part 1: There I was, a 36-years-old guy, fairly successful, not bad looking but
personally unfulfilled, with a string of failed relationships behind me and
utterly hopeless that that would ever change. Thousands were spent on therapy
only to conclude what I already innately knew: that I was a hope-to-die
masochist. At this point, what difference did it make what incidents in my early
development made me this way? My cravings for total subjugation at the hands and
feet of a sadistic female were not going to be "resolved", that they were
permanent due to some aberrant glitch in my psyche. I'd long given up confessing
my proclivities to the women I'd date as they were unilaterally met with total
revulsion. As hard as I tried, it was simply impossible to connect with a
"normal" girl. I was just some deviant freak, condemned to a life of frustration
and loneliness. Tens of thousands of dollars poorer, money that went into the
hands professional Dominants and cunning gold diggers for fleeting and empty
thrills, I was pretty well jaded. 99.9% positive that the kind of woman I needed
just does not exist. But it was that 0.1% of hope that lead me to placing just
one more personal ad. I had placed many in the past . The responses I received
were curiosity seekers or those women who were just really seeking a normal
relationship with a kinder, more gentle man. I had noticed that the local
community throwaway paper personal section added a "specialties" category. "What
the hell", I thought, it didn't cost anything and "who knows....?" The rules
were simple: they put your 30 words or less ad in for 4 weeks, give you a voice
mailbox and pass code to retrieve your responses. I wrote the ad. No point in
subtly, I reasoned, just lay it out. It went like this: "SEEKING GENUINELY CRUEL
WOMAN WHO WOULD LOVE TO PHYSICALLY & MENTALLY ABUSE & DEGRADE A SINCERE,
SUBMISSIVE, 36 YEAR-OLD SWM. I placed the ad, recorded my voice introduction
which basically confirmed what the written text said and just kind of put it in
the back of my head. I had zero expectations that I would get any responses. I
waited a couple of days until after the paper came out before I called to check
my mailbox. The digitized female voice announced tersely "There are no new
messages in your mailbox". I could even sense a note of scorn in that voice.
Yeah, it seemed even a computer generated female representation was saying, "Get
real, loser. No woman would want a demented weirdo like you!" So it went for the
next 2-1/2 weeks. Every couple of days I'd call in - with the digitized bitch
telling me the same thing. "Loser, freak, pathetic!" To be honest, I wasn't even
disappointed; as I said, I expected nothing. Then, one night at around 6:30, I
realized I hadn't checked for a few days, I dialed the retrieve number, punched
in my pass code and was stunned at when the voice started. Instead of hearing,
that terse tone, my computerized vixen sang a happy note: "You have...'one'...
new message in your mailbox", she declared. "Wow", I thought. "this must be a
mistake." I pressed "one" to listen. It was a woman's voice all right - a real
woman. She had a slight accent, Latin maybe. It was short and to my ears very
sweet: "This is Carmen. If you're really looking for what you say, phone me
during the evening between 7:30 and 11:30 at ###-####." That was it. Jesus, my
heart started to beat fast. I listened to it a few times and double checked that
I copied the number correctly. I looked at the time - it was an hour before I
could called. I thought about calling right then but no that wouldn't show a
whole lot of obedience. I paced, turned on the TV, flipped through a magazine
but really I just waited. When my clock flashed 7:30, I picked up the
phone...but just held it. Maybe my clock was a little fast. So, I waited until
7:31 and dialed. It rang three times and the same voice answered. "Hello..."
"May I please speak to Carmen?" "Speaking." "Hi, um, this is Ben. You left a
response to my ad." "So are you ?" The question threw me. "Am I...?" Irritation
crept into the accented voice, "Really looking for a woman to abuse and degrade
you"? "Oh, yes, I am. Definitely". "Hmmm", she snorted. "Where do you live"? I
told her. She was pleased as it turned out we lived about two miles from one
another. She asked me whether I rented or owned and what I did for work. I gave
her the answers. Then: "When can you meet"? "Whenever you say". "Very good", she
praised. "Tomorrow evening at this time?" "Yes". She named a local coffee shop,
said I should be in the waiting area, told me what she'd be wearing. She wanted
me to bring copies of all my bills, i.e.: rental agreement, phone, utilities,
credit card, etc. as well as copies of my most current pay stubs, and checking
and saving account statements, drivers license, ATM cards, credit cards and all
of the unused checks I had. I went silent, heart sinking, "Just another gold
digger", I thought. Then, she came out with, "I know what you're thinking and it
is not that. I have my reasons for wanting to see those items. You'll find out
what they are when we meet." Then, with a mirthless chuckle, she added, "Don't
worry, I'm not after your money, I'm after your soul". That last statement sent
a chill down my spine and a rush of blood up my cock. I agreed to her
requirements and confirmed that I'd be there. The next day I gathered all the
documents she wanted, put them neatly in a large envelope and anxiously waited
for the appointed time. I got to the coffee shop 10 minutes early, just to be
sure. I sat in the waiting area, very nervous. 7:30 came and went. Of course,
I'd stay and wait. At 7:40, I saw a woman approaching from the parking lot,
dressed in the gray suit and brown shoes Carmen said she'd be wearing. For just
an instant, I had a pang of disappointment. She looked sort of dowdy, in her
late 30's or early 40's, average height and medium build. The pang came from my
long, nurtured fantasies, in which the Goddess to whom I forever was going to
devote mind, body and soul, either had to look like a statuesque Amazon Warrior
or a nubile, bitchy princess like Shannon Dougherty. Of course, in real life, my
only experiences with those kinds of women had cost fortunes and even if they
did look like that, if their attitude wasn't right, the attraction died. All
those fantasy thoughts evaporated quickly as Carmen came closer. Despite her
conservative attire, she was indeed attractive. Definitely of Latin descent with
thick black hair cut short, a dark olive complexion and a curvaceous body - full
but not flabby, actually fairly well toned. She had a saucy strut and I could
see her voluptuous ass and hips undulate with each step. But it was her face
that struck me the hardest. While it was by no means an ugly face, I couldn't
exactly call it pretty either. It was harsh and determined. Her mouth seemed to
be naturally set in a contemptuous sneer. I obsequiously scurried to the door
and opened it for her. She gave me a quick glance. It was neither one of
approval or disapproval. We quickly introduced ourselves and were seated at rear
booth., away from other patrons. After placing our drink orders, Carmen quickly
took command. She began with, "Because it will irritate me if I have to sit here
and listen to questions I've heard before, I just want you to listen to what I
have to say very carefully. By the time I'm done, you will have answers to all
the questions you have or at least to those I believe you need to have. You may
acknowledge with 'yes or no ma'am' or by nodding your head. Nothing more until
you have my permission. Understood?" "Yes ma'am" I uttered, barely audible. She
continued, "First let me make it clear that I want a slave or as close to one
that is, in the reality of these times, possible. Let me also make clear that I
am not a 'Mistress or Goddess or Duchess' or any of those other ridiculous
affected titles those in the quote scene like to anoint themselves with. I am a
