Archive for the 'femdom' Category

Pussy Whipped Cuckold

“It’s what I want, Jeremy. You need to get used to this once and for all.”

You remember looking at her: This woman you’d adored for what seemed forever. You’d spread out your hands, reaching for her.  The gesture seemed desperate and you’d quickly  put them back to your sides.

“But you’re my girl, Courtney. You can’t do this. It just isn’t right.”

“I am going to do this whether you like it or not. If you want me to be ‘your girl,’ then you need to accept things the way they are. Maybe, if you just finally get over yourself, I might even let you have sex with me.   I’ll bet you would like that, wouldn’t you?”

Flipping a tress of hair behind her ear, Courtney had batted her lashes and smiled. Later you would wonder if that smile had really been a smirk.  That in your obsession with her, you’d read her beautiful, flawless countenance all wrong.  Of course, the possibility of finally being allowed to have sex with her probably had something to do with it; but at that moment she had you in the palm of her hand. You knew you would agree to anything.

***

Was that really only a month ago?

Because here you are now in what seems like a third rate porn video, a low-grade director’s fantasy on celluloid.

Courtney rented the hotel room, made all the plans, even drove both of you the ninety miles it took to get here.

She is face-down on the hotel bed while a man you just met not even an hour ago licks up the crack of her ass while pumping two fingers in and out of her pussy. Two other men stand naked on the other side of the bed, pumping their pricks and watching. The dirty blonde one looks over at you. “Can you handle this, man? You’re looking kind of pale. Are you going to be okay?”

Courtney takes her face out of the pillow she’s been moaning into and looks at you. “Get you’re clothes off. Don’t you dare fuck this up for me.” Before you can even respond she’s moved up onto her hands and knees and is telling the guy in bed with her, “I need it. I need your cock. Fuck me. Give it to me now.”

The guy with the goatee moves over to the head of the bed, bending his right knee across a rumpled pillow. He pushes his pelvis forward so that his cock is pushing into the side of her cheek. “Open your mouth, you fucking cock slut,” he grunts, “grab this prick of mine and eat it.” Then he looks over at you and sneers. “Is she a good little cocksucker?”

“I don’t know.”

You hear the words, wondering who said them, then realize they’ve come out of your very own mouth. Courtney has grabbed his cock and is smearing the pre-cum up and down the shaft as she licks and sucks the bulbous head.   She stops and looks at you.

“Tell them why you don’t know.”

“I, er….”

Just then the guy behind her starts shoving his cock between the triangle of her spread thighs. You see her back arch and hear the quick intake of her breath.

“Tell them.”

You feel the heat of humiliation coloring your face as you watch Courtney begin to rhythmically meet the thrusts of the cock shoving in and out of her.

“Tell them, you son-of-a-bitch.”

And then she purposely twists from the waist, pulling goatee’s cock up to the edge of her red mouth. She wants you to see. She stares defiantly into your eyes as she begins lowering her lips to the oozing, bubbling head.  “I like cock,” she says, and begins moving her mouth down the shaft until the entire root has disappeared and her mouth looks obscenely bloated.  Still staring and you, she begins sucking.

“Courtney doesn’t suck my cock.”

Again you can’t believe the words have come from your mouth. You don’t know why, but you start taking off your clothes. As the dirty blonde crawls up on the bed, you hear yourself again.

“Courtney used to fuck me.  She never, ever would suck my cock, but she did fuck me.  Not a lot.  But she did fuck me sometimes.”

You are down to your jeans and are unzipping them.  Your dick is throbbing.  You are ashamed and turned-on.  It is a sick, dirty feeling.   And you like it.

“Courtney stopped fucking me a year ago. But I’m so pussy-whipped, I don’t care.”

The bodies on the bed have rearranged themselves. Courtney is riding dirty blonde’s dick, while the guy who’d been fucking her pussy is now pushing in and out of her ass from behind.  Mr. Goatee is standing on the bed, his hands clasping her long hair, forcing her mouth down on his dick. You can hear her gagging and see her throat actually expanding as his pelvis smashes full into her face.

You are naked now and realize that you’ve started playing with yourself. You ramble on.

“I’ve never been able to satisfy Courtney. She’s cheated on my from the beginning. I always knew. I just pretended I didn’t. Because it doesn’t matter as long as she gets what she needs.”

You move to the bed, mesmerized by the tangle of flesh, with your beloved Courtney at the center of it all. And then you are whispering.

