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? 

 

Femdom story: Something for the boys 2/3


The second chunk of a new Serena and Alice story, which I’ll publish in three chunks (it starts with part 3 below, because the parts I’m posting it in are not the same as the parts of the story and… and… oh it all made sense at the time).

This story gets quite heavy, particularly towards the end, with scenes of torture, non-consensual physical harm and even death done to (supposedly) humorous effect. 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.

 
 Serena
and Alice: Something for the boys 2/3
Part 3 – in which we struggle beyond halfway



Serena’s experimental subjects are all kept in carefully controlled conditions, to ensure that there are no distractions or environmental conditions that might affect the results of experiments.  Otherwise the science doesn’t work.

 

 “So that’s what happens when you mess with the hormones that
inhibit release of semen in day-to-day life” Serena remarked, once Experiment3564G
had left the room.  “No orgasms.  But what do you think happens if you do the
opposite, and close the tubes permanently?”

“Well, then no semen would ever be released, and…” Alice
began slowly.

Serena flicked open a mobile phone and stared briefly at the
screen.  “Actually, I’ll come back to
that a little later” she said.  “They
might be ready by then.”

“But there’s something almost as good”, she continued with
mounting enthusiasm.  “You’ve seen
continuous release. But what about a continuous orgasm? What if a man’s orgasm,
once started, just went on and on?”

“Well, that doesn’t sound cruel at all” Alice replied, in
disappointment.  “You’re not here to increase their sexual pleasure, after
all.”

Serena grinned wickedly. 
“Send in Experiment 7658H!” she called.

Soon a naked man stood shamefacedly before them, his wrists
handcuffed behind his back.  When he
glanced nervously up, Alice felt a sudden delighted shock of recognition.  It was someone she’d known at school –
called…oh, Carl?  Clive?  Colin! 
That was it.  This was Colin.  She’d quite liked Colin, she recalled.  How very enjoyable this was going to be.  There was always something rather special
about watching men that you knew suffer. 
And despite her misgivings about Serena’s promise of a ‘continuous orgasm’,
she thought it pretty likely that this one was going to suffer.  Serena had occasionally conducted experiments
that did not involve pain, humiliation and mutilation, but only when strictly
necessary in the interest of scientific progress.  And even then, generally she made sure the
subjects suffered in other ways. It was part of her dedication.

Colin caught Alice’s eye, and there was a sudden shock of
recognition.  Briefly, an expression of
wild, desperate hope started to spread across his face before Alice smiled
sweetly, gently shook her head and settled down with eyes half closed to watch
the fun.

Serena had noticed none of this, as she was busy pointing
out the altered features that Colin – or Experiment 7658H as he now was, and
would be forever – now possessed.

“You see, for too long I was investigating what causes
orgasms” she explained.  “But actually,
once they’ve started, orgasms would just keep going unless they receive a
chemical signal to stop.  So we suppress
that chemical signal.”

“Another little pill?” Alice asked.

Her friend shook her head, and pointed to a small red mark
on the side of the Experiment’s testicles. 
“There’s a gland in there.” she explained.  “We just drill in” – and at this point, Colin
looked a little faint, as if assailed by an unpleasant memory – “and then burn
it out.  Then we do the other side” and
Colin obediently turned to show an identical scar on the other side of his ball
sac.

“And then he can come continuously” Serena said. She looked
at her friend expectantly, but Alice sat in silence. She still thought it
sounded rather nice – once the testicle-drilling was out of the way, of course.

Serena clucked in exasperation.  “You’ll see” she said.  “Boy! 
When did you last come?”

“About seven weeks ago, Mistress.  38 days, actually.”

“So, back in May?” Serena prompted.

“Yes, if… err… if it’s late June or early July now,
Mistress.” Colin replied, uneasily.

“And have you been locked up since that date?” Serena
persisted.

The man shook his head. “No Mistress.  I’ve been like this.”

“And do you have a lot of distractions?” Serena continued?

“No Mistress” he replied, rather emphatically Alice
thought.  “I’m kept naked and alone in a
room with nothing but a mattress and a bucket which serves as my toilet and
feeding pail.”

