Karen

Karen- Chapter II by Victor Mann

Her status certified, I reached again under her dress to play my fingers in her bare cunt.  She was dripping there and it took no more than a few moments before her legs seized my hand, she pushed very hard against it and let her orgasm breath itself out in my ear, in a beautiful, feminine and controlled way that impressed me.   Though I am not inclined to allow a female any action that is not scripted and dictated by me, I indulged her bringing her pretty lips up to mine for a very passionate kiss.  When she tried to tongue kiss, I admonished her that she was NEVER to stick her bitch tongue in my mouth—and then I shoved my own tongue into her mouth like a stiff prick to which  she responded properly by allowed its probing quietly, passively, femininely and with an increase of breathing and excitement that brought forward a second gasp of orgasm.  Karen strongly responded to decisive control and aggressive male assertion.

When she had settled herself and had carefully redone her make-up we talked.

“So you understand now how it’s going to be?”

Karen just softly answered, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” I said a bit annoyed.

“Yes, I know that you’re the Master and I’ll do as told.”

“You’ve never had a relationship like this.  You never even knew how

submissive you are.  And you’ve been a business executive, boss and assertive

woman in your everyday life.  You’ve had nearly a lifetime of a totally different

way of being.  Are you really sure, this is the path for you now?”

“Sir.  If I didn’t respect you so much, or thought you were a woman-hater, it would be very different.  But, as it is, I feel like you're the first man to bring out the real me. 

God.  I so respond when you hurt me!  It could be that there is a submissive cunt inside every forthright, ‘independent’ woman who is looking for her MASTER.  All I know is that my cunt is dripping now and my heart is thumping just thinking of the way you treat me.  I’m not a shrinking little violet.  I’m a WOMAN who has never felt so female and feminine in my life before.  I know who I am and am not confused.  I want you to fuck me, hurt me, use me and Master me.  I fucking deserve it (as the sexists say) and I really, really need it.   Of that I am sure.”

She realized how aggressive sounding even this submissive declaration was and added very quickly, “As you can see I really need training.”

“And you’re ready to have me call you ‘bitch’ or ‘cunt’ or whatever expletive pleases me?”

Karen went into herself and showed the placid passivity that was at her core (and so pleased me) and answered bluntly, “It’s not up to the woman to decide how a man wants to talk.”

We/we had truly connected, here, in a real way.  Karen’s very drunken revelation of an alter ego was true.  And she was strong enough to own it.  And passionate enough and proud enough to live it.   I escorted her into the parking lot, taking her firmly by the arm as though she were a bad girl who needed to be chastised.  When We/we got to her car, she turned to me and she said, “Victor, I want to show you.”  She was a little drunk from three drinks at the bar.  She fell to her knees and bowed to my feet and put her servile lips to each of my shoes, clasping, submissively my shoe backs.

“I want to serve you, Sir,” the uppity, business-cunt said to me.  “You shall,” I answered and, once she’d shown her soul to me down at my feet, I turned coldly on my heel to leave her face down on the dirty cement.

Things changed in Karen’s house, after this, in the privacy of her home.  Firstly,

when this bitch got up in the morning, she’d take her shower and do her “hair maintenance” regimen, removing the slightest stubble. (Waxing of her cunt was of course done bi-weekly, also).  Having bathed she was to do her hair in a style that pleased me, put full, careful make-up on, put on her perfume, put on her several rings and bracelets and her glamor-style earrings, put on a pretty bra, her garter-belt and hose and put on her 4” high heeled pumps.  She, then, was to prepare an “easy bites” breakfast in the kitchen.  Then, kneeling on her knees on the kitchen floor, she would bend down to eat her breakfast from a bowl on the floor without using her hands like a WOMAN.

Karen was allowed to masturbate to orgasm after this servile act (without allowance for cleaning her face), if this abject act really, really turned her on.  She did masturbate EVERY morning, now.

Once she’d served me at her breakfast, she was to dress and accouter in ways she had never done in her life and had never considered doing.  Pants were banished from her wardrobe indoors or outdoors.  She was allowed to wear dresses and skirts only.  Also, she was forbidden to wear pantyhose, but required to wear garter-belts and hose at all times.  Additionally, she was forbidden to wear anything but high heeled pumps of my choosing indoors or outdoors, henceforth.  Her long false nails were to be carefully painted each day and she was to wear the list of jewelry that she never had graced the world with before--- each day.

