Slut Boy Mega Collection Volume 1

Chapter Twelve-1

Chapter Twelve

Lucky Thirteen

I just love to f**k a man!

I mean I absolutely adore it! Nothing thrills, excites and arouses me more than to shove some wimpy, whimpering, quailing and quivering little slut-boy down and pound my biggest dildo into his impossibly tight virgin asshole until he blubbers and sobs like a puling girl, struggles for freedom like a frantic, panicked trapped rat, and finally begins to play the pig by shamelessly wallowing and lifting and opening and begging me for it.

Of course, that’s only part of the fun. As a dreadfully demanding demon dominatrix b***h-goddess, I also need to subjugate and humiliate him: make him grovel at my feet, costume up and comport like a slut, service my hungry cunt and submit to being tied up, c**k-locked, paddled and whipped and caned and tortured to within an inch of his worthless life. But f*****g him is by far the best part. Just the act of strapping on a c**k gets my heart pumping and my p***y juicing like mad. Gripping it, stroking it, feeling it jut up and out from my crotch like some kind of deadly weapon fills me with the most incredible rush of power. I feel wondrously divine, absolutely omnipotent, like some monstrous female colossus descending upon a weak, puny little peon to rive him of every last shred of dignity and self-respect. That’s why I prefer shrimpy, shallow-chested, under-endowed, clearly inferior intellectual types to permanently enslave and forcibly sissify. Such as Steve, the guy I’ve got waiting in my bedroom right now.

I’m a graduate student at a ridiculously huge university. With an enrollment of nearly 50,000 here there’s a wonderfully teeming pool of naïve, sheltered young boy-men for me dip into and pluck out especially succulent specimens. I spotted freshman Steve at the chess team tryouts – always a reliable source of fresh meat – and instantly had to have him. He was very good looking in an effeminate way, with long black hair secured in a ponytail, pale clear skin, and shy, meek features that screamed of insecurity. He was also the tiniest guy I’d ever seen. While well-proportioned and fit in his impossibly slender way, he couldn’t have topped five feet-three or a hundred and ten pounds. Yet I could tell by the timid yet helpless way he studied the women in attendance (particularly me) that he was in no way gay – just too insecure and socially inept to score. If he’d ever even been kissed, I’d swallow every inch of chain in my extensive dungeon.

By contrast my experience is prodigious, as is everything else about me.

Frankly I’m the largest woman I’ve ever seen. I stand six foot-six, and tip the scales at over two hundred and twenty pounds. I’m thickly built and awesomely fit, with breasts the size of soccer balls. Every muscle in my powerful body is toned to perfection without being grotesquely swollen, and I’ve done all kinds of competitive fitness and professional modeling. My thick blonde hair gleams a burnished reddish-gold, sweeps straight back from my brow and falls shimmering down to practically my ass. At twenty-five my exquisitely lovely face carries the perfect combination of youthful allure and adult maturity, lively vivaciousness and strong stern experience.

I am immensely remarkable, clearly superior in every way, both appealing and imperious in equal measure. I am consequently irresistible to men of all types – particularly those out on their own for the very first time, just slipped from the shadow of a domineering mother and unsure of their ultimate place in the world. Like moths to a flame these shrinking man-boys are drawn helplessly to me. And in me, some lucky few finally find the apotheosis they subconsciously seek.

“Hello,” I introduced myself in my most pleasant contralto. “I’m Becky.”

I’d accosted my intended target when he slunk away from the tryouts: rejected, humiliated, a failure in life yet again. With his self-esteem at lowest ebb, he could hardly credit the fact that I’d approached him. He gaped up at my monumental beauty hulking a foot and more above him: appalled, timid and intimidated, utterly at a loss how to react to being addressed by the largest, most gorgeous woman in the school – if not the state.

“I couldn’t help noticing you noticing me,” I continued, a line I’d stolen straight from About Last Night. “I’m attracted to guys half my size. Come to my place, right now, and let’s get to know each other.”

As usual I made this an order, not an invitation. And as usual my prey succumbed without a struggle. Despite his obvious uncertainty, and even trepidation, the excitement of being propositioned for the first time ever, and by such an overpoweringly attractive older woman, was irresistible. As I claimed his hand and drew him after me to my car, Steve’s head was obviously swimming with maddening dreams of finally losing his virginity. And so he shall – only not in the way he suspects.

I plied him with a couple of drinks: just enough to weaken his will and inhibitions, not enough to muddle his perceptions and reactions. Observing and enjoying those is integral to the sissification process of course. But at last I could wait no longer. I led him upstairs to my bedroom. Not down to the dungeon – we have the rest of our lives for that. No, the initial enslavement requires that I not freak him out right away with all my terrifying equipment and devilish décor. Besides, my wardrobe is well-stocked with enough stuff to have all kinds of kinky fun after I’ve properly broken him in. So that’s where I’m currently ensconced. Steve has been stripped bare (his tiny two-inch prick sticking ridiculously up) and settled into my enormous twelve foot four-poster bed. Leaving him there gazing wonderingly up at himself in the overhead mirror, I’ve come to ‘slip into something special’ for him. And now that I’m naked I do.

