Friday Femdom Fiction: That Extra Shove

“I don’t know, Boss, I don’t think it can fit.” His eyes had widened when she pulled the plastic package out of the plain red shopping bag. The company that made the toy was know for its reliable quality and ethical manufacturing- but like everything of that nature bore the warning that it was “for novelty purposes only”, at least if you bought it in those states that gave you a criminal record for doing the naughty with an object explicitly designed for that reason.

This was Canada, so she’d bought the big black butt plug with complete impunity, and talked with the clerk for a good fifteen minutes about anal sex first. Broaching the edge of the plastic bubble pack with a pair of scissors, she sawed and crunched.

“I would work better if you used the can opener,  Boss.”

“Shut up, Sweetpea,” she said affectionately, prying the plastic apart like a stubborn clamshell. The hard edges bit at her fingers, but she persisted until she wriggled out the entire, solid and heavy black silicone plug and thumped it dramatically, flared bad down, on the table.

He looked at the heft of it, and tried to imagine it inside him. “I still think it’s a bad idea, Boss.”

“It was on sale!”

“Yeah, for how much?” It’s not that she couldn’t afford it, but she was always trying to downplay the effort when she got him a gift. He thought it was cute.

“Fifty bucks. Down from sixty,” she looked pleased and a bit defensive. “I consider it a goal for you. Besides, it’s only a smidgen bigger than my fist.”

He made a hand waving gesture over his shoulders, “You’re the Boss…”

“Don’t you forget it, Sweetpea.”

She did try the toy, over the weekend, but found that he got hung up on the widest point. Not one to be perturbed by a challenge, she gave him a break, until presently he forgot about it, the toy living in its own ziplock bag. They played with other things, over the weeks, fucking and fisting and strapon sex, and other normal couple things until one Saturday night, cozied up together, she decided it was time…

The swishy, latex dipped, double bamboo cane was another acquisition from the same sex shop, bought several months ago at a post Valentine’s clearance event. She loved how easy it was, and he loved to hate it- it hurt like a bitch, and was just on the cusp of too much in one go, but of course a part of him craved the excessiveness. This feeling of horrible-wonderful was of course only helped along by the fact that his nuts were now connected, via well wrapped rope, to a little metal hook in one of the big heavy ceiling beams, something she had attached, through the loop, to his big toe, so he was standing like a particularly uncomfortable flamingo. On a piece of plastic waffle mesh that was ever so slowly imprinting his other foot with grooves.

To make things more interesting, from time to time the cane would zip down against calf, or thigh, or worse, his upturned sole. She was looking for the misery point, herding him there.

“I can’t Boss, I c-can’t…”

“Would you like to sit down?”

“Yes,” he said, small voiced.

“Okay, you need to wait for another minute.” She loved that quiet admission that she had broken him, but she wanted done with him. “I’ll count it off for you.”

He whimpered and nodded, and she made sure he could hear her run from sixty, letting him see she wouldn’t cheat. When she unhitched him, he sagged like a puppet with cut strings, limping on his tenderized feet.

“Com’ere Sweetpea, time to sit down and get the weight off.”

And then he saw the chair set up, with the plug sat in the middle of it.

“Oh, fuck no, Boss…” he said, weakly.

She had the pharmacy brand KY in her hand now, “How much of this I let you use is entirely determined by how much shit you give me, Sweetpea.”

“Yes, Boss.” He caught the lube clumsily, made sure to use as much of it as he thought he could get away with. Usually he was lucky if she let him have a pea sized dollop, which meant she was serious. Still a little pain drunk, he sat down.

The blunt tipped wedge of the plug opened him, like a foot in the door or her fingers on the plastic package, pushing and hurting, but also have a certain pleasurable intensity. Gravity and his own efforts forced it in further, and despite the lube slickness, pulled wet tears up in the corners of his eyes.

It was easier, at least, than before, but he still stuck at the widest point. He whimpered.

“Now Sweetpea, I want to see your butt touch the chair,” Her voice was all fake stern, her face lit with a sadist’s empathy.

“Boss!”

“I know you can do it. I’ve seen you take more, you greedy little slut!”

“Bosssss…” He was crying properly now as the widest point slipped in, giving him incredible fullness. She took a step back, watching him.

“Hurts, doesn’t it? It’s nice.”

—-

This particular piece is stitched together from my own and other people’s experience. Let’s just say I have cool friends.

Catamite Pt. 18

True to her word, Annette let him sleep in her wide, comfortable bed, and he stayed there until one of the chamber maids appeared to change the linens. The maid departed without completing her task, giving him time to dress and reorient himself to the mid-afternoon sun and confusion of his routines and regulations.

She had, in the time he slept, dressed in day clothing, reapplied makeup and changed her hair, though asides from a few loose tendrils, the blonde coils were covered by a simple house cap. Timmans had evidently recovered and was back at work dressing her mistress.