I had her masturbate to orgasm with dildoes at least three times a day to condition her.  Twice daily she was required to use a very large dildo for “cock-suck” training, where she was admonished to learn to overcome her gag reflex. 

As it turned out, her boyfriend Don very much liked her new look and attitude.  What man wouldn’t?  She continued to have him fuck her face in the fashion I’d insisted upon, on her knees, on the floor, hands at her sides, with pretty new lipstick on, regularly.  Now it was part of their routine.  Also, the subtle changes in her approach to him, were also accepted, at least, and probably welcomed by him.  I had required her to sweeten and feminize her voice considerably in a man’s presence.  She had learned to smile and purr more.  She was required to offer him foot massages and back rubs spontaneously and to adopt a more servant oriented attitude, subtle enough not to make her seem a weirdo, but clear enough to make him feel privileged as a man.

“Don practically raped me last night!” she texted me after about 10 more days of not meeting.  “I think you are right that every man really wants a geisha-whore.  I’ve been so stuck in my egalitarian bullshit, I’d never considered it.  I have only you to thank, Master.  But when will can I have a real man come and fuck me?”

I liked her turn of phrase.  We/we had e-mailed, talked on the phone and texted a lot.  Karen, truly was a woman who felt that she had been freed for the first time in her life from a host of conventional (but very habitual) modes that had impeded her self-development.  She was hot as a pistol sexually and very, very focused on pleasing me.

“OK,” I said.  “Tomorrow night I am coming over to use you.  I want your dress, make-up and accouterments to be perfect and I want you wearing those new, nearly impossible 6” high heels for me. I want you to use the largest dildo I’ve given you to come to near orgasm three times within the two hours before my arrival. But you are not allowed to come.  When this is done, I want you kneeling with face down on your bed, with your panties down and your skirt pulled up over your waist, bare cunt exposed.  You’ll kneel there starting at 8 pm.  Leave your fucking front door unlocked.  I’ll come over when it pleases me.  When I come, I will only be there to use your bitch cunt.  I will fuck you and I want you to keep your cunt mouth shut while I do it.  You may grunt in pleasure.  Once I do this and dumped my load in you, I’ve got more important things than to sit around talking to a set of holes.  I’ll be leaving very soon after I’ve taken the Pleasure that is a Master’s right.”

Karen’s sweet tweet said, “Thank you, Sir.”

As a Male-Supremacist Master I have “sexist” thoughts and views,  and I do express Myself accordingly.  But now there was not an iota of difference between the way Karen thought about things and My own crude understandings.  Listen to what she said to me, “Every bitch needs to be under a strong man’s thumb to feel whole.”  I did not invent nor coerce her thoughts.  So, now, the narrative begins to reflect more MY narrative and way.  And, believe Me, this cunt NEEDED it that way.

I got to Karen’s condo at about 8:45.  I went into the door and made my way to the living-room to make myself a double scotch.  I did linger a moment in the doorway of Karen’s bedroom to take a look at my whore.  She was in proper position, her bare, glistening cunt exposed, in the 6”, black patent leather, high arched, pointy-toed, thin heeled, nearly unwalkable pumps that one might find on a good street-walker.  I didn’t hear a peep from the bitch, as was required.  I had myself a good, quiet drink and, when the spirit moved me, I went into the bedroom, got onto the bed, unzipped myself and shoved my Prick into this bitch for the first time.  She was so, so ready for Me and I felt her cunt seize My thick Prick in orgasm almost immediately.  Her body was trembling and in erotic spasm as I assumed this bitch MY WAY.  I fucked her for a good 20 minutes, before I let myself loose in her.  While I called her a bitch set-of-holes, a good solid fuck-place,  a nice pliable whore for a man, a good boot-licking cunt, Karen in her life had never really been made to fully be a woman for a man, so her bodily and emotional response was very strong.  She squirted her slit juice over my hard Prick to answer in affirmative to my characterizations of her.  she gasped and started weeping at a certain point.  Sometimes it is a little hard for a forthright “liberated” cunt to face that fact that her greatest pleasure comes in being a submissive whore.

