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Forum Saradas  |  Female Muscle Art - Female Muscle Fiction  |  Muscular Women Fiction  |  My Twisted Story With Dominant Karen
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Author Topic: My Twisted Story With Dominant Karen  (Read 20197 times)

Offline skipberg

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My Twisted Story With Dominant Karen
« on: June 22, 2017, 05:58:01 pm »
so it's been about 6 months since things ended with my ex, and i feel like i need to shed the baggage of the relationship here among folks that understand the feelings that i'll explain below, and it'll probably take a few posts. i need a bit of catharsis, a tell-all if you will, to put things behind me and move on, which is so difficult when i'd been under her complete control for so long. and that's the reality of it, which is so clear in hindsight even if i lacked the perspective during the relationship -- she controlled me completely, physically and emotionally, for a very long time, and i'm just starting to re-emerge as myself again. definitely changed by the experience (some for the better, some not) but ready to move on. i'll have to do this in snippets over time, because it's hard to put it into a full narrative. i'll also have to put some words to the emotions, including "quoting" her and me, even when i'm just reflecting the moment in some kind of dialogue that captures the moment, even if it's not a direct quote. so here goes...

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we were on our 10th date or so, well into what was looking like a promising relationship, when the roles first reversed with us, in a way. i knew she was athletic and i definitely knew she was strong -- both physically and emotionally. sturdy, i'd thought on the first date -- tall and broad in a swimmer kind of way, incredibly sexy shape. she shared that she'd been a wrestler in high school, competing against both girls and boys, and then in college, competing only against girls. i thought that was fascinating -- unique, showed confidence in herself, and not a little bit titillating. then she dabbled in powerlifting after college, tried her hand a bodybuilding show but hated the diet, and then back to powerlifting for a while and then just working out at the gym regularly. a full cycle of fitness participation. she was tall, too --- 5'9", about an inch shorter than me but very tall for any girl i'd ever dated. combined with the breadth of her shoulders, she made a quick and imposing impression on me. and she was, without a doubt, the most confident and comfortable woman i'd ever been on a date with.

things progressed like any relationship should, over the first month or two of dating -- a lot of talking, telling histories, storytelling, flirting, levels of physical intimacy building over time. she was amazing at the tease, at reeling me in, but still keeping me at bay. there were signs that i should have caught early, signs that indicated her true intentions and her true self. i wasn't -- i'm still not -- a particularly aggressive lover. but i'm not too shy about making advances when i'm interested. but she had this ability to deflect, with words and with actions, my advances consistently. it's not that she didn't want what i wanted. she just didn't want them on my terms. i would advance and she would either give me an outright no, or she would keep her physical distance from me, either moving herself or me away from her. but each time this happened, once i ended my advance, moved on to some other activity or topics, she would move in and start things back up. we'd end up doing what i'd originally wanted, or something similar to that, but she created a separation that made it clear that it wasn't my prompting, it was hers. she wanted to kiss me; and when we kissed the kiss wasn't my demand but mine to offer. mine to give. hers to take.

around the sixth date or so i'd decided it was about time to move to things that adults do at or before date six. we were at her place after a dinner out and i'd made my advance and i'd been rebuffed as usual. she allowed just a slight kiss, just the edge of her lips, but when my hand started to move for her chest it was brushed aside and she ended the exploit. she didn't say no, but it was clear, like the other nights, that her actions said no. this night i wanted it to go further, and quickly. i went to kiss for a second time. she grabbed my wrist and twisted it, hard. i fell to my knees. she said, "i thought that was clear." i contorted in an attempt to untwist my body from my wrist, but she continued to twist more as i moved. i fell to my back and she released the twist but not my wrist. she held it and pulled it over my head, as i continued to lie on the ground. she kissed me; this kiss was unlike any i'd ever had, and even to this day it has left an indelible mark on my memory. it was direct and firm, and it held my head in place, locked between her lips and the floor, until she ended it. i couldn't move my head up or down, or to either side. i could only kiss. she released the kiss after a long while, at that moment i recall that the pain in my wrist was still there but i was ignoring it. she stared at me and while she stared i felt her hand travel down my shirt and she unbuttoned my pants. she reached inside and grasped me, pulling on me, as if to make sure it was attached. we had sex. nothing kinky, just passionate sex. what people might call a normal night of lovemaking, even if the preamble was a bit one-sided.

and then we come to the 10th date or so. i was meeting her for a quick snack after a softball game with my buddies. i was high from a victory, feeling good. we went to her place afterwards. i was feeling frisky, so i went into aggressor mode. her back was to me while she was reaching for a glass, so i came up behind her and put my arms around her waist and tried to kiss her neck. she wriggled out, easily breaking my grasp. i knew she'd been a wrestler, and the move felt like a wrestling move, and it got my competitive juices flowing. i said something ridiculous like "how about i try this time" or something macho like that. she was still reaching for the glass, i heard her say "don't" but i reached around her again anyway. she grabbed both and twisted around to face me. we struggled a bit, i was smiling but she wasn't. she pushed me backwards, out of the kitchen and towards her bedroom, i just went along, hoping. we got there and i redoubled my efforts to take a bit of control of the situation but she was stronger than i'd anticipated. and more skilled. she really knew how to wrestle. she got me in some kind of a nelson, i think, from the front, where she grabbed hold of both of my wrists with one of her hands and pushed me up against the wall. i couldn't move my hands at all. she held me there and just stared at me while i struggled for a few seconds. my wrists were hurting. there was an imperfection on the wall where my hands were trapped and it was digging into the back of my hand, and it really hurt. i could feel a cut forming. i kicked my knee up to try to ward her off and get her to release my hands, but she swatted it away. "don't you kick at me," she said to me, and then it happened. i was still struggling and giving little knee ups to writhe out, and she reached under the band of my gym shorts and grabbed my crotch. at the time, i was caught completely off guard. no girl -- nobody -- had ever done that. but the reaction was immediate. it wasn't a painful or vicious grabbing. it wasn't intended to hurt. it was firm. it was enveloping. it was very clarifying. almost immediately i stopped struggling. just stopped. i didn't think about it, it just happened. it was like a switch went off. she held me there, one hand holding my wrists against the wall, the other hand grabbing me down below. and i was motionless. she said "are you done" and i didn't respond, i couldn't speak. it must have been a minute that went by, and she said "i think that means you're done." she released my hands, but i stayed motionless, my arms just dangled to my side, and i stood there against the wall, as if she were holding me up by my groin. i feel like i have to describe what she later started calling "the grip." it was quite simple, actually. she held my testicles in her palm and the lower part of her fingers, and put her thumb over my penis and her index finger under it to form a kind of clamp holding everything together. like i said, it wasn't painful, it was extremely firm, and it was clarifying, even the first time. i guess that's way i stopped moving. even that first time, that 10th date or so, i knew that she was controlling me in that position. it was also incredibly calming, almost to the point of making me feel safe and secure. although maybe i didn't feel that the first time, i don't recall, but later on, when i was feeling anxious or nervous about something, i would seek it out from her, almost needing it. but that comes later.

anyway, that date, that first grip, was fundamental to the rest of our relationship. it was my first complete submission, although at the time it was a pretty tame one, since it was just about stopping things as opposed to making me do something i didn't want to do. any time we argued or struggled, she and i both knew that if she could get me in the grip all would be over. she didn't overuse it though, as i'll share, but she certainly used it to amazing effect.

but as important as the grip itself was to the relationship, the fact that on that occasion she was able to physically get me to a position where she could get me in the grip was equally fundamental. that date was the first time she physically overpowered me, albeit lightly with the nelson-like hold on my wrists. at the time i chalked it up to the fact that i wasn't prepared, or was tired from the game. i was naive. she was stronger than me, as i'd learn, and while not as strong as she'd been during her powerlifting days she was working her way back.

i was naive, indeed. because i was pissed off that on that date she'd subdued me. suffice it to say that i'd never imagined that i'd ever, ever be in that position. and i wasn't ready to accept it. so the next few dates were exercises in patience and timing. i decided i'd wait for the right moment and turn the tables -- again, not violently, but as firm as she was in demonstrating initial mastery, i would demonstrate my own ability to control our situation.

a few dates later i saw an opportunity. we were having a chill night in, and as the night was coming to a close and we were about to leave my apartment so i could walk her home, i leaned over to kiss her. on a normal night, even at this stage, i expected her to rebuff and then become the aggressor a short time later, but instead she returned the kiss. i took this as a sign and took the initiative to push her, a little roughly but not dangerously so, back onto the couch to take things up a notch. she twisted and knocked me to the floor but i landed on top of her. i looked down at her and said something like "this feels more like it" or something corny and arrogant like that, and pressed her down to the floor with my arms. she said "don't even try. you won't win. i don't think you're ready for what's next." i misunderstood what she meant. definitely misunderstood. i told her i was and reached my head down to kiss her. but she kicked up and threw me off her, over her head, and i tumbled over. she got to her feet and beckoned to me. "get over here, let's do this." i was a bit disoriented from the tumble, and somewhat annoyed. i asked her what we were going to do. "wrestle," she responded, "let's do this fair and square so you're not surprised when i take you in the end." so we squared off and wrestled.

i'm a reasonably athletic guy, and at the time i went to the gym several times per week, but like i said earlier, she was a wrestler, and then a powerlifter and then a bodybuilder. there was a density of muscle mass in her that i'd felt when we were intimate but with the exception of the times she held my wrists i'd never felt it extensively. i did that night. it was clear within 15 seconds that she was considerably stronger than me. and yes, she was a better wrestler, but that wasn't even important. she was stronger and tougher. and she pinned me in all sorts of twisted and contorted ways, one time after another forcing me to say "i give" or to tap out when i couldn't speak. i lost count of the pins, but she didn't. after pin 10, which she told me was a double chicken wing --- she had the tops of my shoulders down, my arms locked behind my back, twisting me so that my legs were forced straight up in the air, completely controlled by her. i couldn't see her face, but that made the effect all the more embarrassing. her ass was right in front of my nose. she said to me "that's 10. you can't win. are you going to try that crap with me anymore?" i was silent. "look, i can hold you here all night, and in about 30 seconds your shoulders and elbows are really going to start hurting." she was right, i could feel the soreness starting. "please let me go," i meekly said. "tell me. now" she replied. "ok," i said, "i won't." she let me go, i dropped my legs and shook out my arms while lying on my back. she turned and sat next to my feet. she grabbed my shorts and underwear and pulled them down and off of my legs. i was completely and unavoidably erect. holding them in her hand she stood up, and it seemed like she was standing as tall and broad as she could. at that moment she was a giantess to me, as i lay naked on the floor defeated in wrestling by my girlfriend (it was the 13th date or so --- so at that point she was my girlfriend, even if we didn't call it that). she looked down at me. "i hope you've learned something tonight. for your sake." she walked out the door without another word.

i didn't hear from her for a week. i left a few messages but she went silent on me. the next weekend, just before i was going out saturday night with some friends, she arrived at my door. i told her i had plans and suggested the next night. she told me cancel my plans. she stated it firmly and matter-of-factly. my plans weren't that crucial so i complied and grabbed my mobile from the bedroom and called one of my buddies to tell him that i wasn't going to make it. he complained a bit, but at the time i remember thinking that i really missed her, so i was willing to take some flack. coming back out from the bedroom i saw that she'd moved my furniture to the side. i asked her what's up. she told me she wanted to wrestle again. i said "i thought you told me not to wrestle you." she shook her head. "no. i told you not to try to take control of me. if i want to wrestle, that means we wrestle." i gave her a bit of a surprised look, and she continued. "it was clear to me the other night that there was something you liked about it. you were hard. you must remember that. did you jerk off after i left with your shorts?" i didn't answer. "i suspect you did," she continued, "but i'm still not sure if what turned you on was the close contact with me, or the rubbing from that last pin, or if it was just the fact that you were excited by the fact that i completely overpowered you again and again and you actually like that. which one is it?" i told her i didn't know, and it didn't matter. "but it does matter. it means everything for us, and for our relationship." "why?" i asked. "because i want to see how far i can take it." "take what?" i shook my head, i had no idea where she was going with this. she walked right up to me and held both of my hands, starting to pull me to the middle of the room. "you." i had a bad feeling. i wanted to get out of there, but she was holding my hands and i didn't quite know what to do.

she said "time to wrestle" and she took off the shirt she was wearing. she was wearing a sport bra to go along with the running shorts she was wearing. she showed a lot of skin, and i took that moment to examine her. she was solid, indeed. i knew she was strong, just based on the last few experiences, but i'd never really engaged in her physique. Her arms were quite cut and very solid. I could tell her abs were strong but hidden somewhat under a layer of thick skin and just enough fat to obscure them. her legs were not cut but clearly sturdy, but her calves flared out, which i'd noticed before and i liked the shape of them a lot. she was a strong looking girl, and it was clear to me why she'd beaten me so handily the prior week. she continued. "and you'd better try your best." she moved towards me and we locked hands and then arms, and then it was a blur to me, pin after pin again. i don't recall how she pinned me, i just remember with each successive pin my defenses because weaker and my desire to fight back ebbed. but my desire for her raged. absolutely raged. and it upset me, and scared me, and troubled me. after the 5th pin, i was so incredibly hard that when she got me in a headlock to her side, the pressure of my penis against her thigh was painful enough that i shrieked audibly and asked her to stop. she flipped me over onto my back and sat astride my chest. she pinned my arms down under her knees, and reached back into my shorts and grabbed me -- not a grip, just a grab. a few tugs, that was all. just enough to assure her that i had responded and to remind me that i couldn't help but respond. she looked down at me. "so i'll tell you my guess. i think you like that i'm stronger than you. i think you like that i can overpower you. i think it's an incredible turn on to you. just like it turns me on to see you so helpless underneath me right now. am i right? am i?" i didn't respond. "i think i'm right. i'm going to take your shorts again and go home." "no, please don't" i pleaded. "you're not very convincing there. i'm going to come back in the morning and i want you to be here. but i want to try something new." she put her hand on my cheek and bent down and gave me a light kiss on the lips. "don't move." she stood up and put her arms underneath me, and picked me up, straight off the floor in her arms, i couldn't believe it. no woman had ever picked me up. she walked with me in her arms, my erection tentpoling my shorts, into my bedroom where she put me down on the bed. she reiterated her instruction. "don't move." she walked out of the room. i was too confused, and maybe at that point a bit of fear did enter the equation but not as much as later on, and so i remained on the bed. she came back with her bag. she reached inside and took out a climbing rope, and threw it on the bed next to me. She pushed my shoulders and butt so that I was resting on my side away from her, and took my hands and pulled them behind my back. I struggled, intensely -- i knew that her taking my hands, plus the rope on the bed, sounded like it added to something i didn't want. i kicked my legs. She calmly held my arms and said "sweetheart, i've told you before not to kick." she reached over me and gave me the grip, and i immediately stopped struggling, stopped kicking, stopped thinking, and i let out an audible sigh. to this day i cannot believe i gave that sigh at that moment, but i did. she held me there for a few seconds only but the effect lasted long enough for her to tie the rope around my wrists behind my back, and then she pulled my shorts and underwear off, and then tied the other end of the rope down around my ankles, holding my legs together. i looked like the letter D. it didn't hurt, surprisingly, but i definitely could not move. she walked around the bed and sat next to me, taking my penis in her hand, inspecting its girth, its hardness and its feel. she leaned over and gave me a passionate kiss while holding me firmly and reminded me she'd be back in the morning. and then she left. it was a challenge, but i eventually fell asleep like that.

she was true to her word, returning around 9am to find me in the same position. i'd been awake for a couple of hours, and i was upset, antsy, annoyed, maybe a bit sore. i started to give her some lip, telling her how pissed off i was that she left me tied up. she walked around and sat next to me and gave me the grip and my complaints ended, and i became incredibly calm and compliant the longer she held me that way and became incredibly aroused by it. she rubbed her other hand through my hair and asked if i'd been able to sleep, and i told her yes. she told me that was good and important. i asked her why? i said to her "you must know that if this is the way you are going to treat me this relationship won't last long." she smiled at me and released the grip. she said "well, i think over time you may come to like this, but this isn't the only way you'll be treated sweetheart. right now, i needed to know you could handle it. i promise, when you have earned a reward, there are other ways i can treat you." and with that she leaned down and took me in her mouth and while i was tied up and immobilized, completely at her mercy and at her pleasure, elicited an orgasm so intense i dreamed about that morning for weeks. and for months after that, the memory and desire for that feeling became a confusion for me -- how much of it was her own oral skill, how much of it was that it was her, how much was the fact that i was tied up while she was doing it, and how much of it was the growing feeling of complete helplessness in her presence and the recognition that, in my core, i wanted her to take me in ways much deeper, more intense, more overwhelming, more dominating and more lasting than that morning. it was all of those things, i soon realized. and the longer i was with her, the more lost i became.

