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From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: RP Estragon's Memories 3/7 Femdom
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RP Estragon's Memories 3/7 Femdom



"This is America," Leila told him. "Ladies don't pay men to strip for them." 

Leila would always take the guy's number and say we'd get back to him, and
then I'd hear her say, "You're welcome, so-and-so," meaning that the boy
had thanked her for her time. 

"They're all the same," Leila said after one of the calls. "Didn't I say
so? They fucking want to do it, Erica! They WANT to! All they need is a
little help admitting it. They sound nervous, all right, and like they're
trying to be nonchalant, like it's just a job-prospect. But they don't ask
a single frigging thing about the job part of it - how many hours, how
much money, none of that. They just want us to say we'll see them." 

We decided to see a boy named Richard first. He was twenty, a junior, from
a town in New England. Leila said he had a deep voice, sounded a little
shy but didn't put on an act of any kind with her, just answered her
questions, even though he stammered at some of the more embarrassing ones.
He had a medium amount of dark brown pubic hair. So we gave him the
address and made an appointment to look him over the next afternoon. Then
we got back onto the bed and massaged one another and talked about our
"candidate." 

Richard was pretty nervous when he arrived. He looked like everyone's idea
of a college-boy. He looked nice enough, with his dark hair cut short and
his eyes dark too and very serious. He was thin but he had strong-looking
shoulders, which I liked because I always had this fantasy about riding
piggy-back on a naked man. He was dressed just the way you'd expect: a
burgundy button-down shirt and khaki-colored khakis and bucks. Leila and I
were all dressed up again, though this time she was wearing tight black
jeans with her boots and a silk shirt. I was wearing another short skirt
and tights again and high heels, which made my legs look more fabulous
than ever. The two of us looked altogether feminine and strong and worlds
beyond anything Richard could imagine. Looking the way we did showed him
right from the start that age didn't matter a bit - that we were girls and
knew the secrets of femininity and could make them work for us any time we
wanted, and it would be like that even if we were five and he was fifty,
just because it's that way with girls. When Richard came through the door
and got a look at us he actually said, "Wow." Then he got all flustered
and started apologizing, but neither Leila nor I paid any attention to it,
and that flustered him more. 

Leila and I sat down at the table and told Richard to do the same. Leila
had a clip-board which she wrote on, and I had a note-pad but never
actually used it. We pulled our chairs close to the table, as if we were
really getting down to business. Richard pulled his too, but Leila said,
"Richard, why don't you move your chair out a bit so Erica and I can see
all of you." 

He did what Leila asked, but she kept asking him to move out a little
further, and finally he was practically sitting in the middle of the room,
not hidden by anything, and we were still snug at the table. Richard
looked truly awkward out there like that. He crossed his legs and slouched
over somewhat. 

"Oh, better sit up, Rich," Leila said. "Yes, and no crossed legs for now,
please." He uncrossed them promptly, but he had this disconcerted look on
his face. 

"So, Richie," Leila said, staring mostly at her clip-board on the table
and away from Richard, "you think you'd like to serve Erica and me...?" 

"Serve?" he said, not as if the word surprised him exactly, but as if he
was trying to decide whether it should. But he must have decided that it
would do, because he said, "Well, yes....I think I would...want to...." 

"Come on, Rich," Leila said. She turned to look at him, which made him
squirm. He looked kind of shocked, maybe from realizing that this girl who
seemed to think she could say whatever she liked to him was only fifteen.
"Don't tell me Œserve' isn't the word for it. You answer this ad asking
you if you want to strip for girls five years younger than you, and you
must be thinking how humiliating that kind of thing could be, and now
you're having trouble with Œserve'? Ri-CHARD, my man, get real." 

"No, Œserve' is okay," he said. "ŒServe' is fine. I was just thinking...." 

"My error, then," Leila said. "I simply want you to make no mistake about
the great privilege WE are offering YOU. No harm done. But, anyhow, you
want to do this and you believe you can with a mature and respectful
attitude? You don't think you'll have a problem serving...well, following
instructions?" 

"I don't think so...."

"You won't resent us and think we're bitches." 

"God, no....Why....You're both...you know...very sweet." 

"That's a good attitude, anyhow," Leila said. "But let me ask you
something, Richie Rich....Tell you what, though. First why don't we start
getting comfortable about you being naked, okay?" 

