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Here is an excerpt from my new book:
Female Domination: Short Stories Vol. I Illustrated by Sardax
ISBN: 978-1-934446-40-9
Available at Amazon
Cuckold Date by Constance Pennington Smythe
He hated the rubber gag. Hated the way it tasted. Hated the way it made him drool. Most of all he hated the way it filled him, pushing his tongue to the bottom of his mouth and filling his cheeks so he looked like some version of a feminized and sissified Dizzy Gillespe.
She held the rubber pump ball in her hand, her fingers lightly curled over it. Her creamy skin and blood-red nails provided a stark contrast to the black, mottled surface of the ball. She slightly tugged the hose to his gag pulling his head forward. This close to her he smelled the fragrance of her bath soap, took in the hint of her perfume from the labored breathing through his nose.
“Too tight?” she mocked in her sing-song voice. It was meant to be pleasing and girly, but nothing she did would ever hide the menacing derision in her tone. Their innocent sex games had long ago taken a wicked turn that brought them to this point; Dominant Evil Mistress and submissive sissy maid. Tonight’s celebration would mark another relationship milestone: CUCKOLD.
The fingers of her free hand found his nipple and gave it a vicious pinch. “I asked if it was too tight!” The melodious voice was gone, replaced by one evoking terror.
He never knew how to answer. There was NEVER a right answer, she would twist and turn his responses, always taking him where SHE wanted to go. He shook his head no, his eyes telling her that the gag wasn’t too tight, that he would bear the discomfort - for HER.
It was exactly the response she’d wanted, although she always made him pay, and dearly, no matter what the response. “No?” the sing-song voice returned. “Then let’s give it a couple more pumps…shall we?” She cocked her head, her eyes narrowing and her lips forming a thin, cruel smile. She loved this moment, when the realization set in, when he realized the trap had been set and shut, when his eyes pleaded with her, for mercy, for compassion. Sorry, baby, not today, time to suffer.
She squeezed the ball violently, the veins in her hand rising as she clamped down. The whisper of air down the tube was followed by his moans as the gag expanded. His eyes went wide and his “mmpphh, mmpphh” noises brought a chuckle to her lips. “Darling, I can’t understand a word you’re saying.” The second squeeze made his eyes water.
A perfectly manicured finger wiped away a tear and rubbed on the tip of his nose. “Yes, I believe that’s better.” Her hand grazed his swollen cheeks, the fingers slowly tracing over the skin stretched so tight, “Perhaps a bit of color on those puffy little cheeks.” She took a brush and some blush from her dressing table, “A bit of color for my sissy slut.” When she finished, his cheeks were beautifully rendered with a peach blush, further enhancing their enormous size.
With a quick tug on his leash she pulled him to his knees. At a regal five-ten, Samantha Dillon was already taller than her five-eight husband, Ted. But she loomed like a Goddess when she stood in her high-heeled bedroom slippers above her kneeling mate. She paused to look in the mirror, pleased with what she saw. Although in her early 40’s she still had the looks and body of a thirty year old. A mane of dark brown hair fell to creamy white shoulders and her green eyes caught the light in a metallic shimmer that enhanced their color and depth. The mirror revealed the creature at her feet, naked save for his collar and a plastic chastity device. Won’t be needing ‘that’ any more. Her left hand held the pink leather handle of a chain leash, its other end firmly affixed to the stiff, pink posture collar around the neck of her husband.
Husband? Well, on paper – legally. Now…now he’s my slave, my obedient and willing slave. In her mind Ted Dillon was rapidly sinking away. He still had a bit of a paunch, but even that was disappearing, now that she had him on a strict diet and exercise regime. His hair was starting to grow and his eyebrows were carefully plucked. Some women in his office had remarked on his new look, but the men were oblivious, thinking he was simply turning into some sort of neat freak. Tedi is what he will become, my androgynous sissy slut, devoting his life, his very existence – to ME.
She gave the leash another tug and led her crawling husband to the boudoir chair in the corner of the bedroom, HER bedroom, having long ago removed him to a smaller bedroom. A cursory inspection revealed that he had prepared the scene according to her instructions: crystal dish, manicure scissors, cigarettes, ash tray, chilled water and cell phone.
She took her seat in the exquisite chair of carved mahogany and rich brocade fabric. Her hand tugged his leash, pulling him forward as she slowly spread her legs and led his face to within inches of her bushy mound. “Oh yes, I know how much you want this,” she chided. “But this, this is a clean pussy, baby, fresh from the bath. Do sissy sluts get clean pussies?”
His eyes never met hers; instead they were transfixed to the shiny brown hairs before him. The scent of her sex mixed with that of her bath soap, and he felt his cock struggle fruitlessly in its plastic confines. He shook his head back and forth, acknowledging that he understood he’d forever lost access to his wife…and to his own sex.
“Sluts get left-overs.” She reached down to pat his head; he was her pet, her toy. “And cuckolds get cream pies - don’t they?”
He nodded again, the movement of his head wafting her scent around him. He felt as if he would go mad with desire – and frustration.
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