Message-ID: <6254eli$9712101233@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern) Subject: RP Estragon's Memories 4/7 femdom 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: <19971209182401.NAA17647@ladder02.news.aol.com> RP Estragon's Memories 4/7 Femdom Richard bent. "Like this?" he said, more because he just wanted to say something, I think, than because there was any doubt in his mind. You might say he wanted the human contact. You might also say that Leila wasn't so ready to provide it. "Richard, I want you to turn your back to us," she said. "No, stay bent. Just turn a hundred-and-eighty degrees. Stay bent. Bend a little more forward. Perpendicular, remember." "Yes," he said hoarsely. "Now," Leila said, "I want you to drop your shorts and take them off. Don't unbend. Stay bent. And while you're naked, keep your back to us." Richard stripped off his shorts and tossed them wildly away. His buttocks and haunch-bones were facing us. Leila said nothing for a while - just looked at me and smiled and put a finger over her lips. The anticipation soon got to Richard. We could see tiny ripples of nervous movement in his muscles, little twitches in his thighs and buttocks and up his back. His whole body shuddered once or twice. And he breathed heavily. "Can you see your penis, Richard?" Leila eventually asked. He said he could. "Is it still hard, Rich?" He said a little, not completely. "Okay, Rich," Leila said. "I'm going to hand you something, a jock-strap, and I want you to put it on quickly, without unbending. You've worn a jock-strap before?" Richard said uh-huh, sure, many times for gym. "Now, Richard," Leila said, "when I come around to hand you the jock-strap, you realize I'll be seeing you fully naked for the first time. I know this moment means a lot to you, but I want it to go very quickly. I want it to be a blur. I know you want us to stare and stare at your hard little organ. But that's not how Erica and I want it, and we're the girls, right? The only thing we're interested in seeing is you being obedient. If it gives you pleasure to have me see your naked penis, even when you're bent over like that, I have no problem with it, as long as you don't lag in following my command. So I'll say it again: have your second or two of pleasure, but you are absolutely forbidden to linger over it. I want that strap up and covering you as if your life depended on it. Yes, Richard, the thing you most want is about to happen. A girl is about to see your hard-on. And if you really want to prove your humility to that girl, you'll obey her to the letter and hurry up and hide what you want to show. Do you get it, Richie? What I want is more important than what you want. If that weren't so, you wouldn't be bent over and simpering like this without your clothes." Leila went around to Richard's front, quickly handed him the strap and came back. While she was in front of him she looked straight at him, down between his legs and all, but she was speedy about it. The college-boy pulled on the strap and fidgeted a little to adjust it, making sure he stayed bent the whole time. "Is it on?" Leila asked, and when he said it was she said, "Then you can face forward again, but stay bent. This is the rule. You bend when you're erect, you stay that way until the erection is good and gone, unless we tell you otherwise, and you bend without being told whenever you feel the least bit of hardness coming back." She turned to me. "Why do I feel, Erica, that we're going to see a lot of bent boy in the days ahead?" Richard said he understood. He was still pretty hard. You could see it through the jock-strap - which is, by the way, second in ridiculousness only to the sex-organs it covers. Its very existence proves how fragile those organs are. I mean, a thin little woven bag, not exactly a suit of armor, is considered major protection for the things. And look at it! What a truly humiliating article of clothing all around! Leila brought this home (a perfect choice of words, as you'll see) to Richard by what she did next. "Erica," she said, "watch Richie closely now. I mean both his penis and his face. Richie, I am going to have to go behind your back for this. Take it like the man - anyhow, the college-junior - you are." She gave the boy several stinging thwacks on the ass with one of the rulers. He'd been warned, sort of, so he did his best to keep still about it, but of course some stifled, involuntary squeals did make an appearance. Leila had her reasons for doing this. She wasn't just indulging herself. She was always very disciplined. But she wanted Richard to think that the business she had behind his back was this smacking him with the ruler. He would concentrate on taking THAT like a man, and then she'd spring something else on him, something he'd never imagine. So, after swatting Richard any number of times and making him swallow hard again and again and yelp several times, Leila patted his cheeks, then spread them apart quickly and had the butt-plug into him before he could even holler. I don't know if she'd bothered to lube it. Once he felt himself invaded, Richard gasped outright and almost stood up. You could see him starting to and then, with real effort, deciding he'd better keep himself bent. His eyes popped wide open, though. Leila seemed to be making some adjustments to the thing, getting it to rub against the male gland up