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Subject: RP Estragon's Memories 2/7 Femdom
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RP Estragon's Memories 2/7 Femdom


But we did take him back with us to Leila's. It wasn't that far, a
bus-ride. And on the way Leila kept telling him what she and I intended
and expected, and Josh kept nodding and saying, "Uh-huh, okay." 

"When we get there, Joshie, you'll take all your clothes off." 

"Uh-huh. Okay." 

"Without being told again...."

"Uh-huh."

"And you'll give them all to Erica and she'll go and hide them."

"Okay."

"Then you'll stand at attention like a soldier and let us look you over."

"Okay. Uh-huh."

"Then we'll ask you to do things...."

"Uh-huh."

"Things you may find embarrassing...."

"Uh-huh. That's okay, Leila..."

"I'm older than you, Joshie. Say ŒMa'am.'"

"Ma'am. Uh-huh. Okay. Ma'am."

Josh stripped down the minute we crossed the threshold. He gave me his
clothes, shoes, everything, and I went and hid them in Leila's mom's
hamper. When I came back, Josh was standing at full attention, his legs
squeezed together, his hands at his side. His penis was not incredibly big
or thick, but it was sticking out hard, and his testicles were tucked up
against it in their tight little bag. Neither of us girls had ever really
seen this male set-up naked before, but we were determined to play it
cool. Leila was sitting at the table eating some yoghurt. She actually had
her back to Josh. I took her cue. I walked to the table and stood next to
her with my back to Josh also.

"Hi, Erica," she said. "Is he on his toes?"

I turned to check. Josh quickly lifted himself onto his toes. "I didn't
know...," he said.

"Shhh!" Leila said. "I'm checking the tv-listings."

"Sorry...," Josh said.

Leila jumped up from the table, grabbed my wrist and pulled me with her as
she sped across the room, and planted herself squarely in front of the boy
on his toes. Leila took his chin in her hand and held his head steady for
a minute, staring Josh down. Then, all at once, she gave his penis a
tremendous slap and Josh yelped like the puppy he was.

"First of all, shut-up," Leila said. "Second of all, say ŒMa'am'." 

Josh said, "Ma'am," in a whispery little growl, as if he wasn't sure this
was the right time for it. Leila looked terribly annoyed. I noticed that
she was still holding her yoghurt-spoon. 

"Stay still, Joshie," she said.

"Yes, ma'am." He seemed happy to have a chance to say the words out loud.

Leila took a few steps back and looked Josh up and down. He was on his
toes, but getting wobbly, partly from nerves probably and partly from
fatigue. Leila held out her arm full-length, with the spoon in her hand,
as if she was measuring the space between her and Josh. It was a little
like someone getting ready to drive a golf-ball, moving her arm slowly,
squinting into the distance - which in this case was only as far as the
boy's sex organs. And I watched it all as if I'd seen things like this so
many times I'd rather watch paint dry. The interesting thing is, even
though I'd never seen a live naked male before, pretending that I'd seen
plenty, in just this same slavish state Josh was in, made the whole thing
more fascinating than it would have been if I'd just stared and stared at
his penis and balls like an amazed little girl. I liked turning away from
Josh's things, getting a quick look at his erection and recording it in my
mind and then turning my back on it. I didn't care half as much how Josh
looked as I did that he was shivering naked on his toes wishing I cared.
There's something amazing about knowing that a penis is throbbing for you
- behind your back! I've never forgotten that. 

Leila finally stepped back towards Josh. He was trying to stand tall the
way she wanted him. His penis twitched a few times. How it wanted Leila
and my attention, probably our touch! And it got that right away. Leila
sort of lifted it away from Josh's balls and exposed his tight sack to
full view. She held his penis against his belly, pushing it into his
little bit of useless male pubic hair. This caused his testicles to lift
somewhat too. Then Leila asked me to take over the job of holding Josh's
penis flat against him. The boy was moaning and sighing and nervously
clearing his throat. He kept saying, "Oh, oh...," and his penis-tip became
wet. Since I was pinning up Josh's penis with just a couple of fingers on
its underside, Leila could see what was happening to it very well. 

