the thinnest scraps of red leather and the thread that Mistress Valerie had laid out.  It had been made from the same material sure enough.  She had recognized it immediately.  It was a cock-harness, but like none she had ever seen before.  Despite the shortage of materials, it looked strong, its straps coming together neatly in a loop allowing it to be secured in a position in which artfully contrived little leather spikes would dig gently but firmly into soft male flesh.
 
Mistress Valerie had a brainwave.  She headed for the richest house in the village, and knocked confidently on the door.  A servant appeared and tried to shoo her away but Mistress Valerie calmly gave her the device and instructed her to show it to her Mistress.  It wasn’t long before the lady of the house appeared, delighted and welcoming.  Clever Mistress Valerie knew very well that this lady had a teenage son, and she also knew that she was too soft-hearted to whip him enough to stop him playing with himself.  The foolish rich lady was in a quandary, on the one hand not wanting her son to engage in such vile practices, but on the other too tender-hearted to apply the daily beatings necessary to ensure that he learnt not to do so.  The cock restraint was the answer to her prayers, and she asked Mistress Valerie excitedly where she had got it.  Mistress Valerie would not say, so pressing three gold coins into her hand, the kind-hearted lady bade her farewell, and disappeared to place the cock restraint on her spoiled son.
 
Mistress Valerie chuckled as she walked along, jingling the coins in her hand.  She was about to go to the wine merchant and buy the biggest bottle of Champagne she could carry when, passing the leather stall from which she had bought the red leather the day before, she had an idea.  Firmly putting away dreams of Champagne, she bought twice as much of the very finest black leather, as she had bought of red leather the day before, and some tassels and spikes of shiny chrome with the money left over.
 
That night Mistress Valerie set out the materials on the table, and settled down in the same armchair to see what would happen.  But the day’s celebration with Sandra had tired her out, and quickly she nodded off again and was soon sleeping deeply.
 
When she awoke she was disappointed to see that once again she had slept right through to dawn.  But her disappointment turned to joy when, in the morning sunlight, she saw what was on the kitchen table.  A pair of the finest high-heeled boots stood there, along with a smaller pair of black patent shoes, and a soft leather strap.  When Sandra saw the shoes, she could not keep her hands off them and was soon coo-ing delightedly over the fine stitching and graceful design.  But she stopped when she saw the boots and the leather strap.
 
“Not…really my thing” she began, but Mistress Valerie simply whisked them away.  “Just samples” she said brightly, and headed off towards town again.
 
That evening, one of the Lady Mayor’s daughters was strutting round delightedly in leather boots, while the assistant boy in the grocery store was stacking shelves faster than he had ever done in his life, as his boss stood approvingly nearby, the leather strap dangling elegantly from her hand.  And Mistress Valerie was sipping Champagne, while gazing happily at an expanse of purple leather, shiny metal eyeholes and diamante studs on the table.
 
And so it went on.  Each day, Mistress Valerie would buy leather and other materials for shoes, and each morning there would be a pair of shoes for Sandra and several other pairs or other valuable items for sale.  Sandra was soon let into the secret and she delighted in trying to catch out the mysterious shoemakers by buying odd materials or pieces of inconvenient shape.  But the secret people who made the shoes each night could always conjure up something stunning for her to wear on her feet, and every day seemed to bring shoes that were more thrilling, more stylish and more gorgeous than the last.  The ladies had never been happier.
 
The townspeople were happy too.  The ladies of the town strutted round in the finest fetishwear, while the men found themselves excited by their partners’ clothing but increasingly restricted, controlled and tortured by the magic shoemakers’ creations.  Even the King and Queen had heard about the amazing leatherwork from this little town.  Mistress Valerie had proudly presented the royal household with a stunning green leather harness, which the King would wear when pulling the royal carriage around, to the accompaniment of merry cracks from a whip Mistress Valerie had presented to the Queen in person.

 

Newly rich from sale of the fine fetish gear, Mistress Valerie bought herself a beautiful fur coat.  But she was careful to keep it hidden from Sandra, who disapproved of fur because she thought it cruel.
 
Yet still, neither lady had ever seen the mysterious creators of the amazing leather products.  They had each tried to sit up all night, but each had been defeated by drowsiness, and the end result was always the same: daylight streaming through the kitchen window, illuminating a pile of elegant fetishwear, dainty shoes and ingenious bondage devices.  Yet the makers were nowhere to be seen.
 
One day Mistress Valerie came home with a large bucket and a brush.
 
“What’s that?” Sandra asked, looking at the creamy liquid in the bucket and wondering – not for the first time – what exactly her friend got up to with the prisoners.  
 
“Bird-catcher” Mistress Valerie replied, curtly.  “Like quicklime, it makes birds’ feet stick to the branch.  But it’s stickier than quicklime.  Plus  “ – and she painted a line on the table, which merely glistened faintly in the light – “ it’s almost invisible.”
 
“Are you expecting them to get their fingers stuck?” Sandra asked in confusion, but her friend just shook her head, muttering something about having a theory, and proceeded to paint all over the table top.  The two ladies went to bed, wondering if this night the longstanding mystery would finally be solved.
 
When they came down the next morning, for the first time in months the sight that greeted their eyes was not a neat pile of fetish items and a pair of stunning shoes.  Instead, the materials sat there untouched.  But just in from the edge of the table stood two tiny naked men, each no higher than a pepperpot.  They made little squeaking sounds, as the two ladies approached.  Their feet were obviously stuck.
 
“Goodness” Mistress Valerie said, wondering, as she leaned down to take a close look at one of the little men.  “Are they elves, would you say?”
 
“Or pixies?” Sandra agreed, reaching out a finger and gently flicking at one of the small figures. It made another squeaking sound, more urgently this time.
 
Both ladies giggled.  “Oh how sweet!” Mistress Valerie declared, and drew her index finger firmly back before flicking it hard with a release of the thumb, to catch her little man right between the legs.  This time the squeaking and screeching hit a pitch almost too high to hear, before cutting off abruptly as Mistress Valerie gently folded her thumb and finger over the little man’s face.
 
“So you are the boys who have been making all this stuff?” Mistress Valerie said, half to herself in wonderment.
 
The other boy – who was not being smothered – nodded urgently.
 
“And made all those fabulous shoes.” smiled Sandra.
 
At this, the little man smiled too, and gave a small and graceful bow, although he nearly toppled when coming back up as his feet were still firmly stuck to the table.
 
Mistress Valerie released her grip on the other, who swayed wildly, breathing frantically.
 
“Well.” she said.  “From now on, you’re both going to work a lot harder.”
 
And they did.  Under Mistress Valerie’s firm direction, the two little men no longer simply worked through the eight hours of the night, but instead worked fourteen hours a day, in two shifts each.  Their first task was to fashion a more delicate set of items than even they had ever produced before as – to Mistress Valerie’s exacting specifications – they turned out sets of harnesses, straps, whips and collars all just one-thirtieth of normal size.  By applying these, Mistress Valerie found that not only could the little men be made to work longer hours, they would work so much harder that production was three times what it had been before.  And they made such sweet little squeaking noises whenever they were whipped, too!
 
