What Women Want; What Women Need 05

One day, the course material touched upon Dominatrices and men who came under their control. Melody, the most conservative member of the group and a devout Christian from Kansas, winced and pronounced such practices an abomination in defiance of God's Will. Native New Yorker Paul, usually quiet, was non-committal. Roger, from a wealthy suburban Chicago family, stated that he found reading about this type of behavior and learning about female domination and male fetishes to be "hot." "Of course," he quickly added, "that doesn't mean I could ever be drawn into anything like this."

Roger Diary Entry, Monday, September 16:

Today I expressed to the group that though I found D/s practices intriguing and even arousing, I was too committed in my orientation and attitudes to be lured into such a lifestyle. "Don't be too sure," Marti said later, when we were alone.

Marti is one of two co-eds in our study group: though quiet she has great self-assurance. She also had a very hot body: tall and lithe; full tits that stay impossibly high on her slender frame absent any evidence of a bra; constantly alert nipples that seem always to protrude through her shirts or blouses; an attractive face with high cheekbones; eyes that sparkle blue or green depending on the lighting; and shapely well-toned legs that reach all the way to Hong Kong. It is still Indian Summer, and Marti's not wearing jeans (oh, those legs) or sweaters (oh, those tits).

"I think it would be easy for the right woman to get to push the right buttons and dominate you," Marti told me.

"Well, let me know if you discover such a woman," I responded, indicating such a find might lead to a very interesting encounter indeed.

Marti Diary Entry, Monday, September 16:

Well, this afternoon Roger practically trumpeted his disgusting toxic macho attitude. Though I kept cool about it I was determined there and then to put him in his place, the smug loser.

Melody had left our discussion and then Paul departed, leaving Roger and me alone. I told him that I was quite familiar with domination and submissive behaviors, and though I hadn't engaged in any such interactions myself, I was certain that I could in fact inveigle him. "Inveigle." That was the word I used.

Now I knew he was attracted to me - a woman usually can tell. And that awareness emboldened me to let him know I would welcome the opportunity to demonstrate my potential power over him and test his susceptibility to my efforts.

Roger, Continuation of Diary Entry, Monday, September 16:

I told Marti to get specific. "You welcome the opportunity to do exactly what?" I asked. "Inveigle means what, like to seduce?"

"More like enticing and then controlling you," came her reply. "To attract you with my throbbing sexuality, lasso you into a fetish or two, then enslave you with my pussy," she continued. "Permanently, if I want. So be very careful before you even think about taking me up on this."

Well, I was amazed. The bitch had challenged me, just like that. I wasn't in the least bit worried she could succeed with her preposterous claim. But I was fascinated by her strong self-confidence, and actually saw an opening for our having an intense erotic encounter on my terms. I especially welcomed that prospect now, early in the school year, when I don't yet have a girlfriend.

We set a time - early Tuesday evening - and Marti wrote her apartment address on a slip of paper, handing it to me. I've met a lot of co-eds in four years of college and two more of graduate study, but never one so supremely self-possessed.

Marti, Diary Entry, Tuesday, September 17:

Although I've had only very limited sexual experience with men, my studies in the realm of male sexuality have been substantial. I feel quite capable of emasculating this moron, Roger. He is due in 20 minutes, at 7:00.

I know men are very visually oriented. I have shoulder-length stylish strawberry blonde hair with a pussy dyed to match; I'm just over 5' 9" on a slender frame with stunning 38C firm breast. I am so ready to deal with this worm Roger in terms of my meticulous appearance: eyeliner and false eyelashes; light blue eye shadow; light blush makeup; screaming red lipstick; quite a departure from my makeup-free norm on campus. I'm also dressed just right for this assignation: no top except a see-through nude underwire bra with half-cups of the sheerest fabric available: 15 denier, 60 gauge (ideal to display my usually hard erect nipples); neon blue panties barely hidden under a micro skirt; no hosiery; and open-toed matching blue fuck-me pumps. Finally, I'm wearing iridescent blue/silver earrings. I've applied an alluring scent in strategic spots.

This should be a very interesting get-together.

Roger, Diary Entry, Tuesday, September 17:

I am ready for our encounter, not long from now. I don't want to seem too eager, so I showered but did not shave. And I plan to arrive at her place a little late; and very confident, with a couple of condoms in my wallet.

