Message-ID: <5527eli$9711081438@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: zturgeon@aol.com (Zturgeon) Subject: Repost of She Wins I (cbt, F/m) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-Id: <19971108083900.DAA13033@ladder02.news.aol.com> The following story contains violent femdom stuff. If you might be offended by this, just don't read it. She Wins When I first met Patti, what excited me about her was her brashness; her uninhibitedness; her powerful self-will. I don't know why that attracted me, but it did. We dated in the glorious mutual thrill of a new couple basking in lust and infatuation for about four months. That was a long time to me. It was a record. Our first fights were over meaningless things, and their duration tended to reflect that. We both seemed to have perspective about the things we fought over, so we never became fierce with each other. At least not at first. We had little in common, now that I look back on it. We shared few interests. One thing we did share was our appetite for love-making, and our aggressive approach to sex: I was positively ravenous, and she matched my starved hunger. In fact, she sometimes exceeded it: I, after having my second ejaculation - at her strong, knowing hands; her daring, deep mouth; or her oven-like, commanding vagina - was often spent...but I could tell she wanted more. And I couldn't give it to her with my penis, usually: two or - on a good day, three - ejaculations wore me out. Left me as limp as a soggy six-inch french fry. So I'd try my best to take her to town with my tongue, my lips, my hands - whatever she wanted. I always felt slightly inadequate on those occasions, and I noticed that she never pretended to be totally satisfied: she wasn't the type of woman to put up with lies. She was dissatisfied too, and she let me know it - with her eyes, her facial expressions, her body language. When I moved away to grad school in Oregon - we had lived in Nevada - she came to visit me several times. The distance put a strain on our relationship. Moreover, when she came to visit me, she was sexually starved; we had agreed not to see other people, and so our normally powerful appetites were almost insatiable. At least, hers was: I found - and maybe it was because I was so busy with school, my energy was depleted - I found I was still totally satiated with two orgasms (or, on good days, three). She usually wasn't. I would cum, I would cum again, then collapse. She would lie there staring at me. Expectantly. Sometimes with obvious disappointment (which I tried to ignore). Occasionally, while I flopped on the bed beside her, she'd grow impatient; she reach over and cup her hand over my genitals: she'd tug lightly on my penis, flick my balls around with her fingers, even slide a finger up to my anus and prod gently. I'd moan in defeat; try to convey my exhaustion. And usually she'd let it end at that. Usually. One Sunday afternoon she wasn't so easy on me. When I collapsed into utter tranquility after my second orgasm, she was still driven with libido: her body lay beside me like a neon question mark - not in the least bit placated. Her sex had soaked up everything I could provide it with, but she was still light years from the threshold of gratification. She reached over, forcibly separated my partially closed legs, and put her right hand over my testicles. She didn't just lay her fingers on them; she held them like a pair of dice about to be tossed onto a backgammon board. She actually shook my balls, and I jumped in response. "Eric! Come on, Eric! You're not dead yet." With her other hand, she trapped the head of my penis between her thumb and her first two fingers, and squeezed. "Ouch! Whaddaya mean, I'm not dead yet?" She gently tugged my balls toward her. "I mean, I know you can get it up again. You've gone three rounds with me before, remember? Come on, baby, you just have to try!" She tugged me harder, and I gasped vocally. This made her laugh. "Ooh, poor boy!" She pressed her finger into the tender rope that extends beyond my penis. I felt myself grow slighly harder, and she drove me on: wrapping her fingers around my testicles like little pythons, gripping my penis like a dead microphone, thrusting an occasional finger at my anus. I felt like I was a scare-crow being raped, but her aggression gave me a new burst of erotic energy: my penis rose: and she got up and rode me to a third orgasm. Now I was finished. Over with. Kaput. I felt like I had ejaculated barely half a teaspoon into her, but I was spent. I looked over at her, and smiled in dizzy gratitude; she had hauled my manhood to a level that - at that time - I hadn't expected it to reach. Looking at her, to my disappointment, I saw she was still unsatisfied. "Is that it?" She asked. "`It?'" I responded. "Is that all you're good for?" "Is that ALL...? Patti, that was three orgasms! If you're not satisfied with that, you're..." I didn't know how to finish. "I'm what?" She moved closer to me, her breast pressing against my tired chest. "I'm what?" "Nothing." Once again - this time with her eyes focused on mine - she placed her hand over my balls. Once again, she held my nuts - as if they weren't even a part of me - as if they were things that belonged to her, like toys that had failed to work as advertised. "Tell me, Eric. I'm what?" I had had enough. I pulled away from her. To my horror, she still gripped my balls: I couldn't move back. I heard myself utter a sound - I don't know, a gasp, maybe, or a groan, a sort of masculine whimper - then, sort of desperate, I tried to pull away again. This time she let me retreat. But as I walked away - to the bathroom, to take a shower - I felt her eyes drilling into me."Sorry I wore you out," she said. I felt myself blush, and didn't reply. In the shower, with the bathroom door locked, I looked down at my penis. I tried stroking it, just to see if I could get it up again. I stroked it, I coaxed it, I yanked it a little - but