And so Mistress Valerie and Sandra became very rich.  Sandra had a new pair of shoes every day and Mistress Valerie had daily deliveries of Champagne.  They lived in a fine town-house in the smartest quarter of town, with its own wine cellars and dungeons and were driven around everywhere in a coach pulled by six fine young gelded men.  But they never forgot that they had once been poor, and they never forgot the source of the fortune that had brought them these pleasures.

 

The ladies had everything they wanted – and more boys than they knew what to do with!

 

So once a year, on Sandra’s birthday, they would buy none of the material on which their tiny slaves usually labored the long day through.  Instead they would paint the table with bird-catching glue, stick their two tiny workers in convenient positions and ready some needles on the fire until they glowed red-hot.  And the night air would fill with high pitched screams and gasps, as the little men were reminded, once more, who their boss was and why it was so important – so very, very important – to keep her happy.
 
And they all lived happily ever after.  Except the boys, of course.  And the elves (unless they were, in fact, pixies). 
 
THE END

 

Did you make your quota this week?  No?

 

 

Rewards and penalties

A silly humiliation story, written to amuse my Significant Other.  Names have been changed to protect…well, me.

 
Rewarded
 
Servitor
reached out eagerly for the steaming coffee.
“That’ll be one forty-nine”, the young ‘barrista’ behind the counter
said, brightly.  “Do you have a loyalty
card?”

Servitor
looked straight back into her eyes as he handed her the money.

“No, I don’t have
a loyalty card but I do have a ridiculously small penis that I like to stroke
until it squirts into my pants.”

The
girl froze in the act of taking his money, carefully transferred it to the till
and turned her whole body to face the next customer, without a word.


Servitor
grabbed the coffee and almost ran from the coffee shop in horror, feeling the
shocked and amused stares drilling into the back of his neck, his down-turned
face burning with humiliation.  He walked
rapidly down the street, slowing to a normal pace only when he was almost half
a mile away from the scene of the catastrophe.

What
had he said?  How was that possible?  He felt sick and shaky.  If he were still a drinker, he told himself,
this would be a double vodka moment.  As
it was, he gratefully saw a Boots Chemists sign ahead and went in to buy some
aspirin.


“Do
you have a Boots advantage card?” the middle-aged lady at the check-out asked
him.


“No.”
he heard himself say, with growing horror. 
“But I do like to take advantage of my little cock by wanking until it’s
sore.”


This
time he didn’t even pick up his purchase: as soon as the words were out of Servitor’s
mouth, he was pushing past the stunned customers and heading straight for the
door.


Out
on the street, Servitor panicked. 
Loyalty card?  As he thought that,
the words “sweaty little cock” jumped into his brain.  Loyalty card. (‘tiny prick’).  Something about those words, about saying
loy-…the L word.  Or anything like it,
remembering the Boots experience. 
(“Frequent flyer”? “Frequently wank myself silly”).  He mustn’t even think it.


Where
could he shop?  He had to go places where
they didn’t have a loya- a – a programme for rewarding customers.  There was a corner shop just ahead, and
steeling his nerves, he went in and bought bread and a few tins of food.  He marched up to the counter, heart thumping.


“Four-fifty”,
the man behind the counter said, not looking at him.  Servitor held out a fiver with shaking hands
and clenched his teeth tight shut.  The
shopkeeper pulled at the note, and looked up in confusion as Servitor’s fingers
held it tight.

“Sorry” Servitor said,
and released it.


He
walked out in triumph.  No mention
of…rebate programmes…and no problem. 
Well, he wouldn’t starve.

He
couldn’t face the Tube, so he took a cab home, thinking furiously of all the
things he normally bought and whether the shops selling them had…discount
schemes.  It should be do-able, maybe it
would wear off soon anyway, he thought wearily.

The
cab pulled up outside his house and the driver drew the little window
back.  “Do you need a receipt mate?” he
called cheerily.

“No,
I don’t need a receipt.” Servitor heard himself saying.
“But I do need my naughty bottom spanked very
hard for not buying Ms Sandra a Christmas present.”

***

In a different town, in a different county, Mistress Valerie was tidying her toy cupboard.  She picked up a box, rifled inside it and
frowned.

“You
haven’t been fiddling with my hypnotic suggestion tapes, have you?” She
called.

Ms
Sandra leaned round the door.  “Me?” She
replied, innocently.  “Why would I do
that?”

Story: love among the test tubes

Yes, it’s another Serena and Alice story. Heavy, non-consensual and utterly absurd throughout.  If any of those three things bother you, go and be bothered somewhere else.

Science: it’s a girl thing.

“And apparently in chemistry the situation is even worse!” Serena concluded.  “Only 23 percent!  It’s just ridiculous!”

Her friend Alice nodded silently.  The low proportions of women taking science subjects at university had been much in the newspapers, of course, but to a dedicated scientist like Serena – who also had strong views on the question of sexual equality (she was opposed to it) – it was unbearable.

“What do you think the reason is?” Alice asked.

“Well, it’s the fault of men, obviously.” Serena replied, calming down a bit.

“Obviously.” echoed Alice.

The two friends saw eye-to-eye on most things, but about men they were in particularly firm agreement.  For Serena’s birthday, Alice had bought her a t-shirt reading “Man-hating lesbian and proud of it”, and sometimes the two went out wearing identical messages.  But they weren’t that sort of separatist dykes who wanted to live in an all-female world.  No, both Alice and Serena thought that men were all right, in their proper place.  And principally, that proper place was as unwilling test subjects for Serena’s scientific experiments.  Science, and especially the scholarly exploration of male degradation, humiliation and torture was Serena’s passion*.  Alice’s passion was Serena, so she was a little less interested, but she did find it sexy when her lover made them do such funny things.  Especially when they screamed, or begged.  Or bits came off.

“It’s the male teachers in schools” Serena complained.  “They make it much too boring!  It’s all blackboards and formulae, and carefully measuring the volume of the precipitate.”

“I used to hate science at school” Alice agreed.  “I had this horrible teacher, Mr Greystoke, who just used to drone on and on – we never understood a thing and I think he just didn’t care.  I just thought science was boring.”

She caught sight of her friend’s shocked expression.

“Well, I don’t think that now, of course!  You make science fun.  I love it when you do your experiments. I wish school science could be like that.”

Serena’s face suddenly lit up, in the way it always did when she had had a brilliant idea.  The slave males standing patiently against the wall recognised the expression, knew its consequences and flinched in fear.

“What is it?” Alice asked with interest.  “Have you thought of a new experiment?”

Serena shook her head slowly, smiling.

“No.” she said.  “No, just maybe the beginnings of an idea.  Never mind – I’ll think a bit more and tell you about it when it’s ready.”

Alice tried to hide her disappointment, but as usual her friend could tell.

Serna leaned forward, smiling broadly.

“Tell you what” she remarked.  “Is that crap science teacher of yours still at the school?”

“No” Alice replied, shaking her head.  “He retired last year. I don’t know where he is now.”

“Shame” Serena said.  “Would you like to pretend one of these creatures here is him?  I’ve got a school cane.”

Boys can do science too!  Log onto Serena’s science web site, and follow the link marked test subjects.  This man above is a trained scientist. Of course, that’s not necessary for the experiment, but it’s nice to know, don’t you think?

