From beatenboy@worldnet.att.net Wed Jul 02 08:16:06 1997
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From: beatenboy@worldnet.att.net (beatenboy)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Slave To A Man Hater pt1 repost (F/m, extreme humil)
Date: Wed, 02 Jul 1997 12:16:06 GMT
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WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS A SEXUALLY 
EXPLICIT AND SOMEWHAT VIOLENT ACCOUNT.
DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER  18, OR IF 
YOU ARE NOT INTERESTED IN READING ABOUT 
SEXUALLY EXPLICIT & VIOLENT SITUATIONS 
AND  ACTIVITIES.
------------------------------------------------------------------

SLAVE TO A MAN HATER
(a saga of a life of pain and degredation)
by
beatenboy

part 1:
                                    
There I was, a 36-years-old guy, fairly successful, not bad looking
but personally unfulfilled, with a string of failed relationships
behind me and utterly hopeless that that would ever change.
Thousands were spent on therapy only to conclude what I already
innately knew: that I was a hope-to-die masochist.  At this point,
what difference did it make what incidents in my early developemnt
made me this way?   My cravings for total subjugation at the hands and
feet of a sadistic female were not going to be "resolved", that they
were permanent due to some aberrant glitch in my psyche.    I'd long
given up confessing my proclivities to the women I'd date as they were
unilaterally met with total revulsion.  As hard as I tried, it was
simply impossible to connect with a "normal" girl. I was just some
deviant freak, condemned to a life of frustration and loneliness.  

Tens of thousands of dollars poorer, money that went into the hands
professional Dominants and cunning golddiggers for fleeting and empty
thrills,  I was pretty well jaded.  99.9% positive that the kind of
woman I needed just does not exist.  But it was that 0.1% of hope that
lead me to placing just one more personal ad.  I had placed many in
the past . The responses I received were curiosity seekers or those
women who were just really seeking a  normal relationship with a
kinder, more gentle man.

I had noticed that the local community throwaway paper personal
section added a "specialties" category.  "What the hell", I thought,
it didn't cost anything and "who knows....?"  The rules were simple:
they put your 30 words or less ad in for 4 weeks, give you a voice
mailbox and pass code to retrieve your responses.

I wrote the ad.  No point in subtly, I reasoned, just lay it out.  It
went like this: "SEEKING GENUINELY CRUEL WOMAN WHO WOULD LOVE TO
PHYSICALLY & MENTALLY ABUSE & DEGRADE A SINCERE,  SUBMISSIVE, 36
YEAR-OLD SWM.  

I placed the ad, recorded my voice introduction which basically
confirmed what the written text said and just kind of put it in the
back of my head.  I had zero expectations that I would get any
responses.  I waited a couple of days until after the paper came out
before I called to check my mailbox.  The digitized female voice
announced tersely "There are no new messages in your mailbox".  I
could even sense a note of scorn in that voice.  Yeah, it seemed even
a computer generated female representation was saying, "Get real,
loser.  No woman would want a demented weirdo like you!" 

So it went for the next 2-1/2 weeks.  Every couple of days I'd call in
- with the digitized bitch telling me the same thing. "Loser, freak,
pathetic!"  To be honest, I wasn't even disappointed; as I said, I
expected nothing.  Then, one night at around 6:30, I realized I hadn't
checked for a few days, I dialed the retrieve number, punched in my
pass code and was stunned at when the voice started.  Instead of
hearing, that terse tone, my computerized vixen sang a happy note:
"You have...'one'... new message in your mailbox", she declared.
"Wow", I thought.  "this must be a mistake."  I pressed "one" to
listen.  It was a woman's voice all right - a real woman.  She had a
slight accent, Latin maybe.  It was short and to my ears very sweet:
"This is Carmen.  If you're really  looking for what you say, phone me
during the evening between 7:30 and 11:30 at ###-####."  That was it.
Jesus, my heart started to beat fast.  I listened to it a few times
and double checked that I copied the number correctly.  

I looked at the time - it was an hour before I could called.  I
thought about calling right then but no that wouldn't show a whole lot
of obedience.    I paced, turned on the TV, flipped through a magazine
but really I just waited.  When my clock flashed 7:30, I picked up the
phone...but just held it.  Maybe my clock was a little fast.  So, I
waited until 7:31 and dialed.  It rang three times and the same voice
answered.

"Hello..."

"May I please speak to Carmen?"

"Speaking."

"Hi, um, this is Ben.  You left a response to my ad."

"So are you ?"

The question  threw me. "Am I...?"

Irritation crept into the accented voice,  "Really looking for a woman
to abuse and degrade you"?

"Oh, yes, I am. Definitely".

"Hmmm", she snorted.  "Where do you live"?

I told her.  She was pleased as it turned out we lived about two miles
from one another.  She asked me whether I rented or owned and what I
did for work.  I gave her the answers.  Then:

"When can you meet"?

"Whenever you say".

"Very good", she praised.  "Tomorrow evening at this time?"

"Yes".

She named a local coffee shop, said I should be in the waiting area,
told me what she'd be wearing.  She wanted me to bring copies of all
my bills, i.e.: rental  agreement, phone, utilities, credit card, etc.
as well as copies of my most current pay stubs, and checking and
saving account statements, drivers license, ATM cards, credit cards
and all of the unused checks I had.

I went silent, heart sinking, "Just another golddigger", I thought.

Then, she came out with, "I know what you're thinking and it is not
that.  I have my reasons for wanting to see those items.  You'll find
out what they are when we meet."  Then, with a mirthless chuckle, she
added, "Don't worry, I'm not after your money, I'm after your soul".
That last statement sent a chill down my spine and a rush of blood up
my cock.  I agreed to her requirements and confirmed that I'd be
there.

The next day I gathered all the documents she wanted, put them neatly
in a large envelope and anxiously waited for the appointed time.

I got to the coffee shop 10 minutes early, just to be sure.  I sat in
the waiting area, very nervous. 7:30 came and went.  Of course, I'd
stay and wait.  At 7:40, I saw a woman approaching from the parking
lot, dressed in the gray suit and brown shoes Carmen said she'd be
wearing.  For just an instant, I had a pang of disappointment.  She
looked sort of dowdy, in her late 30's or early 40's, average height
and medium build. The pang came from my long, nurtured fantasies, in
which the Goddess to whom I forever was going to devote mind, body and
soul, either had to look like a statuesque Amazon Warrior or a nubile,
bitchy princess like Shannon Dougherty.   Of course, in real life, my
only experiences with those kinds of women had cost fortunes and even
if they did look like that, if their attitude wasn't right, the
attraction died.

All those fantasy thoughts evaporated quickly as Carmen came closer.
Despite her conservative attire, she was indeed attractive.
Definitely of Latin descent with thick black hair cut short, a dark
olive complexion and a curvaceous body - full but not flabby, actually
fairly well toned.  She had a saucy strut and I could see her
voluptuous ass and hips undulate with each step.  But it was her face
that struck me the hardest.  While it was by no means an ugly face, I
couldn't exactly call it pretty either.  It was harsh and determined.
Her mouth seemed to be naturally set in a contemptuous sneer.

I obsequiosly scurried to the door and opened it for her. She gave me
a quick glance.  It was neither one of approval or disapproval.  We
quickly introduced ourselves and were seated at rear booth., away from
other patrons.  

After placing our drink orders, Carmen quickly took command.  She
began with, "Because it will irritate me if  I have to sit here and
listen to questions I've heard before, I just want you to listen to
what I have to say  very carefully.  By the time I'm done, you will
have answers to all the questions you have or at least to those I
believe you need to have.  You may acknowledge with 'yes or no ma'am'
or by nodding your head.  Nothing more until you have my permission.
Understood?"

"Yes ma'am" I uttered, barely audible.

She continued, "First let me make it clear that I want a slave or as
close to one that is, in the reality of these times, possible.  Let me
also make clear that I am not a 'Mistress or Goddess or Duchess' or
any of those other ridiculous affected titles those in the quote scene
like to anoint themselves with.  I am a woman with an intense,
spiteful, sadistic streak.  I carry a lot of baggage - hostile baggage
towards men.  I am a true man-hating bitch but unfortunately, I have
little or no lesbian tendencies so that leaves me with needing a male
slave.

I sat there hearing these amazing words, completely absorbed by her
incredibly powerful presence.  She went on to give me some history.
She was raised in a traditional, Latin household.  Her father was a
brute who constantly verbally and physically abused her mother.  She
grew up fearing him and pitying her.  Her father didn't treat Carmen
much better.  She had brothers who were of the same ilk as their old
man.  She had become indoctrinated with the belief that this is the
way life was between men and women.  She got married at age 20 and
soon found out that her husband was just like her father, a macho,
hard-drinking bully who used her sexually and made her do everything,
work a job, take care of the house and cater to his needs while he was
out partying and fucking other women.  During the 15 hellish years
this marriage lasted, his abuse of her got worse, culminating in a
beating he gave her during the seventh month of her only pregnancy at
the age of 31.  It was so severe that she lost the child.  She was
devastated, naturally, but still could not find the strength to leave.
"After all", she smirked with condensation, "the Church forbade it."
What made the whole incident worse was that this slime of a husband
blamed her for the loss of the baby and the abuse intensified.
Finally, 5 years ago when Carmen was 35, her husband left for a
younger woman.  She couldn't understand it, but at the time she was
very hurt by his abandonment, even though deep down she despised the
guy.  

Over the next 3 years she struggled to put her life back together.
She feared men terribly and rejected all advances for dates.  She
worked menial jobs to put herself through school with the desire to
become a legal secretary because she knew that they made good money.
Successful at her courses and  sharp as a whip, she quickly landed a
job at a prestigious law firm for one of the senior partners.   She
was feeling more self-confident but knew she had a lifetime of
internal wounds that hadn't been dealt with.  She tried counseling but
somehow the counselor seemed only to push her to take the
responsibility for her choices and stop playing the "victim".  

Carmen understood that theory but there was a seething anger
underneath that the therapist hadn't a clue how to resolve.  

A little over a year ago, she started dating again for the first time
since the divorce.  She met a guy who she liked.  He seemed kind and
gentle.  She wanted to take things slow, holding off on being
physical for a while, so she kept his advances at bay, explaining her
reasons.  The guy seemed to respect them.  Then, one night after an
evening of dancing and drinking, the guy got very aggressive.  He was
drunk and slobbering all over her.  When she pushed him away, he
called her a prick teasing cunt.  The next moment something within
Carmen snapped.  Something that would define her for the rest of her
life.  She had never hit anyone or acted out any kind of violence
before.  But she swung a backhand that hit his face with such force,
that it knocked him flat on his ass.  The cork had popped!  Years of
repressed anger and hatred came spewing up through her.  She saw him
on the ground and let lose with a crushing kick to his gut.  He was a
lot bigger and stronger and she was sure he was going to get up and
beat the crap out of her -- but she didn't care.  Whatever the
consequences, she wasn't going to take it without a fight.  But to her
shock, the guy started to cry and beg for her forgiveness.  As she
towered over him, a rush of power she had never felt before made her
heady.  She continued kick and beat the guy, spit on him, called him
the vilest names she could think of.  All he did was whimper and beg.
Finally, grabbing him by the hair, she tossed him out of her front
door, all battered and bruised.