Maybe I'll go easy on her, play the romantic game: after all, she is very attractive, and smart; I could do a lot worse than having her for my girlfriend this year.

Marti, Diary Entry, Tuesday, September 17:

No greeting marked Roger's arrival last night. I collected him at the doorway wordlessly, grabbed him by the shoulders, sternly stared directly into his eyes and motioned with my finger in front of my lips keep him quiet. I stepped back and let him get a good look at me and sense my potent sexuality.

Still silent, I led Roger to the couch, turning him around so he was standing with his back to me. Then I quickly did three things at once: (a) Leaning my head on his shoulder I began tonguing his neck and nibbling his ear; (b) My right hand opened an upper shirt button, and slid across his chest to massage his left nipple; (c) My left hand proceeded below his belt and inside his pants, quickly sliding down to hold his quickening cock.

The expected physiological actions quickly kicked in: Roger's breathing became shallow while respiration accelerated; cheeks and ears flushed; he swayed ever so faintly; the veins on his side neck demonstrated elevated pulse and heart rate; hairs on the back of his neck stood up; and his prick was becoming larger and engorged.

I firmly told Roger that he had to follow my rules precisely and without fail. As with a lap dance in a gentlemen's club, I could touch him but he could not reciprocate without explicit direction from me. He could not talk to me unless first given permission. He couldn't look at my face or at my pussy (clothed or naked) without permission. When he did address me, he would do so respectfully: no swearing, sarcasm, raised voice, or any other form of disrespect. And if he asked for something he would do so in businesslike fashion; no begging, ever.

I explained that though the rules were few, rigid adherence was required: if he violated any rule, he would be disciplined corporally, possibly severely, as I sought fit. Roger began to speak. Immediately I moved my left hand lower and forcefully squeezed his balls; at the same time my right hand painfully pinched his nipple. I told him this was because he had spoken without permission. I increased my manual pressure increased on his balls. Roger let out a little yelp, and I told him he'd better stop at once. And, boy, did he.

I eased up on the unwelcome pressure and continued my introductory narrative. Punishment would ensue if Roger disobeyed me in anything at all, and would increase in severity depending on the number of infractions. And if he persisted in noncompliance, that would simply lead to the prompt end of our encounter. In other words, the ultimate penalty for serious transgression or insubordination would be the discontinuance of our session and the permanent cessation of role-play.

I explained there was no need for a "safe word" since the emphasis in our interactions would not be infliction of pain but rather role-play: in fact, obedience would mean no pain at all.

"You are free to leave at any time if you don't like what I will make you do," I told Roger. "But if you stay, you must obey." He looked unsettled. "Of course," I added, "you know that I cannot make you do anything you do not want to do, deep down."

Now I was lying to Roger: by calling it "role-play" I intended to diminish concerns he might have. He would soon find out that we were embarking together on far more than mere games. As for rest, the infliction of increasing pain, psychic and physical, was unavoidable. In fact I intended to escalate pain at measured intervals, specifically to compel him to do things he would find odious. (In time, once his fetishes had blossomed and he was enslaved to me, he would come to enjoy pain, humiliation and subservience; but I didn't tell that to the poor jerk.)

Lastly, note that I did not use the actual term enslavement: no need to spook this fool who was strongly motivated by lust and his naïve male assumption that he could penetrate me and spew his seed.

"Nod if you understand the rules, but don't speak," I concluded.

Without hesitation Roger nodded.

I removed my hands, turned him around and directed him to undress fully and sit on the couch. After Roger had stripped - his budding erection was now in full retreat after I had rudely accosted his sperm factory. He gently sat and looked up at me, presumably for further instructions. Whereupon I bent down and slapped him hard on his cheek. "That's for looking at my face without permission," I explained.