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Offline skipberg

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Re: My twisted story with dominant karen
« Reply #1 on: June 23, 2017, 03:35:04 am »
== Karma Appreciated==

Over the next month or so we fell into a consistent pattern. We’d see each other a few nights a week, maybe during the day on the weekend. We had so much fun together when we were out on the town - nice dinners, amazing conversation, we liked all sorts of sports activities together. Every night ended similarly though. We’d walk into her or my apartment, and within a few minutes she’d say “let’s go” and we’d wrestle. The path of activities was consistent, as was the outcome. She was too much for me, despite my best efforts to try to win. Once she’d subdued me enough times on any given night to feed her own competitive needs, provided that I had tried my best against her throughout, then she would be satisfied with the whole experience and we’d move on to other things. Since customarily at the end of any pin I was generally immobilized, she’d make sure the final pin put me in a position where I could be restrained more securely so she could establish final victory over me. Not always the way she did that first night, with rope, but sometimes that way for sure.

Two things happened during that first month which I feel are important to note and share. First, while she consistently was able to defeat me handily, there was one lone time that, through a stroke of luck and quick movement, I got her in a pin position. She was behind me and had me around the waist, which I’d learned by that point was her first step towards lifting me up and to the side and down on my shoulder to get me in final position. I stepped back and happened to trip her and she started to fall backwards, letting me go as she did so. I fell backwards at the same time, but she released my hold in a way that spun me around, and I landed face down on top of her and knocked a bit of wind out of her. She was fazed, so I took the opportunity and concentrated all my weight on my chest and put it on top of her head to hold her down. I knew she was having difficulty breathing with me smothering her that way, and as she kicked I grabbed one of her legs and held it until she tapped out. I released her and she got up and stared me down, daggers in her eyes. “Again” she said immediately, angrily, emotional and firm in resolve. She came at me and muscled me down to a pin in about 10 seconds, a crushing cradle hold, and she held me there a long time, ratcheting up the pressure on my legs and neck, making me feel like I was a centipede wrapped up in a defensive ball. Letting my legs go she reached into my shorts and got her grip on me, held it there for several minutes – longer than she’d ever done it at the point – and by the end I was motionless, my heart rate low, I was completely calm, and while she stared into my eyes I found myself unable to maintain my gaze into hers. I stared down towards her neck, not at her eyes. Something about that grip made me feel like I wasn’t capable of looking at her as an equal. It was a striking development for me – I had already recognized that she was physically superior, but that was something else. Held by her in that position, held so firmly and confidently, just after an unlikely victory could have restored my confidence in equality, made any budding hope for equality fade, quickly. That night I was tied up, similar to that first night, and left in her closet to sleep until morning. She’d made her point.

But her point was not -- at least not at that point in our relationship -- for me to give up trying. That wasn’t allowed, and that was the second thing I learned that during the period. A few nights after my “victory” that turned into a monstrous defeat I had been thrown around and pinned for what seemed like a long time, and quite candidly I was tired that night, and didn’t feel like fighting anymore. And I thought to myself, what’s the point, I can’t win anyway. So late in the evening she had my head wrapped up in a headlock, my face mashed between her impressively sturdy upper arm and the lower part of her breast, and after a few brief seconds of struggle against the hold, I stopped and just relaxed myself in the position. She must have been a bit worried by this because she released me and took my face in her hands to see if I had been injured or had been knocked out, but I just smiled at her and said “it’s ok, you can keep going.” “Did you just give up?” she asked me. I shrugged my shoulders. “I figured you had me so I wanted it let you get it over quickly.” She let go of my face and grabbed me by the hair. “No. No. That is not acceptable.” She pulled me over towards the couch and she leaned back against its arm, and pulled me partway over her legs. Letting go of my hair, she grabbed one wrist, and then the other, then pulled them both behind my back locking them in one of her hands. “If you don’t try your hardest then that defeats the point. I can’t allow that behavior.” Then, for the first time in what would be many times over the course of my relationship with her, she spanked me. It didn’t last long, but it didn’t need to. The shock and effect was immediate. I don’t remember exactly, but perhaps it was only three, maybe four strikes on my shorts, not painful but meaningful. I objected immediately. “Hey, that’s not cool, let me up.” She released me and I stood in front of her preparing to give her a tongue-lashing commensurate with the butt-lashing she’d given me. Before I could get a word out of my mouth she gripped me. There was no tongue-lashing that day. I calmed down immediately. I bowed my head, couldn’t look at her while she held me there. My knees even got a little weak, and she must have noticed because she stood up and held me up just slightly. She held my chin in her other hand and forced my head up, forced me to look at her. “I’m disappointed in you” she said. “I was hoping that I wouldn’t have to do that to you for quite some time. I hope we don’t have to make it a frequent occurrence, but if I have to, I will.” She released me in both places, walked over to get her bag, and left for the night. I was left there with the recognition that I had been physically spanked by my girlfriend, forcibly and rudely, in a way that was clearly a punishment for something I’d done. And the very clear understanding from her that she would do it to me again if she had to. In most ways, I thought it was a bit of a joke, a type of foreplay, and she’d be walking back in the door a few minutes later to do a more normal ‘tie me up, have sex, leave me there’ routine. But she didn’t return that night, or for several nights thereafter. I recognized after that experience that to keep her I needed to try hard all the time to keep up with her. All the time, even if it was hopeless to try. And, at its core, for the first time I had the inkling that to keep her I might have to obey.

A few months went by. I didn’t really change my behavior around her, other than the fact that I never again gave up when we were wrestling. But the amount of wrestling we were doing became less and less. I guess she just was getting somewhat bored with defeating me so easily. From time to time, I was getting a bit injured during our matches, maybe a sore shoulder or a tweaked knee, and I went through stretches where I didn’t go to the gym. She was going there all the time. More than she was even at the beginning of the relationship. We were on different fitness trajectories. I was atrophying just a bit – well, maybe at best I was maintaining my fitness level and muscle mass. She was getting stronger, harder, bigger. Where before it felt like thick branch limbs enveloping me when she’d get me in a bear hug, now it felt like the branches themselves. Where before when I was behind her and wanted to give her a hug I had to extend out a little, now I could tell it was harder to get my arms around her increasingly wide back and shoulders. She didn’t want to work out with me, rather she wanted a separation between her gym life and her personal life, but she enjoyed talking about her progress at the gym – excited when she beat a personal best on weight or reps at a weight; especially excited when she surpassed weights handled by others at the gym she respected (mostly guys); inventive in the types of exercises she was trying based on what she’d seen on the web or read in magazines. She never talked about it as a means of bragging, or at least I never perceived it that way – it was just a girlfriend sharing a part of her passion with her boyfriend, and I was really interested in hearing about it because it was so important to it. But the result of it was that it was getting increasingly easier for her to subdue me during our wrestling matches, and while fighting back at my hardest and strongest once served to extend the match to a few minutes, by now it was clear that if she wanted she could end things in 15 seconds through her skill and strength, no matter what I did. Even if I tried to avoid her by running into other rooms, she’d track me down like a leopard stalking a gazelle and once she had me cornered all was lost.

Some of my friends were noticing the change. Well, maybe to be more accurate, it wasn’t that they noticed the change, it was that they finally noticed. And it wasn’t that they noticed any behaviors in particular – they just finally noticed her, and how imposing her stature was. It was surprising they hadn’t noticed before – she was 5’9”, after all, very tall for a girl, and she was broad from the start. But I guess at some point the breadth and arm size just makes you notice. We didn’t go out with my or her friends all that often. She had a decent but small network of friends from her college, mainly the wrestling team which was like a really tight sorority battling together against the perceptions of the rest of society, but also a couple of women from the gym and one or two from her work. I had my buddies from growing up, years of tightness with us, and also a network from other parts of life, but most of my world outside of her was those buddies. We were out with them on a group date one Saturday night, probably about 6 months into the relationship. Two of them came with us, and their girlfriends, petite little girlfriends like the women I dated from time to time, and they always dated. She made some small talk with them, but I could tell she was treated like the odd woman out. We were getting a little buzzed and one of my buddies blurts out to her, “hey, how much time do you spend in the gym anyway? You are looking buff with a capital B.” Then, pointing his thumb over at me, he continued, “He’s a pretty competitive guy, I hope he’s taking it easy on you at the gym!” The four of them laughed. She smiled, just a small smile that was obviously annoyed but polite. I was incredibly uncomfortable, I didn’t know what she’d say. I didn’t know what I should say. I was about to jump in, when my other buddy chimed in. “Yeah, he told us you were a wrestler in college and that you were pretty good once, but that he could take you.” The two guys laughed. I did not. I got a pit in my stomach. I looked over at her and she gave no immediate reaction. Then she looked over at me and raised her eyebrows. Turning back to them, she just said “I don’t know. I’m pretty tough. We’ve never really tried that, have we honey? Maybe we should some day.” The first buddy said “man I would pay to see that.” “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. And the conversation moved on from there.

When we got to my apartment, about two steps after I walked in the door I heard her kick the door closed, and she grabbed me by the back of my shirt and whirled me around, smashing my front into the inside of the door. She put her forearm against the back of my neck and twisted my arm behind my back with her other hand. She licked my ear. It was a strange sensation, given the surrounding situation of anger and physicality. “So you’ve been talking about me with your friends? What have you been telling them?” “I just talk to them, that’s all. I don’t say anything bad about you. I don’t talk about…” She cut me off with a shove to the back of my neck. “About what? About how I’m stronger than you, how I can overpower and outwrestle you so easily? You don’t talk about that, right? That would be so immasculating, wouldn’t it? Do you want me to call them and tell them?” She released my neck and pulled out her phone. “No, please” I responded, with a slight intonation that struck of begging. She seemed to calm down upon recognizing how freaked out I was by the thought of a revelation of our relationship’s true nature to my network of friends. She leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Don’t worry, I won’t do that. It’s our secret, unless you choose to force me to show others, which I really hope you don’t. But just as I won’t reveal anything, you are not to ever talk about what we have, and what we do, with anyone, ever. Nothing about wrestling, nothing about how much more powerful I am than you, nothing about this at all. Am I clear?” “Yes, I get it.” “I’ll be discreet so that you don’t have to face this down with anyone other than me. But that comes with a price.” “A price?” I asked. “What do you mean a price?” “Your price is silence. And I’m afraid that today you have to pay up for breaking the silence, even if it was a while ago.” Releasing my arm from behind my back, she returned her forearm to hold my head firm against the door. She grabbed the back of my shorts and underwear and pulled them up slightly as if to give me a wedgie, and I gasped in preparation for the pain, but then she just pulled them straight down to my ankles. I remember that she wrapped her right arm around the left side of my waist and picked me up, which turned me parallel to the ground, and she carried me over to the couch. I was helpless in the air, being carried like a pile of newspapers. She sat down on the couch and lay me across her lap, face down, with my ass completely and totally exposed to her. She took my neck in one of her grasps and pushed it down, and with the other began to rub and knead at my butt cheeks. She trapped my legs against the base of the couch by hooking them with one of hers. I was immobilized – no rope this time, just her. She said to me, “You will learn to be more respectful of me.” One of the first times she’d ever told me how I would “learn” something, like I was in school, or training. I didn’t like the statement at all. I remember feeling like it didn’t feel natural to be there, and how this didn’t feel like I wanted to learn anything, but I had no alternative but to play this out. Where was I to go? I couldn’t physically get away from her, especially given the position I was in. I knew that. That was something I’d already “learned.” And as I considered what I would do afterwards to get away, the first smack fell on me. This was much, much worse than she had done to me before --- before, the fabric of my shorts blunted the blow. But this time, she had removed any obstacle from direct contact with my skin, and her hand stung me to a tear almost immediately. Before I could process it, another smack fell, hard. And then another, and while I’m sure the pacing was deliberate and even, it felt to me like her swats were arriving faster and faster. “Please stop, please” I cried out, but she was silent as she delivered my lesson, my punishment for violating a previously unspoken agreement of discretion. I wish I could recall exactly how many times I received her hand that night. Maybe it was 10, but maybe it was 50. What I remember was that when she finally stopped, when the last blow fell, I wanted to all-out cry. Yes, from the pain, but that was just half of it. I had just been spanked like a small child by my girlfriend. I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t request it like I thought some pervert might, but I couldn’t stop it. I had been punished, and it was, to me, a severe punishment. As she rubbed and massaged my behind following the ordeal, I considered whether this was a one-time occurrence or whether I might have to face this again. I didn’t want to. At that moment I just needed to be comforted, calmed. For the first time, I desperately wanted her to grip me. I needed it from her. I was troubled and embarrassed by the desire that grew inside me for her to hold me tight. And the desire for that contact made me uncontrollably hard. She felt it. She turned me over onto my back, still lying across her lap, and curled her fingers around my penis. “Hmm.” She said. “This is unexpected. Did you like that? Did that turn you on?” I lifted my head and immediately said, “No.” “Well I have to beg to differ, sweetheart. It looks and feels to me like there’s a spark of kinkiness in you. And that turns me on very much.” With that, she gave me a handjob while lying across her lap, and the orgasm it gave me caused me to pass out. The next morning, I awoke in my bed, a bit groggy from the experience. I was face down, and there was a moist towel on my behind, which she’d placed there to start to heal the effects of the punishment. Next to my head there was a note she’d written for me. It read, “I’m sorry I had to do that. You’ll learn over time. It should heal in a couple of days. See you tonight. I’ll come see you. Don’t wear any pants the rest of the day. And that’s an order not to be ignored, understand?” I knew then that there was no chance I was going to ignore that order. And I started to think that maybe I never would ignore an order from her again.

Offline skipberg

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Re: My twisted story with dominant karen
« Reply #2 on: June 23, 2017, 03:35:48 am »
We fell into another pattern after that, and it lasted almost 6 months, I believe. Don’t get me wrong when I call it a pattern -- the relationship was going great, and I think we both were completely into each other for reasons beyond what was happening in the more unusual part of our time together. We absolutely loved spending time together out and about, and what had been a pace of 2-3 times per week seeing each other was turning into 4-5 times per week. But there were patterns to it, that shouldn’t be too surprising from what had occurred up to that point. Our more private time together consisted of a number of things that seemed to create a rotation. There was a fair amount of wrestling that always ended the same way – my defeat followed by her instructing me on some way of pleasuring her, and then some form of control (sometimes immobilization, sometimes other less physical ways). Over time, though, there was less wrestling as the ennui of easy victory set in. I remember the first night she didn’t launch a wrestling bout upon return from a dinner out; I had mentally gotten ready for the event but she never initiated. I asked about 15 minutes later what was wrong, and she just replied that she didn’t feel like it that night. Instead she asked me to “service her” (so to speak) as if she had already won, and I agreed to do so. I thought it was a win-win, since I didn’t have to face the risk of injury. But separating the physical defeat from the reward she demanded for her victory was a bit troubling to me, as it felt more like service than sport. But that night I let it go and dove right in, as I gained great pleasure from her pleasure. In retrospect, though, she had recognized that she’d passed an important milestone in our relationship – I knew I would lose, and I knew that following that loss I would be under her control, so I was becoming comfortable in just letting her control me without the loss. As the wrestling became more intermittent, it was more intended to reinforce that she would defeat me easily to impact my future behavior than it was intended to subdue me to impact my behavior on that particular night. It was training, pure and simple. I was being trained to allow her control over me, under circumstances independent of physical dominance. I wish I had recognized it earlier, because by the time I really got my mind wrapped around what had happened, which didn’t happen for some time, I was already hers to control.