there, his prostate, because Richard squirmed a good deal. But his penis went hay-wire too. I could see it jerking against the tough elastic of his strap, stretching the cup that was supposed to constrict it, elongating it, making its mesh ribs skinny, tensing it like a rubber-band. When the plug was inserted to her satisfaction, Leila came around to Richard's front and pulled up a chair and planted herself a few inches from him. My chair was nearby too, but I was standing, bent sideways a little myself to get a better look at the trouble in Richard's jock-strap. His penis jutted straight forward, parallel to his bent torso. A wet spot appeared on the elastic material sheathing the tip. Richard's hard length caused a gap to open at the edges of the strap around his testicles. You could see his balls deep in the shadows. Somehow the fact that he couldn't even stay wrapped inside his snug little jock-strap filled me with disgust. Males were totally our opposite, I thought; as loose and shabby as we were crisp and contained. Suddenly I had the impulse to do some damage. I picked up my pair of kitchen chop-sticks and slipped them into the gap in the jock-strap. I was gentle and teasing at first, and my prodding of his balls and surrounding area didn't do much to calm Richard down. Then I started really jabbing at him. I managed to jab not only his testicles, but the underside of his penis as well, and of course his groin. I brought the sticks out of the private place and began to prod Richard's whole sex-zone right over the jock-strap. I crouched down, part way under him. Richard's bent torso was like a canopy over me. I teased him cruelly with the sticks. I even pulled the waist-band of the strap away from his abdomen and angled the pointy instruments down into the cup. Of course I was obstructed by his jumpy penis below and his bent body above, but all the same I jabbed my sticks right into the cup, hitting one thing or another or missing and landing glancing jolts to his thighs. Leila watched impassively for a time. Now and again, in an absent-minded way, she aimed her sticks into Richard's body somewhere, or used them to etch bright red tracks into him. Otherwise she just observed my own light amusements. After a while she said, "Erica, you have the patience of a saint. You ARE a saint. Richard, you have fallen into the hands of a saint." "I know," he said, with not too much conviction as I jabbed away at his half-revealed balls. Wherever Leila was going was fine with me, and naturally I had an idea where that was. "You DON'T know," Leila said. "But I do. You see, Richie Rich, Erica would very much like to give you the things you want. She would like to let you take off that jock-strap and show her the things you're proud of. And I'm quite sure she would like to show you...how shall I say it?...a little more of her...of her nature. But my sweet friend (oh, and, Richie, I know what I'm talking about...I've tasted Erica's...ah...nature...many times)...." "You're too kind, Leila," I said. "I'm blushing, you know...." At these words, Richard raised his head, and this pissed me off, so that - quickly, without a thought - I slapped him across the face hard enough to make him cry out and turned HIS face red in earnest. "No, you mustn't look," I said in the most girlish voice I could produce, "not while a girl is blushing." Richard apologized. Leila went on with her remarks. "Well, as you see, Rich, there's a price for every privilege a man wins from a girl. Something as innocent as glancing at HER blushing cheeks gets you a horrible slap across your own. You can imagine the price of bigger privileges. And good-hearted Erica, wishing with all her heart to give you these wonderful experiences, restrains herself, makes incredible emotional sacrifices, suffers quietly and says nothing, in order to spare you the pain she knows will have to accompany them." Richard was getting crazy with excitement. Somehow I don't think he believed Leila's stuff about my saintliness, but she was certainly firing his imagination something awful. He started to speak, stammered a bit, tried again. Leila interrupted before he got out a single intelligible word. "Look at how afraid you are of saying something wrong," she said. "And what? Being punished? Being hurt? So what were you going to say, Rich? That you don't care what the price is, you're ready to pay it for a little more...a little more...attention from Erica, the beautiful Asian goddess? You're afraid of Erica's shadow, Richie. Don't you see that? And you're asking to be naked before her and...what is it?...to lie at her feet maybe and just be allowed to look up her glorious legs.... Oh, Richie, the cost of that, it's...." Suddenly Richard burst out, "It doesn't matter. I'd give anything...." "Why would you?" Leila said. "Erica and I were talking about you males not long ago, trying to figure out why you get like this. You want to see a girl's legs, right? Her LEGS, for God's sake. The things she walks with, runs with, dances on your heart with. Can you explain why they make you crazy? We tried to explain it to ourselves, Rich, but girls don't have that kind of stuff in them, you know." "Please. I can't explain," Richard the bent-over boy said. "It's something I've always felt. I may even wish I didn't feel it sometimes, but it's so deep in me I can't imagine existing without it. If I try, I