“Then why don’t you masturbate?” Alice broke in, in
exasperation.  “All boys masturbate, if
they can. Those handcuffs are hardly going to stop you.  You could rub yourself up against a
wall.  Why don’t you?”

“Because he doesn’t want to” Serena said, slyly.  “Do you, boy?”

“Well he wants to now” her friend said, obstinately. “Look”

Sure enough, the man’s initial terror at being in Serena’s
presence seemed to have been overcome, because his penis was steadily firming
up – and very soon began to rise.

“Boing!” Serena said, triumphantly.  “Men – so predictable.  Come here boy.”

Experiment7658H shuffled forward, whimpering slightly, the
tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes.

“Poor thing” Serena said sympathetically.  “All that time, with no release.  Why look at it – it’s practically bursting!”
And that seemed to remind her of something, as she opened her phone again as if
to check something before turning back to the matter at hand.

“No, still got some time yet” she muttered to herself.  Then she turned her attention back to the
penis in front of her, which was now rigidly upright, and purple at the tip. 

“Gosh, so ready
she whispered seductively.  “Mmmm.  So desperate to come. “ She unbuttoned her
blouse a little and Colin turned desperately to look at Alice who, realising
the game, gently drew her skirt up to expose her stocking tops.

“Do you know” Serena continued to coo.  “I really do think it’s ready to come.  Mmm. 
Any moment now. So if I just – “

         
and she 
leaned forward until her face was nearly touching the engorged cock,
parted her lips slightly and –

         
blew
hard, the sudden burst of air making the penis sway back and forth.  Colin groaned.

  “Maybe one more “
she murmured, and blew again, this time causing the head to tap gently against
the man’s quivering stomach.  This was
more than enough for Colin, and he instantly started to grunt violently, as his
penis jerked about uncontrollably.

“Here we go” giggled Serena, drawing back quickly, to avoid
being splattered (to Colin’s extreme good fortune, it must be said.  He thought his life in the featureless cell
was hellish, but it was as nothing compared to the life he would have led –
admittedly rather briefly – had a drop of his semen polluted Serena’s person or
clothes.).

Colin was now well into the throes of orgasm. “UH! UH!” he
was grunting, in the usual way in which males experiencing an orgasm betray
their close affinity to pigs and cattle.

“See the balls jerking about?” Serena pointed out.  “The muscles are contracting, squeezing
seminal fluid out from the sort of spongy stuff it’s stored in, up the tubes
and – well, all over the floor just for now.”

Alice nodded quietly, wondering once again how so many women
could stand to have that sort of thing going on inside them.  Vanilla sex. 
It made her flesh creep just thinking about it.

Then she realised that something was odd.  The grunting wasn’t dying away, but was
becoming louder, and a little more urgent.

“He’s been spurting for about 40 seconds now” Serena
remarked.  “Already quite a lot longer
than the average orgasm.  He’s expelled –
oh, maybe three or four times the usual amount. 
And he’s still going on, as you see.”

The man’s grunts were more like shrieks now, as his orgasm
continued into its second minute.  The
semen continued to come out, but simply emerging and flowing away to the side,
now, lacking the volume to become airborne. 
But still it kept on coming – and so did Colin.  His balls were pumping as hard as ever, and
now his legs gave way, and he collapsed to the floor, still shrieking, his
genitals still thrashing around as if being whipped.  And clearly, it was at least as painful as
being whipped too.

“As the testicles run dry” Serena remarked “as the last few
drops are squeezed” – and here she
smiled as , with perfect timing, a particularly strong contraction resulted In
the emergence of another drop, and a despairing howl from Colin – “from the
tissue, it really starts to hurt.”







Of course, to do science properly you need a lot of precision-made equipment.

 

Alice nodded.  “I
remember when I used to let David have more than one orgasm” she agreed.  “It gets really sore.  After a bit, he didn’t want any more.  Used to say it was like having someone
scraping a nail inside your balls and penis, when you’re coming but there’s
really nothing left.”

Her friend nodded back. “Yes, quite a lot of men say
that.  Actually, you know, I tested it
and it’s not true.  Having a nail
scraping along inside the testicles feels quite different” and she wiggled her
beautifully manicured crimson fingernails at Alice with a wicked grin.