Afterwards, she felt drunk, giddy, somehow liberated.  She also found
that she was wet.  The incident had aroused her.

Over the next few days as she came down from the 'high', she was
stunned at herself for what she did and the reaction it caused.  She
was equally stunned when the guy kept calling, pleading with her to
see him again.  He vowed to always obey her and would take whatever
punishment she dished out.  He called her Mistress and promised to be
her slave, etc.  She got a big turn on out of that - but an even
bigger one denying him an audience.  Inside, she was yearning  to give
him another, even more savage beating but since he had exhibited that
vulgar side, she really wanted nothing more to do with him.   She
strung him along for a while, amused and turned on by his pathetic
calls.  Eventually, he stopped.  But it left her with the knowledge
that there were men out there that were into being abused.

Fueled by the spring of  deep rooted hatred that boiled within, Carmen
began having a flood of fantasies, or 'visions' as she called them
Images of doing the most disgusting  and viscous acts to a male,
without the slightest regard to his feelings or even well-being, 

She began a journey of research.  She attended some 'Alternative
Lifestyle' seminars and briefly joined a B&D organization.  But these
just didn't correlate with the ideas she had.  She regarded the
theatrics of leather costumes and dungeons as mildly amusing and the
rules for a good 'Dom' to follow completely incongruous.  She wasn't
interested in a lover or partner where role-playing was a part of
their life.  She wanted something different, the real deal as she put
it.  Little of what she heard from these people came close to her
'visions'.

I sat there in total silence and listened to Carmen, absolutely
riveted.  She told me that over the past year, she had answered ads
and even placed a couple.  She talked to a lot of guys but she was not
interested in the scenarios they presented her.  She had no desire to
dress a certain way for a man or cross dress them to their liking or
act out specific fantasies for his enjoyment.  She did meet a couple
of guys who in the beginning had promise.  But they didn't make it.
They could not stretch their limits to where she needed them to go.

Her dark brown eyes bored into my questioning face at that point.  A
little grin played on her lips as she said, "I know what you want to
know, so we don't waste anymore time, I'll tell you  my  two most
extreme visions.  These are things that are unconditional
requirements.  Vile, painful acts that my slave will incur on a daily
basis..."

She let that hang there a moment,  then started, "The first, is that I
will kick you in the balls as hard as possible whenever I feel like it
which will probably be quite often..."

Letting that sink in, Carmen took a sip of coffee.  I just sat there
and nodded.  She smiled and continued,  "The second and equally
arousing for me is the thought of having a full service, human toilet.
And I do mean full service.  I stress that because there are many men
who love drinking a woman's urine.  But I want a man to literally eat
my shit whenever I have to go.  I know it can be unhealthy and you
could get sick.  It wouldn't matter to me, you would still be required
to serve me in this manner throughout the term.  But since I do tend
to eat healthy, that should reduce the risk.   Those two duties are
where the others fell short.  One ran away right after the first 'nut
kick'.  The second made it through several ball bashing's but vomited
at the mere smell of my bowel movement, even before it hit his lips.
He wanted to keep trying but I knew he'd never make it, so I dismissed
him."  She paused, looked at me, then asked, quite seriously, if this
was the kind of abuse and degradation I meant in the ad I placed.

I gulped, "Yes ma'am", my voice was a hoarse whisper.

Her eyes narrowed on me, "And what makes you think you will succeed
where the others have failed?  Go on, you have my permission to
speak."

"Uhm, well ma'am, I have experienced both in prior relationships to
one degree or another."

She sat silent, eyes seemed to be digging right into my soul.  Then,
she said, "Yes, I get the feeling that you're different.  That you
really know you're place.  That  you need and crave to be nothing more
than a human sewer and kicking post.  Am I right?"

"Yes ma'am".

She then briefly listed other forms of abuse she's passionate about
trying.  They included:  denial of sexual release, smothering,
starvation while forcing me to watch her eat (she's real big on
deprivation);  Also, full contact punches, slaps and kicks to all
parts of my body and face.  And then she cooed with an ominous hint
"...and of course there are my nails..."  Almost involuntarily, I
glanced at her hands where I saw the sharpest set of fingernails I've
ever seen.  They were painted clear and the tips were as fine as
razors.  

She got extremely serious, and said, "You can see that what I want is
a slave - not a lover, a partner or a friend."  Sneering at me, she
asked rhetorically, "I mean, a friend wouldn't take a dump in your
mouth or spit snot down your throat, would she...?"  My mind  was
reeling at that point,  this was one seriously nasty bitch!  She went
on, "The energy I'll put into you will be for the sole purpose of
crushing you  Not only physically but emotionally and spiritually as
well.   I guarantee, if you become my slave you will be reduced to
nothing but a shell of what you are now and you will most likely never
fully recover. "  She eyed me as I digested this.  Then, "Is the
dynamic I require crystal clear to you?"

"Yes ma'am".

"Is it a commitment that you are prepared, willing and able to make
right now?  Take your time with this one", she cautioned.

She was right, lots of thoughts were swimming through my mind.  This
could be dangerous, I might discover I'm really not as submissive as I
thought.  I mean, in past - the sessions with pros, the golddiggers,
they were really just play for a finite time. I knew that Carmen
demanded something much more.  But every thing she said, including the
frightening reality that she most likely would crush my spirit
forever, had me so hot, I was ready to explode in jeans at that
moment.  I knew that if I passed on this opportunity, I would regret
it for years.  

I took a breath, "Very much, ma'am".

CRACK! Her hand whipped out like lightening.  The slap had my cheek
stinging, my mind stunned.  Her eyes were ablaze with fury.  She
hissed at me, "Did I give you permission to say anything other than
the pre-approved words?"  I shook my hanging head.  "Listen, pig shit,
I'm not fucking playing games.  That won't happen again, will it?"

"No ma'am."

She threw me a glare of complete derision, that twisted into a scary
grin. "I believe you.  My instincts tell me that you are ripe for
this.    Since you've already said you are willing and able, I am
going to accept you as my slave.  But I am not going to go through any
game playing tests with you.  As of now, consider yourself my
property".

As the shiver ran though my body, I could feel the pre-cum oozing out
of my dick.

"Now", she said, "let's talk practicalities.  You said you worked as a
graphic designer out of your home, so I assume you make your own
schedule?"  I nodded.  "Good. This will be a full commitment for you.
You will give up any hobbies, regular social obligations, friends --
everything else in your life except your work.  That might even change
later on, but for now, I have no intention of  'keeping' any man until
I decide if I want this to be permanent".

She went on to outline what other duties I'd have to perform.  She
said she already had a cleaning crew that comes to her condo twice a
week that she was happy with and since she had no desire to spend any
time and energy to train me in domestic chores, I would simply be
limited to maintenance in that area.  However, I would be cooking for
her when she wanted, running errands, doing the shopping, sometimes
chauffeuring her, giving massages -- any little drudgery that needed
to be accomplished.  Then, she gave a little chuckle and said
"Everyone of the maggots I've spoken to boast how they will give me
the most wonderful pedicures and manicure.  I suppose that's something
you'd want to do?"

"Yes ma'am!" I answered eagerly.

"Well, that's too fucking bad, scum wad", she snarled.  "I go to my
little place down the street from my job three times a week.  Those
Korean girls pamper and relax me beautifully."  She took a moment,
then added the punchline, "And they know just how I like my nails
done..."

With that, she leaned forward, reaching an arm across the table,
finger pointed.  She poked the razor sharp tip of her nail into the
center of my forehead and dug into it for a good 30 seconds.  It hurt
like hell but I just sat there stiffly and silently.  The gleam of
pure sadistic joy in Carmen's eyes made my cock ache.  Finally, she
sat back,  looked at me and let out a loud chortle. "You look like one
of those Hindu women, you know, the one's who have those red dots on
their foreheads."  Out of reflex, I touched the spot she poked.  There
was indeed a drop of  blood on my finger. Then, she held out her
stabbing finger to my lips.  I could see a small chunk of my skin
under it.  "Clean it off, sewer mouth", she commanded.  I obeyed
instantly and sucked my own ripped out flesh from her lethal nail and
swallowed.  She pulled the finger out of my mouth, inspected it,
nodded that it was satisfactory, then wiped it dry of my saliva on my
shirt.

"Okay", she said as if what just happened was the most natural thing
in the world, "where were we?  Oh, yes, your duties.  Well, I think
we've covered the basics.  You'll learn more as we go."  Then, she
glanced at the manila envelope.  "Can I safely assume that you brought
all the documents I requested?"

"Yes ma'am."

She held out her hand and I gave it to her.  "As I said earlier, I
want as close to a genuine slave as possible.  But as we know, slavery
is illegal and since there's no other precedent for one person owning
another, I need some potent tool of control.  I have no desire to
blackmail you though I'm sure I could lure you into some kind of
situation to accomplish that - but that wouldn't suit my need to have
a truly pathetic piece of garbage such as yourself willingly surrender
himself to me.  So, I've devised another method.   Starting tomorrow,
we will be entering a three-month term of indentured servitude.  Right
now I want to know what the total amount of money is to cover your
basic expenses - rent and bills only, not food or entertainment - for
the next three months.  Can you estimate what that might be?  Be
truthful, now. I'll be checking it later. You have my permission to
speak, fuck face."  

I did a quick calculation of my monthly expenses in my head and told
her the number.

She then rifled through the envelope and withdrew my checking and
savings statements.  She looked them over quickly and nodded.  "Well,
you have nearly two and a half times that in available cash right now.
This is going to work out very nicely".   What you will do later is
write out checks for 3 months in advance to those payees and  they
will be sent off tonight."  Then, she asked, "Where do you do your
banking?"  

I told her the name.  It was one of the major banks.  

"Good, there's a branch right by my office.  You will meet me there
tomorrow during my lunch break .  You will close out your current
savings account and add enough to your checking account to bring it to
the exact sum of the checks you write tonight.  You will then take the
remainder of your savings and place it in a 90 day high yield, sealed
C.D. that cannot be broken for that period.   Are following me so far,
slime ball?"  I nodded that I was.  "A miracle", she sang and
continued, "You will have to arrange for all your income to be placed
directly into that account from your employer.  At the bank, you will
purchase a security box in which you will place all your remaining
checks, the ownership papers for your car, your credit and ATM cards,
passport, any other forms of ID, and the receipt for the box itself.
Only you will be able to sign for access but I will remain in
possession of the key.  I'll tell you now, that without that receipt
and proper ID, it will be an ordeal to obtain another key. I will be
keeping your drivers license just in case of some unforeseen
emergency.  See I'm not that heartless", she smirked.   "I suppose
you'll be at some minimal risk when driving around without me but if
you do get stopped and get a ticket, it will be little trouble to
clear up.  You'll just have to drive carefully, sl-a-a-a-ve."  She let
the word roll off her tongue, like savoring a fine delicacy.

She paused, staring at me, those dark brown eyes sparkling, like she
was realizing a long repressed dream.  I wondered if mine betrayed the
same.  

