Disclaimer:(standard) Do not screw up. Do not do anything illegal.
 This includes specifically (but not limited to) reading on if you are 
under 18- 21 in some localities  If you are underage you must leave 
now. If you're young and curious, this is not the place to get the 
straight story. You act like this and people will look at you strange 
and give you a wide berth. Also, don't try this at home. Some of this 
stuff is just plain wrong, most of it is unsafe in the present viral 
climate and some of it doesn't work in this universe. They are stories. 
They deal with ideas, fantasies and thoughts that might not even be 
pleasant in real life. Thoughts are like that. Fantasies are there so we 
can toy with the sensations without feeling or inflicting the pain, 
despair or humiliation. End Sermon.

			Browbeaten III
		Denise, you fucking slut- dig us the dirt!
	Jim Manners is a dork. I guess most women would find him 
cute and a good catch because he's so steady and sincere, but he's a 
dork.	I'm a fucking note on men's room walls world-wide and it takes 
him almost a month of working with him one on one in a small office 
for him to get in my pants. And that after I'd fucked nine of his 
colleagues at a Christmas party. Most other women might say that was 
cute, but even they prefer a dog of a guy that they can pussywhip into 
shape.
	Not that I'm saying Jim is a bad person. He tries so hard to be a 
nice guy that he's a nebbish. It's just a little frustrating and boring to see 
him try to bend and twist himself around me when he should spend his 
time just boning me until his balls shrivel.
	I'm comfortable with that. I've always tried to be a sex toy. It is 
true that men want a sex toy, but don't know how to really play with 
one, but Jim goes beyond that. I guess he wants to be the knight in 
shining armor rescuing women or something. Unfortunately, I don't 
like that game.
	But deep down there is a man in that body. I just have to 
frustrate the engineer to get to him. That was the case when I screwed 
up his test data for the third time and he started it all. A little of the evil 
boy showed through when he took me home the first time and had me 
service him, but then I had to frustrate him again. I thought he was 
going to bone me up the butt, but the 'nice guy' took over again and he 
just screwed me.
	He works too hard at trying to communicate with me when he 
should be just telling me what he wants. What's mutual about orgasm? 
It must be some stud thing to have a woman screaming for your sex, 
but it's not in my head. God damn! I make it easy, why can't he be 
happy with that?
	I even went so far as to give him his damn report, being careful 
to stay in my idiom and damn little came from that. Christ! My history 
is the history of a sex toy and all he wants is for me to parade around 
naked once a week or so. Maybe fantasies are great, but I can't believe 
they're better than actually boning me six ways to Sunday.
	Whatever. I don't have to frustrate myself. I just chalk it up to 
his being a dork and wait for the next thing to happen. Perhaps down 
the road he will get with the program. He shows flashes of promise 
from time to time, but there's too much of the other for my taste.

-----------------------------the revelation of St. Dick the erect-----------
 1.	He wants a fucking sex slave, not a love doll. I'm supposed to 
do for him rather than let him do to me. That is bogus and it won't fly.
 2.	Halleluia! I've found the key. Just to the east of the evening star 
and on to morning. He has to write me off as a salvage project and see 
me as a lump of meat. Frustration is the key.
 3.	Take my hand and we're halfway there. Frustration may have 
been the key, but pissed off kicks the door open. Bouncy and attentive 
and looking like a real girl, I still don't respond except to a command and
 it really gets his goat. Evil Jim takes over and I'm in heaven.
 4.	He's bought the barn. I'm not Denise anymore. I don't go to 
work anymore. I am Denise (understood) in any command aimed near 
me and I only go to the office to sit naked in a corner in case he wants 
to bone me.
 5.	It's a fucking dream. Has he given up hope of redemption and 
given over his soul to his evil lust? Has he given up the thought that I'm 
redeemable? Has he progressed to thinking of me as an office 
accessory? I don't care! He tells me where to stand and he takes me the 
way he wants. All in all it is very satisfactory.
----------------------------------Denise the office cunt----------------
	Mr. Manners is far exceeding my best expectations. In the past, 
the ones with the greatest potential were the quickest to go and those 
that were drawn to my willess submission had little imagination in how 
to use me. Mr. Manners had adapted well to the problem of fun and 
games with a sex toy. I sense no self-consciousness and as much 
realization that I am a being in the games he devises for himself.
