Tuesday, September 5, 2017

Demoness of Árbol Colgante

Elena Rivera greeted her husband when he came home from a long day at Árbol Colgante prison outside Santiago. His wife, a young woman of only nineteen, greeted him at the door of their modern home in the suburbs.

"Another long day, Manuel?" She asked.

"Another long day, floración delicada." He took the beer she offered to him, and drank deeply.

"Have you--"

"Yes! Yes, I have, Elena. Tomorrow. Finally. I have a man you can use. I hope this means you will stop begging!" Manuel plopped down on his leather couch and turned on the TV.

Elena gaped in surprise and delight. "You really did? You have a man for me? To play with, to do what I want to?"

"Yes, my dear. I have a man. He has been interrogated and information extracted. It is unlikely he will ever be released, so he can be yours now."

"I hope they didn't damage him too much, you know I want someone in good shape, someone that still is--"

"He's in pretty good shape. Broke fairly easily and began babbling. He's been in a cell recovering for the last week and will be in fine shape for you to do whatever... weird things you have in mind."

Manuel was aware that his wife had a perverse streak. It was what had first attracted this gorgeous girl to a middle aged jailer. She was fascinated with prisons, iron shackles, interrogations, and all things prison related. After their first meeting, she had thrown herself at him, but had used her relationship to find out more and more about the prison where he worked, and had even taken several tours. She enjoyed seeing the men and women locked up, abused, suffering. It made her wet.

He knew there was something wrong with her, but he didn't care. She was the sexiest thing in Santiago, twenty years younger than he, and she was his. Elena was a wildcat in bed, making him feel like a man twenty years younger; his energy fucking her was boundless. She didn't do a bad job cooking, either.

But ever since their wedding, she had pushed him for more access to the prison. He was the head jailer, after all. He should be able to arrange anything. Like a private session with a man, one in which she could teach herself interrogation techniques, perhaps even create new ones.

It was a bit weird, but Manuel was learning to accept his new bride's quirks.

And now, he had finally arranged what she had been pushing for. Her own prisoner to interrogate, to torture, to play with. If the government ever found out what he was doing... well, they wouldn't. No one cared what went on inside Árbol Colgante prison.



"His name's Franco, if that matters to you," said the guard, opening the door to the cell. The hallway was brightly lit, with concrete walls painted a light green up to waist level, and then grey above that. The paint was peeling. The cell door was metal, and there was a small eyepiece allowing viewing of the inside.

Elena entered the cell where the prisoner was laying on a table, his legs tied to the table legs at the bottom, his wrists tied securely to ropes that stretched his arms above his head and spread them out a bit, tied to the other two table legs. There was a single strap across his waist.

"No, I don't suppose it does," she said. She carried a small satchel with her, a leather bag that had one time carried medical instruments. It was her grandfathers.

"Leave us. I will be fine. I will call you if I need anything."

The guard looked dubiously at the man and then at Elena, but closed the door behind him.

Franco had raised his head and looked at Elena. His eyes were big and he made a noise. "Oh, Mamacita... did I die and go to heaven? Come here baby, let me see what Franco can do for you!"

Elena ignored the man, pulling a simple chair from the corner, placing it at the foot of the table and sat down.

"Baby... you are giving me a hard on! Do something about it, puta! Give me some sweetness, let me see those perfect breasts of yours!"

Elena reached into her bag and pulled out a set of sheers, large industrial strength things. She calmly began cutting the man's right pants leg.

"What are you doing, puta? Can't wait to get to my pico, eh baby? Come..."

The scissors had made their way to the man's groin and cut to his waist. She then started on the other leg, ignoring the insults, insinuations and outright offers for sex that poured from the prisoner's mouth.

A couple of minutes later Elena yanked hard and the man's ragged pants slipped away, cut to pieces.

"Puta, those are my only pants! Why you do that, bitch? We could have just taken them off if you wanted to get to my pico!"

With Franco's legs spread wide it was easy to get to his genitals. Elena scooted the chair in a bit. Franco had an erection, he had gotten it the moment she had walked in. She did that to a lot of men.

She took a bit of duct tape and taped the member to the man's stomach.

"Whoa...  piruja, stroke it a bit. You have me hard. Touch me some more, babe! Let me out of these ropes and I will let you touch it more!"

Elena reached to the man's scrotum and picked it up.

"Careful babe..." Franco now had a worried tone in his voice.

She ran her fingers and thumb over the bag of flesh, feeling it gently. She had felt men before, of course, but not this freely. She always had to make sure she didn't hurt them, and it was always part of sex play. She could never spend the time actually feeling, investigating, learning about the anatomy.

The globs of flesh inside the flesh sack slipped between her fingers, rolling in and out. Apparently even that small pressure was enough to hurt because Franco began complaining. "Mujer malvada, leave me alone! Don't... don't push. It hurts."

Elena was listening, not because she intended to talk to Franco but because she was fascinated with how he was reacting. What caused him pain? How much? Where? She needed to listen to his reactions, get to know him, in order to understand the nuances of what she intended to do to him.