"Now then", she was back to business,  "when we're finished here
tonight, we will be going to your apartment where I will do a quick
inventory of your possessions.  Anything of any significant value, you
will place in a self-locking storage facility.  Again, you will be the
only one with signing access but the keys will remain with me. At the
end of the three month term, we will both evaluate whether or not we
shall continue.  But, I can guarantee you that by then, you will be so
broken, so deeply dependent on my subjugation, that the choice will be
solely mine.  In any event, should it be determined that we part ways,
I will return the keys and you will reimburse me the expenses I've
incurred for your maintenance out of the interest gained from the C.D.
I will be keeping a log of it with back-up "  Then spiting out an evil
little laugh as she said, "Actually, you stand to make a bit of
profit.  You see, I don't intend  to spend a great deal on your
upkeep.  After all, much of your sustenance will be second hand," then
with a wink, "know what I mean, shiteater...?"  She sighed with
anticipation, then continued, "On the other hand, should  it be
decided that we will continue, I will implement a more permanent
arrangement.  Until then, you will keep your residence as I know
that's where you do your work. However, you will rarely sleep there as
- nature being what it is - I will be needing  your services during
the night and first thing in the morning.  I've already had the
cleaning crew clear out a closet.  It's not much but you can call it
home."

She then outlined some basic rules.  First she reiterated that the
only time for myself would be during my working hours.  All other
times would be devoted to serving her or waiting for orders.  She
said that while she led a fairly quiet life, she did have other
aspects which I would have no part of, such as socializing with
friends and family, a reading club to which she belonged, and other
minor activities.  There would definitely be times that she would want
nothing to do with me, so I would be relegated to the closet until she
had some use for me.  If there were ever occasions that I encountered
any of her friends or family to whom she hadn't divulged the nature of
my position, I was to remain respectful and quiet while she fielded
the questions.  Very important, was whether in private or public, to
always regard her with the utmost reverence.  And while she has no use
for overt public displays of  humiliation, if I perpetrated an
infraction, I could expect to be reprimanded on the spot as evidenced
by the slap a few minutes ago. While in public, I  would be required
to assume a docile posture with eyes downcast and when walking, I am
to keep a steady two paces behind her.  Equally  important was her
mandate that, other than responding to a direct question or
acknowledging or inquiring about a directive, I am never, ever to
speak to her without permission, unless it was genuinely urgent.  I am
always to address her as "ma'am" or "Ms. De LaPaz".  None of that
'Mistress' bullshit.  She stressed that all commands and directives
were to be obeyed immediately and absolutely without hesitation,
question or condition.  She reaffirmed that my feelings and needs were
truly of no concern to her and should I ever try to assert them, that
violation would be dealt with in a most unpleasant and dire manner.

She leaned back and said she believed she'd covered everything but
that I might have missed something due to her awareness of my
distraction -- at that I felt her foot press into my rock hard dick
--she would grant me the opportunity to ask any pertinent questions, I
might have.

I gave it a second or two thought, knew that she had laid everything
out thoughtfully and clearly and said, "No ma'am, any questions I had
have been answered."

"Is there anything you'd like to say?  Think it over, this is a rare
opportunity."

After a moments contemplation, all I could come up with was, "Ms. De
LaPaz, I am thrilled and honored at the prospect of serving you in all
the ways you require, including your desire to crush me and I will do
my very best to selflessly fulfill your needs."

She smiled with sincerity and said, "Well put, asshole."

We'd been at the coffee shop for close to two hours when we left to go
to my apartment.  There, Ms. De LaPaz picked out the items to be
stored.  I'm not much on material things so it wasn't too difficult,
TV, VCR, stereo and a fairly valuable piece of artwork I'd acquired.
She knew I had to keep my computer for work but insisted that the bill
of sale and serial ID card would go in the security box.  She watched
as I wrote out the checks, put them in stamped envelopes and took
possession of  them, my ATM card and drivers license in case I had
second thoughts about showing up tomorrow.

She walked to the door and just stood there with her back to me.
After a moment, she glanced over her shoulder and beckoned  me to her.
She ordered me to my knees so I was inches away from her back.  She
hiked up her skirt, revealing a sumptuous, panty-hosed ass.  Bending
slightly at the waist, it spread to a magnifcent, treacherous width.
"I want to feel your nose lightly touching the center".  Shaking with
utter excitement, I leaned my face forward to the requisite spot.
"Just hold that position, slave".  I did.  I knelt there breathlessly
with my nose just kissing her nylon veiled asshole for at least two
minutes.  Finally, a long, languorous fart hissed out.  It seemed to
go on forever.  Ms. De LaPaz growled, "Smell it, ass face." I inhaled
deeply, through both my nose and mouth.  My nostrils and taste buds
were assailed with a burning blast of sweet and sour pungency.   It
was the most intoxicating aroma I'd ever smelled.  I inhaled several
more times until it completely dissipated.  

Ms. De LaPaz then let the hem fall back into place, turned to face my
trembling form.  I was on the brink of cuming and she knew it.  She
leered down at me and snapped, "Get used to that smell, boy."  Then,
she put her foot on my crotch, tapped my engorged dick twice lightly
and I lost it with an explosive ejaculation.  She towered above me as
I convulsed and groaned, just snickering and shaking her head as if I
were the most pathetic thing on earth.  When my orgasm finally
subsided, she roughly grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me to my
feet.  She stood so close, I could feel her breath on my face.

"You may express your gratitude, slave", she whispered.

The words came naturally to me, "Thank you for your precious gift, Ms.
De LaPaz".

"You're welcome" she breathed back, and then suddenly, CRUUNNCH!!  She
rammed her knee up into my balls, full force.

Searing pain shot through my body.  I collapsed, squealing and
writhing in agony.  I caught a glimpse of her face.  Not a hint of
sympathy.  In fact, it looked flush and radiant as she relished my
anguish.  When I started to settle a bit, she placed her foot on the
side of my head and pressed down hard so my face was smushed into the
floor.

"Tomorrow at the bank" she growled.  "Don't be late."

And with that, my new owner, turned and walked out, leaving me in a
quivering heap.


to be continued










From beatenboy@worldnet.att.net Wed Jul 02 08:17:46 1997
Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-pull.sprintlink.net!news-in-east.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!Sprint!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!worldnet.att.net!newsadm
From: beatenboy@worldnet.att.net (beatenboy)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Slave To A Man Hater pt2 (F/m, extreme humil)
Date: Wed, 02 Jul 1997 12:17:46 GMT
Organization: AT&T WorldNet Services
Lines: 377
Message-ID: <5pdgu7$ka6@mtinsc05.worldnet.att.net>
NNTP-Posting-Host: 207.147.202.175
X-Newsreader: Forte Free Agent 1.0.82

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS A SEXUALLY 
EXPLICIT AND SOMEWHAT VIOLENT ACCOUNT.
DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER  18, OR IF 
YOU ARE NOT INTERESTED IN READING ABOUT 
SEXUALLY EXPLICIT & VIOLENT SITUATIONS 
AND  ACTIVITIES.
------------------------------------------------------------------

SLAVE TO A MAN HATER 
(a saga of a life of pain and degradation)
by
beatenboy

part 2:

I laid there on my floor for I don't know how long.   All five senses
were still on overload having been assaulted to such extremes:  balls
aching, from both  the draining and the busting; the lingering taste
and odor of Ms. De LaPaz's gaseous gift; ears echoing with the cutting
Latin voice,  mocking and spiteful, spewing insults; and that final
image of a contempt filled bitch, standing over me relishing  my
anguish.  I continued to lay in that prone position and replay the
events of the last 2 1/2 hours.  An internal debate began.   "Am I
crazy?",  I blurted out loud.  In my head, I answered: weird maybe,
probably a little mentally off balanced with a hefty appetite for
kinky sex.  But crazy enough to enter into this kind of an
arrangement?  No.  I've just been starved lately, and that led me to
this bout of temporary insanity, to even consider this path of lunacy.
Get hold of yourself, boy!!!   At that moment, I resolved that I was
not going through with this.  My reasoning took this course: All this
woman wanted was someone on whom she could exercise her own personal
demons.  Just a body and mind to use without any consideration for his
well being or basic needs.  An emotionally ill soul that she could
exploit in the most grotesque and destructive ways.   That wasn't
going to do me any good.  I had to find a way to recover from my own
maladies.  And this wasn't it.

I started to get angry at this... this...harpy!  This deranged bitch
with the audacity to take advantage of my unhealthy, sexual
compulsions for her own sick needs.  "Fuck her",  I thought.  With
growing rage, I reviewed the inhuman "duties" she required.... 'human
punching bag'... starvation... flesh gouging with those dreadful
fingernails... being the receptacle of all of her bodily wastes!  HOW
DARE SHEEeee... The anger quickly dissolved and I found my rock hard
penis in my hand, spurred by these same thoughts that seconds ago
enraged me.  Now, once again, all I could think of was being used
ruthlessly, devoting my entire being to Ms. De LaPaz as her kicking
post, toilet slave and lackey.  It only took a few strokes to ignite
another explosive orgasm.  



Afterwards, I lay in doomed resignation.  "Sick, crazy  fuck",  I
thought to myself.  That's just what I am: a sick fuck who can't stop
from relinquishing control of my life to this woman.  Hell, I sought
her out!   My ad was plain as day.  It begged for a genuinely cruel
woman to abuse and degrade me.  She wasn't being unethical nor using
me in the true sense of the word.  There was no gun to my head when I
handed her my driver's license, ATM and credit cards.  In reality, she
was doing me a favor, giving me exactly what I wanted.  She had been
upfront and articulated concisely what I could expect and graciously
detailed the reasons for her desires.   

I dragged my sorry ass to the shower and sat down under the hot spray.
I thought about her plan.  She had really thought it out.  It was
quite brilliant, I mused.  Then, I started looking for holes - just in
case if in a few days I decided I couldn't handle it anymore.  After
all, I wouldn't be under lock and key.  Just financially bound.  And
there were ways to resolve that.  I could always obtain a duplicate
driver's license, go to the bank and tell them I lost the key and
receipt to the security box.  They'd check my signature on file and
bingo - I'm outta there!  Maybe she wasn't so smart after all.  I
could always borrow a few bucks against the CD until it matured.  I'd
have my credit cards, my...my... Suddenly, I snorted out a cynical
laugh .  At that moment it became crystal clear how cunning of a bitch
Ms. De LaPaz truly was.  She knew all that -- of course she did.  She
said herself there was no true external way to make a person a slave.
Her intuition told her from the beginning that this was the kind of
situation I deeply needed.  Intense cravings that could not be
repressed for more than a few minutes at a time.  Those were the real
tools of control.  These machinations would simply serve as obstacles
to quell any fleeting thoughts of flight.  With just the time it would
take for me to think through an escape, those thoughts would soon be
smothered by my own depraved needs.  She knew she had me and now I
knew she had me.

I jerked off twice more to the images of her abusing me that night and
fell into a deep sleep.

But  it didn't last long.  3 maybe 4 hours and I was wide awake.  I
still ached but I felt alive - and rumbling-gut nervous about what I
was about to undertake.  I couldn't eat breakfast so I completed some
work until it was time to go to the bank.

Driving there, everything looked a little different, almost surreal.
The streets were same but there was strange hue to the surroundings I
knew so well.   I couldn't pinpoint it at the time it, but now I know:
I was in the process of stepping out of my old world and into the new
world of Ms. Carmen De LaPaz, self-proclaimed and, proud of it,
man-hating bitch.