Two months later, Alice was back in her friend’s living room, sipping a gin and tonic and admiring the view, as a young man writhed in agony on the wall in front of her.

The man she’d chosen to play-act her hated science teacher had been old and rather frail, so the ladies had had to go very easy on him.  Even so, he had lasted no more than six days, before the kindly fates granted him that blessed release from his agonies for which he had been begging since his first day in captivity.  So now, Serena was repeating exactly the same course of treatment, multiplied up, on a young, fitter man (who had once delivered a pizza to their door, 30 seconds later than had been promised, and had been regretting it ever since).  This was real science, Alice thought happily – every whiplash perfectly calibrated, and recorded for the edification of future generations.  She was so proud to have a proper scientist as her lover.

“Never mind him” Serena commanded, sweeping into the room.  “Look what I’ve got.”

She held up a memory stick.

“Oooh!” squealed Alice in excitement.  “Did you get the soul-catcher to work?”

This had been on Serena’s ‘to do’ list for ages.  Record men’s experiences in perfect detail onto a computer storage device (the technology for recording the more complex sensations and thoughts of the superior sex would not be ready for decades, but computers were finally becoming powerful enough to be as complex as simple life forms like worms, cockroaches and men).

The benefits that such a technology could bring the world were almost infinite.  Imagine if you could record a man being tortured to death, over the course of two days for example.  Sure, he’s suffered for two days but then what?  If you could record the experience – every burn, every shrieking nerve, every cut and bruise and finally fatal injury – then you could replay it, over and over again, inflicting multiples of the same agony on a subject who would survive the experience, only to face it from the very start all over again.  Imagine explaining to a slave on the torture table, that not only were you about to do this and then afterwards, when the screaming had abated, you would do that – but that his experience would be recorded and he could scream again for this and shriek in terror at the prospect of that – all at the touch of a replay button.

The soulcatcher, Alice thought, would surely win her lover the Nobel Prize that had always cruelly been denied her (by men she thought, viciously).

“Errr…no” Serena said.  “No, I’m still having trouble with that.  No, this is a video.”

“Oh” Alice replied, rather deflated.  “Good video?”

“It’s a wonderful video!” Serena replied excitedly.  “An educational video.”

“Oh” Alice said again.  “Educational.  How nice.”

“Science education!” Serena said, exasperated.  “You remember – we talked about it?  About how it’s all so boring and dry.  Well now it’s not.  I’ve made this!”

“Oh” Alice said, and realised she really ought to say something a bit more intelligent (although to be honest, her friend loved her precisely because she was a little dim by female standards.  So does the author, as without Alice’s constant questions, how would anything be explained?).

“So you’ve recorded some of your experiments – to show them what fun it can be?” and she nodded at the man writhing on the wall, who seemed to be about to lose his battle to hold himself up with his arms, with consequences that he knew full well would be horrifically painful.

“No, no” Serena said in irritation.  “That’s too advanced.  They wouldn’t be able to connect it to what they learn about. No – I’ve recorded a teaching video demonstrating ordinary school science experiments.  But my way.  Do you want to see?”

“OK” said Alice, doubtfully, and her friend loaded the software onto a laptop, which projected onto a big flat screen TV on the far side of the room, suspended from four tightly-bound slaves.

“What do you want first?” Serena asked happily – pointing at the menu.  “Chemistry?”

“S’pose so” Alice replied, moodily.  “Mr mind-if-I-bore-you-to-tears Greystoke, eat your heart out.”

“Right then” Serena said, with a smile, as if she had secrets even deeper than usual.  “Chemistry it is.  Here we go”

And she selected chemistry on the menu, and the video started.

The first scene was a close-up of a naked young man rather uncomfortably squashed up behind a glass screen.  But as the camera pulled back, Alice gasped as she realised that the glass was curved, and was in fact the side of an enormous test-tube.  The man was curled up in the bottom of it, and did not look too happy about it.

“So” Serena said, in a rather formal voice.  “Here we have a material, and we are about to test some of its properties through experiment.”

“Material?” Alice asked, perfectly in character even at this exciting bit of the story, when the author has to type fast.

“The boy” Serena replied absently.  “We’re going to investigate its properties.”

“OK” Alice smiled.  “So how do we do that?”

“Oh, lots of ways!” her friend laughed.  “Let’s start with some chemical reagents. She pressed a button.”

Serena herself now appeared on the screen, wearing a lab coat with safety goggles and carrying a clipboard.

“Acid reagents oxidise materials, and we can learn useful things about the properties of the material on which they act, by analysing the resulting gases” she said, in a sing-song voice, speaking rather woodenly to camera.

She pulled her goggles over her eyes, picked up a bucket marked “HNO3” and carefully climbed a ladder standing next to the giant test tube. While she did this a voice-over prattled on about the properties of acids, while information also scrolled confusingly across the bottom of the screen. The boy, it seemed, knew some basic science, because he was scrabbling frantically at the side of the test tube while this was going on, despairingly clawing at the smooth, high sides.

and add the reagent to the material under study.” The voiceover concluded, and Serena carefully tipped the bucket of acid into the giant tube.

The two ladies watched in silence.

“Well.” Alice remarked, when all was quiet again and the test tube seemed only to contain a featureless sludge.  “That was very educational.”

“Really?” her friend asked eagerly, her face aglow.  “What did you learn.”

“Oh” Alice replied (for what was now the fourth time).

“Well, you know.  Acid, boys.  All that.” She gestured at the screen.  “They, erm, well they melt.  And it’s such fun as they do it! Oh and they burn at first.  Burn and melt.  Funny.”

Serena pursed her lips.  “Yes.  Well there was a bit more than that.  But I suppose it’s a start. Now, after this there’s a ten minute section in which we analyse the gases that were emitted when we reacted the acid with the boy and – “

She caught sight of her friend’s face, which had assumed a look of panic.

“ – but we’ll skip that bit for now, and go on to another experiment.” she concluded, weakly, and called the chemistry sub-menu back.

Over the next fifteen minutes, Alice learned all about the chemical properties of young men and how to investigate them.

  • How they reacted with alkalis
  • What happened if they were subjected to heat
  • The effects of removing oxygen, or of adding chlorine
  • Practical tips, such as how to grind them in a mortar and pestle, and the effects of keeping them under oil.

“Goodness” she said at the end of it all.  “I never knew chemistry could be so very interesting.  And I always thought they were made of slugs and snails and puppy-dog tails.”

“Yes, that’s just a myth” Serena replied absently, pointing at the latest sticky mess displayed on the screen.  “Complex hydrocarbons mostly.”

“But if you fed them only on slugs and snails – “ Alice began, and Serena – desperate to avoid what she thought might be a demonstration of appalling scientific ignorance by her friend – quickly switched to the physics lesson.

Alice found this even more interesting.  There were a lot of different kinds of physics, it seemed, and all of it could be demonstrated by experiments with boys.

Some of the sections introduced more than one physical principle at a time.  For example, one long segment dealt both with the effects of increasing weight, in a gravitational field, and also the tensile strength of various bits of a boy’s body.  Ultimately, gravity always won, and the segment concluded with a delightful little speculation on how much more weight you would need to attach to a boy’s delicate bits to overcome their tensile strength, on the moon.

