Female Domination with Male and Male

Cara took care to dress up before going to see her prisoner. Just a year ago he had told her it served her right for dressing “like that”: so she made sure she was always dressed more provocatively now. She chose a thin black silk blouse that would have showed her nipples even if she hadn’t rouged them, a white leather micro-skirt and snug boots with Texas-star spurs that tinkled as she crossed the cellar.

In one hand she carried her latest device, lengths of steel tube braced and welded into three sides of an eighteen-inch square with straps hanging off in places. She stopped before the naked man and tipped up his head by a gentle finger under his chin, and gazed fondly into his frightened eyes. “Hi, Dickhead, I’m home,” she purred. “Do you know what day this is?”

The device the man was crouched over was one of Cara’s favourites for its simple effectiveness. It was just a road cone, bolted to the floor, which she had covered with a coat of smooth resin, with a top shaped like a swollen cock-head. This morning before she went to work she had stood him over it and made him squat till she could ease the top into his anus, then secured the chain locked around his balls to a floor ring so that he couldn’t lift himself off.

As the hours passed and his legs weakened he had sunk down, forcing more of it into himself. By now she guessed he must have a good eight inches inside, and the widening cone must have stretched his anal ring to tearing.

She admired the shine of sweat on his shoulders and handcuffed arms. It had been worth all the months of preparation to have him like this, her property to use as she pleased. Sometimes she left him in his cage for weeks, only looking in when she got home from work to throw a bucket of kitchen slops into his feed tray; then sometimes she would devote a whole weekend to punishing him, having him crawl to serve her meals between torments, spending the night on the bed in the corner lulled into contented sleep by his moans of pain. “It’s our anniversary,” she answered her own question. “It was this very evening a year ago that you raped me. Seems like yesterday, doesn’t it?”

If his mouth had not been filled by a hard rubber ball, the man might have replied that it seemed like an age to him. Then again, he would probably not have dared. “So I’m going to give you a treat,” she continued, unfastening his chain. “I’m going to let you do it again – just to remind us… Hup!”

He lifted off the cone with a grunt of anguish and at once fell to his knees. He had been taught long ago to kneel unless otherwise ordered. “You can just climb onto me and ram it in, won’t that be good?” She strode off across the floor, tugging ungently on his lead, and he shuffled after her as quickly as his ankle chains would allow.

“But first,” she continued, leading him into the shower stall, “I want to be sure it’s good and clean. Stand!” She clipped his handcuffs to a wall hook. Turning the hot tap full on, she took the shower head in one hand and a stiff bristled scrubbing brush in the other, and scrubbed hard under the steaming spray while her victim writhed and whined around his gag, eyes bulging.

When she turned off the water his shaft had thickened visibly under her rough handling, despite being scalded red and scored with scratches from the brush. “Why, Dickhead, you’re looking forward to it!” She had never punished him for getting hard, preferring to use frustrated excitement as one of his tortures, and she was glad to see he still could. “But you’ll have to do better than that if you’re going to rape me.”

Although she had long ago beaten him into obeying her with the speed of fear, Cara never forgot that the man was stronger than her and potentially violent. Before she unlocked the handcuffs behind his back she secured each hand to a wall chain so that he had no chance to struggle as she strapped the square frame to his wrists, arms and across his shoulders, so that his arms were braced out straight in front of him. “Now, down.” Released, he knelt awkwardly on all fours and she quickly looped his leash around his ankle chain to keep him from straightening.

She had amused herself many times by raping him with increasingly large and brutal strap-ons, but now she selected a pear-shaped vibrator and eased it carefully into his sore anus, probing till he gasped and sobbed in humiliation at his own response. Fastening it in place with its straps, she took his hair and pulled him to kneel up and admired his lifted erection.

“Not bad. But we know you can do better than that, don’t we?” She hooked his shoulder bar to the wall to keep him upright, and looped a nylon cord around his scrotum, penis and root, drawing each loop tight and tying off the whole. It was a trick she had used before, and his shaft stiffened till it throbbed rigid and purple-topped while he groaned in pained frustration. She released him and stood back to admire the effect.

“Lovely,” she breathed, and began to unbutton her blouse. The man watched her desperately. In the early days of his captivity he had imagined overpowering her at a moment like this – a quick spring, a blow from his chains – a few painful and undignified failures had taught him that she was faster than him and never off guard. Attractive though she was, the idea of fucking her now was frightening, but the urging of the vibrator and the constriction of the cord forced his aching stalk even higher. She dropped her skirt and ran her hands sensuously over her body. “Come on then.” She backed to the bed and sprawled, spreading her thighs wide, her cunt lips opening towards him. “Rape me!”

The man shuffled forward in hopeless obedience. Many times before he had crawled to her like this to push his head between her clutching thighs and lick her to repeated climaxes under the hard teaching of her spurs and crop, but now his mouth was still secured. He knelt up and walked awkwardly on his hands over her, understanding now what the frame was for: he could not have rested his weight on her even if he dared. “Come on,” she gasped urgently, closing her booted legs around his hips, “IN!”

She drove her spurs into his buttocks. With a sob of agony he slid his sore cock into her heat and was gripped by her clenching muscles. “Harder!” She lashed his rump with her crop and he thrust convulsively, whimpering in pain. “Back and – IN!”

The crop lashed him again. “Faster!” His cock was a bar of anguish, only the greater pain of her spurs and crop could force him to draw it back and forth through her hungry grip. She shook and wailed with delight, driving him ever harder, her free hand raking his shoulders with her nails till the grazes stung with sweat. Once he had dreamt that if he could overpower her, a fresh rape would break her spirit and make her his again; but as he laboured and gasped in humiliation he understood that even this was under her control. “More,” she panted, “MORE! Oh, it’s GOOD giving you a treat – I’m going to give you LOTS!” —