She started by pressing. Simply applying pressure to various locations. The right testicle was first; she applied a moderate pressure and Franco tensed up and swore. She released and he continued swearing. The same pressure was applied to the left testicle. The swearing continued, but acquired a slight edge of panic. Franco was realizing this "puta" was not there to bring him pleasure. Quite the contrary.

Pressing on the scrotum itself didn't seem to do much. It was just flesh.

Then she felt the long strings of flesh, the vessels that ran from the testicles back up into the body. She had some basic anatomy from high school, she knew what these were but forgot their names.

Pressing on them got the same reaction as the testicles, interestingly enough. Franco jerked and strained against his restraints, swearing up a storm and adding in some words of pleading. Elena was pleased.

Then came pressure on different areas of the testicle. She had thought they were simply round globs without one side or another; this wasn't true. As she felt around Franco's genitals she realized the testicles were oblong, and had one side where the stringy vessel things attached.

Based on Franco's sudden screams, right there was a good place to invoke pain. Elena grinned as Franco's legs writhed and strained on either side of her face, but his genitals, his balls... they were in her hands and went nowhere.

The edges. Flicking her fingers along the edges of the testicles, that was good. The prisoner was writhing constantly now, swearing and begging for her to stop.

She checked the clock on the wall. It had been twenty minutes. Plenty of time left. It was hot though, she was used to the air conditioned house, the luxury she had at home. The prison was dank, humid, and hotter than the streets.

Elena pulled her shirt off, revealing the perfect breasts that Franco had lusted over a few minutes before. He saw her and clear lust filled his eyes, it couldn't be wiped away by the pain he had experienced, but he was no longer aroused.

His cock had shrunk. The erection shriveled and the penis, while still held by the duct tape, was half the size. Elena suddenly decided she liked it hard, ripped the tape off and began stroking it. Franco was confused, feeling Elena's expert hands sliding over his cock, the same hands that had been poking and prodding his testicles and making his groin ache moments before. But his cock responded, hardened and actually pointed upward.

Franco began making slight thrusting motions with his hips, moaning. "Yes... yes, baby... " This was Elena's signal to stop the stimulation and move on to the next phase.

She removed a set of nails and hammer from her medical bag. It wasn't a big hammer, but perfectly sized and balanced for her small, feminine hand.

She stretched his scrotum out, pulling the flesh as hard as she could. This distressed Franco a lot, but she got the feeling it wasn't actually a lot of pain. Until she struck the first nail, of course.

It didn't go all the way through the flesh. Apparently skin is a rather tough material. She had misjudged. Franco continued struggling, begging her now more than swearing. She wondered how much his begging was the lingering pain from her testicle play, and how much was simply fear of what was coming next.

A second attempt brought better results. The nail pierced the scrotum flesh and drove into the wood of the table below. Good job, Elena!

Now the scrotum was stretched out permanently she didn't have to pull on it all the time to keep it in place. She lifted and positioned another nail, pulled the flesh tight, and the hammer came down, piercing and nailing poor Franco to the table. It was clearly very distressing, but not that painful.

 Then again, distress was part of what she wanted to explore. She wanted to see what would cause pain, but also what would cause fear and horror, things that would bring a man to his knees as a slave, obedient.

Elena was still sweating, in spite of removing her shirt. Her bare flesh glistened. It must be over 100 degrees in the windowless concrete room. Elena slid her pants off, so she was wearing nothing but her panties now. She didn't care she was exposing herself to Franco, perhaps it would add just a bit to his torment.

With the scrotum pulled tight, the testicles were two slight bulges in the flat skin surface.

Time to nail them, as well.

A nail was positioned above one lump, and Franco was screaming now; he knew what was coming and was willing to do anything to stop it.

"Please, no, I will tell all! I lied before, I have the names, and the addresses! I will tell all, I will tell all!!!"

The poor victim began rattling off the names of co-conspirators in some plot Elena knew nothing about. He gave their addresses, the names of their wives and children, where they worked. When he knew their phone numbers he spewed that out as well.

Manuel had been right. This one was broken easily, she decided as the hammer descended and the nail pierced the scrotum but slid off the slippery solidity of the testicle, scratching it as it went.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHGGG.... OOOOWWHHHAAFFGGGGGGGgg....." the scream was most satisfying to Elena. She stood to look at Franco's face for the first time, and simply watched the shades of agony flip past.

"Pleaaaaasseee!!! NO!!!" Franco began to gasp out the details of some attack that was to take place... somewhere. Elena didn't care. She wasn't there to interrogate and obtain information. Not this kind of information, at least.

Try again with the nail. This time she pressed the point of the nail into the testicle with her hand a bit, held the testicle in place with fingers, and then hammered one hard blow. The nail pierced the globule of tissue, but did not penetrate the wood below. That took another couple of strokes.

Standing back, Elena viewed her handiwork. Franco was sobbing now, jerking around but being more careful about it, as he knew he was nailed to the table.

