Femdom: Widowers

"That was pathetic," she said, "I'm actually embarrassed about how poorly you handled that. My husband loved the pillory - I could enjoy myself for hours with him, but you barely lasted five minutes. You did such a good job of reconstructing the stocks, then you wasted your reward by screaming and blubbing. So now you are going to stay here, in this position, without moving a muscle, for exactly one hour while you think about how you've disappointed me, then you will dress and leave quietly"

She left me alone in the cellar. I set a timer on my phone and I remained motionless for exactly sixty minutes, contemplating how a 30 year old lady could own me so completely for the cost of just two orgasms, and desperately fantasising that she was upstairs, masturbating on her bed.

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The following Saturday I got a WhatsApp from Lucy; 'Hi Mark, come to my house'

I locked the house and immediately went next door.

She opened the door and looked at me quizzically. "Where are your tools Mark?" she said.

"I... well, I thought that..."

She tried to look stern but could not hide the smile on her face as she grabbed me by the hair and tugged me into her house. "How dare you be so presumptuous Mark!," she chided, "do you honestly think I'll reward you for nothing?". She kicked the door closed behind me, then with my head held at around her waist height, she dragged me down to the cellar.

"Give me your belt" she said. I unbuckled it and slid it out of my belt rings, then presented it to her.

She took it from me, doubled it over, and slapped her palm lightly with it. "Now, undress" she commanded.

I obeyed, fumbling nervously with my buttons and zips, then folding my clothes and placing them in neat pile on the floor by her tall cabinet, then I stood to face her, humbled and naked.

She paced back and forth before me in her pretty, floral summer dress, her hair held back with an alice-band, inspecting my naked body. She looked for all the world like a catalogue model from an innocent, mainstream 50's clothing magazine, but for the belt in her hand which she held by the buckle and let trail on the floor as she walked.

"Are we going to give each other what we want today, Mark?" she asked, "Let me beat you 50 times and I will let you see me naked... do you think we can give each other that pleasure?"

I knew that I could not take 50 strokes like the ones she had administered the previous week, but I desired so desperately to please her and to see her naked. "Yes Lucy, I want to give you that pleasure"

She smiled sweetly. "Over to the stocks then" she said, brightly.

As soon as I turned my back on her to approach the pillory she took a sharp intake of breath. "Oh my god" she exclaimed, quietly, "I'd forgotten how erotic it is to see the bruises of a previous thrashing!". I felt strangely proud that my beaten backside aroused her.

At the pillory I spread my legs to meet the crossed base while Lucy unlocked and opened her cabinet. She brought the hand cuffs and dropped them at my feet. "lock your own legs Mark," she instructed, "I like it more when a man has secured his own fate".

When I was done, Lucy lifted the heavy plank and I immediately, voluntarily, I rested my neck and wrists in the padded cut-outs, knowing full-well that I was placing myself entirely at her mercy. She lowered the board and closed the clasp.

I listened to her remove her scant clothes and tug-on her leather boots. The thought of her naked behind me kept me hard, and I'm sure that I must have been leaking pre-cum before she had even finished her preparations.

For some reason I expected her to stand close to me again, so that I could feel the lure of her naked body behind me, but suddenly, and without warning, I felt the first strike of my belt on my bruised backside.

"One" I yelped without being asked.

"Good boy!" she cooed, "so compliant!"

She struck me again, and I called out the number two. My skin burned and the aching pain deep within my flesh started to return, but overall, the feeling was not as horrific as those first strikes the week before.

"Three" I winced, as she continued her assault.

"It doesn't hurt so much this week does it!?" she asked between strokes.

"Four!!, no Lucy! Not quite so bad".

"Good boy. Perhaps your backside is getting used to it?"

"Five!.... yes Lucy!"

"How many strokes do I want to give you?"

"Six!.... er 50 Lucy"

I stiffened my legs and presented my bottom to her - I wanted to convey myself as a man who could take a good battering.

"50 and you'll see me naked Mark" she said.

She continued her thrashing, reaching 10 without further conversation other than my pained counting. The feeling was so much less than the previous week that I knew I would be able to take the full 50 strokes.

"You're doing so well Mark!" she said after the tenth stroke, "are you going to make it to 50? My husband always could"

"Yes Lucy! I'm going to give you what you want... I'll take 50 for you!"