"Don't you squirt anything, little boy," she said.

"Okay," he gurgled, "Uh-huh, Ma'am." 

Leila positioned herself a few inches in front of Josh. "Stay on your
toes, little boy," she said.

"Œkay, Ma'am," he rasped.

"Maybe you'd better cover his mouth," Leila said to me. I glanced down and
saw what she was about to do. I covered Josh's mouth with my free hand and
thought it was probably just as well if I also pressed his head upwards
while I did it, so he couldn't look down. The kid was getting scared. I
could feel him shaking a little, and there was sweat on his face.

I kept Josh from looking down, but I looked all I wanted. With one fist
Leila was holding the spoon in a tight grip to the side of Josh's
testicles, and with a few fingers of the other hand she was holding the
utensil back, with the hollow part facing away from the kid's sex organs,
getting ready to sling the round side against Joshua's balls. Josh knew
something more than just embarrassing was about to happen, and his
breathing got ragged. Leila did nothing for a while, building up the kid's
fear. I could feel his tiny breaths against my palm. When Leila coughed,
he practically fainted.

"Erica and I have something we want to do to you, little boy," Leila said.
"I'll tell you the truth, I don't think you're going to like it that much.
But if you remember that it's us girls doing it, and you know you like US,
and this is something WE like, then maybe you can learn to like it too."

Josh was really shaking. Leila's soothing words weren't doing the trick.
Then she said, "Here's an idea, Joshie. What do you think about you
deciding WHEN Erica and I do it? What do you think? You'll say, ŒNow!' and
it will happen."

Josh tried to nod, to the extent that I was letting him move his head.
"Great," Leila said. "Whenever you're ready, Joshie. Just don't go down
off your toes."

He tried to nod again. I made a tight seal on his mouth with my hand and
pushed his head far back, so if his eyes were open he was looking at the
ceiling. I was looking down at Leila's hands and the spoon mostly, but
when I did look at Josh's face, it was all closed up, his eyes squeezed
shut. He looked like someone waiting for the worst. Then he said, "Okay,
now!" as loud as he could through his covered mouth, which wasn't very
forceful, and he tightened his face even more in anticipation of the
terrible thing he'd asked for. And Leila, that devil, did nothing -
nothing except wink at me, and I understood.

Leila and I didn't budge. You could feel the boy's confusion. "We were
just testing you, Joshie," Leila said finally. She meant that we never had
any intention of letting him call the shot. But the way he let out a sigh
of relief made me think that he thought she meant we weren't really going
to hurt him. He felt so good about that that he doubled his effort to
cooperate. He stood taller on his toes, his legs and stomach stiff. It was
a posture made to worsen the pain he was about to feel. There was no give
in it. Leila looked at me and smiled. I understood that it was up to me.
We were both extra quiet. The hush disconcerted the boy on his toes. Then
I gave Leila a nod and she let the spoon go cracking against Josh's left
testicle. 

He squealed in pain and doubled over, not only coming off his toes but
sinking a little toward the floor. Leila told him - absolutely commanded
him - not to go down, and he really tried not to. He kept struggling to
unbend his waist and knees, but his whole body wanted to sink. It was a
strange sight, this boy bending and crouching to his knees, then jerking
himself part way up again with obvious difficulty, then giving up and
crumbling, and on and on. His erection also disappeared and his penis
shrivelled into nothing. He couldn't help himself: he brought his hands
down to his sex organs and cupped his hurt balls in them. He was crying
and saying, "Oh, God...." Leila bent down and removed his hands from the
region. 

