Femdom castration story

Added: Shalea Rhyne - Date: 16.04.2022 19:48 - Views: 20472 - Clicks: 6182

When I first met Patti, what excited me about her was her brashness; her uninhibitedness; her powerful self-will. We dated in the glorious mutual thrill of a new couple basking in lust and infatuation for about four months.

That was a long time to me. It Femdom castration story a record. Our first fights were over meaningless things, and their duration tended to reflect that. We both seemed to have perspective about the things we fought over, so we never became fierce with each other. At least not at first. We had little in common, now that I look back on it. We shared few interests. One thing we did share was our appetite for love-making, and our aggressive approach to sex: I was positively ravenous, and she matched my starved hunger.

In Femdom castration story, she sometimes exceeded it: I, after having my second ejaculation — at her strong, knowing hands; her daring, deep mouth; or her oven-like, commanding vagina — was often spent…but I could tell she wanted more. Left me as limp as a soggy six-inch french fry.

She was dissatisfied too, and she let me know it — with her eyes, her facial expressions, her body language. When I moved away to grad school in Oregon — we had lived in California — she came to visit me several times.

The distance put a strain on our relationship. Moreover, when she came to visit me, she was sexually starved; we had agreed not to see other people, and so our normally powerful appetites were almost insatiable. At least, hers was: I found — and maybe it was because I was so busy with school, my energy was depleted — I found I was still totally satiated with two orgasms or, on good days, three. I would cum, I would cum again, then collapse. She would lie there staring at me. Sometimes with obvious disappointment which I tried to ignore.

When I collapsed into utter tranquility after my second orgasm, she was still driven with libido: her body lay beside me like a neon question mark — not in the least bit placated. Her sex had soaked up everything I could provide it with, but she was still light years from the threshold of gratification.

She reached over, forcibly separated my partially closed legs, and put her right hand over my testicles. She actually shook my balls, and I jumped in response. Come on, Eric! Come on, baby, you just have to try! This made her laugh. She pressed her finger into the tender rope that extends beyond my penis. I felt myself grow slighly harder, and she drove me on: wrapping her fingers around my testicles like little pythons, gripping my penis like a dead microphone, thrusting an occasional finger at my anus.

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I felt like I was a scare-crow being raped, but her aggression gave me a new burst of erotic energy: my penis rose: and she got up and rode me to a third orgasm. Now I was finished. Over with. I felt like I had ejaculated barely half a teaspoon into her, but I was spent. Looking at her, to my disappointment, I saw she was still unsatisfied. Patti, that was three orgasms! I had had enough. I pulled away from her. This time she let me retreat.

But as I walked away — to the bathroom, to take a shower — I felt her eyes drilling into me. In the shower, with the bathroom door locked, I looked down at my penis. I tried stroking it, just to see if I could get it up again. Stupid woman. Stupid goddamn cunt. The rest of the day we hardly spoke. Oh, she said a lot, but Femdom castration story through words.

Then later, when I was walking out of the kitchen after preparing some of the ingredients for dinner, she blocked me in the doorway. I tried moving to the left, and she moved to the left: I tried moving to the Femdom castration story, and she moved to the right. But as I walked past her, she ran her fingers over my crotch. Not just brushingly: she plunged her middle finger deep between my legs, raced it over where my anus was, then lifted my testicles with her palm as she pulled it back.

Then she stared me in the face. I tried to totally ignore her: I had never known her to be this hostile before. She stood there, staring at me, then laughed. I ignored this. I felt myself blushing again, and she left me alone. Sitting there, I envisioned my penis, hanging between my legs — my manhood: a tiny piece of flesh, unable to get hard enough to satisfy her. Taunted by her. A limp little thing. I became anxious toward bedtime. She would want me to have sex with her, but I was wounded; I felt like she had totally humbled me — buried my masculinity in inferiority.

How could I be agrressive now? I was obviously not the sexually dominant party. And how much could I deliver anyway? But if she made moves on me, I would feel like I had to redeem myself. What would she do then? She had gotten really impatient with me earlier; what if she got more impatient now?

I recognized two kinds of feelings in myself now: Anger at her for belittling me, even if it was deserved: and fear. For the first time, I recognized that I was afraid of a woman. She had the power to make me feel totally inadequate. There was no way I could take away her femininity, but she — a strong woman — could strip me of my masculinity with just a few moments in the sack. I castrated you. She lay in bed, naked. The only light on was my reading lamp. I would look ridiculous — I always slept naked, as did she.

So I pulled down my boxers. As I reached for the light — before getting into bed — I saw her staring at my crotch. At my flaccid penis. She had a look of hostile disappointment. I lay on my back, rigidly.

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I began to think she was just going to let me go to sleep, without trying to have sex with my again. But then, while my mind slowly dissolved into sleep, while I lay on my side facing away from her, I felt her turn over, and she banged her knee against my ass. I was jolted into fearful awakeness. But then it happened again: harder. And — maybe it was the darkness, maybe it was my total confusion about what was going on — I felt tears well up in my eyes. But then she did it again — this time making sure to drive her knee evenly between my buttocks but mercifully not striking my balls. Against my will, I cried out.

I could feel her firm breasts pushing into my back. She made a couple of little thrusts against my ass with her pelvis, then reached around my waist for my testicles. I sandwiched them between my legs hard — it hurt, but I felt safer. She instantly recognized what I was doing, and yanked ferociously on my penis. She laughed, and tugged me more. But I realized she could wail on my penis all she wanted; it was, compared to my balls, invulnerable. I kept my legs closed, even if crushing my nuts slightly. She would have none of it.

Of course my scrotum was still partly Femdom castration story, and she drove her fingernails into it, until I had to yield to her. I was starting to cry; I opened my legs for her, and she was not in the least bit merciful because I surrendered: she grabbed my nuts in her fist and chuckled.

Are you going to pretend to be a man and satisfy me, or am I going to take the broomstick from the closet, gag you with a fucking towel, then ream you until you bleed all over the floor? I heard myself whimpering, and I heard her laughing. I should never have gotten involved with a boy as dickless as you. I could eat your little nuts for a snack. I heard myself weeping.

She held me around the waist, gripping my weak masculine flesh — utterly dominating me. Femdom castration story cried out; I felt like she broke skin, made me bleed. Men are supposed to have greater upper body strength than women. She lept off the bed, then commanded me to get to my feet. Get on your fucking feet! If I could beat her, she would never, ever, speak or act disrespectfully toward me again.

And, with that preamble, she engaged me in combat. She circled me — I was still rather dazed — and took a couple of swipes at my head. She grabbed me by the arm, twisted it behind me, put her foot around my ankles and tripped me to the floor. When I was down, afraid to get back up, she slammed her foot into my rear end four times in rapid succession. I howled in pain and humiliation. Then she bent down and slammed her fist into my mouth: instantly I tasted blood, mingled with tears. She got me standing, then pounded my shoulders a few times. I felt myself swaying this way and that, nearly falling over.

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Go for it! Try to hurt me, little man! I dare you. I was already defeated; I was crushed; rendered as useless as any man confronted with the natural superiority of womanhood. So I swung a lazy fist at her. To my dazed amazement, I hit her on the side of the face, and she toppled. She let out a pathetic moan, and had to support herself on a chest of drawers. And suddenly I was alive again. Suddenly, I was a man again.

Femdom castration story

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