From the adjoining end table I handed Roger two shopping bags with "gifts" for him. I told him to remove the contents and lay them out on either end of the narrow coffee table in front of him, leaving the center bare. Inside the shopping bags were a blindfold; a leather riding crop; a package of cotton balls; a small vial of camphor oil; a package of high-quality disposable razors; a container of nail polish perfectly matching my blue panties; a dispenser of hand sanitizer; a tube of shave butter; a plastic bottle of body wash; blue fishnet stockings; a blue lacy garter belt; a small bottle of scented body lotion; a tiny bottle of acetone; four hand towels; three brass cock rings of varying diameters; an aerosol can of shaving cream; an empty square plastic bowl; and a strap-on dildo. "What's this for?" he asked, holding up the phallic object.

I leaned over quickly and slapped him again, much harder than previously. "That is for speaking without permission," I enlightened him. "I didn't realize you were this slow. Would you like me to repeat the rules?" I asked.

He wisely moved his head from side to side, indicating that wouldn't be necessary.

Roger, Diary Entry, Wednesday, September 18:

My Tuesday visit to Marti's apartment was an eye-opener. For someone who never engaged in dominant/submissive role play, she was very well-prepared. It was obvious she wanted to waste no time taking control of me sexually. She laid down her silly rules and brought out a bunch of paraphernalia. If the purpose was to scare me, she didn't succeed. Anyway, she was one daunting bitch - her appearance was that of an upscale call girl. I decided to play along with her game until the moment I would take her.

Marti, Continuation of Diary Entry, Wednesday, September 18:

According to the literature, men are most successfully manipulated by focusing their attention on a putative Dominatrix' legs and feet. My gams are spectacular, my feet nothing special. But as any salesman knows, presentation is everything. I got right down to it.

I told Roger to sit straight up and pay attention. I stood on the opposite side of the narrow coffee table from him, and - BAM!! - slammed my left foot down on the surface a few inches in front of his knee. I told him to carefully remove my right shoe. I asked if he were man enough to sniff the sole of my shoe without cringing or making a face. He fell for the trap - to begin with there's obviously there's nothing the least bit manly about a man sniffing a woman's shoes - and did as I had suggested.

I directed him to put aside the shoe. While doing so, he stole a quick glance at my bright blue panties. I leaned forward and slapped him on his face, not hard but not playfully either, explaining why I did so.

I told Roger to take the plastic bowl to the kitchen and fill it with hot water. His expression was quizzical. But he got up and padded quickly to the adjoining room - I noticed he had a nice backside to go with his handsome face and mentally looked forward to reaming him in due course. He returned, placing the bowl with hot water on the table. While he was in the kitchen I picked up the riding crop, secreting it in my right hand.

I told Roger his first task in serving me would be to shave my legs. I asked if he'd ever shaved a woman's legs before, giving permission to respond. He replied in the negative. "Well, you've got everything you need there," I told him, "so get going. Remember, shave against the grain. And bear in mind these are very shapely, sexy legs with fine soft hair - not the rude stubble on a repulsive male mug - so be delicate. Believe me, you don't want cause even the smallest cut." I told him he should shave from the ankles to mid-thigh.

He asked if he should use the shave cream or the shave butter, and before he could finish the question - WHAM!! - I whipped him hard with the riding crop on his left thigh. Though it didn't break the skin, it left a nasty red welt; best he should learn this Mistress is not fooling around.

"What was that for?" Roger looked up at me and shouted.

"For talking without permission," I responded. "And your question just now was also without permission, so . . ." - WHAM!! - I struck him the same area a second time, harder. "And," I continued, "you just looked me in the face without permission, so . . ." - WHAM!! - I struck him yet again, even harder.

"Plus you just disrespected me by shouting," I pointed out gravely. "That is a major transgression requiring two lashings." I administered these more fiercely than the previous three - WHAM!! - WHAM!!

"Look," I said soothingly now, changing tone. "If you want to speak with me, just raise your hand." With great solicitude I continued, "Now, let me see your thigh where I disciplined you." Roger stretched it out to show me. The skin was broken and blood was oozing out. Ouch - it hurt me just to look at it. "We don't want that to get infected, do we?" I asked.

He shook his head to signify no but knew better than to look me in the face.

"Rub the hand sanitizer into the entire red area," I directed him. "That will kill germs. Now it will really hurt, but I don't want to hear a single whimper out of you." Then as an afterthought I added, "Oh, and to answer your question, for the legs you should use the shave butter; it's a premium brand."