Elena repeated the process with the other testicle, placing the nail point into the soft tissue, then with three hard whacks driving it through and into the wood beneath.

Franco's screams were satisfying, and she felt the wetness between her legs that had been building since she walked into the cell. She could hardly contain herself, she wanted to masturbate. She reached down, hand slipping beneath her panties and finding the soft wetness there. Her nipples were already hard, her cunt wet, her clit engorged.

Torturing this man had aroused Elena, her body preparing itself for sex. Elena obliged, massaging her cunt, rubbing her clit, watching the man before her writhe and struggle as he moaned and begged for mercy.

She stopped before reaching orgasm, though. She had something special in mind.

She stripped off her panties, and was now completely nude. She straddled Franco's head, and lowered her pussy slowly down onto the agonized man's face.

In spite of the pain in his genitals, Franco knew what was happening. This gorgeous angel was placing her naked cunt at his disposal to eat. He found he had no desire. The pain, the agony he was in was too much and he tried to turn his head away.

Elena grabbed his hair, forced his head back up his fact pointing to the lips of her cunt and she pressed down onto him.

He tried to accommodate as best he could. His tongue came out, he moved and sucked. But he was in agony, the pain was still consuming him, his balls had been nailed to the table!

Elena demanded, and pressed down harder, smashing against his face. He began to rock, sliding her cunt back and forth on her victim's face, using him to pleasure herself.

Franco could not breathe. Elena was smashing down and covering his mouth and nose. The need for air began to become more urgent than the pain in his groin and he struggled. Elena hung on and pinched her strong thighs closed, squeezing his head between them.


Beneath her ass Elena could feel her victim's chest heaving, trying to get air. She found this even more arousing, and simply pushed down harder. Her cunt enveloped Franco's face, covering his nose, her asshole smashing against his chin.

Spots formed in front of Franco's eyes. Eyesight was dim. Elena continued rubbing, using Franco's struggles to stimulate her cunt and clit; Franco was losing consciousness.

Was this the way he would die? His eyes looked up, past the flat stomach of the beauty above him, past her perfect breasts, to the angelic face that looked down at him, framed by her long dark hair.

As his eyesight and consciousness faded, he felt the contractions, the shudders of this woman going through a climax of sexual pleasure.

Elena felt the flood of warm orgasm and stayed where she was until it was completely gone. She then slid off the man's face. She noted he was unconscious, perhaps dead. She sighed. She had never had such an amazing orgasm...



That evening Manuel Rivera lay in bed with his wife. They had finished dinner, and then made love. Elena had been a tigress, as she usually was. An amazing sex partner. Though Manuel could sense something a bit different. She was harder, more demanding. And her orgasm was sharper, more prolonged. He himself had cum especially hard feeling the wildcat that twisted and writhed that he tried to control as he thrust into her.

"The guards obtained significantly more information from Franco this afternoon," he finally said. "Apparently he had held out on them. Your interrogation was more effective."

Elena snorted a laugh. "I didn't interrogate him. I just had some fun learning about men and their bodies."

Manuel nodded thoughtfully. His wife actually scared him a bit. She was only nineteen...

"Is he alive?" she asked. "I couldn't tell when I left."

"Yes, barely. He spoke while recovering in the infirmary. Apparently you have a new name that is spreading through the prison."

Elena, whose head was resting on her husband's naked chest, looked up at his face questioningly.

"Demonia del Arbol Colgante" he said. "Demoness of Hanging Tree Prison."

Friday, August 4, 2017

Male Abuse

If you are reading this, you are probably familiar with at least some of the blogs I write. There are a number of them, exploring various kinks, mostly in the area of bondage, sensual domination and submission, sadism and masochism.

You can imagine that I get a fair number of inquiries, challenges and pleas from a variety of readers, mostly male, many begging me to engage with them to help them realize some fantasy or specific kink of theirs. I respond to most politely, but it seldom goes beyond that.

Recently, for some perverse and sickening reason, I actually decided to follow through with one of the queries from a fan. He said he was a bit of a masochist, a man who wanted to be dominated, tortured, to give himself to a woman for abuse.

Fine, I thought. Why not? I am a submissive in my current relationship, but I am a switch and with the right kind of man I can find it in me to dominate and enjoy my sadistic side.

After obtaining permission from my current partner, I responded to the gentleman and we met a couple of weeks later. At a starbucks. A nice, safe place.

I'm about 5'8", long dark hair and a reasonably nice body. I am not super skinny but an average weight, with nice boobs and ass, and slim waist. Being in my early 30s, I think I have been able to keep most of the looks I had in my 20s.

Shall we call the gentleman in question "Ed"? Yes, let's. Ed was in his 50s, not especially good looking, and overweight. I was a bit disappointed but... well, perhaps there was potential.

After a few minutes of getting to know each other, I cut to the chase.

"So, Ed, you want me to dominate you, and fulfill your fantasy of being dominated by a woman. Painfully dominated, is that right?"

