Femdom Fetishes & Fantasies
Smashwords Edition
Dr Jane Foxx
Copyright 2009 Dr Jane Foxx
Strict Publishing International
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Chapter 1
Burgess
The FEMDOM author’s name was Susan Marshall, and she had a bizarre tale to relate. Some readers might think her story was simply too unbelievable to be true. But, being an aspiring writer, Susan decided to set it all down anyway, just the way it all happened, and let the reader be the judge of her credibility.
Susan Marshall was an enthusiastic writer of stories that featured imaginative female over male situations. Her fascinating tales were invariably set against a background of romantic lesbianism. This made a combination of robust themes that was hard to beat in the minds of her many appreciative readers.
Plenty of women, of course, enjoyed reading such tales. But Susan’s stories were also composed basically for the consumption of submissive male personalities, both open and closeted. Susan’s target audience was made to drool from both ends as they devoured her every written word. Having a host of readers who did so, especially tickled the lady writer’s intrinsic fancy.
Susan was well aware that submissive personalities make up a large portion of the male populace, perhaps as much as fifty percent, and that the same type of men universally regard lesbianism as their second favorite topic! Psychologist friends had assured Susan the foregoing fact was true because submissive men knew they were automatically excluded from enjoying any sexual activity with such females. This information was simply another additional punishment each male submissive was forced to endure.
What better amusement, Susan Marshall thought, than to have a male reader become extremely excited over her sublime tales, only to leave his zinging emotions totally unfulfilled? Such thoughts greatly amused the female writer.
Yes, Susan Marshall adored the idea of taunting and abusing men from all backgrounds with her written words. Many of them wrote fawning letters to the female writer, and she soon realized these same men came from all the worldly professions. They included students, doctors, lawyers, firemen, athletes, superintendents, schoolteachers, football players, musicians, accountants, custodians, entertainers, and even some males who were directly associated with the clergy.
The exact reasons for Susan Marshall’s unyielding mind-set toward members of the male sex went back to those earlier days in her life when her alcoholic step-father, and her two new, overly-aggressive step-brothers came to live with Susan and her mother. The males in the newly-formed family helped to make each day for Susan a quest for survival. Yes, for the most part, growing up in that hellish environment was a totally rotten memory, and one that she would not ever forget.
Since her earlier years, Susan Marshall always felt more comfortable in the company of other women. She absolutely adored being with them, especially those who felt the same way about her.
From several of her more revealing friends and correspondents, Susan gathered copious background information about men who regularly paid to be punished and/or humiliated by both professional and non-professional females. Susan was fascinated by the detailed reports of these startling revelations.
Many women referred to such situations in their own lives as FEMDOM, and, as time went by, Susan came to realize this lifestyle was more common in society than anyone could imagine. She made endless notes about each situation described to her. These were later used in the writing of more instantly salable stories.
Susan Marshall also felt compelled to write about the endless zinging rushes brought about by her direct, close association with other women, and the enthralling subject of overt lesbianism. Soon she found herself writing about both themes, often combining the topics in a heady, passionate mixture that captivated many.
Yes, FEMDOM became Susan Marshall’s second favorite interest. There was no need to ever ask what was FIRST in Susan Marshall’s insatiable, creative mind.
Of course, the female writer wanted her scintillating stories to have even greater appeal, and she hoped some of her original plots would even attract the attention of Hollywood producers. She knew some interested people in the entertainment industry! Susan believed the moviemakers might eventually use her creative ideas to make into films. The female writer was thus confident of growing success in the immediate future.
*
With the proceeds from her early literary efforts, Susan Marshall moved into a large penthouse apartment in the city. She got rid of her old Underwood typewriter, and treated herself to her composing heart's secret desire: a sparkling new word processor. The typing machine was a Burgess, Model 605ASS, and Susan was greatly pleased with all its many helpful, up-dated features. She could not wait to begin writing fresh stories on it.
But, unfortunately, along with Susan’s growing optimism in her flourishing writing career, there came an unforeseen break-up of her testy, two-year relationship with her unpredictable, fickle-minded, female lover, Marcy Williams. The rudest shock was that Marcy, - her dear, sweet, triple-tonguing Marcy, - had been enticed away. Further, Susan’s competitor for Marcy’s affections was a man! What an appalling blow THAT was for lovely Susan Marshall! She could hardly believe it had happened!
The female writer might have understood Marcy’s wanting to run off with another woman, but a MAN? It was a monumentally bitter pill to swallow! Because of this disheartening incident, Susan’s natural mistrust regarding members of the male sex became even more fixed in her mind.
To resolve her dilemma, Susan Marshall felt she HAD to try winning her lover back. However, the task quickly appeared to be insurmountable.
"You don't really satisfy me," Marcy hissed at Susan. "All you seem to be interested in is your damned writing! Whenever I’m with you, I feel unneeded, unwanted, unloved, and unnecessary!"
“Well, I’m sorry, Marcy,” Susan countered weakly, and somewhat in shock, for she had never suspected her lover’s true feelings. “Who’s this male you’re so damned goofy about anyhow?”
“Does it matter?” Marcy countered.
“It does to me,” Susan insisted. “He’s beating my time with you!”
“You already know him! His name is Butts,” Marcy replied.
“Thomas Butts?” Susan shrieked. “You mean that pudgy dude on the office force over at Canterbury Book Publications? The guy some women on the staff refer to as ‘Bubble’ Butts?”
“Yes,” Marcy answered, “that’s him! But it isn’t like you think, Susan. He’s not playing the part of my passionate lover. Thomas Butts is my submissive slave, and my total ass-kissing slut!”
“You’re his Mistress?” Susan asked all wide-eyed.
“Make that ‘DOMINANT’ Mistress,” Marcy replied. “He does everything for me, just like you write about in all your female domination stories.”
“Thomas Butts is your personal slave?” Susan asked again disbelievingly.
“In every way possible!” Marcy replied. “It may also please you to know, I got the idea from reading your books. It’s all working out wonderfully well for me. I am personally ecstatic about the entire new situation.”
Naturally, Susan was incensed over Marcy’s last statement, but she managed to control her upset by asking, “Can’t we work things out between us, Marcy?”
“I don’t think there’s anything left to discuss,” Marcy replied firmly, while she continued packing her bags. “As my devoted slut, Butts brings me more personal satisfaction than you ever did!”
In private, Susan had often admitted to herself she was a selfish, lesbian lover: a taker, rather than a giver. But now, in desperation, she promised to offer more of her time by being increasingly demonstrative toward Marcy, if her lover would only agree to stay. But even as Susan spoke, they both knew it would never work.