The pattern also existed after the wrestling, and some of it I just described. Soon after the extended spanking incident after the night with my buddies, she started to require some form of pleasure as a kind of “award” after an evening of wrestling victory. I had never been a big fan of oral sex from man to woman, but I became very familiar with it during that period, and quite accustomed to it. Maybe quite good, but you’d have to ask her that. The first time she demanded it from me – and to be clear, following a victory, her requests of me clearly demands – I hesitated, and was clearly displeased with the idea. I know it was selfish of me, but it wasn’t my thing. That night she tied my hands and feet so I couldn’t move and positioned me so that I had no choice but to service her. That was her effective way of overcoming my objections. Don’t talk it out, just make it happen. She had to do that a few times to get me to act, but then I got the picture, so I no longer needed the restraints. And other activities she had me do for her following that I also ended up doing willingly based on her threats or actions.

And, unfortunately, punishment became part of the pattern, always clear in rationale and intentional in effect. And always private, in terms of both where she did it and the physical effects that it might make upon me. But during this period I never once accepted it willingly; I found it important to struggle against what I saw as an unnatural part of an adult relationship, and would do so with all my force and will. The irony was that during our normal wrestling activities I saw no reason to fight back because there was no hope of victory, but I had to fight back in order to avoid punishment; if I didn’t fight back enough, then I’d be subject to some form of punishment and when that happened I would definitely fight back. So, being a pretty rational guy, I always fought back during wrestling. But nobody is perfect, and while her rules became clear over time, I sometimes had a peccadillo here or there that inspired her to try to adjust my outlook on my behavior.

When I say “rules,” it’s not like she had had written some kind of manual, or posted a sign like the ten commandments on the wall of my apartment. A lot of it was just “expectations” (although there were some rules, for sure). Attitudinal expectations like that I would treat her with respect at all times (where respect was, from time to time in my opinion, a subjective concept); or tactical expectations like that I wouldn’t be late for our dates or would try hard during wrestling; or sexual expectations like that I would continue trying to please her until she indicated some level of satisfaction. From time to time, yes, there emerged a rule, and she seemed to delight in experimenting with these. There was a period of time when she said I was no longer allowed to wear anything in her apartment, so she placed a small box inside the front door for me to neatly fold up and store my clothes. Then she ended that rule and made the rule that I was not allowed to wear clothes in my own apartment, whether or not she was there, which created different complications for me. I couldn’t have anyone over during that time, neither friends nor family nor delivery people. That was a rule where I ran into trouble, because the constant reminder of her presence wasn’t there. Later on that, though. I went through a week where I had to call her at 11am and 4pm on the nose to let her know where I was – not that she worried where I was, but rather to force the reminder upon me. And there was about a month where she tied a thread around and hanging down from my testicles and told me I would have to wear it at all times. That one stopped me from showering at the gym, for sure. Many rules, most short-lived just to see if I would comply, which I always did.

The reason I complied was because violating a rule always resulted in violation of me. The consequences were unambiguous, so I avoided violations as much as I can, but I’m human, and her expectations were pristine. Her preference was spanking, and she came up with creative explorations of the discipline. I never went willingly; I tried to put up a fight but by this point the gap between our strength levels, and our general toughness, was canyon-wide. As wide as her back and shoulders had become. As easy as it was for her to wrestle me to a pin or submission, it was just about as easy to stop me from avoiding her, subdue me, and maintain physical control over me while she administered whatever she felt I deserved based on the incorrect behavior I’d exhibited. At first it was easiest and most severe for her to wrap me around the chest, trapping my arms tightly, and force me down over her lap where she would spank me over her knee, and that was her most common position. Well, more accurately, my most common position. But she was inventive. She would trap me upside down by hooking under the back of my knees while my upper body dangled downward, and using her incredible shoulder strength would lift me high enough where she could get direct access to my behind for airborne punishment. She would force my face down into a seat and then sit on my back, and use her palm on my upraised butt. She would force me over the side of the couch and open my legs wide to get more surface area to slap. The absolute worst – in terms of pain, and in terms of sheer humiliation – was when she would overpower me onto my back and then, holding my chest down either by sitting on it or merely by pushing down on it with one extraordinarily strong arm, grab my ankles and pull them up and back towards my face; once this exposed my ass to her, she would administer her spanking. This is the position she had me in when I first cried during punishment. I took a moment to take some perspective on the position I was in and I couldn’t shake the visualization of an infant having his diaper changed, and it became overwhelmingly humiliating to me and I started to cry somewhat – not from the pain, which is what she thought at the time, but rather because for that moment I felt unmanly, and I felt like there was something wrong with me for allowing it to happen. But really, the only thing wrong with me was that I was in love, and would do anything for the woman whom I loved; and the woman I was in love with was dominant to me – stronger, tougher, more confident – and it was that situation that led to my position on my back being punished like a 1930’s wayward child. Even while in that position, even while softly weeping, I remember looking up at her, seeing the size and strength of her shoulders and the bulge of her arms, the thickness of her chest, disorientingly framed by the feminine beauty of her face, and I understood how much I was in love with her. I found her physique sexy, and I loved her. I found her attitude haunting, and I loved her. And my thoughts during this time increasingly isolated for only one outcome of anything I did – to please her.

Punishment wasn’t just a euphemism for spanking – she had other methods. Tying me up was one, and we’ve talked about that. I mentioned how she would sometimes tie me up and leave me in a closet all night. I got very good sleeping that way. Sitting on my face while she relaxed was another, I really didn’t like that one. Attaching me to a hook on the back of the bathroom door with a rope. And, more generally, doing certain chores around the house. Sometimes the method was chosen based on the infraction, but more commonly she just dreamed up something or chose it from her growing inventory of ideas and that’s what she did.

During this period, like I said, I always struggled when punishment was initiated in order to avoid it. It never worked though. Towards the end of the period, there was a change with the way she was administering it. Up until that point, with the exception of that first time spanking when she ended by taking me to an orgasm that was so intense it made me pass out, the punishment ended quite abruptly and I was left to think about my behavior. More like leaving me in the closet. Later, though, she started doing some experimentation with modulating the punishment with sensations, usually pleasurable ones. I know now, but didn’t know then, that this was designed to make me more pliable to the punishment, more accepting of it, and reduce my struggles. She could have done this with the grip, as by this time the effect of it had become immediate and complete. A moment of grip when she wanted to administer punishment would have ended any thought of struggling against it. But she never chose to do this; rather, she would grip only after a punishment if I had become filled with anxiety, or anger, or some emotion she didn’t like. But I know now her true intention was to change my perception of the punishment so that it because something I would, under certain circumstances, seek out. She wanted to see if she could get me to knowingly behave in a way that would demand punishment. That psychological structure took much longer and isn’t in this part of my story, but the cornerstones were laid here. One of the first times – I say “one of” because it may not have been the first time but it is the first one I can recall – she did this was after I had only mildly transgressed, where the string around my testicles had fallen off in the shower and I hadn’t noticed. She folded down my gym shorts to inspect and saw it was gone. She grabbed the back of my neck and dragged my face down painfully so that I could see for myself the transgression, and after I blurted out an “oh no” she was upon me. She muscled me to the carpet and forced my face down into it, and my arm up my back, holding me there for a while until I calmed and stopped pleading with her. Then she flipped me over onto my back and sat on my face, while facing my feet. Lifting my legs and hooking them under her arms –and next to her arms even my lower legs looked small and weak, there was no question her arms’ circumference exceeded those of my calves – she began to slap. After a minute, much shorter than normal, she paused. I heard her give a soft “hmm” to indicate that she was thinking of something and trying to get it to the front of her brain. She let my legs go and scampered around my body so she was below my feet, and then once again grabbed each of my legs, this time with each ankle in one of her hands. She spread them wide. Then she lowered her head and licked me, and sucked for perhaps a half minute. I was completely disoriented by this. My ass was smarting, but the sensation of her mouth and lips was getting to me. Then, as suddenly as she began, she stopped, and very quickly transferred one of my ankles to her one hand, holding both of them in one hand, and she lifted my legs up, taking my butt with it. Rather than resting on the carpet, my butt became exposed to the air, and to her ready palm. She started slapping me again, perhaps for a minute. Then she dropped me back down and spread my legs and resumed her mouthing of my groin. And then back up in the air for more punishment. Back and forth, probably 6 or 7 times with each sensation, until at last I could not help but release myself into her mouth. The entire experience, and similar experiences and processes she pursued over the ensuing weeks where she tried to blur the line between pain and pleasure, was foundational to things that happened later, including the time around 6 weeks later when -- during the exact same process I just described, same positions and everything -- my orgasm occurred not while she was delivering pleasure through licking and sucking, but rather while she was delivering punishment through spanking. She had my legs and butt in the air, delivered slaps for about 45 seconds, and my orgasm began. My perception had begun to evolve such that the punishment activity was able to elicit the same sexual response as the pleasure activity. And when this happened, she paused in astonishment, dropped my legs, crawled over me while I lay on my back, spent and completely naked under her, entirely at her mercy, susceptible to anything she wanted to do to me, and she caressed my cheek and kissed the tip of my nose and said to me, “finally.”

And that was the moment when our relationship transitioned to an entirely new state, where I began to lose my individual identity and became lost in my desire to serve my powerful girlfriend, who took her domination of me, physically and mentally, to an entirely new level.

Offline sevenpeight

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Re: My twisted story with dominant karen
« Reply #3 on: June 23, 2017, 03:33:19 pm »
Just wonderful. Can't wait for the next installment. Fantastic.

Offline Greatguy87

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Re: My twisted story with dominant karen
« Reply #4 on: June 24, 2017, 08:11:43 am »
Great work! Paragraphs are a bit long, but other than that its great!
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Offline skipberg

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Re: My twisted story with dominant karen
« Reply #5 on: July 28, 2017, 10:01:47 pm »
The next few months of our relationship were defined by, with an apology for the word play, definition. I stated earlier that she had migrated from wrestling to powerlifting to some bodybuilding and then back to powerlifting, and she had been up to this point increasing her gym time to 4-5 times per week and as a result adding considerable size and strength to her already imposing physique. While I was never allowed to work out with her or attend her gym – she liked the separation of home from gym – I knew she had a few fitness friends from there who participated in some of the local competitions. Incited by their competition process, she decided to adopt a more formal diet in order to lean out a bit, but with the goal of increasing her definition without losing strength or power. Her goal wasn’t to compete, at least that’s what she told me, she just wanted to be able to show off her physique a bit more around town, as the summer was approaching. She wasn’t up to that point a particulalry showy person, so this was a bit of a surprise to me, but I was completely supportive of her because it was such a passion for her, and I loved her. It’s funny, before I’d met her I was never really into muscular women, or strong women. It wasn’t my thing. I didn’t dislike it, I just didn’t seek it out. I think the spark was about 7 years ago when I was dating a woman who was 6’2” who loved wearing heels (too much). It was during that relationship that I found my way to this group. But even now, although the overtones of smaller man / larger woman were the same, that felt different. But as she leaned out and her musculature became more defined, I became more frequently aroused by her presence. Apparently I had been attracted to the look after all. And others definitely noticed. My buddies commented on it for sure, but I had learned not to engage in the discussion. When we were out and she was wearing sleeveless blouses, or even just t-shirts, even a myopic old man would know who was the stronger partner.

Around this same time she explored different approaches to making me orgasm when I would normally not orgasm. It started with the time she “finally” got me to come during a spanking session, but she took the experimentation further. But once she had established that I was susceptible to orgasm during punishment (and at some point it became a barrier to her punishment of me!), she extended it to other activities. She would bring me to orgasm while she was talking erotically in my ear, over and over again, until she was able to successfully get me to orgasm from all talk and no action (pun intended, but I still beg pardon for it). When she would get me in certain positions in wrestling where she had access to my groin, such as the chicken wing position she put me in very earl in the relationship, or straight pins, or when she would have me immobilized pre-pin, she would pause and bring me to orgasm over and over again, and then when I was put in those positions – there were just a few that were automatic eventually – I would lose control. And then she combined the two – instead of having to actually wrestle me into the position, she would erotically talk about how she would wrestle me into the position, and that was enough to set me off.

When she had leaned out to the point where she was satisfied with her combination of uncanny power and muscular definition, she worked to tie my orgasms to my attraction to her body. She would have me rub or kiss her arms while she rubbed me out, or she would have me feel the depth and power of her chest while pulling and fondling, or she would armwrestle me while tugging under the table; and after a short while worshipping her musculature would bring me to orgasm. And she became very, very fond of having me worship her muscles. I found I could really get into it, and sometimes could make her shudder from the attention I gave to her calves, or biceps, or back, or abs. Soon after that, the touch of her flexed biceps would get me there; and from time to time, a few flexes directly in front of my eyes was sufficient. I had been made so overwhelmingly attracted to that dense, muscular physique that I could no longer control myself around her.

But as you can imagine, for a muscular woman who, from time to time, had to brush her hair from her face in front of me and in the process her biceps would flex, this became somewhat of a problem. Or if we were sitting on couch, and I leaned over and accidentally touched her arm – pow, out it would come. This she found quite tiresome, and it really annoyed me as well as it was quite debilitating. She had to combine it with a directive – “now” – because I was orgasming when she didn’t want me to. I guess you can take things too far, and she recognized that. So by the end of this period, I wasn’t just orgasming all over the place based on dozens of “programmed” impetuses (yes, that’s what it felt like several months in, it was just too much and I complained to her many times about it, and she always was nice about it and told me she was trying and had a plan to help). Instead, when she put me into a position where I was primed to orgasm, she had created an “on” switch, the word “now,” and when she uttered the word my entire world would rush through to wherever she positioned me. I’m sure the maker is still deep inside my psyche today, and if I saw her on the street and she said “now” I would immediately orgasm.

This was the time in our relationship when the sheer volume of punishment was at its greatest. Not because she was angrier or I was less pliable to her; it was really my own sexual problem – I had always had a bit of an “itchy trigger finger” when it came to orgasms. I had to concentrate hard on other things to prevent myself from spoiling an occasion. And her appetite was the most voracious I had ever experienced. But as she experimented with controlling my orgasms, any lack of control became a violation of her rules and therefore subject me to some form of punishment, which tended to be lighter than the punishment that she gave for other violations because she was understanding of me, that I could not entirely control it. She had made me so entirely turned on by her. So it became her job to help me, or more to the point to make me, control it.

This was also during this time when I first felt like our private affairs may get discovered by others. It was a challenge to keep some of the things we were doing – or more to the point, that she was doing to me – entirely within the walls of our apartments. The reason for this wasn’t because she was starting to take our business elsewhere at this point. During this period she never disciplined me, or treated me as a submissive, or flaunted her power over me in public. She was respectful of my ego, at least my public ego, and tapped into my alter ago of a man who was completely at the disposal of his girlfriend. But she was just too strong compared to me. Like I said earlier, our strength levels were on different trajectories. It must have become increasingly hard for her to, on one hand, dominate me physically, while on the other hand ensuring I could leave after the domination unharmed, at least unharmed as other people would perceive it. Sometimes she didn’t realize that she was squeezing too hard and she would bruise one of my ribs accidentally, or throwing me across the room onto the bed would be with just a little too much oomph and I would bounce off the bed into a dresser, or when she was immobilizing me in a cradle hold she would bend an inch too far and injure my shoulder or my knee. And it was never, ever on purpose. But, with apologies for using such an overused phrase, she didn’t know her own strength. So from time to time I would go to work or be out with my friends and had to make up some story about why I was limping, or why my arm was in a sling for a couple of days, or why I was having trouble laughing without hurting my side. One friend asked at one point whether everything was well with our relationship, and I deflected nicely, but he later told me in the back of his mind, he knew something was wrong. I didn’t think, at that time, that anything was wrong; it was exactly as it should be, despite the accidents and the collateral damage that happened to me.

Anyway, back to the earlier points about how she spent all that time training my orgasms (let’s call a spade a spade here). It must seem incredibly odd that a woman would take months – I think this lasted about 5 or 6 months of our relationship – in doing this. Thinking back on it, it seems like an awfully long time to spend on something that’s so tangential to what had been her core desire of physical and psychological control. Why spend the time trying to extend that control to my sexual urges? I think there were three reasons.