I start up top, with a black plastic band to hold my hair behind my ears. Next come earrings: shining silver maces an inch long that dangle spiked ball down from my lobes. My leather collar is classic dominatrix: thick wide black decorated with regular silver spikes. I buckle this about my neck and then reach for my current favorite boots. These are all soft, supple black leather but for the pointed toes and four-inch stiletto heels – those are of shiny stainless steel. I pull them on until the tops rise just above my knees, and then don matching gauntlets. These similarly encase me to just past the elbow, and are enhanced by scary half-inch spikes across the knuckles. My incredible breasts I leave entirely bare – so much the better to torment your impotence with, my pet! And now at last it’s time for the c**k!

As always my breath catches and my face flushes hot as I pick one out. The one I choose tonight is of modest size. It wouldn’t do to tear my new slut up too terribly on his very first time now, would it? Still the beautifully realized phallus is about nine inches long and one and a half in diameter, molded all of one piece with the black plastic base.

I find this far superior to any strap and ring configuration – there’s no slippage or necessity to grip the shaft in order to keep it in place no matter how violent or exuberant my rhythm gets. The only thing better is a pair of p***s pants, but most of mine sport c***s of ungodly size. Any slut-boy not extensively stretched out first would follow a f*****g by them with a trip to the hospital. Panting with excitement I fit that c**k to my crotch and strap it tightly in place. Then I throw open the wardrobe door with a crash and make my usual emphatically dramatic entrance.

This is always delicious: seeing the reaction of my previously clueless prey to what their future now holds in store. Often they panic and sprint naked for the door, forgetting clothes and everything else in their mad need to escape. Of course I always keep this locked, and we have a highly entertaining game of chase before I capture them, wrestle them back to the bed and have my way with them.

Others will try to protest, reason with me or beg – all for naught of course. One even grabbed a lamp and tried to fight me. That made for an exhilarating few minutes. Yet in the end even that slut-boy found himself straining his ass upward and open and exhorting me to pound him harder, harder, please, Goddess harder! In contrast though all little Steve can do is gape at me in disbelief.

Perhaps he realizes that at half my weight his subjugation is inevitable. Or perhaps his subconscious need is so strong that he never even considers resistance. Most likely he’s just so shocked that it paralyzes him. He just lies there bug-eyed, propped up on his elbows with his mouth hanging open as I strut up to him and climb onto the bed. I grab him by the shoulder and shove him flat, and at last he finds his voice.

“You...what...”

“Me,” I agree. “I am your new lover, and from now on owner. And what I’m going to do to you right now is f**k you. You of course will not be f*****g me, ever. You are so obviously unworthy. I need a c**k at least five times the size of your pathetic little thing to satisfy me. And in truth, I find doing the f*****g so much more rewarding anyway. So you be a good little slut-boy and don’t struggle. Don’t resist me at all. Because one way or another you’re going to lose your virginity to me this afternoon, evening and night – not to mention your dignity, integrity and ultimately your autonomy too. So what’s it going to be, boy? Are you going to weakly submit, completely behave, and entirely obey me? Are you going to accept and enjoy this experience to the fullest? After all, this is surely the only chance a loser like you will ever have to be with any woman, to say nothing of a gorgeous goddess like me...”

Steve continues to goggle up at me for another ten seconds, his eyes going from my implacable face to my excitedly heaving breasts to my big erect c**k. At last he looks down at his own c**k, still rigidly upright and swiftly going from pink to red in its greatest ever engorgement. He swallows hard, closes his eyes a minute, and then at last meets my imperious gaze.

“I...I will obey you, Becky,” he husks.

“Excellent!” I gloat. Oh, how I love this minute! No matter how it comes about, this moment of triumph, of claiming another simpering male slut-slave for use of the superior s*x is validating and fulfilling in the extreme. I try to calm myself by offering this slut both his first instructions plus a small reward for his easy acquiescence – if I don’t I’m likely to just go off like a rocket!

“In that case, slave, I order you to never call me Becky again. Forget you ever heard that name. It was a fake anyways. Know this: you will go to your lonely slave’s grave without ever knowing my real name. To you I am simply ‘Goddess’ – your Goddess, the only being to which you owe any fealty. And to me you are ‘Slut-boy’ – my slut, my slave, my sissy and eternal subject. Understood, Slut-boy?”

“Yes, Goddess,” croaks Slut-boy.

His mouth is clearly dry. Yet suddenly I’m not the only one breathing heavily and flushed with arousal. His hand even creeps down toward his bobbing, throbbing hard-on. How sinful of him! Immediately I slap it away.

“You never ever touch me, or yourself, much less ejaculate without my explicit permission. Understood, Slut-boy?”

“I understand, my Goddess. I’m most heartfully sorry. Please forgive me.”

“As your Goddess I most magnanimously do so. Now then, Slut-boy, as a reward for your instant and unstinting submission to me I’m going to give you a choice. Do you want to take your first ever f*****g lying face-up, or on your belly? Face-up you will get to watch your defloration in the ceiling mirror and see your Goddess in action right up close: truly a divinely sublime and impossibly exciting sight. Yet on your belly you may also manage to watch – there’s another mirror in the headboard. And you will have the added option of biting down on the pillow. You may find that helps to endure the surpassing pain and pleasure of being taken by your Goddess. Which is it to be, boy?”