First to Courtney: “You get all the cock you need, baby girl. You get yourself all the dick you can take. I understand. You can’t help it. You deserve it.”

Then to the men: “You give it to her, guys. Fuck her good. Give her some nice, dirty, hard fucking. In all her holes. Fill her up with your gizz. Make her cum hard.”

The entire time you are stroking yourself.

You are realizing that this is the way it will always be. And you are realizing you don’t care. Your baby girl is getting her fix the only way she can. And you will always be there helping her get it.  Doing anything she wants.  You can’t escape when you’re pussy whipped.  You’re officially a cuckold now.  A pussy-whipped cuckold.  And you don’t care.

The Long Hard (very hard) Summer

“Enforced chastity is no easy thing, let me tell you.”

“I never said it would be easy. Did you ever hear those words from my mouth?”

“But, Sarah, you never said for three months at a time.”

“No I didn’t. But I did say if you really wanted me to move in with you, you would have to follow my rules. ”

He moans and looks down at the chastity cage around his groin. When he’d agreed to this, he never knew just how good she was, how determined to have her way. She knows him well and uses his every weakness, every fetish, to tighten her control.

“You were pussy-whipped before I moved in. How many times did I fuck you during the eight months we dated. Three times? Maybe four? ”

“But, Sarah! From June until September?”

“Don’t be such a whiner. I do let you play with it once in a while, don’t I?

“Yeah, with a cock ring on so I can’t cum. It’s torture.”

“Well then, we’ll make it easier on you. I won’t let you play with it anymore. Would that be better?”

“Honestly, I really think it would.”

Sarah smiles, reaching down to graze her nails across the cool, smooth surface of the Houdini, then taps it with her fingernails. One month into his Cum Restriction Program, as Sarah has so aptly named it, he feels every little percussion as it vibrates down the length of his shaft and into the base of his balls. “Christ,” he rasps, “Do you have any idea what that does to me?”

“I didn’t say that I wouldn’t play with it.”

“Fuck! I want pussy, damn it!”

“Well, darling, why didn’t you just say so,” Sarah simpers as she takes him by the hand and leads him to the bedroom. “Your wish is my command, as they say.” Giggling, she pushes him into the Naughty Chair. Before he can protest, she’s locked his hands into handcuffs behind his back. “That’s because you don’t want to play with that demanding cock of yours anymore, so you won’t be needing those hands.” She is in front of him, beaming. “But guess what, honey? I want to play with it. I’ll be right back.”

“What?”

But she is gone. As he sits waiting, wondering what she is up to, he hears her moving about in her dressing room–his home office until she’d moved in–rustling clothes, opening drawers, rattling hangers. What in the hell? What kind of trouble am I into now. I should have kept my stupid mouth shut. She’s too damned good at this.

And then he hears the click of high heels.

Stifling a sob, he feels his cock twitch and strain against it’s unyielding bulwark. Jesus-fucking-Christ, how am I going to stand two more months of this? If Sarah is putting on heels, she intends to show him no mercy. “Damn, please, no…” he mutters as Sarah walks into the room.

“So you want pussy, huh?”

“Please, Sarah.”

But he can’t take his eyes off of her. She stands before him in the navy satin stilettos he’d bought her after she’d fucked him the first time. Those, a cobalt lacy garter belt and a pair of taupe stockings. Nothing else. Her smooth mound and perfectly shaped coral pussy lips are right in front of his face.

” Oh God, Sarah. Please.”

“You want pussy?”

She bends her right knee, placing the heel of her stiletto against the back of his neck. Her moist slit open like an O’Keefe flower. “Here’s your pussy. Now suck. Suck like the cum-denied, pussy-whipped boy you are.” Then she is pressing against him, her moist muskiness engulfing his face.

“After you make me cum–and you will make me cum…”

Sarah stops, grabbing his hair and pulling his wet face up to look at her.

“After you make me cum, pussy boy, I’m going to put you in your cock ring. Then I am going to take all that lovely cunt cum and massage it into your dick. And I am not taking off the ring.”

She shoves his face back between her legs and begins a slow grind. “Do you understand,” she asks, her voice breathy. Sucking and licking and groaning, he moves his head up and down. Yes, yes, he understands. He loves eating her and she knows it. Just like she knows that stilettos and stockings always drive him wild.

“There will be no cumming for you, my love. This is just the beginning.”

