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Jordon's Pet

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Jordon's Pet by Rose Thornwell

Glen loves his wife Carly, but when Carly's old friend, the sultry, wicked Jordan shows up for a brief stay, she sets her sights on Glen. A little seduction a little coercion and now he's powerless to resist her advances. If only it were mere sex she wanted, though. Glen quickly learns that Jordon is a dominatrix and a true sadist who makes a sport out of ruining unsuspecting males and taking their freedom. Within hours, she has him snared, and Glen finds himself submitting to pain, laced with pleasure. The woman's a drug he can't get enough of. She tortures and humiliates him: she makes him steal (to ensure his cooperation), and then kidnaps him to a house of wickedness where men are treated worse than animals.

Glen's only hope is that his wife will dominate him the way he so desperately needs to be dominated. He confesses his 'sins' to Carly, who is happy to punish him - in public. Glen never dreamed his wife could be so cruel! Will Carly take him back or throw him over to Jordon? Which is worse for Glen? Will either woman allow him to ever be more than a chained and writhing pet, a total and complete pain slut? The last few pages alone hold the key.

Contains CBT, anal rape, forced feminization, public humiliation, male submissive training, golden showers, discipline, heavy bondage and corporal punishment.

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“The Bible says a man who lusts after a woman in his heart has already committed adultery. Have you lusted after me in your heart, Glen?”
“No,” I lied.
“How about now?” She casually opened the bikini tie behind her neck. The material fell forward revealing incredible breasts, round, perk, natural.
“I’m married. I only think about Carly.”
Her gaze narrowed, her eyes focusing like lasers. I felt real fear of a nature I couldn’t explain. “You’re lying to me. Don’t do that anymore, Glen, or you’ll be sorry.”
“Okay,” I blurted. “It’s true. I’m thinking about you...that way.”
“Be specific, Glen. I don’t like males who beat around the bush.” She was caressing her little nipples, almost like I wasn’t there, making them hard. I felt like an intruder, a voyeur, on the outside looking in.
“I’m fantasizing about making love to you,” I bared my heart.
“Really?” She feigned shock. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I croaked.
“You want to put your miserable little dick in here, do you little boy?” She slid her hands down over the outside of her shorts.
“I...yes,” I replied, unable to refute her demeaning reference.
“Say please.”
“Please what?”
The sight of her mesmerized me. She was hot as any woman on TV or in the movies, only so much more available, close and...cruel. “Please...let me...make love.”
“You can’t make love to me, you don’t even know me. You can fuck me.”
“Let me fuck you,” I followed her lead. “Let me...put it inside you.”
Jordan laughed again. “I can’t wait to see the look on Carly’s face. Her husband, erect in my presence and now he’s begging me for sex.”
I gasped. “You tricked me.”
“Stop whining,” Jordan snapped. “Honestly, you’re like a pathetic little boy.”
“I’m sorry,” I hung my head.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” Jordan declared. “If you don’t want me telling your wife what a treacherous little boy slut you are, you had better start cooperating. Are we clear?”
“Yes,” I whispered. I didn’t know how it happened or where it was going to lead, but I knew I had just lost a very important battle. And I could be sure Jordan would exploit her victory.
Jordan fastened her bikini string, denying me the view. “You don’t deserve this. You’ll have to earn it.”
I swallowed hard. The thought of earning things from the likes of Jordan terrified me. Not to mention the implications of being in a situation of ongoing intimacy with a woman other than my wife.
“You’ll do things for me, whenever I tell you,” she elaborated. “And bear in mind, the further we go, the more risk in saying no. Say ‘Yes, Jordan,’ she prompted me.
“Yes, Jordan,” I mumbled. Clearly predicating myself in the inferior position.
“The first thing you will do is show me that miserable little pecker of yours.”
My mouth hung open.
She folded her arms over her magnificent breasts, tapped her bare foot, toes tipped in fire red polish. “I don’t hear a ‘Yes, Jordan,’ and I don’t hear the sound of a zipper, either.”
I looked at her body and drooled. The more power she took from me, the more beautiful she was. My hand moved to the metal tab. “Yes, Jordan.”
My cock is probably average size, though Carly tells me I fill her better than any man she’s ever been with. To hear Jordan, though, you would think I was little more than a eunuch.
“You call that a dick?” she demanded. “That thing would drown in my pussy. What the hell made you think I would take that shrunken little thing inside me?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“You weren’t thinking, you little prick, were you?”
I looked down at her feet.
“I asked you a question,” she snapped. “You options are ‘Yes, Jordan,’ or ‘No, Jordan.’”
“No, Jordan,” I chose the latter. “I wasn’t thinking.”
“Stroke it,” said Jordan with open contempt. “Play with your ridiculous little pecker.”
I shivered, touching myself.
“What are you thinking about?” she wanted to know. “It had better be me.”
My mind quickly filled with images of Jordan, thoughts and feelings of Jordan, even the scent of Jordan. “Yes, Jordan,” I assured her.
“From now on, you think of only me,” she declared.
“Yes, Jordan.” My heart was beating like a rabbit’s. I couldn’t imagine anything but Jordan, which terrified me, because I was married to Carly and loved her with all my heart.
“Come for me,” said Jordan callously, no regard for my intimate feelings.
My eyes watered. “Jordan, I can’t do that...Carly...she...she doesn’t deserve...”
“Pull yourself together. You think you will help your wife by having her find out all that’s happened between us? Look at you. You’re masturbating in front of me. You don’t even know me.”
I wanted to tear my hair out. How had it happened? I had to come back to my original idea—there was something about Jordan, something way too strong, unlike any woman I had ever dealt with before. She was cunning, using me six ways from Sunday. “Why are you doing this?” I blurted.

Artist Credit

(c) Richard Savage, www.swage.net

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