“But I know what they mean. 
It really hurts.  Of course, it
depends how potent the man is to begin with, how long they’ll enjoy it.  This process here” – and she indicated the
writhing man before them – “is the equivalent of about six orgasms a minute.  So Colin here, who is now on about his fourth
minute, is nearly at the equivalent of his twentieth. And he wasn’t very potent
to begin with – strictly a once-a-night man.”

Alice gazed in fascination. 
Once-a-night indeed!  David was a
four times a year man.  It was amazing to
think that the man in front of her had just experienced more sexual activity
than David could expect in five years. 
Well – she checked her watch – more like six years now.

“How long does it last?” she asked.

“About thirty minutes” Serena replied quietly.  “Of course, there’s nothing left to pump
after five minutes or so.  But his balls
keep on trying.  On and on, squeezing and
jerking away. And then he’s sore for weeks afterwards, of course.”

“I’d never thought of multiple orgasms as being a
punishment” Alice said, in wonder.

Serena smiled at her. 
“They needn’t be, you know” she said softly, and held her arms out.  And the two girls giggled and shrieked their
way to their own form of continuous orgasm, while below them Experiment7658H
(“Colin”, Alice thought deliciously, now what was his second name?) screamed blue murder as he lay on the floor,
jerking uncontrollably in a pool of seven weeks of his own semen production, in
the hellish agony that was now his sexual life.

Ready to do some science.

 

Femdom story: Something for the boys 1/3

 

Linking to my older stories a few weeks back inspired me, so here is a new Serena and Alice story, which I’ll publish in three parts.  This story gets quite heavy, particularly towards the end, with scenes of torture, non-consensual physical harm and even death done to (supposedly) humorous effect. If you don’t like that, that’s absolutely fine, and you don’t have to read it.  It’s also a love story.

Don’t try any of this at home, by the way.  Use someone else’s place, as most of the activities are quite messy.

Serena and Alice: Something for the boys 1/3

Serena and Alice… aren’t they sweet?



“So what have you been up to lately – anything interesting?”
Alice asked happily.  She always looked
forward to her visits to her friend Serena’s laboratory, where so many men had
been subjected to… interesting… medical procedures.  All strictly in the cause of science, of
course.

“Oh”, Serena said casually. 
“Not much really.  I’ve been
working a bit on the male orgasm.  Trying
to improve the mechanism, you know.”

Alice felt slightly disappointed.  “Male orgasm? 
You?” she enquired.  “I thought
you didn’t really approve of males having orgasms.  You always used to say that the best place
for a man’s testicles is in your medical cabinet”

Her friend smiled, and glanced lovingly at the wall covered
in wooden drawers, where her world-famous collection was housed.  “True, but you have to work with what there
is.” she replied.  “There are still a lot
of men in the world who are uncastrated.” 
She looked sad for a moment, while Alice reminded herself for the
umpteenth time that she really must take David in to be done.  She hoped Serena wouldn’t ask after him, as
it was quite an embarrassment to her that he was still complete.  Fortunately, Serena very rarely showed any
signs of interest in specific, individual men.

“Yes… so as there are still men out there having orgasms, I
thought I might look into the subject” Serena continued.  “See if I could… you know… improve things a
bit.  It’s all rather complicated down
there, as it turns out.  Lots of
different muscles, hormones.  Lots of
stuff you can fiddle with.”

”Pain receptors too, of course” she added,
thoughtfully.  Both ladies nodded
wisely.  Both were big fans of the
concentration of pain receptors in the testicles.  Indeed, Serena had identified at least
seventeen different ways of castrating a male while leaving the full complement
of pain receptors in place – or even enhancing it.

“A male orgasm is surprisingly complex, for such simple
creatures” Serena continued.  “Of course,
in its effects it’s not as sophisticated as the female ecstasy.  Four or five little squirts and it’s
done.  But there’s a complex machinery of
hormones and chemicals, as there’s first an erection, then the testicles
prepare to spurt, while tubes constrict to hold it back, then the tubes dilate,
muscular action results in rapid excretion of the seminal fluid, and then the
erection dies down again.”

