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Subject: RP Estragon's Memories 4/7 femdom
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RP Estragon's Memories 4/7 Femdom


Richard bent. "Like this?" he said, more because he just wanted to say
something, I think, than because there was any doubt in his mind. You
might say he wanted the human contact. You might also say that Leila
wasn't so ready to provide it.

"Richard, I want you to turn your back to us," she said. "No, stay bent.
Just turn a hundred-and-eighty degrees. Stay bent. Bend a little more
forward. Perpendicular, remember."

"Yes," he said hoarsely.

"Now," Leila said, "I want you to drop your shorts and take them off.
Don't unbend. Stay bent. And while you're naked, keep your back to us."

Richard stripped off his shorts and tossed them wildly away. His buttocks
and haunch-bones were facing us. Leila said nothing for a while - just
looked at me and smiled and put a finger over her lips. The anticipation
soon got to Richard. We could see tiny ripples of nervous movement in his
muscles, little twitches in his thighs and buttocks and up his back. His
whole body shuddered once or twice. And he breathed heavily.

"Can you see your penis, Richard?" Leila eventually asked. He said he
could. "Is it still hard, Rich?" He said a little, not completely. 

"Okay, Rich," Leila said. "I'm going to hand you something, a jock-strap,
and I want you to put it on quickly, without unbending. You've worn a
jock-strap before?" Richard said uh-huh, sure, many times for gym.

"Now, Richard," Leila said, "when I come around to hand you the
jock-strap, you realize I'll be seeing you fully naked for the first time.
I know this moment means a lot to you, but I want it to go very quickly. I
want it to be a blur. I know you want us to stare and stare at your hard
little organ. But that's not how Erica and I want it, and we're the girls,
right? The only thing we're interested in seeing is you being obedient. If
it gives you pleasure to have me see your naked penis, even when you're
bent over like that, I have no problem with it, as long as you don't lag
in following my command. So I'll say it again: have your second or two of
pleasure, but you are absolutely forbidden to linger over it. I want that
strap up and covering you as if your life depended on it. Yes, Richard,
the thing you most want is about to happen. A girl is about to see your
hard-on. And if you really want to prove your humility to that girl,
you'll obey her to the letter and hurry up and hide what you want to show.
Do you get it, Richie? What I want is more important than what you want.
If that weren't so, you wouldn't be bent over and simpering like this
without your clothes."

Leila went around to Richard's front, quickly handed him the strap and
came back. While she was in front of him she looked straight at him, down
between his legs and all, but she was speedy about it. The college-boy
pulled on the strap and fidgeted a little to adjust it, making sure he
stayed bent the whole time. 

"Is it on?" Leila asked, and when he said it was she said, "Then you can
face forward again, but stay bent. This is the rule. You bend when you're
erect, you stay that way until the erection is good and gone, unless we
tell you otherwise, and you bend without being told whenever you feel the
least bit of hardness coming back." She turned to me. "Why do I feel,
Erica, that we're going to see a lot of bent boy in the days ahead?"

Richard said he understood. He was still pretty hard. You could see it
through the jock-strap - which is, by the way, second in ridiculousness
only to the sex-organs it covers. Its very existence proves how fragile
those organs are. I mean, a thin little woven bag, not exactly a suit of
armor, is considered major protection for the things. And look at it! What
a truly humiliating article of clothing all around! Leila brought this
home (a perfect choice of words, as you'll see) to Richard by what she did
next.

"Erica," she said, "watch Richie closely now. I mean both his penis and
his face. Richie, I am going to have to go behind your back for this. Take
it like the man - anyhow, the college-junior - you are." 