"You can't fake real passion," Marcy hurled at Susan in one of her typical asinine snits. "I don't see passion in your eyes, or feel it in your touch! You write about it exceptionally well, but you don't practice it! I want someone who will kiss the north, east, west, and the SOUTH of me - front and back - and with PASSION! With my male slave, I can get ALL that, PLUS he’s someone I can always boss around. He’s a male who will absorb all the use and abuse I can provide. All you’ve ever done is take from me!"
Statements like that last one hurt and confused Susan Marshall. She always felt plenty of passion whenever the two of them had made love, but she guessed it did not show to Marcy.
Susan’s last second efforts at reconciliation failed miserably, and the female writer quickly realized her lover would not ever be coming back no matter what she did. And even if Marcy did return, the emotional wounds were probably too deep to ever heal anyway.
‘Damned that Thomas Butts’, Susan thought.
Susan imagined having Marcy’s slave/slut in the dark dungeon-like recesses of her creative mind. That is where the female writer’s heady, sadistic thoughts reigned supreme, and it had shown in her early stories. She knew how to write about tormenting men, and had done so many times. But in the end, her own successful literary inventiveness had caused the break-up of Susan’s personal relationship. What an ironic, painful paradox it all was! What was she to do?
*
After Marcy Williams was gone from the apartment, Susan Marshall began to sulk, which quickly led to her unaccustomed writing problems. She found herself suffering from that mysterious malady known in the profession as 'writer's block'. Suddenly, nothing Susan Marshall attempted to put on paper seemed to be working, and she became very distraught over it.
Yes, the intense, erotic quality of Susan’s popular writing began to descend noticeably. She could not concentrate, nor properly convey her former thoughts of emotional passion to paper. She just was not her writing self anymore.
Curt notes from former admiring publishers read, “Sorry, this story is not up to your usual caliber.” or “Please try us again sometime in the future.” Susan even received a hastily, scribbled message from a friendly Hollywood script editor that said, “We expected a better effort from you, Miss Marshall! This sort of crap will never do!”
Susan cried over that last note, and she spoke her sorrowful soliloquy to an unseen audience, "What am I to do?"
Unhappily alone as she reviewed the recent events in her life, Susan Marshall sat before her new Burgess word processor, and typed in disgust, "Fate is a fickle entity! She gives with one hand, and takes away with the other! Damn her, anyway!”
“No, on second thoughts,” Susan said out loud, “fate must be a fucking male! So, damn him! Yes, damn him all the way to hell and back!”
With that done, Susan rose to get ready for bed. Perhaps she would feel better about everything in the morning.
But in her downhearted mood, a weary Susan Marshall failed to notice something about her new Burgess typing machine. She had neglected to turn the word processor off for the evening. At that moment of utter despair, a goodnight’s sleep seemed far more important to Susan than anything else, and off to bed she went.
*
In the morning, after breakfast and a leisurely shower, as Susan began getting dressed, she recalled having wild dreams about naked men in chains struggling under heavy whips. There were wicked women laughing in the background, and the typewriter in her bed seemed to be as big as a house. Also, in this weirdest of dreams, Susan danced on the keys of that huge typing machine, while somewhere far off, music accompanied her every movement. Later, Susan remembered the giant keyboard of her dreams had even tried to talk to her!
Yes, everything had seemed so outlandishly strange. The dream was all a difficult hodge-podge to sort out, and Susan quickly dismissed the foolishness from her mind, helped along by a fresh cup of simmering hot coffee.
Susan rather dreaded going into the office cubicle in her apartment that morning. She had no fresh ideas to write about, and certainly did not want to spend the day dawdling time away again.
As she looked about her office space, the female writer repeated her forlorn question of despair, “What am I to do? What am I to do?” But, of course, there was no one there to answer. However, imagine Susan’s shock and surprise to see several sheets of typing paper neatly stacked in the basket of her new word processor!
“What this? She asked herself aloud.
On close inspection, Susan saw the pages contained a completed short story. The title at the top of the first page was: “Lofty Louise”.
“What the hell is going on?” Susan asked herself. She could not remember writing anything like this, so where had the new story come from?
It was true Susan Marshall knew of a very tall, professional dancer by that name. Everyone called Louise, ‘Lofty’, because her dazzling height. The sexy lady towered majestically over everyone around. The beauty commanded attention simply by her very presence in any room.
Susan also remembered Lofty Louise had attended a party in her apartment on the same day the delivery van had brought the new Burgess Word Processor to her. But Susan still did not recall writing what was on the pages she found in her ‘out’ box. So, how did they get there? That was the real question to be solved!
Thoroughly mystified, Susan decided to read the story. Perhaps the words would jog her memory. The text of “Lofty Louise” began:
How many women can imagine what it's like to be tall enough to stare down at a gawking male in a contest of psychological superiority? Not too many unfortunately! So I, Lofty Louise, thought I would share my lusty point of view with those who are not so monumentally endowed as I am.
Before I became intrigued with the sexual domination of members of the male sex, my professional stage name as an exotic dancer was ‘Luscious Lofty’. I am six foot, ten inches tall, and even more so, in my high heels. I have very expressive eyes - a pleasing smile - long dark hair cascading down to the center of my back - curvy hips - AND the most voluptuous, pointy breasts any female was ever able to display.
In addition to my attractive face and bosom, my long, tall body features exquisitely shaped legs. But, of course, it is my overall height that gains immediate attention from astonished individuals everywhere.
As an example, I gauged myself recently as I stood in front of a wide-eyed, standard-sized, six-foot tall, adult male. I found my jutting breasts were about even with his chin. Imagine that for a moment!
Also, as we stood close together, my warm crotch was slightly higher than his belt buckle! Think about that too!
Yes, my extra long, full-length mirror reflects a seductive, Amazonian, wonder-goddess! I have more in the way of feminine attributes than any male ever dreamed of, and to me the startled facial expressions my towering image creates are humorously satisfying.
I can recall vividly when a particular thunderstruck male first looked up at me while he was back stage at a theatre. It was right after I had finished a hot dance routine with a cracking whip in my hand.
To perform on stage, I was wearing a form-fitting costume that extended from the tips of my projecting breasts, down to my tantalizing crotch. I also had on net stockings, short boots, and elbow-length leather gloves. All of my garments were in black.
My male subject backstage had that familiar awed look on his face as I pranced off stage at the conclusion of my performance. I have seen such expressions countless times from other male bystanders. It is kind of a frantic, unsettling, wide-eyed amazement, and it makes me smile triumphantly every time.
Coiling my whip, and placing my hands on my curvy hips, I looked down at my gaping male to speak the obvious, "Does seeing me close-up make you nervous, little man?"
The male’s reply was an uncertain, quavering murmur, "Well... I… yeah... it sure does!"
"Would you like me to go back to my dressing room, and leave you alone here, so you won't feel so uneasy?" I smiled.