“I don’t like your face, it’s too prickly,” her fingers lightly brushed his cheek. “It’s uncomfortable when I slap you.”

Read more

Catamite Pt. 17

He watched as Annette dressed, filament fine stockings drawn on with protective gloves as the roughness of bare fingers would ladder the knit instantly, clipped to the garters of the girdle, beige tinted elastic panels containing and lifting her, smoothing the child worn belly, hoisting her breasts and pushing her ribs down. Like a woman of his class letting herself be seen with a bare face, as an unmarried man it was another mystery Annette had initiated him into, the hooks and straps that held the daughters, mothers and wives of great men ridged backed and tight around the abdomen, each point of restraint giving just enough that the body could move, but collaborating together to hold the woman up so no muscle could let itself rest untightened or sigh and shrug could excuse a slouch. Read more

Catamite Pt. 15

Annette came back early, more tired than the shortness of her ride justified. After the tedious business of side saddle mounting, a horse with a lame foot and some worry about the possibility of rain, the women had only been able to follow the trail to the point that it crossed the road, and there they’d been met by a soldiers’ checkpoint. They had no issues with the matter of identification or the acceptance of their papers, but the soldiers had turned them away anyway, citing danger to life and limb.

The ongoing insurrection had been particularly loud that week, derailing a train, blowing up police stations, and recently, leaving an informer crucified in the middle of the little village about eight miles away. A little gathering of respectable ladies, no matter how well chaperoned by their guards, were far too tempting a target for the soldiers to be willing to risk and the armed and armoured men made grovelling apologies, especially in light of who Annette’s father had been. She could have pressed the point, if she’d wished, but she saw the wisdom in the soldier’s caution and agreed with their decision. And so the pre-dinner entertainment was a write off and each woman retired to her own pursuits: Agatha into a fashion video downloaded straight from the runways of the capital, and Patricia went for a walk around the grounds with Pitor as an escort.

Read more

Catamite Pt. 13

The ropes were a dirty dun colour, thin, but wound several times around his body in rippled bands so that the bite of one cord was negated by its sisters. Such comforts gave him the full ability to concentrate on the hanging weights and the cross linked cords that made each of the four men intimately connected and gave them one contact point with the ground.

Read more

Catamite Pt. 11

He looked down to undo the buttons on his vest, and loosen his tie, before buttons on his shirt. If he didn’t look anywhere but his hands, it made it less humiliating, though every woman in the room was watching as he revealed more of his naked skin. He followed Annette’s usual preference and folded the silk vest after he’d taken it off, and then the starched linen shirt, leaving the silver cufflinks atop the pile. Maria stopped her pulling, leaving Vitaly a moment’s respite.

Clamps bit into the little bumps of his nipples and everywhere on his chest that she pinched and clipped off, choosing a more random distribution than the neat stripes of pain Maria had inflicted on her fiancé.

Phillip looked at Annette’s hands as she worked, accepting the discomfort but trying to keep his vocalizations to a minimum. He was quickly decorated with as many clamps as Vitaly, and then Annette made a spider’s web with more ribbon, starting on his belly and looping everything together.

Annette stroked his face. “Good boy, Adam, I was sure we’d have to restrain you.”

“Thank you,” Phillip knew what was coming next.

She started by tugging just on the individual toothed mouths, giving little shots of pain as the stretched and bit into his skin, and then pulling more than one pinch, using the ribbons. When they’d been on his skin for a while, she grabbed the skin next to the clamp and released it for a second, fluttering on the spot so it gnawed.

Hissing and grunting became yelping. Annette was in front of him, biting her lip and breathing slowly. “Were it not for propriety, I could kiss you now,” she whispered. “You’re so handsome in this little bit of pain. Oh Adam, are you going to scream? ”

“Thank you,” Phillip repeated, tightening the muscles in his core and kneeling straight upright like a pillar. “No, I think I can bear it.”

“Oh please,” Maria’s wheedle broke in. “Let me do something?”

“What is it, dear?” Annette put her hand on Maria’s arm, swallowing back some of her lust. “Don’t neglect Mr. Yardley.”

“Let’s have a tug of war! Until one cries off!”

He and Vitaly faced off, each little metal spot of pain tied to a corresponding clamp on the other male. Maria was behind her fiancé, hands on his shoulders and looking across at him, while he could feel Annette’s hands on his forehead and throat, tilting his head back.

“So, what do you think, Adam, do you want to win this?” Annette whispered in his ear. “Mr. Yardley is going to have to pay some sort of forfeit if he loses and I know you are tougher and outweigh him.”

“Win this, Vitya, or there’s going to be more time on the bench!” Maria’s unrestrained zeal made her shout in her fiancé’s ear, “though maybe a slut like you would see that as a reward. More time stretching?”