woman with an intense, spiteful, sadistic streak. I carry a lot of baggage -
hostile baggage towards men. I am a true man-hating bitch but unfortunately, I
have little or no lesbian tendencies so that leaves me with needing a male
slave. I sat there hearing these amazing words, completely absorbed by her
incredibly powerful presence. She went on to give me some history. She was
raised in a traditional, Latin household. Her father was a brute who constantly
verbally and physically abused her mother. She grew up fearing him and pitying
her. Her father didn't treat Carmen much better. She had brothers who were of
the same ilk as their old man. She had become indoctrinated with the belief that
this is the way life was between men and women. She got married at age 20 and
soon found out that her husband was just like her father, a macho, hard-drinking
bully who used her sexually and made her do everything, work a job, take care of
the house and cater to his needs while he was out partying and fucking other
women. During the 15 hellish years this marriage lasted, his abuse of her got
worse, culminating in a beating he gave her during the seventh month of her only
pregnancy at the age of 31. It was so severe that she lost the child. She was
devastated, naturally, but still could not find the strength to leave. "After
all", she smirked with condensation, "the Church forbade it." What made the
whole incident worse was that this slime of a husband blamed her for the loss of
the baby and the abuse intensified. Finally, 5 years ago when Carmen was 35, her
husband left for a younger woman. She couldn't understand it, but at the time
she was very hurt by his abandonment, even though deep down she despised the
guy. Over the next 3 years she struggled to put her life back together. She
feared men terribly and rejected all advances for dates. She worked menial jobs
to put herself through school with the desire to become a legal secretary
because she knew that they made good money. Successful at her courses and sharp
as a whip, she quickly landed a job at a prestigious law firm for one of the
senior partners. She was feeling more self-confident but knew she had a lifetime
of internal wounds that hadn't been dealt with. She tried counseling but somehow
the counselor seemed only to push her to take the responsibility for her choices
and stop playing the "victim". Carmen understood that theory but there was a
seething anger underneath that the therapist hadn't a clue how to resolve. A
little over a year ago, she started dating again for the first time since the
divorce. She met a guy who she liked. He seemed kind and gentle. She wanted to
take things slow, holding off on being physical for a while, so she kept his
advances at bay, explaining her reasons. The guy seemed to respect them. Then,
one night after an evening of dancing and drinking, the guy got very aggressive.
He was drunk and slobbering all over her. When she pushed him away, he called
her a prick teasing cunt. The next moment something within Carmen snapped.
Something that would define her for the rest of her life. She had never hit
anyone or acted out any kind of violence before. But she swung a backhand that
hit his face with such force, that it knocked him flat on his ass. The cork had
popped! Years of repressed anger and hatred came spewing up through her. She saw
him on the ground and let lose with a crushing kick to his gut. He was a lot
bigger and stronger and she was sure he was going to get up and beat the crap
out of her -- but she didn't care. Whatever the consequences, she wasn't going
to take it without a fight. But to her shock, the guy started to cry and beg for
her forgiveness. As she towered over him, a rush of power she had never felt
before made her heady. She continued kick and beat the guy, spit on him, called
him the vilest names she could think of. All he did was whimper and beg.
Finally, grabbing him by the hair, she tossed him out of her front door, all
battered and bruised. Afterwards, she felt drunk, giddy, somehow liberated. She
also found that she was wet. The incident had aroused her. Over the next few
days as she came down from the 'high', she was stunned at herself for what she
did and the reaction it caused. She was equally stunned when the guy kept
calling, pleading with her to see him again. He vowed to always obey her and
would take whatever punishment she dished out. He called her Mistress and
promised to be her slave, etc. She got a big turn on out of that - but an even
bigger one denying him an audience. Inside, she was yearning to give him
another, even more savage beating but since he had exhibited that vulgar side,
she really wanted nothing more to do with him. She strung him along for a while,
amused and turned on by his pathetic calls. Eventually, he stopped. But it left
her with the knowledge that there were men out there that were into being
abused. Fueled by the spring of deep rooted hatred that boiled within, Carmen
began having a flood of fantasies, or 'visions' as she called them Images of
doing the most disgusting and viscous acts to a male, without the slightest
regard to his feelings or even well-being, She began a journey of research. She
attended some 'Alternative Lifestyle' seminars and briefly joined a B&D
organization. But these just didn't correlate with the ideas she had. She
regarded the theatrics of leather costumes and dungeons as mildly amusing and
the rules for a good 'Dom' to follow completely incongruous. She wasn't
interested in a lover or partner where role-playing was a part of their life.
She wanted something different, the real deal as she put it. Little of what she
heard from these people came close to her 'visions'. I sat there in total
silence and listened to Carmen, absolutely riveted. She told me that over the
past year, she had answered ads and even placed a couple. She talked to a lot of
guys but she was not interested in the scenarios they presented her. She had no
desire to dress a certain way for a man or cross dress them to their liking or
act out specific fantasies for his enjoyment. She did meet a couple of guys who
in the beginning had promise. But they didn't make it. They could not stretch
their limits to where she needed them to go. Her dark brown eyes bored into my
questioning face at that point. A little grin played on her lips as she said, "I
know what you want to know, so we don't waste anymore time, I'll tell you my two
most extreme visions. These are things that are unconditional requirements.
Vile, painful acts that my slave will incur on a daily basis..." She let that
hang there a moment, then started, "The first, is that I will kick you in the
balls as hard as possible whenever I feel like it which will probably be quite
often..." Letting that sink in, Carmen took a sip of coffee. I just sat there
and nodded. She smiled and continued, "The second and equally arousing for me is
the thought of having a full service, human toilet. And I do mean full service.
I stress that because there are many men who love drinking a woman's urine. But
I want a man to literally eat my shit whenever I have to go. I know it can be
unhealthy and you could get sick. It wouldn't matter to me, you would still be
required to serve me in this manner throughout the term. But since I do tend to
eat healthy, that should reduce the risk. Those two duties are where the others
fell short. One ran away right after the first 'nut kick'. The second made it
through several ball bashing's but vomited at the mere smell of my bowel
movement, even before it hit his lips. He wanted to keep trying but I knew he'd
never make it, so I dismissed him." She paused, looked at me, then asked, quite
seriously, if this was the kind of abuse and degradation I meant in the ad I
placed. I gulped, "Yes ma'am", my voice was a hoarse whisper. Her eyes narrowed
on me, "And what makes you think you will succeed where the others have failed?