“And then he goes back in his tube for three months” Alice
thought, absently.

“Anyway” Serena continued, “a very complex mechanism.  So I just thought I’d mess around with it a
bit: take a few parts out, put them back in in a different place, see what
happens if you try to run it all backwards, that kind of thing.”

“So what does happen” asked Alice, breathlessly.  She was so proud to have such a clever
scientist for a friend.

“Well, mostly nothing.” Serena admitted.  “Generally, if you mess around with it, it
just stops working, in one way or another. All rather fun, of course,
especially the look on their little faces when you tell them it’ll never work
again.  But there’s lots of ways of doing
that, of course, as we both know.”

“Yes indeed”, Alice smiled, while furiously trying to
remember whether she was doing  anything
on Tuesday.  Maybe she could take David
to the clinic on Tuesday.

“But sometimes you can break things in a more amusing way”
Serena continued.  “Did you know, for
example, that men can excrete semen constantly?”

“Certainly” Alice replied rather primly.  “David used to masturbate constantly before
he met me.  I had his old house
steam-cleaned throughout when I decided he should sell it.  Goodness knows where he’d been spraying the
stuff.”

“No no” Serena remarked, kindly.  “I don’t mean masturbating frequently.  I mean constant release.  All the time.”

Her friend just looked puzzled, so Serena picked up a small
remote control by her chair and laughingly pressed a button.

Instantly one of the men standing quietly ready for service
behind them let out an agonized shriek and collapsed to the ground, his hands
clutching ineffectively at the metal device between his legs.  Alice looked over with interest to where the
man lay writhing and screaming in agony. 
Blood was seeping out from underneath the metal.  It was going to make quite a mess, but she
supposed that Serena had plenty of people who could clean it up.

“Sorry, wrong button” Serena muttered, and pressed another.
Another of the men staggered slightly as if shocked, and stepped smartly
forward.

“Alice and I would like to see Experiment 3564G” Serena
said, without looking at him. “Oh” she added, glancing behind and raising her
voice slightly to carry over the unceasing screams.  “And you’d better have that taken away and
cleaned up.”

“Maybe leave it for just a little while longer?” Alice
asked, with a slight note of urgency in her voice.

Serena looked over at her friend, who was sweating ever so
slightly and breathing heavily.

“Of course, darling” she said, leaning forward to kiss her,
her own hand reaching gently between her friend’s legs.  And the sounds of agony behind them mingled
with increasingly delighted girlish shrieks, as Alice demonstrated the
superiority of the female orgasm over any gender-inferior rivals.
 
The Government’s trying to encourage more girls to do science.  And they should.  It can be a lot of fun.
 

Part 2 – in which we
get on with the plot, for goodness sake

Fifteen minutes later, Experiment 3564G stood before two,
relaxed and happy ladies.  He was a
rather handsome young man, smartly dressed in a business suit and neatly
groomed.  Alice was a little
surprised.  Generally, when men took on
names beginning with the word “Experiment” in Serena’s domain, they soon barely
appeared, sounded or acted human at all.

“He looks pretty normal to me” she said, trying to keep a
note of disappointment out of her voice.

“Oh, he is normal” Serena agreed.  “He lives a fairly normal life – has a job,
drives a car.  Of course, it all belongs
to me.”

“Of course” Alice said, slightly shocked.  Neither lady believed that men should own
things.  As Alice had once remarked to
David, her vibrator didn’t have a bank account so why should he?

“Except that he’s secreting seminal fluid right now” Serena
continued, casually.

“Is he?  The dirty
little…” Alice began, reaching reflexively into her handbag for a whip.

“No no” her friend laughed. 
“Look closely.”

Alice leaned forward. 
There was a small damp patch on the man’s crotch.  Alice’s nose wrinkled.

“Well that’s even more disgusting” she began. “I mean, he’s
not even locked up and – ”

“Doesn’t need to be” her friend remarked, languidly.  Then she changed her tone quite
suddenly. 

