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




Leila's a fucking genius, I was thinking just then. Her idea was to get a
man to connect punishment and excitement in his mind by making both happen
at the same time. This was based, she said, on the psychological theory of
free association. Bob was confused, maybe willfully this time, as if he
really did see what Leila was driving at. But he told her he wasn't
following. So she put it to him straight. Here's how it would be: she'd
get up on the platform near me, he'd stand facing her, he'd be allowed to
extract his penis from the fly of his shorts, she wouldn't move any more
than she had to help him undress her, after having each piece of clothing
removed she'd punish him for the terrible trespass by driving her knee
into his groin. He needn't worry, she'd hold him steady as she did it. If
he recovered quickly, he could go on stripping her; otherwise, she and I
were history. 

Bob was thunderstruck. How he wished he could put on some pride. But he
was too far gone in desire and defeat, and a man in that state would
probably agree to a death-sentence for the chance Bob was being offered.
The only thing we had to watch out for was a surge of rebellion and
violence. Any man is capable of that. But Leila's knee would probably make
that only a theoretical possibility in no time.

So the game began. Bob hurried to expose his thick, hard penis, which was
dark and uncircumcised and not one of the wonders of the world. Then he
planted himself in front of Leila, put his hands on either side of her
snug black sweater, at about waist-level, and began to peel it off of her.
In a way it was horrifying to watch this. Bob's hairy, out-of-shape body
looked terribly wrong anywhere near Leila's lovely young skin and flat
belly and female chest. Leila raised her arms and up the sweater went
until the turtleneck was slipping over her head. Bob really could have had
a coronary just then, to judge from the color of his face and the veins
that showed at his temples. Leila's sweet perfume mingled with the clean
scent of her warm, bare skin. Her breasts, fuller than mine, were high and
round in her bra. Bob reached a hand to them and touched the side of a
bra-cup with it, tentative and almost afraid. Leila seemed to allow it.
Without getting the least bit ruffled - standing as still as a statue
while Bob's hand pressed further inward at her breast - Leila reached her
arms toward him, toward the middle of this man who was all the same more
naked than she was. It looked as though she was going to embrace him, hug
him to her as he fondled her. Bob probably thought that too, as improbable
as it seemed after some thought. He was getting lost in the simple
pleasure of exploring Leila's breasts. He was just inserting a finger into
one of the bra-cups when it happened - just as Leila told him it would.
Her hands rested firmly on his rib-cage, and I imagined their feminine
coolness against his skin helping to lull him into forgetfulness. 

In any case, Bob looked terribly shocked when Leila brought her knee into
him. He doubled over, as they always do, and let out a sound like Orphan
Annie's dog, a big, miserable growl, "Arf." 

He started to say something, "I don't...," or some such words, but
couldn't finish the sentence.

"I'll tell you the truth, Bob," Leila said. "It hurts more when there's
touch. I'd stay away from that if I were you. Just remember, 'Cop a feel,
slow to heal.' Okay, stand up straight now. It's time to do my bra."

Bob lifted himself with obvious pain. He looked a bit angry actually, even
a bit vengeful. Why the hell...? he was probably thinking, imagining he
could just assault the little bitch and have his way. Then, probably, he
felt the awful ache in his balls, going all the way through his insides
(if I understand what I've heard guys say) and feeling worse as time
passed. 

"Last chance, Mr. Byrrhe," Leila chirped, standing there at ease and
long-legged. 

Bob dragged himself to his full height. He reached toward Leila as though
he was going to strangle her. But in that case he made a detour and, with
great care not to touch her where he didn't have to, unfastened her bra.
You could see how badly he wanted to lay his palms on her bare breasts,
roll her nipples between his fingers - everything, in short, that I wanted
to do myself. But Bob was plain afraid of Leila now, and, as happens
always with males, he was fighting against himself on our side. His penis
recovered from Leila's blow and hardened again. He should have thrown us
out, but we were a middle-aged man's dream of heaven at the same time. And
of hell, of course.

Cautiously, as though he were moving radioactive isotopes, Bob drew
Leila's bra away from her chest. He kept glancing at her face to read her
feelings, maybe to be assured of her approval. Her face was impassive,
though. Then she reached toward Bob again. For a moment he started to back
away, then saw the folly of this and stepped forward again, into her
waiting hands, which Leila planted squarely on Bob's hips.