Richard looked at me, Leila's silent partner so far, to answer. "Okay," he
said. It sounded almost like a question. 

"Why don't you just take off your shirt, Richie?" Leila said. 

"My shirt...?"

"Why don't you?"

Richie started to stand up. "Seated will be fine," Leila said. She was
facing him, her chair half-turned now, and I turned mine similarly.
Richard kept darting his eyes between us, like between two magnets - my
legs and Leila's mound in her tight jeans. He started to unbutton his
shirt. We girls sat silently. He fumbled from trying to keep his hand
steady: simply baring his chest was making him shake. Then he had trouble
pulling his shirt-tails out of his pants. That was why he'd had the
impulse to stand. Now he tugged but couldn't get them free. 

"Do what you have to," Leila said.

Richard gave her an inquisitive look and made to stand up again. 

"Except that," Leila said.

So he sunk back down in the chair and began to undo his belt and pants. He
opened his pants enough to pull out his shirt and started to close them. 

"Richard, the shirt!" Leila said. "The pants can stay open." 

Richard turned red - not just his face, but his chest (which wasn't
terribly hairy, I was glad to see). He removed his shirt and with the help
of a nod from Leila dropped it to the floor. He started to hug himself,
but Leila said he should let his arms hang down at his sides, so that's
what he did. 

"So, now, let me ask you, Richie...," Leila said. "One of the problems
Erica and I and many of our girl-friends have frequently experienced with
boys and young men like yourself, who mean well but aren't...I don't wish
to offend or appear ungrateful, but I have to say this...aren't equal to
us in maturity, is that they do not react well to certain events which
occur when...well, when a male disrobes for a female." 

Richard was red as a beet, probably because he himself was well into the
"event" Leila had been referring to. You could see the swelling in his
loosened khakis. I decided it was time to speak. I made up my mind to say
everything softly and coolly, with a minimum of emphasis. 

"You understand, Richard, that for Leila and me and all women, the
erection is a natural part of the process of exposing yourself to us. We
often have to correct it. It can prove quite inconvenient at times. But a
boy becomes useless to us if he himself gets flustered when his penis
responds in this natural way to the presence of women." 

Richard shifted around in his chair. "I understand," he gulped. And then,
trembling like a leaf and red as flame, he added, "I should tell you,
then....I mean, you can see, I think, can't you?....I have one now, being
like this with you two...." 

"Have what?" I said.

"A boner," Richard said.

"Oh, I hate that word," Leila exclaimed. 

"An...erection," Richard said.

"What kind of underpants are you wearing?" Leila asked. 

"Oh, you know, boxers," Richard said.

"Kind of baggy?"

"I guess."

Leila told Richard to unzip his khakis and stand up. His erection was
pretty prominent when he did, and it kept his pants from just sliding down
his thighs. Leila told him to move his hard-on out of the way and let his
pants fall free. They settled around his ankles. 

"I have to tell you, Richie Rich, that at this moment I don't wish to see
any hint of your hard-on. Luckily, you're wearing baggy underwear, so
instead of Erica and me having to use special techniques to shrink your
penis, it will be satisfactory if you simply bend forward so that your
underpants droop away from your erection." 

Richard looked mortified, but he bent and the excess fabric of his shorts
dipped downwards. "No, it's still visible. Bend from the waist....Yes,
better," Leila said. "Now that you're decent, we can resume our
discussion." 

Richard strained to bend forward, until his trunk was almost fully
perpendicular to his legs. The cloth of his underpants hung like a big
sack below where his hard penis was dangling, invisible now except when
his fly sagged open momentarily and you could see a section of his shaft.
Bending over like that was a big strain. But he didn't try to relieve it.
And then it seemed like the whole meaning of it all suddenly hit him. 

"Oh, my God," he said. He was panting for breath. "Oh, my God. You're
girls, and look at me...." 

"Stay bent, Richie," Leila warned.

"Yes, I am....But..., Oh, God. No, I mean, don't misunderstand....I mean,
I don't mind this, really. No, more than that....I WANT it....You're both
so beautiful....Can I tell you, this is like a dream....Like a
masturbation-fantasy I've always had...." 

"Every boy has it, Richie," Leila said.

"Is that true?"

"Definitely. Every last one. You just don't tell one another. But each and
every one of you, the thing you dream of when you're alone in bed and
slide down those boxers - no, that wasn't an order, don't touch them - the
thing you dream of is this thing you're finally experiencing in real life.
No more pretend. No more hiding it from others. Just doing what girls tell
you..." 