it couldn't go hard. She's demanding too much, I thought. Stupid woman. Stupid goddamn cunt. The rest of the day we hardly spoke. Oh, she said a lot, but not through words. She wouldn't let me forget that I had let her down. Whenever we walked past each other, she'd rub into me - at first discreetly, letting her hand brush against my waist - but then more obviously: she'd walk up behind me, and run her hand lightly over my ass. Then later, when I was walking out of the kitchen after preparing some of the ingredients for dinner, she blocked me in the doorway. I tried moving to the left, and she moved to the left: I tried moving to the right, and she moved to the right. I told her, "Excuse me," in a kind of pissy voice, and she smiled pityingly at me, then let me by. But as I walked past her, she ran her fingers over my crotch. Not just brushingly: she plunged her middle finger deep between my legs, raced it over where my anus was, then lifted my testicles with her palm as she pulled it back. Then she stared me in the face. I tried to totally ignore her: I had never known her to be this hostile before. I just moved on - sat at my desk and stared doing my homework, pretending she hadn't just worked me. She stood there, staring at me, then laughed. I ignored this. "Oh, Jeeesus," she said, then, walking into the kitchen, concluded with, "You're pathetic, Eric." I didn't respond. I felt myself blushing again, and she left me alone. Sitting there, I envisioned my penis, hanging between my legs - my manhood: a tiny piece of flesh, unable to get hard enough to satisfy her. Taunted by her. A limp little thing. I became anxious toward bedtime. We still hadn't spoken, but I knew that we would have some sort of confrontation in bed. She would want me to have sex with her, but I was wounded; I felt like she had totally humbled me - buried my masculinity in inferiority. And I didn't know how to approach her. How could I be agrressive now? I was obviously not the sexually dominant party. And how much could I deliver anyway? But if she made moves on me, I would feel like I had to redeem myself. And I felt like my sexuality wasn't enough for her; after the work-out earlier in the day, how could I possibly fulfill her now? Her vagina would devour me, and I'd just leave her unsatisfied again. What would she do then? She had gotten really impatient with me earlier; what if she got more impatient now? I recognized two kinds of feelings in myself now: Anger at her for belittling me, even if it was deserved: and fear. For the first time, I recognized that I was afraid of a woman. She had the power to make me feel totally inadequate. There was no way I could take away her femininity, but she - a strong woman - could strip me of my masculinity with just a few moments in the sack. I felt, looking back on it, that when she stopped me into the doorway and rubbed her hand from my asshole across my balls, pressing them against my body with her palm, that she was telling me: "Eric, when you couldn't handle me earlier today - when I gripped your useless little nuts - I castrated you. I castrated you." Getting ready for bed - the two of us still in silence - I felt like a eunuch. She lay in bed, naked. The only light on was my reading lamp. I stood at the side of the bed, and realized that if I didn't take off my boxers, it would be stupid. I would look ridiculous - I always slept naked, as did she. So I pulled down my boxers. As I reached for the light - before getting into bed - I saw her staring at my crotch. At my flaccid penis. She had a look of hostile disappointment. I lay on my back, rigidly. I began to think she was just going to let me go to sleep, without trying to have sex with my again. But then, while my mind slowly dissolved into sleep, while I lay on my side facing away from her, I felt her turn over, and she banged her knee against my ass. I was jolted into fearful awakeness. Although she had definitely kneed me - definitely wanted me to hurt a little - I didn't say anything. I wanted to pretend it hadn't happened. But then it happened again: harder. And - maybe it was the darkness, maybe it was my total confusion about what was going on - I felt tears well up in my eyes. I prayed that she would just think, OK, I've punished him enough; I'll let him sleep. But then she did it again - this time making sure to drive her knee evenly between my buttocks (but mercifully not striking my balls). Against my will, I cried out. "What's the matter, Eric? Hm?" She moved up to me, pressed herself against me. I could feel her firm breasts pushing into my back. She made a couple of little thrusts against my ass with her pelvis, then reached around my waist for my testicles. "Something wrong, little baby?" I instinctively pressed my legs together, trying to prevent her from touching my balls. I sandwiched them between my legs hard -- it hurt, but I felt safer. She instantly recognized what I was doing, and yanked ferociously on my penis. Again letting the illusion of "masculinity" slip away, I cried out. She laughed, and tugged me more. But I realized she could wail on my penis all she wanted; it was, compared to my balls, invulnerable. I kept my legs closed, even if crushing my nuts slightly. She would have none of it. Of course my scrotum was still partly exposed, and she drove her fingernails into it, until I had to yield to her. I was starting to cry; I opened my legs for her, and she was not in the least bit merciful because I surrendered: she grabbed my nuts in her fist and chuckled. "Are you going to fuck me now, Eric? Are you going to pretend to be a man and satisfy me, or am I going to take the broomstick from the closet, gag you with a fucking towel, then ream you until you bleed all over the floor?" I heard myself whimpering, and I heard her laughing. "You're such a little wimp, Eric. I should never have gotten involved with a boy as dickless as you. I could eat your little nuts for a snack." I heard myself weeping. She