Femdom Farm

                     FEMDOM FARM – PART 3, THE ARRIVAL

 

I climbed from the back of the air-conditioned truck into the sizzling heat of the Arizona desert. Blinking to adjust my eyes to the harsh light, I saw several slaves being paraded around.

 

Each was naked, each was wearing a sort of neck choker and ring around their cock and balls. Oh, and each was erect!

 

Every one of them was being attended by one, or in some cases, two “guards”. All the guards had the same qualities – while not all were the most stunningly attractive women I’d ever laid eyes on, each had muscular, rippling bodies, which gleamed with healthy golden tans.

 

They were, faces aside, erection machines. All of them wore brief bikinis, made of shiny PVC or rubber, which showed expanses of breasts, and all were thong-style, so their buttocks were exposed.

 

Some of them looked at me with wry smiles of amusement, but my gawping was suddenly interrupted by blondie who shoved me towards a fairly large building.

 

Inside, was a sort of reception area and a woman – also dressed in a shockingly brief little bikini – arrived, took one look at me, smiled, said “Pretty boy, eh?” to blondie and her black partner, then lifted a part of the desk and said: “Come on in, the girls have been expecting him.”

 

The pair pushed me through the opened partition and into a back room, where two women in high heels, tiny bikinis and haughty looks on their fuckin’ faces were sitting in easy chairs.

 

On my arrival, both stood and as I was pushed into the middle of the room, they flanked me. One fondled my cock, the other ran her hands over my butt and back, as if they were inspecting a lump of fuckin’ meat. In a way, I guess they were!

 

“We’ll deal with his hair, first,” said the dark-haired bitch to her redheaded partner.

 

“Leave his head hair,” said blondie. “He’s gonna be a pretty boy!”

 

I didn’t know what she was talking about, but the redhead looked at me with a sneer. “Reckon you’ve got the strength for the job, eh, pretty boy?”

 

What the fuck she was talking about I didn’t have a clue, but I nodded: “Yes, ma’am, I think so.”

 

Then the dark-haired one laughed at me. “That’s what they all say, cunt!”

 

The next thing, she took a cloth, about the size of a facecloth, and using a large spray full of some blue liquid, she sprayed a liberal amount on the cloth.

 

Very carefully, she ran the cloth over my chin, my upper lip, then poked her finger into it and pushed the cloth into each nostril, and also into my ears. As she worked on my face, I noticed a very pleasant, warm tingling glow.

 

“That’s done the first bit,” smiled the dark-haired bitch, who was careful, I noticed during the wiping process, to press her rock-hard titties against the upper sides of my body. I was starting to get hard again.

 

Once more she sprayed the cloth, and as she rubbed it over my chest and my back, down to my butt, she informed me: “This means that you will never, ever, have to shave again, pretty boy.

 

“No hair will ever grow in that fucking nose, or your ears. No hair around your titties, none on your back, none in the small of your back. Nothing!”

 

Her next port of call was around my cock and balls. Spraying the cloth, she rubbed it along my shaft, over my scrotum, and around my pubic bone. I felt a warm glow there, and my cock seemed to actually stiffen even more!

 

The woman then rubbed the cloth over my thighs, commenting as she did “Nice cock, nice legs, nice pretty boy!”, and then she wiped my calves and ankles. She even rubbed my feet all over.

 

 

 

“Hands!” she snapped, and I held my hands out. She wiped the backs of them, removing all traces of hair there. “Arms up!” I raised my arms and next my armpits were depilated. Then she worked along each arm, till she was satisfied.

 

“Last thing, pretty boy,” she snapped, “bend!”

 

I bent over, and felt the cloth sending a warm glow around my ass, especially on my anus and then down to my scrotum again.

 

“Up!” came the order, and I stood.

 

Both women inspected me, both nodded.

 

“He’s even prettier now!” giggled the redhead, who I saw was holding the neck choker and collar arrangement I’d seen on the slaves on my arrival at Femdom Farm.

 

“Now, let’s get you harnessed up,” said the dark-haired bitch, still rubbing her titties against me, and me still sporting an erection.

 

The redhead swung into action, slipping my balls down through the  cold metal ring and then pushing my erection down until it, too, was encircled by the metal.

 

Set at the top of the ring as I looked down at it, was a metal chain some inch or two wide, which came up over my pubic bone, along the middle of my abdomen, over my navel and up between my pectorals until the collar at the top was fitted around my neck.