She gave the boy several stinging thwacks on the ass with one of the
rulers. He'd been warned, sort of, so he did his best to keep still about
it, but of course some stifled, involuntary squeals did make an
appearance. Leila had her reasons for doing this. She wasn't just
indulging herself. She was always very disciplined. But she wanted Richard
to think that the business she had behind his back was this smacking him
with the ruler. He would concentrate on taking THAT like a man, and then
she'd spring something else on him, something he'd never imagine. So,
after swatting Richard any number of times and making him swallow hard
again and again and yelp several times, Leila patted his cheeks, then
spread them apart quickly and had the butt-plug into him before he could
even holler. I don't know if she'd bothered to lube it. Once he felt
himself invaded, Richard gasped outright and almost stood up. You could
see him starting to and then, with real effort, deciding he'd better keep
himself bent. His eyes popped wide open, though. Leila seemed to be making
some adjustments to the thing, getting it to rub against the male gland up
there, his prostate, because Richard squirmed a good deal. But his penis
went hay-wire too. I could see it jerking against the tough elastic of his
strap, stretching the cup that was supposed to constrict it, elongating
it, making its mesh ribs skinny, tensing it like a rubber-band. 

When the plug was inserted to her satisfaction, Leila came around to
Richard's front and pulled up a chair and planted herself a few inches
from him. My chair was nearby too, but I was standing, bent sideways a
little myself to get a better look at the trouble in Richard's jock-strap.
His penis jutted straight forward, parallel to his bent torso. A wet spot
appeared on the elastic material sheathing the tip. Richard's hard length
caused a gap to open at the edges of the strap around his testicles. You
could see his balls deep in the shadows. Somehow the fact that he couldn't
even stay wrapped inside his snug little jock-strap filled me with
disgust. Males were totally our opposite, I thought; as loose and shabby
as we were crisp and contained. Suddenly I had the impulse to do some
damage. I picked up my pair of kitchen chop-sticks and slipped them into
the gap in the jock-strap. I was gentle and teasing at first, and my
prodding of his balls and surrounding area didn't do much to calm Richard
down. 

Then I started really jabbing at him. I managed to jab not only his
testicles, but the underside of his penis as well, and of course his
groin. I brought the sticks out of the private place and began to prod
Richard's whole sex-zone right over the jock-strap. I crouched down, part
way under him. Richard's bent torso was like a canopy over me. I teased
him cruelly with the sticks. I even pulled the waist-band of the strap
away from his abdomen and angled the pointy instruments down into the cup.
Of course I was obstructed by his jumpy penis below and his bent body
above, but all the same I jabbed my sticks right into the cup, hitting one
thing or another or missing and landing glancing jolts to his thighs.
Leila watched impassively for a time. Now and again, in an absent-minded
way, she aimed her sticks into Richard's body somewhere, or used them to
etch bright red tracks into him. Otherwise she just observed my own light
amusements.

After a while she said, "Erica, you have the patience of a saint. You ARE
a saint. Richard, you have fallen into the hands of a saint."

"I know," he said, with not too much conviction as I jabbed away at his
half-revealed balls. Wherever Leila was going was fine with me, and
naturally I had an idea where that was.

"You DON'T know," Leila said. "But I do. You see, Richie Rich, Erica would
very much like to give you the things you want. She would like to let you
take off that jock-strap and show her the things you're proud of. And I'm
quite sure she would like to show you...how shall I say it?...a little
more of her...of her nature. But my sweet friend (oh, and, Richie, I know
what I'm talking about...I've tasted Erica's...ah...nature...many
times)...."

"You're too kind, Leila," I said. "I'm blushing, you know...."

At these words, Richard raised his head, and this pissed me off, so that -
quickly, without a thought - I slapped him across the face hard enough to
make him cry out and turned HIS face red in earnest. "No, you mustn't
look," I said in the most girlish voice I could produce, "not while a girl
is blushing."

Richard apologized. Leila went on with her remarks. "Well, as you see,
Rich, there's a price for every privilege a man wins from a girl.
Something as innocent as glancing at HER blushing cheeks gets you a
horrible slap across your own. You can imagine the price of bigger
privileges. And good-hearted Erica, wishing with all her heart to give you
these wonderful experiences, restrains herself, makes incredible emotional
sacrifices, suffers quietly and says nothing, in order to spare you the
pain she knows will have to accompany them."