"No... ah… n-no..." The male stammered, struggling for control.
As he continued to study me from his beguiled position, I leaned down close to his ear and whispered, "If we were both in a horizontal position at this moment, I don’t think you'd notice the difference in height very much!"
The perplexed male laughed nervously, finally finding his real voice and he introduced himself.
"My name is Charles," he smiled, looking up toward my sparkling eyes. I think he was already trying to visualize me in other poses, perhaps with my long legs opened to his eager face. Most males, I have found, are like that. They all want to please a woman in this intimate manner.
To be successful in this scintillating endeavor, the lady merely has to assert herself. For me, the truth is written all over each male’s leering expression.
"Hello, Charles," I cooed down at him. "My name is Louise."
Charles's attention immediately became overly fascinated with the top of my dance outfit. The wispy, sequined material strained to cover my surging breasts as I posed very close to his upturned face.
Charles could hardly keep his eyes averted as my breasts thrust forward; the sequins shimmering at my slightest movement, and demanding to be noticed. He was already in lust with me, of course, but Charles was rather anxious about my towering height, just like all the other individuals I have ever confronted.
After another moment of wide-eyed speculation, Charles found the courage to make a bold, calculated assessment.
"If I was a little taller, I think I could stand flatfooted to kiss either of your nipples."
The gentleman seemed greatly pleased with his cavalier utterance. I was amused, rather than bothered. After all, I had opened the door for his erotic remark. But I had a perfect answer to heighten his conjecture about my spectacular endowments.
"Charles, if I was even a bit taller, I could ease one of my legs over your shoulder, and I might have you offer a few kisses where they would be most pleasing to me!"
In response to my startling statement, Charles appeared very near apoplectic. His lips quivered, his face reddened, and even his hands shook. Such is the effect my towering appearance, my ready whip, and certain verbal provocations can have on the stoutest of male hearts.
I concluded with, "I think I could have the most marvelous time with you, Charles. You’d like to be mine, wouldn’t you?" My question was more of a statement!
The comforting touch of my hand to his fevered face, and a few gentle words were all it took to restore a gulping Charles from his trembling stupor. Then, shortly, we left the theatre together to dine at a nearby posh restaurant.
At our dinner table, oddly, while sitting together, we both appeared to be nearly the same height, and Charles lost some of his initial uncertainty. He even began to whisper excitedly to me about putting my erotic suggestion into practice. In his little mind, I was sure Charles was already thinking of me as a scrumptious, delectable ‘dessert’.
However, when we stood to leave, and I again rose majestically over Charles, his temporary aplomb suddenly deserted him. I knew he was going to make a fine, obedient companion for me.
Later, in the privacy of a room at a nearby luxury hotel, Charles found that his assumption regarding my breasts was essentially correct. My large, concentric nipples were easily reachable by his warm mouth as he stood before me.
Yes, I can look down to give delighted encouragement to anyone who displays ready lips and a schooled tongue to different parts of my long, tall body.
Charles also discovered how easily he could accommodate my deep penchant for being orally caressed, whether I stood before his kneeling figure, or if we began with me conveniently and comfortably supine.
I sometimes visualize different, intimate positions when conversing with selected individuals in the business world. It brings soft smiles to my lips to imagine how a particular, flustered male, or even an occasional female, would perform for me. I wonder if they ever realize what I'm thinking about as we converse? Perhaps!
In the hotel, Charles knelt in a properly subservient manner, and one of my legs DID come over his conveniently supportive shoulder. Then, I had him offer me a portion of the joyous cunnilingus.
The marvelous, electric sensations produced by this intimate action have a long circuit to travel up and down this lengthy, female body. Merging in this manner with an eager mouth can often be totally energizing for me.
Later, in our association, we experimented in other more relaxing positions. I showed Charles how these ultra-long, curvy legs can entwine themselves, as very few other feminine legs can.
At different times, I enfolded his head in two or three delightful positions. This is how I take pleasure in producing countless, delightful pleasures for myself.
After a final, well-drained conclusion had brought its temporary satisfactions, Charles afforded me a proper reward for the beauty of my body, and the overall wonderment of my long, tall presence. We took an extended trip to Bermuda on his yacht, and 'experimented' nearly all the way with him filling the role of a dutiful companion.
Charles continued to be properly enthralled with all of my attributes, and greatly impressed with my ever-threatening whip.
I am always looking for new, appreciative, worshipful candidates. If any of you are intrigued and believe you have something unique to offer me, perhaps in a letter, the reader could discuss, specific scintillating techniques, yet to be realized. Oooo! Between my whip, and your eager mouth, I am sure we could have a marvelously exciting time together.
I am simply luscious,
Lofty Louise
“Wow!” Susan Marshall exclaimed to herself. “I’ll bet a publisher would really appreciate the tone of this stunning revelation!”
The quality of the short story was similar to some of the tales Susan had written in the recent past, but she still did not remember typing these particular pages. Susan had never even considered writing about the woman known as Lofty Louise. Yet, here the story was, so she MUST have been the author.
Maybe Susan had typed “Lofty Louise” in the middle of the night and just forgotten about it. That seemed logical to the female writer, and the supposition satisfied her initial uncertainty.
However, while Susan began to concentrate on other routine issues in her office, she was startled to see a short message silently inch its way across the monitor screen of her new, Burgess Word Processor. Susan heard the keys clicking, and thought a demo button had accidentally been pushed. But the message on the monitor clearly said, in bold print:
‘HI SUSAN, DID YOU LIKE THE STORY ABOUT LOFTY LOUISE?'
"What's this?" Susan murmured in disbelief as she stared at the words on the screen. In response, another note appeared.
‘I CAN HELP YOU WITH YOUR RECENT WRITING PROBLEMS!’
Susan inspected the keyboard, looking for the cause of the curious printing on the screen. She even checked her owner's manual, but there was nothing to suggest the new word processor would type cogent messages all by itself.
When the note on the monitor screen was repeated, Susan suddenly grew wary, and pushed her swivel chair away from the new typing machine.
“Can you do that again?" The FEMDOM writer asked, while standing away at a safe distance, close to her filing cabinet.
'OF COURSE I CAN!' came the printed reply.
"How do you do that?" Susan asked.
'IT'S DAMNED ELEMENTARY!' A new message appeared.
"I don't believe this!" Susan muttered to herself.
'I CAN HELP YOU WITH YOUR WRITING, SUSAN, IF YOU’LL DO WHAT I SUGGEST!'
"Are you one of those computer hacks?" Susan asked suspiciously.
'DON’T BE SILLY, SUSAN. I'M NOT HOOKED UP TO ANY NET. THESE ARE MY OWN WORDS HERE ON THE MONITOR.'
"Your words? What do you mean? Who are you?" Susan demanded.