Go on, you have my permission to speak." "Uhm, well ma'am, I have experienced
both in prior relationships to one degree or another." She sat silent, eyes
seemed to be digging right into my soul. Then, she said, "Yes, I get the feeling
that you're different. That you really know you're place. That you need and
crave to be nothing more than a human sewer and kicking post. Am I right?" "Yes
ma'am". She then briefly listed other forms of abuse she's passionate about
trying. They included: denial of sexual release, smothering, starvation while
forcing me to watch her eat (she's real big on deprivation); Also, full contact
punches, slaps and kicks to all parts of my body and face. And then she cooed
with an ominous hint "...and of course there are my nails..." Almost
involuntarily, I glanced at her hands where I saw the sharpest set of
fingernails I've ever seen. They were painted clear and the tips were as fine as
razors. She got extremely serious, and said, "You can see that what I want is a
slave - not a lover, a partner or a friend." Sneering at me, she asked
rhetorically, "I mean, a friend wouldn't take a dump in your mouth or spit snot
down your throat, would she...?" My mind was reeling at that point, this was one
seriously nasty bitch! She went on, "The energy I'll put into you will be for
the sole purpose of crushing you Not only physically but emotionally and
spiritually as well. I guarantee, if you become my slave you will be reduced to
nothing but a shell of what you are now and you will most likely never fully
recover. " She eyed me as I digested this. Then, "Is the dynamic I require
crystal clear to you?" "Yes ma'am". "Is it a commitment that you are prepared,
willing and able to make right now? Take your time with this one", she
cautioned. She was right, lots of thoughts were swimming through my mind. This
could be dangerous, I might discover I'm really not as submissive as I thought.
I mean, in past - the sessions with pros, the gold diggers, they were really
just play for a finite time. I knew that Carmen demanded something much more.
But every thing she said, including the frightening reality that she most likely
would crush my spirit forever, had me so hot, I was ready to explode in jeans at
that moment. I knew that if I passed on this opportunity, I would regret it for
years. I took a breath, "Very much, ma'am". CRACK! Her hand whipped out like
lightening. The slap had my cheek stinging, my mind stunned. Her eyes were
ablaze with fury. She hissed at me, "Did I give you permission to say anything
other than the pre-approved words?" I shook my hanging head. "Listen, pig shit,
I'm not fucking playing games. That won't happen again, will it?" "No ma'am."
She threw me a glare of complete derision, that twisted into a scary grin. "I
believe you. My instincts tell me that you are ripe for this. Since you've
already said you are willing and able, I am going to accept you as my slave. But
I am not going to go through any game playing tests with you. As of now,
consider yourself my property". As the shiver ran though my body, I could feel
the pre-cum oozing out of my dick. "Now", she said, "let's talk practicalities.
You said you worked as a graphic designer out of your home, so I assume you make
your own schedule?" I nodded. "Good. This will be a full commitment for you. You
will give up any hobbies, regular social obligations, friends -- everything else
in your life except your work. That might even change later on, but for now, I
have no intention of 'keeping' any man until I decide if I want this to be
permanent". She went on to outline what other duties I'd have to perform. She
said she already had a cleaning crew that comes to her condo twice a week that
she was happy with and since she had no desire to spend any time and energy to
train me in domestic chores, I would simply be limited to maintenance in that
area. However, I would be cooking for her when she wanted, running errands,
doing the shopping, sometimes chauffeuring her, giving massages -- any little
drudgery that needed to be accomplished. Then, she gave a little chuckle and
said "Everyone of the maggots I've spoken to boast how they will give me the
most wonderful pedicures and manicure. I suppose that's something you'd want to
do?" "Yes ma'am!" I answered eagerly. "Well, that's too fucking bad, scum wad",
she snarled. "I go to my little place down the street from my job three times a
week. Those Korean girls pamper and relax me beautifully." She took a moment,
then added the punch line, "And they know just how I like my nails done..." With
that, she leaned forward, reaching an arm across the table, finger pointed. She
poked the razor sharp tip of her nail into the center of my forehead and dug
into it for a good 30 seconds. It hurt like hell but I just sat there stiffly
and silently. The gleam of pure sadistic joy in Carmen's eyes made my cock ache.
Finally, she sat back, looked at me and let out a loud chortle. "You look like
one of those Hindu women, you know, the one's who have those red dots on their
foreheads." Out of reflex, I touched the spot she poked. There was indeed a drop
of blood on my finger. Then, she held out her stabbing finger to my lips. I
could see a small chunk of my skin under it. "Clean it off, sewer mouth", she
commanded. I obeyed instantly and sucked my own ripped out flesh from her lethal
nail and swallowed. She pulled the finger out of my mouth, inspected it, nodded
that it was satisfactory, then wiped it dry of my saliva on my shirt. "Okay",
she said as if what just happened was the most natural thing in the world,
"where were we? Oh, yes, your duties. Well, I think we've covered the basics.
You'll learn more as we go." Then, she glanced at the manila envelope. "Can I
safely assume that you brought all the documents I requested?" "Yes ma'am." She
held out her hand and I gave it to her. "As I said earlier, I want as close to a
genuine slave as possible. But as we know, slavery is illegal and since there's
no other precedent for one person owning another, I need some potent tool of
control. I have no desire to blackmail you though I'm sure I could lure you into
some kind of situation to accomplish that - but that wouldn't suit my need to
have a truly pathetic piece of garbage such as yourself willingly surrender
himself to me. So, I've devised another method. Starting tomorrow, we will be
entering a three-month term of indentured servitude. Right now I want to know
what the total amount of money is to cover your basic expenses - rent and bills
only, not food or entertainment - for the next three months. Can you estimate
what that might be? Be truthful, now. I'll be checking it later. You have my
permission to speak, fuck face." I did a quick calculation of my monthly
expenses in my head and told her the number. She then rifled through the
envelope and withdrew my checking and savings statements. She looked them over
quickly and nodded. "Well, you have nearly two and a half times that in
available cash right now. This is going to work out very nicely". What you will
do later is write out checks for 3 months in advance to those payees and they
will be sent off tonight." Then, she asked, "Where do you do your banking?" I
told her the name. It was one of the major banks. "Good, there's a branch right
by my office. You will meet me there tomorrow during my lunch break . You will
close out your current savings account and add enough to your checking account
to bring it to the exact sum of the checks you write tonight. You will then take
the remainder of your savings and place it in a 90 day high yield, sealed C.D.
that cannot be broken for that period. Are following me so far, slime ball?" I
nodded that I was. "A miracle", she sang and continued, "You will have to
arrange for all your income to be placed directly into that account from your
employer. At the bank, you will purchase a security box in which you will place
all your remaining checks, the ownership papers for your car, your credit and
ATM cards, passport, any other forms of ID, and the receipt for the box itself.
