Femdom Male Slave Stories
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Femdom Male Slave Stories
People are very, Very, VEry, VERy, VERY sensitive nowadays and even submissive creatures demand to be treated with respect. Now, I never had a high opinion of men in the first place, but this is a new and unprecedented level of stupidity. A demanding slave is an oxymoron, a contradiction in terms. You’re either demanding or a slave, but you can’t be both. If you think I’m being rude or disrespectful, then I suggest you take a long hard look in the mirror, because you are not a slave. Not even the beginning of a slave. To Me, a slave is like toilet paper – useful at certain times of the day, but ‘respect’ is not the word that comes to mind while wiping My bottom. And please, for the love of God, don’t tell Me you’re one of those tiresome creatures who demands to be heard! If so, may I suggest you join a choir? Go into politics? Train a parrot? Find a job as a railway station announcer? ‘Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please, the train from God-knows-where is now arriving at platform nummer two’.
Saturday 15 July-22 July 1525 We made landfall on the northern tip of the island. We had been at sea for 9 days and we were glad to be on land again. We walked for days through the jungle in intense heat and monsoon rains. And then, after six backbreaking days, the city suddenly emerged from the mountain mist. The City of Fem is, without doubt, the finest and noblest city in the world. It has beautiful canals, marketplaces (including several slave-markets), temples, palaces, taverns, shops, more than a thousand baths and the magnificent hanging gardens are each three kilometers long. The spectaculair waterfalls to the west can be seen from the city itself. The many, grand statues that are everywhere in the city depict Queens, Female Warriors and Princesses, but also defeated, suffering and labouring male slaves. Each square has at least three whipping-posts and several stocks and cages. It’s far more beautiful than Atlantis and it’s fair to say this gorgeous city is a modern version of the Garden of Eden. The city is ruled and governed by the power of approximately 150.000 Women and all 450.000 men are kept in slavery. So if you want to know what Female Supremacy and male slavery is all about, then visit the magnificent City of Fem.
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WOMEN RULE – ANYTIME, ANYPLACE, ANYWHERE
In the reign of Queen Sasha in 2142, the Whipping Act was passed, directing that disrespectful, disobedient, lazy or downright stupid slaves were to be taken to a square, market place or other public place and to be publicly whipped from the middle upwards. Whipped until the body should be bloody. The notorious Judge Victoria II, once said to the Lady Torturer: I charge you to pay particular attention to this piece of shit. Scourge him soundly, scourge him till his blood runs down! A few months ago, at Nottingham, a young slave, aged twenty, was found guilty of lying and was, by order of the Court of Quarter Sessions, tied to the tail of a cart and whipped all the way up from Maid-Marian-Road to High-Heel-Cross. There are 129 whipping-posts in the city of Nottingham alone right now. The male slaves lament their woes, but to no avail. Because men have mistreated Women over the centuries, and what goes around comes around, as the old saying goes. March 2167, Madame Ellen – The Downfall Of Men.
When I tell you to clean the house, you will clean the goddamn house. And it doesn’t matter if you already cleaned it this morning. My word is law so you will do as you’re told. So when I tell you to shut up, dance, jump, crawl or sleep on the floor, you will do so without thinking. Which should not be too hard; you’re a man – or better said: a shadow of a man – which means there’s nothing between your ears but silence, drought and emptiness. My orders are not bloody multiple-choice questions; you can’t choose to obey or disobey, like or dislike. You’re a slave and you will do whatever I tell you to. Without raising an eyebrow, without rolling your eyes, without moans and sighs, without shrugging your shoulders and – God forbid – without asking why. Question Me and you’re already with one foot out of the door. I have no patience for stupidity, get that through your thick skull. So, get down on your fucking knees, hands behind your back, eyes to the floor and wait for My orders.
