Femdom Farm

                FEMDOM FARM – PART 2, GETTING THERE

 

 

After my post-sentencing whipping – painful, but I had feared fuckin’ worse – the judge called down to the holding cells. A pretty little blonde’s face appeared on the vidphone screen.

 

“We’ve got a cunt for you for the farm,” snapped Judge Clitorides, “get up here and get him.”

 

About two minutes later, the blonde arrived with a colleague. Did I say the blonde was pretty? Well, her mate was fuckin’ awful, looked like she banged into Mount Rushmore, very, very slowly.

 

“He’s all yours,” said the judge, signing a chit the blonde gave her.

 

And then I was dragged down to a cell on the ground floor. The blonde must have been about 25, and had short-cropped, blonde hair. Her mate must have been about 40, close-cropped black hair. Oh, I forgot, she was black.

 

“He’s pretty,” said the black bitch. “We go the long route back to the farm, eh?”

 

The blonde, who despite her youth, appeared to be in charge, grinned. “Sure, we’ll take the scenic route, he looks like fun.”

 

And then she started to stroke my cock! Like I said, she was pretty and she was wearing an identical outfit to her mate. It consisted of a black PVC bra which bunched her pert titties in gleaming uplift. On each cup was a bright red letter “F” – Femdom Farm, geddit?

 

Lower down, the two guards wore tight-fitting hot pants, also in black PVC. On the backs of the garments were also two “F” letters.

The fronts of the pants gleamed against their prominent pussy mounds.

 

On their feet they wore regulation, knee-high boots. On each toe – yep, you guessed it – were the letters “F”.

 

 

 

And on their heads were military-style leather caps, like those cunts in the old Nazi war of 1939-45 used to wear, only instead of a fuckin’ swastika, they had the letters “FF” emblazoned above the gleaming peaks. Trying to get a message across, you reckon?

 

Shit, I already knew I was going to fuckin’ Femdom Farm!

 

And despite my apprehension at my destination, the lovely little blonde soon had me erect, and then it was time to go.

 

“Right, cunt,” she snapped, bending to release my spreader bar, and untie the cord around my cock and balls. “Now we’re gonna take you to the van along the humiliation ramp. And good women of this fair city have paid hard-earned money to get a viewing position, so you wave the cock around, you understand?”

 

I nodded and she grinned, then stroked me some more. “And tell me, cunt, how long is it?”

 

I guess I was pretty sullen, ‘cos when I told her “Eight inches”, she slapped me across the face.

 

“Eight inches, ma’am,” she shouted. “Eight fuckin’ inches, MA’AM.” And she slapped me again.

 

Oh, forgot to tell you – both the bitches were wearing black leather gloves. I later found out, that at Femdom Farm they were referred to as “bitch slappers”.

 

Whether that was because the slapping was done by bitches, or the act of slapping was known as bitchslapping I don’t know, and frankly I don’t give a fuck. But shit, did the pretty little bitch make my head ring!

 

Outside in the glare of the sunlight – it must have been around 11.30 – was a ramp leading to the opened back door of a big GM truck. On either side of the ramp was a group of about 30 women, 15 on each side, standing behind a sort of barricade. They were all wearing those sexy fuckin’ bikinis that women in Femdominia like to stroll around in, driving us men wild with lust.

 

As soon as I appeared there was a lot of shouting.

 

“Look, he’s got a fuckin’ stiffy!” shouted one pert little brunette, with equally pert little titties.

 

“Shake it around for us, cunt!” shouted the woman next to her, who was old enough to be her mom.

 

“Wank it, cunt, stroke it!” snapped a big, butch-looking black woman.

 

The blonde hissed in my ear. “Do it, cunt!”

 

My hand started to stroke my still stiff cock.

 

“What’s he going in for?” one woman asked as my two guards halted me half way up the ramp and made me keep pumping my prick.

 

“He’s an internet porn pervert,” said the black guard.

 

“Cunt!” shouted one woman, who was accompanied by a trio of youngsters who must have been no older than 16 or 17. “Did you pump it like that when you were perving on the net?”

 

The blonde hissed: “Answer her, cunt!”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied, my face burning red now.

 

“Oooh, look, mommy,” said the youngest of the trio of girls with the older woman, “there’s stuff leaking from that ugly piss slit! What’s that, mommy?”