“What do you want?” The metal teeth were starting to tear his skin. “My Lady?”
“Your comfort, darling. Maria doesn’t care as long as she sees someone humiliated, though personally I see you as private property. But it wouldn’t bother me to see you lose; I just wondered if you wanted the responsibility for Vitaly getting gang raped.”

“Nhhhh…”

“Come on, Miss Maria, be fair. Let your fiancé be a man!” Patricia spoke from her comfortable chair. “Make him pull!”

Annette’s hands relaxed, stroking his shoulders. “This is not a mind game, this is pain.”

Phillip felt the lack of Annette’s presence as she stood up and joined Maria off to the side. Without the two women tugging on them, the two men locked eyes. Vitaly was scared, his makeup smeared past recognition and his hands clenched into fists.

“Mr. Yardley, pull” Phillip said quietly.

“I am!” Vitaly said through clenched teeth, so quietly that it was almost inaudible.

Phillip knew he was putting on a good show. They both leaned backwards, edging away to the limits their flesh would let them. Further trickles of blood came from the stretching bite of the pin sharp metal teeth. The women were leaning in, as was Patricia’s Pitor.

The first clip pulled off his flesh, opening up a channel in the skin where the heavy sprung jaws dragged through. Phillip screamed, but not before Vitaly, both men putting red droplets on the emerald green rug.

Annette was panting. She could take or leave Vitaly, but her man was gorgeous, arms swung behind his back for better balance and pain writ in large font, from his spare muscular chest and belly, to the hard cords of his neck. The alligator mouths were fastened all about, pulling and tearing and putting little amounts of fresh red blood on his pale skin and amongst the feather light, dark hair on his body.

In the end, after they’d both lost several clips and Phillip guessed Vitaly was near his tolerance, Phillip asked for mercy.

“My Lady!”

She was behind him again in a whirl of heavy skirts, arms on his and chin on his left shoulder. “I believe your Mr. Yardley is the winner!”

Maria squealed in competitive triumph, taking scissors from Patricia and cutting the ribbons to separate the two men. Annette was deftly and gently taking the clips off him, not minding the small amounts of blood she got on her sleeves. Phillip let himself slump against her.

“Lucky I broke with my usual habit and wore red,” she whispered. “You are coming to bed with me tonight.”

Agatha seemed unperturbed at the state of her rug. “Well, then, that was delightful!”

“Awww, but you lost! Vitya, maybe you should give him your panties.”

Phillip looked at the filmy piece of fabric being proffered. “You are too kind,” he said, from the vicinity of Annette’s lap. “My lady?”

“No Maria, I have a different forfeit in mind. I think Adam would be rewarded, not punished with those.”

“Like Puppy? What a pervert!”

Riding the next morning made the perfect excuse to retire early. Without even retrieving his shirt, Annette steered him in the direction of the guest rooms, and a brief conference with a servant was the only pause before she shoved him through the door and backwards onto the guest bed and straddled him.

“Mine!” She grabbed his jaw and forced a kiss on him. “I want you, now.”

Phillip recoiled back into the bed, feeling her nails dig into his neck. Arousal might be driving Annette but he was tired, tense and stinging from about a dozen and a half little bites. She was struggling with the button on his pants when the knock on the door interrupted them.

A servant bought a bottle of alcohol and a folded cloth. “Ah, right.”

It woke up all the pain again when she lightly dabbed his best and belly with the disinfectant, but she was gentle and careful and cleaned him up. “Adam…”

“Yes, my Lady?”

“I love your flesh,” her second kiss had more gentleness, but she didn’t lose her urgency when she undressed him, and very quickly the last of his clothes were on the floor and he was on his back on the bed, head cradled by the pillows. “I am going to hurt you some more, shall I tie you down?”

“No, my Lady.”

 

Catamite Pt. 7

The hood was padded cloth, and went over his head, lacing up tight so that light was blocked out and he was warmed by his own breath. Muffled claustrophobia made him struggle.

“Why are you doing this!?” Masculine panic, with the tinge of a whine , tainted his voice as the ropes bit into his wrists. “My lady, what did I do?”

Read more

Catamite Pt. 6

It was a better meal than he’d had on a long time, though eating too fast gave him indigestion. After the second course he’d tucked away a large bunch of grapes, three strawberries and an apple, the latter of which Annette neatly segmented for him with a little knife. Finally there was the breakfast liquor, a thick and pungent beverage quaffed from tiny glasses, fermented with the after taste of metals. Most women drank it for their health, more men abstained, but under Annette’s watchful eye he took it down with one swallow.

“Adam…”

Phillip shifted in his chair, belly distended with all the food he’d gobbled. The maid was clearing up the dishes from the table. All this time the ever present body guards had lingered in the background, one of them holding the threatening alarm-orange picana.

Read more