Roger applied the sanitizer. He winced but didn't make a sound. Strong threshold to pain, I noted to myself. Cannot go easy inflicting punishment and expect to break him. And a realization came over me: I felt no compunction, none at all, in hurting him. I hadn't known whether I could hurt him blithely. This removed any doubts and led to a further triumphant realization: he is mine. I won't hesitate to do whatever is necessary. I will break him. I truly will enslave this cocky moron.

Roger, Continuation of Diary Entry, Wednesday, September 18:

Early into the session, Marti resorted to serious physical pain. Nothing that would cause permanent injury, but it truly hurt like a bitch. Well, what can you expect from a bitch? When I make my move on her, she will be very, very sorry.

Marti, Continuation of Diary Entry, Wednesday, September 18:

Well, things calmed after that, but only briefly. Roger actually did a commendable job shaving my right leg. When he got to mid thigh, just about to finish up, I noticed that his cock was nearly at full mast. I decided to test his self-control again. I swayed my leg just a bit and stated in my most seductive voice, "Oh you're doing a good job, Roger, and it feels great. My leg is now so smooth. You'll have the benefit of that silky feeling very soon now, after you finish my left leg. And the thought of you serving me and making love to my legs is such a turn-on. I'm really aroused. My pussy is getting so wet. I may have to change my panties soon." After hearing that Roger glanced upskirt pretty much involuntarily to peak at my panty. And so - WHAM!! - again I struck him with the crop, really, really hard to his already raw thigh, and explained why. I had hoped Roger would look at my pussy without conscious thought and he did; truly, Pavlov would have had a field day with this sick puppy.

I decided to shift gears again. "Roger," I asked. "you may answer me verbally. I have to ask you: are you a masochist?"

"N-n-no," he replied.

"Well, you wouldn't know it from the way you're misbehaving," I commented. "Maybe you're just not cut out for this, and should give up."

I had Roger apply more sanitizer - 70% alcohol - to his raw thigh. It wasn't a pretty sight. Not that I was moved.

I had him empty the water bowl in the kitchen, clean it out, refill it with cold water, and use one of the towels to clean my right leg with the clean cool water. Then I had him dry it off, and then apply some body lotion.

"Are you getting turned on caressing my smooth, silky, sexy leg?" I asked. He wisely nodded in the affirmative. "Oh yes, look at that," I responded, "you're getting really stiff. And almost a reasonable size, too. Modest as it is, we don't want that hard-on going to waste, do we?"

Roger nodded expectantly.

(He was actually pretty well endowed, but "almost reasonable" and "modest" were the best he was going to get out of me. The point is, keep slaves-in-training off-balance and unsure.)

"Come stand here," I said, "and let me see your cock up close, but avert your eyes: be careful not to look into my face." He did as he was told. I leaned over, my face about two inches from his groin. I fingered Roger's cock at its base and diddled it a little. There was just a speck of pre-cum at the tip as his circumcised cock came to life again. I reached down onto the table, sized up the cock rings, and chose one that I thought would fit best, the middle diameter. I put it on - Roger remained hard - but decided that maybe the larger size would be better; this one looked really tight. It wouldn't be painful right away but . . . Then I figured, what the heck, he might suffer some damage if he has a forced erection for four or five hours, but who cares: after all, when I get done with him - physically and emotionally - he won't be able to use his limp dick for anything other than pissing. He'll have a wet noodle that no combination of Viagra, Cialis or Levitra will help.

Well, Roger repeated the shaving process with my left leg, and did a very good job. I didn't have to flog him once. He was learning the protocols. (Wait until he realizes that more rules are added for each subsequent session, and they get harder and harder to follow.)

Roger, Continuation of Diary Entry, Wednesday, September 18:

Marti asked me to shave her spectacular legs. How could I refuse? Though tedious work - I was very careful - it was actually a tremendous turn-on.

Marti, Continuation of Diary Entry, Wednesday, September 18:

When Roger finished shaving my legs, I had him clean my feet with body wash, pat them dry, then apply nail polish. He learned quickly, and enjoyed it. My constant praise of his efforts helped stoke him. His cock was now darkening to a deep purple color. I'm sure it hurt - he knew better than to complain - but it would soon start to get tingly (such as when a limb falls asleep) and then become more or less numb. I doubt he realized this.