Only you will be able to sign for access but I will remain in possession of the
key. I'll tell you now, that without that receipt and proper ID, it will be an
ordeal to obtain another key. I will be keeping your drivers license just in
case of some unforeseen emergency. See I'm not that heartless", she smirked. "I
suppose you'll be at some minimal risk when driving around without me but if you
do get stopped and get a ticket, it will be little trouble to clear up. You'll
just have to drive carefully, sl-a-a-a-ve." She let the word roll off her
tongue, like savoring a fine delicacy. She paused, staring at me, those dark
brown eyes sparkling, like she was realizing a long repressed dream. I wondered
if mine betrayed the same. "Now then", she was back to business, "when we're
finished here tonight, we will be going to your apartment where I will do a
quick inventory of your possessions. Anything of any significant value, you will
place in a self-locking storage facility. Again, you will be the only one with
signing access but the keys will remain with me. At the end of the three month
term, we will both evaluate whether or not we shall continue. But, I can
guarantee you that by then, you will be so broken, so deeply dependent on my
subjugation, that the choice will be solely mine. In any event, should it be
determined that we part ways, I will return the keys and you will reimburse me
the expenses I've incurred for your maintenance out of the interest gained from
the C.D. I will be keeping a log of it with back-up " Then spiting out an evil
little laugh as she said, "Actually, you stand to make a bit of profit. You see,
I don't intend to spend a great deal on your upkeep. After all, much of your
sustenance will be second hand," then with a wink, "know what I mean, shiteater...?"
She sighed with anticipation, then continued, "On the other hand, should it be
decided that we will continue, I will implement a more permanent arrangement.
Until then, you will keep your residence as I know that's where you do your
work. However, you will rarely sleep there as - nature being what it is - I will
be needing your services during the night and first thing in the morning. I've
already had the cleaning crew clear out a closet. It's not much but you can call
it home." She then outlined some basic rules. First she reiterated that the only
time for myself would be during my working hours. All other times would be
devoted to serving her or waiting for orders. She said that while she led a
fairly quiet life, she did have other aspects which I would have no part of,
such as socializing with friends and family, a reading club to which she
belonged, and other minor activities. There would definitely be times that she
would want nothing to do with me, so I would be relegated to the closet until
she had some use for me. If there were ever occasions that I encountered any of
her friends or family to whom she hadn't divulged the nature of my position, I
was to remain respectful and quiet while she fielded the questions. Very
important, was whether in private or public, to always regard her with the
utmost reverence. And while she has no use for overt public displays of
humiliation, if I perpetrated an infraction, I could expect to be reprimanded on
the spot as evidenced by the slap a few minutes ago. While in public, I would be
required to assume a docile posture with eyes downcast and when walking, I am to
keep a steady two paces behind her. Equally important was her mandate that,
other than responding to a direct question or acknowledging or inquiring about a
directive, I am never, ever to speak to her without permission, unless it was
genuinely urgent. I am always to address her as "ma'am" or "Ms. De LaPaz". None
of that 'Mistress' bullshit. She stressed that all commands and directives were
to be obeyed immediately and absolutely without hesitation, question or
condition. She reaffirmed that my feelings and needs were truly of no concern to
her and should I ever try to assert them, that violation would be dealt with in
a most unpleasant and dire manner. She leaned back and said she believed she'd
covered everything but that I might have missed something due to her awareness
of my distraction -- at that I felt her foot press into my rock hard dick --she
would grant me the opportunity to ask any pertinent questions, I might have. I
gave it a second or two thought, knew that she had laid everything out
thoughtfully and clearly and said, "No ma'am, any questions I had have been
answered." "Is there anything you'd like to say? Think it over, this is a rare
opportunity." After a moments contemplation, all I could come up with was, "Ms.
De LaPaz, I am thrilled and honored at the prospect of serving you in all the
ways you require, including your desire to crush me and I will do my very best
to selflessly fulfill your needs." She smiled with sincerity and said, "Well
put, asshole." We'd been at the coffee shop for close to two hours when we left
to go to my apartment. There, Ms. De LaPaz picked out the items to be stored.
I'm not much on material things so it wasn't too difficult, TV, VCR, stereo and
a fairly valuable piece of artwork I'd acquired. She knew I had to keep my
computer for work but insisted that the bill of sale and serial ID card would go
in the security box. She watched as I wrote out the checks, put them in stamped
envelopes and took possession of them, my ATM card and drivers license in case I
had second thoughts about showing up tomorrow. She walked to the door and just
stood there with her back to me. After a moment, she glanced over her shoulder
and beckoned me to her. She ordered me to my knees so I was inches away from her
back. She hiked up her skirt, revealing a sumptuous, panty-hosed ass. Bending
slightly at the waist, it spread to a magnificent, treacherous width. "I want to
feel your nose lightly touching the center". Shaking with utter excitement, I
leaned my face forward to the requisite spot. "Just hold that position, slave".
I did. I knelt there breathlessly with my nose just kissing her nylon veiled
asshole for at least two minutes. Finally, a long, languorous fart hissed out.
It seemed to go on forever. Ms. De LaPaz growled, "Smell it, ass face." I
inhaled deeply, through both my nose and mouth. My nostrils and taste buds were
assailed with a burning blast of sweet and sour pungency. It was the most
intoxicating aroma I'd ever smelled. I inhaled several more times until it
completely dissipated. Ms. De LaPaz then let the hem fall back into place,
turned to face my trembling form. I was on the brink of cumming and she knew it.
She leered down at me and snapped, "Get used to that smell, boy." Then, she put
her foot on my crotch, tapped my engorged dick twice lightly and I lost it with
an explosive ejaculation. She towered above me as I convulsed and groaned, just
snickering and shaking her head as if I were the most pathetic thing on earth.
When my orgasm finally subsided, she roughly grabbed a handful of my hair and
pulled me to my feet. She stood so close, I could feel her breath on my face.
"You may express your gratitude, slave", she whispered. The words came naturally
to me, "Thank you for your precious gift, Ms. De LaPaz". "You're welcome" she
breathed back, and then suddenly, CRUUNNCH!! She rammed her knee up into my
balls, full force. Searing pain shot through my body. I collapsed, squealing and
writhing in agony. I caught a glimpse of her face. Not a hint of sympathy. In
fact, it looked flush and radiant as she relished my anguish. When I started to
settle a bit, she placed her foot on the side of my head and pressed down hard
so my face was smashed into the floor. "Tomorrow at the bank" she growled.
