Pen of Destiny
Copyright© 2025 by Midsummerman
Chapter 1
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Carl Beadle is hopelessly submissive to feminine power and authority, but hides his outward desires, transmitting his yearnings through written fantasies. A member of a writing guild, his deep desire for one obviously dominant woman, leads him to an act which results in those shielded but profound yearnings being exposed forever.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Coercion Consensual Slavery Heterosexual Fiction BDSM DomSub FemaleDom Humiliation Masturbation Oral Sex
Carl Beadle remained single, having avoided the yoke of marriage, and though the attractive draw of womanhood tortured his existence, in that his fantasies craved a yoke somewhat more severe than simple marriage, he’d not yet met that woman whose command he lusted for. He’d had many near misses with women, the relationships having petered out, partly due to indifference, and partly to the fact that he had never found the courage to admit to any of them, that he craved to be at their beck and call. Thus he led a life of blissful ignorance to reality, and enjoyable masturbation to a fantasy world of feminine domination. That fictional world put to stories, his writings, a therapeutic assistance.
Though normally a little reclusive and retiring by nature, his penchant for writing about dominant women - and the chance to mix with them - gave him the courage to join a somewhat covert circle of BDSM writers, which another male writer had advised him of online. After initial vetting at a meet for new members held in a pub function room, he was invited to attend further meetings at a grandiose country house, ‘The Grange’, owned by one of the founding members. It was here that he developed a crush for a woman, whose writings confirmed her dominance ... though there were many women there, many covertly dominant and using male pen names to preserve their identities.
He’d masturbated over Miranda Peters many times, imagining her using her authority with the cane or whip that the matriarchal characters in her erotic novels imposed on their male victims. Her work had inspired his, and his lust for her had him spurt lustily. Today was to be a special day at the Grange, that very woman signing copies of her latest novel which had taken off successfully. He broke out in a cold sweat just thinking about it, and was unable to control the erection that accompanied it.
The venue lay a mile or so from the railway station, and he always walked the country lanes and paths to the Grange, using the walk to gather thoughts and ideas, then marvelling at the architecture, gardens, and extensive paddocks that the Grange offered. The car park was a fair distance, out of sight behind Box hedges near its perimeter, preserving the timeless presence of the house ... and allowing Carl to view the strut of women from their cars, the more mature and confident looking ones furthering his erection with his imaginings about them.
As soon as he reached that perimeter he was enveloped in a hedonistic atmosphere, as though some invisible force field covered the Grange and its grounds, obscuring it from the world beyond it, and the thrill that the foreboding presence of some of the sterner women gave him, excited him all the more, in knowing that they enjoyed writing about fantasies that had him honour and respect their superiority. There were other males there of course, but they were far outnumbered by mature and confident women - their owners in many cases - and many openly lesbian, whose glances of contempt towards him, offered so naturally, only thrilled him further with the notion of their complete indifference to him.
As he entered the grandiose hallway, he was met by the pert and bespectacled receptionist as usual, the glowing warmth of her middle-aged and naturally officious nature, exciting his erection as she greeted him with an air of contempt, obviously aware of his submissive nature ... something the feminine intuition of a dominant woman will always recognise, no matter how the male in question would seek to disguise it.
“Ah ... Mr. Beadle ... come to attend the signings of Madam Peters’ latest novel, no doubt.” Her wry smile told him she knew perfectly well his was the main purpose for his visit today, rather than simply attending to discuss his own literary efforts. He blushed slightly, and tried to feign indifference to that fact, his cock awkwardly erect at her knowledge.
“Oh ... really? ... I shall have to look in on it.” The receptionist smirked, and patted the rear of her hair, high in a bun, the motion having her full breasts heave, expressing her femininity to him, her developing smile through pursed lips somehow transmitting that she knew he lied about the reason for his attendance.
“Well, you be sure to pay her a visit ... I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.” The way she said it, her tone confident, her smile radiant, came across as a command, having his erection pulse, and making him swallow hard, to her obvious amusement as he turned for the stairs. She grinned contentedly as he ascended the stairs, her cunt gently tingling as thoughts of disciplining him entered her mind ... but hers were not the only feminine eyes upon him - despite the anonymity he believed that he had, where women, especially those at the Grange were concerned, he had an admirer of his work, and one who’d love to take control of him.
His cock throbbed, rigid with a sexual excitement which he tried hard to subdue in staying rational, but the sights and scents of mature women, many of whom he’d masturbated over in his fantasies, huddled around Madam Miranda Peters as she posed triumphantly behind a desk adorned with copies of her latest novel ‘Breaking Adam and His Kind’, which he knew, on having read her previous works would be a tale of the absolute defeat of masculinity under the heel of dominant womanhood.
The buxom and shapely Madam Peters looked incredibly sexy in a tight waisted dress which emphasised her full breasts, the lush bulge of her mature belly, and the curve of large and rounded buttocks supported by broad thighs. She strutted on black boots which rose to just below her knees, illustrating legs he longed to have step over him. With her hair high in a taut bun, as was almost a uniform with the women at the Grange, her smile as she signed copies of her book, had her ooze a confidence which seemed to illuminated her dominance. As other males and females took possession of the books they’d pre-ordered, he lingered with the throng of smiling onlookers, some, especially males, offering her simpering praise when they found the courage, and receiving contemptuous smiles from Miranda, knowing full well that they’d masturbate over the experience.
He longed to gain her attention and receive some hidden rebuke from her, but his lack of courage would only allows him to indulge in her smiles at others. Pushing closer to the desk as others jostled with him, he watched her graceful hand manipulate one of two pens upon the desk, imagining those manicured fingers gripping a cane or whip. The pen itself now became desirable, his thoughts thinking how it may of been held by her when in a state of high sexual arousal, on her penning the dominance of womanhood over masculinity. It was hardly an ornate or expensive writing implement, and had probably not seen her hand before that day ... but those fingers had caressed it, and on the spur of the moment, when Miranda had dropped it, conveniently close to the other pen, as she smilingly handed a copy of her book to an eager woman, he deftly covered it with his hand, his cock pulsing at feeling it still warmed by hers, and took it.
His anus tingled with a curious fear, and thought to return it immediately, but the ego of Madam Peters was high with her triumph, and she simply picked up the one available pen, oblivious to the other’s disappearance, and continued applying her signature with it. Beadle sighed with relief, and having taken in as much of the dominant goddess as he could, edged away from the throng with his prize. As he gripped it hard, thinking how he’d treasure it eternally, he felt a presence behind him.