Grabbing the back of his head she starts fucking his face.

“It’s going to be…”

She starts pumping harder and faster.

“a very long…”

A series of gasps now puncuate every word.

“very hard…”

And then she is screaming and cumming all over his face.

“……..summerrrrrr.”

cunt is your drug

the scent of her
is on you like a tattoo
marking your greedy mouth
for the servant that it is

your greedy cock
will snivel and bob and strain
but cunt is your drug
and you are her marked man

her claret blood
stains your bloated lips
and cunt is your drug
and you are her scarlet secret

your rigid prick
will bargain and weep and thrum
but cunt is your drug
and you are her clay pigeon

her flaxen piss
seasons your obedient tongue
and cunt is your drug
and you are her golden boy

your diligent meat
will mewl and seize and shiver
but cunt is your drug
and you are her wicked bitch

her butter liqueur
bridles your debauched face
and cunt is your drug
and you are her candy man

the smell of her
is on you like a birthmark
annotating your avocation
previewing your impediment
bookmarking your bewitchment

because cunt is your drug
and she feeds you well

Kimberly’s Mandate – Part 1

You’re alone now. Here in the dark.

The smooth surface of the stainless steel tray beside your bed reflects a pinpoint of silverish light: caught from a street light somewhere outside and twisted into a lone north star, the only star here in your very small universe.

Despite the morphine drip, the dull ache between your legs is a relentless throb. The chill from the ice pack —to help control the swelling, she’d told you as she tucked it around your pereneum– has spread across your pelvis and thighs, but the numbness it provides seems to exacerbate rather than relieve. Oh, Miss Kimberly, I love you so much, you think to yourself.

And you do love her. But now you are alone. Kimberly has left and you are lying here in the quiet of this dark room with a body that is changed, altered–deformed forever at Kimberly’s bequest. She’d told you that it would be the ulitimate proof of your unmitigated devotion. Proof that you belonged only to her and would always do whatever she required of you.

From the beginning you’d told her that you would do anything for her–anything to prove your love, your adoration, your complete capitulation to her superiority over you. And your precocious blonde Goddess –after having taken control of your money, cuckolded you relentlessly and insisted upon so many smaller and daily humiliations– had eventually asked of you the ultimate sacrifice.

Drifting and floating in your opiate haze, you hear her voice.

You, sweet man, are incapable–absolutely unable in anyway–of having normal sexual relations with a woman. You know it and I know it. If fact, anybody who knows you knows it. You’re “unfuckable.”

It’s lucky for you I came along  and  gave you some direction in your life.  In the manhood department you are a big fucking zero.  But as a slave, well, I’ve done an excellent job of training you.   And you need to prove you are grateful.   There’s only one way to really show me you are sincere:  Give up those useless little snot-balls of yours.  

Of course, she was right.  You knew even as she spoke that you would give Kimberly what she wanted.

FemDom Handjob

“Get your fucking pants down, now!”

Heart racing, you struggle with your belt. She doesn’t have a right to treat me like this, you think to yourself. You try to ignore the clammy grip of nervous sweat around your balls. I ’ve paid good money after all; she is really nothing more than a whore when you get right down to it.

The more you think about it, the braver you’re feeling. Mistress, my ass! Just who in the hell does she think she is to talk to me like that?

Ignoring your own better judgment, forgetting that your pants are now down around your knees and your dick is sticking straight up, you look up to say something, to somehow defend yourself against her scornful abuse.

“You timid, little piece-of-shit, loser. Who in the fuck do you think you are looking at?”

Her voice is cruel and unforgiving as she looks at you with cold, icy blue eyes—first straight into your face and then down to your naked, twitching cock. She smirks, and you know you are beaten, that she has you, that she knows you for the warped and twisted degenerate that you are. Your bravado is gone, your words caught dry and useless in your throat.

Wiggling her slender hand into a latex glove, stretching and pulling the latex to fit snugly between her fingers, she continues, her voice a wicked snarl, “Don’t even think about smart-mouthing me, asshole. You’re the one who called me. You’re the one who was so damn curious about a “FemDom” handjob. You’re the butterfingers who evidently can’t jerk off your own dick. You’re the underachiever who evidently needs an instruction manual on how to fuck pussy correctly.” Her voice is sharp and cold and you know now that there will be no kindness, no mercy. But your cock is throbbing as you watch her squirting lube into the palm of her gloved hand.

“Five.”