"It's heaven," Richard said.

"Except that it's over," Leila said. "Get dressed now...." 

"What?"

"Stand up straight, pull up your pants, pick up your shirt, in short, get
dressed, please." 

"But after what you said...."

"If you hurry, you'll still have your hard-on when you get back to your
dorm," Leila said. "Think of us. Doesn't Erica look like a goddess in that
skirt? A great dangerous Asian goddess. Doesn't she? You won't forget
her." 

Richard stood still for a while. He kept looking from one of us to the
other, then down at his swollen underpants and the puddle of clothes at
his ankles. But finally he obeyed. I distinctly noticed tears in his eyes.


"As for the...ah...the future...the...ah...job," he murmured. 

"Don't call US," Leila said.


end of part three

Estragon: Memories of Underdevelopment, IV

(Copyright 1996, 1997 Estragon Productions
For adults only)


"Brutal!" I cried the second the door latched behind Richard. "Absolutely
awesome!"

"One of the better whippings, yes...," Leila said in all false modesty.
She had this thoughtful, fake-refined air. "Just a few, simple
strokes...," she said, "but what a quietly lovely effect. I think our
guest was suitably impressed with our elegance. Do you not agree, Lady
Erica? Just the right note for day one."

"I'll tell you the truth, Leila. I don't really understand it. I mean, I
see it, I believe it. And, God knows, I like it, I totally adore it - it's
all I've ever dreamed of, sex-wise - but I don't really understand it, you
know. Not really. Richard! Did you see him bending and panting like that
and apologizing the whole time? To bitchy fucking fifteen-year-olds? My
God. It was beautiful, but I mean, Leila, why on earth do they let us...?"

I'd thrown my arms around Leila and was squeezing her to me. She was
trying to knead my buttocks and run her fingers between them, though my
tight skirt made this hard and she had to put her hands under it, right on
my tights.

"LET us?" she said. "Darling, THEY don't let us. THEY don't make the
choice and they don't HAVE the choice. We take it. We bring it out and
take it."

"Okay, but why is it there to bring out in the first place?" I said. "And
what exactly IS it?"

"I'm not a boy, of course. I don't know what it feels like to them. You
know, what sensations and all, what they go through. I only know what I
see, the same stuff you see...same stuff all women see. They catch a
glimpse of us, then they can't take their eyes off us, can't get past it,
their dicks quiver. Maybe they put on a little act at first, then they
cave at the first sign of power in us, which for us is like nothing." 

"I get that. I see that. I DO that. But why do I have the power to begin
with? Not DO I? But WHY do I? What's the power?"

"It's something in nature, Erica, is all I know. In the nature of penises
and us not having them. They want to be seen and touched and males
basically want us to know that just the sight of us makes them hard...."

"So maybe what they really want is just to fuck us, that's what they
really want. Just to stick their penises in. But we sidetrack them and
they take what they can get?"

"The way I see it, they LET ON that what they really want is to fuck
us...yeah, with their mighty throbbing tools...that's their scam. But
don't you think they get side-tracked pretty damn fast. Sidetracked? They
get totally de-railed. It's like they can't wait. 'Please, ma'am, please
de-rail me and let me cut this macho horseshit before I faint. Aren't you
interested in my big hard penis at all? I mean, you made it hard, miss,
and you're not even interested?' Erica, it's so stupid and simple we all
just don't even see it. They can't get around this thing we girls can't
imagine, which we have to work to make ourselves even think about. They
can't...they never get over it. WE make their dicks hard. That's it. We
don't do a fucking thing besides just be there (or not even be there
really, just there in their thoughts), and the dicks dance for us. This
thing on a guy's body...HIS thing, right? It jumps for us, and most of the
time we don't give a shit, don't even know it's happening unless we get a
shot of his pants stretched out like a woman's shirt...and he's so afraid
we'll see, and so afraid we won't....And could we care less?"

"So why does he fight it at all, do you think? Why don't men just act
slavish ALL the time? And that's what 'manly' would mean, weak and
slavish?"