Ed gulped and nodded. He had been nervous since he first laid eyes on me. Most guys think about getting inside me when they meet me, and I was sure Ed was no different. Sitting having coffee with a girl like me, discussing his sexual fantasies was probably close to overwhelming for him.

"OK," I said. His eyes got wide and I thought he was going to faint. "Let me make a few things clear. You come to my place. Four hours. I do whatever I want. Trust me, I won't do anything that will permanently harm or disfigure you. Otherwise, all bets and restrictions are off, no safe words. At the end you go free. Don't expect to see me naked, don't expect to fuck me. In fact, I can't even guarantee you will have an orgasm. But you will be dominated by me, and you will experience pain at my hand. You want that?"

He gulped again and nodded. "I'd love to, Polly. Whatever you say."

I grimaced. "OK, so let's start now. Don't ever call me by my first name again. I am either 'Miss' or 'Miss Plummer'. And don't call me mistress, I am not your mistress. That implies a relationship and we don't have one."

Ed nodded. "Yes, ma'am, P-- Miss."

"Don't call me ma'am, either, bitch," I said to him with a glare. I gave him a card with my address on it, and said "Saturday. 1:00pm. Show up at my front door, naked. No clothes. Expect to leave at 5:00pm."

I stood and looked down at the giant bowl of ancient flab and wondered why I was doing this. Because I really do want to explore my sadistic side, and this degenerate guy truly deserves to be broken into little pieces, I thought.

Saturday rolled around. I gave the guy about a 25% chance of showing up, and so had made contingency plans. But if he did show up, I was ready.

He showed up. He rang my door bell at exactly 1:00. I opened the door and looked at this putrid excuse for a man and said, "Why aren't you naked?"

I closed the door on his face.

Two minutes later the doorbell rang again. Ed was standing there, naked as a jaybird, holding his clothes in a pile. "I... I didn't realize you were serious, I am out in public here!"

It was true, my front door is visible from the street, but I didn't care. Not true, I did care. I wanted to humiliate the guy in public. I stood in the door for a moment looking him up and down, making him wait.

"Can I come in please?" He said, with urgency.

"Fine. Come in. Put your clothes over there, then on your hands and knees." I pointed to a bench I keep in the entryway. He was obedient.

"Follow me," I said.

He crawled behind me as we went into a bedroom in the back of the house. It is a punishment room, normally used when I am punished (I mentioned I am a submissive), or when a friend wishes to use the room for some BDSM play, which is fairly often.

"Turn around and put your arms up!" I barked. The poor man did as he was told. I fastened his wrists to a chain above him and then pulled it up, stretching his body up into a standing position, and then until he was on his tip-toes.

"Yeah. So... Ed." I leaned my face very close to his. "You fucked up big time. Remember you agreed I could do anything to you, no safe words? Well, yeah. That's gonna happen. You have a lot to be punished for, too."

I took out a ball gag and shoved it into his mouth, buckling it tightly behind his head.

"First of all, you arrived at my door and presented yourself fully clothed, completely ignoring my instructions. What an Ass Hole."

I have a black dildo, about nine inches long and two inches thick. It's big enough it can actually get inside but only with some pushing and prodding and... well, yes it is designed to bring pain, not pleasure. With this in my right hand, I used my left to spread his ass cheeks and then rammed it up his ass.

It wasn't lubed and from Ed's reaction it hurt going in. It took two or three really hard shoves to get it through his sphincter. I don't think I damaged him doing that, but couldn't be sure. He did make some interesting noises over the ball gag while it went in.

Once past his sphincter I shoved some more and got it all the way in, a good nine inches, so the fake balls at the end pushed against his ass cheeks. His anus was spread wide, and I could see the sphincter muscles pulsing, squeezing and pushing on the huge thing that had invaded his ass. Interestingly, he had a really stiff erection, too. I would have to work on that.

"Let's let your muscles work on that for a while. Now... you addressed me twice at the door. Both times, it was extremely disrespectfully. You are to use terms of respect at all times. Miss, or Miss Plummer. I explained that! But you are so damned self centered you thought I wasn't serious!"

I let him know how serious I was.

Ed needed a whipping. We started out with a flogger. Floggers are one of those BDSM specialty pieces that are designed to look horrible but in fact don't do that much. If you hit someone with a wide surface area, the impact is spread out and absorbed by a large area, which means the kinetic energy absorbed by the flesh is spread out.

With this guy it created a nice pattern of red marks on his back, and he made all sorts of screaming noises like he thought he was supposed to. I knew it stung, but it wasn't anything unbearable.

After about ten minutes of flogging, I decided to crank up the amperage a bit.

"You've paid for not speaking respectfully. Now I need to punish you for thinking you even deserve enough attention from me to be punished! I find you disgusting, and your desire to use me for punishment disgusting."

I switched to a single tail whip. With that baby, the same kinetic energy contained in the flogger was concentrated in a strip a quarter of an inch wide. I hauled off and swung that baby wide and watched as poor Ed jumped in surprise and pain. He yelped, not putting on the show he had thought he should, but actually reacting to real pain.

