Pen of Destiny
Copyright© 2025 by Midsummerman
Chapter 3
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 3 - 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
If Beadle thought release from his bondage was to be imminent on waking, he was to be reassured by a delighted Cassandra that was not to be. He wriggled and tested his bonds, his cock boning rigid as he watched his smiling owner as end from the bed, the sight of her gloriously mature flesh exciting him immediately as the remembrance of yesterday’s submission to her imposed the reality of it on him, the snorts through the masking gusset delectably erotic on watching her broad buttocks and thighs saunter to the en-suite shower cubicle. She grinned back at him on casually leaving the door to the room open, so that he may observe her figure through the frosted glass cubicle as she indulged in a refreshing shower.
He sniffed and snorted thought the gusset as she emerged and dried herself down with soft towelling, he longing to be free of its potent scents so that he might beg for release, to kiss her feet and then beg punishment. Cassandra grinned wickedly, and guessing his thoughts, deftly rubbed at her cunt and sighed before teasing him further. After spraying her body with perfumes, she approached the bed, and from a draw within it, she produced a long silken sash. Giggling wickedly, she slipped one end under his torso as he wriggled in wanton desire, grunting through the gusset in servile lust. She tied a loop about him, then tied the other end to the middle of the ornate bed head, allowing him plenty of slack for movement - but not enough too allow him to leave the confinement of the mattress.
“There! ... you’ll stay in bondage till I return... “ She laughed as he continued to grunt, and slipped her manicured nails up and down the underside of his erect cock.
“ ... I fully expect you’ll soil my sheets and earn a caning whilst I’m away...” She made sure her nails excited the underside of his bell before continuing, knowing full well he’d not be able to resist shooting his mess at being under her complete control, even when she was away. She watched the blob of pre-cum emerge from his bell as she finished her commands.
“ ... then we’ll have some extra fun when I return ... as I ready you for a visit somewhere.” Beadle was already more than ready to shoot his mess again, on watching her don the leather gear she’d worn on capturing him ... his worship of her now eclipsing the deep and dark fantasies he’d had regarding Miranda Peters, and as he squirmed in bondage, her smile at him as she made her parting comment before leaving, urged the seed up from his captive balls.
“No going back now ... you’re my property Beadle, and you’re going to be shown as such.” The laughter she gave out on leaving, never left him, and her expectation that he’d soil the sheets was seen by him as a command, rather than a passing comment. Squirming in bondage, masked by her deliciously scented panties, tied to her bed, the teasing admission to absolute defeat to her ... and the promise of the cane had him thrust his erect cock at the sheets in awe of her domination. It took no more than a few moments for him to earn that caning, snorting hard at the gusset as he duly soiled her sheets in submissive ecstasy, As the seed burst from his cock in a frenzied salute to her power, he couldn’t know that this was just the beginning of humiliations to come.
Cassandra’s cunt oozed with a potent arousal as she watched Drusilla slide open the favoured draw where the item, a symbol which united the circle of women in representing their absolute dominance over masculinity was kept. Now approaching 70 years old, the shapely and sternly authoritative Drusilla had obtained several submissive husbands ... and disposed of them once their assets had been stripped from them, and the whim for a fresh male inspired it. What she took from the draw was worn by her first husband, the others disposed of, and many other males owned by the circle of women. Drusilla’s dark smile from her ruby lips erupted, as she passed a weathered collar and leash to an excited Cassandra.
“Will we see him at a Thursday auction? ... I should so love to see that.” Cassandra’s clitoris poked from beneath its hood as she felt the illustrious collar which had seen the downfall and surrender of so many males already, her mind excited by the notion of selling her latest asset in utter humiliation at a crowded feminine auction.
“It may well come to that at some point, but for now he’ll simply wear the collar as a token of his defeat and my ownership, when he’s shown to the girls.” Drusilla grinned and deftly rubbed at her mature cunt in an excitement of her own, her lust to see males humiliated, something which aroused her eternally.
“Thursday at the club then ... I’m sure your visit to the emporium will provide suitable accompaniments to the collar.”
Cassandra’s leather outfit creaked in a delicious announcement of her presence in the quiet depths of the Emporium, secreted below the hubub of the retail outfit above, and entered by a coded door at the rear by the toilets, out of the way of oblivious shoppers at ground level. The superbly dominant Cassandra Braithwaite perked to an arousal as always when entering here, the perfumes of leather and spices assailing her nose as she descended to view the array of whips, canes, and implements of feminine authority that the Emporium was all about. On the plinth above the entrance at the bottom of the stairway read the legend: ‘All males brought here must remain leashed and on all fours beyond this point.’
Cassandra grinned with pleasure as a bulbous woman in front of her at the landing level, a similar age as her, quickly collared and leashed her pet male, conveniently dressed in casual leggings which suited knee travel, and teased his poking backside with a short crop she produced from her bag. The woman grinned smugly, as did Cassandra, as the male who’d no doubt been seen as the probable ‘head of the household’ to those in the shop above, now cowered willingly below his mistress’s crop, dominated and obedient to her. There was another male close to the entrance too ... one who was always there.