"No hiding," she said. The boy was helpless. Leila took the spoon, the
hollow part this time, and scooped up his balls from behind. I thought she
was driving it into him pretty deep because Josh winced several times. But
he didn't try to stop her or move in any way. He went on crying, and it
was as if the extra pain she was causing him now digging the edge of the
spoon into his nuts was something he just accepted as his lot in life.
That's how Leila and I interpreted it later. We told ourselves that we had
taught this kid to accept his fate as a male. I think there was something
to this explanation, because eventually Leila handed the spoon over to
Josh and told him to keep doing with it just what she was doing. And he
obeyed, whimpering and hurting himself while we watched for a long time
without cracking a smile.

When we started to get tired of it, Leila said to me, as if Josh wasn't
even around, "I told you we shouldn't fuck with children." She winked.
"Who needs it?"

"You were right," I said.

Then we gave him his clothes and sent him home. Leila said, "Just
remember, Joshie. If anyone asks you if you've ever been pussy-whipped,
you can hold your head up high and proudly say, ŒI sure have.'"

He staggered out, totally confused and pretty clearly in pain. 

"Okay," he said. "Uh-huh, I will...Ma'am."

"Seriously, though," Leila said when he was gone, "we have to set our
sights a little higher."

"What about a college-boy?" I said.



end of part two
Estragon: Memories of Underdevelopment, III/7  (femdom) 

(Copyright 1996, 1997 Estragon Productions
For adults only)


With Josh gone and my new thought about trying out our power on a
college-boy in the air, Leila and I stripped down and hurried to her bed,
where we took our usual position cross-wise. We liked the way letting our
legs hang over the side of the bed made our mounds feel high and dominant.
Somewhere along the way, while I blinked, I guess, Leila that smoothie had
managed to lube her finger, because she had no trouble slipping it deep
into my anal hole even though my reflexes squeezed against it. With her
other hand she played with my lips a bit and then slipped a finger well
into my slot. Leila had fantastically beautiful fingers, long for a
fifteen-year-old, but when she entered me, I wished to God they were
longer. My vadge just opened up for her and I got as wet as a girl can
get. Leila said the stickiness made my straight Korean pubic hair stand up
like a widow's peak. She said my vaginal juice was like hair-gel that gave
my triangle a nice stiff glaze. She was pressing her two finger-tips
together, the one in my slot and the other in my anus, making them touch
with only the thin wall of my vadge between them. It was so exquisite it
made me feel faint. I had a finger in Leila's slot too, circling her clit
and going in and out, but I was so dazed by what she was doing to me I
could hardly concentrate on returning the favor. 

Leila seemed satisfied, though. She kept talking and even got me to talk.
She went over all the things we did to Josh, bringing out details that
were exciting to remember even if they passed by quickly when we were
actually making a wreck of the boy. Again and again she went over the way
he buckled after she snapped her spoon against his testicles. 

"God, the way he kept dipping and rising," she said, "it could make you
sea-sick. But I got such a thrill from it, I have to say. One fast little
ping against his naked nut was all it took. He had no control over himself
and he couldn't believe it and he kept trying to get control - just so he
could do what WE wanted, just so he could obey - , and he kept dipping and
lifting like a weird machine. I'm sure the pain was excruciating. I don't
think a girl can imagine pain like that, so awful and so easy to create. I
just don't see how anyone could question even for a second that people who
are made to be hurt that easily are basically the slaves of the people who
aren't." 

Talking like that, maybe with a little help from my not-very-busy finger,
made Leila pretty wet too. Between the two of us, we filled the room with
girl-perfume, which we enjoyed inhaling noisily. We took deep, long
breaths as the air got tangier, and said "Wow," and "Isn't it incredible?"
as the scent we got from bottles mixed with the scent our vaginas made. It
was like an ocean breeze. It made you glad you were born a woman. I loved
everything that made me one. And everything that made Leila one. I took my
free hand and started pressing and massaging her all over - the flat,
hairless stomach above her sprouting mound, the nipples, the shaved
arm-pits, all the things that went to make up a girl, a woman. I thought
about Joshie's stupid-looking body. Not only how ridiculous his sex organs
looked, just stuck there for all to see and do to, but his even more
ridiculous body hair. He didn't have a lot yet, but you could see the
pattern already. Everywhere Leila and I were smooth, the boy was growing
hair - or HAIRS, I should say, because they were dark and individual and
ugly, not soft and silken like ours. And the pubic hair was the most
pointless growth of all, covering everything EXCEPT what the male would
have liked to have covered. Surrounding his penis and balls like a little
hairy frame, refusing to hide them, actually making sure they stood out. 