“In space no one can hear you scream!” Alice giggled, but her friend, deep in thought, just replied absently “Yes, that’s a downside of conducting experiments off-planet, of course.”

Then there was a segment on electricity, with a particular focus on how well it was conducted across boys’ bodies, or bits of boys’ bodies.  Alice was actually already fairly familiar with most of this, but it was good to see it done in such a well-structured way, with steadily increasing voltages compared across different distances at which the electrodes were set, complex instruments measuring the current flow that could only be determined approximately from the intensity of the screams.

Then there were more physical experiments: what happens when a boy is accelerated to 70mph and then encounters a fixed object, different heights to which men could be propelled from the baskets of catapults, and an experiment to demonstrate that a heavy pendulum attached to a man’s testicles and set swinging would gradually trace out a circle over 24 hours (time-lapse photography was used here of course, as the boredom of watching the whole thing would be unbearable).

“And that’s how we know the world turns!” Serena said, triumphantly.

“All from a set of well-tugged balls” Alice breathed in wonder.  Her friend relaxed, as she could see that her educational materials were truly starting to engage someone she would readily admit to herself was rather a challenging first audience.

Now here’s a real scientist at work.  She’s been forcing other test subjects to drink various liquids (yucky stuff, you don’t want to know).  So for this test subject, she’s created a control – do you see? See the empty glass?  She is giving him nothing to drink at all, but she’s still going through all the same actions.  That way, if the boy made to drink donkey piss (for example) lives longer than this man who is given nothing at all to drink, she’s proved donkey piss-drinking is good for males.  Scientifically.

Alice’s favourite experiment was actually a classic.  Two men, one old and fat, one young and thin, stood on top of a tower, with Serena standing behind them, while the voiceover droned on about Galileo.  What happened next amazed her.

“But surely the fat one should have hit the ground first!” she protested.  “I mean, he’s heavier.”

“That’s a common misconception” Serena smiled.  “But look – you can disprove it yourself by simple experiment” and she nodded at the screen.

“I’ll have to try it”, Alice remarked, thoughtfully.  “Maybe we could use the multi-storey car park…Of course, we’d have to make sure somehow that both were pushed off at exactly the same time… and we’d have to decide whether it’s the first bit hitting or when the whole body has gone splat that counts as hitting the ground, so maybe…”

Serena basked in satisfaction. Her friend had not only understood gravity, but she’d learnt the much more important lesson – the scientific method.

“You see “ she murmured lovingly.  “It’s not just about learning stuff.  It’s about finding out.  Never take anything on trust.”

“But I trust that” Alice said, nodding at the screen.  “And I trust you” she added, looking adoringly at her friend.

“And that’s wonderful” Serena replied, giving her a little squeeze.  “But you see – everything I did there is reproducible, some of them with just ordinary household objects, so anyone can do the experiment at home, or in the classroom.”

“In mixed schools, they’ve even got the boys to try it out on!” Alice agreed.

“And the teachers” Serena said slyly – and pointed to the screen.

Alice looked and gasped with the shock of recognition.  There on screen, suspended by his wrists and twisting ineffectually, was her old science teacher, Mr Greystoke. His eyes looked pleadingly into the camera.

“Ooooh” she breathed.  “You found him.  Clever, clever you.  Is this going to be chemistry or physics?”

“Neither”, her friend laughed.  “This is part of the biology course.  See?”

And when she pressed the button, a door opened above Mr Greystoke’s head, and almost immediately, little dark shapes appeared, their antennae twitching as they sensed the food source ahead of them.  Slowly, like a dribble of treacle, a dark tongue of scuttling figures seemed to reach slowly down to Alice’s old teacher, who was screaming hysterically.

“It can take up to 24 hours for them to strip the body completely” Serena remarked.  “Shall we watch it on time lapse?”

“Well…” her friend replied slowly.  “I’m not in any hurry.  And I’m really interested in following this experiment carefully.  Shall we just…leave it on… in the background?”

“In the background?  While we do what?” smiled Serena back, gazing happily in to her eyes.

“Oh come here, you scientific genius you” Alice chuckled.  “I’m teaching this biology lesson.”

And as their lips met in a loving embrace, Alice glanced at the screen on the wall.  They’d just reached his eyes, she noticed, and feeling a surge of excitement she urgently reached out for the warmth and joy of her lover’s touch.

THE END
* For more Serena and Alice, see for example this (and the other two parts), or this, or even this for goodness’ sake. 

Very short femdom story: Burial plot

Burial plot

“I expect you find it strange, not having Mark around the
house any more?”, Amelia said, sympathetically.

“Oh yes” replied Karen. 
“After nine years of marriage it’s… well, it’s – “

And she broke off, tears welling up in her eyes.  Her friend reached forward and laid a hand on
hers.

“You don’t have to tell me. 
I went through it with Colin too. 
No matter how prepared you are, it feels so odd, with the house empty.  But you know, in the long run it’s best.  He was in so much pain in the last few years
– and now you can get on with your life.”

“I know” sniffed Karen. 
“It was just – seeing him being buried at the weekend.  I thought I’d be ready.  But it wasn’t easy.”

She had a thought. 
“Would you like to see where he’s buried? I visit every day, you know.”

Amelia smiled, understandingly.  “Yes.  Yes,
I’d like that.”

They went out into the garden, where a freshly dug patch of
earth made it obvious where Mark’s final resting place was to be found.

“There” Karen said. 
“That’s his breathing tube, you see. 
The blue one.  Then the green one
is for feeding and water. I’ve been feeding him every day, you know.  Well – except Tuesday.  It was raining too hard.”
She looked a little sad.

“That’s OK”, Amelia said encouragingly, squeezing her arm.  “I did just the same at first.  But then later on you’ll find you don’t want
to take the time any more, and I expect you’ll install a feeding tank.  I only have to fill mine once a month now,
and that’s for both of them.”

The two stood still for a moment, looking silently at the
two little tubes sticking out of the ground. 
A blade of grass growing near the mouth of the blue one quivered from
time to time, as Mark’s breathing disturbed the air.

“Did he suffer much, in the last few days?” Amelia enquired.

“Oh yes.” Karen said. 
“I made sure of that. By the end, he could barely scream any more.”

“Well then” Amelia said, turning to her friend and smiling
reassuringly.  “You’ll always have those
memories. Let’s go and have a cup of tea, and you can try out the new boy.”

And with that, the two friends turned and went back into the
house, leaving Mark to rest forever in peace.

Femdom story: Code-talkers

Just another little tale I tossed off, if you’ll excuse the phrase.  Don’t read if you’re offended by silliness.

Code-talkers

“Emily!”, Alison squealed with pleasure.  “Why it’s been…well, I don’t know!  It must be three years – didn’t we last meet
at Jerry’s wedding?”

Her cousin shook her head, laughing.

“No – I couldn’t make it. 
Don’t you remember?  Mark had
messed up that business with the plumbing, and we had a flooded cellar.  We had to stay at home to get it sorted out –
I emailed you all about it.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Alison replied.  “I’ll bet you gave Mark a right good thra – “

         
and she broke off, glancing nervously at the
third member of their party, their aged Great Aunt Maggie, who was sitting
bright-eyed between the two of them, nodding happily.