I got there a few minutes before the appointed time.  I stood in the
lobby of the tall office building that housed the bank stock still at
attention,  like awaiting a superior.  It was quite busy at lunch time
as I searched the sea of faces looking for her.  Then, something
strange happened: I couldn't visual her in my head.  The picture just
wouldn't come.  I remembered having a similar reaction long ago, the
first time I fell in love.  Every time I'd part from my young lover -
"My Angel" I used to call her - I was just unable to bring her image
to mind.  It was as if the two of us together existed separate and
apart from the rest of the universe, unreachable from its harsh
realities.  Then upon reuniting and seeing her beautiful, sweet face,
the rush of electricity deliciously mixed with a sense of warmth &
safety would sweep through my veins.

That recall brought a twinge of sadness.  I suppose, like many who
have experienced the magic of an intense first love - that for one or
another reason didn't sustain -  I have spent much of my life
searching to recreate that enchantment.  In the many years since the
completion of that first-love relationship, I'd never come close to
experiencing those intoxicating feelings.  Yet, at that moment, as  I
stood waiting with burning eagerness for a woman who vowed to treat me
as no more than a cockroach who most people wouldn't give a second
thought about crushing beneath their heel, emotions so similar were
boiling up.  The sadness came not from the memory of the long, lost
love but to the curve that my emotional interpretation had taken: onto
a twisted path of darkness and deviance.

Suddenly, my legs wobbled as my vision hazed into a dream-like state.
My eyes locked onto her like a magnet, striding through the throng
with an arrogance usually reserved for royalty.  My mind was no longer
blank.  Even from this distance those insolent, rolling hips and
organic sneer of contempt were as big as if projected on a panoramic
movie screen.  

As she strode to my position, the only hint of acknowledgment was a
brief glance.  Her strut didn't slow even a step as she passed.  I
fell in behind her at the requisite two paces as we crossed into the
bank, my eyes inextricably drawn to that grand-sized bottom that had
abused me so soundly the night before as it protruded brazenly, hugged
by a tight, knee-length skirt.  

Everything at the bank went quick and smooth.  I just followed Ms. De
LaPaz's lead and it was done just like she had outlined the prior
evening.

She walked me to my car, parked in the subterranean garage.  She
demanded for me to recite my instructions for that afternoon.  I said
I would place the items she decreed into storage and arrange for my
employer to automatically deposit my next three months paychecks in
the sealed account.  She nodded her approval.  We were standing
between my car the one next to it.  She remained silent for a minute.
Then, quite sincerely she asked if I had been having any second
thoughts.

 I replied honestly, "Yes, ma'am".

With a genuine smile that I thought almost winked at me, she said,
"Good.  "If you weren't scared out of your mind then I might have
something to worry about.  And believe me, you should be scared".

"Yes ma'am". 

Then she asked if I was caught up on my current work project or was I
under any kind of pressure.

It so happened, that I was just about finished with it.  I informed
her that I needed no more than an hour or two to complete it.  She was
pleased and ordered me to finish it up this afternoon when I returned
from the storage place.  I would be taking the next day off - a Friday
- as she wanted to start me on a specific conditioning process on a
day that she would go to work.  It would be a good transition going
into the weekend.  She then gave me her address, told me what to bring
- a tooth brush, extra tee-shirt, change of underwear and a towel.
She wanted me at her place by 8pm and that I would not be released
until the next Monday morning.  She handed me a pager with orders to
keep it on my person at all times when not in her presence.  Knowing I
had no money or access to any, she handed me 2 ten dollar bills.  One,
I was to keep to be for used gas only; she'd be checking my receipts.
The other was for the dinner I'd be picking up for her at a local
Chinese restaurant.  She told me to call ahead and provided me with
the number items she wanted.  

She then moved very close to me.  With her 2 inch heels she was my
height, maybe even a little taller.  Her perfume which had loitered in
my senses from the first moment I saw her, made me shiver.  Wrapping
an arm around my neck, she grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled
brutally on it.  I was bent back by her grip and she was leaning over
me, her face just two or three inches above mine, her other hand
clutching the front of my shirt.  From a distance, if anyone had seen
us, the pose would have appeared as two lovers in a passionate
embrace.  But with the harsh pain in the roots of my head, I knew
better.  She stared into my eyes with a fierce intensity.  Then, her
nose and mouth contorted slightly and she snorted.  I could hear mucus
shoot back.  That was followed by a hocking from her chest, giving
rise to a sheet of  phlegm into her mouth. I could see her tongue
working like a mixer as the combination of snot and phlegm swirled
between her cheeks. Those dark eyes were smiling.  I knew just what to
do and opened my mouth as wide as it would go.  Her glossy lips parted
and the glob slowly appeared.  It was a bubbly cloud of yellow and
white.  It gradually lowered, hanging on by drooling strings of
saliva.  Finally, gravity did its thing and the mass fell, landing on
my tongue.  It felt sludgy, rich in texture.  My taste buds came alive
and I found this rather base offering rather delicious.

"Savor it, pig", Ms. De LaPaz instructed.

Strange, I was no longer bothered by the relentless, savage hair
pulling as I swished her swill around my mouth.  After a good couple
of minutes, she snapped, "Swallow!"  I could feel its thick trail as
the slimy lump slid down my throat and into my stomach.  She continued
to hold me in position, that same slight grin of derision played on
lip as it did the night before as I knelt in the cloud of her fart.  

Then, she abruptly let go, giving me a little shove so from my awkward
position, I fell on my butt.  As she turned, her shoe carelessly
stepped on my out-stretched hand that broke the fall.  I swallowed a
yelp as she gave the heel a little twist.  Then, she started walking
off  with a bark, "Get off your ass and get moving, snot rag.  You've
got a lot to do before you come see me."  And she strode off without
even a glance back.

Once in my car, I found myself tingling all over and horny as all
hell.   This woman's debasement of me had an effect like no other.  As
mentioned earlier, I had quite a bit of experiences with pay-for-play
dominants.  I had been spit on by many of them as that act usually
played a part in many of  the scenarios I'd requested.  But that was
merely play acting to satisfy a client.  What just transpired was no
game.  Ms. De LaPaz was the initiator and Ms. De LaPaz did it for not
anyone but herself.  

I went warp speed through the rest of my tasks for the afternoon.
After I was done, I realized that except for Carmen's slop, I hadn't
eaten all day.  I was empty but still felt too nervous to eat.  But
recalling her fancy for food deprivation and the ominous promise of
"second hand meals",  I rustled up some sandwich concoction from my
refrigerator and forced myself to eat it.

By 7:45 I'd picked up her Chinese food.  At 7:50 I sat in my car in
front of the address she'd given me.  Through the drawn curtains of
the front unit of  the newer built four-plex condo building, I could
see the silhouette of someone dancing to a steady rhythm.  Actually it
looked more like an aerobics workout.  I wasn't sure, but I thought it
could be Ms. De LaPaz.  The figure was kind of short and solid.  I
would soon find out.

At 7:58, I got out of my car with my sparsely packed gym bag and the
savory order of Ms. De La Paz's dinner.  I approached the door of unit
1, her unit.  From within, I heard the thumping beat of driving music.
I checked my watch and at 8 on the dot I rang the doorbell once.  No
answer.  For ten minutes I stood there, contemplating whether or not I
should ring the bell again or perhaps even rap loudly on the door.
Then, the door was yanked open.  Ms. De LaPaz was in the doorway,
dancing in place, singing along with the lyrics of the still-playing
music.  She had obviously heard the doorbell when it first rang and
simply let me wait until she was ready.  She motioned me in.  She was
a sight to behold.  Wearing only a white leotard, already half soaked
with sweat, it accentuated the smooth, presently glistening olive
skin.  It was the first time I really got to see her figure. I guessed
she was 5'4" and a solid 145 pounds.  Her bust was larger than I
initially detected while in her business suits, the waist was tight as
it mushroomed into those wide, sultry hips atop a set of powerful,
full thighs.  I'm sure my eyes dawdled a bit too long between those
thighs on the damp gusset from which curls of black pubic hair were
obscenely sprouting.  She curtly snatched the bag of food from me as
she used a remote to mute the music.  She said she was going to go put
the food in the kitchen and I should be totally stripped and on my
knees by the time she returned.  I couldn't help stealing a glance at
that awesome derriere, its supple meat packed tight in the leotard
jiggling to her step.  

When Ms. De LaPaz came sweeping back, she looked down at my naked,
kneeling form and announced with great enthusiasm,  "Now comes the fun
part of my workout!  She grabbed me by the ear and pulled me on my
knees into the spacious, carpeted living room.  There was an area
cleared for her workouts.  In the middle of it was a bizarre looking
contraption -- a double tiered harness that hung from the ceiling.  It
was attached to a steel roped pulley.  She told me to stay on my knees
directly beneath the harness.  Then, she reached to the pulley, gave
it a yank and guided the harness down to my level.  She stepped back
to me and instructed that I should pay close attention as this was
going to become a regular part of her 5 day a week workout.  She made
me raise my arms as she slipped the harness over my head, then pulling
up so the upper thong was surrounded my armpits.  She had me lower my
arms through the upper thong so they were flush against my sides.
Then, she yanked on a strap so the upper thong tightened.  My arms
were now completely immobile but I hardly noticed as she was so close
to me and I couldn't help but to get drunk off the scent of her sweat.
She ignored my growing cock as she bent and tightened the lower thong
around the very top of my thighs.   Moving behind me she attached a
leather band to each of my ankles.  Then, bending them back towards my
legs, she hooked a length of strap from each ankle to the lower thong.
At that point, I was practically suspended, except that my knees still
rested on the carpet.   She turned backed to the pulley, tugged on it
and I felt myself  being lifted off the ground about a foot and a
half.   She stood, hands on hip to admire her handi-work, and said
more to herself, "Beautiful..."  as she smacked her lips.

I had a terrible feeling about what was going to commence.  My fears
were soon confirmed as Ms. De LaPaz flicked the driving music back on
and started dancing around my suspended, completely vulnerable &
indefensible form like a boxer.  Only there were no gloves on her
hands.  I watched in horror as she bobbed, weaved and jittered about
my face wearing only what I could describe as a malevolent grin.  I
barely saw the first blow.  The fist landed hard right between my
eyes.  I saw stars as I swung back a bit on the harness.  Swinging
forward, I braced myself as a vicious right smashed into my gut.  It
went on like this for something like 15 or 20 minutes.  I thought back
to when she said the term 'human punching bag'.  At the time, I
honestly assumed she was using it as merely a metaphor.  But there I
was, strapped in this harness that hung from a ceiling, swaying this
way and that way while  Ms. De LaPaz threw uppercuts, straight arms,
jabs, overhand punches to every part of my body and face.  Fast,
furious and solid blows.  Woozy from the relentless beating, I felt
like I was in some kind of cheap horror movie from the 50's - a
nightmarish sequence of  insanity with the music pounding and flashing
glimpses of Ms. De LaPaz's gritting features, followed by thud after
thud of her fists on my flesh.  Finally, thankfully, the music was
muted.  My tormentress stood before me, a gleam of pure exhilaration
in her eyes as she breathed in and out.  She was now soaked with
perspiration.  I could only imagine what I must of looked like, no
doubt a pitiful sight, dangling in the air like that.  I felt a small
trickle of blood from my lower lip and I was sure that the rest of me
was bruised and battered.  She looked at me and raised an eyebrow,
"Didya like that...?"

