The following is creative writing, not just for adults, but for the mature. If you are uncertain at all about the nature of consent, this is a great resource: National Coalition for Sexual Freedom
Thank you. 🙂
We’ve been playing for about four years. It feels like so much longer. Not because he’s a pathetic loser, that simply can’t give up on his hysterical attempts at impressing me, despite his complete ineptitude and constant failure. But because it seems we’re terribly compatible.
He gives me a tremendous amount of power, which I greedily take and consume like it’s nothing at all. Yum! 😋 The power allows me to express parts of myself that, without a slave, are left bored and unengaged. Our familiarity feels like that of long time friends. And when he came to see me this time, he did one or two things that were not disappointing. Very impressive.
We began the day slowly. I had him bring me lunch and then draw me a bath. I let him wash me. Amazingly, doing this part right has taken practice for him. He’s had to learn how to shut the fuck up and to stay calm. I care nothing about how he feels or what he’s thinking in times like this as long as it doesn’t disturb my peace, which is the purpose of a hot, sudsy bath. He used to pant and fumble like an idiot. He’s much better now. Next, a massage. After a few hours of taking care of me, I decided that I wanted to dress him up.
Lingerie under a dress. Makeup, lovely lashes, and elegant brunette hair. Her name was Coral now. And she just looked stunning, if I do say so myself. So I decided we were going out for drinks. A girls’ night out.
We found a good spot, ordered drinks and talked. Pathetically, she STILL tried to impress me. Ugh.
You see, somewhere deep inside he still wants to believe he’s a real man. Even when he’s dressed as a woman, he wants to think that he could please me like a real man. That I might, at any point, see him as masculine, powerful and/or capable. The hope rises almost constantly and I know, to him, it’s like a hungry cock waiting and desperately hoping to fuck a wet pussy that’s just sitting there waiting to get fucked. But to me, it’s a lot more like an annoying mosquito. Tiny and irritating.
So that’s when it’s time to — either physically, verbally or emotionally — punch him in the balls and continue to do so until I’m sure he knows that his manhood is — and always has been — an illusion. Leaving every recognizable hint of hope he had a limp, bloody, pulverized, weeping mass of shit. You are not a man and you never have been.
Tonight I was very proud of her. It was only her second night out as a girl and she was cool as pudding. We had a few drinks and, after correcting her little issue, we had a lovely evening. It was the next morning that things really got fun.
Wake up. Eat. Dress up like the sissy fagot that you are. And off we go to the glory hole to teach you what your mouth is for.
It’s always exciting walking in. Who’s here? Do they know what we’re doing? Eye contact with strangers is the best. One stranger in particular was rather nice looking. We walk up and down the hallway looking for just the right one. Either a glory hole on each side, or a glory hole and a viewing screen. We found it. A glory hole and a viewing screen.
Immediately, I instructed the slut, Coral, to get down on her knees, stick her fingers in the hole and wait patiently like a good slut. It was a slow start, but one by one they started coming around, offering her what she really needed. I have to say, her dick-sucking skills have improved. Even so, I did need to offer her some guidance. Slow down. Lick the tip. Suck his balls. Take it deep. No. Deep. I pressed her head down on his cock with the back of my hand. Good little slut. This is what you’re good for. Shut up and swallow. Very nice.
At one point, there was a knock on the door. I opened the door. It was the nice looking gentleman from the hallway. I let him in. “Would you like your dick sucked?” I asked. He looked at Coral on her knees and then looked at me. He wanted me not her, but I wasn’t there to enjoy myself like that. I was there to teach Coral a lesson. So I politely said no thank you. He looked at me, and he looked at her. He was conflicted. Very interesting. I love inner conflict.
Before inner conflict, life is simple. Predictable. Introduce a little situation and inner conflict, and behold, there is something to figure out. Inner conflict is interesting, and interesting is sexy.
He did not want a man to suck his cock, but he liked me. He wanted to stay and get his cock sucked and hoped maybe I would change my mind about something if he did. It was wonderful to watch him wrestle with his dilemma. After a moment or two, he decided to put a condom on and look at me.
Coral did her job, while the stranger and I looked at each other. I must admit, holding eye contact with him was very comfortable. He was respectful, but not shy at all. He inched closer to me, and I let him. He asked if he could touch me, and I let him. I touched him back. He had lean and bulky arms. He leaned in to kiss me and I planted my hand firmly on his muscular chest, holding him inches from me. He almost desperately massaged my thighs and ass while I held him there, rarely breaking eye contact. The tension and the sad look on his face made me laugh. Honestly, we (or only I?) hardly noticed Coral at all. I was enjoying myself too much. And when we were all done, I made her thank him profusely. And just like that, off we went. She was completely spent.
After returning home, it was time for mandatory beatings. Coral doesn’t like having her arms tied up above her head, so up they went. I took a cane to her ass, back and thighs. I paddled her useless balls. And when her hands started to turn blue, I took her down. It was time to abuse her other hole.
“Set up the machine,” I told her while I freshened up. I love how hasty she works after a thorough beating. Once it was set up, I tied her up on her hands and knees, pulled her panties down and pressed the lubed dildo up against her ass. I could feel her tense with anticipation. Certainly all of the adrenaline from our day and night together was performing its duty.
I gently pressed the cock into her asshole (What? I can be nice sometimes.) and with a little pressure it made its way in. I turned the machine on, which came alive with its lovely mechanical hum constellating our play. It worked in and out of her. I watched as her body again tensed and then relaxed into it. I turned it up and listened to her whimpers rise along with it. I recorded her vocalizations, which soon turned into a pattern of repeated and slowly changing sentiments of worship. I turned it up. Then down. Then up again. I relaxed and put my feet up on her back. She needs to remember her place. And when it was over, she really was spent.
Play time was over. Exhausted, we both began to clean up.
“Mistress?” She said in her quiet way.
“Is it alright if I put my head in your lap?”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
We sat down and as she put her head in my lap, I instinctively began to stroke her hair and rub her back. I can be a little matter-of-fact at times. I appreciate a request for tenderness. It brings me back to the place of warmth and connection that makes being a monster so much fun.