"I think it's because males fight EVERYTHING, so they fight us too. It's
evolution, remember? They're made to have to win us over. You know, get
our attention, make us interested.  And we're made to have to be won over.
Why should we choose this one or that? They all belong to us. So they have
all this famous male aggression inside. They compete with one another and
they develop these aggressive, war-like habits. And they're big and strong
physically to be better servants and all, so they get used to beating the
shit out of each other and just being tough and belligerent all the time.
I mean with each other. And after a while they forget the original purpose
of it all, and they get carried away with their own stupid so-called
"power" (which they don't have as much of as a dinky old horse), and when
they're with us again and feel what real power is again they try to fight
it at first and feel all this shame at how weak we remind them they are."

"But don't you think, if we gave Richard the choice of fucking one of us
or...I don't know...lying down on the floor and being peed on by one of
us...I mean, don't you think he'd choose the fucking?"

"Sure," Leila said, "if he thought one of his friends was listening.
Otherwise, I know - I absolutely know - he'd choose the peeing. Especially
if he could look right up at the girl doing it and see her vadge and watch
the pee come streaming out of her. A golden shower from a beautiful girl
isn't much of a price to pay for a sight like that. In fact, it's no price
at all, it's part of the treat."

"If I were Richard, I'd beg for the chance. We put our thing on that boy,"
I said.

"If you were Richard," Leila said, "you'd have a penis. And IF you had a
penis, Erica, I wouldn't be able to do what I'm about to do to you...which
is, stick my nose as far up your slot as I can get it and get myself drunk
breathing in your sweet saki."

"Saki is Japanese," I said as I undid my skirt and led Leila to the bed.
There she took over undressing me. She got my shirt and bra and tights off
in a flash, as only a girl can. Slowly, she lowered my panties, commenting
on the unusual moistness of my mound. When my panties were off, I spread
my legs for her and Leila kept her promise and burrowed with her nose into
my vadge. Then the phone rang. Two rings and it stopped.

"Richard," Leila said in a nasal voice from her place between my legs.
"That would be Richard."

"You told him not to call," I said. 

"He thought of that. That's why two rings and click."

"If I were Richard...," I said.

"Thank God you're not," Leila said quickly, and then I felt her tongue on
the ridge between my vadge and a-hole. The phone rang again, this time
seven times. We assumed it wasn't Richard, but some guy who had just seen
our ad. We let it ring. 

"If you had a penis, Leila," I said, "I'd command you to lick my rosebud."

"I think I just grew one, Erica," Leila's muffled voice said. "Please turn
over, and let me obey."  

Leila had no trouble flicking her tongue around my other-pucker, and the
delirious sensations she gave me made me feel incredibly pampered and
incredibly invaded at the same time. I was absolutely lost in them. If I
had any idea in my head, it was that girls knew so much more about one
another than any guy could. Then the phone rang. It rang twice and
stopped. Annoying, but not enough to break the spell. It hardly made Leila
pause in her anilingus. 

I had raised myself on my knees and lifted my buttocks. At first Leila had
to hold them apart so she could reach my hole, but after a time I remained
open without her help, so she reached under me and planted her hand flat
on my mound with the heel pressing on my clit and lips. Let's just say I
soaked that girl's hand till it couldn't keep from slipping all over my
vadge country. 

"You're like a geyser in there," Leila said. "If you had a penis, Erica,
and came and came twenty times over - which you couldn't if you had a
penis because only a vadge can - but if you could, you still wouldn't get
as wet as you do, Erica." 

"It's because I have an Œin there'," I said. "I love those words. In
there. I have an in there, and so do you, Leila. That's what makes us
girls. If we were boys, we'd have out-theres and have to be slaves of
people with in-theres. Do you get it now?"

"I...THINK...so," Leila said. "Very similar situation to No-penis versus
Penis. I get it...." Then the phone rang. Three rings this time, so Leila
picked up and when he heard her voice the caller hung up. 

"Richard," Leila said. Almost immediately it rang again. Leila lifted the
receiver on the fourth ring. "Job's filled," she said. "Do us a favor,
okay? Take down the ad and...sure, keep it as a souvenir...of what might
have been....What's that? If you only knew, little man, if you only knew.
Maybe on a good night, when you're tucked in and all alone, and you've
been a good boy all week and not touched yourself, maybe then you'll
imagine something just a little bit like it. Bye now."

Anyhow, to shorten the suspense, Richard eventually did call and NOT hang
up, and Leila didn't ball him out - she spoke very calmly, in fact, in a
business-like, adult manner.