“Drop your trousers!” she barked at the ‘Experiment’, who
hurriedly complied, looking nervous.  He
stood there, his genitals hanging down – still outwardly whole and (remarkably,
Alice thought) freely hanging without restraint, clamp or surgical suture.  A glistening thread of slime gently descended
from the tip of his penis towards the floor, before breaking and falling as a
tiny drop.

“Oh the filthy boy!” Alice exclaimed.  “Has he just come? Even David knows enough to
clean himself up after – “

And she broke off in embarrassment, for fear of giving away
her little secret about David’s continuing possession of his genitals.

But her friend was too absorbed to notice, and merely
laughed merrily.

“Not at all”, she replied. 
“Look”

Alice looked again, and saw another drop slowly forming, and
eventually start its slow descent to the floor at the head of a glistening
thread.

Serena and Alice… saving the world, one boy at a time.
“Yuk” she pronounced. 
“When’s it going to stop?”

“It isn’t” Serena remarked quietly.

Alice looked puzzled. 
“What – not ever?”

“Not ever” her friend replied, with pride. “He just
oozes.  All the time.”

“Does he enjoy it?”

“No” Serena shrugged. 
“Not particularly.  It doesn’t
feel like anything, I think.  It just
oozes.  Of course, his cock and balls
feel a bit tender.  You know that feeling
that men have when they’ve just had a really big orgasm?”

Alice nodded.  She
loved giving David’s balls a good hard kicking after he’d had finished – and as
his orgasms were so infrequent, they were usually pretty huge.  And then there was the penis whip…maybe she’d
keep him intact just a little longer, it could be such fun.

“Well he feels like that all the time” Serena said, happily.
“Quite sensitive down there, aren’t you?” she called out, and the man – with a
frightened glance towards her knees – hurriedly agreed.

“How do you it?” Alice asked.

Serena smiled.  “Oh,
it’s nothing. Anyone could do it.  Oh –
as long as she’s an evil medical genius, obviously!”

She paused.  There was
silence.  In irritation, she reached for
the remote control and savagely stabbed a button.  After a sharp intake of several breaths from
around the room, all of the men in attendance began laughing hysterically and
clapping in delight at the joke.

Serena nodded graciously. 
“Enough” she said quietly, and the rapturous applause ceased.

“It’s the tubes from the testicles to the penis” she
explained.  “If you dose a man up with
the right combination of hormones, you can keep them permanently dilated.  The stuff just leaks out, without any
erection or muscular contraction at all. 
And it’s just a little pill. 
Serena’s special dilation hormone formula.  No more orgasms.”

“Just a sticky mess” Alice agreed, looking in some dismay at
the spreading stain on the carpet. Perhaps that could be removed when the blood
from the earlier accidental castration was cleaned up, she thought.  She liked to have things neat and tidy.

“Horrible” Serena agreed. 
“But fortunately, Serena Enterprises has the solution.”

She reached for a plastic pack beside her.  “Sanitary towels for men!” she announced
triumphantly.  “A bit like the
traditional ladies’ ones, but more of a triangular shape, and curved. Oh – and
about five times the price.”

“Is that because they’re so much harder to manufacture?”
Alice enquired.

“No – just because I have the patent and no one else can
make them” Serena grinned.  “I have half
of a giant factory complex just outside Birmingham retooling to turn these out
by the million.”

“And the other half is making…?” Alice prompted, suspecting
she already knew the answer.

“Serena’s special dilation hormone formula, to pump into the
water supply.” her friend replied, happily. 
“If I can’t have an entirely captive market, I can at least have a
desperate one.”

Alice was again struck not only by her friend’s scientific
brilliance, but her commercial acumen too. 
‘Why couldn’t David think of ideas like that?’, she thought with
irritation, and resolved to whip him a lot harder in future.
 
Part 2 next week. (here!)
 



Even naughtier words

So, a while ago, I published a post drawing attention to – oh hang on, you want a sexy picture don’t you?

Got one right here…hold on a moment…don’t go off to tumblr yet, ah – here we go!

Ouch.  Anyway, I was just saying that occasionally I like to draw attention to the fact that this blog doesn’t just publish pictures but words too.  It’s quite a while since I wrote many stories, but in the early days on Contemplating the Divine (it was originally all in ASCII format incidentally; quite a challenge) there were lots.  And newer readers of the blog might not realise that.

