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Fem Dom Quartet (Victor Bruno)

Fem Dom Quartet by Victor Bruno


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Four remarkable fem dom stories from the Master of S&M writing!

From the Book: ‘ ... Yes ... he had one cheek pressed to a tabletop. It was a low table. He was kneeling at one end of it. And ... dear God ... his wrists were corded to the other end of it. To the legs. And there was something else. A cord ... or similar ... had been looped about his scrotum and pulled painfully tight.
Panic gripped Tom Margold. He was helpless! Now they could do what they liked. Instinctively he began to tug at his bonds.

"Signs of life," came Sophie’s brittle voice.
Then Tom became aware that the girl was seated a few feet in front of him. Her long legs were splayed and, from where he was, Tom could see practically all the way up her thighs. He saw that she had some cord wound around her right hand.

"W-What ... what’s h-happening?" gasped Tom.
Sophie smiled at him. Such a pretty smile ... yet also cruel. "Struggle as much as you like, slob," she said. "It won’t get you anywhere. Also, you might lose your balls!”

Tom saw Sophie’s right hand move ... and watched a cord which ran forward from under the table pull taut. The next moment he felt the noose about his scrotum tighten even more ... and his genitals were pulled inexorably and most painfully forward and under the table.

"Aaagghhhh!" he gasped. "Aaghhh ... oh God ... no ... oooo!” ...’