Richard was getting crazy with excitement. Somehow I don't think he
believed Leila's stuff about my saintliness, but she was certainly firing
his imagination something awful. He started to speak, stammered a bit,
tried again. Leila interrupted before he got out a single intelligible
word.

"Look at how afraid you are of saying something wrong," she said. "And
what? Being punished? Being hurt? So what were you going to say, Rich?
That you don't care what the price is, you're ready to pay it for a little
more...a little more...attention from Erica, the beautiful Asian goddess?
You're afraid of Erica's shadow, Richie. Don't you see that? And you're
asking to be naked before her and...what is it?...to lie at her feet maybe
and just be allowed to look up her glorious legs.... Oh, Richie, the cost
of that, it's...."

Suddenly Richard burst out, "It doesn't matter. I'd give anything...."

"Why would you?" Leila said. "Erica and I were talking about you males not
long ago, trying to figure out why you get like this. You want to see a
girl's legs, right? Her LEGS, for God's sake. The things she walks with,
runs with, dances on your heart with. Can you explain why they make you
crazy? We tried to explain it to ourselves, Rich, but girls don't have
that kind of stuff in them, you know."

"Please. I can't explain," Richard the bent-over boy said. "It's something
I've always felt. I may even wish I didn't feel it sometimes, but it's so
deep in me I can't imagine existing without it. If I try, I imagine a
total stranger, no-one in any way like me." 

He stopped for a minute, to make sure he wasn't going on too long. I
jammed a stick into his balls, and that seemed to get him started again. I
pulled my chair next to Leila's and we both listened. I think we hoped
we'd get an answer to our question at that. But Richard wasn't in such an
analytical mood just then.
 
"Please be kind, girls. Please accept me. Nobody wants to be humiliated,
right? You certainly don't, and in a way I don't either. Yet here I am.
You may have worse things to do to me up your sleeves, but this is bad,
this is very bad already. In fifty years I'll remember it and want the
ground to swallow me and the erection it will give me. All I know is, this
is what it's like to be a man. To be helpless before you and thinking I
should escape, that you're just girls and I'm a big strong man, I could
walk away from it, and then realizing I can't, I'm frozen with need and
submission and I'm begging you to worsen it. I don't want to beg you, and
part of my mind doesn't want you to worsen it - but I'm begging and
wanting all the same. Oh, my God, what I'm saying! What I'm saying, and
can't stop! Do you hear, my darling girls? I'm saying, do it, do it, break
me, I beg you. I don't believe it, but I'm saying hurt me. Hurt me, my
darling girls. That's what I'm saying."  

"You know what puzzles me?" Leila said. "That jock-strap, you know. It's
supposed to protect your delicates, right, Rich?"

The non-sequitur gave him a start. "Yes, I guess. It's...you know, a
supporter," Richard said, sounding like a lost boy. "It...supports
them...."

It was a beautiful Leila-esque stroke, too, her humiliating, ho-hum
question after that ardent speech of his. It left him way out on a limb.
And it taught him how cool we were going to be about absolutely
everything. Even the things we wanted to do (and, yes, we did want to hurt
him, though only to see how far our power could go), we didn't want in the
same way he wanted. We weren't...well, we weren't driven. I truly wanted
to punish the boy, but even hearing him beg me to do it didn't make my
vadge moisten much. On the other hand, to judge from the dark spot on
Richard's jock-strap, the boy was constantly wetting himself.

"Okay, Rich, stand up straight now, do you mind?" Leila said.

Richard lifted himself, obviously a little dizzy and creaky. He gave me a
faint smile, which I didn't return. His penis twitched in his jock-strap,
which looked like a barely adequate scrap of covering over his sex-zone. I
stayed in my chair, but Leila stood up now in front of Richard.