How could one in my current position respond to that?  But I knew I
had to try.  Actually, two answers came to mind:  for myself, I
didn't.  I was hurting all over.  But I was no longer living for
myself.  I'd fantasized about being a true slave long enough to know
that.   My owner looked so happy at that moment and that's what truly
counted to me.  So I answered truthfully, "Yes ma'am".

"Because it pleased me?" 

"Yes ma'am".

She grinned.  "Good.  Then, you're really gonna love this."  She spun
back to the pulley, gave it a yank and I suddenly dropped about a foot
or so.  Once more she cranked up the music and started her dance
again.  A brain-jaring bare foot crashed into my cheek.  Another
shattered into my chest.  Her feet, propelled by those powerful legs,
delivered three times the force of her fists.  She must of hurled a
hundred kicks -- all full contact to my head, face, ass, ribs,
kidneys, stomach.  I was feeling nauseous and faint by the time she
dealt the coup de grace - four straight-on shots to my exposed balls. 

Then, the music went silent.  Ms. De LaPaz watched with an excited
twinkle as I heaved and convulsed, still hanging on the harness.  I
even saw her touch her mound.  The bitch was turned on.  After
several, agonizing minutes, I started to regain myself a little,
though my body was still shaking.  She turned and left, returning a
moment later with a towel for herself.  She was literally swamped with
sweat from head to toe.  She moved to me, unlatched the two thongs.
With my ankles, still bound by the leather bands, I fell flat on my
face.  She giggled and then unhooked them.  She reached down and
grabbed me by the hair, pulling me to my feet.  I was not in very good
shape, wobbly, trembling, an occasional spasm attacking.  There wasn't
an ounce of compassion in her face as she ordered me to the kitchen.
There, I was to wash my face and hands, make her a plate of food, zap
it in the microwave and bring it and a diet coke to the den, just off
to the side.  Aching, I moved rather gingerly.   My laggardness earned
me punch to the back of my head.

"I'm hungry, shitheel.  I wanna eat now, not in ten minutes.  Move
your pathetic ass!"

Despite my pain, I ran like a bunny.  In the kitchen, I caught a
glimpse of myself in a mirror.   Face puffy and red. Ugly splotches
starting to form on my neck and chest.   Man, was I a sorry sight.
As, I prepared my owner's plate, I looked at the clock. 8:56.  Damn, I
thought, I hadn't even been there an hour and I already felt like a
broken soul.  What did I get myself into...!!??

-to be continued-



From beatenboy@worldnet.att.net Wed Jul 02 08:19:24 1997
Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-pull.sprintlink.net!news-in-east.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!Sprint!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!worldnet.att.net!newsadm
From: beatenboy@worldnet.att.net (beatenboy)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Slave To A Man Hater pt3 (F/m, extreme humil)
Date: Wed, 02 Jul 1997 12:19:24 GMT
Organization: AT&T WorldNet Services
Lines: 464
Message-ID: <5pdh1b$ka6@mtinsc05.worldnet.att.net>
NNTP-Posting-Host: 207.147.202.175
X-Newsreader: Forte Free Agent 1.0.82

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS A SEXUALLY 
EXPLICIT AND SOMEWHAT VIOLENT ACCOUNT.
DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER  18, OR IF 
YOU ARE NOT INTERESTED IN READING ABOUT 
SEXUALLY EXPLICIT & VIOLENT SITUATIONS 
AND  ACTIVITIES.
------------------------------------------------------------------

SLAVE TO A MAN HATER 
(a saga of a life of pain and degradation)
by
beatenboy

part 3:

I carried her dinner into the den.  It was obviously her favorite
room.  A wide, lush sofa on one wall facing a 35" TV.  There were
shelves lined with books (she is an avid reader), and a fireplace.  A
moment later, Ms. De LaPaz entered, holding a towel.  She studies the
sofa as if  in deep thought,  then shrugged.  

"I want to sit on the sofa and watch TV as I eat but I'm so sweaty,
I'm afraid it will soak right through and stain it."  She glanced at
me, "You look fairly dry".   With that, she laid the large towel on
the sofa, took the tray of food from me and told me to lie on it and
bend my knees so they face the TV.  I complied and after she made an
adjustment to my knees' position, she propped a pillow against them.
Then, the most wonderful sight came into my view. Ms. De La Paz's
magnificent ass hovered me.  It lowered onto my upper chest.  I felt
her lean back against the pillow as her legs and feet extended past my
face.  Adjusting herself for comfort, she slid forward so her ass
pushed into my face.  Shifting again, her bottom lifted, inched
forward until it settled square onto my mouth, where it spread to an
overhang.  Though my nose was buried under her crotch, tickled by the
protruding coarse, pubic hairs, I could just get enough air through a
half-covered nostril so I wouldn't smother.  When she was finally
satisfied with her position, muffled as it was, I heard her sing. "Ooh
I like this.  It really is comfortable.  I think we found another use
for you, recliner boy!"

I've read and heard more than once, coming from some of the most
celebrated psychological minds in history, that many men (possibly
some women too) crave nothing more than a return to the source of
safety and warmth from which they sprang - the womb.  It's a theory I
wholeheartedly and instantly identified with.  And there is no more
comprehensive act to simulate that event - one which is a literal
impossibility to re-create in actuality - than to have your face sat
on by a glorious set of expanded, shapely haunches belonging to a
full-bodied Butt Goddess.  To be totally engulfed by a feminine
asshole and the vagina that precedes it, consumes one so wholly into a
woman's natural moisture and essence, that the nirvana such a
'pressing' evokes, must be a sexually developed adult's interpretation
of re-connecting to his nest of origin.

Facesitting, queening, being throned - whatever you want to call it -
has truly been the overriding passion of my life.  I'd been obsessed
with the female rump since my post-toddler days.  I can recall as a
little five or six year-old boy, being on the beach and - innocent as
it was then (...?...) - gawking at the parade of bathing suit clad
(bikini and otherwise) tushes that surrounded me.  Young or old, taut
or lumpy, white, black, yellow, brown - it didn't matter; they all
bewitched my child-eyes.  It was the reason I nagged so often to go to
the beach as I really didn't care much for ocean's waves or building
sandcastles.   Just the sight of a prominent female posterior would
stir something deep within my young soul that was, at that undeveloped
stage, completely inexplicable.  Most everyone of those awe-inspiring
set of fleshy globes separated by the mysterious, magnetic dark cleft
- that when the wearer was situated in certain positions would swallow
up the patch or string covering it - seemed to beckon to me.  Driven
by that calling and a slew of nagging curiosities: 'what did they feel
like, what smell did they emit, how did they TASTE?',  I began to
venture out for a closer encounter with an object of my wonder.
Zeroing in on a face down woman tanning her back, I would innocently
run to retrieve an "errant" ball, strategically placed by my own
design near my target of bulging plumpness.  Feigning clumsiness, I
would "trip" making sure that when I fell, my face would land smack in
the middle of her buttocks.  Most would immediately shriek out.
Knowing that my window of opportunity was brief, I'd whiff in as
quickly and as much as my little lungs could take, before my startled
"victim" would shift and look at me, blushing and pure, holding my
precious, strayed toy-ball, and giggle with relief.  They always
showed the greatest concern for my condition without any suspicion of
my true motives.  

These forays culminated in one incident that will remain forever
ingrained in my mind.  While sitting on our beach blanket, I spied a
group of teenage black girls who were just setting up for the day.
They were all still on their feet wearing the latest in bathing suit
fashions.  As I panned along their lower torso's, scrutinizing each
caboose, I came to one that must've set off some kind of bizarre
chemical reaction in me.  It was the classic bubble-butt that is
characteristic of the African American female.   It was an awesome
vision: two mellon-shapped hunks of tight, black beef protruding far
beyond the confines of the skimpy material around it.  The rest of her
wasn't fat at all, actually quite petite.  She and her friends were
about 10 yards away from me and, oblivious to the fact that I was
gauging when this bearer of the most radical rear end I'd ever seen
would lower herself to the blanket.  As she began to squat, it
happened.    Some uncontrollable fuel pumped through my body and
launched me into a full on sprint and subsequent dive and roll, timed
perfectly so that most bulbous of butts plunked square on my upturned
face.  The ebony, teenage Ass Queen initially squealed at the shock
but her reflexes didn't immediately lift her off.  She looked down
between those chocolate thighs at my face buried beneath.  A grin of
amusement played on her lips as this time there was no stray ball to
fake finding.  No, it was clear to her and her friends that this was a
purposeful invasion on my behalf.  That I was right where I intended
to be.  She gave my face a little grind and said something like, "Yuze
a nasty lil' white boy, aintcha, bitch...?"  Then she stood as my
mortified mother, now convinced she had horribly perverted kid, ran
up, apologizing profusely.  As I was dragged away, I glanced back at
the girl with what must of been a dreamy look as she and her friends
reacted with raucous hoots and hollers.

After that my folks gave me all kinds of reprimand but did that quell
my obsession...?  Obviously not.  That was only the beginning. In the
ensuing years of childhood, I developed an intense interest in
professional wrestling, especially women's wrestling.  Any time there
was a female match on, I'd be glued to the tube and every so often I
was treated to the display of a face straddle.  Later on, in that time
of male adolescence when young men begin expressing their sexuality to
each other in the most crass of terms, I felt set apart from my peers,
maybe like that of a young homosexual.  While my "buds" were
blustering about "feeling up knockers" and giving "hot beef
injections" to that girl or this one, my only fantasies around the
girls that attracted me, were of their asses squashing my face.  

It might be worthy to briefly note the first time a female sat on me
by  her own volition, without any manipulation on my part.  It was in
Jr. High school, during reading period in the library.  As was my
daily habit, I lay on my back in a corner by myself reading.  One day,
I felt a presence standing over me.  I looked up and standing there
directly over my face, a female shod foot on either side, was Lori.  A
tall, model-like blonde, one of the best looking girls in school who
because of my shyness had never before interacted with.  Looking
straight up those long legs, beyond the hem of her skirt, I saw the
breathtaking view of a strip of cotton white panties disappearing into
the skid-hole of a pert, young  tush.  Lori bent over and leered down
her button nose into my eyes.  She uttered the only words she ever
spoke to me during the years we were in class together, "Everyday I
see you like this and everyday I think about doing this".  With that,
she half squatted above me and knocked the book from my hands.  Then,
in one sudden move, she dumped her firm, hard bum on my face.  She
just sat stock still with her full weight for about a minute.  I lay
there beneath her, in this position that previously could only be
conceivable in fantasy, all light blotted out, not daring to even draw
a single breath.  Then, she simply stood up, flashed me a smirking
smile and walked away.  We never spoke again.  I don't know if Lori
ever gave it another thought, but to me it was the highlight of my
adolescence. It fueled masturbation fantasies for years afterwards.
Even more profound, the incident was like a sign from a Higher Power
that defined what my calling in life was to be - seat cushion for a
lady's backside.