She spits the number out at you as her slithery fist grabs your prick and moves down the length of it. The shock, the suddenness of it, is so visceral that you almost shoot your load right then.

“Don’t you fucking dare, weasel boy. This dirty, nasty, useless prick of yours doesn’t cum until and when I say so. And that would be when we get to the number one. Got it?”

“Christ! Fuck! Shit! Yesssssssssss, Ma’am.”

You hear yourself, a whimpering, blubbering, mindless automaton. You are her toy: a helpless, filthy cock-toy to abuse and molest at her whim.

“Four.”

As her hand moves—once up and once down—you feel her grasp tighten ever so slightly. Oh, she is a gifted Goddess. You know that now and your urge to cum is almost overpowering. You can’t help yourself and begin to actually wail. “Please, Mistress. Please let me cum now. Oh, please.” You hear yourself and are ashamed, but cannot stop. “Please, Mistress. Let me cum now. Let me be your dirty filthy boy and cum now. Please, please, please, please.”

Abruptly she loosens her grip and—before you even understand what is happening—smacks your cock. Once. Twice. Three times. There is nothing, nobody but you and her, her hand and your dick. You actually swoon and feel yourself buckling when she grabs your arm and pulls you you back up.

“No you don’t,” she whispers sweetly, lips grazing your ear. The unexpected change in her manner has you spinning and powerless, totally focused on her. You struggle to speak, to tell her you adore her, to tell her you belong to her while your abandoned cock twitches and drips, pointing directly at her: your Mistress, your Queen.

“You came here for a FemDom handjob. Don’t you remember? Or did your brain melt and drain into your balls and leave you stupid? If you spew already, you’ll miss the show.”

She giggles as she moves away from you to sit in a nearby chair. You are tempted to beg her to come back, to jerk your cock again, that you will be a “good boy.” But seeing the look on her face you think better of it and are silent.

“That’s more like it,” she says, pointing between your legs. You are helpless, exposed. “That dick is now my property, my personal gear shift. Got it?”

Afraid to look at her, you nod, staring straight ahead. “Yes Mistress.”

“I’m going to start again in a moment, but this time I’m going to start counting back from ten.” Unable to stop yourself, you moan in frustration.

“Make that fifteen.” You bite your tongue.

“You’re learning,” she almost—but not quite—purrs as she stands up again and walks toward you.

“Now stand there with your pants down around your ankles like the gimp-loser dick-wad you are while I lube this glove up one more time.”

“And then we’ll try again.”

it’s the bitch in her

it’s the bitch in her
that keeps you on her dotted line
signed, sealed, delivered
your signature, her hand
done deal

used up and faded blue
the new you
(after all)

after all:
buckled down and tied up
your twisted tongue and caught breath
searching for sonnets

searching for sonnets
on hobbled limbs
and always bent knees
to sing, to plead, to offer alms
to your silent siren
who never listens, never speaks
who only hears her own measure

it’s the bitch in her
that keeps you here and keeps you hers:
her cheap fetish
her pygmy romeo
her corrupt fuck

it’s the bitch in her
that’s taken you down
rubbed you raw
cut you clean
wiped you out
bled you, bled you, bled you

it’s the bitch in her
that fucks with you
fucks you up
fucks you over
and doesn’t give
a flying fuck about any of it

it’s the bitch in her
that has your attention
your cock, your devotion, your heart

it’s the bitch in her
that makes you her bitch

Her Princess Cunt

“Never underestimate the power of your cunt,” Martin had said to Addison not so many years ago.   And he’d meant it.  From the bottom of his heart.

And Addison, being smart and a bit on the wicked side, took his words to heart. It was easy to put two and two together–his words and his ongoing fascination with her pussy. The attention he directed to the V at the top of her thighs was different from what she’d experienced with other guys. They liked it, they liked it a lot. But Martin was absolutely obsessed. And it was this obsession that was his downfall. It made him stupid and weak, and easily manipulated.

So it didn’t take long–a matter of weeks perhaps–until Addison had Martin exactly where she wanted him: On his knees, cum-denied and at her service. It wasn’t the relationship she’d envisioned as a little girl dreaming of prince charming. It was, in fact much better in that she was most certainly a princess. A spoiled princess. Martin’s princess.