The first I already alluded to – I had an itchy trigger finger. And she detested it, from the start. And up until she started this process, it didn’t matter amount of punishment that she gave me, or the intensity of that punishment, she couldn’t break me of the habit. But by expanding the situations in which I would orgasm beyond straight intercourse or tactile stimulation, and at the same time tying my orgasm to her command, she quite effectively solved the problem. By the end of this period, I could last as long as she wanted me to, or as short, no matter what the position or situation. Again, it’s not that the fear of punishment prevented me from orgasming when before she gave me the command; it’s hard to truly admit this, but I was completely unable to orgasm unless she gave me the command. I couldn’t do it. And so sometimes I went days, and one time two weeks, having sex several times per day with her but not even once, even a seepage --- that’s the level of control she had over my libido.

The second reason, I believe, was that she wanted to ensure I wouldn’t stray from her, cheat on her. The thought of this is ludicrous to me, I was so enthralled by her the thought never entered my mind. But over the course of this period, she became so intimately familiar with my sexual urges – the amount of semen I produced, my reload time, the time I could last before the sensitivity of my penis became overwhelming and painful to the touch -- that she was able to even identify when I had merely masturbated. And from time to time, like any man, I had urges when she wasn’t there and I needed to relieve them. But that had become a rule. A rule I violated only once. Before the rule was instituted, she used her grip as a truth serum to ask me whether I had masturbated any time during the prior week, and under the control of that grip I could not lie to her. So once she learned that information, it was easy for her to set the rule. But it’s funny, she never used the grip again as a way of divining whether I was following the rule. The one time I masturbated after that – it might have been, perhaps, 3 weeks after the rule was instituted, maybe 4 – during the phase when she was tying me to her command, so she was bringing me to orgasm up to eight times per day -- she made a comment after my first orgasm that something didn’t seem right, and by the third time she knew. And she was right, that morning on my walk to work I walked by a woman wearing a short skirt and heels who had these amazing diamond-shaped calves that would have dwarfed my hand, and she made me start thinking of her, and by the time I got to work I had to abscond to the bathroom and get release. I told myself that she’d never know, but she did. I received such a punishment that night, first with an extensive training way past the point where sensitivity became too much for me, but then she tied me up tighter than she ever had, in an uncomfortable cradle position where she tied my hands and legs together above me and wrapped the cord around my torso and groin so nothing could move other than my head – and my head was left mobile so I could service her for hours, which I was forced to do. Suffice it to say, if ever I had that urge again and could not function without releasing it, I made sure to find her, and she was always willing to help.

And the third reason, I found much later, was as a means of control outside of the house. We’ll get to more of this later, but the fact that she could make me orgasm on command put me in a constant state of anxiety when we were around other people, especially a few months after she had perfected the command approach when she tried it while we were at a swanky restaurant, thankfully with long tablecloths, and we were having a light argument about something that was probably nonsensical, I can’t even remember what the argument was about. She’d made her point with that one quite clearly.

The other thing she started to do towards the end of this period was to use my acknowledgement that she had overwhelming and incontrovertible physical power over me to get me to do things I wouldn’t normally do – sometimes behaviors I wouldn’t normally exhibit, and sometimes merely to do things for her that she didn’t want to do herself. For some time she had been able to easily lift me over her head. Early on she did this by getting me in a fireman’s carry over her shoulder and pressing me upwards by the shoulder and thigh. Later, as her strength advanced, she found a way to grab me, while I was standing, by the legs and under my armpits, and clean me straight up over her head. It was pretty astounding, I remember the first time she did it like it was yesterday – she said to me “stand there still while I try something” and of course I complied, a bit nervous, but she did it on her second try (the first try ended with her hand slipping out from under my armpits on the way up and tumbling to the floor. When she had me up there, she usually tossed me on the bed, and made a bit of a game out of seeing how far she could toss me onto the bed. She never missed, although like I mentioned earlier sometimes the bounce ended a bit rough if the angle wasn’t right. I kind of enjoyed it when she threw me that way, in the way people like the freedom of ziplining or bungee jumping, it was the same feeling, in a perverse way, and the fact that my girlfriend had me up there was kind of exhilarating. And she always did it in a playful way. But with all of the things she was doing to me at that point around orgasm creation and then orgasm control, sometimes issues would arise when she least wanted them. The only time she ever hurt me in a situation where she had me hoisted over her head was when her fingers got a bit too close to my groin and I had an orgasm, and sprayed all over her hair. The shock of it led her to drop one hand to wipe the semen out of her hair, but that led to me tumbling out of her hands and to the floor, hurting my shoulder. She was very understanding, in that I was not punished for getting her dirty, and she felt pretty awful about dropping me. She was darn strong, but not strong enough to hold me up with one hand off-balance. She learned two things from that experience. First, when she lifted me after that, she did it so that I was facing the ceiling! And second, when she had me up there, she would tell me how she was going to throw me down, not on the bed, unless I did this or that. Sometimes it was just to say something nice about her, like telling her how much stronger than me I was, or telling her how beautiful she was; sometimes it was saying something denigrating about myself, like how weak I was or how easily she could control me; sometimes it was to agree to do something for her after she let me down (I was doing a lot of dishes and cleaning her apartment). But the threat of what she could do to me – even though never, not once, did she harm me in that position on purpose – was enough to crush my defenses and become completely pliable to her requests. She also had a few other positions that would give me enough angst to bend to her will; the main one other than over her head was when she would put one arm over and around my neck, and with the other go between my legs and under the leg closer to the floor and back up over that leg so she had unfettered access to my groin. She would grab my balls – not grip, but grab – and threaten to do something to them, and I would crumble with fear. Again, not once did she ever do anything, but I knew she could. So from time to time I would gain a bit of perspective and realize I was doing a lot of errands and chores for her, but the perspective faded quickly when I then realized how much passion and erotic joy being with her brought me.

So let me just briefly summarize where I was at the end of this period, which straddled our one-year anniversary dating. I was physically inferior to her, by a large margin. And she had proven that any resistance to her physical force was useless, but she also required me to resist. I had learned to try my hardest to avoid punishment but was forced to accept it when I would disobey rules she had set for me. I was physically defeated by her frequently as a reminder of her dominance over me. She had set rules and I had followed every one, no matter how inconsequential the rule was or how it impinged on my quality of life. Beyond the rules, she was using the threat of her overpowering strength as a way to get me to exhibit specific behaviors at specific times, or just plan to do her bidding. And her control over me extended to control over my libido, where I was unable to have orgasms without her approval or command, and even when I didn’t want to orgasm I could not help myself when she commanded me to do so. And despite all of this, despite this relationship that any alien landing from space to Earth for the first time would say “er, that looks like a bad relationship,” I loved her and could not imagine my life without her.

After about 14 months of dating, she said we should move in together. It was altogether appropriate that she was the one to make this request, and from the outside, it seemed an appropriate timing to do so. I feared it. Although I cherished every moment I spent with her – both the “normal” time we spent out and about, and the less normal time behind closed doors – but I equally cherished the separation I had from her by having time in my own apartment on nights when we didn’t see each other. But she made the request, and I lacked the ability to say now. So I sold my apartment and moved into her place. A few weeks later, we moved out of her place and rented a larger 2-story townhouse that we could call our own.

And it was here, in “our” townhouse, that my identity started to fade into the background of the relationship, and I started to become hers and hers alone.

Offline skipberg

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Re: My twisted story with dominant karen
« Reply #6 on: October 07, 2017, 12:38:13 pm »
Moving in together was an adjustment for both of us, as it is for any couple. We’d been spending 3-5 nights per week together living apart, and now it quickly turned into 7 nights, although we still went out independently with our friends from time to time – me with my buddies, and her with the friends from the gym she was training with. She was still dieting down as if she were doing a bodybuilding competition, urged on by her girlfriends. She was incredibly excited by the continued refinement of her physique, and not surprisingly it got me excited as well in more ways than one.

After about a week of living together I got my first glimpse of her vision of my place in the household. I was under no misconception that she wasn’t in charge. I knew she was. But I had hoped that by living together, by spending all that time together, she would temper her one-sided physical and emotional treatment of me. Instead, having me nearby all that time made her expectations of my behavior and attentiveness all the greater. One night I came home from work late and she was sitting on the couch, her legs crossed waiting for me. She had recently come home from the gym, and was still dressed in her workout bra and tight shorts that displayed her incredibly chiseled arms and shoulders and her thick but lean and powerful legs and calves. At that moment, I so wanted her to hug me solidly and get on with whatever sexual foreplay she had in store for me. But she said to me “sit down,” nodding towards the chair opposite her. I did so. She raised her right arm, stretching it out to the side, showing the thickness of her triceps. Then she flexed her arm, and the bicep exploded into view. My heart quickened. She pumped it twice, staring at the muscle, content with its size. After the second pump, she turned her head to me and said “now” and I instantly orgasmed in my pants. It was instant. I wasn’t even hard at the start – in an instant that vision and that word made me incredibly erect and then started my own pumping and I sat there motionless until the orgasm was completed. Once I was clearly done and my breathing slowed, she said to me “take off your clothes, all of them, and place them on the rack by the door.” I’d seen that before, early on when she was playing with rules she sometimes made a rule for a few days that I couldn’t wear clothes in the house. Never on a rack, though. I stood up and removed my shoes and socks, my shirt, pants, and my goopy underwear and did as she requested. Then she motioned for me to sit next to her by patting the seat next to her on the couch. I sat there, and felt very small and weak next to her; being naked next to her while she was in gym clothes didn’t help. She leaned over to me and gave me a very deep and penetrating kiss. Then she changed my world. “Sweetheart, I have a few new rules for you to follow. OK?” “OK, what do you want me to do?” I replied. “First, you were home late tonight and you didn’t call me. That wasn’t very thoughtful, was it?” “No, I guess not. I’m sorry.” “Well the first rule is don’t be late. If you’re late you’ll be punished. If you’re late and you don’t call to tell me you’ll be punished more severely. Understand?” “Yes, I understand.” “Second, you are not permitted to wear clothes in our house. No clothes at all. Understand?” “OK, for how long?” She put her hand on my knee. “Permanently.” There was a long pause as I considered what she said. Then she continued. “Unless I give you specific permission for a specific period of time, maybe when we have friends over and I think it is appropriate for you to be clothed, you will no longer wear clothes here. Are we clear?” I continued to pause. She grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me forward over her lap. She gave me a few sharp slaps on the behind while telling me “I asked you a question. Are we clear?” Lying over her lap, subject to her discipline, I blurted out “yes, yes, we are clear.” She released me and helped me to my feet, then she pulled my hand and arm down so I was kneeling between her legs. She rubbed my face gently. “Good, sweetheart. I know this must be a bit troubling to you, so let me put you at ease.” She put her hand behind my neck and pulled my head towards her. Then she reached up and pulled the strap from her sports bra down to reveal her perfect breast, sitting perkily on top of her thick slab of pectoral muscle. Taking my head again she guided me to her nipple and held my head there and told me I could suck. I had never done that with her, or with any other woman, but definitely not with her; this was the first time, and I remember it so clearly because it is inextricably linked to the night these new rules were set. The implication from her was obvious: if I followed the rules I would be rewarded, and this was a new form of reward. Once I began to suck, she leaned down and took me around the butt and legs and lifted me to her lap, and then stood up and carried me, still sucking at her, into bed where I sucked and snuggled for what seemed like hours, protected in her incredibly strong and prodigious arms.

I followed that rule well; whenever I came home, my clothes were off immediately. I saw no reason to fight it. And during the first month or so after she instituted it, she never abused it – when we had any friends over, hers or mine, I was always given permission to dress, so nobody ever had an inkling.

A short time after this she decided – or more likely had finally been convinced by her gymrat friends – to enter a bodybuilding competition later that year. She started on a new training regimen and diet and enlisted my help in keeping to her diet. I made her food most days and packed it for her in meal containers. Even though I could not train with her, this made me felt part of the process and I enjoyed it. I also enjoyed feeling the changes to her body, first how she bulked up to gain even more size and muscle mass – my hands were having trouble encircling her upper arms during this time, which blew my mind -- and then how she slowly dieted down and revealed the cuts and bulges that turned me on so readily. Her breasts did get smaller during this period, which I was told was normal, and while I had always loved the size and shape of her chest before, I found that the new sucking reward was even better when I could get my mouth around more of her breast, which became easier as she got leaner. So I lost something, but gained something back. She had her training friends over a few times to hang out; they were smaller than her, they were fitness competitors as opposed to bodybuilders, but they were incredibly buff and I was always treated respectfully by her when they were over, she made sure not to let anything on to them. During this period she eased up on wrestling and subduing me, because she wanted to orient as much of her energy at training as she could. I missed it sometimes, in fact I needed it sometimes, and she satisfied the need when I really needed it. To keep me trained she was using more rules and continuing to experiment with ways to make me orgasm without touching me. She had become quite good at it. At this point I was under her control sexually, 100%.

About 18 weeks into her contest preparation, we had an accident that changed things. I arrived home from work on time, and before I could take my clothes off she pounced on me and told me she’d take care of it but I should try to stop her. In my useless struggle I accidentally stepped hard on the top of her foot and as I tried to get away from her I tripped her and she fell, twisted in my legs, and she twisted her knee. It was a bad twist, and it ended her intense training for the competition. I felt terrible about it. It was bad luck. She wasn’t angry with me – I didn’t receive any specific punishment for it, I was just doing what she told me to do, trying to prevent her from denuding me, and we had some bad luck. But in the weeks after that I knew she was holding a mild grudge. When she gave me chores, they were harder; when she delivered discipline, it was sharper; and when she gave an order, the tone of her voice was more directive and demanding. I, of course, went along, driven by a terrible feeling of guilt.

Her gym friends were a source of comfort to her during the time between the injury and the missed competition. They took her out several times per week, despite their own training routines. When she went out with them, she more often than not tied me up, either wrapping me up to immobilizing me or tying me to something, including hooks she installed on the wall in our bedroom where she would attach a rope tied around my hands and legs. I would be forced to stand – naked of course – awaiting her return to release me. It felt like she was spending more time with them than with me. And as I soon learned, after she initially obscured the circumstances surrounding her injury when they probed, she started sharing certain details of our relationship with them. And, more troublingly, asking them for advice.

I learned of this about twenty months into the relationship. It was a Friday night, and she had made day-of reservations at a great restaurant, and she made a point to tell me it was her treat. We both dressed up, I even wore a tie, it was that kind of place. It was a delightful evening, one of those nights that can rekindle a love if the flame was flickering; ours wasn’t flickering, but for me nights like that presented the reason to accept all of my other circumstances. She drove us home, and in the car she was more amorous than usual – she even pulled the car over at one point to stop and make out with me. “What’s up?” I asked her after she started driving again. “I just want you to know how much I love you sweetheart” she replied. I was overcome with a wave of emotion and leaned in towards her while she drove, holding her arm in my hands and resting my head against her shoulder. Entering the house, I removed my clothes as normal (well, normal for me) and went into the kitchen to get some water. I heard her call me from the living room, asking me to come join her. She was sitting on the couch in her dress, and she was holding a box. She beckoned for me to sit next to her, which I did. Then she said the following, more or less (I’ll make it into a quote for effect, but I more remember the gist as my head started spinning the more she talked). “B--- has been pestering me about what really happened when I got injured. (B—was one of her friends from the gym - to avoid confusion now, instead of keeping names private by using ‘me/I’ and ‘she/her’, I will have to use first initial for her friends, who enter the story at this point). She’s a bright girl and she put two and two together by a few comments that I made, so I told her the story.” “You did what? You told her?” I blurted out. I became instantly agitated. “Look, I’m not going to outright lie to her when she asks me a direct question about whether or not I dominated you and whether the injury was an accident during a domination session. I’ll avoid and deflect, but not lie. Is that what you want me to be, a liar?” “No, that’s not what I mean. I’m sure you understand why I’m upset. You really told her you dominated me? That’s what you called it?” “I understand, sweetheart. And no, I don’t call it that, that’s what she called it. She thought you were a true submissive, whips and masks and whatever stuff you see on the internet. I told her it wasn’t that way, that it was really just about me overpowering you. But let me put your mind a little bit at ease – first, I didn’t tell her everything, I promise. Nothing about orgasms. She won’t be coming by asking for a demonstration of that. And second, I told her to keep in complete confidence, and I can trust her implicitly. She won’t tell anyone outside of our direct group.” “Our group? All three of them?” “Sweetheart, if one of them knows they all need to know and they can all be trusted. I can’t have half the group knowing something and the other half in the dark.” I gave her a look of sadness and concern, mostly concern. “Sweetheart, you have to get comfortable with this awfully soon, because my patience on your reaction is going to wear thin. This was the decision I made and you will respect it. I did it for us, for both of us, and there is no putting this genie back in the bottle so we’ll have to move forward. Next time they come over we may talk about it with them, and you and I can talk about what we want to share and what we don’t want to share. But that can come later, ok?” I took a deep breath and said “ok.”