"Don't be late." And with that, my new owner, turned and walked out, leaving me
in a quivering heap
part 2: I laid there on my floor for I don't know how long. All five senses were
still on overload having been assaulted to such extremes: balls aching, from
both the draining and the busting; the lingering taste and odor of Ms. De
LaPaz's gaseous gift; ears echoing with the cutting Latin voice, mocking and
spiteful, spewing insults; and that final image of a contempt filled bitch,
standing over me relishing my anguish. I continued to lay in that prone position
and replay the events of the last 2 1/2 hours. An internal debate began. "Am I
crazy?", I blurted out loud. In my head, I answered: weird maybe, probably a
little mentally off balanced with a hefty appetite for kinky sex. But crazy
enough to enter into this kind of an arrangement? No. I've just been starved
lately, and that led me to this bout of temporary insanity, to even consider
this path of lunacy. Get hold of yourself, boy!!! At that moment, I resolved
that I was not going through with this. My reasoning took this course: All this
woman wanted was someone on whom she could exercise her own personal demons.
Just a body and mind to use without any consideration for his well being or
basic needs. An emotionally ill soul that she could exploit in the most
grotesque and destructive ways. That wasn't going to do me any good. I had to
find a way to recover from my own maladies. And this wasn't it. I started to get
angry at this... this...harpy! This deranged bitch with the audacity to take
advantage of my unhealthy, sexual compulsions for her own sick needs. "Fuck
her", I thought. With growing rage, I reviewed the inhuman "duties" she
required.... 'human punching bag'... starvation... flesh gouging with those
dreadful fingernails... being the receptacle of all of her bodily wastes! HOW
DARE SHEEeee... The anger quickly dissolved and I found my rock hard penis in my
hand, spurred by these same thoughts that seconds ago enraged me. Now, once
again, all I could think of was being used ruthlessly, devoting my entire being
to Ms. De LaPaz as her kicking post, toilet slave and lackey. It only took a few
strokes to ignite another explosive orgasm. Afterwards, I lay in doomed
resignation. "Sick, crazy fuck", I thought to myself. That's just what I am: a
sick fuck who can't stop from relinquishing control of my life to this woman.
Hell, I sought her out! My ad was plain as day. It begged for a genuinely cruel
woman to abuse and degrade me. She wasn't being unethical nor using me in the
true sense of the word. There was no gun to my head when I handed her my
driver's license, ATM and credit cards. In reality, she was doing me a favor,
giving me exactly what I wanted. She had been upfront and articulated concisely
what I could expect and graciously detailed the reasons for her desires. I
dragged my sorry ass to the shower and sat down under the hot spray. I thought
about her plan. She had really thought it out. It was quite brilliant, I mused.
Then, I started looking for holes - just in case if in a few days I decided I
couldn't handle it anymore. After all, I wouldn't be under lock and key. Just
financially bound. And there were ways to resolve that. I could always obtain a
duplicate driver's license, go to the bank and tell them I lost the key and
receipt to the security box. They'd check my signature on file and bingo - I'm
outta there! Maybe she wasn't so smart after all. I could always borrow a few
bucks against the CD until it matured. I'd have my credit cards, my...my...
Suddenly, I snorted out a cynical laugh . At that moment it became crystal clear
how cunning of a bitch Ms. De LaPaz truly was. She knew all that -- of course
she did. She said herself there was no true external way to make a person a
slave. Her intuition told her from the beginning that this was the kind of
situation I deeply needed. Intense cravings that could not be repressed for more
than a few minutes at a time. Those were the real tools of control. These
machinations would simply serve as obstacles to quell any fleeting thoughts of
flight. With just the time it would take for me to think through an escape,
those thoughts would soon be smothered by my own depraved needs. She knew she
had me and now I knew she had me. I jerked off twice more to the images of her
abusing me that night and fell into a deep sleep. But it didn't last long. 3
maybe 4 hours and I was wide awake. I still ached but I felt alive - and
rumbling-gut nervous about what I was about to undertake. I couldn't eat
breakfast so I completed some work until it was time to go to the bank. Driving
there, everything looked a little different, almost surreal. The streets were
same but there was strange hue to the surroundings I knew so well. I couldn't
pinpoint it at the time it, but now I know: I was in the process of stepping out
of my old world and into the new world of Ms. Carmen De LaPaz, self-proclaimed
and, proud of it, man-hating bitch. I got there a few minutes before the
appointed time. I stood in the lobby of the tall office building that housed the
bank stock still at attention, like awaiting a superior. It was quite busy at
lunch time as I searched the sea of faces looking for her. Then, something
strange happened: I couldn't visual her in my head. The picture just wouldn't
come. I remembered having a similar reaction long ago, the first time I fell in
love. Every time I'd part from my young lover - "My Angel" I used to call her -
I was just unable to bring her image to mind. It was as if the two of us
together existed separate and apart from the rest of the universe, unreachable
from its harsh realities. Then upon reuniting and seeing her beautiful, sweet
face, the rush of electricity deliciously mixed with a sense of warmth & safety
would sweep through my veins. That recall brought a twinge of sadness. I
suppose, like many who have experienced the magic of an intense first love -
that for one or another reason didn't sustain - I have spent much of my life
searching to recreate that enchantment. In the many years since the completion
of that first-love relationship, I'd never come close to experiencing those
intoxicating feelings. Yet, at that moment, as I stood waiting with burning
eagerness for a woman who vowed to treat me as no more than a cockroach who most
people wouldn't give a second thought about crushing beneath their heel,
emotions so similar were boiling up. The sadness came not from the memory of the
long, lost love but to the curve that my emotional interpretation had taken:
onto a twisted path of darkness and deviance. Suddenly, my legs wobbled as my
vision hazed into a dream-like state. My eyes locked onto her like a magnet,
striding through the throng with an arrogance usually reserved for royalty. My
mind was no longer blank. Even from this distance those insolent, rolling hips
and organic sneer of contempt were as big as if projected on a panoramic movie
screen. As she strode to my position, the only hint of acknowledgment was a
brief glance. Her strut didn't slow even a step as she passed. I fell in behind
her at the requisite two paces as we crossed into the bank, my eyes inextricably
drawn to that grand-sized bottom that had abused me so soundly the night before
as it protruded brazenly, hugged by a tight, knee-length skirt. Everything at
the bank went quick and smooth. I just followed Ms. De LaPaz's lead and it was
done just like she had outlined the prior evening. She walked me to my car,
parked in the subterranean garage. She demanded for me to recite my instructions
for that afternoon. I said I would place the items she decreed into storage and
arrange for my employer to automatically deposit my next three months paychecks
in the sealed account. She nodded her approval. We were standing between my car