Of course, they’re easy enough to find using the ‘fiction’ tag in the cloud to the right there, just below the lovely lady with the whip, but I like to be helpful (my name is a clue, there) so here are some links to some more of those early tales.

If at first you don’t succeed.  A rather typical “Mistress Valerie and Sandra” story, based on two ladies I used to know (who had different names).  Light-hearted, depending for humour and erotic effect on the contrast between the casual nature with which the ladies treat matters that are, for the submissive, of painful urgency.  As indeed do most of my captions, actually.  Anyway, here’s another, about Daylight saving time.

Serena stories, like this one called Crossed Wires, on the other hand, while also intended to be humorous, are rather heavier.  Mistress ‘Valerie’ mistreats her slaves without really noticing.  Serena enjoys their agony. She is also surgically trained; quite a good combination.  I have just written a new Serena story… 6500 words, so coming in spurts, as it were, fairly soon.

I think this one was intended as a Serena story, but she ended up being called Sabrina.  Possibly just an idiotic mistake on my part.  Wouldn’t be the first.

In the morning is just a silly little tale, turning on the difference between the sweeping romantic love with which we sub-males invest our relationships and perhaps a more practical, matter-of-fact approach from our (in this case loving) superiors.

This one is a sort-of school story, but like many of my captions, it’s intended to lift the curtain a little on professional domme relationships.  It’s heavily inspired by a story called Dame School in the wonderful collection by Louise Malatesta: The Queen of the Grove.  If you take your kink very seriously, you won’t like this sort of thing.  But for me, it actually adds to the humiliation that the school scene is not real.  As I explain to pro-dommes gracious (and unlucky) enough to receive me – I don’t want them actually to pretend that I’m a naughty boy.  I’m a middle-aged pervert being treated like a naughty boy… and they are very welcome to express their contempt and amusement at that.

This one, about a femdom programme taking control of the computer, actually seems to get a lot of hits. Maybe it’s the title?  People search for femdom story, and get this?  Good. 

I do quite a lot of this sort of thing – little pastiches of fairy tales and so on.  A bit like captions really.

Finally, I’d completely forgotten it but I wrote a huge, three part tale early on in this blog’s history, about a guy who is living a very heavy femdom relationship, but doesn’t realise it (oh, you’ll just have to read it to see what I mean).  Bizarrely, I remember thinking at the time, this was a nice little idea that could be dealt with in a paragraph or two.    A Normal Marriage Part 1, followed by Part 2, and then concluded with the excitingly-named Part 3.

Right.  If you’ve read down this far, I reckon you deserve another picture of a lovely, don’t you?

Naughty words

Just a brief, non-image post today, because –

OK, OK maybe just one image to make the links columns more attractive, here you are:

Hmm.  She looks rather cross, doesn’t she?  Better hurry on past.
Anyway, what I wanted to say, was that this didn’t start out primarily as a blog for captioned images.  I started it off to publish some stories I had written over the years, and then I tried my hand at a few captions (it only takes one hand, fortunately)…and nowadays it seems I do little else.  It takes so much longer to write a story than a caption, and the photos are lovely too, so I haven’t written one for ages.
Increasingly I see links to this as a photo blog – which is great but it’s not only that – so I thought I’d point out to newer readers that there are lot of stories in the early months (first half 2011).
Links to some below, then I’ll probably post links to a few more some time.  Or you can just use the ‘fiction’ tag in the cloud over to the right there.
Air divine  Femdom airlines, basically.  Very much my kind of thing!  Written a long time ago, for my former Significant Other, a domme I adored. She claimed (rather sweetly I always thought) to find my stories and other writings amusing.  But with this one, I think she really meant it.
Chopped and changed Written specifically for this blog, stories featuring Serena tend to be rather extreme. The title’s a bit of a clue too.
Tomorrow’s World  This one is a parody of a 1970s British TV show about science.  So if you haven’t seeen that, you won’t get it.  Sorry.
Huge caption This actually started as a caption (regular readers will be wearily familiar with my attempts to fit text the length of a nineteenth century Russian novel onto the side of a picture).  But it just growed so I’m calling it a story.
Misappliance of Science An attempt at humour, as a party of bored schoolgirls are led around a huge science and manufacturing centre dedicated to – guess what – the enslavement and punition of males. Part 2 here.
Waiting  One of my very few serious stories.  A lot of you liked this.
More new endings Despite the title, this is a new ending for only one old tale: Cinderella.
Scenes  Little vignettes, which could almost be captions really.  Written a long time ago, for two ladies I knew.  Their names have been changed.  My own favourite story from this period is this one.  And it also gave me a chance to publish a picture of Raquel Welch (from the femdom episode of Mork and Mindy and if you don’t believe me that there was one, you can ask Mr Youtube).
That’s it for now.
Oh OK, just one more picture this time, then.  Isn’t she lovely?