held me around the waist, gripping my weak masculine flesh - utterly dominating me. "If only some of your boyfriends were over, Eric. Maybe then I'd get satisfied; I'd screw them all one at a time - hell, two at a time - then make you slurp their cum from my asshole, then fuck you silly with them all watching what a dickless little twerp you are." She laughed, then bit my on the back of the neck. I cried out; I felt like she broke skin, made me bleed. "Wait!" she shouted, "Wait a minute here. Men are supposed to be stronger in battle, aren't they? Men are supposed to have greater upper body strength than women. And if you forget their little nuts" - she gave mine an extra squeeze, making my insides jump - "they've got a HUGE edge over women, don't they?" She lept off the bed, then commanded me to get to my feet. When I lay there quivering, afraid to move, she slapped my face with her palm, HARD. "Get on your feet, stupid boy! Get on your fucking feet!" And what happened after that is still sort of a daze. she told me she wanted me to engage in hand-to-hand combat with her, to prove whether women were really superior to men, or whether I was just a bad example of man. She promised me she wouldn't use my groin against me, and ordered me to use everything within my power to beat her up. If I could beat her, she would never, ever, speak or act disrespectfully toward me again. And, with that preamble, she engaged me in combat. She circled me - I was still rather dazed - and took a couple of swipes at my head. They landed, but I didn't feel any worse for it; I felt like I had already lost, and was just waiting for her to take me down and obliterate me. She grabbed me by the arm, twisted it behind me, put her foot around my ankles and tripped me to the floor. When I was down, afraid to get back up, she slammed her foot into my rear end four times in rapid succession. I howled in pain and humiliation. Then she bent down and slammed her fist into my mouth: instantly I tasted blood, mingled with tears. "Oh, you're lost, boy! You're just like all men, Eric! You're a puny, wormy little coward!" I felt her trying to drag me to my feet - no doubt she hadn't had enough fun with me yet. She got me standing, then pounded my shoulders a few times. I felt myself swaying this way and that, nearly falling over. "Take a swing at me, Eric! Go for it! Try to hurt me, little man! I dare you." I was already defeated; I was crushed; rendered as useless as any man confronted with the natural superiority of womanhood. I knew she was going to ruin me before the evening was up, so I decided to obey her; maybe if I tried a swing at her, she'd get mad and get my torture over with, whatever it was. So I swung a lazy fist at her. To my dazed amazement, I hit her on the side of the face, and she toppled. She let out a pathetic moan, and had to support herself on a chest of drawers. And suddenly I was alive again. Suddenly, I was a man again. Before she could recover, I hit her again: one more fist to the face. And one more. And one more. And then she was on the floor, crying like a fucking little baby. I stood over her body - she was covering her head with her arms, sobbing - and I spat on her breasts. I kicked her in the side, then put my bare foot over one of her breasts, and pressed on it. And that's when I had an idea. I grabbed her feet from the floor, lifted them up, and spread her legs apart. She was too weak, too stunned, to resist. And I laid the ball of my foot over her snatch. Then I began wriggling my toes into her filthy little slit. And I burst into laughter, because I had never heard of a man foot-fucking a chick before. I was treading on her like she had trampled on my manhood. But this was fair: this was the way of nature: man rules, woman serves. And pressed all of my toes into her snatch, and started shoving my foot inside her. At first she screamed, then she began pleading. Then it was all over. I didn't see it coming. I didn't know how it happened. She suddenly freed one of her feet from my grip, then pounded it into my stomach. All of the air was knocked out of my body, and I was doubled over, kneeling on the floor. And then she was all over me like a fucking wildcat; her nails scratching my back, my shoulders, her fists pounding my head and my face. She grabbed me by the hair and yanked my onto my back with a thud, then hammered her fists against my head like drumsticks. Then her pussy, which moments before had been at my mercy, was suddenly gagging my face - she had it over my mouth and nose - and she beat her fists against my chest and my stomach. I gasped for air; I felt dizzy; I became extremely weak, and thought I would black out. "See, Eric?" she shrieked at me, "Who's on top in the end? Huh? And I didn't use your male weakness against you, did I? DID I?" She pounded my chest some more, then reached below her belly batter my chin, and reached behind her to thump my head with her fist. "But you tried to rape me, didn't you? You tried to fuck me with your foot. You tried to hurt my sexuality. Well, now I'm going to do that to you, Eric." And, holding her hands in a double-fist, she swung them like a jack-hammer against my balls. Not once. Not twice. She hammered my groin repeatedly like a layer of rock to be smashed through to get at valuable mineral deposits. I was weeping again; I was sobbing again. My last memory of the evening was feeling her lips suck up my balls into her mouth; I began to feel her molars grind against them. Weeks later, after she had begun to train me to serve her absolutely, she asked me if I had ever doubted that she would conquer me. I asked her, in turn, if I had been too easy for her - to little a challenge. I asked her, "If you had to try dominating me and my friend Paul - you know, Paul from the gym - do you think you would've won?" She looked at me, and smiled. "Want to find out?" End Part I -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | \ .../assm/faq.html> /