the one next to it. She remained silent for a minute. Then, quite sincerely she
asked if I had been having any second thoughts. I replied honestly, "Yes,
ma'am". With a genuine smile that I thought almost winked at me, she said,
"Good. "If you weren't scared out of your mind then I might have something to
worry about. And believe me, you should be scared". "Yes ma'am". Then she asked
if I was caught up on my current work project or was I under any kind of
pressure. It so happened, that I was just about finished with it. I informed her
that I needed no more than an hour or two to complete it. She was pleased and
ordered me to finish it up this afternoon when I returned from the storage
place. I would be taking the next day off - a Friday - as she wanted to start me
on a specific conditioning process on a day that she would go to work. It would
be a good transition going into the weekend. She then gave me her address, told
me what to bring - a tooth brush, extra tee-shirt, change of underwear and a
towel. She wanted me at her place by 8pm and that I would not be released until
the next Monday morning. She handed me a pager with orders to keep it on my
person at all times when not in her presence. Knowing I had no money or access
to any, she handed me 2 ten dollar bills. One, I was to keep to be for used gas
only; she'd be checking my receipts. The other was for the dinner I'd be picking
up for her at a local Chinese restaurant. She told me to call ahead and provided
me with the number items she wanted. She then moved very close to me. With her 2
inch heels she was my height, maybe even a little taller. Her perfume which had
loitered in my senses from the first moment I saw her, made me shiver. Wrapping
an arm around my neck, she grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled brutally on
it. I was bent back by her grip and she was leaning over me, her face just two
or three inches above mine, her other hand clutching the front of my shirt. From
a distance, if anyone had seen us, the pose would have appeared as two lovers in
a passionate embrace. But with the harsh pain in the roots of my head, I knew
better. She stared into my eyes with a fierce intensity. Then, her nose and
mouth contorted slightly and she snorted. I could hear mucus shoot back. That
was followed by a hocking from her chest, giving rise to a sheet of phlegm into
her mouth. I could see her tongue working like a mixer as the combination of
snot and phlegm swirled between her cheeks. Those dark eyes were smiling. I knew
just what to do and opened my mouth as wide as it would go. Her glossy lips
parted and the glob slowly appeared. It was a bubbly cloud of yellow and white.
It gradually lowered, hanging on by drooling strings of saliva. Finally, gravity
did its thing and the mass fell, landing on my tongue. It felt sludgy, rich in
texture. My taste buds came alive and I found this rather base offering rather
delicious. "Savor it, pig", Ms. De LaPaz instructed. Strange, I was no longer
bothered by the relentless, savage hair pulling as I swished her swill around my
mouth. After a good couple of minutes, she snapped, "Swallow!" I could feel its
thick trail as the slimy lump slid down my throat and into my stomach. She
continued to hold me in position, that same slight grin of derision played on
lip as it did the night before as I knelt in the cloud of her fart. Then, she
abruptly let go, giving me a little shove so from my awkward position, I fell on
my butt. As she turned, her shoe carelessly stepped on my out-stretched hand
that broke the fall. I swallowed a yelp as she gave the heel a little twist.
Then, she started walking off with a bark, "Get off your ass and get moving,
snot rag. You've got a lot to do before you come see me." And she strode off
without even a glance back. Once in my car, I found myself tingling all over and
horny as all hell. This woman's debasement of me had an effect like no other. As
mentioned earlier, I had quite a bit of experiences with pay-for-play dominants.
I had been spit on by many of them as that act usually played a part in many of
the scenarios I'd requested. But that was merely play acting to satisfy a
client. What just transpired was no game. Ms. De LaPaz was the initiator and Ms.
De LaPaz did it for not anyone but herself. I went warp speed through the rest
of my tasks for the afternoon. After I was done, I realized that except for
Carmen's slop, I hadn't eaten all day. I was empty but still felt too nervous to
eat. But recalling her fancy for food deprivation and the ominous promise of
"second hand meals", I rustled up some sandwich concoction from my refrigerator
and forced myself to eat it. By 7:45 I'd picked up her Chinese food. At 7:50 I
sat in my car in front of the address she'd given me. Through the drawn curtains
of the front unit of the newer built four-plex condo building, I could see the
silhouette of someone dancing to a steady rhythm. Actually it looked more like
an aerobics workout. I wasn't sure, but I thought it could be Ms. De LaPaz. The
figure was kind of short and solid. I would soon find out. At 7:58, I got out of
my car with my sparsely packed gym bag and the savory order of Ms. De La Paz's
dinner. I approached the door of unit 1, her unit. From within, I heard the
thumping beat of driving music. I checked my watch and at 8 on the dot I rang
the doorbell once. No answer. For ten minutes I stood there, contemplating
whether or not I should ring the bell again or perhaps even rap loudly on the
door. Then, the door was yanked open. Ms. De LaPaz was in the doorway, dancing
in place, singing along with the lyrics of the still-playing music. She had
obviously heard the doorbell when it first rang and simply let me wait until she
was ready. She motioned me in. She was a sight to behold. Wearing only a white
leotard, already half soaked with sweat, it accentuated the smooth, presently
glistening olive skin. It was the first time I really got to see her figure. I
guessed she was 5'4" and a solid 145 pounds. Her bust was larger than I
initially detected while in her business suits, the waist was tight as it
mushroomed into those wide, sultry hips atop a set of powerful, full thighs. I'm
sure my eyes dawdled a bit too long between those thighs on the damp gusset from
which curls of black pubic hair were obscenely sprouting. She curtly snatched
the bag of food from me as she used a remote to mute the music. She said she was
going to go put the food in the kitchen and I should be totally stripped and on
my knees by the time she returned. I couldn't help stealing a glance at that
awesome derriere, its supple meat packed tight in the leotard jiggling to her
step. When Ms. De LaPaz came sweeping back, she looked down at my naked,
kneeling form and announced with great enthusiasm, "Now comes the fun part of my
workout! She grabbed me by the ear and pulled me on my knees into the spacious,
carpeted living room. There was an area cleared for her workouts. In the middle
of it was a bizarre looking contraption -- a double tiered harness that hung
from the ceiling. It was attached to a steel roped pulley. She told me to stay
on my knees directly beneath the harness. Then, she reached to the pulley, gave
it a yank and guided the harness down to my level. She stepped back to me and
instructed that I should pay close attention as this was going to become a
regular part of her 5 day a week workout. She made me raise my arms as she
slipped the harness over my head, then pulling up so the upper thong was
surrounded my armpits. She had me lower my arms through the upper thong so they
were flush against my sides. Then, she yanked on a strap so the upper thong
tightened. My arms were now completely immobile but I hardly noticed as she was
so close to me and I couldn't help but to get drunk off the scent of her sweat.