 

“They call it pre-cum,” she told her daughter. “Can we force him to come?”

 

The black guard pushed me in the buttocks. “Sorry, ladies,” she said, “shows over. But your kids can have a quick feel, if they want.”

 

And then, to my utter and total humiliation, the guards pushed me over to the young girls, and the youngest, the one who’d asked about my “pre-cum” fondled my balls, then squeezed my shaft.

 

“Ooooh, it’s so thick, mommy, almost as thick as my dildo toy!”

 

The mother laughed. “Yep, but your dildo don’t get limp when it’s tired, eh, Theresa?”

 

The girl laughed and look up at me, and fuck she was pretty.

 

“How long you been sentenced to the farm for, cunt?” she asked, sweetly, the little slut.

 

“Three years, ma’am,” I told her.

 

“You pervert,” said one of her sisters, “I bet you’re looking forward to it, what with that hard-on and all.”

 

And then that little tart reached out and squeezed my nuts!

 

I bellowed, and the women were all laughing and jeering, things like “Pervert” and “Cock stroker” as the guards pushed me into the air-conditioned confines of the big truck.

 

Once inside, and the doors had swung closed, I looked at the inside of the vehicle which was to take me into slavery. Whips, paddles and strap-on dildos hung in rows on the leather-padded walls. A sort of large leather throne stood with its back to the driver’s compartment.

 

Ominously for me, the black bitch was pulling down her hot pants till she was pussy naked, and then she settled onto the “throne”. The blonde walked to the microphone set in the wall by the partition and announced: “He’s a pretty boy. Take the scenic route.”

 

Then, moving beside me, the blonde said: “Usually, when the slut’s an ugly cunt, we take about an hour to get to the farm. Luckily for you, you’re pretty, so we’ll take the three-hour trip instead.”

 

“Now, get down and start servicing my friend, and do it well,” she ordered.

 

I knelt on the metal floor and pressed my face to a totally hairless pussy, the thick labia moist with arousal. The insides of the lips were bright pink. The cunt was dripping, the anal whorl was dark, almost black.

 

“Start at the anus, cunt,” snapped the black woman. “Always – unless you’re commanded otherwise – start cunnilingus at Femdom Farm at the anus. That’s a sign that you’re a worthless piece of shit.”

 

I inhaled deeply, and to tell the truth, although the bitch was ugly as sin, she had a wonderfully aromatic pussy, the sex juices were musky and strong and, I have to confess, my hard-on was present again after my squeeze on the humiliation ramp.

 

As the truck started to wend its way out of town I began to orally worship between the black bitch’s strong thighs. Soon she was thrusting her crotch at me, graunching on my face, enjoying the attentions I was lavishing on her.

 

While I worked, the pretty blonde sat in another chair and started to speak. It was a speech that she seemed to have memorised – possibly she gave it quite a lot.

 

“Now, cunt, listen up while you’re working on my friend,” she said. “You will, throughout your entire sentence at the farm, refer to any woman there as ‘ma’am’. I’m ma’am, the lady you’re working for now is ‘ma’am’.

 

“There are only two women who you do NOT refer to as ‘ma’am’. One is the woman who runs the outfit, and who will call on you for punishment or pleasure from time to time.

 

“You will refer to her as ‘Boss Bitch’, just that, nothing else – not ‘Boss Bitch Mistress’, not ‘Boss Bitch Ma’am’, simply ‘Boss Bitch’.

 

“The other woman who you will refer to by her first name will be the bitch who has you for her torture or fuck toy. There are no cells at Femdom Farm, there are little chalets where the guards live.

 

“There are lots of guards at Femdom Farm and you will be assigned to one, and this one you will refer to by her first name. So let’s say it’s a woman called Dominia, you will call her ‘Mistress Dominia’. Understood – raise your right hand if you do.”

 

Fuck, it was simple enough, a child could understand it. I raised my right hand.

 

Now, my oral ministrations at ‘Ma’am’s’ crotch was paying dividends and she started to graunch herself against me really hard, while grabbing my hair and pressing me into her quim with gusto.

 

When she started to pump her way to climax she started to abuse me, the bitch!