“One more thing,” she continued. “B—asked me one question that made me really think. This is why it’s good to share things sometimes, it makes you think differently. She showed an intense interest in what we were doing, and had some pretty wacked ideas of what a couple should do when they have a relationship like ours, and a lot of it was out of the bounds of what I think we are both comfortable with. I think she’d read too many porn mags! But she’d asked me whether I had ever taken you.” “Taken me? Seems like you take me all the time.” “No she meant something different. She was asking lots of questions that tried to frame the extent of how our roles had kind of reversed – that I was in control as the stronger partner. She asked me how I demonstrated that to you, and I shared the wrestling and discipline mainly, because that’s most of it that I was comfortable sharing with her. But she asked whether we still had traditional sex, or whether we had reversed our sexual roles. I said no and she said she was surprised, as it seemed like that was a natural expression of our positions. It got me thinking. So I stopped at the store and bought this.” She pulled out a dildo from the box. I had never seen one in real life, only pictures in comedy shows. It was incredibly ugly and my face probably looked like I had been hit with a hammer. “No. Absolutely not,” I said to her. “There’s a limit to this. There’s a limit to what I think I can stand.” “I understand, sweetheart. This is coming out of left field, and I doubt any man envisions this. It wasn’t in my plan either. But something about this feels right. It just feels normal, for us. It feels like I should be the one inside of you. It’s funny, B--- was surprised that I ever allowed you to enter me anymore. That I don’t buy into, because you have needs as much as I do, and I enjoy the closeness we feel when we are having sex. But like I said, I want us to try this.” She paused, waiting for me to respond, but I couldn’t speak. Her logic was sound even if the outcome of her logical thinking was uncomfortable and unacceptable to me. She lifted the implement and regarded it for a second. “I thought you might like to know that I bought a smaller one, as the idea isn’t to hurt anyone so I wanted it to be as comfortable as possible for us. And this also has something on the inside that is designed to give me pleasure while I am penetrating you. I was hoping that knowing that it was giving me pleasure would give you pleasure.” Still I didn’t respond. I didn’t look at her angrily, I just looked at her, kind of blankly, not quite sure how to react in order to avoid what was about to happen. But deep down I knew there was no stopping this evolution of our interaction. She continued, “Look, sweetheart, I feel like you’re not engaging in the conversation, but this is going to happen, you know that. The question is how it happens. Are you going to go along with this willingly, or am I going to have to be more…convincing?” I finally found the words to respond. “I can’t go willingly. I just can’t. My ego won’t allow that.” “I understand, that’s very understandable.” “But I also don’t want you to take me by force, that wouldn’t feel right either, that feels like it crosses a line, don’t you think?” “Yes, I can see that argument. I would prefer not to have to do that.” I took a long, deep breath, and stood up from the couch, and stood in front of her, jutting my middle out towards her slightly to give her easier access. “Go ahead,” I said, and I closed my eyes. She stood up, and while my eyes were closed I felt her softly kiss my lips, and say “thank you.” She gripped me, and any defenses that were prepared to emerge to save me instantly dropped. My head bowed, and my legs weakened and I started to fall forward; she held my up by her grip, and for a brief second she had me dangling in the air, my feet just off the ground, in the grasp of her single hand. She proceeded to lay me face down over the arm of the couch, and while still holding me between the legs, reaching around my hips from the back, she kicked my legs apart. “Don’t move,” she said to me while she attached the implement, and then also took some lubricating cream out of the bag and applied it to the implement, and a little bit to my butt. Then she leaned over, and I could feel the implement against the bottom of my buttocks, at the top of my hamstring, and she whispered to me, “I’ll keep the grip on as long as I can to ensure you don’t struggle. I don’t want any injuries.” And with that she reached back around and, for the first of what would be many, many times, took me as hers, in a way that I came to believe was entirely appropriate for a dominant, powerful woman to have sex with her weaker, submissive boyfriend. I neither liked it nor hated it; it just happened, and I went with it. I’ve read that some men can find the sensation quite pleasurable. I did not. Eventually I found amazing pleasure in just knowing that she was inside of me; that our relationship was strengthening through a new coupling of our bodies. But I just accepted it that first time, and moaned from the pressure, not the pleasure. She eventually orgasmed, and as she did she had the wherewithal to shriek out “Now!” and I surged with desire and orgasm myself, both of us orgasming together, her behind me, her arms wrapped around me, slightly lifting me off the ground while she penetrated me, and the occurrence of the orgasm coupled with the use of the implement became a driver of my acceptance of it, and eventually my relishing of it.

She told B--- about the event. I know she did. And she told the other two as well, or perhaps B--- did. And B--- gave her encouragement to continue stretching the boundaries. It seemed like B--- knew a fair amount about this type of relationship; to this day I don’t know whether this was just based on her personal experience, or just general fetishistic curiosity. But it wasn’t B---- that inserted herself into my life once she had uncovered the shroud of secrecy that surrounded my relationship with my girlfriend. It was one of the other ones, G----. G----, who was a modestly-sized woman hoping to compete in fitness competitions (of course, I say “modestly-sized” but my reference point is quite skewed – next to my girlfriend she was modestly-sized, next to any other woman she would be considered incredibly buff). G---, who was the least shy of the group. And G----, who had had a husband of 7 years, whom she met and married before she’d ever set foot in a gym, let alone dreamed of being a fitness competitor. And she was fascinated by how my girlfriend described our dynamic.

Offline UnholyDk1103

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Re: My twisted story with dominant karen
« Reply #7 on: October 07, 2017, 01:15:25 pm »
Wow Great Story please continue  :cool2:

Offline sevenpeight

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Re: My twisted story with dominant karen
« Reply #8 on: October 07, 2017, 01:46:37 pm »
Fantastic. Jumps off the page. K++

Offline skipberg

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Re: My twisted story with dominant karen
« Reply #9 on: October 09, 2017, 05:06:27 pm »
There were three elements that defined the next several months of our relationship, straddling our second anniversary. The first was the implement, and her increasing use of it. The second was her return to heavy lifting to build muscle mass, and the extreme levels of strength she was able to attain. And the third was G---, and her intrusion into our private lives.

After that first night where she introduced the implement (and we always called it an implement, it sounded less dirty), I really struggled with it emotionally, and we talked at length about how it made me feel to be on the receiving end from my girlfriend. I would sit and stare for long periods of time, thinking deeply about whether this was something I really was willing to accept in my relationship. I even raised the idea of talking to a professional about it, some kind of sexual therapist, or general psychologist, but she was against that idea entirely – despite the fact that she told some things to her gym friends, sharing was something I was not permitted to do. She talked through it with me patiently and as often as I needed to talk, but her message always went back to the same thesis – she was the dominant partner, so it was entirely appropriate that she should be the one penetrating me. Being on top during intercourse would get her part of the way there, towards sexual control, but she found it insufficient. She had to be the aggressor and the taker.

In the same way she experimented with punishment, and with orgasm control, she experimented taking me with the implement. At first she always had to grip me to make me accepting of it – for a while I refused to go willingly, so that was her approach to subduing me non-physically. But this because somewhat boring to her. She wanted not only the feeling created by the use of the implement on me, but she wanted the entire experience each time to be more holistically dominating. She told me after a couple of weeks that she would no longer grip me beforehand – that either I had to get into a position I wanted, or that she would overpower me into one. Even then, I wouldn’t go willingly, so each night, sometimes multiple times a night, would feel achingly close to some form of forcible sexual domination, although not once did I ever find it crossed the line to something more sinister. Earlier in the relationship she had demonstrated her ability to overpower me and subdue me when wrestling; she did that now, with greater effect and speed. And also she had demonstrated her ability to restrain me after a wrestling victory, either through bonds, or through the use of her own crushing physical force; she also did that now, without the use of bonds but instead with a combination of strength, pressure and time that made me remain there even after she had paused her effort. And now she was pairing these two with what was, to her, the ultimate expression of her position, taking me, in a way that was only mildly against my will but was never truly so as after the wrestling, and after the restraint, I was pliable enough that she could position me, attach the implement, complete her initial penetration and then thrust herself (and often me, if she opted to give the word) to orgasm. She wrestled me into and held me in a variety of positions to get me in a place where she was comfortable taking me. Most commonly was the way she started – bending me over some piece of furniture, or some appliance, and kicking my legs out to gain easier access. But after a time, I had a favorite, as well as a least favorite. My least favorite, to start with that, was similar to my least favorite position for spanking. After a wrestling pin, while I was on my back, she would grab me by the ankles and lift me off the floor. She could hold me that way for a long time if she wanted to, either with one hand or two (where sometimes she would use one hand to hold me up and use the other to reach around and grab my penis and taunt me). Then she’d walk with me dangling from her over to our bed, swing me up and land me on my back on the bed. Still holding my ankles, she would pull me until my butt was just off the bed, and then bend my legs back over my head. If my struggles had subsided, she would hold my legs up by holding one with her forearm or hand; that would suffice. If I still had some struggle left in me, she used one of the ropes she always had timed to the bed posts (they were always there, on all four corners) and fasten my legs to the headboard posts to keep them up. In that position, I was completely accessible to her thrusting. But it was uncomfortable, and similar to with the spanking position it made me feel infantile, and what’s worse in that position if she had me orgasm I was pointing directly at myself and would frequently shower my chest or my face. Not surprisingly, this was my least favorite position. My favorite position was quite easy to understand. She would give me a strong bear hug and lift me in front of her, and once my defenses had been exhausted she would direct me to wrap my legs around her. She’d then adjust me into the right position, with my butt high against her chest, hold me there with one arm while she attached the implement, and would lower me onto it. Then she would use her arm and shoulder strength to thrust me. I loved this position, because it allowed me to kiss her, and to feel the exploding flexes of her arms and shoulders while she jostled me. I will embarrassingly admit that while in other positions I was decidedly passive, making her do all the work herself by not “participating,” in this position from time to time I would bounce a bit and be slightly more participatory. Still, I never got in that position willingly, but I must be truthful by saying that I fought it less actively.

One could have called that position an arm exercise, but she didn’t need it; she was lifting incredibly heavy at the gym by that point and, according to her, she had gained somewhat of a following among some of the women in the gym, who were asking her for strength advice. She also had joined a boxing class at the gym and connected with a group of girls there. B--- was in that group, after she decided not to pursue any more fitness competitions. B—read some article in a magazine about a studio on the west coast that had been set up specifically for women’s wrestling as an exercise class, and convinced the entire group to put some money together buy a set of mats; they rented out a local studio once a week, and convinced my girlfriend to lead the class given that she was the only one among them who had actually done organized wrestling. This was a breakthrough for her, and I could tell how happy it made her to reconnect to real wrestling, not the fake stuff we were doing; to me it seemed real enough to get beaten and pinned, but to her, of course, she didn’t have a wrestling foe who gave her actual competition. Even in her group, she was by far the best and strongest wrestler – after all, she was 5’9” and as I recall she was 3” taller than any of the other girls -- but because her mode was “teacher/coach” as opposed to “dominator/subduer,” she enjoyed it immensely. I realize this is a complete digression, but it comes back later; I write about it her because it started during this time in our relationship, but it becomes highly relevant to me many months later. I also write it despite the fact that this was a group that was known in some circles in our community.

Being around all of these fit women all of the time, and being I guess kind of the “alpha” of the group as the largest and strongest member, she also during this period started really flaunting her strength with me at home. Previously, any time she would overpower me was designed either to evoke some kind of response or to enable her to more easily execute some kind of action on me – whether to break down my defenses so she could more easily control me, or to immobilize me, or to put me in a position to be disciplined, or to get me to do her errands or chores, or other things I’ve written about already. But she started using her strength on me just for the sake of seeing if she could; no specific coda, no action required, just strength overpowering weakness. Part demonstration to me, part curiosity to her. We’d be in the middle of breakfast, and it was as if she would ask herself, “I wonder if I’m strong enough to...” and then conceive of something, and then she would just try it. “I wonder if I’m strong enough to transfer him from one arm to the other with small toss, having him in the air briefly.” Yes, she was. “I wonder if I’m strong enough to bench press him.” Took her a few different positions to get the balance right, but with her upper back leaning against a chair, it was possible. “I wonder if can arm curl him.” Took a few tries to get the rope right, but one rope around my knees and another rope around my chest and she was able to lever me up. “I wonder if I can throw him back over my head by putting one arm through his crotch and lifting hard.” Definitely, and that one was scary but fun. I mention this not because this was a particularly frequent occurrence – it wasn’t. But each feat was memorable, and this was the one activity that, in a strange way, gave me a glimpse into her gym life, which I was still not permitted into, even if curling or bench pressing me at home was clearly different than the regimen she went through at the gym.

We had our second anniversary during this period, and I bought her a pair of diamond earrings and she bought me some new dress shirts, which might seem a bit pedestrian but to me was an important symbol of her love for me as this was an acknowledgement of my continued independence. It was a gift that couldn’t be used at home; it was only for my life outside of home.

Two days after our second anniversary, she called me at work and told me that G--- was going to come over that night, and would be there when I came home from a work dinner I had that evening. I mentioned G--- earlier – she was one of the original 4 gym friends from the initial competition group. I’d met her a few times, she was loud and forward compared to the others in the group, but she was generally pleasant to be around. She was married to a guy named P---- for a long time, and had been married for several years before she made her way to the gym. She was the second tallest of the original 4, around 5’6” or so, but while training for that original competition had been the most cut of all of them, even more cut than my girlfriend. Her physique was pretty impressive, and she was slightly north of attractive but nothing to write home about. She had a look where I could imagine that made me think that the confidence she showed emerged from working out and developing her physique, and before that she might have been much more shy. But I had no idea, it was just the kind of speculation guys do about their girlfriends’ friends to amuse themselves and make them feel like they got the pick of the litter!

So while this was the first time G--- came to our house, having her over wasn’t an unusual activity; we had guests and visitors quite frequently, at least every other week or so. And with guests over, the policy was that we would project “normalcy” to the outside world. I walked in that night from my work dinner and announced myself, put my bag down by the door and walked right in to the living room. They were sitting on the couch talking, and both were wearing their gym outfits. Both looked buff. Both looked quite imposing, although clearly my girlfriend was the more imposing one, especially to me. G--- looked at my girlfriend, seeming a bit surprised. My girlfriend looked back at her then looked over at me. She said, in an inquiring fashion, “hello?”, and beckoned to the door. I looked at her with a surprised look. “What?” I said, and shrugged my shoulders.,“what’s up?” She looked over at G--- again and then looked back at me, and this time didn’t beckon but rather pointed at the door, and said “clothes.” “But…” “Clothes. Don’t make me say it again.” “Sweetheart, but…” She stood up and took two steps for me. I retreated to the door and started stripping down, but not without making comments while I did so. “This isn’t cool. We don’t do this.” She came over to me at the door and stroked my cheek, and said quietly, “It’s ok, this is a special circumstance. Thank you for doing this despite your discomfort. I will make it up to you.” With that understanding and apologetic tone, my objections abated and I walked with her back into the living room.