"Pay me now, Bob, for the sight of my breasts," Leila said, and quicker
than lightning gave him her knee.

"Oh, dear God, oh, no...," Bob sputtered and, trying to hold himself up,
began to weave in place, sagging and teetering slowly from side to side. I
even thought I heard him say my name, as if he were pleading with me for
help.  

"Cheer up, Bob," Leila said. "If you pull yourself together, there's still
time to do my pants. And then, after that colossal privilege...well, I
think you get the picture."

Bob looked like a mess. He was ruddy and sweating and had a look on his
face that was stupid even by his standards. He fumbled with Leila's button
and zipper, tugged her shrink-wrap jeans down her legs, where they were in
no hurry to go, crouched down and dutifully pulled off her boots and
socks, and never dared to look at her panty-clad cunt just beyond his
brow. Then stood up nice and straight to take her knee like a man. He was
shaking - with desire? with pain? With both, I'd say. He let his eyes
descend to Leila's sex-zone, then lifted them again to stare at hers. I
really believed he was thinking at that moment that it was all worth it,
that all the balls-ache in the world wouldn't pay for the great thing he
was seeing. 

Leila said, "It's okay if you drop this time, Bob. You'll need to be down
there for the next bit anyhow." She seemed completely relaxed, almost
weak. But she took a few steps back and then came forward again like a
spring. Her bare legs were glorious as she strode forcefully up to Bob and
in one swift movement crushed his testicles. "Oh, bitch," he said, and
dropped to his knees plumb in front of her, his hands going too late to
the aid of his organs. "Oh, bitch. You... I could...." Bob wasn't making a
lot of sense, and his penis, I couldn't help noticing, was anything but
hard.

"I could fuck you..," Bob was explaining to Leila in a kind of drunken
voice. He was still on his knees, pretty fucked himself but somehow
holding on to the idea that he was going to get a look at Leila's vadge.
She stood there in nothing but her panties as if she was the queen of
America. "I could just fuck...."

How upside-down everything was. The nearly naked girl was in charge, and
the big, gruff man was just rising in shambles from the floor to make a
few ludicrous threats in the name of the manhood the girl was about to
bruise with her feminine knee for - what was it? - the fourth time in an
hour. I was mostly naked too, remember, and not feeling at all
compromised.

"I admire your confidence, Bob," Leila said, not sounding very threatened.
Then she ordered him - that's the word for it, ordered - to lower her
panties. The man was shaking like leaf, trying to process Leila's very
particular directions: from my hips, pull fabric away from body,
finger-tips only, slower, Bob, slower...and so forth. Then Leila was
naked. Bob couldn't believe his eyes. You could tell. He was not in
tip-top shape, but his eyes bulged and his mouth dropped and even his
plump, beaten little penis started to lift its head. Leila, the lithe
young goddess, was naked. Or nearly. 

I watched Bob with amusement as he began to awaken to the details of
Leila's sex-zone. Her pubic hair had him mesmerized. It was light enough
to reveal the shadow of her slot. No man can tear his eyes away from the
hint of a girl's vadge. Bob stared and stared. He was having some trouble
focusing, it seemed. Then he saw something more. Something he wasn't so
happy to see maybe. He blinked, but there it was: amid the delicate
red-gold filaments of Leila's triangle was plainly visible a longer white
one. 

Bob passed out. It's possible Leila's knee was causing a delayed reaction,
but it didn't seem a coincidence to us that it should happen just then, at
that moment of incredible discovery.

"Do you believe this?" Leila said. "I really don't think Bob likes vaginas
all that much. He's not - what was that word? - not a Ślecko'? Maybe he
thought I was going to make him pull it out with his teeth...."

"Weren't you?" I said.

"Hadn't decided.... Let's call it a day," Leila said. 

We ran around the loft opening Bob's cameras and exposing his film. 
We did what we could to fuck up the big plates too. Bob made a few
grumbling noises, but he wasn't coming to at high speed. He lay there like
a casualty of war, his penis, that terrifying weapon, pointlessly
protruding from his fly, flopped to one side. A sight to make you glad to
be a girl! 

"It's only memories now, Bob," Leila said to his deaf ears. "Erica, let's
dress."

We collected our clothes, but then I remembered a great need.

"I've got to pee first," I said. 

"Golly," Leila said, "now that you mention it, so do I." 



the end


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