"You're such a good boy Mark" she said, then she struck me again, so much harder than the previous strokes.

"Eleven!" I screamed, involuntarily dancing around, clanking in the cuffs around my ankles and causing the stocks to shake.

Lucy laughed. "Getting harder?" she asked.

"Aw, Lucy!" I hollered, that hurt so much!

"I'm back to full strength now Mark" she giggled, and I finally realised that she had been going easy on me for the first ten strokes.

I felt stupid, closed my eyes and said nothing, until her renewed belting forced me to cry out the increasing numbers.

By the twentieth stroke I had taken as much as I could bear. I began to cry with the pain and humiliation. "Please Lucy" I sobbed between strokes, "Please Lucy, I give up..."

Lucy stopped her torture of my poor buttocks and threw the belt at me feet again.

She stood beside me and through the stinging tears in my eyes I could see her high-heeled boots below the yolk of the pillory. They were shiny black leather, tightly shaped around her calves, and instantly I realized why they were hard for her to get on and off.

"What have you learned today Mark?" she asked.

"You decide when I reach 50 strokes Lucy" I sobbed, "I can't do it unless you let me".

Lucy seemed pleased with my answer. "Good boy" she said, placing her hand on my back and sliding it down onto the painful welts on my bottom.

"I decide" she said. Then she grabbed a handful of my burning flesh and pinched me hard. I cried out again, and cursed myself for being so weak.

"I'm still disappointed in you Mark," she said. "Jonathan would have lasted a lot longer, and he wasn't trying to see me naked".

"I'm sorry Lucy, I..." I said, humbly.

"You will be Mark. You're going to stay in the stocks for an hour while you contemplate your failings, then I'll let you out and you can go home"

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I didn't see Lucy for three weeks after that evening as she was out of the country, but our relationship still stepped-up a gear as she started to send me provocative WhatsApps. Some were relatively innocent... 'did you enjoy the other night?', or 'I'm naked, bet you wish you were here...'. Others were more provocative... 'I'm looking forward to beating you again Mark', or the somewhat cryptic 'smack, lick, smack, lick'.

Then, after the second week, Lucy sent an image that made me cringe with embarrassment - it was of me in the stocks, bottom red and lined, cock stiff and leaking. My face was not visible, but it was her cellar, my jeans and my boxers... definitely me.

The following image really sent my head into a spin - it was a photograph of man on his hands and knees wearing a humbler. The device held his shiny, purple balls behind his bottom and they were striated with cane marks that also adorned his bruised and welted backside. Her caption read 'I prefer branded goods'. I looked again at the photo and saw that the man's backside had been marked with the letter 'L', seemingly with a branding iron many years prior. I looked closer at the man's face and suddenly it dawned on me that the grey haired gentleman I'd seen in framed photos around her house was not her father but her husband - a man who must have been about my age. I realised that Lucy had not chosen to dominate me because I was conveniently her next door neighbour, but because I was her 'type' - the sort of man she preferred to subjugate.

I typed back immediately; 'L for Lucky.'

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A few days after Lucy returned to the UK, she sent me a WhatsApp, asking me to bring a pair of secateurs and meet her in her back garden. I quickly visited my shed, then went next door and through the side gate into her vast garden which not only extended backwards as mine did, but also sideways, steeply down into the valley, presumably right down to the little river. As I rounded the corner of her house I saw her seated on a wicker chair on her decking, dressed, as usual, in a long, light summer dress, reading a book in the sunshine.

"Hi Mark! Come here!" she called brightly when she saw me.

"Hi Lucy!" I reciprocated, then I stood, somewhat awkwardly, a few feet from her, not quite knowing what to do next.

She took a sip of tea then looked up at me.

"L is for Lucky" she laughed. "I liked that one."

I smiled, happy that I had entertained her. Then, suddenly, her demeanour changed and she looked quite sultry and imperious.

"Take your clothes off Mark" she said.

"Outside? In the garden..." I began to protest.

"We're not overlooked. Give me those secateurs and do as I say" she interrupted.

I handed her the clippers and removed my clothes, folding them and placing them in a neat pile by the wall of her house. She sipped her tea and looked me up and down; at my saggy knees and slightly paunched belly, at my untidy pubic hair and semi-flaccid cock.

"Come closer" she said.