Apologies to the less patient for the long digression.  If you find
this telling worthy of further attention, hopefully this prelude
detailing the history and depth of this obsession of mine for face
sitting  will be appreciated when perusing the upcoming passages.

To review briefly: I was laid out on Ms. De LaPaz's sofa, knees bent
with a pillow propped on them.  My Latin owner, had just taken her
place atop my body, back leaning against the pillow, sitting on me as
one rests on a pool lounge chair.  Her wide, spongy bottom, dripping
with fresh sweat from her recent, vigorous workout was splayed across
my face as she ate her dinner while watching TV.  Now, I had
experienced many queenings at the hands of professionals, and those
times that my powers of persuasion were able to coax a "vanilla" lover
into the act.  This was something different.   Like Lori, the beauty
in Jr. High, Ms. De LaPaz had elected due to her own predilection to
sit on me.  Add to this, the fact that I would be in her service for
an indefinite future, those first minutes beneath Ms. De LaPaz ass
were something akin to a religious experience.  The brutal beating by
her fists and feet that I had minutes before endured, seemed like
nothing more than a minor bump in the road to this heavenly
destination.  Just a small price to pay to then find myself in a state
of unequaled emotional and sexual bliss.   The luscious weight of  her
heated body covered me like the ultimate blanket of warmth and
security... the sopping leotard bottoms dripped salted, delicious
perspiration through my lips and onto my waiting tongue... the
unbelievably scrumptious female funk that seemed to permeate my entire
being.  What more could a guy ask for!?

Above, I could hear the muffled TV and the clinking of silverware as
Ms. De LaPaz dined comfortably on her human divan.  It sounded like a
sitcom and when she shrieked with laughter,  the motion rippled down
through her body, contacting her anus, releasing a puff of its savory
ripeness.  At one point, a dainty little toot snuck out that made me
shiver with submissive amour.  

As was shown by the events of the previous evening, a mere whiff  of a
woman's inner perfume can instantaneously bring me to the brink of
orgasm.  I suppose, while in my pursuits to become intimate with the
female derriere, the need to be humbled by that shrine developed to
such heights, that many hours were spent day-dreaming about being
nothing more than a woman's own, personal windbreaker.  

As I relished the lingering fart, I celebrated my position as the
object of Ms. De LaPaz's scorn with renewed enthusiasm.  Sure I'd have
to tolerate some more unpleasentries but where else could one find
such ---sniiifff--- fringe benefits.  Laying there in my reverie, it
took a little while to notice a dull ache start to creep into my
muscles.  "Embrace it", I rallied to myself.  Absorb this Goddess'
wrath and rejoice in the fact that it is me and not someone else who
has been bestowed with the good fortune to be the instrument of
healing for this wounded but supreme woman.  A woman who suffered
horrible indignities at the hands of boorish members of my own gender.
Yes, Milady, I now exist solely to assist in your purging!!!

15 minutes had passed.  She hadn't moved at all.  The dull aches were
starting to cause discomfort.  Nothing too bad.  Warm was turning to
hot, stiffening joints, the dripping perspiration had my eyes
stinging, breathing slightly more labored.  I could make out the
sounds of the commercial break and figured that she was going to
finish watching the show and then get up and shower.  I could
certainly stand another 15 minutes under the sexy body atop me.

Another ten minutes ticked by.  The aches were then more like sharp
pains.  The oppressive weight bearing down had my face and head
throbbing.  The warm security blanket was gone replaced by a the iron
cover of a steaming cauldron.  Most of the sensual titillation that
swooned me initially had left.  Yet, I dared not move a muscle as she
seemed to be enjoying the show immensely.  Her laughter seemed to
apply more pressure on my body and head.  I beginning to want out,
bad.  All I could do was wait out the remaining 5 minutes of her show.
When I finally heard the closing theme play, I was bursting with
anticipation of  Ms. De LaPaz rise off of me.  I could just imagine
the cool air sweeping over me and gulping it in with full breaths.  I
salivated at the thought of being relieved of that 145 burdensome
pounds.  

Finally, movement from above.  She  leaned forward, providing relief
for my numbing knees.  Shifting  her legs gave me a partial sight-line
of her on top of me.  Her eyes never even glanced down.  The look on
her face gave the impression that she was oblivious that she was
sitting on me.  Then, to my dismay, she thrust the remote forward,
switched channels and leaned back on my knees.  Then, even more
horrifying, she shoved up so her ass was now covering my entire face.
All light was completely blotted out  and worse yet,  my meager air
supply was totally cut off.  Could she really have forgotten that I
was beneath her, that what she sat on was just an inanimate object,
not a living, breathing being?  Or was she simply void of any capacity
of concern for my welfare?  

I did not know which was true nor did it really matter as I lay there,
panic starting take over, sweltering and suffocating, yet terrified to
do anything about it.  I was dizzy, feeling like I might pass out.
For fear of savage retribution,  I quickly quashed the impulse to
throw her off me - though I doubted at that point I had the strength -
so I took the most passive action I could think of - I began to softly
whimper.  Yes, I squeaked and whimpered in the complete desperate hope
that the bitch on top of me would allow me a basic necessity to keep
on living -- a breath of fresh air.  She seemed to not hear it,
engrossed in the show she was watching.  Then, I squeaked louder and
lightly touched her thigh.  

With sudden abruptness, Ms. De LaPaz slid back off my face and sat
heavily on my chest.  As I gasped and sputtered, she glared down at me
with outrage and screamed, "WHAT???

I stammered, "I-I-I'm s-sorry, ma'am. I-I-c-c-couldn't breathe".

She stared at me, absolutely incredulous.  SPLAT!-CRACK!  Her hand
went back and forth across my features.  Then, her voice a scathing
hiss, "For that, you disturbed me from my show!?  You selfish piece of
shit!"  There wasn't even a hint of mockery in her tone. SPLAT!-CRACK!
The second set of slaps really set my cheeks ablaze.  Then, with a
growl of genuine irritation ,"You need to breathe, I'll make sure you
do, you useless slug.  Just don't bother me."  With that, she plopped
her ass back down on my face, leaned back against my painfully cramped
knees and turned back to the TV.  

The explosive interruption had allowed me to haul in a few good
breaths, so for the moment I was okay.  Seconds turned to minutes  and
once again, I was smothering under those dominating orbs of flesh.
She had promised to let me breathe...when, goddamit?!  The panic
started to return along with faintness.  But by then I had neither the
courage or even the will to indicate another alert.  Had my human,
survival mechanism been so shattered that rather than disturb the
woman perched so carefreely on my crushed face, depriving me of the
ability to pull air into my lungs, I was resigned to the real
probability that my life would be over in a few minutes?   Snuffed out
beneath the lethal mountain of ass meat belonging to one Ms. Carmen De
LaPaz.  Just when I accepted my fate, there was movement above.
Ahhh...saved!

As she rose, not more than a quarter of an inch, the pulverizing
weight eased slightly, just enough for me to steal a breath. As I
started to deeply inhale, FWAAAAAP...! it was a deafening, shocking
burst along with a simultaneous gust of searing wind.  The tremendous
fart shot straight into my lungs igniting a horrific burning
sensation.  "Told ya I'd take care of you", she snickered.  That was
followed by a  wicked chuckle and Ms. De LaPaz's observation, "That
tofu and cabbage dish does it every time!" and sat down once more,
adding a little wiggle of triumphant arrogance.

So began a sadistic cycle: smothering me to the brink then, giving
some ease and timing my frantic groping for air with the unleashing of
booming , fetid blasts of gas.  To further her enjoyment of my
torture, Ms. De LaPaz, added a new twist of sadism.  Each time after
lifting her butt to deliver a spluttering fart, she'd slam it back
down as hard as could, further battering my already beaten face.  

So my heaven had turned to hell.  No longer was I enveloped in the
womb of warmth, safety and sensuality but was being annihilated by the
weapon of choice belonging to a 145 pound, hot-blooded man hater, her
ASS!  All together -- the thunderous expulsions, Ms. De LaPaz's
gleeful cackles, the stink, the burn in my lungs, the stifling heat,
the relentless pounding on my face -- was rendering my senses into
oblivion.  I could feel nothing except for one base instinct that
always seemed to transcend anything else: raw, masochistic lust.  At a
certain point during the ordeal, I experienced an explosive orgasm.  I
remembered it clearly for ejaculation came just as I inhaled the most
foul-smelling fart of the night.   

Ms. De LaPaz engaged in this repetition until - excuse the pun  - she
ran out of gas.  Somehow during the hour or so she sat on me, just
enough air sneaked its way into my lungs to allow me to survive, if
you can call it that.  I suspected - no - actually hoped that this
occurred by my owner's design rather than due to my own desperate
efforts.  I hoped this because I was pretty sure  that in the above
described state of affairs, it was nearly impossible for me to
accomplish.  So, I prayed that this woman who I had willingly totally
surrendered myself to, possessed, at least, the most minuscule drop of
regard for my well-being.

At the end of the second sitcom, Ms. De LaPaz clicked off the TV and
shuffled her punishing ass back so it then rested on my upper abdomen.
By then, I was simply goofy.  My conception of time and place were
just a mushy blur.  I think she was even shocked when she saw my
wretched state.  I'm sure my coloring  was blue and skin chaffed from
the grinding of the leotards coarse material.  I could feel that my
eyes had been reduced to puffy slits.  I felt my squashed nose slowly
unfurling to its normal position.  Her eyes betrayed a sign of
genuine, amazed fear - fear that she was capable of  leveling another
human being to such a condition.  She stared for a moment as I laid
beneath her, just a destroyed lump.  

"Wow, you look pretty fucked up, slave", she commented sincerely.

Then, in an instant, the concern on her face was gone as it lit up
like a light bulb.  Her voice was exuberant she spoke directly  to me,
"This is one of those moments that you just can't let pass".  She
hopped off me, skipped out like an excited little girl.  She returned
a few seconds later, with something in her hand.  I couldn't yet make
it out because she did a little leap in my direction.  Before I knew
what was happening, her butt crashed back down on my stomach, knocking
the wind out of me.  As I gasped and spluttered, I caught a glimpse of
her adjusting the flash on a camera.  Ready to shoot, she looked at my
grimacing features and frowned.  A bare foot smacked my face a few
times as she said, "C'mon, c'mon stop mugging.  I want it to be
natural."  I forced myself to ignore the most recent dose of pain and
did my best to look "natural".  

After she flashed a few pictures of my raw, beaten visage, she set
down the camera and shimmied up my chest so she was straddling my
face. Her crotch hovered no more than an inch or two over my mouth.
One of those deadly fingernailed hands, pushed aside the thin patch
and I was transfixed by a hairy, glistening very wet pussy.  A
powerful waft of, sweat and urine once again had a drug-like affect as
I became incredibly aroused.  A slap to my head broke my reverie.  Ms.
De La Paz's voice snarled down at me, "You let just one small drop
spill onto my couch, I'll gouge your eyes out and smother you till
you're a vegetable!  Got it?"

"Yes ma'am".  I shuddered.  It was a threat, extreme, but one I knew
she possessed the capacity to make good.