She ignored my growing cock as she bent and tightened the lower thong around the
very top of my thighs. Moving behind me she attached a leather band to each of
my ankles. Then, bending them back towards my legs, she hooked a length of strap
from each ankle to the lower thong. At that point, I was practically suspended,
except that my knees still rested on the carpet. She turned backed to the
pulley, tugged on it and I felt myself being lifted off the ground about a foot
and a half. She stood, hands on hip to admire her handy-work, and said more to
herself, "Beautiful..." as she smacked her lips. I had a terrible feeling about
what was going to commence. My fears were soon confirmed as Ms. De LaPaz flicked
the driving music back on and started dancing around my suspended, completely
vulnerable & indefensible form like a boxer. Only there were no gloves on her
hands. I watched in horror as she bobbed, weaved and jittered about my face
wearing only what I could describe as a malevolent grin. I barely saw the first
blow. The fist landed hard right between my eyes. I saw stars as I swung back a
bit on the harness. Swinging forward, I braced myself as a vicious right smashed
into my gut. It went on like this for something like 15 or 20 minutes. I thought
back to when she said the term 'human punching bag'. At the time, I honestly
assumed she was using it as merely a metaphor. But there I was, strapped in this
harness that hung from a ceiling, swaying this way and that way while Ms. De
LaPaz threw uppercuts, straight arms, jabs, overhand punches to every part of my
body and face. Fast, furious and solid blows. Woozy from the relentless beating,
I felt like I was in some kind of cheap horror movie from the 50's - a
nightmarish sequence of insanity with the music pounding and flashing glimpses
of Ms. De LaPaz's gritting features, followed by thud after thud of her fists on
my flesh. Finally, thankfully, the music was muted. My tormentress stood before
me, a gleam of pure exhilaration in her eyes as she breathed in and out. She was
now soaked with perspiration. I could only imagine what I must of looked like,
no doubt a pitiful sight, dangling in the air like that. I felt a small trickle
of blood from my lower lip and I was sure that the rest of me was bruised and
battered. She looked at me and raised an eyebrow, "Didya like that...?" How
could one in my current position respond to that? But I knew I had to try.
Actually, two answers came to mind: for myself, I didn't. I was hurting all
over. But I was no longer living for myself. I'd fantasized about being a true
slave long enough to know that. My owner looked so happy at that moment and
that's what truly counted to me. So I answered truthfully, "Yes ma'am". "Because
it pleased me?" "Yes ma'am". She grinned. "Good. Then, you're really gonna love
this." She spun back to the pulley, gave it a yank and I suddenly dropped about
a foot or so. Once more she cranked up the music and started her dance again. A
brain-jarring bare foot crashed into my cheek. Another shattered into my chest.
Her feet, propelled by those powerful legs, delivered three times the force of
her fists. She must of hurled a hundred kicks -- all full contact to my head,
face, ass, ribs, kidneys, stomach. I was feeling nauseous and faint by the time
she dealt the coup de grace - four straight-on shots to my exposed balls. Then,
the music went silent. Ms. De LaPaz watched with an excited twinkle as I heaved
and convulsed, still hanging on the harness. I even saw her touch her mound. The
bitch was turned on. After several, agonizing minutes, I started to regain
myself a little, though my body was still shaking. She turned and left,
returning a moment later with a towel for herself. She was literally swamped
with sweat from head to toe. She moved to me, unlatched the two thongs. With my
ankles, still bound by the leather bands, I fell flat on my face. She giggled
and then unhooked them. She reached down and grabbed me by the hair, pulling me
to my feet. I was not in very good shape, wobbly, trembling, an occasional spasm
attacking. There wasn't an ounce of compassion in her face as she ordered me to
the kitchen. There, I was to wash my face and hands, make her a plate of food,
zap it in the microwave and bring it and a diet coke to the den, just off to the
side. Aching, I moved rather gingerly. My laggardness earned me punch to the
back of my head. "I'm hungry, shitheel. I wanna eat now, not in ten minutes.
Move your pathetic ass!" Despite my pain, I ran like a bunny. In the kitchen, I
caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror. Face puffy and red. Ugly splotches
starting to form on my neck and chest. Man, was I a sorry sight. As, I prepared
my owner's plate, I looked at the clock. 8:56. Damn, I thought, I hadn't even
been there an hour and I already felt like a broken soul. What did I get myself
into...!!??
part 3: I carried her dinner into the den. It was obviously her favorite room. A
wide, lush sofa on one wall facing a 35" TV. There were shelves lined with books
(she is an avid reader), and a fireplace. A moment later, Ms. De LaPaz entered,
holding a towel. She studies the sofa as if in deep thought, then shrugged. "I
want to sit on the sofa and watch TV as I eat but I'm so sweaty, I'm afraid it
will soak right through and stain it." She glanced at me, "You look fairly dry".