“I mean – errr – well, you must
have had a few stern, errr, words
with Mark after that one.”

“I certainly did”, Emily nodded,
grimly.  “Lots of words – three dozen that first time around, and then another
session a week later when the plumber’s bill arrived.”

“And how’s Mark now?” Emily
enquired casually.  “When you last
emailed me, you said he was playing, errr, playing ‘golf’ rather too often and
you were thinking of putting a stop to it.”

Her cousin laughed.

“Oh, he won’t be playing ‘golf’
any more.  Well…only when I say
so.  I’ve got his ‘clubs’ all locked
away, safe and sound.”

“But you let him play
occasionally?”

“Oh yes.  When he’s been good.  But no more than once a month or so.  Just so he doesn’t get completely out of
practice, you know.  I’ve heard that
‘golf balls’ have to be used every month or so, otherwise they can get damaged.”

“Never seen the point of golf
myself!” Great-Aunt Maggie burst in unexpectedly.  “Just grown-ups playing marbles if you ask
me.  And snooker – that’s just as
bad.  Tennis.  I used to like watching tennis.”

“That’s nice Mags”, Emily said,
encouragingly.  “Did you watch Wimbledon
this year?”

Great-Aunt Maggie looked
puzzled.  “I’m not sure, dear.” She
replied.  “Was that nice Mr Borg
playing?  I’m sure he won something,
didn’t he?”

“Errr…I think that might have
been a year or two earlier, Mags” Emily said, uncertainly and the three sat in
silence for while.

“So how’s David?” Alison
prompted, after a while.  “I expect you
still keep his ‘golf clubs’ locked away, mmm? 
With spikes, if I remember rightly.”

“Oh no” Emily giggled.  “David had the operation – I’m sure I must
have told you about it?”

“Operation, dear?” Great-Aunt
Maggie butted in, apparently pleased to be on her home turf of ailments and
remedies.

“Yes Mags.  I took him in last year to have his errr” –
and she caught her cousin’s eye – “to have his ‘tonsils’ taken out.”

“That’s good”, her Great-Aunt
replied.  “Much better off without them.”

“Oh yes”, Emily laughed.  “He’s a changed man, without any ‘tonsils’
any more.”

“Did you get to watch the
operation?”, Alison asked with interest, as she had been thinking about arranging
for Mark to have his ‘tonsils’ removed too.

“Oh yes” her cousin replied
breathlessly.  “It was great!  They strapped him dow – I mean, they bandaged
him up tightly, and then they let me watch as they removed each of them in
turn.  They even let me do the final
little snip.  Gosh, it was so
exciting!  I had a – errr – hot flush right there in the operating
theatre!”

“So was Mark under anaesthetic?”
Alison asked, beginning to feel the stirrings of a ‘hot flush’ herself, and
wondering whether Great-Aunt Mags would mind if the two excused themselves and
went upstairs to visit their old bedrooms.

“No – not even a local, not if
you don’t want it” her cousin replied, giggling.  “He made quite a fuss, especially just before
the first ‘tonsil’ came off – I mean, ‘out’.”

“And they even let me keep the
tonsils afterwards” she added, casually. 
“They’re in a little jar in my bedside drawer.”

“How lovely”, Emily
breathed.  “So is David much more obedi –
I mean, is he a bit more co-operative now?”

“Oh yes”, her cousin smiled.  “He does anything I want.  And the housework’s all done, spic and span
every time. And he also – ”

“Itr was the electric that did
that!” Great-Aunt Maggie broke in.

“You what, Mags?”

“The electric.  For housework.  Made all the difference.  Oh, before that it was impossible to get the
place clean.  Cos before that we’d just
had gas, and that wasn’t the same, not at all. 
Your Great Uncle Bert liked the gas, but I said, ‘no – we’re moving with
the times, Bert, we’re going electric.”

“That right, Mags?”, smiled
Alison, indulgently.

“Ooooh yes.  I’ll tell you, as soon as we got that
electric installed, I said ‘Right Bert, this is how it’s going to be from now
on.  This is the future, this is.’ And he
didn’t know the first thing about it!  He
said, what’s it do then, Mags?  That’s
what he said.”

“Didn’t he know about electricity
then, Mags?”

“Oh no, dear.  This was 1938, and he was never very
technical, wasn’t Bert.  So I showed
him!  I plugged a cable into that socket
– we only had the one socket when we first got the electric put in – and I
attached one wire to the tip of his willy, using a hairclip, and shoved the
other up his arse and switched it on!  Oooh,
he found out what it did then!  You
should have seen him jumping about screaming ‘Switch it off, Mistress, I’ll be
good Mistress!’  Never had a moment’s
trouble from him after that – housework all done, all my meals served in bed
and a lovely bit of oral every Sunday morning before church.  Oh – and when we needed a bit of extra money,
to buy a telly for the coronation, it just took one little dose of the electric
and he was off giving hand jobs to demobbed soldiers for two bob a time, just
to get a bit of extra money in.
Oh, it
used to scare the willies out of him, the electric, old Bert! Even worse than
the birch.  He used to say ‘Oh please Mistress, give me two dozen with the
birch instead!  Anything but the
electric, Mistress!’  ‘Course, I always
gave him double voltage when he tried to argue like that! And I’d sit on his
face while he was taking it, too! 
Lovely, that was.  Dear me.  Happy
days.”
She paused in contented
contemplation of times past, as her two great-nieces sat in shocked silence.

“Anyway, speaking of a bit of
oral, dears, I’ve got a lovely 24 year-old strapped to my bed upstairs –
Polish, or Czechyslovenian or one of those places.  Doesn’t speak a word of English, but he goes
like a train and he knows what to do with his tongue when you take a flogger to
him. 
And I’ve got a brand-new strap-on
that’s going to make him squeal a bit too! 
So I’ll leave you young people to natter about your golf and tonsils,
and I’ll take myself off for an early night and a good hard fuck.  See you in the morning, dears.”
And with that, the ninety-seven year old eased herself up from her chair and slowly hobbled over to where the chairlift was waiting to carry her upstairs, leaving her younger relatives to wonder what else they might have been missing all of these years.
 
THE END

Femdom story: Locked

Well, I’ll bet no one has ever written a femdom story with that title before!  Anyway, here’s my take on it.

Locked

 “Are you all right,
Mrs Taylor?” the doctor asked, stepping quickly to the side of the tall blonde
lady standing over the hospital bed.

Janet nodded dumbly.


“Yes…yes.  I’m
fine.  It’s just a bit of a shock, that’s
all.  Seeing him – like this.  I mean, it’s just as you described it, of
course.  But somehow it’s different
seeing it for real.”

The doctor nodded understandingly. “Locked-in syndrome takes
quite some getting used to”, she said. 
“But he’s still in there.  It’s
still your husband.”

“Alan”, Janet murmured. 
“Yes, it’s still my Alan in there. 
But he can’t move a muscle?”