 

I then heard a sort of hissing sound, and realised the collar was being sort of welded shut at the nape of my neck.

 

When she had finished, the redhead inspected her work.

 

Finally she told me what it was all about. “This keeps you as a prisoner on the farm,” she said. “There’s a sensor in the ring around your cock and balls.

 

“It’s fine if you stay within the confines of the farm, but stray one inch past the dark line of tar around the perimeter and you’ll feel a shock that will bring you to your knees.”

 

The dark-haired bitch took over. “The perimeter is not fenced because it doesn’t need to be, cunt. It runs around the farm in a big circle, which is 10 miles from the central point here.

 

“And don’t ever try to test the thing out. We had one slave who went to the top of a big bluff and tried to escape by jumping off. He fell some 50 feet to the bottom, by which time he was in agony, because the pain intensifies the further you get from the perimeter.

 

“When he realised he was in shit street, he tried to get back up the bluff, scrambling in the sand. You could hear his screams from a mile away, the chase guards reckoned.

 

“But he couldn’t make it, of course, it was all too much for him. When the chasers reached him, he was dead.

 

“They cut the choker and cock and ball ring from him and brought it back here. We framed it. They left his body there. That was five years ago. Apparently you can still see the white bones there to this day.”

 

Then she rubbed her beautifully firm breast mounds against my upper chest and smiled wickedly. “Not gonna try to make an escape, are you, pretty boy?”

 

I gulped and heard my voice come out as a squeak as I said “No, ma’am, no, indeedy!”

 

“Right,” said the dark-haired bitch, slapping me on my butt, “he’s all yours gals. Take him on to the next step.”

 

The black bitch and the blonde beauty flanked me and marched me out of the block across a dusty sort of square ground to what seemed to be a Femdom Farm’s headquarters section.

 

As I walked between them, more curious eyes from guards and other slaves stared at me, making me acutely aware that I was wearing the cock and ball ring and slave collar, and also that I was still proudly erect.

 

Inside the building, I was marched up a short flight of stairs to a door labelled “Admissions Officer”. Blondie rapped on it, and a voice bellowed “Bring the cunt in!”

 

Inside, I came face to face with a blonde bitch with a really hard, sneering face and a body built like a brick shit house, as I think they used to say back in the 1900s.

 

She had bright blue eyes, close-cropped blonde hair, and black high heels. Her breasts and pussy were covered by a black PVC outfit which gleamed at her big boobs and glowed across her prominent pudenda. She was stacked – stacked and muscular.

 

“Leave him and his file and fuck off,” snapped the officer and my two guards, who were obviously in awe of her, backed out of the office quickly.

 

The bitch moved towards me, her mouth smiling, but her eyes were blazing. She looked one helluva mean mother!

 

When our faces were about six inches apart, she lifted her right arm, raised her bunched right fist and brought it down to her shoulder in a bicep-displaying body builder’s pose.

 

“Look at that,” she ordered. “Isn’t it fuckin’ fantastic? Lick it, kiss it, feel its power!”

 

I obeyed. It did, indeed, feel fuckin’ powerful. When I’d laved and licked it and kissed it for a while, she sneered at me.

 

“I could throttle you with this,” she said. “Or with these!”

 

And she stepped back, placed her bunched fists on her suntanned, strong hips and then rippled the muscles in her thighs. They looked superb, veins standing out on the glistening flesh.

 

“On your knees, cunt,” came the command, and I sank down before her PVC-covered snatch.

 

With a quick move, she was towering over my face, then I felt my head being pinned between those tremendous slabs of muscle, and my mouth was pressed against her minge. It was a minge that smelled strongly of lush, sexually-aroused juices.

 

“You want to fuck me, don’t you boy?” she asked, but I had no way of replying, being buried in her crotch as I was.

 

Then she allowed me to stand, panting a bit, but still, of course, erect.

 

“You want to fuck me, don’t you, boy?” she barked again, with a sneer.

 

I nodded. “Yes, ma’am,” I agreed.

 

“Course you do,” she said, her hand stroking my stiffy, her palm rubbing across the pre-cum seeping head. “They all do.”

 

Then she turned on her heel, allowing me a glimpse of her muscular, magnificent ass cheeks.

 

Sitting in an easy chair, she looked at my file.