I approached her until I was stood right next to her chair and she was tilting her head back to look up at me. Then she flicked the safety catch off the secateurs and brought the open blades up to cradle the shaft of my cock, which visibly shrivelled and attempted to retreat.

"Lucy... I...." I stammered, though I did not back my cock out of the steel jaws.

She held the sharp blades against my soft member for a few seconds, staring me straight in the eyes, then removed them with a smile. "L is for Later" she said, malevolently.

She stood and told me to follow her. As we crossed her broad lawn I looked in all directions to check that we weren't overlooked, but the only house with a view into Lucy's back garden was my own. I realized that she had moved a long way down her garden in order to sunbathe, and must have chosen that spot specifically because it was overlooked by the windows of my spare room.

At the end of her lawn we passed through a wooden latticed arch and into an area of vegetable patches alongside a large cast-iron greenhouse. It looked Victorian and must have been built soon after the house. The path was constructed of uneven brick pavers and led between raised beds to another arch, beyond which was a patch of what I would have called 'waste land'. It was bordered by high brick walls, overgrown with ivy, dotted with the sapling children of the silver birches that stood in the forgotten extremities of the surrounding gardens, and crowded with tall nettles.

We stopped at the archway.

"I want you to clear this nettle patch" Lucy said.

I looked at the formidable crop, and at my exposed body. "But Lucy.. I'm naked!" I protested.

She looked at me sternly. "Start in the middle" she said.

I held my breath (don't know why), and stepped slowly into the nettles. The pain struck me instantly, stinging every part of my legs and feet. I walked with my thighs pressed together and a hand over my flaccid cock, but the slender, seeking leaves of the evil plant found their way into every crevice, biting at my cock and balls.

"Hands above your head!" Lucy ordered, and I forsook my poor penis by bowing to her command. The tallest of the plants frolicked around my exposed genitals, joyfully stinging every inch of my skin and quickly, to my shame and horror, my stupid cock stiffened into a raging hard on. It bore the brunt of the abuse as I continued my journey, brushing through the stinging leaves or snagging on the stalks that did not yield easily. Finally I reached the centre of the crop, hunched slightly by the crippling pain that pervaded every part of my lower body, yet sporting the biggest boner of my life.

I turned to look at Lucy who was leaning against the arch with her hand on her hip, then I crouched down to begin snipping the stalks of the nettles, close to the ground.

Lucy watched for a few hours, fetching her book and a cool glass of lemonade to occupy her while I toiled. Occasionally I would yelp or cuss as I stood on a stalk, or took a particularly vicious sting, and Lucy would look up from her book and laugh. I called to her to say that it would be easier to pull the stalks out at the root, but Lucy just laughed and said that she was keen for them to grow back.

"Bring me two dozen long, straight stalks when you've finished" she said eventually, then returned to the shade of her terrace, out of the beating sun.

The labour of clearing the nettle patch took a couple of hours more, and I never got immune to the torture of the nettles' evil sting. By the time I had finished I was filthy, sweaty, covered in a lumpy, itchy rash, and seriously worried that I might have some sort of terrible anaphylactic shock reaction. I collected the 24 beautiful specimens that I'd carefully selected and set-aside, then returned to Lucy's house.

"I've Finished" I declared, presenting her with the long stalks. "They were out of flowers" I joked.

She looked at me and smiled. "such a good boy!" she teased.

She studied my naked body; the red and white rash, my filthy feet, the confetti of soil and small leaves that clung to my sweaty skin and the dirty smears on my face. My penis seemed exhausted from being rigid for so long, and now looked like a shrivelled nub of floppy skin between my legs.

Lucy took a pair of pink Marigold washing up gloves from the table beside her and made a show of putting them on, pulling them up her arms and letting them snap into shape. I was sure she must have a pair of dominatrix gloves in her playroom cabinet, but somehow the domestic washing up gloves perfectly suited her current housewife disguise. When she was finished she held a hand out and I passed the stinging nettles to her. She dropped most on the floor beside her chair but kept four or five in her hand, their tips resting on the floor at my feet.

"Did it hurt a lot?" She asked.

"Clearing the nettle patch? Yes Lucy, it hurt very much" I confessed.

She smiled a sad smile.

"Did you like it?......spread your legs"

"No, Lucy," I replied, parting my feet until they were around two feet apart, "I really didn't like the pain"

"Did you like that I made you suffer it?" She asked, raising the tips of the nettles off the floor until they dangled just below my poor testicles.