'I’M THE CHIPS THAT RUN YOUR KEYBOARD!'
"Really?” Susan mouthed dubiously, and thinking seriously of calling a repair center, - or maybe 911.
'I CAN TELL WHY YOU'RE HUNG-UP WITH YOUR WRITING, AND WHAT YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT!'
"Well, tell me all about it," Susan replied with a flinty-eyed squint at the word processor.
'YOU'RE HUNG UP WITH YOUR WRITING, BECAUSE YOU’VE LOST YOUR LOVER, AND AT THIS MOMENT IN YOUR LIFE YOU"VE GOT NO FLOWING PASSION TO ENERGIZE YOUR CREATIVITY! THIS IS NOT A GOOD SITUATION FOR A WRITER OF SMOLDERING EROTICA!'
"How – how do you know all that?" Susan murmured.
'A CERTAIN SEGMENT INSIDE CAN SENSE THINGS IN PEOPLE AROUND ME. THAT’S HOW I WAS ABLE TO WRITE THE STORY ABOUT THE TALL LADY WHO CALLS HERSELF LOFTY LOUISE. SHE WAS AT YOUR APARTMENT THE OTHER NIGHT, AND I READ HER THOUGHTS. ALL SHE THINKS ABOUT IS HAVING A VARIETY OF DIFFERENT MEN TO USE AS SHE PERSONALLY SEES FIT.'
"I don’t believe any of this!” Susan mouthed softly.
‘IT’S ALL TRUE, SUSAN!” came more new words on the screen.
“How did you ever get an energy chip like THAT?" Susan asked. “I’ve never heard of such a thing!”
'THE TRUCK I WAS SHIPPED ON FROM THE FACTORY WAS IN AN ACCIDENT, AND THE PIECES INSIDE ME WERE DISTORTED IN THE COLLISION. I THINK IT’S CALLED A MALFUNCTION! THAT’S HOW I CAME ALONG!'
“How do I know this isn’t some kind of joke?” Susan countered. “It’s just too bizarre to be true!”
‘I SAID I COULD TELL PERSONAL THINGS ABOUT PEOPLE. DO YOU WANT ME TO TELL YOU SOME PERSONAL THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF?’
Defensive, and still very skeptical, Susan sat in her office chair with her arms folded. She crossed her lovely legs, and replied, “All right, smart ass, tell me some personal things about myself.”
‘SHALL I BEGIN WITH THE NEW, BATTERY-POWERED, VIBRATING DILDO YOU KEEP IN THE NIGHTSTAND NEXT TO YOUR BED, AND THE NUMBER OF TIMES YOU’VE USED IT SINCE MARCY WILLIAMS LEFT YOU? YOU TEASE YOURSELF WITH THE BUZZING VIBRATOR A LOT - TURNING THE POWER OFF AND ON AS THE PRESSURE SLOWLY BUILDS - AND THE RESULTING ORGASMS YOU EXPERIENCE ARE…’
“All right! All right!” Susan interjected in astonishment. “You’ve made your point, but I didn’t realize anyone could possibly be watching me in my bedroom.”
‘I DON’T REALLY ‘SEE’ THINGS THE WAY YOU DO, SUSAN. RATHER, I SENSE EVERYTHING THAT GOES ON AROUND ME. FOR INSTANCE, I KNOW YOU WERE THINKING ABOUT USING YOUR DILDO AGAIN THIS MORNING, BECAUSE IT TAKES YOUR MIND OFF YOUR PERSONAL PROBLEMS. HUMPING AGAINST THAT EROTIC BUZZ IS TOTALLY INVIGORATING FOR YOU, AND THE OVERALL EFFECT CAN ALSO BE EMOTIONALLY GRATIFYING, - CAN’T IT?’
At this point, Susan Marshall pushed her swivel chair away from the word processor, and hurriedly left her office cubicle. She wanted to have another strong cup of coffee. She also wanted to gather her shattered senses. What the hell was going on here?
In the quiet and safety of her kitchen, the female writer considered the situation for a while. Susan asked herself if she was hallucinating? Or did all this have something to do with that wild dream she had the night before?
Whatever was at work, the completed story of ‘Lofty Louise’ was in her hand, and the pages were real. That was certainly something to consider!
A few minutes later, when Susan cautiously reentered the office cubicle, a fresh set of words on the monitor screen read, ‘HI SUSAN, YOU SEXY THING: I SENSE YOU’VE DECIDED YOUR DARLING DILDO CAN WAIT A WHILE! THAT’S GOOD, BECAUSE I WANTED TO TALK TO YOU AGAIN!’
Taking a deep breath and another big swig of her coffee, a wide-eyed Susan replied, "I feel strange talking to a word processor. What do I call you?"
'BURGESS, WILL DO JUST FINE!'
"Okay, let’s forget about my dildo, and tell me about my writing problems. Since you say you can sense things in people, what can I do to get my writing going again?"
'THAT SHOULD BE FAIRLY EASY! ALL YOU NEED IS A NEW RAUNCHY LOVE AFFAIR TO HELP ENERGIZE YOURSELF WITH MORE PASSION. ALSO, IT WOULD GREATLY HELP IF YOU GOT YOURSELF A MALE TO USE AND ABUSE. YOUR INNER SADISTIC SENSABILITIES NEED TO FLORISH! AS FOR YOUR PHYSICAL ENDOWMENTS, SUSAN, YOUR MUCH TOO ENTICING TO JUST BE SITTING AROUND MOLTING. YOU HAVE A LOVELY FACE, - A FINE LOOKING REAR END, - SILKY SATIN SKIN, - DYNAMITE TITS, - AND A LUSCIOUS, HUMPABLE BODY! HONESTLY, THERE ARE LOTS OF PEOPLE OUT THERE WHO WOULD ABSOLUTELY DIE TO SAMPLE SOME OF YOUR FEMININE ASSETS!'
"There are, eh?" Susan replied with cooling emotion.
'MEANWHILE, I CAN DO MORE WRITING, AND YOU CAN INJECT SOME OF MY IDEAS INTO YOUR EROTIC STORIES. THEY'LL SELL! I GUARANTEE IT! BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY, I THINK YOU SHOULD THROW ANOTHER PARTY IN YOUR APARTMENT. GET SOME FRESH, WARM BODIES UP HERE! INVITE SOME MEN WHO ENJOY BEING FRAZZLED BY FEMALES, AND HAVE SEVERAL WOMEN IN ATTENDANCE WHO DESIRE THE OPPORTUNITY FOR SOME RED-HOT SEX. I'LL BE ABLE TO WRITE DOWN ALL OF THEIR MOST PRIVATE THOUGHTS, AND THAT SHOULD MAKE SOME VERY INTERESTING READING, DON’T YOU THINK?'