 

“Fuck you, you cunt, you fuckin’ cunt, I’m fuckin’ cumming, cunt, oh you fuckin’ cunt!” she stormed, which I thought was a bit unfair – she’d ordered me to fuckin’ eat her for chrissakes!

 

Anway, then she came on my face, ejaculating a small amount of post-cum sex juice, which I lapped into my mouth. It tasted salty, brackish, and wasn’t the most pleasant liquid I’ve ever had to deal with. There would be, of course, far worse later, but I’ll get to that.

 

After her climax – and after she’d calmed down – the blonde hauled me to my feet. I was sporting this stiffy, and she grinned and stroked it.

 

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” she smiled. “Now for the next lesson. See those straps? Grab ‘em and don’t let go or I’ll flog you for the rest of the journey.”

 

There was a sturdy metal bar set across the ceiling of the truck, and hanging from it, two leather straps. I put my hands into them and grabbed hold tight. This action caused my body to stretch taut, and I had a job keeping my feet on the floor.

 

While I was doing this, the blonde pulled a leather lash from the racks on the side of the vehicle and she stepped behind me. The black bitch on the throne, meanwhile, started to play with herself, a big grin on her ugly mug.

 

And although she was ugly, I now realised she was superbly built, strongly-muscled, but I’ve got a thing about women who work out – OK, not those who look more like fuckin’ men than women – but a nicely toned female figure is, well, sexy.

 

I was brought back to my senses by the lash being cracked against my straining upper back.

 

“Now pay attention, cunt,” snapped little miss blondie. “This is an electro-flogger, we use ‘em a lot on the farm.

 

“There are three types of flogger – single tailed, like this little beauty. Then there’s a triple-thonged one.”

 

And with that, she pulled another leather discipline instrument from the wall and showed it to me. It was made of an identical strand of slim leather, but a foot or maybe nine inches from the tip, the thing splayed out into three tails.

 

“And then there’s my favorite,” she said, “the good old cat o’ nine tails.”

 

Same as the triple-thonged number, only another six tails!

 

“Now, this is the low setting,” said my blonde guard.

 

And with a slashing stroke, she cut my upper back again. It hurt more than the first stroke, a warm glow left where it had done its work.

 

“And now the medium setting,” she said.

 

This time it was a searing jolt, which made me thrust forward, as if trying to jerk away from the lash’s attentions.

 

“And finally, cunt face, the high setting.”

 

And this time a burning, searing, slashing stroke of pain slashed into my flesh. I bellowed something which sounded like “Yaaaaargh!”

 

“For being really fuckin’ naughty, our slaves can get a two-hour flogging all over their bodies with the cat o’ nine tails set to ‘high’,” the pretty little beast informed me.

 

“And after two hours of that, they are gibbering and sobbing and spluttering so badly you can’t fuckin’ understand what they’re going on about,” she told me. I could well understand it!

 

“Right, get back down on your knees and try to give ma’am on the throne there a decent licking now!” she commanded, and I went back to work.

Again I started to work on the black bitch’s quim, which was still smelling strongly of sex juice, and had such a high musk rating I was soon hard as a rock again.

 

While I worked, lapping and laving at the dark pleasure palace, the blonde was talking again.

 

“Let me tell you what’s gonna happen when we arrive,” she said, as the black woman started to grunt and groan as I pleasured her.

 

“First you will be taken to the fitting room. You will be fitted with a device that will not allow you to escape – as I said, there’s no cells at Femdom Farm, and there’s no perimeter fences, either.

 

“But we get you organised so you can’t fuckin’ escape, although some dumb cunts actually try it on. No one escapes, though, trust me, I wouldn’t lie to you.

 

“After you’ve been fitted out, you will be taken for an interview with one of Boss Bitch’s officers. That’s purely to find a name for you. We don’t do this out of any benevolence, it’s just that we like to give you a humiliating name. Numbers are a fuckin’ bore, no one can remember ‘em.

 

“But give a slave – oh, sorry, you’re a slave from now on, cunt, not a prisoner, not an inmate, you’re a fuckin’ slave! Anyways, as I was saying, give a slave a humiliating name – like ‘Cumdrinker’, or ‘Pissdrinker’ or ‘Momma’s Slut’ and we can all remember it and have a laugh.