Naturally, Leila read my mind. "My real plan was to shave Josh's pubic
hair and then masturbate him raw with a hairbrush until he shot his
sperm...if he had any sperm to shoot...." 

"I would have liked to see him shoot," I said. "I imagine a guy looks even
more totally helpless then, with gunk flying out of him...." 

"And his gum-balls jiggling and churning up the stuff without a bit of
shame....I really wanted to get that far with Josh - make him shoot for us
and scuff his dick while we were at it - but he was such a wreck by then,
what was the point?" 

"Like my mom says, there's plenty of fish in the sea....And plenty of
slobber in their balls...."

"Your mom says that too?"

"Maybe not, but I bet she thinks it."

"So how do we get our college-boy?" Leila said. 

"We don't, until September," I said.

"But then how?"

"What's wrong with the usual? Go up to the U and hang around the student
center and give some math-genius a hard-on...." 

"I'm not into it," Leila said. "The U isn't like the music store. It's not
our turf. We'll feel out of place and weak." 

"What then?" I said.

"I mean, we'll go up there, sure," Leila said. "But just to pin an ad up
on the bulletin-board...." 

"An ad?" I said. "What do we say in it? ŒCollege-boy needed to be treated
like a slave and be teased and tortured and humiliated by two little
bitches five years younger than him'?" 

"That would work," Leila said. "No, really. I bet it would. And I am for
the direct approach. Why fuck around with guys who haven't a clue? But
maybe it's better to give them just a clue and no more than that, you
know. I mean, guys really want to let go and stop pretending they're on
top, and if we advertised up front the way you put it, I'm completely sure
we'd get plenty of calls. ŒYeah, Miss, I do want you to humiliate me and
make me helpless, now that you ask. Always have, just didn't feel right
bringing it up in front of my friends.' I'm telling you, Erica, it would
happen. It would. But maybe we want to tease them up right in the ad. In
words. Something like this: ŒCollege male wanted to pose live...'." 

"ŒTo pose live...'? What does that mean?" 

"You know, that's what they call nude - Œlive-drawing,' something like
that. Œ...to pose live for young art-students....'" 

"ŒYoung FEMALE art-students,'" I said.

"Right. We'll put Œfemale' in parentheses, as if it's not a big deal.
Œ...to pose live for young art-students, parenthesis female end
parenthesis.' I like that touch. ŒOh, yeah, by the way, we're girls, Mr.
Slave-to-be. Can you relate?' I like it. ŒExperience not required,
but....' But what? But what? How about this? ŒMature and highly
cooperative attitude essential. Also must be over nineteen.'" 

I told Leila I loved it. "It'll make them know and not know at the same
time." 

"See, that's just the trick," Leila said. "Something inside a male makes
him work against himself and for us...makes him spin in circles and then
he's the weak one. I'm telling you, Erica, he may act surprised when he
hears what we're after, but inside he'll be thinking it's just what he was
hoping for." 

""What about adding under the phone-number, ŒAll calls strictly
confidential'?" I said. 

"Beautiful," Leila said. "I can't wait." 

"So what do we do till September?" I said. 

Leila and I had gotten so absorbed in our discussion that we'd more or
less stopped playing with each other's vadge. But now she suddenly drove
her finger deep into me again, making me gasp. 

