Incels in Cells

The Predators’ Pet-3

“My shame about that is so overpowering. It torments me night and day.”

“Of course it does; it should. Shame is absolutely appropriate for an unmanly male – not to mention crucially useful. But that’s beside the point. We can have a lot more fun with even the runtiest stub than you might realize. Not to mention with the rest of a tender young boy-man’s naïve anatomy. Boring old vaginal intercourse isn’t everything you know, and the more adventuresome of us can render it irrelevant. So let’s quit delaying and get the shaming underway. Show me how futilely puny you are so I can get on with ruthlessly ridiculing you.”

“I’m sorry…you want…what?”

“I said get your clothes off, Philip. Every stitch. You won’t need garments ever again.”

“Um…I take it we’re not going to any nightclub or restaurant then.”

“i***t virgin, the next and last stop is our fortified retreat. The master bedroom awaits your defloration. So I’m not telling you again to take off all your clothing. Do you really think it’s advisable to try testing my patience so early in our relationship? Where’s that adoring devotee who wants only to worship someone who amazingly accepts his service as worthy?”

Trembling worse than ever, actually wishing for a stiff drink as fervently as any alcoholic, I get the message and swiftly begin to strip. Somehow I make my dry mouth croak out sounds.

“You know so much about me already. Beyond what I confessed about my tendencies.”

“I know enough so that the shamefully un-endowed and underdeveloped flesh you possess can hardly further lower my opinion of your virility. And perhaps it’s not the masculine ideal that we’re seeking in you. So quit your impertinent chirping and show me what you haven’t got. Let me see at least enough to be fitted with a collar and lock.”

This mistress is acting like she owns me already, as if my slavery is a fait accompli. And how could she know about my secret domination fetish, or recognize my utterly inability to deny her kind anything? Heart pounding with excitement (still spiked with terror), face flaming with that knee-weakening shame, I pull off my briefs last. With expert alacrity Tawny is extracting my wallet and phone. Tucking these away she lowers her window long enough to stuff my socks and briefs, shirt and pants (belt and keys included) and even my shoes out into the slipstream.

Goodbye, pointless old existence.

So why does this ominous symbolic disposal make me so madly horny? With some kind of Rubicon clearly crossed, I can only slouch back buck naked and spread wide my downy-haired thighs to display my dual humiliation: the diminutive inch and a half which is the best I can project coupled with the visibly quivering intensity in which her blithe deprival of my possessions has left me. Damn, I’m so outrageously, even painfully rigid!

“Damn you’re so childishly tiny!

“Look at that offense to all of femininity – oh wait, let me get a microscope first. Goddamn, Pip, I’ve sucked on bigger clits! Who could even feel such a stubby nubbin rubbing in their cunt, or even their butt? Does it even have maturity enough to spurt? Prove it to me, sissy! Play with that teensy toddler’s toy! Show me how you spew your stinky-sticky loser’s goo. You do it every day, don’t you, skanky wanker? You drool over videos of your female superiors and wring that pitifully insignificant thing until it jets out your worthless genetic essence.”

Confession is good for the soul – as degradation is the libido.

“Yes, ma’am. In fact that’s exactly what I was doing when you came to my door yesterday. Thank heaven I paused it long enough to let you in to get to me!”

Somehow I make myself take myself between fumbling forefingers and thumb and begin to clumsily fondle and pump. My face is baking, radiant with mortification. I know better than to break eye contact but the light of sadistic scorn raving from those big green orbs torments me worse than her damning, damaging judgment.

“No wonder I didn’t see any bulge. Honestly, how dare you want to use that living stigma on an actual female! You know what a s****l appendage that insultingly small deserves? Nothing but endless retributive torture. An entire lifetime collared into unrelenting impotence, agonizingly afflicted with each erectile impulse, providing purposely punitive pain in place of any s****l pleasure or performance whatsoever forever and ever…”

Who can explain why these horrific threats so erotically affect me?

It’s like my accusing balls agree, and they want to hurry and empty themselves before I lose my always illusory capacity completely. Toes curling, arches knurling, my bare feet lift up even as my suddenly manic pace further accelerates. Demeaned beyond belief, keening pleadingly, now using my free hand to rub my tingling testes, I feel myself building up toward orgasm faster than ever before. Naturally I almost cry out with anguish when Tawny wickedly halts me.

“That’s enough. Cease with that pitiful insult. I enjoy a shameless exhibitionist, but it’s time you demonstrated some discipline. You don’t touch that nubbin ever again or even try to rub it against anything without explicit permission. I’m going to test your self-control now by giving you a little taste of what my loser swine has been so pathetically pining for all this time.”

Cat-like, Tawny sidles lithely in on me. She looms over my nude timidity. Her black-sheathed hands make contact and begin to roam, measuring meat against fat and testing muscle tone. Palms cup and caress my face and neck. Fingers comb through my hair and brush it back to bare my brow. Then abruptly I’m being kissed so aggressively I can barely snatch a breath.

Oh, ‘making out’ is nirvana and Valhalla and seventy-two nubile cuties or whatever your definition of infinite bliss may be! Yet even as she’s devouring my mouth, slurping in my lips and plundering me with her tongue, Tawny pulls out a set of chromed-steel handcuffs.

I feel her fitting a metal bracelet about my wrist and do nothing to resist. When she yanks that arm around behind me I immediately mirror it with the other. Tightly my captor manacles my hands at the base of my back.