	He is careful not to hurt me except in the throes of excitement, 
and in that case he doesn't have a chance of doing me any damage. He 
gives his all, but I am certainly tough enough to take more than he can 
give me without being even ruffled. And I suspect he's been doing 
some reading because he becomes more adventurous.
	Well, that's the reward I get for my years of acquiescence! I 
have finally been shown the point of bondage. Each time before, the 
man was derailed by my calm acceptance. Mr. Manners found the way 
to make that less than a footnote. He wasn't dealing with me anyway, 
just the body in his control.
	With his planning skills, you could trace his thinking. It started 
in the support contraption. It looked like it had just popped off a 
blueprint from the office. I know Mr. Manners and I know it was 
designed to hold three times my weight- maybe three times our 
combined weight. And of course it was adjustable to fractions of an 
inch. It was also comfortable- if you can say that of a device designed 
to hang you by your wrists and ankles.
	Anyway, the contraption itself was not painful. Mr. Manners 
had designed supports that gripped without pulling and the only tension 
was on my shoulder and hip joints which were supporting my body. 
Then he folded something and my ankles were raised higher than my 
head and pushed back a bit. He had found the way around my 
compliance.
	In my present position, compliance was a moot point. My 
bottom was offered to him for his free use. I understood my 
helplessness better swinging unsupported and open for that use. 
Struggling may have made it more enticing, but the way he took me 
told me having the cunt for his convenience was good enough.
	I couldn't have stopped swinging in the chains if I had tried. He 
banged into me while holding the chains that supported my ankles and 
every thrust rocked me up and let me fall back to slam against him 
advancing at me again. He was quite energetic with his quick, double 
thrusts and I felt this scene was releasing the animal in him.
	In a sense, he had reduced me to what I had reduced myself to. 
I was a sheath to take his sword. A very-warm-place to hide his tally-
whacker, his personal divine two square inches, I was just a cunt for 
him to fuck. This contraption made it convenient for him to fuck me 
and it occurred to me that this was the point of this bondage stuff. I 
was reduced to cunt and he had a cunt to fuck. Just him and his cunt to 
fuck.
	Somehow bondage and I were a perfect match. 
	It wouldn't have mattered to me how he had done it. I would 
have bent over for him or laid on my belly. He didn't need even that 
much compliance. He put the ankles back a click and I felt his cock 
pressing at my anus. With my ankles over my shoulders, I couldn't 
have been more open. I don't think I could have opened myself as 
wide. Not that it mattered. He pushed past the first resistance with 
steady pressure and then teased me by moving it up and down as he 
waited for the sphincter to relent.
	It was quite easy then. He must have added some lubricant to 
the secretions of my pussy because it was an easy, smooth slide until I 
felt his pubic hair tickling my cunt. And he much liked it. There was 
not so much swinging as he pounded against my bottom. His thrusts 
were so much up into me that only his thighs bumping my buttocks 
made me sway ever so slightly. For my part it was an eye-opener. It 
was a different direction from any rabid butt-fucking I had had before. 
All the other butt-fucking brutes had bent over my back and pounded 
toward my spine. In my present position, Mr. Manners was pounding 
up into my womb and female plumbing and it gave me an eerie feeling.
	That was as nothing when he moved my ankles back. Now his 
thrusts ran along all my female organs and his belly rhythmically 
brushed my clit. The eerie feeling rose toward climax. The animal 
loose, he used my breasts like appliances, grabbing them and using 
them to pull me onto his fierce attack. I was losing the urgency of 
orgasm, but he fixed that as he neared his own peak. Poised on his 
climax, he thrust long, hard and deliberately into me as his thumb came 
down to rub my clit. When he brought me to my shuddering 
conclusion, he made the desperate thrusts that took him over the top, 
jolting me in my chains so that I flopped disjointedly in my bonds as he 
buried his bone and anointed my colon.
	He had come quite a ways from strip and stand around naked. 
He showed me how a cock felt ramming down my throat as my head 
hung down and my body rocked in the chains as well that night. But he 
had just arrived in the land of right thinking. Now over his silly 
attempts to make me a person, there were many treats in store.