Femdomous

Submissive Man Spanked with Frying Pan

Unterwuerfling

Grace samples a spoonful of soup.

“There isn’t enough pepper. You know I hate bland food.”

“I’m sorry, Mistress. I’ll grind more black pepper.”

Slave Michael cooks naked. He never wears clothes at home.

“Bend over the sink, assume the punishment position.”

He almost fell at the first blow of the frying pan. She pounded his buttocks. Slowly moved down his thighs and back up.

He wept. But tears never earn forgiveness. For the rest of the night he could only crawl.

****

Months ago, life with his girlfriend changed. Michael crushed on Grace at first sight. Men often react strongly to the free-spirited, buoyantly aggressive woman.

Insecure sexist men resent her forceful manner. Submissive men see the twenty-first century woman of their fantasies.

Smarter than her colleagues and bosses, Grace swiftly rose from new hire too executive. Her projects came in ahead of time and under budget.

She wanted neither children nor a spouse. Relationships with men expired with sunrise.

Until Michael. A minor member of the art department, attractive, eager to please, everyone liked Michael.

One day he brought designs for a brochure to Grace for approval. A bit timid, he couldn’t hide nervousness. Grace found his slightly confused deference appealing.

She could not tolerate macho men. Michael never had a masculine ego. He referred to himself as a guy or male, never using the word man. Not that he displayed feminine traits.

Grace invited him for drink. His blushing acceptance amused her. She likes shy men.

In the lovemaking that followed Michael followed Grace’s lead. His tireless tongue gave her many orgasms. Michael never came.

Grace woke to the smell of fresh coffee and hot food. She ate in bed. Michael was an attentive waiter.

At the office Michael remained a minor cog in a huge machine. After hours he accompanied Grace to restaurants and movies. In bed he sought only her pleasure.

She fired him. He moved into her apartment that night.

Michael did not look for another job. He served as Grace’s houseboy / boyfriend.

Soon she treated him more like a servant than boyfriend. Michael never rebelled. In taking authority over him Grace fulfilled secret needs.

She could only enjoy being with a man if she had total control. Michael needed to be controlled.

Grace discovered her inner dominatrix. Self-discovery erased inhibitions. Books by women like Janet Hardy, Midori, Claudia Varrin gave her insight, shaped her new lifestyle.

“Come here, Michael.”

Grace patted a couch cushion. Michael sat.

“I treat you like a servant.”

Michael blushed. True. He liked following orders, doing chores, pleasing Grace.

Saying nothing, he smiled.

“That isn’t enough. I want you to be my slave.”

“I already am.”

“Perhaps. Now you must live as one. Do whatever I tell you. Never disobey.”

“I can do that.”

“You don’t understand. You must give up the right to say ‘no.'”

“I’ve never refused you anything.”

Grace shook her head. Michael was so romantic. She must force him to understand.

“The first rule: you remain nude when in my home. Take off your clothes.”

Smiling, he swiftly obeyed.

“Lick my feet.”

Michael dropped to hands and knees, his tongue slid around her ankle.

“Lick between my toes.”

The next day:

Michael accepted several packages. All addressed to Grace.

Grace entered. Changed clothes and sat down to supper.

“Prepare my plate.”

Michael complied, started to sit.

“Stop. Hand me your plate.”

She cut the food. Put the plate on the floor.

“Slaves don’t eat at table. Nor do they use hands to eat.”

She gestured down.

“Eat it all. Lick the plate clean.”

She laughed at his clumsiness. Shaming Michael would become a favorite form of play.

His face a mess. She wiped it clean.

“Look at me, slave. This is only the beginning.”

Kneeling, naked, humble – the slave boyfriend shivered. He couldn’t decide if he were more aroused or scared.

“Don’t stand up, crawl to the couch.”

Grace opened a small box. Michael thought the silver metal object some sort of jewelry.

Grace grabbed his junk. Shoved his penis into a tube. After a few manipulations a lock clicked.

“No more erections. No more orgasms. You’ll stay limp unless I allow you out. Now how do you like slavery?”

Michael’s lips opened without forming words. Giddy, his thoughts blurred. Why was he excited?

Speechless uncertainty pleased Grace more than any words. Proof he was made to be her vassal.

“Slave is more than your role. It is your name. In my home you are ‘slave,’ nothing more. You cannot be anything less.”

“I’m not your girlfriend. I’m your Mistress. You will address me as ‘Mistress Grace’ – do it.”

“Thank you, Mistress Grace.” (He wasn’t sure why he was thankful. It seemed the proper thing to say.)

“Good slave.”

She stroked his hair. He shook, thrilled with more than orgasmic excitement.

Grace pulled him from the floor. They snuggled. Ownership did not diminish physical affection.

In taking control, Grace freed his long dormant desires. Michael’s arousal exceeded the lust of adolescence. He wanted so badly to come.

“Mistress Grace, please may I take off the chastity tube?”

She slapped one cheek, backhanded the other.

“Slaves don’t ask for favors. Slaves don’t use pronouns. You are not ‘I’ or ‘me.’ You are slave.”

Slapping a man’s face felt so right, so good. Grace slapped him again and again.

He wept.

“Please don’t hurt me anymore.”

“‘Me?’ Stupid slave can’t even obey!”

Grace took him over her lap. Never spanked by his parents, corporal punishment was a new experience.

She shoved him to the floor. Grabbed her slave’s hair, shoved his face between her thighs.

Michael needed no command. Grace’s first orgasm followed instantly. Many followed. Satiated she pushed him away.

She opened more boxes.

“This is the closest you’ll ever come to wearing a wedding ring.”

She put on and locked a steel collar. Attached a leash. Picked up a pair of handcuffs.

Michael followed his Mistress Owner to the bedroom. Graced cuffed leash’s handle to the bedframe.

That night set the pattern. The future brought many variations, but the essence never altered.

Michael is Mistress Grace’s slave houseboy and love slave. For him her home is a church. His only religion is serving and adoring Mistress Owner.

She never pretends he is her equal. He gratefully acknowledges her superiority. There is no spite in this. She is glad to own Michael. He knows freedom can never fulfill him.

Her Ownership and his servitude form a perfect female-led relationship.