Bondage, she’s placed me in inescapably chained bondage! And according to her orders I’ve covered my tracks; no one has the slightest idea where I am. Now my undisputed new ruler can do whatever she chooses to her too-willing prisoner. And immediately the vicious minx crushes me back into that leather-covered plush. Ignoring the contorting of my arms and torso she continues to maul me silly using only her tongue and teeth, hands and lips and firm, pointy t**s.

Talk about living out an unbelievable dream! Yet never could my subconscious have boasted such invention. Even between my lips and gums runs the tip of that probing tongue. Breaking suction only to gnaw gently on my nose or ears (sticking that slathering tongue in the latter) before smacking every other inch of my face with emphatic kisses, Tawny battens on me like a lamprey repeatedly, starkly marking my throat with a livid necklace of burst capillary patches. Then before I’ve even commensurately appreciated any of this ecstasy, those gauntleted fists are buried back in my hair and those exceptional breasts have been brazenly bared.

Firm, oh yes! Exquisitely springy is the flesh pressed and ground so contemptuously against my disbelieving features and cheeks. And pointy! Better than overly big and destined to be droopy, Tawny’s boobies are perfectly proportional and beautifully protuberant, curving up and out almost like horns. Indeed the peg-shaped n****e-tips that cap naturally conical aureoles the size (and hue) of hothouse strawberries feel hard and sharp enough to blind me. I have to squinch and wince defensively as Tawny squashes and scrapes those founts all over my face before forcing one into my own frantically slobbering suction.

“Not so urgently, i***t pig! You men are all so unsubtle in bed. Take long, slow, deeply sustained sucks, as though truly seeking to draw sustenance from me. And remember what I said about unauthorized stubby-rubbing!”

Oh, but it’s so damn challenging! Not only is being mauled like this sending my excitement constantly skyrocketing. Every moment or so (surely not by chance), a shift of Tawny’s position causes either one of her f**k-me boots or (oh my heavens) the bare thigh above to barely brush against my unprecedentedly intense tumescence. Every iota of me yearns to lift upward in response, to maximize that madly tempting contact until I somehow miraculously slip into heat. Oh if only I was just an inch or so longer!

Of course then I wouldn’t deserve this torture. And torture it is, if of the most deliciously permissible sort.

The longer I’m soul-kissed oblivious, or allowed to suckle (and with sufficient initiative to lick, flick and nibble) those extraordinary n*****s, the more demanding that battle with my self-control grows. Gasping, groaning, whimpering and writhing, euphorically glorying in heaven yet desperate for it to end before I fail this possibly hugely consequential test, I become increasingly convinced that just one more silken, incidental caress might trigger the most damning premature ejaculation in history. So it is with as much rueful relief as renewed terror and arousal that I sense the stops and starts and sounds of opening and closing gates and garage doors. Not until we’ve stopped entirely and the engine shuts down though does Tawny pull back and tuck those delectable breasts back under thin, skimpy leather.

“Beautifully endured, Philip. I didn’t think you could withstand that. I was ready to lock you down on the spot for spouting. But you’ve proved worthier than I’d heard, obeying me im-pecker-ably. So no Kali’s Teeth for now. However, we do have a rule about never allowing pig-males onto the estate without proper fail-safes. You’ll have to be fitted with this special electrical testicle fetter if you want to enter our femdom heaven.”

“I see. And what if I decide I’ve changed my mind?”

“Resist me? Don’t be silly, wimpy sissy. You know you’re congenitally incapable of such defiance. And it’s way too late to chicken out anyway. Your former life is over; Philip Burke has gone missing forever. Hold still now while I apply this more permanent bit of bondage…”

What could one do? Try to deny self-evident truth? Sorry, not a Republican or on Fox News. I can only bob and throb ever harder as my gorgeous new jailor locks an adjustable metal collar about the base of my scrotum. Palpating the balls now bulging below, her threatening squeeze is heeded if unneeded. I can see the shock box and receiver on one side of the collar as well as the ring welded opposite.

Surely a mere word from her can now electrocute my testicles, ensuring complete and unquestioning obedience. And where nut-crushing weights might be hung or sack-stretching bondage tethers attached, Tawny snaps a short silvery leash of elegant chain link. The tug she gives this comes with a downright coquettish grin.

“Come if you can, my specially selected incel. The reward for your admirable public attitude is imminent. A few minutes more and I’ll be as naked and manically eager as you…”

I’ve given up wondering how this vixen knows so much. Indeed I seem to have surrendered far more than mere curiosity. My groin still pulsing plaintively despite that cold metal clutch, I scramble to gain my feet before that leash can yank at my gonads more seriously. Hands still securely cuffed, I lurch forward out the opening door and promptly sprawl at Tawny’s feet.

The poured cement floor is cool and hard, and incongruously covered with rose petals. Impulsively I kiss the metal-capped toe pushed into my face before struggling back upright.

“Don’t you wish to lick the soles clean too?”

“Anything to affirm the fervency of my service, Mistress.”

“Save it for later then, slave. After you’ve been good and broken in. Right now your bed of pain awaits, my innocent young virgin. And I have a delightful surprise or two for you too before you’re too bruised and used. I’m afraid you haven’t imagined half of the heaven represented under this magnificent roof. Now, on to the master bedroom!”