A couple more strokes and he was having trouble keeping on his feet. The difference in his reaction was seriously gratifying. "Come on, baby," I said to him. "Cry for me. Real tears. Beg me to stop."

He did, too. Tears were running down his cheeks by the tenth stroke. Each stroke was leaving deep red and purple welts, real stripes that were beginning to seep tiny bits of blood. I was breaking the skin. It felt good.

For some that would be a limit. For this asshole, he had come to me begging to be dominated and tortured... without limits.

Ball gags don't stop you from talking; they just make it hard to be understood and communicate disdain from the dominant to the submissive. He was begging through the gag, and I was enjoying.

"Please, oh... god, ohhhhhh!!!! AAhhhhgghh... please, no, please, mistress! Please this is too much! I can't do this, oh god noooooo!!!!"

He had slipped up again, calling me Mistress. The standard name submissives like him used for their women. The asshole was used to using women to dominate him for his pleasure. I hate men like that. They get off on being tied up and flogged by a pretty woman, they get off on the attention, they expect an orgasm or two from it, all very exciting for them. But they are essentially using the woman.

That wasn't going to happen with me. He was there because I needed an outlet, not because I was providing pleasure for him (even if the pleasure was pain).

When he had gotten to the point he was just blubbering non-stop and hanging from his wrist restraints, no longer trying to stand up, I decided to move on.

Moving around in front of him I raised his chin and made him face me directly.

"Hello, worm. You screwed up again. I am going to punish you for calling me Mistress. I am not your mistress. You should be so lucky. I am here for one reason-- to hurt you, and then hurt you some more, and then hurt you until I begin to feel satisfied. I don't feel anywhere near satisfied."

His eyes looked at me with fear and he began to beg again. "Please, Miss. Let me go. Don't hurt me any more, I can't take it!"

"How do you know what you can take until you've tried, slut?"

I had forgotten his name already. Slut seemed more appropriate. What was his name... Ed. That's right. Eh. He continued begging.

"Please, mis-- Miss Polly. Please don't hurt me any more! I... I didn't know! I can't take-- AaaAAHHH!!!"

He screamed again as I whipped him again, this time higher on his back, then moving down to the back of his thighs. The slut kept screaming. He was really in pain, more than he had ever experienced.

His cock was soft, too. That was a good sign. Guys with a hard cock are getting off on it too much.

Finally I stopped and he just sagged in the restraints, no longer trying to stand. I reached down and pulled the artificial cock out of his ass, which made him yelp again. He would have thanked me if he had realized what was coming next. That artificial cock in his ass had opened him up for what I was about to do.

A tight strap on. I have a good leather harness I have used with women for sex, and this time I placed a rather larger, longer rubber cock in it.  I lowered the restraints a bit so he went to his knees. Standing in front of the Slut, I shoved the cock to his mouth.

"Suck it. Make it cum."

Tears trickling down his face he turned and took the phallus into his mouth.

"Deeper!" I shouted. God, it felt good to see him trying to take a cock into his mouth. How many times have I been subjected to that?

I pinched his nose. "You breathe when it gets in all the way!"

He whimpered, gagged, opened wider and tried to get more in. He flailed, desperate from lack of air. I shoved harder, he took more Finally I pulled it out and he gasped, panting for breath. A string of slime dripped from his lips.

"Lube!" I observed happily, shoving the cock back into his mouth. He took it, I shoved it, and face fucked him.

My hips shoved back and forth, just like I was a man fucking a woman, except I wasn't. I was a woman face fucking a man.

Just when he started making noises that sounded like he was going to die, I pulled out and went around to his rear.

"Open wide, slut..." I said, spread his cheeks and shoved hard.

He was still choking from the ass fucking but he had enough breath to yelp again. I really think I would have drawn blood had he not been stretched wide by the dildo I inserted earlier.

So I ass fucked him for a while.  Pushing my hips forward, imitating the motions I have seen men go through. I'd felt dozens of men inside me when they were jerking their hips like this, and it was an amazing feeling to be thrusting and jerking myself, this time embedded in a man.

Good god it was satisfying to hear him grunt with every thrust. I wondered if the cock inside his rectum was pushing his intestines out of place. Probably.
I really enjoyed fucking a man for once. I pretended I was a guy, feeling the pleasure of inserting myself and thrusting inside a woman. I thought about making a woman hurt by the sheer size of my cock, but thrusting anyway because it pleasured me. This piece of meat before me was simply there for my pleasure.

His cock remained flaccid, bouncing back and forth as I thrust and jerked.

A white brown sort of foam gathered around his sphincter where the phallus was reaming him out. I wondered what the fluid was. A mixture of stuff, clearly. Was he lubricating himself, just like a woman's vagina? I smiled at that idea as I thrusted and watched.

No, it was probably a mixture of shit, saliva, and blood. Whatever it was, it did make him slipperier and it was easier fucking him.

My hips got tired after a while.

"You failed to make my cock cum!" I barked at him. "Clean it off!"