Corporal punishment is not a punishment at all for a masochist. If anything: it’s a treat, a reward for bad behaviour. That won’t do, will it? So if you need to punish a man, then take control over the sausage between his legs, because most slaves are madly in love with their own wiener. Herds of them will attach a photo of their ding-a-ling to a slave application. Quite disgusting, but there you go. I tend to ignore those applications all together, because I want a slave, not someone who’s obsessed with his own scrotum. A most adequate tool to tame the beast between his legs is a chastity device. Put his dick in the nick and power is yours. From now on he has to earn each orgasm. Each mistake will be punished and don’t be too squeamish about it. Be ruthless if you have to, because he loves being in this predicament. Trust Me: the longer his pickle is locked up, the more submissive and obedient he becomes. Besides: no matter where he is or what he does, he will be reminded of the fact that you’re the one who holds the key to his happiness. So lock him up and lock him down, because that’s more effective than a thrashing.
I say to you, my friends, even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. A dream that one day Women will rise up and take power till the end of time. I hope and pray that one day a man will only be judged by his obedience and servitude towards Women. Oh hail, oh hail Female Supremacy! I have a dream that one day men will crawl the hilltops of the Midlands and the mighty Rockies, the heightening Mount Kilimanjaro and the snowcapped peaks of the Himalaya to serve and obey the Almighty Women. Halleluja! So let male slavery ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let it ring from the mighty mountains of New York and the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania. Blessed Ladies, let male slavery ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, so that we can finally say: slaves, slaves, great God a-mighty, we’re slaves at last.
This blog is about my fantasies, fetishes, personal stories, vintage stuff and about the uncharted and unexplored possibilities of Female Supremacy. No hidden links to pay-sites, no popups or other nuisances. Just a plain and simple blog. So all aboard, Ladies and gentlemen, let’s visit the wonderful world of Female Superiority.
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Nasty and hot Femdom Stories from the best authors. We are all a lot into Femdom and know exacteley what you guys like. Most stories are also illustrated with pictures so you can dive into a true Femdom reality experience. Some of the stories are even based on a true happening.
The creature should probably save its breath”, the doctor smiled as she slowly walked around the metal contraption which held the prisoner in place.
This are very good Femdom audio recordings. Listen by yourself.
“Clean this area, slave! And put your best in it if you don’t want to be placed on a waste only diet as your wretched predecessor.” Slave 176 had no such intention. He carefully applied his tongue to her boot…
He was in the middle of thinking that even if he had his lock picks, he wouldn’t be able to use them when a loud snap broke through the silence of the room. He knew immediately what it was…
Huh? Oh, I locked it up in Chastity right after he had passed out from his drink. It’s always the first thing I like to do…..
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WOMEN RULE – ANYTIME, ANYPLACE, ANYWHERE
By Mistress & Madams Auctioneers (aka M&M’s ): On Monday the 16th April 2096, at 2 o’clock P.M., will be sold at the Femdom Hotel in Chicago, the following described slaves:
Dick, aged 26, cook, carpenter & cleaner, energetic boy with a small penis Fetch, aged 33, human dog, loves being butt scratched, play fetch and tug-of-war Jack O’, aged 41, aka Of-All-Trades, quiet, humble and obedient, face-slap lover Rebel, aged 22 , unguided missile, looking for a strict and firm Mistress Albert E, aged 37, gardener, rare specimen, shows signs of intelligence, foot fetishist Julian, aged 59, experienced housemaid (Julia) with a fetish for high heels (for himself) Jeeves, aged 48, head butler, trustworthy, impeccable manners, weakness for shiny satin Ed , aged 27, human horse, very easy to ride, suitable for dressage or jumping Billy , aged 40, (aka Idea-Ikea) human furniture, to be used as footstool, doormat or floor lamp Mark , aged 51, servant, hardcore masochist, bruised and battered item Digitalus, aged 30, computer nerd, goofball, drinks spit by the gallon Will, aged 57, bookkeeper, good subject with a piss fetish, nicknamed Pee Willy
All the above slaves are fully guaranteed against the vices and diseases prescribed by law. All slaves can be seen, slapped, kicked and mildly whipped by applying at the office of the Auctioneers. Purchased items can be castrated on request.