"Yes Lucy, it turned me on a lot that you made me work so hard and suffer such pain"

Lucy beamed. "Me too" she said, "it turned me on too. Aren't we lucky that we have each other?"

"Yes Lucy, we're..."

"Shush!... it was rhetorical"

She let the tips of the nettles whip up and down between my parted legs, the gentle waft soothing my tingling skin whilst the flailing leaves threatened me instant pain.

"I'm going to make you entertain me a little more" she said. "I'm going to make you dance for me. If you do it well I will reward you, but if you move away from that spot I will add 10 strokes to your target. Understand?"

"Yes Lucy"

Immediately, Lucy brought the tips of the nettles up to meet my dangling scrotum. Despite the four hours of similar pain that I had already suffered, the stinging hurt like crazy and I involuntarily began to hop around on the spot. Lucy laughed heartily, brushing the stinging tips gently across my scrotum and cock. "You're enjoying this!" she mocked, as my tortured penis began to grow for her.

When Lucy decided that her bouquet of nettles had lost their sting, she dropped them on the floor and collected another small bunch. She ran these up and down the insides of my thighs and calves, and I danced more and more. She teased or dragged the progressive crops of fresh nettles across my feet, legs balls, stiff cock and nipples, laughing with glee as I danced in pain, then she lifted the tips high and brushed then back and forth across my face, stinging my ears, cheeks and lips. For the final batch she bade me turn around and bend over with my legs apart and hands on my knees, then she dragged the stems across my scrotum and sensitive anus, causing me to yelp, and my erection to reach a new peak of rigidity.

When Lucy had finally finished torturing me she sat back and sipped her lemonade. I remained in position with my bare backside pointing towards her.

"You've been a good boy today," she declared. "would you like a reward?"

"Yes Lucy!" I answered eagerly, "very much so".

"Turn around then, and get in your knees before me."

I did as instructed and she stood up and stepped up to me until the underside of her breasts touched my forehead. Still wearing her Marigolds, she cradled my head and stroked my hair for some time while I smelt her perfume and felt the soft cotton of her dress, and the firmer material of her bra. This was the first truly comforting moment that I had ever spent with Lucy. Her cradling and stroking was almost loving until she slipped her hands to my neck, wrapped her fingers around it, and held my head back so that she could look into my eyes.

"Fuck my legs Mark" she said, gripping me tightly by the throat.

I did not fight her grip, or break our stare, just pushed my erection between her legs, and started to slowly hump back and forth. I was at just the wrong height to have my cock between her soft thighs or calves, and I found myself in the tight grip between her hard knees. My cock was still sore and tingling from the nettle torture, but the luxury of having her warm, smooth skin abound my cock was enough to make the experience pleasurable and lascivious in a deliciously perverted kind of way.

She tightened her grip on my throat, adjusting her fingers so that her thumbs crossed at the front and her fingers stretched around the sides. It felt firm but not uncomfortable, and I could smell the rubber of her gloves.

"Do you like it?" She asked, still staring deeply into my eyes.

"Yes!" I replied, a little hoarsely as her thumbs restricted my throat a little more. I held on to her legs, either side of her knees, and thrust my cock back and forth. Soon I found a position where I could apply the maximum rub on my glans, and I began to climb the hill towards an orgasm.

She tightened her grip on my throat again and I began to feel the blood pumping in my neck and my face beginning to redden.

"Still?" She asked.

"Yes!" I choked. I began to hump more desperately, concerned that she might make me pass out before I reached my goal. The tingling, throbbing in my glans as they smarted horribly from the nettle poison was exquisite and dirty, and my whole situation felt deliciously depraved.

Lucy studied me further, staring at my soul as she choked me tighter in her housewives' rubber gloves.

"Are you going to make it Mark?" She asked.

"Yes Lucy!" I retched, hardly able to form the words, "Yes!, Yes!, Yes!...."

Her grip was soon so tight that I couldn't speak any more, I stopped trying to breathe and concentrated on banging the tight gap between her knees as effectively as possible. I looked into her eyes to tell her that I was close.

"Finish yourself bitch" she commanded, and my cock immediately erupted between her knees, sending ropes of cum onto the deck behind her, or running down her calves in hot rivers.