Wow, it just kept getting bigger…and longer…

So…this started out as a caption.  But somehow it grew and grew.

Lines of responsibility
Unsatisfied with your performance, by the look of it
“I know you’ve been on management training courses before, Mr Halford, but I’m confident you’ll see a real difference to your performance after this one.  It’s a completely new management training technique.
Now I’ve written a sentence down here: “Every day, I must strive to do my very best at work, carrying out the instructions of my boss to the best of my ability, giving her no cause to complain of laziness, rudeness or disobedience on my part.”
Isn’t that a motivational sentence?  Imagine how you could succeed if you have that running through your head every minute of the day!
Now here’s what we do.  There’s a pile of paper on your desk, there.  Now I want you to take the pencil and write the number “one” then write out the sentence.
Shall I read it again for you?
“Every day, I must strive to do my very best at work, carrying out the instructions of my boss to the best of my ability, giving her no cause to complain of laziness, rudeness or disobedience on my part.”
Good.  Now write the number “two” and do it again.
OK.  Now do you see what we’re doing?  Yes, that’s right.  Now you’re going to keep going until you’ve reached number 200, OK?  And I want you to do it all in one go, so no getting up from the desk, no speaking at all.  If you make a mistake in writing out the line, I want you to draw a neat line through it and write it again.  If you have to make more than three crossings-out on any one page,  throw that page away and start it again.  Off you go.
No, I said no talking please, Mr Halford.  That’s quite important for the exercise to work.  When you’ve finished, or if your pencil breaks, I want you just to raise your hand and sit quietly.
Two hours later
Finished?  Excellent.  Well, you can get up and bring me your papers.
Now while I’m looking through it, we’re going to try an exercise in mental visualisation.  I want you to stand over there in the corner, facing the wall.  No, a little closer.  Your nose should be nearly touching.  That’s right.  Now put your hands on your head.  I want you to visualise the sentence in your mind, as you remain in that position until I tell you to stop.  See if you can see it floating in space on the blank wall in front of you.  If I leave the room, you should remain in that position.
An hour later
Right, Mr Halford.  I think we’re making excellent progress.  Come and stand over here.  You can keep your hands on your head.  Now I counted nine crossings-out in your written work, and I see you discarded one page, so I suppose that’s another four, making 13 errors in all.  And you also spoke when I’d instructed you to remain silent, so let’s call that another 10, making 23 in all.  I’m going to round that up to 24.
Now we come to the really innovative part of this training.  It’s a completely new approach to motivational training.  I am going to make you feel very sorry for each and every one of those 24 errors.  Can you guess how?
No, it’s not that.  Not even close.  Go to that drawer over there and bring me what’s inside it.  Yes, that.  Do you know what that is?  No, it’s nothing to do with cooking.  It’s a motivational instruction tool.  I’ll show you how it works…
Plenty of motivation here
Half an hour later still
Right, Mr Halford, I think we’re done here for the day.  You might want to tuck your shirt a bit more neatly back into your trousers before you go back to your office.  That’s better.
Did you find that motivational?  Yes, it is rather isn’t it? It’s simple, but amazingly effective.
But it only works if you keep it up.  Now the great thing about this technique is you don’t have to be an expert trainer to do it.   I’ve got a name here – Janine O’Brien? – oh, she’s your secretary?  Right.  Super.
No, no, she’s not going on a course like this Mr Halford!  This is only for senior managers.  No, Janine is booked on a motivational instructor training course this week.  So she’ll be able to deliver the weekly modules of your training programme.  Isn’t that great?  It’s best to agree a single time – Thursday at 6pm or suchlike – and just stick to it.  She’ll be tracking your performance at work too.
Oh, don’t look so worried, I’m sure she’ll pick it up in no time.  She’ll be watching the video of today’s session, at the start of her course, so she’ll know exactly what to expect.  We usually find that secretaries love taking on these additional tasks, and really put everything they’ve got into it.  Anyway, she’ll send me weekly reports.
Janine.  Isn’t she sweet?
Then you’ll come back here from time to time for a refresher course.  And there are quite a few other things we haven’t tried too.”