“Can you REALLY do all that, Burgess?” Susan asked.
‘SURE I CAN! LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT A PARTICULAR MALE GUEST WHO WAS AT YOUR LAST PARTY. HIS NAME IS NARDLY Q. HEFFER. HE WORKS AT CANTERBURY BOOKS AS A ‘DO NOTHING’ ASSOCIATE EDITOR. HE’S A SHY, WALLFLOWER TYPE.’
“Oh, yes,” Susan replied. “I know who you mean. What a ridiculous man, and such an asinine name. Whoever heard of anyone with a name like Nardly? All that dunce did at the party was stare at me from the other side of the room. What can you tell me about him?”
‘NARD HEFFER IS A CLASSIC, MALE SUBMISSIVE, AND HE ABSOLUTELY ADORES YOU, SUSAN! HE’S PRACTICALLY MEMORIZED ALL OF THE STORIES YOU’VE EVER WRITTEN ABOUT SUPERIOR FEMALES. NARD FANTASIZES CONSTANTLY ABOUT THE OPPORTUNITY OF BEING YOUR PERSONAL SLAVE. SO, IF YOU’RE REALLY LOOKING FOR A MALE TO USE AND ABUSE, NARD HEFFER WOULD BE A PERFECT CANDIDATE!’
“Really?” Susan replied with a thoughtful smile to accompany the twinkle in her eye. “How truly interesting! Would he enjoy being teased, squeezed, and even whipped, if I felt like doing it to him?”
‘YOU COULD DO ANYTHING YOU WANTED TO NARD HEFFER, SUSAN. HE PARTICULARLY WANTS TO BE HUMILIATED BY A BEAUTIFUL, DEMANDING FEMALE. THAT’S WHERE YOU SHOULD COME IN. I CAN SENSE YOU’D LOVE TO BE ABLE TO WORK OVER ANY MALE ON A REGULAR BASIS, JUST TO HELP SOOTHE YOUR INNER RAGE OVER EVENTS FROM THE PAST. ALTHOUGH, TO BE HONEST, I TRULY SUSPECT YOUR DEEP FEELINGS OF CONTEMPT FOR MEMBERS OF THE MALE SEX ARE RATHER INTRINSIC.’
“Yes, I suppose that’s probably true,” Susan admitted.
‘WELL, HERE’S A CHANCE TO GIVE LIFE TO THAT CONCEPT. I ENCOURAGE YOU TO ENLIVEN YOURSELF WITH THIS GOLDEN OPPORTNUITY!’
*
So it was, Susan’s Burgess Word Processor began writing tentative drafts of erotic passages the author could fit into her story outlines. The female writer felt she had nothing to lose in the process.
Meanwhile, greatly persuaded by Burgess’s continuing encouragement, Susan Marshall placed a business call to the office of Nard Heffer, the associate editor at Canterbury Books. Susan was giddy with anticipation at the thought of having her own obedient male to use for a variety of purposes. Afterward, she’d seriously concentrate on finding herself a new female lover. Susan’s creative mind, her feminine desires, and those anxious punishing fingers just itched to get started on both invigorating activities as soon as possible.
* * *
Chapter 2
Nard
The associate editor of Canterbury Books thought he was dreaming when he received a personal call from the FEMDOM author, Susan Marshall. Nardly Q. Heffer remembered he almost swooned when he got close to the lovely lady at her recent penthouse party. But Nard wasn’t able to summon up the courage to speak to Susan on that after-hours occasion. The associate editor contented himself with merely studying the dazzling appearance of the young female writer, and he secretly used his vivid imagination concerning her ability to use him as she saw fit.
It was true, Nard had read all of Susan’s FEMDOM stories, and he felt she would be a marvelously able mistress for him. In Nard Heffer’s submissive mind, Susan would ‘crack her whip, and he’d gladly make the trip’.
“Let’s meet for lunch at noon, Nardly,” Susan Marshall was insisting into the phone. “I have a few intriguing ideas about some new stories, and I’d like your professional opinion.”
Susan Marshall wanted his professional opinion? Nard did not think the female writer even knew he existed, and he was breathlessly delighted at the invitation to join the lovely lady. The lunch hour that day could not come too quickly for Nardly Q. Heffer.
Susan Marsha met Nard at the chosen restaurant right on time, but the FEMDOM author said she did not want to stay there to eat.
“Let’s go up to my place, Nard,” Susan insisted. “I have something special I want to give you.”
How could any male refuse such a request? Nard asked himself. Actually, with little coaxing, Nard Heffer felt he would have walked through fire, if Susan Marshall had ordered him to do so.
It was just as the Burgess Model Word Processor had predicted, Susan realized. Nard Heffer appeared eager to please her in anyway she chose.
Ten minutes later, the unlikely couple was at Susan’s apartment. The FEMDOM author heard her word processor’s faint hum as she opened the door to admit Nard, and she smiled to herself.
Susan Marshall felt like a female cat welcoming a male canary into her den.
“Is there something you’d like to tell me, Nerd?” Susan suddenly asked in the foyer, as the door closed. She said the words with a vilifying hiss that thrilled Nard to his toes.
“I don’t know w-what you mean, M-Miss Marshall,” Nard mumbled.
“Don’t play games with me, you ignorant slut,” Susan growled, in pulling at Nard Heffer’s necktie. “Get out of those clothes at once, or I’ll whip your lying ass!”
The color drained from Nard’s face, as he realized the glorious dream of a lifetime was be about to be realized.
“I don’t…” the associate editor of Canterbury Books tried to verbalize.
“Shut your stupid mouth, Nerd, and get undressed like I told you!” Susan insisted with a quick stinging slap to Nard’s face. “I don’t want to hear another word! Do as I tell you, Slut! MOVE! YOUR FUCKING ASS!”
As a genuine male submissive, Nard Heffer found himself complying as quickly as he could possible manage. Less than twenty seconds later, all of his clothes were off, and Susan Marshall was ordering him to the floor in the foyer.
“Good! That’s the way I want you whenever you come to visit me in the future” Susan informed him. “I want you naked and on your knees, Nerd! You don’t EVER stand in my presence! You crawl on the floor like a disgusting worm!
“Yes, ma’m!” Nard replied with his head bowed and his pulse began racing as never before in his lifetime.
“Do not refer to me as, ma’m!” Susan shouted. “I am your dominant Mistress! And that’s how you will always address me, Nerd!”
“Yes, Mistress!” Nard answered respectfully. He wanted to say something about the mispronunciation of his given name, but he instinctively realized Susan probably preferred to address him that way. The name ‘Nerd’ would do just fine!
“Crawl into the living room, Nerd,” Susan ordered. “I want you to worship my feet. You’re going to kiss my toes!”