G--- was perched on the edge of her seat as we walked into the room. She was clearly fascinated by my quick obedience to my girlfriend’s direction. We sat down next to her, my girlfriend in the middle, separating me from G--- presumably to make me more at ease. Then she turned to me and told me “Sweetheart, G--- has been extremely curious about our relationship based on what I shared with her. She has asked a lot of questions of me, but has been asking for some time to talk to you about it.” G--- interrupted her, clearly overexcited by the opportunity to have me there. G said very politely, “yes, and thank you for allowing me to intrude. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Let me explain, if I may.” My girlfriend answered, “sure, I think that would help.” G--- continued, “You haven’t met P---, but [my girlfriend – note from me: it’s getting hard to obscure names here] has. I’ve been with P--- for 7 years, and we’ve hit a bit of a dry patch. I feel like the spark has subsided for some reason and I can’t figure it out. It’s not a seven year itch or anything, or at least I don’t think it is. I think we just both lead busy work lives and maybe some boredom has set in with our home life. A bit too much repetition. I know that I have changed a ton during our marriage, and it’s all because of my time in the gym. He has changed some but not nearly as much. He’s the same smart, interesting, bookish P--- I met in college. But something’s a bit off with us, you know? And then when [my girlfriend] shared some of your relationship dynamics, I was thinking, holy cow, maybe that’s a way of sparking things again. After all, I’ve gotten much, much stronger than I was even a few months ago, let alone 7 years ago, and that’s never played into our personal lives at all, other than my ability to carry more things around the house more easily! And there is zero question in my mind that I’m stronger than P---, because he’s not an athletic guy at all, but that hasn’t been a factor in anything in our lives. I doubt he notices, but maybe he does and I don’t realize it. Maybe other people notice, I’m sure they do, but he doesn’t. So I thought that I might talk to you about how…I’m not sure how to say this…I don’t mean to say the wrong thing and offend you...” I was taken in by this story, and my initial defensive posture had evolved to one where I was leaning forward to hear her out. I said “just say it, I won’t take offense.” My girlfriend rubbed the inside of my thigh in appreciation for my gesture of conciliation. G--- continued. “well, I thought I might talk to you about how you came to accept, and maybe even enjoy, your submissiveness.” “Wait,” I said, “I don’t use that word.” “I’m sorry, like I said I didn’t know what to call it. What should I call it?” “I don’t know, just not that.” My girlfriend touched my knee, in a way that told me to let her speak. “Maybe just call it ‘our kind of relationship’ and leave it.” “OK,” G--- responded. “So can I ask you some questions about it?” “Sure, go ahead.” So the inquiry began.

She asked all kinds of questions of me about how long it took me to recognize my girlfriend’s physical superiority, how long it took me to accept it, how it makes me feel when I lose and how that evolved over time, a lot of questions about punishment and how it makes me feel, and general questions about the kinds of things that my girlfriend did that I thought were most effective in making me accepting of “our kind of relationship.” She never asked anything about the implement, and that allayed my fears that my girlfriend had shared too much. Then again, sharing anything was too much…but I guess it wasn’t too much too much. I answered the questions frankly and honestly, as much as I could describe, and answering the questions was therapeutic. However I do recognize that, to reuse a concept, if an alien had landed in our house and witnessed a fully-grown man naked next to his larger, muscled girlfriend, talking to another woman about their relationship, the alien would have been highly confused.

At one point G--- asked me what my girlfriend did to me that made me most submissive, the implication being that she was looking for something to use with her husband. I really didn’t want to answer that question, for two reasons. First, the answer was too sexual in tone, and I wanted to avoid that. And second, I didn’t want to take responsibility for providing a complete roadmap for her to take over her husband like my girlfriend had taken me over; all indications were that the desires that were awakened in me by the development of this relationship with this woman were not present in her husband. His life was not my business. So I hemmed and hawed, and gave a non-answer something like “it’s tough to identify one thing.”

That’s when my girlfriend jumped in and took control, placing her hand on my inner thigh again to stop me from stammering. “Sweetheart, wouldn’t you say it was the grip?” I didn’t respond. “What’s the grip?” G--- asked. My girlfriend looked over at me, pursed her lips a bit, and then leaned over to G--- and put her hand on G---‘s knee like she was about to tell her a secret. “Let me show you.” She stood up in front of me, and I looked up at her pleadingly, my eyes were yelling to her silently “please don’t do this.” She took my hand and pulled on it to get me to stand up, but I was too nervous about what was about to happen, my legs wouldn’t respond. She leaned over and grabbed me under both armpits and jerked me to a standing position. I stood before her, still silently pleading, but knowing I had no power to stop this. She stretched out her hand to G--- and made some contortions with it in the air, saying “you grab his penis and testicles in your hands and you just grip them like this.” Then she reached down and applied it to me, and I instantly did the normal reaction – my head bowed, I became quiet, my breathing quickened and then calmed down to below my baseline. She continued her description. “If you do it right, and it took me a few tries to get it right with him, you can make him completely compliant. When I have him like this, he’ll do anything I want, right sweetheart?” “Yes” I replied, my head still bowed. “Anything, really anything?” asked G---, who sounded somewhat astonished at what she had just seen. “Well, I don’t know if you can just walk up to a man and do this to them and they’ll be at your beck and call. I didn’t apply this until after I’d demonstrated complete physical superiority – I think that needs to come first.” G--- paused. Hesitating just a bit, she stuttered in asking, “do you think you could show me what you do?” Almost immediately, my girlfriend replied “I’d be glad to.” Then for the next several minutes, in front of our guest, my girlfriend gave a clinic on how to physically overpower and subdue her boyfriend, ending with me over her knee in a spanking position. She applied a few spanks. “And in order to ensure his compliance, I definitely need to apply some discipline. It’s a kind of behavior modifier, along with everything else.” She proceeded to deliver a series of blows. I looked up from my position and saw G--- staring down at me, a smile emerging from her face as if she had just discovered the secret to eternal life. My girlfriend ended the discipline and sat down on the couch next to G---, and stood me in front of her and applied the grip again, explaining how she needed to calm me back down because she could tell my anxiety level was very high, which it was. This time, I appreciated the grip. She released me, and turned me a quarter turn towards G--- and said to her, “if this is really want you want your relationship to be like, then you’ll need to learn some things. Here, try once.” I blurted out “No!” and quickly my girlfriend turned me and gave me a sharp thwacking, and then back to G---. “For that, sweetheart, maybe she’ll practice some discipline on you when she’s done.” So G--- reached out and grabbed my genitals. It wasn’t a grip, it didn’t have that effect, but I was humiliated, utterly. After a few minutes thrashing around down there without ever getting the hang of things, she was given permission to put me over her lap and practice some spanking, and did so while my girlfriend gave her tips on hand position, pacing, and angle. Needless to say, the entire situation sucked. And when G--- left for the night, I was seething with anger. I told my girlfriend how unacceptable the entire situation was, and how disappointed I was in her that she took this turn in the relationship. She apologized, and shared that she had been wanting to have someone to confide in about us, and the thought that G--- might be able to create a similar relationship was incredibly appealing to her. She wanted a “friend in arms” so to speak. While I understood the logic behind that, I did not accept that I should be made an unwilling “training buddy” for her, and I also rejected the idea that she should be callously planning out the domination of another woman’s husband. Her response was that if he was interested in it, and if he was susceptible to her advances, then in the end it would be his decision, just like it was mine. She then told me that she was going to invite G--- over every night for the next two weeks to practice, and that I would be expected to play my part, and if I did I would be rewarded. Then she squatted down low, wrapped her arms around the back of my thighs, and lifted me up, taking me in her mouth, pushing me high against the wall and taking me to indescribably heights of ecstasy. After I orgasmed, as always on her command, she capped the night off by taking me in my favorite way.

The next two weeks were as she described – G--- came by, and would practice wrestling me down, immobilizing me, disciplining me and other techniques as suggested by my girlfriend. It was a bit surprising, but it wasn’t just an act – she was actually quite competitive and her strength was surprising; from time to time she was able to wrestle me down and immobilize me, but was never able to hold me down while disciplining me – that I had to allow her to do. She was not nearly as strong as my girlfriend, but her 2+ years of training had made her around as strong than me, and I learned later that my girlfriend really enjoyed watching us spar. But G--- never really got the grip right, which felt to me like a good separation between G---‘s training and my reality.

A few times G--- came by before my girlfriend came home and I agreed to start early, just to get it over with. One of these times, she had defeated me in wrestling and immobilized me beneath her. She reached down and tried to put on a grip while I was immobilized, and during the groping and squeezing I felt a surge growing. I asked her to stop, but she didn’t know why I was asking, and I orgasmed in her hand. I was amazed, as I hadn’t orgasmed without my girlfriend’s command in over a year at that point. There was something to it though – that my orgasm was tied not just to my girlfriend but to another woman who had overpowered me. I never told my girlfriend this; I was afraid of the retribution it would bring on me, and also on G---. But mostly on me. I didn’t want to be retrained to orgasm on command. So I let it lie. Clearly G--- never mentioned it to her either. But the issue arose again later in a different context.

I never met G---‘s husband, still to this day I have never met him. My girlfriend told me later that they were still together and their relationship had flourished after G—introduced some new dynamics. Whether he became a submissive I do not know. Perhaps they just engaged in some fantasy play. I will probably never now, and candidly I hope to never find out. Maybe he’s even on this community, in which case I’d like to offer an apology, much delayed, for my involvement.

So G--- was out of my personal life quickly but she made an indelible impression. I viewed my girlfriend as a little less discreet and a bit more sadistic for allowing another woman to handle me, obviously against my wishes even if I yielded to my girlfriend’s authoritative request. I recognized that being overpowered was a turn-on not limited to my girlfriend. And I learned that I might not be alone – that there could be other men in the same, or at least a similar, relationship and dynamic to the one I found myself in. But a couple of months after G--- had left, my girlfriend’s wrestling group took a more central role in creating a wedge between us. One that would eventually lead to the end of our relationship and the need for me to rebuild my life, and my manhood.

Offline UnholyDk1103

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Re: My twisted story with dominant karen
« Reply #10 on: October 09, 2017, 06:57:14 pm »
Thank you so much one of the best stories i have ever read keep going bro  :letsparty:

Offline skipberg

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Re: My twisted story with dominant karen
« Reply #11 on: October 13, 2017, 04:58:46 am »
We had been dating two and a half years when things started to fall apart. To this day I blame her for her cockiness in thinking that I was at the point where I was so under her control that she had no limits. I blame her still, despite having greater perspective now that it was right to end, because at the time, without the perspective, I could envision myself being with her for life, had things remained the way they were. Maybe not the life I’d envisioned when I went out on that first date with her, but a life that, remarkably for the dynamic that existed, was making me happy and satisfied.

But she couldn’t help but push things further and further with me, thinking that she was making small, incremental changes that were in and of themselves minor adjustments to our lifestyle but in aggregate would further establish her complete dominance and control over me. There’s the concept in science of the boiling frog – try to put a frog in a pot with boiling water and it will jump right out…but put him in a pot with cool water and boil it gradually and it’ll sit there and die. I had been the frog, all that time, for well over two years. But she couldn’t just leave the stove dial at medium to heat it gradually – around 2 ½ years in she turned the dial to extra hot, all at once. And it became too much.

You might think that the introduction of G--- to our private affairs, and more to the point her introduction to the dominance lifestyle
using me as her training doll, would have been classified as “turning the dial to extra hot.” I didn’t view it that way because, as I mentioned, my girlfriend gave me a ton of positive feedback (sexual and otherwise) for my flexibility in allowing G--- to invade. Maybe she turned the dial a bit north of medium, but it wasn’t enough to make me hop out of the pot.
My love for her was so complete and unconditional at that point in our relationship. I swear, I considered asking her to marry me but I knew that the appropriate role was for her to take control and ask me, so I was like the dutiful partner hoping and praying for a kneel and a ring. I would have said yes, immediately. I would have worn a dress and a garter to the wedding if she’d asked me to! I was that in love. Now, to be clear, that particular dynamic, while it might be reasonably assumed to be a logical extension of the role reversal that existed in our relationship, was one that we never, ever crossed or quite honestly, as far as I was aware, even contemplated.

After G--- stopped coming by for the purposes I previously explained (she did come by socially, herself or with the others in the crew, but other than a few knowing glances the experience was firmly behind us), I noticed that my girlfriend had become a bit more emboldened in her direct treatment of me. The weather was getting warmer so we spent time hanging out at the park along the river, and in that somewhat public environment (it was public but sparsely populated and people were off doing their own things anyway) she would tease me a bit by doing somewhat discreet demonstrations of our relationship roles– discreet enough that nobody would have noticed, but still open enough that I had some anxiety that people were noticing. We would walk along the river, and she would suddenly turn to me and kiss me, bending me backwards or lifting me up slightly in ways that projected that she was the one doing the kiss and I was the one receiving it. We would be swimming in the river and she would walk around the part of the river where the depth was up to her chest while carrying me cradled in her arms; people within eyesight would have seen something unusual in that I was floating in that way, they may have even noticed the scale of her shoulders or the width of her back or their noteworthy musculature, but most likely nobody put two and two together, except maybe for a few times when she walked me back to shore and delayed putting me back on my two feet until after it was clear that she was fully supporting my weight. We would lie next to each other and out of nowhere she would shoot her hand up my shorts and just hold me intimately for long stretches; if people were walking by and being very perceptive, they would have seen a relaxed well-muscled woman and her agitated less well-muscled boyfriend lying there in a compromising position. Despite earlier promises not to do so, she would bring me to orgasm out in public at her command, lying along the river, or at a movie theater, or at dinner, or while shopping at Banana Republic (which happened once, while we were browsing in a less populated area behind a rack of sweaters); once I understood that this was a new “pastime” for her, I started wearing extra underwear, or padding my underwear with paper towels, while we were out together to avoid embarrassment after the fact. My face during the fact was something I could only barely control.

But while the public faux-humiliation of me was clearly enjoyable to her, in a callous, verging on sadistic way, her real “pastime” – wrestling -- had been rekindled through the group of women she led in the studio classes. They met once, sometimes twice per week, and outside of the studio sometimes did cardio activities together that my girlfriend said were part of her training regimen back from her college wrestling team. They were a very social group as well – my girlfriend went out with them after classes, and sometimes she would tell me to join her so I got to know them to some extent, but not very deeply. Other boyfriends also sometimes came along; I was the only boyfriend who was clearly outclassed by his girlfriend, the others that I met – there were only 3 of them I met but I’m happy to extrapolate from that sample -- were clearly major athletes who I suspect were encouraging their girlfriends or wives to get in better shape. My girlfriend was very straight with me that she drew a distinction between the wrestling group and her old competition foursome; while the foursome was largely under the tent on us, the wrestling group was not (except for B---, who was in both groups, but I was assured that B--- was keeping her mouth shut and I never had a reason to believe otherwise).

So a bit after two and a half year mark, I had joined her with the whole group on a Monday night after they’d finished in the studio. That night I was the only boyfriend there. I’d found in previous interaction that most of them were quite personable and interesting, so I always enjoyed chatting with them, and quite candidly forced myself to appear very confident and forward with them even though inside I was incredibly intimidated by the group as I internalized them as an extension of my girlfriend. Put another way, they weren’t individually intimidating, but as a group who participated in the activity which served as a means of my girlfriend effecting complete and unswerving control over me, I equated them as a group as having the qualities of doing the same. So I overcompensated, no doubt. I wandered around chatting with them individually or in small groups, in a way I definitely didn’t do around the other foursome (where I tended to be much more quiet and only responded when my girlfriend or they addressed me directly), trying to establish myself as a with-it boyfriend who was definitely not weak and was definitely not submissive and who that night after he went home would definitely not be overpowered by his girlfriend and subdued and taken from behind with the implement and made to orgasm on command and then tied up and left in a closet overnight. How could that happen to a guy who exuded so much confidence? But like I said, I was clearly overcompensating, or at least it was clear to my girlfriend that I was doing so, and in line with her recent desire to unobtrusively humiliate me in public she had decided enough was enough.