imagine a total stranger, no-one in any way like me." He stopped for a minute, to make sure he wasn't going on too long. I jammed a stick into his balls, and that seemed to get him started again. I pulled my chair next to Leila's and we both listened. I think we hoped we'd get an answer to our question at that. But Richard wasn't in such an analytical mood just then. "Please be kind, girls. Please accept me. Nobody wants to be humiliated, right? You certainly don't, and in a way I don't either. Yet here I am. You may have worse things to do to me up your sleeves, but this is bad, this is very bad already. In fifty years I'll remember it and want the ground to swallow me and the erection it will give me. All I know is, this is what it's like to be a man. To be helpless before you and thinking I should escape, that you're just girls and I'm a big strong man, I could walk away from it, and then realizing I can't, I'm frozen with need and submission and I'm begging you to worsen it. I don't want to beg you, and part of my mind doesn't want you to worsen it - but I'm begging and wanting all the same. Oh, my God, what I'm saying! What I'm saying, and can't stop! Do you hear, my darling girls? I'm saying, do it, do it, break me, I beg you. I don't believe it, but I'm saying hurt me. Hurt me, my darling girls. That's what I'm saying." "You know what puzzles me?" Leila said. "That jock-strap, you know. It's supposed to protect your delicates, right, Rich?" The non-sequitur gave him a start. "Yes, I guess. It's...you know, a supporter," Richard said, sounding like a lost boy. "It...supports them...." It was a beautiful Leila-esque stroke, too, her humiliating, ho-hum question after that ardent speech of his. It left him way out on a limb. And it taught him how cool we were going to be about absolutely everything. Even the things we wanted to do (and, yes, we did want to hurt him, though only to see how far our power could go), we didn't want in the same way he wanted. We weren't...well, we weren't driven. I truly wanted to punish the boy, but even hearing him beg me to do it didn't make my vadge moisten much. On the other hand, to judge from the dark spot on Richard's jock-strap, the boy was constantly wetting himself. "Okay, Rich, stand up straight now, do you mind?" Leila said. Richard lifted himself, obviously a little dizzy and creaky. He gave me a faint smile, which I didn't return. His penis twitched in his jock-strap, which looked like a barely adequate scrap of covering over his sex-zone. I stayed in my chair, but Leila stood up now in front of Richard. "You mean to say this wispy piece of lingerie supports those heavy things you have...keeps them nice and safe?" she said. "I guess," Richard said. "It's said to...." "It's SAID to," Leila said. She placed her hands squarely on Richard's naked shoulders. He shivered and let out an involuntary sigh, then made himself straight and tall. "Erica, it's SAID to," Leila announced. "This jock-strap here is SAID to protect a man's mommies. Well...." Very suddenly, and with great force, while she held him by the shoulders, Leila brought her knee up into Richard's groin. He howled and doubled over and when Leila drew back and let go of him he dropped to the floor. "It doesn't work that well," Leila said. end of part four Estragon: Memories of Underdevelopment, V/7 (Copyright 1996, 1997 Estragon Productions For adults only) [Note: the author has given up trying to compute the number of chapters Erica requires to tell her story, but he has every hope that the chapter following the present one, the sixth, will be her last.] Despite the pain Leila had caused him, Richard made a good impression. He didn't fight his feelings at all. He dropped to the floor in honest agony, a really heavy, thumping drop, like an enormous sack of flour. He was still groaning in short, thick breaths, but he managed to pant out the words, "Thank you, Leila," which we felt showed real class on his part. I don't know what Richard was imagining when he pleaded with us to do him in, but I can't believe it was this. Poking, jabbing, slapping, scratching - they can be pretty brutal, pretty hard on a male, as Leila and I well knew, but somehow there's always an element of play in them all the same. If you think about it, they're entirely girlish things to do. They pit girl-force against man-force. But this knee-to-the-nuts business - it takes everything away from a guy, including the thought that he still has his muscles, even if he can't remember how to use them. If Richard had any such thought, somewhere in the back of his mind, Leila's knee did away with it in two seconds. But I have to clear up a possible misunderstanding about this. I'm not saying that when girls have a man in their power he's still somehow a volunteer. When a man is yours, he's yours. He doesn't have a choice. He's genuinely helpless. It isn't an act, it isn't a gentleman's agreement. People who haven't experienced such things have trouble understanding what I mean. "He's a man, a big man," they say, "and you're girls. He could just get up and leave. He could push you aside, even do something nasty to get back at you. Men do get violent, you know." That's true, men do. And it's nothing to take lightly. But those are the crazies Leila was always guarding against, men who feel so weak, she said, they couldn't bear it and wanted revenge. Their big