I put the filthy cock in front of his face, the tip just touching his lips. At first he squeezed both his eyes and lips shut, but I grabbed his head and shoved it in, and he opened up.

The dirty cock slid in and he began sucking it clean. He grimaced, either because of the lingering pain in his ass, or because of the tasty filth in his mouth.

Probably because of both.
Once the Slut had cleaned my cock to my satisfaction I took it off and went around to the back of him.

"I think we've ignored your pathetic genitals long enough. Let's see what we can do with them," I said. The slut whimpered. I reached for his balls and grabbed them, yanking hard. The male slut yelped. I grabbed them hard in my fist, tight enough he couldn't wriggle away, even though he was trying.

It felt incredibly good to just grab as hard as I wanted, as hard as I could. I felt excited hearing him yelp and knowing that I was crushing sensitive parts of him.

Then I began punching. Pulling his scrotum out and making his balls into tight little punching bag with one hand, I used my other to hit him.

Every strike caused a howl. Every punch made him jump and wriggle.  It was amazing how much this male was reacting to my punches! Those little tiny globs of flesh in that little sack, every time I whacked them he sobbed and begged and cried. It really motivated me to just keep going.

I liked to hear him cry.

I stopped when my arm got tired of punching. Deciding to give it a rest I went to get a special treat I had arranged. I had obtained a humbler from a friend. We don't have one in the house normally, because, well... I am usually the submissive. But I had prepared. This humbler was a nasty one, it had a ball stretcher. Normal humblers pull the balls and scrotum back between the legs but that isn't enough to cause real discomfort for most guys.

This one had an extension that pulled the balls back behind the thighs, and then pulled them even further. It was adjustable.

The Slut felt me working on his scrotum and began to whimper and beg, realizing his torture was nowhere near over.

"Mistre-- I mean, Miss Polly, please don't do any more. I am stupid, I didn't realize. I need a safe word. Yellow! Red! Red! Please don't do anything more to me!"

I just chuckled. "Keep begging, I like to hear you beg," I said.

He kept on. "I really think you've hurt me, permanently. Something doesn't feel right in my insides. And I can feel blood trickling down, it's going to leave ooowwwww OWWWWWW AAHAHHAHA!!!!"

That was me cranking the adjustment on the humbler to pull his balls out. I stretched them until they were nice and taught and his testicles bulged, the scrotal flesh tight and shiny over those two small lumps of male flesh. Releasing the tension on his wrists, he dropped down, slowly lowering himself to the floor on his knees and elbows, trying to relieve the pressure on his balls.

The Slut was crying again.

"Stop crying!" I said and gave his balls a whack with a riding crop.

Of course, he didn't stop. I don't think he could, actually, he was in pain. As least, from the way his body kept writhing around it seemed like he was in pain. So I whacked him again, and again, and again. It was fun.

I had never realized just how much fun it was to cause a male pain. I mean, I had dumped enough guys in my life, I had seen emotional pain, but this was a man just writhing in physical agony as I kept hitting and stretching and pounding and whipping his most sensitive parts.

I stopped for a while. I was curious. I had never had a guy tied and and helpless like this before, where I could do anything I wanted. I knelt behind him and examined the taught skin of his scrotum over his testicles.

Gently. Every so gently I stroked them.

I could tell, this was unexpected to him. After a couple of hours of pain from being beaten, this guy wasn't expecting the gentle touch.

His cock started getting hard, even though he was still crying.

"Oh, baby. You are getting aroused! You like this, don't you?" I crooned to the pathetic slut as he lay on the floor, testicles stretched, still tied and helpless.

"No, Miss Polly please let me go... or... give me an orgasm... "

Now there it was. He wanted sexual pleasure from me. He came claiming he wanted to be dominated and hurt by me, but what he really wanted was a hand job.

I stroked his cock a little, watching it get hard as a rock. His crying and slowly been turning into moans, little whimpers of pleasure mixed with the pain.

I continued stroking, playing, just fondling his cock. Not enough to really get him to cum, but enough to make him think he might. I kept holding on to his scrotum tightly, but his cock was hard and pulsing, getting ready to spurt some fluid out when I stopped.

"Oh... no... please mistress please keep on-- AAAAAAAA!"

He yelled as my booted foot struck his balls.

"You are never going to learn, are you? I am *not* your mistress! You should be so lucky, you pathetic whore slut!"

I kicked him again, and again, and he stopped moaning and start crying again.

"You know something, you are without a doubt the most disgusting, slimy, awful disgrace I have ever met. You are old, fat, ugly, have a tiny cock and make me want to puke!"

I heaped abuse on him. It was heartfelt, too. He really was disgusting. I would never want to have sex with a guy like this and the only reason he was in my house with his clothes off was because it made it easier to get to his body to hurt him.

"You disgusting lump of flesh. Slave meat! Putrid vomit!"

With each insult I struck him again.

"I never want you to ever contact me again! Do you understand?"

He nodded vigorously.

"You stay away from me, I never want to see your hideous fat face again! You are good for nothing but pain, and you are a wimp at that!"