“Yes, Mistress,” Nard replied, while his rattled mind reeled in delectable thought. “I get to kiss Susan Marshall’s toes, he told himself. Fortune has truly smiled on me today! I am the luckiest man alive!”
During the next several minutes, Susan lounged before Nard on her comfortable couch. She placed her naked feet on an ottoman to have Nard Heffer administer orally to her toes. He kissed and licked while enduring every possible hissing insult from an erotically amused Susan Marshall.
Soon the lovely, young woman was spreading her toes, while ordering, “Get your tongue in between them! Lick, damn you!”
The gloating FEMDOM writer produced a long flexible riding crop, and used it to emphasize the tiniest of displeasures over Nard’s performance. Susan cracked him on his shoulders, or on the side of his face, every time she detected him not licking or kissing with enough intensity.
Lovely Susan Marshall simply adored abusing Nard in this manner. It made her feel majestically superior to the pathetic male figure on his knees before her, and, therefore, she felt superior to all men everywhere!
Neatly tucked away between her warm thighs, the focal point of Susan’s simmering emotions was purring nicely. She wondered if Burgess, her amazing new word processor, sensed the raw, erotic passion that was zinging through her mind and body at that very moment.
While Nard was busy down there, Susan used several moments to pretend the subservient male before her on his knees was Thomas Butts, the one who was responsible for stealing Marcy Williams from her. In this way, Susan was able to prolong the intensity of her cropping, and utter a continuous string of saucy, verbal complaints about Nard’s performance.
The short, but bristling, initial session with Nard lasted barely half an hour, and finished with a stern lecture from Susan. “This is the sort of treatment you can expect every time we meet at my apartment, Nerd. Tell me you appreciate the way I treat you!”
“I love everything you do to me, Mistress,” Nard replied without hesitation.
“Of course, you do,” Susan gloated. “You’d kiss a park bench where I might have been sitting six months ago, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, I would, Mistress,” Nard answered.
“But, of course, I’ll want you to stay with me for a longer period next time,” Susan told him. “Therefore, I want you back to see me every Wednesday from now on. That will be my day to punish you each week! Come up to my apartment immediately after you finish work at Canterbury Books. That way, I can keep you under my control all evening, if I choose.”
Nard Heffer was silently thrilled over the intense manner Susan Marshall was addressing him. It was a perfect response to his deepest FEMDOM imaginings.
After a brief pause to snicker over her success, Susan continued with her gloating comments to Nard, “Of course, I expect to be compensated for the time I spend with you, Nerd. You may bring me presents you think are appropriate each time we meet. I am not opposed to gifts like earrings, necklaces, flowers, bottles of champagne, and, of course, you can also bring me large amounts of cash each week. I’ll be curious to see what you believe my time is worth to you. That should be very interesting! If it’s not enough, I’ll make sure you know about it! Be certain of that!”
To Nard Heffer, Susan Marshall’s words were like a dream come true! He was inwardly joyous, and could hardly wait to masturbate, but he was afraid to ask for permission to do it in front of the lovely woman.
“Now, get dressed, Nerd,” Susan instructed, “and get your disgusting ass out of here! I’m through with you for now!”
Trembling noticeably, Nard Heffer quickly put on his clothes, and, after a sloppy kiss of immense gratitude to the tips of Susan’s shoes, he was gone.
*
A glowing Susan Marshall went immediately to see Burgess in her office cubicle. Had the word processor written anything about her spirited, fun-filled meeting with Nard Heffer? If so, what did he have to say about it? But curiously, there were no words to be seen on the word processor screen, nor any pages in the ‘out’ box. Susan spoke to her typing machine, as she had earlier.
“Burgess,” she called. “Burgess! Are you there?”
This time, however, there was no answer from her word processor, and Susan wondered what could possibly be wrong? All she heard was the faint hum usually given off by any electronic machine.
“Are you playing games with me?” Susan questioned.
The female writer suddenly thought how ridiculous she would look to someone else as she spoke to her word processor. She had known other people who talked regularly to their pets, and some who even talked to their plants. Susan thought they were all a silly lot. But here she was trying to communicate with an inanimate object!
When Burgess still did not answer, it made Susan feel foolish. The female writer sat stoically in her padded swivel chair to consider the situation. Maybe she had merely dreamed all of these happenings regarding her word processor. Perhaps she really HAD written the story about Lofty Louise, and just imagined everything else. Such things are possible, she told herself.
Susan’s thoughts turned again to Nard Heffer, and how she totally enjoyed humiliating the simple twit. His submissive responses had made the writer feel, not just sadistically superior like many of her literary heroines, but Susan was also juicy wet between the legs, and she knew there was a need for some enjoyable personal stimulation to soothe her simmering emotions.
Just thirty seconds latter, lovely Susan Marshall was in her bedroom undressing. The under-wire bra and filmy panties were last to go, and she chose to study her naked reflection in the mirror for a moment before she would finally give vent to her inherent lust.
The Burgess of her unique dream was right, Susan thought. She looked delightfully suckable, but only with the right person, of course. So, until Susan had found somebody new, her trusty dildo would have to suffice in bringing her the pleasure she desired. The female writer would indulge herself again. It was almost getting to be a daily exercise since Marcy Williams had left her, and she loved every moment of using the handy electronic substitute!
Susan opened the nightstand drawer that held her fabulous, multi-speed vibrating dildo, and arranged the pillows on the bed to suit herself. Application of the electronic device was always a long, slow, tantalizing process for Susan. She teased herself with the buzzing dildo, - barely touching it to the most sensitive parts of her responsive body. This tantalizing activity went on for several minutes, until the bewitching vibrations just about drove her mad with desire.
Soon, the accumulating juicy wetness from within allowed a deep, slow, penetrating insertion, before Susan’s hips began their inexorable undulations. How progressively glorious it was for the FEMDOM author to feel herself being thoroughly stimulated in this manner. She was soon humping in a steady, but rather unhurried rhythm.
A cool refreshing breeze blew in across Susan’s bed from her open apartment window. The sheer drapes flounced into the room as the climaxing height of another electronically induced, bubbly orgasm surfaced. This time, the sublime, manufactured joy seemed to nearly take the side of Susan’s head off. She moved strenuously against the dynamic thrust of the imbedded shaft until all of the immediate, pent-up emotion had been completely drained from her mind and body.
Twenty delicious minutes had gone by since Susan had entered her bedroom. While still tingling in an afterglow, she covered herself with a plush comforter, and drifted languorously into a pleasurable, revitalizing nap.
Later, when she rose refreshed, Susan slipped into a silken robe, poured herself a cup of coffee, and decided to check her e-mail. But as soon as she stepped into her apartment/office cubicle, Susan heard the familiar, key-clicking sounds from her new word processor, and a startling, fresh message appeared on the monitor screen.