"We do lots of THIS," she said. "And we practice on the lads at the
store." She seemed very pleased with herself for calling boys "lads," and
from that moment on that was our semi-private word for males our own age
or younger. After that we came up with all kinds of code-words that we
could use right in front of males and they'd know we were showing our
contempt. We started calling a boy's sex organs "The Frick Collection"
(which was this famous art-museum and I don't know exactly why we said
this, except that it sounded right and suggested things without saying
them). So we'd say, just for example, right in front of a boy one of us
thought we should dominate, "Hey, Leila, wouldn't you like to go see the
Frick Collection today?" And she'd say, "I would" or "I wouldn't,"
depending on what she thought about the boy, and he'd be hearing this and
feeling very mortified. 

And we had other code-words too. We were always making them up and
changing them: "don" for a hard penis, which changed into "Donald," which
made a soft penis a "Trump," which we liked because it rhymed with
"slump." For a while we were calling a boy's testicles his "mommies,"
because a girl didn't have to do much to them to send the boy home crying.
We also liked the fact that these male sex organs could have names with
female meanings. Or actual female names. Leila thought it was very
important to get in the fact that a male's organs forced the truth about
his need to be our slave out of him. They made him frank - so we called
his penis his "Frankie" or just "Francine." They made him truthful, so we
called it "Trudy." Like that. Although these names didn't always stick.
But that was the idea, and it did make "lads" feel small and dumb to hear
us talk about taking them to the Frick Collection and checking out the
mommies there and maybe making Donald go Trump. Once a boy caught on to a
code-word, we'd drop it and figure out something else. Like the time when
this sixteen-year-old athletic type stripped down for us and his penis was
so small Leila couldn't help herself and said, "God, I didn't know
Francine was such a little girl!" And the boy knew because he knew he was
small and it was probably always on his stupid mind. So that was the end
of Francine also known as Frankie. 

Almost every time we played our "If you had a penis game," eventually one
of us would say, "Okay, it's time to visit the lads," and we'd go downtown
and end up taking a boy back home with us and teasing him with little
strokes and also false promises at first (which we never actually made,
only implied), to get him out of his clothes, and then, after a while,
he'd realize we were never going to get out of ours - but by then he'd be
so crazy with excitement he'd be helpless. He'd just want relief - that's
what males always want when we have them so aroused they're starting to
feel this compulsion to blurt out how they're our slaves and we can do
anything to them (as if we didn't notice). They want to come quick and get
rid of the arousal before it's too late and they've up and said it and
maybe we have it on tape. What do they think? Girls don't know all this?
This big, mysterious male "need for relief" that everyone is supposed to
respect - it's nothing but a pretentious way of trying to escape from our
power. The power of women. What "relief" is really is premature
ejaculation. Always. No matter if it takes days. 

But even the bitchiest girl has a kindly side. We have to admit that, at
least to one another. So eventually Leila and I would tell the naked lad
that he could jerk off in front of us provided he did it while we counted,
say, to fifty, or maybe five hundred, and he absolutely had to shoot on
the last number or accept punishment - a slap in the face, a kick in the
balls, an out-and-out old-fashioned spanking, whatever. But he definitely
had to agree to this ahead of time and "be a man about it," as Leila
always expressed it to him, and take what's coming without begging off. 

Needless to say, most boys had ridiculous timing. Sometimes they were so
excited they just shot the minute they started pumping. Sometimes the
embarrassment of doing it while two girls stared at him with cold, pouting
faces made a boy go soft, even though he'd been hard and helpless and
begging for it on his knees three seconds before. So he truly had to jerk
himself, pulling and yanking his softy in a way that didn't look pleasant
at all. And THEN, after punishing himself like that, he had to take worse
from Leila and me. We actually would make a boy shave, then slather his
penis and surroundings with hot-rub or pepper sauce and put on rubber
gloves and wet the palms and slap his reddened thing around, and he would
be trying to keep his side of the bargain (and maybe deep inside he did
know it was a bargain at that, since it was letting him be what a male
person truly is!) by standing there taking it, wincing and letting out
these high-pitched, so-called girlish squeals that I've only ever heard
from boys. 