My mouth opened wide and a dark yellow trickle dribbled  into it.
Despite the very bitter taste, I was extremely relieved to have my dry
mouth wet with liquid.  It started to come faster and stronger.  I was
gulping frantically as her piss gushed  mouthful after mouthful.  The
hissing flow was so furious, I was amazed and actually proud, that I
didn't allow even a single splash to get away.  When the last of it
went down my hatch, Ms. De LaPaz, sat back on my upper chest and neck.


Resting her chin her knees, she gazed down into my eyes.  It was a
dreamy look and I started to think one of love or at least
appreciation.  She held the gaze for a good two minutes and then, I
saw her stroke her wet cunt.  At that moment, I realized that the gaze
I so foolishly mistook for affection was really just lust - not for me
but a selfish, hedonistic lust, fueled by the tremendous amount of
degradation and pain she had inflicted on me over the past few hours.
Then, she suddenly rose to her feet, quickly ripped off the white
leotard and dropped her steaming, sopping cunt onto my face. "Suck",
she barked.  And suck I did, snaking my tongue up to find her clit.
It must of struck a chord because before long she became very
animated, grinding into my lips, pounding down with great force, even
fucking my nose, like a dildo.  I was being thrashed once again but
her heavy pussy juices acted as an elixir as I was feeling no pain.
After 10 or so minutes of humping my face, my owner let out a piercing
wail of ecstasy, exploding in a magnificent orgasm.  A thick stream of
pussy goo slithered out of her.  My tongue greedily lapped it, not
wanting to miss a precious drop.  My face was bathed in her slime as
she simply slumped down on it and leaned over to rest her head on the
arm of the couch.   She stayed like that for quite a while as I just
laid still and silent, listening to her relaxing breaths.  While once
again, my features had to bear her full weight, but this time, my
still-open mouth had access so I was able to breathe.

When she finally lifted off me, she appeared sated and serene.  There
was oddly no sign of the characteristic virulence.  She simply said in
a soft voice for me to follow her upstairs.

She me indicated her room where she was going to take a shower in the
attached bathroom.  She opened the linen closet, handed me a large
bath towel and ordered me to go back downstairs to the service porch,
put the towel in the dryer and run it for 15 minutes on low.  During
that time, I was to clear the den of her dishes, hand wash the
leotard, hang it in the service porch and when the buzzer rang, to
retrieve the warm towel and bring it to her quickly.

As she turned and walked towards her bedroom, I lingered for a look on
her for a moment.  I saw a forty-year-old woman, with slightly sagging
breasts and an ass with crimps of cellulite.  A hostile woman who had
spent the last few hours beating me savagely as punching bag, kicking
my balls, smothering me half to death, farting in my nose and mouth,
and pissing down my throat.  A rush of emotion came over me.  I
thought back to those feelings expressed earlier about my first love,
My Angel.  And it occurred to me, given the choice of rekindling that
magical first love or being with Ms. De LaPaz and enduring her abuse,
it was a no brainer:  I'd stay right where I was.

------------------------------------------------------------------

Holding the warmed towel for her as she stepped out of the shower, Ms.
De LaPaz wrapped herself in it and told me to go downstairs and bring
my belongings.  

I hurried to do that and when I came back upstairs she was waiting in
the hallway.  I was thirsty and hungry but I did not dare ask for
anything .  Appearing sleepy, Ms. De LaPaz showed me a small guest
bathroom, told me I had 90 seconds to do whatever duties I needed and
brush my teeth.  There would no shower for me tonight.  I accomplished
my bathroom functions in more like 60 seconds.  Then, she crossed to a
door and opened it. It was a small walk-in closet.  It was empty
except for a thin, bare cot mattress lying across the length of the
floor.  Nothing else.  No sheets, blanket or pillows.  I noticed with
a twinge of fear that the door could be locked and unlocked only from
the outside.  I also took note that the bulb from the light socket had
been removed.  Ms. De LaPaz told me to put my "crap" in there and the
only time it was ever to leave the closet was when I took them with me
during the day so I could wash them.  She ordered me inside the tiny
cubicle and said that most likely in the future, when she felt more
comfortable, she would permit me to massage her to sleep and allow me
to find my own way to the closet.  And maybe, if things really worked
out well, I could, on occasion sleep on the carpet at the foot of her
bed.  Until then, I would be locked in at night.  

Without so much of a parting word, she closed the door and I heard the
lock turn.  Then, I saw she checked it to make sure.  I heard her
footsteps fade and I stood there in the pitch blackness.  I ached
everywhere, my stomach was rumbling for food but luckily during my
bathroom time I was able to gulp down some water after brushing my
teeth.  I groped and lowered my battered body to the mattress.  It was
clean but very thin. Luckily the closet was carpeted.   I was utterly
exhausted but my mind was rife with conflicting emotions.  I mean, I
had never spent time in these kind of accommodations and it was really
humiliating. But the overriding emotion was that I had realized a long
held dream of being a slave to a truly dominant and cruel woman.  With
that thought, I drifted into a long, restful sleep.

-to be continued-


From beatenboy@worldnet.att.net Wed Jul 02 08:20:52 1997
Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-pull.sprintlink.net!news-in-east.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!Sprint!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!worldnet.att.net!newsadm
From: beatenboy@worldnet.att.net (beatenboy)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Slave To A Man Hater pt4 (F/m, extreme humil)
Date: Wed, 02 Jul 1997 12:20:52 GMT
Organization: AT&T WorldNet Services
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WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS A SEXUALLY 
EXPLICIT AND SOMEWHAT VIOLENT ACCOUNT.
DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER  18, OR IF 
YOU ARE NOT INTERESTED IN READING ABOUT 
SEXUALLY EXPLICIT & VIOLENT SITUATIONS 
AND  ACTIVITIES.
------------------------------------------------------------------

SLAVE TO A MAN HATER 
(a saga of a life of pain and degradation)
by
beatenboy

part 4:

The sharp kick to my ribs jolted me awake.  My groggy eyes looked up
and focused on Ms. De LaPaz, sneering down at me with sleep still in
her eyes.  Her hair was a mess.  She wore a short, silk robe that
stopped at the hips.  It was open, revealing her bouncing breasts and
her thick black bush.  She had on high-heeled slip-on slippers - the
point of one which had just served as my alarm clock.  She looked
wildly sexy.  In one hand she was holding a cup of hot coffee.  As I
started to rise, I winced as the soreness in my body announced itself.
With her free hand, she grabbed my hair and snapped, "C'mon pig, I'm
bursting from both ends."  

She dragged me out of the closet and tossed me in the general
direction of the guest bathroom.  "60 seconds", she barked.  As I
began to scurry to the bathroom, she wailed, "Wait! Wait! Wait".  She
turned her back and spread her naked ass.  Still in the haze of sleep,
I just stood not sure what to do.  "Hurry up", she screamed.  "Get
your sorry face in there".  I dove to my knees, and put my face in the
deep crevice of her ass. I couldn't help noticing how hairy it was.  A
long, fart erupted.  It was so sharp, it literally brought tears to my
eyes.  A moment later, another even stronger blast came.  This one was
wet and I could feel ass slime spit my face. "I don't hear your
appreciation, slug".  I immediately started inhaling as deep and loud
as I could.  Then, she stepped away and kicked me.  "Go do your 60
seconds and then run to my bathroom.  I can't hold everything
forever!"

I had a sick feeling I knew what everything meant.  But I couldn't
even  contemplate it so I rushed through my 60 seconds and sprinted to
Ms. De La Paz's bathroom.

She standing in front of the toilet waiting for me.  "On your knees,
toilet".  I complied and she grabbed my hair, bending my neck back so
I was facing the ceiling.  Then she stepped astraddle my upturned face
and lowered her cunt onto my open, waiting mouth.  This time, the piss
gushed out full force from the get-go.  I gulped and swallowed as fast
as I could but still some overflowed, ran down my body and onto the
tile floor.  It seemed like she peed forever.  When it finally
stopped, she shoved my head lower and wiped her dripping pussy on my
hair.  She commanded me to quickly lick up the piss I spilled.  As I
did, she sat her ass on the toilet seat.

She reached over yanked me by my urine soaked hair and shoved my face
between her parted thighs.  My head sank  below the rim of the toilet,
nose just inches from the clear water as she closed her legs, locking
me in a tight thigh grip.  My heartbeat raced as I knew what was
coming.  Her words echoed off the walls of toilet.  "Remember I told
you about the conditioning, I needed to put you trough?"

"Yes ma'am".

"Well here it comes!"  Then a gust of gas released, followed by a
slick, long, thick turd, sliding smoothly out of her flowering anus.
It dangled for a second or two, millimeters in front of my eyes.  Then
it broke off, falling in the bowl.  Its splash sprayed water in my
face.  Several more followed.  These were smaller chunks of shit,
probably 5 or 6 of them, dropping off fast, like a B-2 releasing its
bombs.  Then it stopped.  A bunch of turds were floating on the water.
Up until then, I had been holding my breath, terrified to smell the
foul waste. "I don't hear you smelling it down there", threatened her
voice.  

Oh, man, well here goes...  I took a whiff....  It was rank.  I felt
lightheaded.

"Innnn-annnd-ouuut", she sang

What choice did I have?  I mean she was real clear about this part of
servitude.  And being trained as total toilet slave had been a fantasy
I'd been harboring for years.  Not that I had a taste for shit itself,
hell it repulses me as much as the next person. But to me, with the
degradation involved, there is no greater act of service and
adoration, then to function as a woman's commode.  While I honestly
believed that, it had mostly remained as pure fantasy.  What I was
facing here was real, just ask my nose.  

I had told Ms. De LaPaz that I did have experience in this - which was
technically true.  Once, with one of the aforementioned golddiggers, a
stunning, lithe 19-year-old Asian girl, on whom I spent thousands at
Neiman Marcus and  Nordstroms for the privilege of having her slap me
around and an occasional munch on her pussy, allowed me, after much
begging, two licks of her dainty butt hole following a movement.  In
that situation, I actually found the taste of the little residue of
girl-shit that remained rather erotic.  Another time, when the
fantasies became so intense that I just had to try it, I paid a
professional dominant a "shit-load" of money to take a dump on my
face.  She had taken a laxative and when it was time, she laid me in
the bath tub to do it.  As she squatted over me and when I saw it
start to come, I chickened out and moved up so it went on my chest and
stomach instead.  Even that was too much reality for me as I gagged
and nearly threw up.

"Do it!", Ms. De LaPaz barked.

There was no place to run, my head locked between her strong thighs
with her hands firmly planted on my back.  Again I inhaled, 4 or 5
times.  I felt like retching but I knew that would really piss her off
and somewhere in my perverted heart, I truly did not want to insult my
owner who I worshipped.  

"Pretty fucking gross, I'll bet" she cackled.  "But so what? You're
just a goddamned slave, a human toilet, on your way to becoming  my
own personal one man, full service sewer system!"  She laughed
hysterically at that.  Then, "Whoa... hold on tight, here comes some
more, I think..."  I heard her grunt and strain...then, a loud
WHOOOH...! as a stream of steaming hot, chunk-filled loose shit just
flooded out of her asshole.  My stomach was churning.  Nausea came
over me.  I was fighting a losing battle not to gag.  She screamed at
me to take a huge breath.  I braced myself and sucked in the foul
odor... and I lost it.  I was retching uncontrollably.  

