Guild of Correction
Copyright© 2025 by Midsummerman
Chapter 8
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 8 - Don's lust for the older, matriarchal, and domineering woman, leads him to a life of enslavement. A bitchy girlfriend, more than aware of his sexual penchant, takes him to her Stepmother... who puts him to good use in preparing him, as her token of admission to the Women's Guild of Correction, a covert organisation which caters for the hedonistic pleasures of the dominant sex.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Coercion Consensual Slavery Heterosexual Fiction BDSM FemaleDom Humiliation Analingus Masturbation Oral Sex
The submissive Don Cleaton’s erotically charged trip, in being dominated by neighbour, Madam Agatha Cramer, and his obedience shown in returning to a caning from Cordelia for his indiscretions there - though obvious and pre-ordained - had now earned him another journey of submission. He now knew in no uncertain terms that his liberty would be permanently curtailed by his dominant Mistress, but could never be prepared for the confinement that was to follow.
Dressed once again in loose clothing chosen and applied by Cordelia, his cock erected to the maximum allowed in the plastic cage beneath those clothes, his anus clenching hard at a generous plug, the sizeable dimensions of which, mocked the diminutive device which cruelly held his manhood in obedience. Those devices stimulated his darkly submissive and masochistic pleasure as a contentedly smiling Cordelia ball-gagged and blindfolded him whilst equal smiles radiated from Hilda, Sarah, and Tara.
The erection that was allowed, had been prompted by the regal, yet somehow incredibly sexy attire that his mistress wore, along with the visiting Sybil and Celia, each woman predominantly in tight black skirted outfits which illustrated their mature femininity lustrously. Their hands were black gloved, their hair tied up in tight buns under small black hats with lace veils, the black stockings which showed the formidably attractive curves of their mature calves, leading down to tall black stilettos. Cleaton was treated to this sight before being blindfolded, and the thought that he was going to his own funeral kept his captive cock rigid in its plastic prison.
Cordelia had also toyed with her skirt, receiving the approval of her mature companions, on being just able to elevate its hem above her knees.
“You think he’ll have enough room? ... good!” Though the blindfold prevented his sight, his other senses seemed to explode; the scented perfumes of womanhood, both natural and artificial, teased at his nose as the firm grip of the dominant Hilda made sure he was led to the car safely, had him engender more submissive fantasies about being led to execution. The stern housekeeper couldn’t help but offer a token taunt, such was her sexual excitement for her Mistress’s triumph, already quite aware that certain equipment was already within Cordelia’s bag.
“I take it you’ve remembered the commemorative collar and leash Madam? ... I wish I could be there to see him led by it.” The cynical giggle she gave which followed it, made Cleaton thoroughly aware that the comment was purely for his benefit, exciting his imagination as to how he was to be shown in humiliation somewhere, shamed in confirming his utter defeat to womanhood ... a darkly masochistic pleasure enveloping him at the though of such an open disgrace. Madam Cordelia Aster’s response to her Housekeeper’s taunt, was merely cynical laughter of her own, confirming the spiteful tease.
Now secured in the car, the leather seats of which, offering further strange excitement to his nose, Cleaton was sandwiched on the rear seat between his Mistress and Sybil Carling, whilst Celia Hardcastle took the wheel.
“I’ll have us there in no time ... I can’t wait to have some old friends of mine see him.” Cordelia just pouted her lips and sighed, trying to maintain her composure for an event she’d yearned for, for so long, one which would allow her dominant pleasures under deliciously hedonistic circumstances. Sybil however, slipped her gloved hand to Cleaton’s crotch, having him jerk abruptly at the feel of it gently gripping his caged manhood.
“And I can’t wait to see this cage removed, and have him show just how willing he is to know their ridicule of him ... though we know they’ll be profoundly jealous of your catch, Cordelia.” Cordelia grinned with contentment, having heard from the two of some of the matriarchal patrons of the Guild, who had husbands and pets in obedience to them, the vast majority of those submissives, middle-aged, portly. She would show them her more youthful catch, lithe and at the peak of his health ... but equally, pathetically submissive, and completely under her control, though those lack of years would show the potency of his desire and vigour to submit, exciting those jealous onlookers, who’d queue to sample his submission.
Cordelia’s sense of triumph heightened as she saw the fear in Cleaton’s eyes as he took in the imposing architecture that was the Grange, her cunt wet with arousal as she led him from the car, on all fours from the onset, as would be his position perpetually when incarcerated there. Cleaton waddled awkwardly in the loose clothing chosen for him, fearful, yet in an ecstasy of his own, being walked as a slave by a mature woman to an unknown fate, whilst in the company of mature women, so obviously aroused by his submission, and whatever it was to come. The ornate front door opened as they approached and two younger women in black maid’s outfits, leered at him spitefully, as Cordelia barked at him in dominant authority.