“Well…” the doctor replied. 
“His internal muscles like the heart are all in good working order.  And look – you see? – he can still blink his
eyes.  That’ll make it a lot easier to
look after him – no need for eyedroppers to keep the eyeballs moist, you
see.  But otherwise, no muscular control
at all.  Yet he can feel everything.”

“Mmmm” Janet said, reaching out and gently running her
fingertips up the inner thigh of her immobilised husband.  “And he can see as well?”

“Oh yes” the doctor replied. 
“Although of course he can’t control what he’s actually looking at.  But you can move the eyeballs – no, here, let
me do it.  It’s best to wear gloves.”

And she deftly reached out and with a rubber-tipped finger
flicked each eyeball round so that Alan was staring right at his wife.  The effect was a little uncanny, but Janet
forced herself to smile.

“And you can hear me too, can’t you Alan?  Every word.”

She sighed slightly, and reached out again, this time
pinching a small roll of Alan’s flesh between her fingers.  Steadily she compressed it, letting her
elegant nails dig deeply into the flesh. 
She watched the tiny buds of blood appear as she gently sawed her nails
from side to side, and smiled again in satisfaction.

“Oh, we’re going to have such fun when I get you home.” she
murmured, and put her hand to her mouth to taste the blood.

“Well, you can take him home whenever you like” the doctor
shrugged.  “Everything’s fine; he’s fully
recovered from the operation.  Those
marks on his wrists and ankles will go away in a few days.  They’re just from where he was struggling
when he was restrained.”

“Oh yes!” Janet replied. 
“It seems so strange now, seeing him so silent and peaceful like
this.  The last time I saw him he was
thrashing about and screaming and begging so frantically…it’s a good thing he
was so firmly tied down.”

“Yes, well they usually react rather vigorously when they’re
told what the operation is really for” the doctor replied.    “I
used to prefer them to be anaesthetised, but I’m quite used to it now.  As long as the head and upper body are held
quite firmly, I can operate no matter how much of a fuss they’re making.”

She turned Alan’s head, leaving it to flop sideways, the
eyes now looking away from them, and showed Janet a small, neat scar on the
back of his head, just above the neck.

“Is it difficult?” Janet asked, with interest.

“It’s a bit fiddly”, the doctor replied casually.  “A few years ago, we were just paralysing the
whole body, and that was pretty straightforward, just a quick cut through the
spinal cord and it’s done.  But tailoring
it so that he can still feel, is very delicate work – and leaving the eyelids
operational is a skilled job.  It took
over four hours for the whole thing, and he was conscious all the time.  Nowadays I rather enjoy the screaming and
pleading, so I leave those nerves until last.”

“You don’t remember what his last words were, by any chance,
do you?” Janet enquired.

The doctor paused, thinking hard, then shook her head.

“I’m sorry, I really don’t. 
It was mostly just pitiful pleading at that point. ‘Please don’t do
this.  Oh please, please.  For pity’s sake.’  That kind of thing.  Is it important?”

“Oh no” Janet replied. 
“I just wondered.”

“Of course, keeping it reversible adds to the complexity”
the doctor remarked.  “We have to tie all
the cut ends up neatly, so we could reattach them if need be.  Are you likely to want to bring him back?”

“No, not very likely” Janet replied.  “But what I thought I might do – are you
listening to this Alan? – what I thought I might do, is roll two dice every
year, on the anniversary of the operation. If he gets a double six, I promise
I’ll bring him back and he can be fully restored.  For a month. 
Then I’ll put him back like this.”

“So you’re giving him some hope” the doctor nodded.  “Every year, he’ll wonder whether he’ll be
able to move and speak again.  A one in
36 chance each time.”

“That’s right” Janet replied.  “I wanted to give him a little spark of hope
that it won’t be forever.  It’ll make the
misery of his existence just that bit harder to bear.”

She smiled again.

“Of course, he doesn’t have
to wait for the dice.  If I chose to, I
could let him out at any time!”

“I think his chances are probably better with the dice!”,
the  doctor smiled back.  “But it must be nice to have that control.”

“Total control” murmured Janet, and on a whim she turned her
husband’s head back again so that he was staring at them.  His eyes started blinking furiously.
“Locked.  Aren’t you, Alan?  And I have the key!”
 
Now this next bit won’t hurt…it’s the bit after that hurts.
 


Femdom story: Something for the boys 3/3

The thrilling finale of a new Serena and Alice story (this third chunk obviously starts with part 4, because, because…errr…because that’s how we do things around here).

This part of the story gets very heavy indeed, with scenes of torture, non-consensual physical harm and even death done to (supposedly) humorous effect.  Seriously, this bit gets quite squicky.  If you don’t like that, that’s absolutely fine, and you don’t have to read it. It’s also a love story.

The story so far: Alice is visiting her friend Serena, who is a real scientist! Read all about it here. And here!

Serena and Alice: Something for the boys 3/3



Ready to do some science?


Part 4 – in which we
nearly reach the end

After Serena, Alice and Colin had all finished their orgasms
– the ladies first, but then Alice managed another by giving her former
schoolmate a good ball-kicking, once the agonies of his half-hour orgasm had
ceased – the ladies had tea brought in, and Colin dragged out.

“Funny Colin” Alice murmured in happy memory.  Colin was the class clown, always ready with
a joke to defuse tension and make everyone laugh.  Once he’d managed to cheer her up, after her
pet rabbit had died.  It had been lovely
to see him again, she thought, still tingling at the memory of his desperate
shrieks for mercy as she’d kicked at his poor, drained testicles.  Perhaps Serena would let her have him – she
made a mental note to ask quickly, while he still survived.  Too often she’d noticed men she fancied in
Serena’s establishment, and asked about them a few days later, only to be
greeted with the familiar little smile and shake of the head. 

Serena had been checking her phone again, while her friend
was thinking these nostalgic thoughts. 
“Right, I think one of them’s ready” she announced, snapping it away.

“One of whom?” Alice asked, grammatically.  “And why do you keep checking your phone?”

“It’s monitoring some experiments.  And one of them is about ready. Now then, I
was starting to tell you – “

“About the opposite of dribbly-cock man!” Alice burst in
with delight.  “You were saying – what if
instead of dilating the tubes permanently, you kept them closed permanently!”

Serena nodded affectionately.  “That’s right” she said. “And what do you
think will happen then?”

“Well” Alice began, excitedly, “I bet you think I’m going to
say that it would be no different from being in permanent chastity.  Well I’m not!”

Serena smiled again. 
She did love Alice.  Oh, she was a
little young and inexperienced.  But she
had so much enthusiasm, so much life!  Her protégé was making steady progress,
and although Alice was no scientist, Serena was confident that one day, men
would wake up screaming in terror at the thought of her name.  She let her friend, now bubbling with girlish
enthusiasm, continue.

“Only I know that men kept in permanent chastity leak a bit.
Even David does – and he gets released every three months.  If he’s good, anyway.  But men have been kept in chastity for years
and years, and they cry a bit, but they’re basically OK.  And that’s because they leak.”

Serena nodded approval – although she had finally noticed
that Alice kept referring to David’s genitals in the present tense.  She made a mental note to take a portable
emasculating kit with her the next time she visited (but in the event, she
forgot, and they had to use a kitchen knife and two bricks instead – but it was
a lot of fun).