With that, she laid the large towel on the sofa, took the tray of food from me
and told me to lie on it and bend my knees so they face the TV. I complied and
after she made an adjustment to my knees' position, she propped a pillow against
them. Then, the most wonderful sight came into my view. Ms. De La Paz's
magnificent ass hovered me. It lowered onto my upper chest. I felt her lean back
against the pillow as her legs and feet extended past my face. Adjusting herself
for comfort, she slid forward so her ass pushed into my face. Shifting again,
her bottom lifted, inched forward until it settled square onto my mouth, where
it spread to an overhang. Though my nose was buried under her crotch, tickled by
the protruding coarse, pubic hairs, I could just get enough air through a
half-covered nostril so I wouldn't smother. When she was finally satisfied with
her position, muffled as it was, I heard her sing. "Ooh I like this. It really
is comfortable. I think we found another use for you, recliner boy!" I've read
and heard more than once, coming from some of the most celebrated psychological
minds in history, that many men (possibly some women too) crave nothing more
than a return to the source of safety and warmth from which they sprang - the
womb. It's a theory I wholeheartedly and instantly identified with. And there is
no more comprehensive act to simulate that event - one which is a literal
impossibility to re-create in actuality - than to have your face sat on by a
glorious set of expanded, shapely haunches belonging to a full-bodied Butt
Goddess. To be totally engulfed by a feminine asshole and the vagina that
precedes it, consumes one so wholly into a woman's natural moisture and essence,
that the nirvana such a 'pressing' evokes, must be a sexually developed adult's
interpretation of re-connecting to his nest of origin. Facesitting, queening,
being throned - whatever you want to call it - has truly been the overriding
passion of my life. I'd been obsessed with the female rump since my post-toddler
days. I can recall as a little five or six year-old boy, being on the beach and
- innocent as it was then (...?...) - gawking at the parade of bathing suit clad
(bikini and otherwise) tushes that surrounded me. Young or old, taut or lumpy,
white, black, yellow, brown - it didn't matter; they all bewitched my
child-eyes. It was the reason I nagged so often to go to the beach as I really
didn't care much for ocean's waves or building sandcastles. Just the sight of a
prominent female posterior would stir something deep within my young soul that
was, at that undeveloped stage, completely inexplicable. Most everyone of those
awe-inspiring set of fleshy globes separated by the mysterious, magnetic dark
cleft - that when the wearer was situated in certain positions would swallow up
the patch or string covering it - seemed to beckon to me. Driven by that calling
and a slew of nagging curiosities: 'what did they feel like, what smell did they
emit, how did they TASTE?', I began to venture out for a closer encounter with
an object of my wonder. Zeroing in on a face down woman tanning her back, I
would innocently run to retrieve an "errant" ball, strategically placed by my
own design near my target of bulging plumpness. Feigning clumsiness, I would
"trip" making sure that when I fell, my face would land smack in the middle of
her buttocks. Most would immediately shriek out. Knowing that my window of
opportunity was brief, I'd whiff in as quickly and as much as my little lungs
could take, before my startled "victim" would shift and look at me, blushing and
pure, holding my precious, strayed toy-ball, and giggle with relief. They always
showed the greatest concern for my condition without any suspicion of my true
motives. These forays culminated in one incident that will remain forever
ingrained in my mind. While sitting on our beach blanket, I spied a group of
teenage black girls who were just setting up for the day. They were all still on
their feet wearing the latest in bathing suit fashions. As I panned along their
lower torso's, scrutinizing each caboose, I came to one that must've set off
some kind of bizarre chemical reaction in me. It was the classic bubble-butt
that is characteristic of the African American female. It was an awesome vision:
two melon shaped hunks of tight, black beef protruding far beyond the confines
of the skimpy material around it. The rest of her wasn't fat at all, actually
quite petite. She and her friends were about 10 yards away from me and,
oblivious to the fact that I was gauging when this bearer of the most radical
rear end I'd ever seen would lower herself to the blanket. As she began to
squat, it happened. Some uncontrollable fuel pumped through my body and launched
me into a full on sprint and subsequent dive and roll, timed perfectly so that
most bulbous of butts plunked square on my upturned face. The ebony, teenage Ass
Queen initially squealed at the shock but her reflexes didn't immediately lift
her off. She looked down between those chocolate thighs at my face buried
beneath. A grin of amusement played on her lips as this time there was no stray
ball to fake finding. No, it was clear to her and her friends that this was a
purposeful invasion on my behalf. That I was right where I intended to be. She
gave my face a little grind and said something like, "Yuze a nasty lil' white
boy, aintcha, bitch...?" Then she stood as my mortified mother, now convinced
she had horribly perverted kid, ran up, apologizing profusely. As I was dragged
away, I glanced back at the girl with what must of been a dreamy look as she and
her friends reacted with raucous hoots and hollers. After that my folks gave me
all kinds of reprimand but did that quell my obsession...? Obviously not. That
was only the beginning. In the ensuing years of childhood, I developed an
intense interest in professional wrestling, especially women's wrestling. Any
time there was a female match on, I'd be glued to the tube and every so often I
was treated to the display of a face straddle. Later on, in that time of male
adolescence when young men begin expressing their sexuality to each other in the
most crass of terms, I felt set apart from my peers, maybe like that of a young
homosexual. While my "buds" were blustering about "feeling up knockers" and
giving "hot beef injections" to that girl or this one, my only fantasies around
the girls that attracted me, were of their asses squashing my face. It might be
worthy to briefly note the first time a female sat on me by her own volition,
without any manipulation on my part. It was in Jr. High school, during reading
period in the library. As was my daily habit, I lay on my back in a corner by
myself reading. One day, I felt a presence standing over me. I looked up and
standing there directly over my face, a female shod foot on either side, was
Lori. A tall, model-like blonde, one of the best looking girls in school who
because of my shyness had never before interacted with. Looking straight up
those long legs, beyond the hem of her skirt, I saw the breathtaking view of a
strip of cotton white panties disappearing into the skid-hole of a pert, young
tush. Lori bent over and leered down her button nose into my eyes. She uttered
the only words she ever spoke to me during the years we were in class together,
"Everyday I see you like this and everyday I think about doing this". With that,
she half squatted above me and knocked the book from my hands. Then, in one
sudden move, she dumped her firm, hard bum on my face. She just sat stock still
with her full weight for about a minute. I lay there beneath her, in this
position that previously could only be conceivable in fantasy, all light blotted
out, not daring to even draw a single breath. Then, she simply stood up, flashed
me a smirking smile and walked away. We never spoke again. I don't know if Lori
ever gave it another thought, but to me it was the highlight of my adolescence.
It fueled masturbation fantasies for years afterwards. Even more profound, the
incident was like a sign from a Higher Power that defined what my calling in
life was to be - seat cushion for a lady's backside. Apologies to the less
patient for the long digression. If you find this telling worthy of further
attention, hopefully this prelude detailing the history and depth of this
obsession of mine for face sitting will be appreciated when perusing the
upcoming passages. To review briefly: I was laid out on Ms. De LaPaz's sofa,
knees bent with a pillow propped on them. My Latin owner, had just taken her
place atop my body, back leaning against the pillow, sitting on me as one rests
on a pool lounge chair. Her wide, spongy bottom, dripping with fresh sweat from
her recent, vigorous workout was splayed across my face as she ate her dinner
while watching TV. Now, I had experienced many queenings at the hands of
professionals, and those times that my powers of persuasion were able to coax a
"vanilla" lover into the act. This was something different. Like Lori, the
beauty in Jr. High, Ms. De LaPaz had elected due to her own predilection to sit
on me. Add to this, the fact that I would be in her service for an indefinite
future, those first minutes beneath Ms. De LaPaz ass were something akin to a
religious experience. The brutal beating by her fists and feet that I had
minutes before endured, seemed like nothing more than a minor bump in the road
to this heavenly destination. Just a small price to pay to then find myself in a
state of unequaled emotional and sexual bliss. The luscious weight of her heated
body covered me like the ultimate blanket of warmth and security... the sopping
leotard bottoms dripped salted, delicious perspiration through my lips and onto
my waiting tongue... the unbelievably scrumptious female funk that seemed to
permeate my entire being. What more could a guy ask for!? Above, I could hear
the muffled TV and the clinking of silverware as Ms. De LaPaz dined comfortably
on her human divan. It sounded like a sitcom and when she shrieked with
laughter, the motion rippled down through her body, contacting her anus,
releasing a puff of its savory ripeness. At one point, a dainty little toot
snuck out that made me shiver with submissive amour. As was shown by the events
of the previous evening, a mere whiff of a woman's inner perfume can
instantaneously bring me to the bri
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