"You mean to say this wispy piece of lingerie supports those heavy things
you have...keeps them nice and safe?" she said.

"I guess," Richard said. "It's said to...."

"It's SAID to," Leila said. She placed her hands squarely on Richard's
naked shoulders. He shivered and let out an involuntary sigh, then made
himself straight and tall. "Erica, it's SAID to," Leila announced. "This
jock-strap here is SAID to protect a man's mommies. Well...."

Very suddenly, and with great force, while she held him by the shoulders,
Leila brought her knee up into Richard's groin. He howled and doubled over
and when Leila drew back and let go of him he dropped to the floor.

"It doesn't work that well," Leila said.



end of part four
Estragon: Memories of Underdevelopment, V/7

(Copyright 1996, 1997 Estragon Productions
For adults only)


[Note: the author has given up trying to compute the number of chapters
Erica requires to tell her story, but he has every hope that the chapter
following the present one, the sixth, will be her last.]


Despite the pain Leila had caused him, Richard made a good impression. He
didn't fight his feelings at all. He dropped to the floor in honest agony,
a really heavy, thumping drop, like an enormous sack of flour. He was
still groaning in short, thick breaths, but he managed to pant out the
words, "Thank you, Leila," which we felt showed real class on his part. 

I don't know what Richard was imagining when he pleaded with us to do him
in, but I can't believe it was this. Poking, jabbing, slapping, scratching
- they can be pretty brutal, pretty hard on a male, as Leila and I well
knew, but somehow there's always an element of play in them all the same.
If you think about it, they're entirely girlish things to do. They pit
girl-force against man-force. But this knee-to-the-nuts business - it
takes everything away from a guy, including the thought that he still has
his muscles, even if he can't remember how to use them. If Richard had any
such thought, somewhere in the back of his mind, Leila's knee did away
with it in two seconds. 

But I have to clear up a possible misunderstanding about this. I'm not
saying that when girls have a man in their power he's still somehow a
volunteer. When a man is yours, he's yours. He doesn't have a choice. He's
genuinely helpless. It isn't an act, it isn't a gentleman's agreement.
People who haven't experienced such things have trouble understanding what
I mean. "He's a man, a big man," they say, "and you're girls. He could
just get up and leave. He could push you aside, even do something nasty to
get back at you. Men do get violent, you know." That's true, men do. And
it's nothing to take lightly. But those are the crazies Leila was always
guarding against, men who feel so weak, she said, they couldn't bear it
and wanted revenge. Their big bodies made them dangerous, no question. But
what moved them was the same awe and humiliation that made most men
helpless in a way we could always be sure of. You know when a man is
helpless. You don't defeat him with physical force. If you tie him up,
it's for convenience, to restrain his reflexes, to help HIM, or just for
the symbolism of it. You really conquer him with femaleness - with your
looks and smell and teasing, and with your own self-confidence. You whip
him, yes, but with your pussy, remember, a thing as savage in its power as
it is sweet and innocent in appearance. And when you have him, you just
KNOW you have him. There's nothing to be afraid of. He's helpless and
that's all there is to it. The fact is, big and brawny as he may be,
you've got him pinned. There's no chance he's going to suddenly get up and
push you aside and split. No chance. He might as well be as tiny as
Hop-o'-My-Thumb. He's not just playing at submission either. He's lost.
He's yours. He can't call it off. Can't say, "That was fun, but I gotta go
now." People who haven't seen it don't understand this. When you have a
man in that state, your power over him is stronger than a prison, and
stronger than the heaviest chains and tightest cords. You have to see it
to believe it. You have to have a man enthralled. It should be part of
every girl's education. They should teach it in school.