 

“What did you do, cunt?” she asked. “Perved on the net, eh? You’re a fuckin’ pervert, aren’t you? What are you?”

 

I agreed with her – what choice did I have? “I’m a fuckin’ pervert, ma’am.”

 

“And just look at the fuckin’ sites you visited, cunt,” she laughed, reading out some of the raunchier names. “Slave sites, masochist sites! You’re not just a pervert, you’re also a masochist, aren’t you?”

 

Again I agreed with her. “Yes, ma’am, a pervert and a masochist.”

 

“You’d like to wrestle me in the nude every day, wouldn’t you boy?” she asked, peering at me from above the file she was perusing. “Wrestle, then inhale my juice, then drink my nectar, you cunt!”

 

I nodded once more. “Yes, ma’am,” and the idea – apart from the “drinking her nectar”, really did appeal, although I was afraid she’d break my back.

 

She swung her swivel chair around and switched on a screen on her desk.

 

“Let’s see, pervert and masochist, pervert and masochist,” she said, speaking only to herself really. “Gives me an idea, let’s see.”

 

And she scrolled down what I could see was a list of slave names, their ages, what looked like their cock sizes, and their release dates.

 

“Great,” she said, clapping her hands, then entering something on the screen. “It’s not taken.”

 

When she had filled in my details, she stood and moved back to where I apprehensively waited for her decision.

 

“From now on you will be known as ‘Pam’,” the woman informed me. “When you’re asked – and you will be, a lot – you will explain it stands for ‘Pervert And Masochist’.”

 

Then she stepped into my arms and to my utter surprise kissed me, warmly, passionately on the mouth. Her tongue pressed between my lips and into my mouth, she tasted of vanilla ice cream.

 

“I know what you want,” she smiled, pulling her mouth back, briefly.

 

She kissed me again, running one hand up and down my hard-on, the other over my buttocks.

 

“And Pam, you’re gonna fuckin’ get it!”

 

Then she removed herself from my embrace – I had held her, but on her strong shoulders, not lower down, although I desperately wanted to caress her great tush.

 

“Now you’re going next door to the Boss Bitch,” she said. “At some stage she will ask you how old she is. You will say 35, 36, something like that – she likes that.”

 

And she walked me to a connecting door, rapped on it, but without waiting for a response, opened and shoved me into the next room.

 

“This is Pam, Boss Bitch,” she said, and I heard the door slam behind me.

 

I gazed at a strikingly pretty black beauty. She was almost my height, and had gleaming, lustrous, black hair. Her eyes were flashing brown, her mouth was thick and cruel. But it was her body that made that betraying cock of mine stand to stiff attention!

 

Boss Bitch was wearing a half-cup, black satin brassiere, and it thrust her superb breasts – look, I’m no expert but they’d be D cups and around 35 inches – into mouth-watering mounds.

 

When I say it was “half-cup”, again I’m no expert, but it was cut so that the dark brown areolae went on display. Her thick nipples thrust into the material.

 

On her superbly-shaped hips was a matching black satin garter belt, only it was deeper than a belt, it must have been about six inches deep. It shone around her body. Also shining were the black, seamed stockings she was wearing.

 

She was pantyless and I could see a dark thatch of trimmed back pubic hair on her mons, and thickish labia beneath. Her legs were strong, but not over-muscled.

 

I wanted her. Badly. Hungrily. I must have shown it.

 

“Cunt, you’re thinking of the fuck already, aren’t you?” she sneered, walking from where she had been leaning with her thighs on the edge of her desk.

 

“No, Boss Bitch,” I stammered, “sorry, Boss Bitch.”

 

She walked to me, stroked my stiffy, then cupped my balls.

 

“Don’t be sorry,” she grinned. “I like it when people look at me and think of the fuck, it does me good. You’re pretty. You’re VERY pretty. How old?”

 

I told her. She actually whistled.

 

“You look younger,” she said. “Around 10 years younger. How old do you reckon I am?”

 

“Er, 35, Boss Bitch?” I ventured, and remembering the advice of a few minutes ago.

 

“Fuck, you’re not only pretty, you’re also a fuckin’ diplomat,” she laughed. “I’m 45, cunt. And Pam – why the fuck have you been given the name?”

 

I told her, and again she laughed, a laugh that sent little tingles down my spine.