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I gasped involuntarily as I felt the first touch of cold steel against the soft, oh-so-sensitive flesh of my cock.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” my goddess teased. “You just can’t control yourself, can you? Reactions like that are exactly why you’re getting locked up like this. Soon, you’ll be able to slip into your cage like a good boy without making any noise at all.”
I nodded, not daring to risk talking when goddess was in such a mood. I bit down on my lower lip to prevent any further stray sounds from escaping. I struggled to keep my breathing slow and steady as her clever hands guided the heavy, stainless steel cock cage over my pitiful organ.
Even with the cold metal and the discomfort of my position – kneeling naked on the tile floor of our bathroom – as deterrents, I could still feel my little cock attempting to get hard.
I mean, who could blame me? I was having my greatest fantasy fulfilled right in front of me—becoming a chastity slave to my sexy, powerful goddess. My tiny cock was becoming her property, to be teased and denied as she saw fit.
Goddess’s full lips bent downwards into a pout. “You’re getting too hard, slave.” I wished my traitorous cock would shrivel up and retract inside my body for daring to displease the stunning vision of perfection I served. But it wouldn’t. It just kept trying to get hard even as she put the cage on me.
“Hands and knees!” Goddess commanded. She didn’t need to explain why. I knew what I had done wrong. I hung my head as I assumed the position she had ordered.
She didn’t give me the slightest bit of warning before striking my bare ass with her riding crop. I bit down on my lip harder than I ever had before, barely managing to stop a scream that would only result in more punishment.
The pain did the trick. My cock shrunk even smaller, and I heard the click! as my goddess secured the padlock.
“Hmm, what should I do with this?” my goddess taunted, holding the small golden key about an inch away from my nose. She swung it back and forth like a pendulum; my eyes followed the movement of the tiny object that now controlled my cock.
“It’s my key to my cock and balls, so I could put it somewhere where I won’t forget it,” she mused. A shiver ran through my entire body as I heard her refer to my organ as her cock and balls. The aforementioned part twitched, stirring a bit as if trying to become erect.
But it couldn’t. The cage was doing its job. The cold metal device made it completely impossible for my poor, pathetic cock to get hard.
Goddess’s smile widened as she witnessed my humiliating twitches. She pretended not to notice as she continued to brainstorm out loud what to do with her new key. “I could put it in my desk, or on my nightstand, or even on the ring with my car keys,” she suggested. Her tone was lighthearted – she knew I wanted something even more intimate to be done with it. And she was going to give it to me, but not without lots of teasing first.
“I could take it to work. Put it on my desk there” she suggested next. I could hear the click of her black high-heeled pumps on the tile floor as she paced in front of me. My eyes were drawn to the hypnotic swaying of her ass just as they had been to the swaying of the key a few moments earlier. “I’m sure the other ladies at work will ask lots of questions, and I’d love to tell them about my submissive slave husband I’ve got locked up at home.”
“Ooh! Or I could get it framed! I think it would make a nice new piece of art on my office wall. What do you think, slave?”
Goddess nudged my caged cock with the toe of her pump, signaling that I could speak. The noise of the steel colliding with the soft, supple leather of her shoe would have made me cum right then and there if I could.
I knew there was only one right answer. “I think you should do whatever you desire most with the key, my goddess,” I told her, keeping my eyes firmly fixed on her shoes, not daring to raise them to meet hers.
“Of course you think that, slave. Because you know that I know what’s best for you. Especially what’s best for your poor little cock.” I could hear the sound of metal against metal as she slipped the key onto a chain, just as I had hoped all along she would do.
“And I think it would be most torturous for me to keep the key right here, so you can always see it and be reminded of your cock cage, slave.” She put the chain around her neck, letting the key fall so it hung right between her large, glorious naked breasts. I was close enough that I could see goosebumps break out on her skin as the cold metal brushed against her.
I moaned. How could I forget about my cock cage – I’d never go another day of my life without feeling the cold steel pressed up against me! I’d never orgasm again, unless my goddess felt I had been good enough to earn a reward. And now I’d have to see the key against her breasts, reminding me of how good they felt, of how I’d never be able to touch them again without her permission.
It was heaven. It was hell. It was everything I’d ever wanted and greater torment than I’d ever imagined it could possibly be.