She savagely yanked my head out of the toilet.  SPLAT!-CRACK! went her
hand back and forth viciously across my cheeks "You gutless, little
pussy fuck!," she yelled, then spit in my face. "You're only thinking
of your goddamn self!  Get it through your head, boy - you're a slave!
You have no rights!  It's your place to take whatever I give!  What
you just did offended ME!  It shows me that you  have concern for
yourself.  If you had been thinking of ME, like a real slave should,
you would have controlled that insulting reaction.  Well let me tell
you something, you WILL become my toilet slave and you WILL love
it..." That's when she locked her arm around my head, holding it tight
against her bosom and brought the fingers of her other hand to my
cheek.  The razor sharp nails of her thumb and forefinger formed a
two-pronged claw.  "...because IF YOU DON'T..." and she started
digging into the flesh of my cheek, working the nails in deep.  The
pain was so intense, I started to cry.  She pulled the chunk of skin
out and forced it into my mouth.  "...I WILL RIP EVERY BIT OF..."  She
went for another hunk on the opposite cheek, barbarically clawing away
at my cheek.  I wanted to scream but couldn't as her arm pressed hard
against my vocal chords.  "...FLESH OFF OF YOUR FACE!!!"  She pushed
the second chunk of my hide through my lips.  Without a second to
catch my breath, Ms. De LaPaz shoved me back down into the bowl.  My
face felt like it was on fire.  The tears rolling down only stung my
wounds.  My moment of self-pity was broken by a loud expulsion of gas
as another good sized turd dropped and without being told I took deep
sniffs.  I didn't gag.  Not that it didn't smell foul - it was the
fear of facing her nails again that quelled any impulse I might have
had.

Then, she announced that she was through.  Her thighs loosened and she
pulled me up.  She pushed me and told me to sit with my back to the
wall.   Quivering in pain and fear, I quickly complied.  I watched her
stand up.  I noticed very clearly that she neither wiped herself with
toilet paper or flushed her spending.

She walked to me, very deliberately, a coy little grin on her face.
She stood above my seated form, placed her hands on her hips and
leered down at me.  Spoke very evenly.  "You know what's next.  I hope
you don't disappoint me..."  Then, with a graceful whirl, she turned
and presented her ass to me.  It was only 3 or 4 inches from my mouth.
I could see traces of  brown on the outside of  the crack and could
smell the feces emanating from within. "Spread `em" she hissed as she
bent slightly.   Taking a breath, I put a trembling hand on each
bulbous globe and gently pulled them apart.  All I could do was just
stare.  Shit was smeared up and down the deep crevice.  It was
everywhere.  The thick mane of hair was matted with sticky brown.
Deeper in I saw little giblets around the anus.  It was thick, gooey
and revolting.  Yet, I was determined not to disappoint her. "Okay,
ass wipe.  Here's the deal.  You're gonna spit-shine my butt and shit
hole with your tongue until it's totally clean.  When you're done, I'm
going to check it by wiping my crack with toilet paper.  If I see one
streak, just one little smudge of shit, you're gonna be eating
everything in that toilet bowl.  Am I clear?"

"Yes ma'am", I choked.

"Go to it!"

I pressed my face in the fetid cavern..  First, I ran my tongue along
the wall of each cheek.  I tasted it.  It was sharp and bitter.  A
wave of nausea raced through me but I fought back the heaves by making
my mind plug into the fantasies I had long harbored.  And it worked!
I thought to myself, I am actually doing it!  I'm really serving a
woman as human toilet paper and the thought was wildly exciting. My
prick was rising as I delved in further with vigorous enthusiasm.  My
lips wrapped around the excrement-matted hairline.  Lovingly, I sucked
each little strand clean.  I heard Ms. De La Paz gasp.  Then, she
thrust back so my head rested against the wall.  My tongue probed
deeper, heading for the tip of the anus.  I could feel it gathering
her sludge so I sucked back to dispose of it.  She let out a moan,
pressing back even harder, letting my head bear the brunt of her
weight.  My tongue poked up the anal cavity, collecting any and all
morsels.  I felt her hips sway as my entire face was swallowed up by
her beautiful ass.  Then, she gyrated up and down, swabbing my
features with her crap as my tongue stabbed up her filthy poop chute.
Somehow, as I was engulfed by those massive butt cheeks, I could feel
my owner frigging herself.  Goddam, Ms. De LaPaz was hot as hell from
having her ass licked clean!  She was grunting out things like "That's
it shiteater, get it all.  It's all you're good for."  As my tongue
snaked up to the farthest point of her anal cavity, it came in contact
with a  fresh clump of poo.  It was the richest, most acrid yet.  As I
scooped it up and swallowed it was all too much for the both of us.
Ms. De La Paz began to shudder at the start of a tremendous orgasm,
while my cock spurted a massive load of cum.  Her's went on and she
was slamming against my face banging the back of my head against the
wall.  

When it was over, her butt forced my head to the floor and she sat on
me, taking a few moments to recover.  Then, she raised to a squat and
told me I had one last chance to make sure she was completely washed.
I looked carefully.  There were some splotches on her cheeks, that I
immediately licked off.  Inside, there was just a  giblet or two
around her anus.  I stuck my mouth around it, creating a suction and
sucked in hard.  I felt the little piece of shit fly back against my
throat and down.  I then confirmed that her ass was spotless.

She stood up, tore off a piece of toilet paper and worked in and out
and around her crease and rectum.  She wanted a through test.  She
pulled it up and examined it.  Not a speck. She nodded, impressed.  I
was so relieved.  All I wanted was for her to leave so I could take a
shower and even more so, to rinse my mouth.

As if reading my mind, Ms. De La Paz told me she allow me to rinse my
mouth.  She moved to the sink and brushed her teeth.  When she turned
back to me, I could see that her mouth was filled with tooth past and
the swill she'd brushed off.  She leaned over and told me to open my
shit stained mouth.  Then, she spit the contents into it, told me to
rinse.  I did, then swallowed it.  She regarded me for a moment with a
look of triumph and disgust.  "You should see what you look like.
Hell, if that's not a piece of human toilet paper sitting before me, I
don't know what is..."  Then, she swung the door so the full length
mirror was accessible.  "Go on, take a look".  With apprehension, I
turned.  The reflection I saw stunned me.  Shit was spread all across
my face, a glob on my forehead, another below my eye.  Brown smears
covering just about my entire face, thick in some places, streaked in
others.  Ugly red gouge marks glared from each cheek.  All this on top
of the pounding I took last night.  At first, the grotesque sight made
me want to cry.  Then, I remembered my purpose and that settled me
down some.

She checked the clock and said she had to get going.  To my shock, she
grabbed my hair and pulled me back to the toilet, shoving my head in
once again.  She then pulled my arms so they completely circled the
bowl.  A new horror came over me as I felt the handcuffs snap on my
wrists.  I could barely move as my face dangled above the bowl of
turds.  She then spoke very calmly.  "Believe me slave, you're going
to appreciate this conditioning exercise by the time next week rolls
around.  So I want you to become very familiar with the crap in there,
I want you to....bond with it..."  I could tell she was damn serious.
"Now, I don't expect you to at this point to 'personally dispose' of
what's afloat in there but I should state that if some of it was gone
by the time I return this evening, I would be very pleased..."  With
that she lowered both the seat and the cover so they rested on my
neck.  Then, I could feel her moving around and felt the pressure of
the seat increase as she wrapped a strap from around the base to the
top and snapped the latch in.  There was now way to raise up away from
the armada of turds beneath by nose.  I'd be there until she returned
from work.  

Then in a chirpy voice she said, "See you later.  Think of me while
I'm gone..."  And she walked out of the bathroom, closing the door
behind her.

I hadn't yet even begun to comprehend the reality of the situation.
Bound as I was, I knelt in my  porcelain 'stockade' listening to the
sounds of Ms. De LaPaz moving around in her bedroom preparing to go to
work for the day.  She was humming cheerily and I wondered if that was
a touch to add to my humiliation or had she already callously put me
out of her mind.  A few minutes later, I could no longer hear her as
she had left for work.

It still took a while for me to accept where I was, where I'd be for
next eight or nine hours.  When I finally did, my first impulse was to
scream and SCREAM... I did.  It only served to hurt my ears as my
pitiful wail bounced off the toilet bowl walls, boxing my ear drums.
Then, I just sort of whimpered, then cried.  That seemed to do no good
so I stopped.  My body was cramping terribly.  I attempted to adjust
my position but the handcuffs left so little slack that there was no
where to go.  I tried stretching out my legs but that left my chest
resting on the rim with most of my weight.  I couldn't take that for
long so I went back to the kneel.  Thoughts came.  Thoughts of the
rest of the world, what they were doing right then.  Working, having
nice breakfast's, getting ready for a fun weekend, etc.  I wondered if
there was another person somewhere in the big, giant world who was at
that moment in the exact situation as I was.  Maybe some guy in a
Dominatrix's dungeon?  Could be.  Or maybe 
this is how they torture prisoners in some barbaric third world
country...?  You never know... These thoughts started to depress me so
I stopped.  I refocused on the island of dump below.  Look at it just
laying there, I thought. Then, a frightening  realization hit: I had
become accustomed to the stench.  It no longer offended me.  Oh, God,
she was doing it.  Ms. De LaPaz was conditioning me to be a real
toilet and it was working!  I stared at the crap again.  There was
lump sticking up right at my mouth that seemed to be taunting me.
Then, her words echoed in my head, "...if some of it was gone by the
time I return this evening, I would be very pleased..."  I took a long
look at that turd, closed my eyes, held my breath and started toward
it. As soon as my lips grazed it, I recoiled.  No, I can't... not
yet... not like this... maybe after more conditioning.  I tried to put
it out of my mind but it refused to retreat.  Her proclamation... that
turd, beckoning... every fiber of my being rebelled against the
thought... it's too sick... it's immoral... IT WOULD PLEASE HER!  A
virtual war was raging in my head...
---------------------------------------------------------------------

I was shocked awake by a spray of  water splashing my face and a
thunderous, rushing roar.  The first thing my sleepy eyes saw was the
pile of shit being flushed away.  I could feel that the toilet seat
and cover had been lifted.  I turned my stiff neck to see the beaming
smile on Ms. De LaPaz's face.  "I am so proud of you.  I didn't think
you would do it.  But from what I could see, practically half of it
was gone!  "You know what that means, shiteater?  That tomorrow your
conditioning time will be reduced to, oh.... five, no say, six hours.
And if you continue to progress at such a rapid pace, we might even
start the real thing on Sunday...!  Now, it appears as if you peed on
my bathroom floor.  But since I am so pleased, I'll let that slip,
just this once.  These are your instructions.  Are you listening,
hmmm?  Good.  Clean up that piss, use the toilet paper.  We're not
going to be needing so much of that around anymore.  Then, I want you
to go the guest bathroom, take a nice hot shower, get all clean and
dry, and meet me downstairs.  By then it should be time for my
workout!" She turned and started to leave.  At the door, she glanced
back and announced, "Oh, I stopped and picked up some to-go food.
Mexican.  Yuuuuuum....!"

-to be continued-




