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Independent Day (Peter Ernst Graefenberg)

Independent Day by Peter Ernst Graefenberg

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A story of irony and retribution - The more that Skeeter desires to be an independent man, the deeper he sinks in his dependency, that of being the male in a female led relationship. His story would have never come to light if he hadn't of been caught flashing his bits to a hiking group of righteous church ladies known as the CBT Ladies Axillary of the St. Andrews Cross Bearers Hiking Association. Caught and punished with the birch, he is also sentenced to therapy. These are the extracts from Annie the Therapist's notes.

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 6 / 2015

No. words: 10500

Style: Fem Dom - F/M, Bondage/BDSM and Humor

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


independent day - extract

Annie the Therapist: .... Skeeter, for how long have you been wearing the plastic cock-cage?

Skeeter: It seems like forever. On Sunday it'll be two weeks. I guess that around ten, eleven days ago Widow Flayer and I had our only real falling out, which led to my being locked up in this chastity horror chamber, not that I'm complaining. It went down like this.
Late on a Saturday night I made it home around eleven or so. The widow had lined me up that evening with a special job assignment as a bottomless waiter, serving refreshments at one of her friend's Tupperware parties. The pay was excellent, but those gals really kept me hopping and a bopping. They were friendly enough, but more than a few of them really had a thing about pinching my butt or goosing me every time I brought coffee, or tea, and later on bourbon mixed with Mountain Dew, which they referred to as a Wobbleton Whammer. Their pinches were harmless enough, and the tips they put into my pay envelope later made for a handsome stack of green, so I figured what the hell?!? If you're going to get ahead and be your own man, sometimes you just got to go for it, and soar with the beagles, as the saying goes.
Anyway, at that time of night I just drove home naked so that I wouldn't have to get undressed when I got there. Also, I figured that I could sleep in later on Sunday, and wouldn't have to get up and do any house work until around seven in the morning.
I tried to be quiet, as the widow's bedroom is next to mine. As I laid on the bed, I got to thinking about all those ladies' hands at the Tupperware party that had been pinching me and feeling me up, and tickling my balls and all, and I wasn't really trying to do so, but I somehow got a boner that seemed to have a life of it's own. I mean it was throbbing like the pistons on my pick-up truck, which is why, when I was younger and not so mature, I used to refer to my woodies as my own private Throbalots.
Widow Flayer has a few little quirks, and for a bookkeeper she is also quite independent, in her own feminine way. Well, she always comes and goes throughout the house without knocking on doors or announcing herself. She said that she'd be damned if she would knock on any doors in her own house.
I figured that she was deep asleep, but just after I'd wrapped a hand around my Woodrow and given it a squeeze and a couple of warm-up rubs like I always do, who should walk into my room but the widow Flayer. I don't know how long she'd been standing at the end of the bed glaring down at me as I had my eyes shut, but I almost flew off the bed when she cleared her throat.
"Young man, what do you think that you are doing?"
I was sort of frozen in shock, her finding me like that again. I'd stopped stroking, but when I looked down, my hand was still wrapped around my boner. I was so close to shooting my wad, I guess that I didn't want to lose my grip.
She said, "This is the second time in the last eighteen months that I've caught you playing with yourself like a little pervert, and I won't have it. Not in my house. What will people think when they hear about this? Skeeter, I believe that it's for the best that in the morning you pack up all your belongings and leave. You should be able to get all of your personal items into a trash bag in around two minutes. All of the tools in the garage belong to me, so they stay."

Author Information

I've experienced some, but not all of what I write about in my FemDom stories, but I must admit, I've occasionally been known to exaggerate the facts. I've always been interested in the psychological aspects of sexual domination and submission, voluntary power exchanges between consenting adults, and the desired sexual humiliations inherent in most D/s relationships and scenes.
Another theme that affects how I live my life involves revenge, also known as payback.
These are all themes that I often fit into my story lines, and I'll occasionally add a pinch of humor, to add a bit of realism to the mixture. My drugs of choice include the occasional Cuban cigar, and lots of home-brewed Endorphins. The ability to laugh at myself also helps.
My only commandment is the Golden Rule, and if I had to choose a god/goddess to worship, it would probably be Nemesis, the goddess of revenge, as she was also known to be kinky. Throughout recorded history, as have all the other gods known to man, bless their hearts, she's had numerous names. One man's god is another man's goddess, and vice versa.


Publisher Information

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