"Erica and I discussed your qualifications very seriously, Richard," Leila
explained in a regretful voice while she winked at me and made various
ridiculous faces into the telephone, "and we do feel that you aren't quite
right for the modeling job...."

"He can't still believe there's a modeling job," I whispered, but Leila
waved me to shush. 

"Yes," she said, "we did see that you were willing to serve. No, it wasn't
because you hesitated about that word. Anyhow, I'm sorry. I'm sure it's a
disappointment. Uh-huh. Well...hold on a second. Erica's trying to tell me
something." 

Leila put her hand over the phone. But I wasn't trying to tell her
anything. I was just sitting there listening. Leila winked again. I
uttered a few meaningless sentences for sound-effects. "Rich," Leila said
into the phone, "Erica feels that you showed a very cooperative attitude
and that you'd make a very good general assistant, if that kind of work
interests you....Well, running errands for us, doing laundry (do you know
how to iron, Rich?), going with us to department stores and boutiques and
such, you know, waiting near the dressing-room in case we need different
sizes of things, carrying bags, you know, Rich, anything that comes up."

Leila covered the phone again and mumbled nonsense in my direction. Then
she started talking to Richard again. "You're interested? He's interested,
Erica. What's that? Well, no, it doesn't involve nudity the way modeling
does, but....Listen, Richie Rich, being naked in front of a girl is an
incredible privilege. YOU know that, of all people....Yes, I said you
knew. Anyhow, it's a privilege, but what I'm saying is that you can earn
it by hard work and obedience. Well, yes, that's what Erica says about
you. She believes in you, Rich. You should be very flattered....I'll tell
her....DID you?" Leila muffles the phone. "He says when he got back to his
dorm he masturbated to you, Erica, just the way I told him to. He did it
kneeling....Richie, Erica says she's touched. She says we should be
generous and give you one minute naked in front of us for every hour you
work. That's like big bucks, Rich...."

So it was settled. Richard would report again the following day at
half-past-three, which would give us an hour to get home from school and
get ready for him. Leila would have all the paraphernalia ready, the
steel-rulers, the kitchen-sticks, the jock-straps and butt-plug and
whatever else there was a chance we'd need. She laid them out the
following morning, as soon as her parents took off, so when we got back
from school all we had to do was get comfortable. It was a warm September
day, so Leila opted for shorts and a tank-top, but she wore ear-rings and
make-up. I had a short skirt on once again, and very high-heeled sandals,
no tights, and a black skin-tight cotton sweater on top.

And there was Poor Richard at the door once more, dressed pretty much the
same as the day before, and so sheepish I thought we'd have to send him
out to graze. He turned absolutely scarlet when I said hello. He kind of
shuffled into the apartment like a schoolboy, all hesitant and looking
down at his shoes, ready to take back every step, trying to make it clear
that he only wanted to do the right thing and be nothing but good in our
eyes. 

Leila led him into the living-room and said, "Take off your shirt,
Richard," and he obeyed as though he'd been waiting for this moment all
his life. Neither Leila nor I made any move to take Richard's shirt, so he
just dropped it on the floor in this emphatic way, as if he wanted us to
see how little he cared what happened to his things as long as we let him
keep up the strip-tease (I mean, where he was the one stripping AND the
one being teased).

Leila picked up one of the pair of kitchen chop-sticks and started poking
Richard's upper body with them. She ran them down his front and sides,
leaving red trails as she scraped along. She looked down toward Richard's
fly and actually placed her hand in front of it, not quite touching the
boy, and moved it up and down as if she was trying to tell how far his
penis was sticking out. It was sticking out too, of course. But Leila was
being careful to avoid contact with it. Except that, for one split second,
the side of her hand descending in front of his fly did knock into
Richard's bulge, causing him to let out a cry of surprise and total
gratitude. 

"You must learn to control yourself, my boy," Leila said. "God, that was a
month's pay right there for you. Take off your shoes and pants."

Richard did this eagerly. He clearly thought he was going to get his wish
to be stark naked and pole-stiff on the very first afternoon. He was
wearing those boxer-style shorts again, and once again his erection made
the fabric stick out like the blouse of a woman with big, firm tits. Leila
at once ordered Richard to bend forward the way he'd done yesterday. 

"Hide that hard-on," she exclaimed. 


Vickie Tern@AOL.COM

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