Tonight Addison was conducting a scent training session. Martin knelt before her, naked and eager, an obedient puppy moaning and mewling every time she tugged on his cock leash. “What do you want Puppy Martin? What do you want from Princess Addison?” Giving Martin’s cockleash two quick tugs, she widened the gap of her already spread legs, feeling the rose-print panties stretching tight into the slit of her cunt.

“Ooooh! Those panties feel so good against my clit, Martin. I may have to have you lick me tonight instead of just smelling.”

“Yes. Yes, please Princess Addison. I will lick your cunt. I will lick you cunt and make you cum so good. Please Princess. Please let me.”

“Don’t think for a minute that if I DO let you lick this cunt that I will let you cum. You get lazy and inattentive once you cum and I am not in the mood for such silliness. Do you understand, Puppy Martin?”

“Yes, Princess.” I will be good.. I promise to be soooo good for Princess.”

Addison giggled. During their entire exchange, Martins eyes had been ogling her panty-covered cunt, while at the same time his cock was jerking and twitching and a long, pearly string of precum was now dangling from its head.

“Oh, Martin. You are just too cute. I don’t dare let you lick my Princess cunt. You just might lose control. But we will continue with the scent training. Would you like that?”

She tugged on his cock leash three times and saw the gooseflesh rising all over his naked flesh as he whimpered. “Crawl over here between my legs. That’s it. Now rest your head against this thigh and watch as I pull these panties into my slit and get them all wet with Princess juices.”

Sliding her tailbone to the edge of the chair and spreading her legs even wider, Addison grinded her clit and vulva into the panty crotch, feeling the wetness there spread. Martin groaned and she could actually see his nostrils flaring.

“Can you smell it, Martin? Can you smell your Princess’s cunt?”

Martin groaned again, this time louder and longer.

“Let’s proceed with the training then.”

With that, Addison put her hands and the back of Martin’s head, pulling his face into her crotch.

“Smell, Puppy Martin. Smell my Princess Cunt until I tell you to stop.”

Wrapping her left leg around his neck, Addison picked up the book from the chairside table and began reading.

Martin began his breathing lesson with gusto.

She Never Knew

She never knew. You wanted her to. At least sometimes you thought you did.

You were her friend, her buddy, her “best buddy,” she always said. And you always agreed. Grinned your simple grin and kept your secrets.

You liked it when she called you that. Best buddy, bosom buddy. The buddy left alone when she was out with Karl or Jacob or Michael, or one of so many others. It’s not that you ever loved her; she never broke your heart after all. You knew even then that you can’t break a heart that doesn’t love. It was always that simple and that fucked up.

You never fooled yourself, not even at first. Because it was never love–not even lust or reverence. It was deification. Yes, you fantasized about her, masturbated thinking about her. Thinking about her with them–all of them. You thought about her face, her dewy flesh, her gray-green eyes, her auburn hair–long and always freshly shampooed. But it wasn’t her beauty that caught you’re imagination. It was her cunt. It was the thought of her cunt that got you crazy-hot. You wanted to worship the cunt that all of that beauty implied. To be the rutting pig, the filthy whore-boy, the degenerate cunt-slut. To be a slave to the magnificent snatch that the Karls and Jacobs and Michaels–loved and ate and fingered and fucked.

Even now you don’t remember the first time. The first time you had to have more. The first time you stole her panties, sniffed them, jerked off in them. And finally wore them: Her cum and their cum, all those men’s cum, wet against your cock, spunk-soaked satin and lace. A dirty betrayal. A profane gesture. You knew it, but you did it anyway, time and again–even your guilt a twisted aphrodisiac that you fed upon.

That was long ago, back then, back there. You both moved on. She–to three states, two marriages and, now, two divorces. You–just to a different apartment, one town over. Always single, always remembering.

But she’s found you in the here and now.

Sitting on your sofa, drinking single malt whiskey instead of iced tea, wearing stilettos instead of sandals, smoking a cigarette instead of chewing gum–she is staring at you. Silence. Taking a drag off of her cigarette, exhaling slowly, never losing eye contact. Finally she butts the cigarette on the dish you’ve brought her in lieu of an ashtray.

“It’s going to be different this time.”

“What?”

“You know what. You know exactly what I mean. And this time you’re going to do it my way.”

She slowly uncrosses her long, silky legs and lights another cigarette. You attempt the silly grin, your old standby. But you’re out of practice. Nervous. Your lips tremble. And you don’t quite pull it off; know you look timid, stupid, probably even frightened. Because that is exactly how you feel.