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 3 / 2012

No. words: 30000

Style: Fem Dom - F/M, Sex Slavery / Training

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle



SOMETIMES PAUL NOLAN wondered whether he would have seen so much of Richard Waite if it hadn’t been for his friend’s sister Pamela.
Though she was twenty five years old, some seven years his senior, she had held a fascination for him right from the first moment he had set eyes on her. To be honest, she was the type of young woman he had been having masturbatory fantasies about for a number of years. Pamela Roche, was tall and well made. She had good breasts and long legs and there was a look of lithe athleticism about her. Very much the High School tennis champion - which, indeed, Paul Nolan later found out she had been. You would not have called Pamela pretty. Certainly there was none of the ‘chocolate-box look’ about her. She had strong, rather angular features (on the lines of Virginia Wade) and one would have called her compellingly attractive rather than beautiful.
My type, thought Paul Nolan at once ... knowing that if he had seen a young woman like that posing provocatively naked in one of the numerous ‘girlie magazines’ he studied, he would soon have found his hand working overtime on a throbbing hard root of flesh. Maybe, thought Paul, it’s all this playing with myself that is holding me back in my studies. Sapping his energy. Making mental and physical effort a drag. Still, he could not help it. Tossing off was practically his only relaxation. Oh, how he loved it! There was nothing he enjoyed better than retiring to his room (on the pretext of studying), stripping off, covering his prick with some nice soothing ointment, opening his ‘girlie magazines’ at his favourite pages and then getting a grip on himself. He would imagine himself feeling and fondling those statuesque beauties who thrust their shapeliness at him so provocatively. He imagined them sucking him. He imagined himself fucking them.
The trouble was, it got him so excited it was often all over too soon.
Paul Nolan had experimented with actual fucking, dating several of the High School girls who were rumoured to be hot for that sort of thing. Well, maybe they were, but, when it came to the crunch, Paul had, so far, found himself wanting.
So shaming ...
To hear them sigh resignedly.
Or, worse, to hear them titter.
So Paul Nolan preferred the privacy of his own room, the glossy model girls ... and his own hand.
Then, as if stepping out of the pages, there had been Pamela Roche. Not naked, of course, but clad in a figure-hugging swimsuit when Paul had first met her. Introduced by her brother Richard, whom Paul had chummed up with. He had hardly been able to keep his eyes off her that evening. Those high, rounded breasts that would bounce softly as she moved. Those long thighs which quivered as she stepped across the patio. Paul thought he would never forget the soft warmth and subtle scents of that evening. How his heart had thumped every time Pamela came near him! Here was one of his fantasy-dreams in reality!
Yet, of course, Pamela Roche was unattainable.
In the first place, she was seven years older than Paul.
In the second, she was married.
Paul found that strangely fascinating ... and let his imagination rove around the idea of her being in bed with her husband. Very exciting. Very disturbing. At one time, he found himself wondering how often she got fucked.
Perhaps not all that often, maybe. For this husband, whose name was Graham, was some kind of big-time sales representative for an oil company. And this took him not only all over the States but out to the Middle East as well. If I had a wife like her, Paul had thought, I wouldn’t let her out of my sight. I’d fuck her every night. Several times. And in the daytime, too.
The idea of that made him feel quite sick with excitement. Yet ... underneath ... there was a little nagging doubt. It was all very well fantasising but, if it were real, would he be able to do?
That was a frightening thought ...
Thus it was, in the privacy of his own room, Paul began to fill his mind with pictures of Pamela Roche rather than photos of model girls. He got her into some positively indecent poses! So much so that, upon meeting her again, Paul would find himself flushing. What on earth would she think if she knew what he thought! One evening, Paul Nolan went over to study and gossip with Pamela’s brother, Richard, who was nineteen and already at University. They got on well together and Richard’s seniority and experience often helped Paul in his work.
All too soon, Paul found his mind wandering from Applied Economics.
“Where’s Pamela?” he asked, feeling that familiar glow of pleasure at even mentioning her name.
“Around,” replied Richard vaguely, raising his head from a Law book.
“I don’t feel like studying this evening,” said Paul. He did indeed feel quite weary and they’d only been at it for about half and hour.
“You say that all too often these days,” said Richard. But there was sympathy in his voice.
For a moment, Paul thought of quizzing Richard about the effects of over-masturbation. Then he lost courage. Probably Richard had given that up long ago ... and would think him a real kid. Besides, suppose Pamela got to hear of it! Paul found his cheeks burning at the thought.
“I don’t know what it is,” Paul said, just as the door swung open. Pamela came in, easy-striding, breasts joggling under a pale pink blouse. “I just can’t seem to apply myself,” added Paul.
Pamela stooped gracefully and picked up a book. “Don’t let me interrupt you two,” she said. Then she headed back for the door. As she got there, she turned and faced directly at Paul. Her voice was low but firm and clear. “I should think a damn good hiding would do you no harm,” she said.
Then she was gone, the door slamming behind her.
A startled silence descended on the room. Paul could hardly believe he had heard right. He stole a glance at Richard who looked composed and had returned to his Law book. To break the tension within himself, Paul laughed.
“Your sister!” he said.
“What’s that?”
“I said ... your sister ...”
“You heard what she said?”
Richard looked up again. He seemed rather needled that his train of thought was being interrupted.
“Yes ...”
“Well, did she mean it?”
“How the hell should I know,” replied Richard irritably. Paul Nolan let the subject drop. But it did not leave his mind. He found it even more difficult to concentrate his mind ... and left the house early. Without seeing Pamela again, incidentally.
His mother (a widow whom he lived alone with) gave him her usual simpering welcome and tried to get him to ‘talk. But ‘talking’ with his mother only bored Paul. They had nothing in common. He made some excuse and retired early.
He wanted to think about Pamela Roche.
Above all, he wanted to think about what she had said.

* * *

‘I should think a damn good hiding would do you no harm’.
That’s what she had said. No doubt of it. What was more, the way she had said it implied that she would be prepared to give it to him! That really was the most amazing part about it. And the most exciting. Strangely exciting.
Paul Nolan realised he had never been excited in quite such a way before.
His hand gently massaged the hardness of his erection as he lay back naked on his bed. Must go easy, he thought. Don’t want to shoot off for a long time yet.
What did Pamela mean by a hiding?
Not just an ordinary manual spanking, he was sure. That was for young kids. More likely, a spanking with a paddle. Or a strap. Possibly even a thrashing with a cane!
Paul found his nerves tingling ... and couldn’t stop his hand moving again.
Paul imagined himself lying over Pamela’s long, strong thighs. Her hand pressing him down. His trousers and pants off. His bottom naked. The paddle falling ...
Oh God, how incredible it was to think about it!


I was dissapointed in this book. It´s supposed to be by an experienced writer who is known for his great works. Well, I think he had a bad day 2 out of 5 (alan)

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