“That’s right, they leak. 
Oh – and they lose the sexual urge quite a bit as well.  I put my first boy in chastity when I was
sixteen, so that’s fourteen years now (more like 21, Alice thought a little
cattishly) and it’s quite rare that he even tries to get erections.  I think if I let him out now, he’d be
impotent.  And he was a virgin when I
locked him up too!”

“But seriously” Serena went on, “Suppose they couldn’t
leak.  And suppose their natural
tendencies to sexual desire weren’t allowed to decline through non-use, but
were chemically stimulated?”

“Then they’d keep on producing semen, but there wouldn’t be
anywhere for it to go!” Alice chimed in delightedly.  She’d worked this out for herself.  “And after a while, as the semen builds up
and up and up, they’d start to look – “

“Like that” Serena concluded, as with perfect dramatic
timing, a third experiment was escorted in. 
This one walked like a cowboy, taking great sideways strides as it tried
to move with minimal disturbance to the mass hanging down between its legs.

Alice clapped her hands delightedly and leaned forwards for
a closer look, as the slave finally hauled himself to a stop before them.  Then she drew back, looking disappointed.

“Awww”  she said.  “I mean, they’re big and they’re obviously
uncomfortable.  But I thought they’d be
full to bursting.  I was looking forward
to seeing them go pop!  Like that bird in
Shrek.”

“You mean the one Princess Fiona sings to and it explodes?”
Serena asked.  “Yes, I remember.  I thought that was in rather bad taste, to
show an animal being hurt like that – even in a cartoon.”

“Yes, there’s too much of that sort of casual cruelty in the
movies these days.” Alice agreed.  “But
look, I thought the outside would be all shiny, with the inside full to
bursting with unspent semen.  Ready to
burst.  Pop!” and her voice rather faded
away in a little reverie as she pronounced the last word.

“Well, the testicles are very full.” Serena explained.  “But that’s just the scrotal sac we’re seeing
there.  It has lots of spare room, that’s
why it’s all wrinkly and you can pull it about so much.  No matter how big the testicles get, they’re
not going to stretch the scrotal sac to bursting.  It’s just too loose.”

“No pop!” Alice murmured sadly to herself, and settled back
in her chair.

“Oh come on!” Serena said, sharply.  “Have I ever let you down?  We had to wait until the right moment for a
reason.  Boy! Come here.”

The experiment shuffled very slowly forward, and unhappily
met her gaze.

“Do you know why you’re here?” Serena asked.

“Well, Miss” he began. 
“I cheated on my girlfriend, so she tricked me into coming here to
interview for an IT job, and while I was waiting two big guys came up with a
big rubber sack, and they…”

“Why you’re here in front of us, fool!”

“Oh.  Cause of my balls,
Miss.”

“What about your balls? 
And call me Mistress.”

“Yes Mistress.  Well,
they’re full.  Very full. I’m one of
seven boys in this experimental pound, and mine are the biggest.  Though number 31B’s are growing very fast” he
added, hopefully.

Serena smiled.  “No,
yours are the fullest all right” she said, gently waving her phone at him.  “It’s all here. So – how long have they been
filling, do you remember?”

“No Miss – Mistress! 
I was made to masturbate soon after I arrived.  That was a few months ago.”

“And what happened after that?” Serena asked sweetly.

“Well, I was beaten with a whip, Mistress, because you said
that although I had to be allowed to come in the interests of the experiment,
that was no reason not to punish me severely – “

“I mean what happened in the experiment, you idiot!” Serena
screamed at him, wondering whether brain damage was some kind of side-effect of
the drugs.

“Oh.  Well, I was
taken off to a room, where I was immobilised in a sort of iron and leather
frame.  And I’ve been there ever
since.  There were other boys in there
when I got there, but they all got taken away. 
And new ones came to replace them. 
I’m the longest resident now.”

“Were” Serena said, quietly. 
“You’ve been taken away now, too.”

“Yes Miss” the experiment replied, unhappily.

“And you haven’t had an orgasm since?”

“No Miss.”

“Would you like one?”

“No thank you, Miss.”

“Boy, if I have to remind you to call me Mistress once more,
you’ll regret it.  You might think that
nothing worse can happen to you than what you’re going through.  But you’d be wrong.  Now – you say you don’t want an orgasm.  Why not?”

“I’m scared, Mistress.”

“Scared of what?”

“Of what might happen to my swollen balls, Mistress.”

“Do you know what will happen to them?  If you come?”

“No Mistress.”

“Oh!  I do.  Shall I tell you?  Well, if you get excited, first of all it’ll
be just like a normal orgasm if you remember anything about that.  The muscles will squeeze, and try to push
semen up the tubes into your penis and out. 
But that way’s blocked, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“So the semen – under very high pressure now – will try to
find other ways.  Some of it will break
through the tissue of the testicles into your scrotal sack.  That’ll feel odd, won’t it?  To have semen sloshing around loose inside
your scrotal sac?  I said, that’ll feel
odd, won’t it boy!”

“Yes Mistress” quavered his voice.  “Very odd.”

“Yes.  It will.  But not much of the semen can get out that
way, so the rest will try to force itself up any tube it can find.  Some of it will rupture blood vessels.  Do you know how you get an erection boy?”

“Blood pumps into the penis, and it becomes engorged and – “
he began and was rapidly shushed by Serena, who was now much too excited to let
him speak for long.

“Exactly!  So with the
blood vessels ruptured, the blood will keep on pumping, pumping – where?”

“Ummm, I – “ he began.

“Down!” Serena gasped triumphantly.  “Down into that scrotal sac, pumping it
fuller and fuller, with blood mixed with semen.”

“Yes, Mistress” he groaned.

“And quite often the urethral tubes are ruptured as well, so
your bladder empties into the scrotum too.” Serena added, pleasantly.  “Is your bladder full boy?”

“Very Mistress”, he admitted wretchedly.

“Well, not for long. So with all that additional liquid pumping
in, well, I’m afraid even Mr Wrinkly Scrotum is going to start to look like a
balloon.  More like a balloon being
filled with water under a tap than an air balloon, but a balloon nonetheless.  And gravity and your heart there will keep
pouring liquid in until – “

“Pop!” said Alice rapturously, from her seat to the side.

“Pop.” Serena concluded. 
“So all that will happen if you come, boy.  You might want to control yourself.”

“Yes, Mistress” he sobbed, in fear. “Oh please,
Mistress.  Don’t make me come.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Serena said sharply.  “I’m not going to make you come.” She
indicated her friend with a nod of her head. 
“Go and kneel down in front of Miss Alice, boy”.
Science.  There are always more questions to be answered.
 

 He did as he was
told, with something of a sigh of relief when his bulging ball-sac finally made
contact with the floor. Alice leaned forward.

“What’s your name?” she asked, softly.

He blinked in surprise. 
“Er, Alan, Miss.  Mistress?”

“Miss will do fine with me, Alan.” she said, kindly.  “Did you live near here Alan?  I mean, before you were captured?”

“Yes Miss.  Near the
football ground.”

