Female Supremacist’s Dungeon
He awoke in a chamber with three gray stone walls. The fourth was a row of iron bars. Was he in a jail? He saw a man in another cage. No blandishments or entreaties could get the man to respond to his frantic questions.
One wall was covered with whips, chains and shackles. It was like some dungeon in a horror movie. Those did not exist in real life. His spirits sank. Maybe they did.
Ours passed. A woman entered. She wore a fearsome spiked hood. A deadly black leather whip was in her hand.
He had a faint hope this was a joke. He called to the woman. She unlocked his cell, gestured him to exit.
She hit him with the whip’s handle. He fell.
“Scum doesn’t speak!” the woman sounded furious. He started to rise. She kicked him. He fell back.
“Scum never moves without permission.” He froze.
She gestured to a bench. “Bend over it.”
He complied; she cuffed him.
She began whipping him. He was a stranger of physical pain. The cutting blows of the whip were unendurable.
He was trapped. Helpless.
The woman spoke between lashes.
“You are a man. All men are scum.”
“You are a slave. I will use you however I wish. I may break you.”
“I am a sadist. Your suffering is my pleasure. You will learn degrees of anguish. Punishment is always worse that playtime.”
“Obey or suffer.”
“You are expendable and replaceable. No one will know your fate.”
She ordered him to repeat a phrase between lashes.
“Men are scum. I am a man. I am scum. Women are superior. Mean are born to serve them.”
She thrust her fat red strap-on dildo into him.
“This is the only erect penis you will ever see. Yours is going into an unbreakable, irremovable cage.”
Pain overwhelmed him. He barely understood.
He only knew his fear of her. He would do anything to placate her.