She takes another drag of the cigarette, this time a long, deep one. Stands up. Begins walking toward you, her heels digging into the drab, grey linoleum. Standing in front of you she lets the cigarette hang from the corner of her over-glossed lips and starts slowly pulling up the sides of her dress.

“I was a busy girl before I got here tonight. You remember those days, the old days?  When I was a busy girl? A very busy girl all the time?” Her dress is sliding over the tops of her stockings. You push your back into your chair, gripping its arms.

“Funny thing is…I never had to clean a pair of panties. No matter how many men, how many cocks, how many fucks. No panties to wash. In fact, no panties–period. No panties at all. All of those nasty, dirty panties–gone, poof, nowhere to be found.”

Her dress is at her waist now, and she is reaching out with one hand, pulling you by the neck, pulling your face between her legs. With her other hand she runs her fingers through your hair, enamel nails lightly scratching your scalp.

“We’re going to get it right this time,” she says, pushing your cheeks against the inside of her thighs. The hem of her skirt catches at your brow as she presses your face against her crotch. Inhaling the scent, remembering the scent, you open your mouth and press your tongue into the soaked, pungent, satiny crevices. As she starts to grind her pelvis, you hear her murmuring above you.

“I knew. I always knew.”

Caught Jerking It

“What’s this? What are you doing?”

Caught. Caught jerking your teenage dick. You try to hide the porn magazine and pull the sheet up, but Catherine has already made it from the door to your bedside.

“Don’t pull that sheet up. A little too late for that, don’t you think? And what are you looking at. Let me see it.”

Sheepishly, you hand Catherine the magazine, turning crimson when you realize the page it is opened to. She looks at the page, then looks at you.

“You like playing with that little boy chubby while you’re looking at dirty pictures like this? Is this what gets you stiff?”

Catherine shoves the magazine in front of you, pointing to the high-gloss page. You stare dumbly at the filthy picture and feel your cock twitch. You glance at Catherine, hoping she hasn’t noticed. “Well,” Catherine snarls, “answer me, young man.”

“I, er, I mean…”

Catherine laughs. “Just admit it. You like it dirty. You want to do filthy things with bad girls. Like this.” She points to the page again. “What’s that guy taking up his ass? Huh? Tell me.”

As she says this, Catherine sits on the edge of your bed. In an instant, the anger that had colored her face is replaced with a sly smile. As she takes the magazine and tosses it onto the floor, she pushes your sheet to the bottom of the bed.

“Spread your legs.”

“What?”

“I said…” Catherine grasps both of your thighs and roughly pulls you down onto your tailbone while pulling your legs a part. “…spread your fucking legs.”

“Now,” she continues, “grab that hog of yours and start stroking it. Let me see you beat off that teen cock.” She reaches out, grabbing your hand and forcing your fingers around the shaft, then guides your hand up and down. “Go ahead. Up and down. That’s it. Keep it up.” She takes her hand away. “Do it. Jerk that meat.”

Your cock is rock-hard again as you start playing with it, watching Catherine watch you. You feel nasty and dirty. You like being watched. You like Catherine watching. A drop of pre-cum is already bubbling from the head. “Oooh, look at that,” Catherine purrs, “you like being a dirty little masturbater for Catherine.”

Moving her hand over your balls, Catherine cups them and squeezes gently. “We’re going to make little jack-off boy cum so hard,” Catherine says. Then she is putting the finger of her other hand into her mouth. She raises an eyebrow while looking at you and making sucking sounds. When she pulls the finger out of her mouth, it is glistening wet. “Guess where I am going to put this finger, babycakes,” she says, and you watch as she puts the finger between your open thighs.

When her finger touches your asshole you almost explode. “Not yet,” Catherine whispers, “keep stroking while I start working this finger in.” Not even realizing it you scoot down and open your legs wider. Catherine giggles. “Oh yeah, you want it bad, don’t you?” She starts pushing in and out, wiggling it around. You are moaning. It feels so fucking good.

“Do it,” Catherine says. “Stroke that cock and shoot the teenage load of cum. Show me what a dirty little fuck you are.”

Suddenly, she jams two fingers into you, all the way to the hilt.

And you are cumming so hard that you can feel your ass clenching her fingers with every jerk of your cock as it spews in every direction.

Easing her fingers out of your ass, Catherine leans over and kisses the gooey head of your dick. She looks at you, holds up the fingers that were just in your ass and wiggles them.