She took control over the table’s conversation and posed a question, like a poll. “OK, so after all this time in the studio, show of hands, how many of us have done some wrestling with our boyfriends or husbands at home, maybe as foreplay?” She raised her hand, and with her short sleeves the size of her triceps was impressive to see. She looked around, and people were staring at her, and then at me. She continued, “Nobody? Really, nobody? Come on, someone must have taken some of this home with them.” After a brief pause, one hand went up, her name was C---- and she had a boyfriend who I’d met a few times before and was a total jock. There was some girlish giggling at the table, and one of the other women said “Really, C---? What happened?” C---, who was somewhat shy, said, “well, this is a little bit embarrassing, but we were fooling around the other week and I tried a move on him and while it didn’t work, he found it really adorable, and it turned us both on so much we have been doing some playful wrestling the last couple of times. But nothing hard or competitive, just playful. I think he likes that I know what to do.” There were looks of curiosity and interest on some of the faces in the group. My girlfriend jumped in. “That’s awesome. We wrestle, too. Right sweetheart?” She looked at me, and all eyes were upon me. “Yes,” I replied, putting on my most positive and confident face, “it’s a lot of fun.” I left it at that. She jumped back in. “A lot of fun, definitely. And he’s not really trained as a wrestler, like I am, so that compensates for the fact that he’s a guy and I’m a girl so we have some pretty competitive matches that wind up being a lot of fun.” She was lying through her teeth, but at the time I didn’t know to what end. All I could think was that there was no way any of the girls could have possibly believed this, seeing her forearms and my forearms. But soon all was revealed. She turned to me again. “You know, sweetheart, maybe you should join us in the studio one night. I think we’d have even more fun if you practiced real technique with us, and I think some of the girls might be interested in practicing with a guy. What do you think?” She put her hand softly on my knee, which may have been interpreted by the women around the table, if they even saw it, as a gesture of intimacy, but I knew it was a summons; that knee touch was a western union message ordering me to report to the studio at 1900 hours three nights later. And I knew I had to appear or suffer consequences. “That sounds great, I’ll join in.” Then I got a bit devious. “Would love any of the other guys to join as well.” “Well, let’s see how it goes with the first guy and then we can expand the tent. Everyone agree? Everyone comfortable with having him join us?” Everyone around the table, every single woman, said yes. I didn’t know what was in store for me, but I had a hunch, for sure, that I was in for something that I didn’t want. But I had no choice.

My objections later that night were noted, dismissed and resoundingly punished. And the discipline I received was sterner and more pointed than any I had received prior. It was painful, for sure, but she spent an inordinate amount of time holding me in various ways up high, with a threat of throwing me down to injury, as a means of firmly establishing her physical dominance. As if I needed to be reminded of it, based on my impertinence that night of inviting other men when she so clearly was focused on me and me alone. And my impertinence of objecting to once again being a tool for her. Of objecting to anything she directed me to do. She made it clear through deeds and words that I was to obey her, without question and without hesitation. That I had no say in things, in the events of my own life. That my time, my thoughts, my existence belonged to her rather than to me. That my life existed only as a part of hers, without independence or ego, and without recourse. And when I woke up the next morning, went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror and saw the faint outline of an open palm on my cheek…and remembered what had transpired the previous night, where in a moment where she unfortunately lost some self-control, she crossed what had been a very, very bright line that she had never once – never -- crossed before…I became very concerned about our future. She walked into the bathroom behind me, wrapped her arms around me, held me tightly, kissed my neck and apologized for her behavior. I expressed my disappointment to her; I told her I could not go to work that day. She said she’d make it up to me, and she put one arm under my armpit and around my chest and the other through my legs and lifted me up, holding me on my side parallel to the ground while she turned my head towards her and began to overwhelm me with a kiss that left me breathless and melted away my anger and disappointment, and as she rocked me in her arms, her lips on my lips, her palm lightly caressing my testicles and her fingers stroking the sides of my penis, I could think nothing of her lapse of judgment and control the previous night. I could think nothing of the anxiety I felt about attending the wrestling studio. I could think nothing of my own feelings of powerlessness and inadequacy. I could only reach my arms up around her neck and feel her traps, and then move them out to cup her shoulders, which my hands could not encompass no matter how much I tried to stretch my fingers, and then move them down to her biceps which were well-flexed as she held my weight in her arms. A year or so previously, that would have been enough to send me to uncontrollable release, but on this day I was incredibly thankful that I had been trained to be able to hold until the word had been given, because there was more to feel, more to admire and more to worship. As she walked around the house in very slow circles, still massaging my groin gently and intimately, I moved my hand to feel the chasm of her chest, feeling the hardness of the pectorals on both sides, and reached into her bra to touch her breasts and gently touch and squeeze her nipples. She moaned slightly while I did this, and I felt her adjust my weight in her grasp, and start to raise me up and reset my position so I was facing her, still on my side, with my groin directly in front of her face, then turning me further so I was upside down, still suspended in her grasp around my waist. While I hung upside down she told me to roll down her shorts and underwear, and in my position I could do so quite easily as my hands were even with her upper thigh. Once she was revealed, she took my penis in her mouth and, readjusting me once again, pulled me tighter to her by hugging my waist tight with one incredibly strong arm. She reached up and took both of my testicles in her hand, holding them up above my penis which I’m sure was completely invisible and entirely consumed within her mouth, she tugged up on them, stretching them out and eliciting a slight painful feeling that I’m sure she knew heightened my arousal because each time she tugged I gave a moan of desire and intense elation, and for a moment released them and reached down to my head and pushed it into her, and I began my own attention to her needs, while she returned to delivering the sensation to my testicles that had clearly been pleasurable to me, and I was going wild, needing to release but without the right and ability to do so, and I worked incredibly hard with my tongue to bring her to orgasm, and then another, and I was needing release or else I knew the sperm would explode through the skin of my testicles themselves, and then finally she orgasmed a third time, and actually fell to her knees while still holding me upside down and weightless in her powerful grasp, and during that third orgasm tugged even harder on my testicles and removed her mouth from my penis which was incredibly erect and quivering and finally shrieked “now, now!” and I screamed in ecstasy and in pain and in need and in shame and in love and in every emotion that I had felt during the entire relationship and the orgasm was so unbelievably intense and I could feel it shooting out of me and I heard it hit the wall across the room and she kept on tugging while I was pumping and panting and gasping and all of this emotion is still to this day etched on my psyche as the most amazing sexual experience I had ever had, bar none. Once I was done, she lowered me to the floor and reasserted her cradling of me, standing up again with me in her arms, and she looked down on me with such tenderness, and I looked up at her feeling utterly connected to her once again, at that moment entirely forgetting any transgression she had perpetrated against me, and only wanted more, more, more – more time in her arms, more time being held by her, more time feeling safe with her. She walked around the house with me, still holding me in her arms, and I quickly fell asleep, completely spent.

So with that experience erasing my objections, I joined them that Thursday at 7pm. There was 100% attendance that night, not surprisingly. Each woman thanked me for, to generally capture the overall spirit of their appreciation, my courage in attending. Except for B---, I don’t think they appreciated that there was never a question. The activities at the studio were always a curiosity to me – did they learn and practice specific wrestling moves to gain skill? Did they wrestle each other to get a workout? Did they get turned on by it ever? But the reality was more boot camp than anything. There was a big mat, and everyone was paired up and my girlfriend stood up front and demonstrated a move or technique with someone, and then they all practiced it repetitively for several minutes while she walked around coaching technique. B--- offered to pair with me and in doing the repetitions, which were definitely not competitive nor were they sexually charged at all, I found myself getting quite winded. It was quite a workout, I found! No wonder these women got into the activity. I paired with my girlfriend as the “guinea pig” for the demonstrations and we did the repetitions each time; it was quite a workout, actually, and I got pretty winded quickly. That portion lasted the first 30 minutes, and the pace of it was feverish such that there was a lot of sweat around the room. At the end sat on a bench along the side of the studio and my girlfriend called out two names. I can’t remember the first two. They met at the center of the mat and shook hands, she stood between them with her hand separating them, pulled her hand back and said “wrestle.” And they wrestled, for real, trying the moves we had just practice and other moves I didn’t recognize but I guessed they had learned before. Each pair wrestled for 3 minutes and afterwards had two minutes of discussion and debrief from the group where they gave feedback and lots of supportive words, like you would expect from a group of women. After the third pair was finished, she called out “Ra---,” and then my name. The women all looked at me. I looked around and found Ra---, who got up and walked to the center of the ring. With 10 women there, I thought they would all be paired with each other, and worst case I feared I’d be paired with my girlfriend and everyone would see me demolished; I was wrong. I looked over at my girlfriend, and she raised her eyebrows as if to say “get in there, you idiot.” So I walked to the center and stood before Ra---.

Ra--- was one of the more shy women in the group. She wasn’t big, maybe 5’3”, and she wasn’t particularly muscular. And she wasn’t all that gorgeous, she was just nice and friendly to me always. I was 7” taller than her. We shook hands, her hand was small in mine, and she looked like she was focused and ready. We wrestled the full three minutes and while she was quite skilled I was too tall and big for her, and although it was a surprising struggle, I was able to pin her about 2 minutes into it and then at the end I still had the upper hand when my girlfriend called time. We shook hands and returned to the bench. I sat there replaying the 3 minutes in my mind. It had been forever since I had won any wrestling. Since I’d won anything physical. I was elated and energized, but I tried not to show it. And to top it off, it was actually fun. At the end, two of the women suggested I come back for the next studio session, which was the following Monday. I agreed. That night, I received a “reward” for my excellent behavior and successful outcome: she showered with me, and the entire shower my feet never touched the ground, through a thorough washing, and then raising me so my penis rested at the center of her chest and bringing me to orgasm while she flexed her pectorals. No question, the best shower I’d ever had.

That session was equally fun, although slightly more humbling. During the repetitions portion, Ra--- asked me to be her partner; and I was paired for the 3 minute wrestle with Re---, a slightly taller and sturdier woman who was clearly stronger than Ra--- but not as skilled. I still had the upper hand the majority of the match, but could not complete a pin and on several occasions was put in pin-facilitating positions by Re--- from which I had to work my way free. So I was the “winner” of the match, but not by as much as I had hoped. That night I also was rewarded by my girlfriend, differently but with similarly joyous outcomes. She told me I was invited back again, for the Thursday night of that week. I should have said no.

That Thursday, the repetitions portion ensued as it had the previous two times. Re--- was my partner; I guessed that your partner was whoever wrestled with you the previous session, or maybe that was just for me to make me comfortable. Then during wrestling, eight of the nine women there had their names called before me. While the fourth group was wrestling, I did the count and recognized that B--- would be my opponent; either that or it would be my girlfriend, but she only participated the previous week because there was an odd number, which wasn’t the case that night. I knew that B--- trained intensely. I knew that B--- was quite muscular. And I knew that B--- knew about me. I wanted to walk out the door. But I didn’t dare. My home life had much improved since I had been attending the studio – discipline had been replaced by reward, and I wanted that to continue. I wasn’t going to risk it, just because I might lose. But I had gained some skill the previous two studio sessions, and I was brimming with confidence from a big win the first time and a solid but unremarkable win the second time. Our names were called; we met in the center and shook hands; she smiled at me with a wry, knowing smile. My girlfriend also gave me a knowing smile as she put her hand between us. “Good luck” she said. “Wrestle.”

B--- was intensely and surprisingly strong, especially given her modest height. I should have expected it; after all she had participated in competitions where fitness and strength were rewarded. She was also extremely fast, and skilled, something I had seen the previous weeks when she wrestled other partners, but it was altogether different to be subject to it on that mat. I was pinned the first time in 35 seconds, folded and turned onto my back and cradled for a fall. There was applause from a few women on the bench. I got up, looked at them a bit dazed, and returned to the center, intent on redoubling my effort. We grappled again, and she got underneath me and turned me onto my front, leaping onto my back and getting me in a half nelson, which she used to grindingly turn my shoulders over and, laying across my chest and shoulders, got a second pin. More applause from the women on the bench. One minute 25 seconds had passed and I’d been pinned twice. B--- looked calm, focused and fresh; I was sweating from the effort of fending her off. I looked around again, this time looking for someone to call it off. But my girlfriend yelled out “wrestle” and I met B--- in the circle again, and again we grappled. This time she got underneath me and grabbed my leg with one arm and got her other arm around my neck, and then stood up, lifting me with her. I was in a cradle hold in the air, facing down towards the mat, and I couldn’t move. She held me that way for a few seconds, taking two or three turns to show the women how she had locked me up, and I heard hooting and hollering from them, I heard one of them, I’m not sure which one, telling her to slam me down. She didn’t do that, thankfully; she got back on her knees, dumped me to the mat, and spread herself over my head and shoulders with her legs clamped on one of my arms and her arms holding the other one down, like I was being crucified. Crucified with overpowering strength. Her chest was resting on my face. I felt her nipple against my cheek. I was aroused. Highly aroused. The pin was called, and then time was called. She got on her knees next to me and said “good maaa….” and stopped. “What’s this?” I heard her say. And then I felt her finger poke at my incredibly erect penis and I orgasmed wildly lying on the mat, ecstatically moaning while at the same time muttering “oh no. oh no.” B--- jumped up and backed away from me. I looked up at her, a bit spent from the effort and from the orgasm, and saw her turn to my girlfriend and say “Wow, I thought you had that trained. I guess losing turns him on too much.” I blurted out, “You thought what?” and before I could say another word I felt myself being dragged by the arm up and over a leg, and looked up and saw my girlfriend, irate like I hadn’t seen her before, and then I felt her roughly turn me over onto my stomach over her knee, and pull down my shorts, and while the women watched she proceeded to spank me while telling me how unacceptable and disrespectful that was, and that clearly she hadn’t made me as obedient and controlled as she had thought. After what felt like a long time being disciplined over her knee, but may have been 10 or 15 seconds, she threw me off of her knee and I rolled over and looked at the bench of women. There was a stunned silence, and they stared at me. I was intensely embarrassed and closed my eyes so I didn’t have to see them. But then I heard my girlfriend say, “Girls, please excuse me while I take him to the office for a few minutes. I can’t allow this level disrespect to go without more consequences.” I looked over at her and saw her walk over to her gym bag and bring it over towards me, setting it down by my face, open so I could see inside. My heart pounded. She grabbed me by the hair. I started to desperately try to get away but couldn’t. “No. Please don’t, not in front of them. Please.” She reached her arm under my stomach and lifted me, carrying me to her side folded over her forearm. I squirmed to get loose but she pulled on my hair again and I stopped. She leaned over, still holding me, showing just incredible strength, and pulled out the implement from her bag. I heard one of the women gasp, quite audibly. She held it up, and said “we’ll be right back after he re-learns his place. If you want to stay feel free to pair up and wrestle while I am gone.” Then she walked briskly holding me across the mats; I’m sure the view the girls had was of my bare rear staring right at them, and it was raw red from the spanking, and it must have looked ridiculous. I was taken to the office where she spent a full 15 minutes taking me in uncomfortable and sometimes painful ways, each time eliciting a verbal permission from me to take her, which is something that I had previously refused to do. But something inside of me told me this was the time to do it. I hated it. She was loud in explaining to me what I had done and what she was doing, no doubt so that the women outside could hear and know how I was being taken. She was fierce in penetrating me, harder thrusts than normal, and she was relentless. She did not orgasm through the entire process, and given her pace and movement this must have taken tremendous self-control as she usually orgasmed quite easily while taking me. I was apologizing over and over, louder and louder, disclosing more information that had previously been kept so private between us, hoping that the message would get through – “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it just happened! I don’t know why! I won’t ever orgasm again without your permission! I don’t want to orgasm ever unless you give me the command! Please take me home and discipline me, I deserve it!” And the entire scenario – my behavior, if you can call a reasonable sexual reaction “behavior;” her anger; public discipline followed by this, where all of the women in the studio knew that she was inside of me, could hear me grunting and pleading and could hear her jawing at me, and that our sexual roles were backwards and upside down and that I accepted that and that she was in complete and unquestioned control over me – and for I think the first time, it felt like true domination. True domination. A concept I had never personalized to our relationship, which always felt like I had been “modified” to willingly cede control to her. But this was different. I was being dominated, pure and simple, in public. I was submissive to her. I accepted what she was doing to me, even though I pleaded for her to stop. I accepted it. And I knew that the women outside had divined that it was a dominance and submissiveness that were created by the impact over time of her overwhelming strength, her superior physical power that I could not match, as opposed to something where I had been seeking out a person to dominate me and happened upon her.