 

“Well, pervert, there’s gonna be plenty of pain for you here, that I can promise you. Now, take me in your arms and kiss me.”

 

I was astounded. Boss Bitch, the number one, numero uno, big bad boss wanted me to smooch with her!

 

I placed my arms around her shoulders and kissed her warmly on the mouth. She tasted like the other woman – of vanilla ice cream.

 

Suddenly I was doubled up, panting and grasping my crotch as the hardness of her knee smashed into my groin.

 

She was looking down at me, a sneer on her pretty face. The aroma from her minge was wafting to my nostrils. Still I wanted her!

 

Boss Bitch turned, presenting me with a view of a stunning, superb ass, and from her desk she picked up a single-tailed lash.

 

“Follow me, Pam,” she said, and walked through a door set in the middle of the far office wall.

 

In that room a naked slave was polishing a large oak table. He was erect, unlike me. My hard-on had disappeared courtesy of Boss Bitch’s knee to my balls.

 

“Bend, hands on knees, PeeSlave,” she snapped, and the man stopped his task of making the table the most polished table in the entire fuckin’ world, and turned with his back to Boss Bitch, his hands clasping his knees.

 

This forced him into a slightly bending position, and his well-shaped butt was the black bird’s target. She stepped off to one side, drew her arm back and slashed it across the slave’s taut flesh.

 

A stripe easily noticeable on his tanned buttocks was evidence of the stroke. Then she struck again, and again, and again – and once more. When I thought she had finished, one final, flashing sixth stroke cut across his backside.

 

“Thank-you, Boss Bitch,” he murmured, wincing slightly. His cock, though, was still fuckin’ hard, I could see.

 

“Get back to fuckin’ work, PeeSlave,” snapped the black flagellatrix, and she swept back into her office. I followed.

 

Tossing the lash on her desk, Boss Bitch looked at me, her eyes flashing.

 

“Kiss me again, Pam,” she hissed, and I did so, warily at first, but with increased passion as I realized I was not going to be kneed in the balls again.

 

The black beauty ran a hand through my hair and asked, almost like a lover: “Know why I did that, Pam?”

 

I shook my head. “No, Boss Bitch.”

 

She kissed me fiercely, then bit into my lower lip, not drawing blood, but damn close.

 

“Not because he was not doing a good job,” she informed me. “He always does a good job. It’s expected of him.

 

“No, cunt, I flogged him because I felt like it!

 

“And in answer to your other question – I set the shocker to medium.”

 

Then she pushed me away and went to a vid screen on her desk.

 

“Now, let’s find you a mistress, cunt,” she said, slipping into a large leather chair.

 

She went through a file, women after women, all attractive, all scantily-clad, all muscular, some more than others.

 

“Come and look,” snapped Boss Bitch. “I’ve got someone in mind for you.”

 

I stepped carefully behind her chair and looked, until she arrived at her choice.

 

There was a picture of a woman with a head of full, thick, dark brown hair. It was piled on her head in a sort of old-fashioned style.

 

She was wearing a black, leather waistcoat, which gleamed on her lush figure. It was open at the front – it had no buttons or holes for them to go in – and her breasts were large, larger than Boss Bitch’s.

 

Her hips were ample, but not huge, her thighs gleamed. On her feet were boots which came to just below her knees. She was wearing nothing else, so I could see a thatch of dark pubic hair at her quim, pubic hair which had been trimmed back into a short-style, leaving her sex lips visible.

 

“This is Eva,” said Boss Bitch. “She’s in a sulk because her torture toy was released four days ago. Still, she needn’t have worried, eh, Pam? Because you’ve come along, haven’t you?”

 

Below the screen read a little strip of information: Eva, age 41, 38-26-38, 5ft 4in, 120lbs.

 

Then Boss Bitch pressed her palm against the screen. Suddenly, the picture of Eva came alive and she was smiling out at us.

 

“Eva, get your lush ass into my office,” said her boss. “I’ve got a new torture toy for you. You’ll like him. He’s pretty and he’s 32.

 

“Oh, I nearly forgot. He’s a pervert, and a masochist and his name’s Pam. Come and collect him.”

 

As Boss Bitch leaned out to switch off the vid screen, the 41-year-old started moving. She walked with a haughty stride, her breasts swaying like lush melons as she strode towards her boss’s office.

 

And while I may have been mistaken, I thought she was licking her lips .......

 

 

To be continued.