bodies made them dangerous, no question. But what moved them was the same awe and humiliation that made most men helpless in a way we could always be sure of. You know when a man is helpless. You don't defeat him with physical force. If you tie him up, it's for convenience, to restrain his reflexes, to help HIM, or just for the symbolism of it. You really conquer him with femaleness - with your looks and smell and teasing, and with your own self-confidence. You whip him, yes, but with your pussy, remember, a thing as savage in its power as it is sweet and innocent in appearance. And when you have him, you just KNOW you have him. There's nothing to be afraid of. He's helpless and that's all there is to it. The fact is, big and brawny as he may be, you've got him pinned. There's no chance he's going to suddenly get up and push you aside and split. No chance. He might as well be as tiny as Hop-o'-My-Thumb. He's not just playing at submission either. He's lost. He's yours. He can't call it off. Can't say, "That was fun, but I gotta go now." People who haven't seen it don't understand this. When you have a man in that state, your power over him is stronger than a prison, and stronger than the heaviest chains and tightest cords. You have to see it to believe it. You have to have a man enthralled. It should be part of every girl's education. They should teach it in school. This power as a female is the important thing, the basic thing. I wouldn't want anyone to misunderstand my views about that. It's SEXUAL power: it's what we have instead of brute strength, and it's much stronger and a total delight. But the knee-to-the-groin IS brutal, because it attacks a male with his own weapon, or in his own element, or something. It's not just pussy-whipping. It's plain fucking whipping! It hurts him cruelly in his body and his pride. It's like a short-circuit past his own desire. Which means that it only contributes to his sense of enslavement once you've put him in that condition by normal forms of whipping. You could tell almost from the minute it happened that something had changed in Richard. You could see it in his eyes. He'd been overpowered already, yes, but now you could see a new emotion, fear, take first place in his look and attitude. Fear in the way he stole glances at Leila and me, fear in his posture, in the tentative way he spoke and moved. It was partly that he'd learned what damage a young girl was capable of doing, but also that she was capable of THINKING it, desiring it, carrying it out calmly, with total indifference to his suffering. Given that he had this pitiful weakness dangling between his legs, realizing what a girl was WILLING to do with it must have meant even more to Richard than the terrible pain itself. That would pass, and they say pain is difficult to remember, but the blinding recognition of what lay treasured in a fifteen-year-old virgin heart - that would be impossible to forget. Later, when we were alone again, Leila couldn't stop expounding on the excellent thing that had happened. Richard's fear, his haste to thank her, his utterly defeated manner when his pain finally subsided, everything that showed him to be more deeply enslaved than ever - Leila found it all totally exhilarating, as if it had taken her far beyond our fantasies. And of course she wanted me with her on the journey. "It's the most liberating thing I've every felt, Erica," she said. "To do this forbidden thing, and not to hold back a bit, and not to care how he feels about it or what it does to him, because he's only a body, a big, massive, aching pushover. You see his Fricks and you have the right. A girl HAS to feel it, Erica. YOU do." So we spent several afternoons concentrating on this project of playing with Richard's new-found fearful respect for girls. Leila had definite ideas about method, naturally. For instance, it was very important in her view that the girl's knee be naked - no tights, no jeans - when it met the boy's testicles, which would be naked as well. No jock-strap would be needed, since the boy would of course be paying top-dollar for the privilege of being seen bare. Many days, building up to the "knee-experience" (as we began calling it) was our whole activity with Richard. We'd strip him down very slowly, talking about what lay ahead the whole time. "Soon it will happen, Richie," we'd say, or words to that effect, relentlessly building his suspense and anxiety, but teasing him all the while in familiar ways too, so that he was constantly torn between arousal, which is one sort of defeat, and fear, which is another. "Soon you'll be naked, Rich. Soon you'll spread your legs. Soon a girl will stand facing you. Soon...." Leila and I enjoyed the dizzying effect a regular, slow stripping had on a male too much to hurry the process along. We took plenty of time, and saw the same effect again and again, with every single male we whipped, no matter how old or young. And no matter what we'd already put him through or what he knew we were going to. That long-awaited moment of uncovering, when you finally let him bare his body completely to you, always caused such a strong emotion in him that you could see it in his muscles as well as his face. Maybe he had next to nothing covering him, a jock-strap or a wisp of fabric, or his shorts that you'd gradually slipped down over his pubic hair and inched along the shaft of his