At 10 pm Don was coming over to stay the night with Karen.  He was used to having her greet him at the door now on her knees, dressed as pleased Me, with lipstick perfect to greet his hard cock, hands at her sides.  The 6” high heels were a bit too drastic, so I had had Karen change to 5” black patent leather heels of the same type. 

Karen reported that her sex life with Don had improved tremendously since I had changed her dress and demeanor.  Their conversation, too, had moved away from their more deeply intellectual exchanges that they once had shared and instead focused much more on Don’s feelings, concerns and subjects. And this had brightened him and had made their relationship solider, though quite different.  I had emphasized that the geisha-whore role for her with Men was a good fucking antidote to the free-wheeling, “do-as-I please,” “independent woman” role she’d been burdened with for so long.  Certainly, she would never have come to such an attitude without forceful intervention on My part, insisting that she change her fucking ways, but good.  But she also took to her new persona and way with a wet cunt and an avid desire to please Me and only me. 

Don was the lucky fellow who got taken up in Mine and Karen’s drama, but he really loved the new leaf she had unexpectedly turned over and, probably not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, he seemed to have decided to be uncurious about the difference in treatment he was receiving.  I calculated that part of this may have been a male ego that imagined somehow his own prick and interpersonal skill had brought about the  change.  He, of course, did not know the training regimen she was subjected to more strictly each day and the pain she began to undergo in My distant punishments of her that cleared her head and made her want to strive to be a better cunt and whore.  And that night he, as usual, also let himself be unaware, when he vigorously fucked Karen, that he was getting “sloppy seconds,” my good cum-load still dripping from her cunt when he shoved himself in.

“Master.  Thank you for the grace of your hard prick last night. I love you,” was the text message I received the next morning after Karen had eaten her breakfast like a woman and had masturbated to orgasm.  “I know we’ll never be together permanently as husband and wife—or Master and slave, as I would prefer, but, as long as I can, I want you to train, teach and condition me in your Masterful way.  I had my own journey with ‘women’s liberation’ that I try not to regret.  But, looking back, it seems more like slavery to some set of bullshit ideas made up to stultify, stereotype and frustrate women, almost calculated to cut them off from so much that is essential to a female.  God I wish I’d known 20 years ago how much I need a good harsh, steady Male hand in my life.  I really love being your cunt and hurting and serving for you.  you have given me the only ‘liberation’ I’ve ever really needed.”

Of course, most women, when they are finally honestly brought to heel by a Master Who knows, overflow with love, the deepest most passionate love, one that culminates in true fealty.  Man-love must be different.  It can only come when he can see that the bitch has truly changed and has left her cunt ways behind in favor of His Rule. 

After a week or two more of “distance-learning” for Karen it was getting to be time for a full night date with Karen, where I could refine her role and, perhaps, put a collar and leash on the bitch.   I had begun to introduce her to protocols of pain to please the Master.  I directed her to put certain firey creams and ointments on her clit and cunt to show me her obedience.  I introduced her to “figging,” putting pieces of ginger in her ass which give quite intense pain.  And I had instructed her more fully on my understandings of the Man/cunt relationship.  All of this supercharged, Karen’s to submission, it seemed.

My wife was going out of town for four days a conference, so it was time for me to arrange things.  Karen was to meet me at and out of the way Indian casino some 300 miles from our city.  I rented a very luxurious honey moon suite for us. 

I saw the look of strain on Karen’s face, as she entered the casino and savored the vision of my new cunt approaching me, trying to pretend all was normal.  I myself wore a nice new suit and tie. Karen wore a beautiful black dress, wearing the heavy earrings, rings and other jewelry that pleased me.  In her ass had just been inserted a wickedly large piece of ginger that was really painful.  Her new high heels, 5” pointed toe, traditional pumps had in their restricted foot space a plastic insert with plastic spikes on like those found on many plastic doormats.  Walking in these was quite painful.  I was very pleased at the way Karen somehow gracefully approached me, looking for approval.  In the heels, she stood a full 6 feet tall, but it was a  very submissive six foot woman who came to serve Me.