“Does that suit you, slave?” she asked, giving my locked cock another nudge with her toe. I nodded meekly, still on my hands and knees before my beautiful goddess.
“Good. Remember, you’ve got….” She consulted the manila envelope that held our chastity contract , as though she didn’t know exactly what was contained within. “Two weeks until you have even a shot at earning your next orgasm, so get up and go clean the kitchen. After that, you can hand wash those panties you like so much if you ever want me to wear them for you again.”
I stood up immediately. The steel burned cold against the flesh of my cock as I went, still naked, into the kitchen to begin completing my first task.
I had two weeks to prove to my goddess that I deserved an orgasm. It was time to start earning it.
Mistress X had been gone for seven days.
She’d taken my big, fat monthly paycheck and gone to a spa with some of her best dominatrix friends. She got all the pampering that she deserved and that my pathetic self couldn’t provide for her while I kept the house clean and worked even harder than usual in her absence.
I couldn’t wait until she came home. I knew that she and her friends would have exchanged stories and tips about their experiences with their own chastity slaves, and she would come home excited, horny and full of new ideas to try out on me. Maybe she’d even have borrowed some new toys from her friends!
And, of course, since it was still another month until my next orgasm, whatever fun she had when she got home would be all about her.
The day she was to arrive home was a Saturday. I spent the day cleaning every inch of the house, so that it would be spotless when Mistress X returned home. I was naked, of course – the rule about being nude in the home didn’t get ignored just because Mistress was out of the house. After all, who knew when she might text me asking for photographic proof that I was being a good boy?
Of course, it was while I was in the vegetable aisle of the grocery store that I got a text from Mistress:
I practically felt the ticking of the clock echoing inside my brain and I hurriedly re-shelved everything I had bought and rushed to the bathroom. Luckily, the stall was empty, but unluckily, the door hung crooked on its hinges – anyone coming into the bathroom would be clearly able to see what I was up to.
My phone dinged again. It’s been two minutes and I haven’t received a single photo. Does somebody want the first thing I do when I get home to be punishing him?
Quickly, I dropped my pants, revealing the pink silk panties and matching stockings beneath. I took one picture of the panties before dropping them too and sending two different angles of my cock in its bright pink silicone cage.
Mistress X didn’t respond, which I could only hope meant that she had found the images satisfactory. My task completed, I returned to my shopping and managed to get home (and naked) again without incident.
But as I cooked, my mind kept returning to the thought of Mistress X on her hotel bed, her legs spread as she touched herself to the pictures I had sent. It was a naughty, naughty fantasy – the mere thought that a pathetic sissy like me, whose only purpose was to be locked up and controlled, was worthy of being what was on her mind when she pleasured her divine pussy.
She would punish me if she found out, of course. And Mistress X always found out.
Cooking took longer than usual thanks to my naughty, distracted state, so I’d just managed to finish the meal preparations when another text arrived.
This one contained a picture, something three times as erotic and tempting as anything I had sent Mistress earlier. It was a close up of her lovely breasts, clad in a crimson lace bra that one of her many sexual partners had bought for her. The photo showed the curve of her sexy shoulders and the flat planes of her desirable stomach, but stopped before revealing what panties she was wearing – if any.
The text was accompanied by a single word.
I knelt in the doorway – on the cold, rough wooden floor of course, denying myself even the slight comfort of the welcome mat. I kept my eyes down, knowing I deserved only to gaze at Mistress’s shoes upon her return.
The clock ticked onwards, steadily. Ten minutes passed, then a half-hour, then an hour. Mistress X had probably sent the picture from the airport, which was at least an hour away even with no traffic. She was loving just how long she was making me wait.
Finally, with a click of her house key in the lock, Mistress X arrived.
I bowed before her, switching from a kneeling position to a full on prostration before her. My eyes never once dared raise from toes of her knee-high red boots. I didn’t dare speak, even to welcome her home.
If she wanted me to move or say something, she would command it. Until then, I would patiently wait.
“Mistress R brought her new boyfriend along to the s
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