This power as a female is the important thing, the basic thing. I wouldn't
want anyone to misunderstand my views about that. It's SEXUAL power: it's
what we have instead of brute strength, and it's much stronger and a total
delight. But the knee-to-the-groin IS brutal, because it attacks a male
with his own weapon, or in his own element, or something. It's not just
pussy-whipping. It's plain fucking whipping! It hurts him cruelly in his
body and his pride. It's like a short-circuit past his own desire. Which
means that it only contributes to his sense of enslavement once you've put
him in that condition by normal forms of whipping. 

You could tell almost from the minute it happened that something had
changed in Richard. You could see it in his eyes. He'd been overpowered
already, yes, but now you could see a new emotion, fear, take first place
in his look and attitude. Fear in the way he stole glances at Leila and
me, fear in his posture, in the tentative way he spoke and moved. It was
partly that he'd learned what damage a young girl was capable of doing,
but also that she was capable of THINKING it, desiring it, carrying it out
calmly, with total indifference to his suffering. Given that he had this
pitiful weakness dangling between his legs, realizing what a girl was
WILLING to do with it must have meant even more to Richard than the
terrible pain itself. That would pass, and they say pain is difficult to
remember, but the blinding recognition of what lay treasured in a
fifteen-year-old virgin heart - that would be impossible to forget.  

Later, when we were alone again, Leila couldn't stop expounding on the
excellent thing that had happened. Richard's fear, his haste to thank her,
his utterly defeated manner when his pain finally subsided, everything
that showed him to be more deeply enslaved than ever - Leila found it all
totally exhilarating, as if it had taken her far beyond our fantasies. And
of course she wanted me with her on the journey.

"It's the most liberating thing I've every felt, Erica," she said. "To do
this forbidden thing, and not to hold back a bit, and not to care how he
feels about it or what it does to him, because he's only a body, a big,
massive, aching pushover. You see his Fricks and you have the right. A
girl HAS to feel it, Erica. YOU do."

So we spent several afternoons concentrating on this project of playing
with Richard's new-found fearful respect for girls. Leila had definite
ideas about method, naturally. For instance, it was very important in her
view that the girl's knee be naked - no tights, no jeans - when it met the
boy's testicles, which would be naked as well. No jock-strap would be
needed, since the boy would of course be paying top-dollar for the
privilege of being seen bare. Many days, building up to the
"knee-experience" (as we began calling it) was our whole activity with
Richard. We'd strip him down very slowly, talking about what lay ahead the
whole time. "Soon it will happen, Richie," we'd say, or words to that
effect, relentlessly building his suspense and anxiety, but teasing him
all the while in familiar ways too, so that he was constantly torn between
arousal, which is one sort of defeat, and fear, which is another. "Soon
you'll be naked, Rich. Soon you'll spread your legs. Soon a girl will
stand facing you. Soon...."

Leila and I enjoyed the dizzying effect a regular, slow stripping had on a
male too much to hurry the process along. We took plenty of time, and saw
the same effect again and again, with every single male we whipped, no
matter how old or young. And no matter what we'd already put him through
or what he knew we were going to. That long-awaited moment of uncovering,
when you finally let him bare his body completely to you, always caused
such a strong emotion in him that you could see it in his muscles as well
as his face. Maybe he had next to nothing covering him, a jock-strap or a
wisp of fabric, or his shorts that you'd gradually slipped down over his
pubic hair and inched along the shaft of his penis until everything was
visible except the very tip - even if that was all there was between him
and total exposure, slipping the cover off that last inch of penis always
brought a male to a deeper level of helplessness. If he was standing, his
stomach sagged somewhat. He wasn't putting on airs any more. You had him
and he had no place to hide. 
 
And then we'd have our grateful, naked, quivering
erection-with-a-boy-attached standing humbly before us, and Leila would
say, "Richie, spread your legs as far apart as you can. Erica will do you
today. It's soon now, Rich. Erica, whenever you're ready."