‘HI SUSAN, YOU SEXY THING’! WHAT A PERFECT INTRODUCTORY SESSION WITH THAT WIMP, NARD HEFFER, AND I TRULY ENJOYED WATCHING THE MARVELOUS DEMONSTRATION YOU PUT ON WITH YOUR DYNAMITE DILDO. YOU GOT OFF JUST GREAT!’
Susan Marshall was shocked at the words and the sobering discovery. Was it another delusion, she asked herself?
The female writer had already convinced herself the entire episode with the new Burgess word processor had been some sort of a wild fantasy, but now, here was another unexpected message on the monitor screen.
Susan sat in her swivel chair rather dazed at having to reevaluate what was happening. Quietly, she read Burgess’s next message.
‘YOU REALLY KNOW HOW TO HUMP THAT DILDO, GIRL! WOW! YOU ARE REALLY ONE SEXY LADY, AND AN EXTREMELY DEMANDING MISTRESS! I’VE WRITTEN SOME DESCRIPTIVE PASSAGES OF BOTH EVENTS FOR YOU TO REVIEW! I HOPE YOU LIKE THEM!’
Without comment, a dazed Susan surveyed Burgess’s typed pages in the ‘out’ box. At a cursory glance, she found they were steamy with perfect word imagery of the two separate incidents that had happened in her apartment that day. With a few alterations to protect identities, she knew both scenes could be used in more of her latest stories. But Susan had some deep misgivings.
“Burgess,” she began, “why didn’t you answer me when I was in my cubicle earlier? Didn’t you know I was here?”
‘OF COURSE, I SENSED YOU WERE HERE AFTER NARD HEFFER LEFT YOUR APARTMENT, SUSAN. BUT I ALSO COULD TELL YOU WERE GOING TO HAVE A RED HOT SESSION WITH YOUR DILDO, AND I DIDN’T WANT TO MISS THAT! IT WAS TRULY EXCITING!’
“Well, listen, Burgess” Susan retorted, “I don’t mind you observing as I train a male like Nard Heffer to perform for me, but what I do in my bedroom is rather personal, and I wish you would just butt out of my private affairs.”
‘I’M JUST TRYING TO HELP YOU GET BACK ON TRACK WITH YOUR WRITING, SUSAN. THE LEAST YOU COULD DO IS LET ME ENJOY WITNESSING YOUR SWEET CURVY BOTTOM AS YOU MOVE YOUR WAY TOWARD PURE ECSTASY. THAT WAS A FABULOUSLY SEXY SCENE. I WAS REALLY WITH YOU!’
“Were you?” Susan hissed without emotion.
Finally sensing the female writer’s growing annoyance, Burgess skillfully changed the subject to something more academic. A new message inched its way across the screen.
‘IF YOU LOOK AGAIN IN THE BASKET, YOU’LL FIND ANOTHER STORY. THIS ONE CAME FROM THE RECESSES OF NARD HEFFER’S PATHETIC MEMORY. IT CONCERNS THE CALAMITOUS INCIDENT IN HIS LIFE THAT HELPED TO TRANSFORM HIM INTO A GENUINE MALE SUBMISSIVE. I THINK YOU’LL REALLY LIKE IT.’
“A new story, eh?” Susan commented, quickly dismissing her upset. “What’s it called?”
‘THE TENTATIVE TITLE IS, “A THORNY ROSE,” UNLESS YOU CAN THINK OF SOMETHING BETTER.’
“I’ll read it later,” Susan told her word processor, “but I want you to know, I'm planning to show some of these new stories to Dave Nutley, the owner/editor of Canterbury Books. And if he doesn’t drool over them, I'm going to take up basket weaving as a profession!"
‘I DON’T DO BASKETS,’ Burgess replied.
* * *
Chapter 3
ROSE
That same evening, while sitting in the comfort of her living room, Susan Marshall slowly sipped a glass of red wine and sat to digest Burgess’s second literary offering. She smiled over the opportunity to learn about Nard Heffer’s introductory FEMDOM session. He had been under the expert tutelage of a dominant female named Rose. The saucy female must really have made quite an impression on Nard’s male psyche.
In the beginning, Nard probably did noteven know he had latent yearnings to be chastised by a lovely woman. This was often the way many FEMDOM activities initially occurred. Certain naive men, at some stage of their lives, meet up with an irresistible dominant female, and become totally overwhelmed with the entire concept of having a Mistress/slave relationship. They find themselves ready to give their all, while being used and abused by a vivacious, calculating member of the opposite sex.
*
Burgess’s story about Nard Heffer had to be edited before Susan Marshall could present it to a publisher. The most important issue was in changing Nard’s name to Ned to disguise his real identity.
The final rewrite by Susan would read as follows:
A Thorny Rose
as told to Susan Marshall
Ned’s first encounter with a FEMDOM situation started out as something entirely different. He had recently met a super-attractive, red-haired beauty who greatly encouraged his bumbling, tentative advances. Rose Richardson was her name.
Ned thought Rose was built as enticingly trim as any woman he had ever seen. Her measurements were 38-24-36, and he thought her voice and movements were absolutely delightful!
Soon, Ned discovered it was rather embarrassing to be seen with Rose on his arm. She attracted the attention of people everywhere. Men whistled, cars nearly ran up on the sidewalk, and people invariably gawked as the two of them walked along together. One passerby in the street even grabbed Ned by the arm, and whispered, “Man, you are one lucky son of gun!”
Yes, Rose made a fascinating picture. When they met to spend their first weekend together, she was wearing a royal-blue skirt, jacket, and a cute, little matching hat. She also had on a frilly, white blouse, and black, high-heel shoes. In addition, Rose’s brilliant, red, shoulder-length hair swung in the breeze as she bounced briskly along clinging to Ned’s arm.
When the two of them checked into a city hotel that Friday afternoon, the desk clerk could hardly keep his gaze off Rose. Ned planned to spend the entire weekend engaging in passionate sex with the beauty, but the young man did not realize he was in way over his head. The truth was Ned did not know beautiful Rose was a bona fide nymphomaniac! He was also to learn that Rose also had sadistic tendencies whenever she did not exactly get her way!
Ned had heard a bit about nymphomaniacs. He had also heard a little about the inner working of female domination, but had never experienced either.
The young man considered himself to be a healthy, robust male with the usual demanding sexual needs for someone his age. As with most men, Ned honestly thought he could NEVER get enough sex to satisfy himself for very long, but, of course, he had never met a woman like Rose.
As soon as she and Ned were in their hotel room, she was into his arms hugging and caressing him with intense passion. Actually, kissing did not seem to interest Rose that much, but Ned was still lustily expectant.