So September came, none too soon, because Leila and I were getting pretty
tired of high-school lads and all their non-sched jacules. A lot of our
time on Leila's bed was spent talking about the college-boy, the
college-boy, what we'd do to the college-boy. Or more than one, maybe a
whole little army of college-boys, out-doing one another to keep two
teen-age mega-bitches happy. Leila's older brother started college himself
that year, and the day he left, practically the first day of classes at
the University uptown, we dressed up in short skirts and tights and boots
with heels, put on fabulous make-up and perfume and went up to the student
center. There were plenty of people there, plenty of girls older than us,
but Leila and I still got lots of stares from males - and not only from
students either, but from men who looked as though they had to be
professors anyhow. You could practically see their mouths water and their
knees buckle. They hardly even tried to hide it. We were surprised at that
from such people, but it was so. We pinned up our ad - guys started in
reading it right away, I guess because they wondered about us - and sat
down at a table with some coffee. The place was bustling, and I have to
say there were many, many pretty girls around, a number of them just the
type of women Leila and I liked to study in the department stores. But it
suddenly came to us that we were just the same, we were such women now
too. We didn't feel nearly as weak or out-of-place as we'd expected. We
sat with our coffee and showed the world our long legs, and we wore cool,
conceited faces and acted lost in one another's company, and men of all
ages gave us that look that says, "Just kill me now and take me out of my
misery." We were killer ice-babies. We'd gore you and they wouldn't find a
clue. Every now and then some guy would read our ad and someone would
point toward us and he would just stare a while, then read the ad again.
Finally, we got up and walked out, feeling full of power. A couple of
professor-types stumbled like clumsy oafs to get out of our way. 

On the way home we shopped for things Leila felt we might need, like
elastic-bands and a couple of 18-inch steel rulers, very springy, and some
hair-remover lotion and duct tape, and two medium-sized jock-straps, and a
douche-bag, and a little spray-can of "self-protection mist" ("Just in
case we land a crazy," Leila said). We stopped at the Korean market my
grandmother shopped at and bought a life-time supply of kitchen-chopsticks
which Asian people use instead of tongs and forks and things. They're thin
and long, like pointers, and come tied together in pairs. "Perfect for
playing a quick game of testi-pool," Leila said. When we got home, she
also showed me this weird flesh-colored thing she had in her bag. It
looked like a big, fat finger, but much longer, and it came to this truly
obscene point. 

"What IS that?" I said. "Is it a dildo?" 

"Butt-plug," Leila said. Then she explained to me all about the gland next
to a male's rectum, the prostate gland, and how if you keep it stimulated
the male gets this gigantic erection with wet globules on the tip and goes
beserk with submissiveness and would jump off a roof if you told him to.
Then we got on the bed and took turns tonguing each other's clit and
waited for the phone to ring. 

I was just keeping my fingers crossed that some college-boy would call.
But Leila believed we'd get loads of calls and wouldn't have to settle for
the first guy that came along. Leila was right, which wasn't anything new.
The phone didn't ring off the hook exactly, but it rang, a number of times
all afternoon. Leila took all the calls, and put on a very cool,
professional voice, and asked the most totally shameless questions about
guys' penis-size and whether they're circumcised. I'd listen in amazement
at the things she'd say and the clipped way she'd say them. 

"Tell me,...John, isn't it?...Tell me, John. Would you say you have a lot
of pubic hair, a medium amount, a small amount? Medium, uh-huh. What? I'd
rather ask YOU the questions, John, if you don't mind...." 

Stuff like that. Sometimes she'd be on for a while, sometimes not, but it
was always hard for me to tell what made her decide to hang-up. She
sounded so curt all along, she pretended to be so annoyed about having to
talk to this guy who was calling to ask if we'd let him be naked for us,
that you just couldn't tell what really put her off and what didn't. The
point, anyhow, was that more than a few college-boys were interested in
what we had to offer. Nobody hung up on Leila, no matter what she said to
them, and only one caller out of maybe seven even asked her how much the
job paid. 


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