“That was just the beginning. I’ll be back later with a dildo just like the one in the magazine.”

Panties for Anderson

“From now on,” she is saying, “you will wear panties. No arguing. No protesting. I’ve disposed of your boxers; every last pair. Come, Andy, let me show you.”

She’s always called you Anderson before. Your given name. The one you prefer.

But this is the beginning you’ve known was coming for a while now. Since the night she came home and caught you.

She’d been so quiet and demure when you’d married. When you look back, you think those qualities were what drew you to her. That somewhere deep inside you knew; that you knew even then that your fetishes and desires needed some kind of cap. That her softness, her goodness would keep you safe from your own demons.

But she’d caught you. One of those rare occasions you’d indulged your desires. Alone, your beloved out for the night. That’s what she’d told you. No reason to expect her until late. And you couldn’t resist. Found the pink lace thong you’d bought her for Valentine’s Day, slipped it up over your thighs, your stiff prick.

You were so devastated when she’d walked in finding you masturbating into the crotch of those panties, a pair of her soiled ones across your face. Now she knew. Knew your naughty, dirty secret. But the shock, the revulsion was quickly replaced with a smile. She giggled; told you how ridiculous you looked. And there was a look in her eye that you didn’t understand. Though, now you do.

Because she took over from that point on. Making you wear panties sometimes when you fucked her. Then making you lick her cunt while wearing panties and humping the mattress. Sometimes right before you were going out with the guys she would insist you wear panties. She even bought you a few pair of your own, very feminine, satin and lace. You were at her mercy because the panties felt so good and dirty at the same time.

And you couldn’t say no. There was a power exchange the night she caught you. You realize it now. And, as you follow her to the bedroom, you realize that things are never going to be the same, will never go back to the way they were. Maybe you like this. Maybe you’re glad to finally be the panty slut you’ve always secretly wanted to be.

The top dresser drawer is open. You see satin, nylon, ribbons, bows. It’s not a man’s drawer anymore. You look at her.

“What about when I go to the gym?”

She ignores your question, reaching for a pair of the panties–white with little pink and yellow hearts. She holds them up in front of you.

“Put these on, Panty Andy. Be the little Panty Slut you know you want to be for me.”

She’s never called you anything like that before. You blush. But you also feel your prick responding to the calm authority of her words, the intuitive power in her demeanor. You slowly begin removing your jeans. Her words have hypnotized you. You only need to do what your Goddess Wife says. That is all that matters.

When the jeans are lying next to you on the floor, she hands you the panties, then reaches for a tube of lipstick. “What’s that for, honey,” you say as you pull the panties up over your pelvis, feeling the rush of pleasure as your prick drags along the soft fabric.

She looks at the panty tent your erection has caused and snickers. Again, she ignores your question. “Here, stand in front of the mirror.” You move to her side as she takes the lid off of the lipstick tube. “Close your eyes, Panty Slut.” Because it is all you can do, you close your eyes. You feel the lipstick, guided by her firm hand, moving across your torso. All the while she is laughing. You get the weird sensation that you are hearing her in stereo, but chalk it up to the surreal-ness of what is happening.

Finally: “Okay, open your eyes.”

You slowly open your eyes to see your chest, your ribs, your belly smeared with pink lipstick, spelling out the truth. Even backwards you can read it, because you’ve always known it. And you see Jessica standing at the bedroom door. Jessica, your wife’s best friend. Jessica’s lips are twisted into a lewd grin. She is shaking her head, like she is disgusted with you, perhaps even finds you pitiful. She mouths the words, “You are so fucked.”

“Read it out loud for me and Jessica.”

And you do.

“I am Andy Panties. I am a panty slut. I am not a real man. I am panty slut Andy.”

As humiliating, as embarrassing as your dilemma is, you are more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life. Your prick is leaking into the panties, a gray bloom spreading across and down the front of them.

“Now, Andy Panties, show Jessica how hot you are. Rub the front of those wet panties. Yes, you’ve leaked all over them, haven’t you? Now rub them and read your little mantra again and again until you cum in those panties in front of us.”

You know you should stop this. But you can’t, because you want this, you need this. And so you begin rubbing.

“I am Andy Panties. I am a….”

But it’s too late. Because you are coming so hard that your knees are buckling, your asshole and balls are twitching.

“I told you that would happen,” Jessica tells your wife.

“Now you’ve got him by the balls. Forever.”

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