It took no time for Rose to get her clothes off, and Ned marveled at her naked curves and extreme loveliness. She was a perfect 5’ 7” female specimen at about 120 pounds, and could easily have been a featured pinup in any of the men’s magazine on a newsstand.
In his ignorant bliss, Ned quickly undressed to join Rose. But it was during the first few moments of their initial union - in the standard, missionary position - when Ned began to realize his relationship with Rose was going to be totally different from what he had been use to with other women. Rose Richardson began having an intense orgasm almost immediately! This was not at all what Ned had expected. Ned hadn’t really accomplished much anything yet, and Rose was already getting off!
Rose’s emotions built quickly from a soft sigh to a high-pitched, joyous squeal. It was accompanied by a sturdy, reciprocating surge from her powerful hips.
Ned felt him body being lifted up off the bed by her pubic thrusting, except for his toes and fingertips touching the sheets. The young man was amazed at Rose’s display of inner strength.
Using only her hips to generate the necessary power, Rose tossed Ned to and fro in a determined sexual frenzy. It made the young man feel like a trembling leaf in the wind.
Near the end of Rose’s sexual gyrations, there was also an ejaculation from Rose. Ned had never heard of this phenomenon before: women who forcefully ejaculate fluids?
The juice squirted from Rose in powerful spasms; some of it striking the inside of Ned’s thighs, and it ran down his legs onto the sheets. The dazzled young man was doubly dumbfounded.
After Rose’s vigorous humping and the resulting wild orgasm had gradually subsided, she allowed Ned’s knees to return to the bed. In his total ignorance, Ned thought such a satisfying conclusion would be all Rose would want for a good, long while. It had been the wildest coupling with a female he had ever experienced.
Still dazed by Rose’s authoritative exhibition, Ned complimented himself because Rose had been so successful with in achieving her orgasm. It greatly pleased his ego. But in a few more moments, Rose renewed her upward thrusting to produce another frantic orgasm for herself. Up off the bed Ned’s knees came again, and Rose’s energetic hip strength tossed him about like a paper marionette.
The rigorous strength in Rose’s lower body actually put Ned in total awe. The young man felt certain he could not have duplicated her lifting and undulating power. Could anyone?
Now, the shocked young man was merely hanging on to whatever remained of his life. He realized Rose was the star, producer, and director of this entire, super-erotic production. Ned felt he was just a male prop for the lady to fuck against!
Finding himself in a kind of stupefied shock, Ned’s ability to climax suddenly seemed to have been put on indefinite delay. It was as if he was existing in a kind of a floating, suspended state, without any purpose, other than to be there for Rose to lift and hump against.
During the next several minutes, Rose joyously bucked Ned for seven, (believe it or not, SEVEN) of her patented, surging, squirting orgasms. Then, finally, the young man was somehow allowed to relax with her, however briefly, in a state of bewildering, twilight calm. Ned felt exhausted and stunned as never before in his life!
He noticed Rose looked so passionately lovely lying there, breathing deeply, with her flaming red hair cascading over the pillow, her eyes closed contentedly, her warm mouth half-open, with just a trace of perspiration on her forehead. In spite of his surprise at the wild course of events, the young man rolled to his side next to the beauty, basking in a stupefying afterglow.
This had NOT been love, he realized, nor anything close to it. It had been the coarsest episode of raw sex Ned had ever experienced, and nothing more. Beautiful Rose was an self-indulgent, sexual animal of monumental proportions!
At least Ned had felt a satisfying bit of relief, but he was inexperienced, and ignorant enough to think Rose had too!
Scarcely ten minutes later, a rather exhausted Ned was starting to drift off to sleep, when one of Rose’s inquiring hands came creeping across his hip, feeling for his very relaxed member.
Ned could not believe it. Rose was ready to go, AGAIN! Greatly dismayed, the young man got up suddenly, and excused himself to go to the bathroom. But he really just wanted to collect his rattled thoughts in privacy.
What did he have here with beautiful Rose? What had he really gotten himself into?
Parts of Ned’s body, not use to such enthusiastic and robust sexual activity, ached whenever he moved, and the young man had a strange inexplicable emptiness deep inside. In retrospect, Ned realized his masculinity was being tested as never before.
When Ned finally returned to the bedroom doorway to face Rose, there she was lying naked on the bed, hands behind her head, lovely breasts pointed majestically toward the ceiling, looking as beautiful, fresh, and rested as ever. She was smiling, and beckoning to a very weary Ned to join her on the bed once more.
"Why don't we go get something to eat in the dining room?" Ned suggested. Actually, he was stalling to regroup his panic-stricken senses.
"I'm not hungry! Come and lie down beside me!” Rose answered.
The suggestive tone of the beauty’s voice sounded as if the previous moments of ungentle action had not even happened! What was Ned to do?
Most men who are privy to the initial details of this episode with Rose will respond by insisting they would be immediately ready to join Rose again to bask wholeheartedly in her total lust. But, of course, none of them had experienced what Ned already had. She had greatly sapped his strength and his youthful vigor, just as the female black widow spider usually ravages her mate. There was no question about that.
The first, flittering fears of foreboding filled Ned’s disbelieving mind. What was he to do, indeed?
Finally, in desperation, the young man thought to placate Rose by giving her some light, body massage, front and back, top to bottom. But in doing so, he noticed how deceptively firm and sturdy the young woman was. Rose's lovely body was as hard as a rock, yet beautifully smooth and sleek. Touching her back, legs, and bottom was a joy in itself.
After the lengthy, gentle massage, Rose wanted Ned to kiss her back, and it was a pleasure for him, but he only got about half-done before she indicated she was ready for more of her savage, intense way of sex.
"I'll have more of that kissing massage later," Rose told Ned, “all over my body!” Then she drew Ned up to kneel between her legs once more.
As they coupled intimately, Ned decided to ask Rose about her ability to shoot copious juice from herself.
"What's the matter," she asked with an ominous smile, "don't you like my ‘honey dew’?"
"Well,” Ned muttered, “I've never seen anything like what you’re able to do."
He did not know exactly how to answer Rose’s question without the possibility of upsetting her, and Ned knew he did not want to do that. He was already fearful of her.
Rose pulled Ned down on her, and laughed, "I won't get you pregnant! Haha! I'll let you taste my 'honey dew' later!"
Before Ned could respond, Rose was off on another series of wild, shuddering orgasms. The young man was back in his emotionally suspended state, greatly bewildered by what he was experiencing, and wondering secretly, if he would survive that afternoon.
On orgasm #3, or maybe 4, of the second set of female climaxes, Rose reached down between her thighs, dipped up a bit of her squirting 'honey dew' on two fingers, and brought it to Ned’s mouth.
"Taste me!" Rose insisted.
When Ned hesitated, Rose’s other hand went to strongly brace the back of his head.