 

“And then, after your interview, you are wheeled in to meet Boss Bitch. She’s gorgeous, you will like her, and she will make your life both heaven and hell while you’re enjoying your stay with us.

 

“But – and it’s a big fuckin’ ‘but’, cunt – it will be mostly hell, believe you me!”

 

And I believed her, but soon the black bitch was sliding her crotch firmly across my face, she was coming close once more to her climax.

 

 

 

“Fuckin’ cunt, oh fuck you, fuck you, FUCK you!” she shouted, and once more, when her orgasm arrived, so did a small but tangy-tasting delivery of juice. I knew the drill by now, and again I swallowed it down.

 

Once more, blondie allowed me to stand – my cock was swaying stiffly in front of me, like one of those old-fashioned policemen’s truncheons from the previous century. It looked fuckin’ good to me, I have to confess.

 

Then the black bitch stood up, bent, displaying a large but very shapely, toned ass, and picked up her hot pants. As she did, the blonde, now minus her pants, settled into the chair.

 

“Right, cunt,” she said, placing her lovely thighs on each leather arm, and displaying a small sprout of fair hair on her mons and an otherwise totally hairless snatch, “let’s be having you!”

 

I knelt and eagerly pressed my mouth to her sweet-smelling pussy. Fuck, she smelled divine! And she tasted good, too!

 

As my tongue worshipped first at her tight little anus, she placed a leather-gloved hand almost gently on my head, and stroked me.

 

“Now up to my labia, you cunt, and don’t touch my cunny on the way,” she ordered. “Ah, yes, that’s good, nice, keep it going, now dip into my cunt, you pervert!”

 

I followed her instructions, moving my mouth around her minge, licking, kissing, sucking, doing basically as I was told.

 

And then I heard some words that sent a shiver down my spine.

 

“Piss time, cunt,” snapped the pretty bitch. “Get your mouth over my piss area, seal it tight, and when it comes chug it down, come on, you know you want to, we know which websites you perved on – what was one called? Oh yep, I remember now, Piss of the Princess was one, and Piss Perverts on Parade was another. Filthy cunt!”

And then, when my mouth was in place, she let out a sigh of utter contentment and I was chugging down her piss, a long, strong flow. And it tasted AWFUL!

 

It was salty, it was warm – of course – and it was brackish and just, oh, I guess yukky is the word.

 

When she’d finished she had another instruction. “Clean around my piss flaps, lick me dry – do it thoroughly, lick me clean, get rid of all traces of my pee, and then start back on pleasuring me, cunt!”

 

That task wasn’t so fuckin’ bad. There was still the taste of urine, of course, but soon it was mingling with the taste of her glorious sex juices, and then I was back at work. Fuck, she was tasty!

 

After she had come – much quieter, much more refined than the black tart – she made me stand by the side of the throne.

 

Looking up at me with a smile that was so fuckin’ sweet, she went on with her lecture.

 

“Now, before we arrive, cunt, do you know what Femdom Farm stands for?”

 

I shook my head, remembering to address her properly. “No, ma’am, sorry ma’am, no idea, ma’am.”

 

She laughed. “One ‘ma’am’ is quite sufficient, cunt,” she told me. “No need to lay it on with a fuckin’ trowel.”

 

I nodded my understanding, and looked into her deep blue eyes, as she stroked my hard-on.

 

“Well,” she said, “when we get there and you are removed from this truck the first thing you will notice is there is no farming going on. Know why?”

 

I shook my head. “No, ma’am,” I whispered, because her cock-stroking was so fuckin’ lovely.

 

“That’s because the word farm stands for ‘Females Adjusting Recalcitrant Males’,” she smiled. “Know what ‘recalcitrant’ means, cunt boy?”

 

I nodded. “Naughty?” I ventured.

 

Blondie laughed again. “Don’t show your fuckin’ ignorance, cunt,” she reprimanded me. “It means having an obstinately uncooperative attitude towards authority or discipline.”

 

She smiled at me, and although she was fuckin’ pretty, like I’ve said on more than once occasion, there was a trace of sinister sadism in her smile this time.

 

“And we,” she said, pulling my foreskin back slightly, allowing the head to glisten in its slippery, aroused state, “are gonna beat that fuckin’ attitude out of you!”

 

 

To be continued.