"Miss, yes miss, please, yes miss, let me go, let me get dressed and go and you will never see me again!"

His voice had a hopeful sound to it, as if he though I might actually let him go.

Suddenly I yanked on the rope that was fastened to his wrist restraints. This yanked him back up into the air, rising into a standing position once again. He howled in pain as the pressure grew on his balls from the humbler.

Once he was raised up I went ahead and released him from the humbler. It had been fun.

"Look at the clock. What time is it?"

Through is tears, the male slut looked and mumbled, "3:32, miss."

"You leave at 5:00, remember?"

A look of profound misery came across his face and he nodded.

I walked off to the side where I had a few items including my purse. I hadn't thought of doing this before, but as I was watching him there struggling, the thought came to me. My stun gun! It isn't really a gun, it's more of a hand held thing with two electrodes. You shove it up against someone and it shocks them.

I came back with it and showed it to him. "If I ever see you again, I will use this. Do you know what it is?"

He nodded, hard. "I will never come back!"

"Let me show you what it feels like," I said.

"NOOOO!!!Please, no, don't do it don't nonononononono AEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

The device let out a small snapping noise as it touched the flesh of his scrotum. Wow, did he jump! Oh it was so damn satisfying! I had that thing for a year now and this was the first time I had used it. He acted like he had been hit with a bullet, jerking back and screaming, writhing and flailing around.

I managed to keep hold of his scrotum and did it again. Snap!!! More screams and writing, gibberish now instead of begging.

We kept playing with the stun gun for a while. The slut seemed to like it based on the way he reacted.

Finally I let him be for a bit, pulling on his wrist restraints so he dangled with his toes about an inch off the floor. He was panting. His as was bloody, his balls were red and swollen, his body criss-crossed with whip marks. I had a drink and watched as he slowly rotated before me.

At 4:45 I asked the slut if he wanted to go home. He nodded his head vigorously.

"Then I must cum," I said. "Eat me, then you can go."

I let him down and stood before him, pulling up my skirt and exposing myself.

He had wide eyes as he looked at my exposed cunt.

On his hands and knees he crawled to me and buried his face in my pussy. His tongue slid out and began working.

He was OK. Not great, but with some urging and direction, he got me going. He was really, really motivated, too. He wanted to go home at the appointed time. 5:00. He had fifteen minutes to get me off.

I slid one leg over his shoulder to open my legs more, and give him access to my vagina. He took advantage and expanded his tonguing. "Stay on my clit. Just a little inside, most of it on my clit" I gasped as I got closer.

My orgasm came quickly and was huge. I shuddered and smashed his face into my soft flesh, demanding his tongue keep working as I felt the flood of warm pleasure cover my body.

When I had finished and pulled away from him I saw his cock was hard again. Very hard. Made sense, he had just had his face buried in my pussy.

"You may dress outside. Follow me," I said. I released him but kept him on his hands and knees as we walked to the front door. He was as naked as when he had entered the door, which was completely.

I threw his clothes outside, and pointed. "You may go."

He crawled outside and I closed the door.

The entire four hours had been extremely pleasurable for me. I had never released my inner sadist that way before. Prompted by my disgust of the slimy men that are my readers, the chance to finally get one tied up and to cause them real pain... it was marvelous.

My own man and dominant came home that evening about 7pm.

To get me back into the mood he had me strip and present myself. He then slapped my breasts hard several times, turned me over and fucked me in the ass, no lube.  After coming inside me he placed a butt plug in me to keep his sperm inside. I was once again a submissive.

Ed contacted me two weeks later via email to thank me. He apparently had healed up all right and was masturbating twice a day to memories of our time together. He asked if we could do it again some time.

I responded no, that the next time I might really hurt him.

Monday, February 13, 2017

The Future of Man

The Eugenics movement that started around 2035 had far reaching and unpredictable impacts not only on society and the relationships between men and women, but on the actual physical and mental characteristics of the species.

The feminist movement had become strong enough that more than 40% of women had embraced lesbianism and the demands for methods of procreation that did not involve a man placing his penis inside a vagina became extreme. Most women still had sex with men but the number was dwindling. Men in general still wanted sex with women; the number of gay men had not increased at the same rate as lesbianism.

As women went more and more to artificial insemination as a means to become pregnant, the demand for high quality sperm also increased. Women were no longer content accepting just any man's sperm. They wanted children that would be smart, healthy, intelligent, beautiful. They demanded the best of the best.

Thus, the Sperm Production Act of 2052 was passed in the worldwide congress and men began to be formally evaluated for the potential quality of their offspring. Strong, healthy men with few defects and a history of good looks were identified and pursued as sperm donors. These men were sought after and the pricing of their sperm skyrocketed. Officially sanctioned as a professional sperm producers, these men could now spend most of their time masturbating, preserving their sperm and selling it.

Rising prices began to threaten the sperm supply. In 2061 the lesbian population had continued to rise and had reached 63%. Even women in traditional relationships were pursuing the best sperm, and purchasing this sperm on the open market. Because of the high demand, the birth rate plunged, threatening industrialized country's lifestyles and economies.