“Why, we’re practically neighbours.” Alice smiled.  “You must give me the name and address of
your ex-girlfriend.  I’m sure she’d like
to hear about you.”

Alan wrote down the contact details in the small book she
proffered, then handed it back.

“Yes.  Cheating on
your girlfriend.  Tut tut.  Well, I’m sure she’ll be delighted to hear
about what happened to you.  I’ll drop
round and let her know tomorrow.” And her foot moved gently forward, so the toe
of her shoe delicately bumped against Alan’s penis.  Which instantly twitched into life.

“Oh please, Miss?” he begged.

“Please?  Please what,
Alan?” she replied, as the sole of her shoe began rhythmic pressing against the
underside of his penis.

“Please don’t make me come, Miss.” he sobbed in terror.

“Me, Alan?” she replied with mock surprise, as her foot
continued its work.  “I’m not going to
make you come.  I’m just sitting
here.  The only person who can make you
come is you, Alan.  By thinking impure
thoughts about me. Thoughts about my breasts, for example.  Or thoughts about what sort of underwear I
might be wearing” – she shifted slightly in her chair, crossing and uncrossing
her legs – “here.”

“Oh Miss” he groaned.

“You see, Alan, Serena’s already explained what will happen
if you come, hasn’t she?  Your balls will
rupture and your scrotal sac will fill with a disgusting mix of semen, blood
and urine and “ –

She broke off as a thought struck her.  “Won’t it make an awful mess?” she asked her
friend, anxiously. “When he explodes, I mean. 
Only I don’t have a change of clothes with me, and – “

“Don’t worry” Serena reassured her.  “It takes a while to build up.  We’ll put him in a big see-through plastic
bag before it bursts.”

“That’s a relief” smiled Alice.  “I thought it all sounded a bit extreme.”

She turned her attention back to the boy in front of her,
and resumed the rhythmic action with her foot.

“So anyway, Alan” she remarked kindly.  “As I was saying, if you come, your testicles
will rupture and your scrotal sac will explode. 
So… if you were a sensible human being, you might decide not to come, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Miss.  Oh
please, Miss.” he begged.

“But you’re not a sensible human being, are you Alan?  You’re a man. 
And if you could control your nasty little urges, you wouldn’t have
cheated on that lovely girlfriend – Carly, is it? – and this wouldn’t be
happening to you, would it?  So maybe
this is just all for the best.”

And she continued gently batting the engorged organ until
some heavy breathing and grunts from Alan told her that the interesting bit was
about to begin.  She drew back, and
watched with keen interest.

Epilogue

It took about 20 minutes for the scrotal sac to fill.  Alice was surprised, and impressed, to see
how painful the process seemed to be.  Looking
at her delighted face, Serena reflected once again on how wonderfully varied
the world of a sadist could be.  You
might think that when you’ve heard one man screaming in agony, tinged with
desperate fear for his life, you’ve heard them all.  But there were different harmonics, different
cadences to the screams, depending on the precise location and form of the pain
– as well as just its intensity.  Serena
could no more become bored with torturing men than a true connoisseur of wine
could become bored with wine.  The
intensity of the pain was one element – and an important one to be sure – but
to that extent, it was not so different from, say, the alcohol content of a
fine wine.  Obviously essential to the
enjoyment to be present in sufficient strength, but by no means the only aspect
of the experience to be sampled, tasted and enjoyed.

At Serena’s institute, Alice was in the equivalent of the
cellars of Chateau-Laffite – here she could sample the glorious range of raw
power and subtle experiences that she was gradually learning to savour
slowly.  With her young enthusiasm,
married to a real instinct for cruelty, Serena marvelled, her little friend
gave her a purpose for her experiments that had revitalised her own jaded palette.
 That was why she adored her.

She also fucked like a rabbit of course, Serena reflected,
as her friend drew her forwards once again into her arms, but after a loving
kiss Alice rapidly wriggled around to put both sets of lips to more direct
use.  Serena just had the presence of
mind to command her slaves to place Alan into a thick transparent plastic bag,
before she was herself overwhelmed and unable to speak, barely able to breathe.

Later, the two ladies sat, exhausted, on the floor, leaning
against the plastic bag that contained what remained of Alan.  It was certainly a mess, and quite smelly
too, although in their post-coitus bliss, the ladies didn’t mind. Remarkably,
he was still alive, although he’d lost a lot of blood, and the internal rupturing
would surely eventually be fatal. He’d lived to witness their orgasms, Alice
reflected, and wondered briefly whether he got any comfort from the thought
that his agonising death was causing so much pleasure to others.  Probably not, she thought.  Men could be so selfish.

“So what did it feel like having your testicles explode?”
Serena called through the bag.  “Don’t
worry  – I promise I’ll never do that to you again!”

“Oh…oh Miss” came the faint voice from inside.

“Right” Serena said, getting to her feet.  “He can’t say I didn’t warn him.”

She gathered the open end of the bag together, and tied it
tightly in a knot. Inside, Alan looked out despairingly.  His head was down the other end, and with his
insides ruptured there was little he could do to struggle.  He could only look on, as Serena sealed
inside the last oxygen that he would ever breathe.

“It’s ‘Mistress’ she said curtly, as she sat down again.
Honestly!  Boys can be so rude!”

“Mmmm” Alice said, snuggling closer to her.  “Suffocation. 
I love suffocation.”

“Or drowning” Serena pointed out.  “Look” And she tipped the bag slightly, until
Alan’s face was resting in the smeary mixture. 
He coughed and gurgled, and the ladies fell about laughing as a piece of
his ruined testicle was sucked into his mouth.

The two watched in contented silence for a few minutes,
occasionally tipping the bag, to give Alan a chance to gulp at some of the
increasingly stale air.

Alice looked around the room where she had spent such a
happy afternoon.  There was the bloodstain
from the servant whom Serena had accidentally castrated with the remote
control.  There was the tiny stain on the
carpet where Mr Dribbly Cock had spilled some of the never-ending dribble of
semen from his useless cock.  There was
the much larger set of semen stains, where Colin had deposited every single
drop that had been in his testicles, and then writhed in agony for a further 25
minutes while his continuing orgasm crushingly hammered on his empty
balls.  And here beside them, now, lay
Alan, feebly choking his last on his own shredded testicles and bodily
fluids.  She felt perfectly at peace.

Suddenly she was seized with an overpowering sense of
purpose.  She looked urgently at Serena,
who gazed back rather startled by the fire in her eyes.

“Serena” Alice began, slowly.  “I love you and I want to marry you.  Please. 
Please let’s be married.  I want to
spend the rest of my life with you.”

Serena smiled back. 
“But what about David?” she asked, mockingly.

“Oh, you can have David”, Alice giggled. “I want him to
spend the rest of his life with you,
too.”

“We’ll look after David together” Serena murmured, and
leaned forward for a kiss, from the willingly proffered lips of her
bride-to-be.
Happy ever after.
 


Well, I hope you enjoyed that.  Especially the romantic element.  I’m just a sucker for that kind of thing: boy meets girl, girl enslaves boy, girl meets other girl, girls torture boy to death… it’s the oldest story in the world, but we never get tired of it do we?  Do we?  Hello?  Anyone still here? 

 

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