More new endings for old tales

The Prince held the glass slipper in one hand and with the other gently supported Cinderella’s foot as it slipped delicately inside.  It was a perfect fit.
He looked up adoringly at the golden-haired vision of loveliness seated in the chair in front of him.
“I knew such a divine creature as you was not born to labour all day in rags” he breathed.  “From this day forward you shall live in a palace, as is your right.”
Cinderella smiled and nodded gently with satisfaction.  Behind her, there was a swirling in the air and her Fairy Godmother appeared.
The Prince hardly noticed, as his gaze was drawn back down to the glass slippers.  The perfect crystal of which they were made concealed nothing of the feet inside.  An elegant ankle was gently cradled by the rim of the shoe, within which Cinderella’s feet arched delicately down to where her toes lay gently clasped within the transparent material of the shoes.  The toes wriggled slightly, and – drawn by an impulse he had never felt before – the Prince’s head slowly inclined forward as he bent down to kiss them.
“What are you doing?” he heard Cinderella enquire, sharply.
He looked up in some confusion.
“I…I’m kissing the dear feet of my bride to be” he replied, awed at the cold beauty of her face.
Cinderella laughed, and kicked him sharply in the chest.
“Bride?  I’m not going to marry you, you idiot.  Marry a man?  Nasty, sweaty hairy things.  Never.”
And she gazed affectionately up at her fairy godmother, who reached down and gently stroked her hair.  She clasped the outstretched hand in hers, and brought it softly to her lips.
“But…but…don’t you want to live in a palace?” the Prince stammered in confusion.
“Of course I do” she replied, scornfully.  “But not by marrying you.  That wasn’t the deal at all – was it Fairy G?  Not in this fairy tale.”
And the Fairy Godmother shook her head, laughing, then waved her wand thrice around and the room filled with purple light.
When the Prince’s eyes recovered, he was amazed at the transformation that he saw.  Above him, in the chair was Cinderella but now dressed as a prince in a suit – his suit! – of jewelled finery.  She stood up, admiring her clothing with satisfaction.  He looked down at his own clothing in confusion.  He was in rags, wearing nothing but a torn and faded dress, with an apron tied around it.  A gentle draught blew through the room as a servant opened the door for Cinderella to leave, and he felt the cold running through him as it curled around and under his skirt, chilling the unprotected regions beneath.
Cinderella turned to look at him.  “The cleaning materials are all in the cupboard below the stairs” she smiled.  “You’ll find it easily enough – it’s where you sleep.”
She turned to one of her servants (his servants!).  “I think I want to interview all of those young ladies we’ve been seeing, all over again.  Have them brought to my bedchamber.  Let’s say…two, no make it three of them each night.”
And with that, she swept out of the room and the Prince was left alone, kneeling on the floor.  But he was not alone for long, as the door to the hall was flung open.
What are you doing loafing around there!?  IF WE’RE NOT MARRYING THE PRINCE, THAT AT THE VERY LEAST WE CAN LIVE IN A HOUSE THAT’S PROPERLY CLEANED, CAN’T WE? AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE ABOUT OUR DINNER?”
The Prince looked up, to see the two rather statuesque ladies of the house who had earlier tried the slipper, standing before him.  He opened his mouth to speak, but he found it had gone dry.  He looked from one unsmiling sister to the other.  Both were holding whips.
And Cinderella lived happily ever after.  And so did the Prince, really, little pervert that he is.

The end.

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