Tales of Female Depravity by Lance Edwards
Lured by their seductive power, unsuspecting males fall willingly into the hands of hard-core Dominatrix's, controlling wives and sadistic femmes, who sole purpose is to dominate their male counterparts, whether it's a sizzling romp in bed or total submission and emasculation. Hot, sexy, buxom females take charge in this new collection of Femdom Stories from author Lance Edwards.
In Subtropical Surrender, a Las Vegas call girl sets her sights on her latest john - a handsome and wealthy male who she'll quickly turn into her doting and submissive husband. Then Ravenous Raver is a sexy punk chick, who takes her naïve hook-up home for some heavy bondage and a good ass and face reaming before she finally lets the poor guy go. Next, his pretty fiance Shauna is a nurse, and Just What the Doctor Ordered is a thorough medical exam from her ruthless femdom colleague, Dr. Brant. Not until he's turned into a groveling sissy-boy and anal trained will this brutal exam be over.
Then, a needy public servant hires Cruel Lucy to abuse him - little does he know he'll not only be brutally bound and whipped, but all his body hair will be burned off by a candle flame before he's forced to take her hefty dildos. As Megan's Plaything he becomes her toilet-boy, torture-boy and whipping-boy - soon to be her 'impotent-boy'. Despite the horror she has in mind, he knows he'll willingly submit.
Then when this surprised husband is Caught in the Closet wearing her lingerie, the formidable Asian wife brings in her Domme friends to give her husband the painful punishment he deserves. And Heather's Hell really smolders, when a weekend in the woods turns into a 'weenie' roast with Heather's willing victim bound to a tree for a night of torture.
These stories and more! Graphic content includes heavy bondage, torture, severe whipping, suspension, hard anal, fisting, humiliation, electro torture, tasers, piss drinking, female worship, feminization, male milking, hot wax, cock cages, chastity, gags, hoods, chains, rope, dungeons and plenty of gloriously depraved females!
As before, circumstances had forced Melyssa to smother this inappropriate (if strangely compelling) sexual urge, and concentrating on their jeopardy she’d completed Kurt’s incapacitation in silent bitterness. But some fires doused only pretend to go out, smoldering in secret while they await the right moment to once again blaze forth. Now, liberated by anger and extremity and reliving that inner burning a billion-fold, Melyssa suddenly saw her previous discomfort with the admittedly savage urges recurring as puritan foolishness.
Really, how can any feeling be inappropriate, if the brain and body produce it? We feel what we feel – do we not? – for reasons we can’t possibly alter or stem.
Nor should we even try. Sometimes the body does what it does for its own reasons, obeying commands encoded into every single cell. Understand it or not, the hormonal storm flooding through her was a thing of power, an ancient genetic force that if accepted and embraced could reward her immeasurably.
The cool air of the room and the coarse, gritty floor on her naked lower body, the adrenaline immediacy of a life-threatening moment…the wild, frenetic Latin music, muffled by the walls but still soaring and crashing throughout the house, intricate melodies so passionate and fluid, power building in crescendo after endlessly climbing crescendo… the almost tangible aftermath of battle, even the elusive privacy they’d sought so long in vain and now had thrust upon them, all of these factors, combined with watching her foolish ‘King” Kurtis struggle frantically, helplessly to escape the implacable bonds she’d placed upon him were now stoking Angry Queen Melyssa’s much-too-long-repressed, no-longer-forbidden inner fire to a level as unprecedented as it was unreasonable.
Yet who needed reason, when action was so successful?
Her blessed little Princess-Knight Kira either hadn’t been able to or hadn’t wanted to tape her wrists very tightly, and now Queen Melyssa was making fast progress with her hands. Twisting her x-crossed arms rapidly back and forth and back and forth, she began ripping savaging at the loosening tape with her teeth.
This frenzied, rewarding exertion imbued her with an overwhelming sense of power, a primal thrill of impending triumph, and at last she pulled and twisted and ripped and tore and wrenched the tattered tape away from her sticky wrists. Her sudden freedom was intoxicating, invigorating, and in exultation at her escape something self-affirming and almost predatory leaped up inside her. Overcome by all the powerful feelings she’d just embraced, captured now not by bonds but by the demanding momentum of her still inexplicable emotional and hormonal transport, she spat the tape righteously to the floor and turned upon her struggling husband.
He still wriggled weakly on, looking vulnerable, pathetic; guilty. She needed no more encouragement than that. Rather than releasing Kurt from the imprisoning tape, and joining in a systematic yet ultimately fruitless attempt to batter down the door or walls, she instead brazenly ignored his mutely begging eyes and muffled, pleading voice. Driven by an insane need she could barely comprehend, she instead dove across their small cell to take ruthless sexual advantage of his bondage.
All of the relentlessly building carnal tension of their trip (the remarks, the jokes, the growing need forever denied), the dire global jeopardy everyone else instinctively felt (the almost cellular imperative that said ‘mate before death, mate before death, mate before death’), maybe even something else she wasn’t quite willing to face yet, ‘Sweet’ Melyssa felt them all flooding her to the brim. An eager growl escaped her, and at last the seething cauldron of her emotions was overturned. And as in the containment, so in the release: her anger carrying the banner, perched on the crest of the wave within and leading the deluge that swept her from her senses.
Goddamn that stupid shithead Kurt, he deserved whatever he got for getting them into this predicament, fuck him anyway! Literally. Hopelessly locked in, with dead bodies outside the door and murderous enemies undoubtedly on the way, freed of the tape or not, they surely didn’t have long to live. She might as well make the most of the piddling remaining span of their marriage.
She pounced, landing astride Kurt’s bound legs, and without a word of explanation literally ripped his pants apart, sending the buttons flying and blessing his stylish lack of a zipper. Unmindful of this betrayal of adrenaline-aided strength, she plunged her hand through the fly of his boxers and yanked him already swelling out into the cool, dim air of the utility closet.
She caught his protesting, helplessly shaking head peripherally, and in response enclosed him tightly in her fist.
Having a hold of this piece of meat she’d long ago declared solely her own made Queen Melyssa instantly possessive, and she squeezed it brutally hard, tugging and pulling briskly as she did so. Kurt’s familiar healthy response belied his shaking head, and feeling him pulse and thicken and harden more rapidly than ever in her manipulating fist made the vengeful ruling monarch suddenly, uncontrollably savage. She began yanking on him viciously, as though trying to use her hormonally accentuated strength to unman him at the root. In seconds, despite Kurt’s rhythmic, bleating whines, she’d jerked him to the greatest state of tumescence she’d ever seen him achieve.
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