She eventually stopped and held me tight against her, grabbing my chin with her hand and forcing me to look straight into her eyes, which was extremely hard for me because I felt like even looking at her was a sign of disrespect, a sign of combativeness, a sign that I was not sufficiently submissive. “Don’t ever make me do this again. Understand?” “Yes, I understand.” “UNDERSTAND?” She shook my face roughly and then reached down grabbed my penis and pulled on it. “YES!” I shrieked. “Good, let’s go.” She gathered my clothes with her other hand and then tugged on my penis and pulled me towards the door. I resisted just slightly, and she squeezed me hard, painfully, and I relented and followed her. She opened the door and walked out with me, tagging along behind her, tugged along behind her, utterly humiliated and emasculated, my head bowed as I couldn’t bear to look any of them in the eye, and she led me all the way to the bench where all of them were still sitting. Nobody had moved, nobody went to the mats to continue wrestling as my girlfriend had suggested. It was obvious that they had all been listening to what was going on behind the closed doors. She stood there with me, and apologized to the group. “I’m sorry this had to be done in earshot of you all, I was hoping you would be able to drown it out while you were practicing. It’s not normal for me to be this rough with him, but as you can guess it is quite normal for us that I am in control of our relationship, physically and otherwise. You saw how B--- took him down handily, so imagine what it must be for him when I wrestle him at home, which we do all the time. I need to take him home now and work harder on his self-control. I can’t let this happen again.” While she talked, she dressed me, putting on each article of clothing one by one and motioning for me to move whatever limb she wanted moved. Yet another demonstration of how she was able to control me. As we left, she grabbed my penis again, through the fabric of my shorts, and pulled me behind her outside to the car.

Our relationship stood at 2 years and 8 months. Our third anniversary was approaching and I had been thinking about what I would do to surprise, her but really I was hoping she would propose. But leaving the studio, being walked to my car, physically pulled by my own manhood, captive in her hand, I knew it was over. I just had to find the strength, something I hadn’t had for a long, long time.

Offline UnholyDk1103

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Re: My twisted story with dominant karen
« Reply #12 on: October 13, 2017, 11:51:49 am »
This is so exciting! Way to keep up the intensity on your updates. I look forward to each day knowing I could get to read a bit more! K+

Offline sevenpeight

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Re: My twisted story with dominant karen
« Reply #13 on: October 14, 2017, 01:32:56 pm »
Magnificent!

Offline skipberg

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Re: My twisted story with dominant karen
« Reply #14 on: October 15, 2017, 06:01:14 pm »
Arriving to our house the night that she humiliatingly dominated and disciplined me in front of her wrestling group, she had to know that she had pushed me past my breaking point; I was emitting it as clearly as I could from my body language and vocal tone. After she pulled me inside, I removed my clothes as I was required to do, but did so in a manner that demonstrated disinterest and a complete lack of energy. Instead of waiting for further instruction from her, I walked past her with my head drooping and went into our bedroom and laid down. She tried to talk to me, but I ignored her, and while on any other night such behavior would be unthinkable and would result in immediate consequences, she let me be on this night.

After about 20 minutes of laying down, deep in thought about how I could extricate myself from the relationship while she showered in the bathroom down the hall, she re-entered the bedroom wearing a teddy that on any other night would have been incredibly sexy and arousing to me, but that night I showed…and had…no interest in noticing. She walked to the side of the bed where I was laying down – and I was lying on my side in a way that it was clear that I saw her approaching so she knew that I saw her but wasn’t reacting, as opposed to had heard her but hadn’t seen her – and caressed my hair and told me everything was going to be ok. She did not apologize. She just tried to make me feel more comfortable with what had happened. At that moment I needed an apology from her but at the same time did not want one so that it would add to my reason to leave. She took me by the underside of my top arm and pulled me so I was sitting up, still slumping a bit from my lack of energy and interest, and put two fingers under my chin and lifted my head to look up at her. Again, on any other night, sitting before her incredibly powerful and muscular physique, so tantalizingly close to me, would have sent my into immediate arousal and she would have loved commenting on how I would spring to attention upon the sight of her with so much skin showing, but that night there was no such reaction. She reached down and fondled me for a few seconds but still no response. She gave a modest frown, not one of anger but one of concern and sadness. At that moment, I don’t know why she did it, whether it was purposeful or just an involuntary contraction of her muscle, she flexed her pectoral muscles, and her breasts, held tightly by the teddy, bounced in front of my face slightly but noticeably. I hadn’t seen her do that before, and even though my intent was to have no reaction to anything she did to me that night, I know I gave a reaction, a small raise to my eyebrows of surprise, or interest, or excitement, that she noticed. After a slight pause where clearly she was considering her next move, she did it a second time and I could not help myself from emitting a soft “hmm” of interest. Then she reached her arms crosswise across her chest and removed the straps from her shoulders; whenever she did this I was astounded by the expansion of her biceps, they looked as if they were desperate to escape from the skin of her arms, and this night was no different. She lowered the teddy down and exposed her chest to me, and my nose was about even with the middle of her pectorals. She started to flex her chest again, bouncing the meat of her pecs together, and then alternating left, then right, then left again, while her breasts, so perfectly and naturally round as they rested upon and emerged from such a solid base of chest muscle, bounced before me, as if they were dancing to the beat of some silent orchestra. She continued the artistry – left, right, left, both, right, left, the definition and striations in her chest emerging and relenting, the breasts dancing – for what seemed like ages, and as I became entranced by the motion and her capability to create it, I lost track of the position of my own body, and my own head, and moments later I felt a heave of her breast touch my nose, and I was thinking maybe that she had leaned in closer to me but in reality my head was drawing itself closer to her chest against every intention I had to show my disinterest to her, against every desire I had to move away from her, physically and emotionally, and still my weak and pliable mind let my face get even closer to her so that I felt the point of her nipple rap against the top of my upper lip, and on the next bounce hit the bottom of my upper lip and then my face was so close and my mouth open in wonder that with the next bounce her nipple entered my mouth and my mouth instinctively closed around it, holding her still bouncing breast inside of it, and I remember how the continued flexing of her pectoral now made not only her breast bounce but was so powerful that also my head started to bounce as it was latched to her, and in a moment of brief clarity I had the desire to let go and walk out the door but the desire to stay attached to her at that moment become too strong to ignore and instead of releasing myself from her I repositioned my mouth so that I could strengthen the latch, and held on tight while my head was overpowered by the expansion and contraction of her pectorals and I became a bit dizzy from the jostling so close to my head, and before I knew it I had reached my arms around her waist and clenched my hands together behind the small of her back, holding tightly to her while resting them atop the muscles of her buttocks, and I felt her hand cup the back of my head softly and hold it there, and out of the corner of my eye I could see her massively muscled arm to the side of my head and could have sworn that she was flexing that in concert with her pectorals, but it was probably the continued flexing of her chest that bobbed my head and created the illusion but still the vision of that arm was incredibly sexy to me, and while I suckled for a long, long time, at least an hour possibly two, my immediate need for separation melted away and I was left with this intense need for everything she offered to me, everything she could do to me and for me, the intense care she must have felt for me despite her behavior that night, and the protection and love that she could offer to me, and I released my inhibition and my groin sprang to life and she caused me to release what must have been a dozen times while I was latched to her, holding my head tighter to her while calling out “Now!” and then relaxing and minutes later holding me tight again and calling out “Now!” once again, and later calling it out twice in sequence which made me grit my teeth a bit from the intense endorphine release and she called out “ow” from the pain, and in my state even the “ow” that rhymed with “now” was enough to get me to release yet a third time in succession such that I was so incredibly and painfully sensitive that I had to unlatch myself from her nipple and ask her to “please stop, please stop, I can’t take anymore,” my first words to her since I was in that back room at the wrestling studio being taken by her in such a disciplinary and public way, and then I was carried by her to the bathroom where she drew a bath and cradled me while the bath was filling and then she entered the bath with me and cleansed my emissions off my torso and groin and legs and also off of her legs and stomach and chest, and soaped me everywhere while I laid atop her sturdy and powerful physique, completely spent from the experience, and finally she took me out of the bath, entirely clean, wrapped in a towel, and laid me in bed in the same position where I started, on my side, facing the edge of the bed, curled just slightly, and she sidled up behind me and spooned me, wrapping her arms around me and holding me so incredibly tight to her body, where I could feel the hardness of her chest and her erect nipples pressing into my back, and the heaviness of her muscled arms on my side, and the heaviness of her lean yet sturdy thighs draping over my own thighs, and I felt so unbelievably safe throughout that entire night that when I woke up in the morning and she was no longer enveloping me, no longer holding me so lovingly, no longer encompassing my smaller body with her larger one, I could be forgiven for feeling lonely and unprotected and needy. But even after all of that, even that morning after I had released so much inhibition and so much else to her, I still knew I had to end it. But I knew it wouldn’t be easy. Because I knew I would never want to stop feeling the way I felt that night.

I made it known to her. Maybe not clear, but certainly known. Over the next few weeks I became more withdrawn, not as eager to participate in things I relished before, and more likely to have a reason to work late. She knew what was going on with me, and it was clear to me that she didn’t want me to go, because similar to that first night she tried to introduce new elements that would draw me back in.

A few days after the wrestling studio incident she let me enter her while on top. In any normal relationship, this would be no big deal; partners switch top and bottom all the time. But not in ours. Her direction to mount her caught me completely off guard, I thought it was a trap, and she had to tell me twice before I climbed upon her. Over the previous year, traditional sex, by which I mean sex where she didn’t use the implement on me, was extremely uncommon. However, when we did have traditional sex, I was entirely accustomed to the feeling of being under her – looking up at the expansiveness of her upper body as she sat upright while mounted on me and stretched out her chest, and then leaned over putting her arms astride my head and holding my hands tight to the bed or the floor or the table, looking down at her legs which straddled my hips and, in bending back, revealed the deep cuts of her quads and the mass of her calves bunched beneath her hamstrings behind her knees. I was used to that view, and I liked it, as it highlighted the difference in size between us and I had always found that a turn-on. But being on top that night was disorienting. She knifed her legs wide to give me access and I had difficulty taking my gaze off of the definition of her inner thighs, which I didn’t see particularly often. And when I leaned over to get a brief rest my hands naturally fell upon her arms and grasped them, hoping to give myself better leverage to continue my efforts, and even after all the time we’d been together it amazed me how solid the arm felt in my hands, how impossible it was to wrap my fingers fully around the girth of her biceps and triceps, even moreso when she decided to flex her arms as I held them, and how easy it was for her to lift her arms while I was placing the full weight of my torso upon them, and raise my body up off of her, to reorient me to an upright position where I would continue to pump into her and hope and pray that she would give me the “now” code before I ran out of energy and my muscles started to ache painfully. Which she did, of course, just as I was readying myself for the embarrassment – or the punishment – of being able to continue no longer, and I released everything I had into her and collapsed onto her chest, and despite my own deep desire to show no affection towards this woman, I could not help myself from reaching my lips up and kissing at her neck, in a kind of thank you and I loved that gesture, for which the next morning I hated myself for being so weak around her.

And the following week she demonstrated another bout of leniency; she invited me to join her at the gym. Truth be told I was very, very hesitant to join her. My experience at the wrestling studio was too fresh, and the idea of being put in another situation that might end in public humiliation was not attractive to me. But she assured me that the idea was to spend more time together out and about, and I trusted her. She did nothing untoward with me at the gym, nothing at all. But still I never went back.

It’s one thing to be out at dinner, or walking in the park, or throwing a Frisbee with your girlfriend when she is visibly larger and stronger than you. When she’s revealing her legs, it gives people a glimpse of the reality; when she wears a t-shirt that shows her arms it becomes a reason to do a double take; and when she wears a tank top that shows her arms and her shoulders, it generates stares that fall upon her as a different and intriguing specimen, but also that fall upon me in wonder at why such a powerful, vibrant woman is romantic with an inferiorly-physiqued man, and by extension the wonder is what we do together. But it’s all implied, based on the fact that she looks bigger so the assumption is that she’s stronger.

It’s an entirely different animal altogether to be at the gym with your girlfriend when she is visibly larger and stronger than you, and it can be directly and publicly measured by pounds lifted or reps completed. And believe me, when we were there, we got the looks, but it was clear that people were tracking the numbers, not overtly but subtly and with laughter. It wasn’t my girlfriend’s intention to do this to me, I do believe that she was trying to reach out a conciliatory hand by inviting me into a sanctum where previously I had not been permitted. But the end result was more humiliation. How else could I feel when she was bench pressing 2.5x more than I was; she was doing flies at 3x what I was able to do; she was doing weighted dips carrying 75% of my weight plus her own; she was doing pushdowns at 2.5x; and the whole time her arms and chest were getting more pumped, expanding, getting veinier and the separation of our physiques in that environment was circuslike in its proportion. Not a single person in the gym would have walked out thinking anything other than either “wow, that guy must be an amazing person to have her keeping him as her boyfriend;” or “wow, he must be a complete submissive.” I prefer the former way of thinking of course, but all I could imagine as I looked around and saw the eyes on her and me was that they were thinking the latter, and I didn’t like the feeling. I wanted to get out of there, and told her so, but she was very clear with me that we would not be leaving until she had finished her workout, and to not even think about embarrassing her. So I left the gym and sat outside on a bench and stewed about a plan to leave her. A plan to take back my manhood. A plan to re-emerge as a confident, non-submissive human. And then she emerged from the gym and, annoyed that I had left, grabbed me by the back of the neck and roughly walked me to the car to bring me home.

Aside from periodic bouts of annoyance that resulted in some light punishment, she was extremely patient and kind to me over the ensuing weeks and month as I tried my best to gain courage to leave. But it was hard. I engineered a business trip, my first in a long while, to separate myself for a few days from her, but in the middle of the second day I found myself needing her desperately, like I sometimes did while at work in the middle of the day where I would call her and we would meet and she would either grip me to calm me down or handle me in other ways that would calm me down, but without her nearby I had no outlet. I even tried to grip myself but could not come up with the right mechanism to do what she could do with it. So I raced to the airport and flew home early, and upon arrival through the front door to our house I found myself throwing myself at her begging her to take me as if I were jonesing for an addictive drug and needed a fix. I couldn’t be without her for more than a couple of days, I learned, I had become so dependent on her dominance over me.

And aside from my inability to not need her constantly, I could not withstand any of her advances or demands. What she wanted I provided, either housework or errands or sexual activity. If she sat down on the couch to watch television, which she did wearing either bra and panties or nothing, and stretched her legs out to the sides, I knew that was my signal to service her and I would dive to my knees before her and start using my tongue, taking the opportunity to also feel every muscle I could reach. It was a reaction I could not control, based on what had become years of her training me on how to behave with her, what she required of me, and how quickly she expected it. I knew leaving her would require years more of unwinding the training, and the thought of that process was daunting to me.

So over the course of around 6 weeks, straddling our third anniversary, I took the day off of work and rented my own apartment a few miles away, and started removing my belongings very slowly and deliberately from our house to my secret apartment. It took weeks to remove them, and to this day I find it hard to believe that she didn’t notice how few clothes I had remaining in the house, but I guess it was because she never focused on my clothes as I never wore them in the house. But one night while she was out with her friends I left with the last of my belongings. No note, no goodbye, nothing. I was there, and then I wasn’t. I thought that was best, to create a separation that she would have difficulty unseparating. If she could find me, she could undo it, I knew that. One grip and I would be back in our apartment together but under tighter supervision and control and with additional training that would serve to break me down further so I would never, ever consider leaving again. The thought of being found scared me.

I don’t know what happened to her over the next week. I stayed in the apartment and did not leave; I’d stocked it with food and anything I needed to survive. I told my office I was on vacation. She was looking for me, I knew that then and I knew that now.

But she found me. It took her eight days. To this day I don’t know how she did it; I hadn’t been in touch with anyone. But there was a knock at my door and, not even conceiving that it could be anyone other than a mailman or neighbor or someone innocuous I opened the door and immediately she was inside and upon me, immobilizing my physically, not out of anger, it seemed, but rather to ensure that I would not try to escape while she talked to me. I could feel her reaching her hand down towards my groin and I thrashed in her grasp to stop her, and then took an unprecedented step of biting her wrist which earned me two very, very hard backhands across the face in both directions, but also earned me a release from her grasp.

“Sit down,” she said, “we need to talk.”

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