Sometimes Leila would hold him steady, sometimes not. Then I'd do it,
taking maybe a practice aim first, then, when a little suspense had built
up, letting my knee go into him. He'd rasp and groan and give me a sudden
pleading look and I'd give him a quick look of approval and he'd crumble.
The whole thing, the act, the sounds, the looks, took a couple of seconds.
He'd never forget to pant out his thank you. 

Now and then we liked to make a "fair contest" out of it. We'd strip
Richard down at our leisure, teasing him up to the point where he was
desperate. Then Leila might say, "Okay, Rich. We're going to give you a
chance to defend yourself. You'll have to be handicapped somewhat, because
you ARE a big, strong male..." - she'd give his penis a light stroke as
she said this and make him whimper with longing and gratitude - "so, in
addition to being nude, you'll be, oh, restrained a bit, you know."

We'd tape Richard's wrists together behind his back, and usually we'd tape
his ankles close together too so he could barely hobble around. This form
of movement was enjoyable to watch, because it made Richard waddle from
side to side when he walked and caused his sex-organs to lurch furiously
with every tiny step. Sometimes we'd also tape his penis up against his
abdomen, but not always. Then we'd tell him we were going to catch him and
give him the knee. But he could try to fight us with whatever he had. He
could swing his torso from side to side, pull back if one of us grabbed
his penis, simply bend over in the old familiar way, whatever he liked.
When we finally landed our blow, that would be punishment enough for all
his resistance. Naturally, he didn't stand a chance. Sooner or later one
of us would take him from behind and wrap her arms around his middle and
press herself against his naked back to form a kind of splint to assist
the girl in front in doing her damage. Richard couldn't resist the
sensation of a female body against his own. Even though he knew what would
become of him, he needed that feeling so badly - he was so hungry for the
slightest hint of breasts and hips and hard round pubic mound - that he
had no will to resist. He'd practically fall into the girl's arms. He'd
obey every order, although it doomed him, for the smallest increase of
feminine pressure it might provide.

She might stretch his body backwards toward her, force him onto his toes,
until, with his ankles taped and his thighs closed tight to allow no
escape for his organs, he resembled a slender bow, graceful and almost
feminine. Then came the knee, and his support-girl would release him, and
he'd sink in slow-motion to the floor, in a beautiful S-shape which we'd
watch with fascination as it turned into the fetal-position Richard would
not be coming out of for quite a while. 

These interludes in which our broken young man just lay at our feet were
actually very important. They did something to change our relationship
with Richard. You could say they made the three of us more intimate.
Richard was still a male, so of course intimacy had its limits. But a male
wasn't much. That was the real point. We'd always said it, always felt it,
but when he's lying folded up on your floor like that..., well, there's no
need even to mention it. It's so terrifically true you almost (I say
almost!) pity him. Male and female didn't seem like comparable things to
any degree any more. There was just nothing parallel between them. We got
to be intimate with Richard the way we might have with a pet. We gave him
privileges that hardly seemed like privileges to us because he was more
like a slavish doggy than like a human being. 

Little by little we began to show Richard more and more of what Leila
liked to call our "nature." We continued to say this was a great privilege
- which meant, of course, a great payment by him - but in our hearts we
didn't feel the least bit compromised by what we revealed. He was a
different breed, a lower species. He was a male, and one who'd learned to
view the dainty little cap of a skinny girl's knee with total awe. We'd
often take him shopping with us, for instance, and he'd have to wait
outside dressing-rooms and run around fetching us different sizes and
colors of the things we were trying on. He was often the one male in a sea
of women and girls. The air would be full of perfume and you could see
that Richard was going quickly mad with lust, intoxicated by the sight and
scent of women and humbled by the knowledge that the high-handed way we
dealt with him was visible and amusing to dozens of females at a time.
Since for such outings we made him wear a jock-strap as a truss UNDER his
testicles, and no underwear otherwise, his wagging erection was quite
noticeable to anyone who cared to look. 


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