The governments reacted by creating mandatory evaluation of all young men for their sperm production and quality, and drafting of the best men into the ranks of the sperm producers. Sperm price controls were put into place, and the sperm producer men were then impressed into service, similar to a military service for the country.

In this way the Sperm Farms were created. By 2065 several hundred thousand men had been drafted into a two year service as sperm producers. The demand for their sperm reached record levels by 2067, when the number of men in sperm farms was reduced in order to focus on only the highest producers, and term of sperm production service was extended to five years.

At first the sperm farms were very similar to military basis. This quickly changed, and the farms changed into more of a prison system. Too many men had tried to escape duty. Investigations showed that while sperm production involved sexual stimulation and orgasm in order to produce semen, the constant, unrelenting demand for as much sperm as possible was horrifying. Many of the spermies, as the prime sperm producing men were called, could not stand the boredom, the constantly sore genitalia, the aching testicles, the need to day after day produce more and more body fluid.

Attempts were made to make the sperm farms more habitable, including replacing all male guards with female ones. The idea was that female guards would inspire the men sexually, and make the constant sperm production more nature. This idea worked for a while, but eventually fell apart. Even when the Sperm Farm guards, administration, everyone in the facility was replaced by beautiful women, the task of constantly spewing semen day after day, week after week, eventually tore apart most of the spermie's minds.

Thus it was that only slower, dull witted, complacent and compliant men were producing sperm for the sperm supply. Females continued to grow and prosper in intelligence. Men who produced less desirable women were quickly taken out of the Sperm Farms. Those that remained produced stupid men and quick, aggressive women.

By 2137 men and women had been bred into completely different races. The women were taller, smarter, better looking, more adept, better at problem solving and research. The men were smaller, slower, dumber, more compliant.

In the mid 2100s, men had become the submissive race, unable to keep up with women, simply serving them in whatever way was desired. At age 18, every male was evaluated for their potential in various roles. Typical roles were:

  • Houseboy
  • Mechanic
  • Farm laborer
  • Sex worker
  • Sewer worker
  • Food service

Men who were assigned to roles such as these were typically castrated.

The only men that kept their testicles were those found most fit for sperm production and were sent to the Sperm Farms for life.

Thus by the year 2150, a man of age 18 was destined to either be castrated and relegated to common labor, or keep their testicles and spend the rest of their life having orgasm after orgasm, producing as much sperm as they possibly could.

Because of the demands placed on males to produce sperm and the natural selection for men that could produce large amounts of sperm, men's testicles in general increased in size.

Most testicles were twice the size of those of men from 100 years before. Even non-sperm producing men had enlarged, engorged genitals, with larger cocks and especially larger balls.

Of course, after castration, men no longer had testicles, leaving them only with a large cock.

Over the course of time men had developed a permanent erection, much as women had developed permanently enlarged and engorged breasts millennia before. This was the result of the Sperm Farm eugenics effort, which not only encouraged large testicles, but also engorged, large cocks. As men increasingly developed the constantly erect cock, the flaccid cock became a sign of a defective or undesirable man.

Such men were typically executed, and were most certainly never sent to the Sperm Farms, assuring that the next generation of men would never have a flaccid cock. The cocks on all men stood out at all times, never getting soft. Women forgot what a soft penis looked like, except from some history books.

Women increasingly took to seeking men with the largest, most engorged and erect cocks as playthings. The fact all men were castrated made constant sex play with men much simpler and easier. The absence of testicles and scrotum came to be a sign of a mature male, since only young boys had their testicles. And since men never lost their erections, women could use them for sexual gratification as much as they liked and were no longer limited to a single orgasm as they had been in the past. In general, the "New Man" was heralded as a great improvement. Docile because of breeding and castration, rather dull but supremely cooperate, this New Man was exactly what women had wanted for centuries.

The life of males in Sperm Farms was desolate and empty. Inside the concrete bunker facilities were rows upon rows of men, usually somewhere around 100 per room, with up to 100 rooms per facility. Thousands of men, nameless, forgotten, were simply bracketed into place so they couldn't move. A cock milking device was permanently attached to their cock.

Stimulation wires were also embedded in the testicles of the men. This somewhat painful process of providing a low level current into the testicles of sperm producers actually increased sperm production. The fact it also created constant pain was not a concern.

Some women launched humanitarian concerns, trying to raise awareness of conditions inside the Sperm Farms, just as they had raised awareness for chickens raised in cages a century and half before. The movement was not as successful, though. Women didn't really care that much about men, especially not the sperm producers.

Even lesbians liked the way things were. Men had become playthings, like fleshy, realistic dildos. Owning a man as a lesbian plaything because a status symbol. Women had their real relationships, raised children, worked and built lives with their women partners. Men existed in their lives to provide some sexual pleasure they considered a bit kinky, a little risque.

What happened with all the testicles from the millions of castrated men?

They were served for dinner, of course.