Jenny

Jenny

by Zturgeon

The following story contains scenes of graphically violent female domination. If that doesn't appeal to you, please don't read it.

More First Times

The first time I ever had any kind of experience dominating a guy sexually, it was out of frustration and dissatisfaction with his sexual performance. He wasn't a premature ejaculator or anything fucked up like that -- he would've been out of my life on the first date if that'd been the case. It was just that he came within about ten minutes almost every time. He didn't satisfy me. And then he wouldn't be able to get hard again.

So one time, when he was about to come, I decided to try to make him uncomfortable enough that he'd be distracted from orgasm. Drive him off the tracks, so to speak. When the rhythm of his cock pounding into me quickened, and began growing even more rapid, I grabbed him by the hair and began tugging back on it. This, to my surprise, seemed to make him even more excited. I tried tugging harder, but when I did that, his semen exploded out of him.

My little experiment failed, but I was sure I had the right principle. If I subjected him to some real pain, he wouldn't be able to go ahead with ejaculating.

So the next time, we were in the same missionary position, and when his pace was starting to quicken, and I reached down: I grabbed his balls, and pulled them firmly back. He gasped vocally, his body grew taught: he froze. If he had tried to move into me again, it would have put more strain on his balls. This was exactly the result that I was looking for, and I executed this several more times on that occasion, until I was completely satiated. It was like having his balls in a noose.

Like all men, though, he wanted what he wanted as soon as he could get it. Screw what the partner's experience is like. He complained that it hurt him, and that he wasn't comfortable with me handling him in that way. I told him, if he wanted to keep having sex with me, I was going to make sure he pleased me every single time. I wasn't going to go unsatisfied. Period. And, I reminded him, he wasn't getting better at keeping erect on his own.

The conflict escalated the next day. I wanted to assert my power to...well, to assert my power. What I mean is, I wanted to show him that his whining about his nuts being roughed up would only make things worse for him. So when he began approaching orgasm, I reached down, clutched his testicles HARD, and twisted them until he cried out. I stopped twisting his balls, I loosened up a little, but I maintained my hold on his sack. With my other arm I held his body against me, his face upon my bosom, and I cooed, "Did I hurt your little testicles, Mike? Hm? Wound your fragile male ego?"

"You can't do that, Jenny." He said, his voice quiet and muffled, "You can't keep doing that to me."

"Oh? And why not?"

He tried to make his voice sound really solemn, I think. Dramatic, or whatever. "Because one day I'll lose my temper, Jenny -- one day I'll beat the hell out of you."

He apparently wasn't ready to concede that I was the one in the position of power in our relationship. But the one who outlasts the other sexually is the superior one -- in other words, always the woman. If I didn't preemptively assert dominance over Mike at that moment, it would've been like I was giving in to the male-superiority implied in his threat. That would've been bad for our relationship: it would've doomed it to conventionality, and deceived him by maintaining the typical dominant-male delusion. I couldn't tolerate that.

I released his balls. I felt him relax. I knew that he assumed this meant his threat had worked. He was very surprised, therefore, when I whacked my hand upside his head. He looked down at me lying under him -- he was stunned. I slapped him again.

"Go ahead, Mike, beat the hell out of me."

He looked really shaken. I slapped the other side of his face. I saw tears well up in his eyes. I kept slapping him, one side, then the other, until he began weeping.

"What's the matter, Mike? I'm beating you up here! Come on, defend yourself."

I shoved him off me, then made him stand up beside me in front of the bed. We were both completely naked. His balls were loose, and hanging low between his legs. His cock was soft. I reached out, took his balls in my hand, and squeezed them gently.

"You said, Mike, that you think you might beat the hell out of me if I did this again. Come on! I'm waiting."

I squeezed harder. He made a dizzy, pained-sounding moan. His eyes were closed and leaking tears.

"Open your eyes, Mike: Look at me."

He obeyed; his face was shaking. Meeting his gaze, I yanked his balls upward. He sort of jumped in response, and began weeping again, staring right at me.

"You fucking little pussy," I hissed at him. "You fucking little coward. These aren't real balls, because you're not a real man. You're all talk, Mike: a stupid, cowardly worm. You can't even satisfy me sexually. You're not a man at all, dickless little fool."

I let go of his balls, then made a fist, and slugged him across the jaw. I wrapped at his face a few more times, and he turned away from me, shielding his face and forehead with his arms. I began punching his back, his shoulders. I aimed my knee between his buttocks, and drove it up into him as hard as I could. He sank to the floor, so I shoved him onto his back spread his legs apart. I spat -- loudly -- onto his scrotum, then drove the knuckles of my fist right up into his groin. He wailed, so I told him to shut the hell up. When he didn't, I hammered his crotch several more times. He shut up for dear life, but tears still gushed out of him, and his body was sort of convulsing.

I moved on top of him. I put my pussy right over his groin and began rubbing my clit against his flaccid meat. It began feeling pretty good. I moaned softly, continuing to stroke against him. He opened his eyes up after a few minutes, and looked up at me. I met his gaze, and laughed down at him.

"You're going to have a helluva bruised puss there, Mike! Guess you've gotta learn to obey me on command, huh?"

I gave him vibrator/dildo training a few days later. I made him plow my vulva with a vibrator instead of his penis – the device was 12" long, and his cock was only 7" -- and before inserting it, I made him lubricate it with his spit. I'd grab his hair, pull his head back, then shove the vibrator into his mouth, ramming it in and out. When he was slow to learn the right stroke with the vibrator, when I got really frustrated, I'd take the toy away from him and pound the thick end of it into his balls. A couple of times I made him get on his hands and knees, then I raped him from behind with a strap-on dildo: a huge, ridgy, plastic thing that absolutely dwarfed his cock.

"This is what a real man feels like, Mike. Ya like it? Hm?"

I loved to ridicule him while I drove the dildo up his hole.

"If you were a real man, you'd be able to fuck me like I'm fucking you. But you don't have the equipment: your cock's a lean little joke, and your balls are shrinking steadily from all the abuse I'm giving them. No great loss; they're actually the smallest little nuts I've ever found on a man." Still slamming his ass with the dildo, I reached under him, grabbed his balls, and pressed them against the shaft of my strap-on. I tried to pop his damn little nuts by grinding them into the pole while I drilled him with it. Heavy sobs racked his body.

Although our relationship became a female-dominated one because of his typical male inadequacy in the sack, I made sure to not let him associate abuse only with the bedroom. If he served me coffee that was too cold, even if it didn't irritate me that much, I'd casually deliver my knee to his crotch. If we were in public and he said something stupid, or used the wrong tone of voice, I wouldn't hesitate to make a closed-fist uppercut into his male appendages. After all, it was he who had to suffer the embarrassment of falling to his knees (on the sidewalk, in the bank, wherever) in front of everybody. Often I'd tug his hair or slap his face in public, but that was merciful, and didn't humiliate him as much as squashing the soul, and the physical evidence, of his manhood. When I got him there, I was basically nullifying him as a male: neutering him: and that was testament to my power and womanhood.