penis until everything was visible except the very tip - even if that was all there was between him and total exposure, slipping the cover off that last inch of penis always brought a male to a deeper level of helplessness. If he was standing, his stomach sagged somewhat. He wasn't putting on airs any more. You had him and he had no place to hide. And then we'd have our grateful, naked, quivering erection-with-a-boy-attached standing humbly before us, and Leila would say, "Richie, spread your legs as far apart as you can. Erica will do you today. It's soon now, Rich. Erica, whenever you're ready." Sometimes Leila would hold him steady, sometimes not. Then I'd do it, taking maybe a practice aim first, then, when a little suspense had built up, letting my knee go into him. He'd rasp and groan and give me a sudden pleading look and I'd give him a quick look of approval and he'd crumble. The whole thing, the act, the sounds, the looks, took a couple of seconds. He'd never forget to pant out his thank you. Now and then we liked to make a "fair contest" out of it. We'd strip Richard down at our leisure, teasing him up to the point where he was desperate. Then Leila might say, "Okay, Rich. We're going to give you a chance to defend yourself. You'll have to be handicapped somewhat, because you ARE a big, strong male..." - she'd give his penis a light stroke as she said this and make him whimper with longing and gratitude - "so, in addition to being nude, you'll be, oh, restrained a bit, you know." We'd tape Richard's wrists together behind his back, and usually we'd tape his ankles close together too so he could barely hobble around. This form of movement was enjoyable to watch, because it made Richard waddle from side to side when he walked and caused his sex-organs to lurch furiously with every tiny step. Sometimes we'd also tape his penis up against his abdomen, but not always. Then we'd tell him we were going to catch him and give him the knee. But he could try to fight us with whatever he had. He could swing his torso from side to side, pull back if one of us grabbed his penis, simply bend over in the old familiar way, whatever he liked. When we finally landed our blow, that would be punishment enough for all his resistance. Naturally, he didn't stand a chance. Sooner or later one of us would take him from behind and wrap her arms around his middle and press herself against his naked back to form a kind of splint to assist the girl in front in doing her damage. Richard couldn't resist the sensation of a female body against his own. Even though he knew what would become of him, he needed that feeling so badly - he was so hungry for the slightest hint of breasts and hips and hard round pubic mound - that he had no will to resist. He'd practically fall into the girl's arms. He'd obey every order, although it doomed him, for the smallest increase of feminine pressure it might provide. She might stretch his body backwards toward her, force him onto his toes, until, with his ankles taped and his thighs closed tight to allow no escape for his organs, he resembled a slender bow, graceful and almost feminine. Then came the knee, and his support-girl would release him, and he'd sink in slow-motion to the floor, in a beautiful S-shape which we'd watch with fascination as it turned into the fetal-position Richard would not be coming out of for quite a while. These interludes in which our broken young man just lay at our feet were actually very important. They did something to change our relationship with Richard. You could say they made the three of us more intimate. Richard was still a male, so of course intimacy had its limits. But a male wasn't much. That was the real point. We'd always said it, always felt it, but when he's lying folded up on your floor like that..., well, there's no need even to mention it. It's so terrifically true you almost (I say almost!) pity him. Male and female didn't seem like comparable things to any degree any more. There was just nothing parallel between them. We got to be intimate with Richard the way we might have with a pet. We gave him privileges that hardly seemed like privileges to us because he was more like a slavish doggy than like a human being. Little by little we began to show Richard more and more of what Leila liked to call our "nature." We continued to say this was a great privilege - which meant, of course, a great payment by him - but in our hearts we didn't feel the least bit compromised by what we revealed. He was a different breed, a lower species. He was a male, and one who'd learned to view the dainty little cap of a skinny girl's knee with total awe. We'd often take him shopping with us, for instance, and he'd have to wait outside dressing-rooms and run around fetching us different sizes and colors of the things we were trying on. He was often the one male in a sea of women and girls. The air would be full of perfume and you could see that Richard was going quickly mad with lust, intoxicated by the sight and scent of women and humbled by the knowledge that the high-handed way we dealt with him was visible and amusing to dozens of females at a time. Since for such outings we made him wear a jock-strap as a truss UNDER his testicles, and no underwear otherwise, his wagging erection was quite noticeable to anyone who cared to look. -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |