Bringing My "A" Game: Making Her My Woman In 10 Easy Steps Note: This story has retroactively been made the first in a series about the domestication of an agonophilic couple, living within a household formed by a covenant protocol. I have tagged this series "CMM", which stands for "Cave Man's Marriage", an allusion to a comment I made here:
http://ravishu.com/forums/index.php?topic=25219.msg137295#msg137295Prologue:I recently posted a story entitled, “Slut Night: Stephanie – Deflowered and Defiled” (
http://ravishu.com/forums/index.php?topic=25440.0 ). It took me three days to write it out, mostly because I was re-living the true story upon which it was very loosely based, and I kept getting turned on. But I toughed through it, and I posted it, because I felt compelled to do so.
It felt good for about 18 hours after that.
Then the guilts hit me. Paraphilic scene drop. Because while it was all hot in scene play, in the cold light of day, my language seemed demeaning. And I never truly felt that way about her. “Stephanie’s” (alias) actual ravishment scene was partly intended to affirm her, never to make her feel “less than”.
I went and made my guilts worse by posting trophy photos (
http://ravishu.com/forums/index.php?topic=25464.0) of another playmate (with permission, of course). While in the context of the scene being played, specifically requested as a street-style capture and incarceration at the hands of a sex fiend who cared nothing for his victim, but who kept her for indefinite use as a fucktoy, the rhetoric was appropriate. That woman was also somebody else whom I never dreamt of demeaning outside of scene, and in fact, whom I endeavored to lift up.
I then set about the exercise of writing a ravishment tale to balance all that out. One in which I would refrain from addressing my conquest as “whore”, “slut”, “cunt”, “fucktoy”, “cumdumpster”, “receptacle”, etc. I have also refused to allow the ravisher to “use” his prize. While, in many ways, far more genuine, it has proven to be an interesting challenge. It has forced me to allow the word “bitch”, but only while reframed in the context of an analogy to animal breeding (stud vs. bitch...mount her and make her my bitch...), or as part of the biker slang hierarchy of female partners (bitch/butter/betty/backwarmer, deb/property, Old Lady). This is an analogous hierarchy to the vanilla (girlfriend, fiancee, wife) and the Leather (Collar of Consideration, Training Collar, Formal Collar). In any case, it denotes possession, claim or ownership with some level of exclusivity...not a depersonalizing epithet. Likewise, use of the term "property" at the end is biker slang for a territorial claim to the exclusive right of sexual use to a woman...in this context, not an indication of a Master/slave arrangement.
In this exercise, I discovered, much to my dismay, that I am a very predicable creature. As it turns out, one can deconstruct every ravishment story I have ever written, including every scene I’ve ever planned, into 10 easy steps. I hate that my writing is formulaic and I find this revelation discouraging. However, given that I write with authenticity from my kinky soul, and I'm experienced enough to know who I am, perhaps it's no surprise that the same themes consistently find their way to the page.
I have been able to list all 10 of these steps, employing only a minimum of poetic license, as starting with the letter “A”. I have therefore named this paradigm, “Bringing My ‘A’ Game”.
Those steps reliably appear to be:
1) Admiration (of one or more traits or features)
2) Acquisition (of the target, for my predatory stalking)
3) Assertion (of my sexual dominance)
4) Arousal (of my prey, sexually, that she might surrender and/or submit to my ravishment of her)
5) Acquiescence (by my prey, wherein permission to ravish her is granted, albeit reluctantly or tacitly)
6) Adoration (of her body by penetration until she gives her orgasm up to me)
7) Acceptance (by my prey, of me, as the exclusive holder of the rights to her sex/ owner of her sexual being/ Lord of her new household/Daddy/protector/lover/Dom/mate/man)
8.) Anointment (of my conquest, ritually, with my cum, marking her as my Prize/scenting her with my sex as a territorial claim)
9) Attachment (of my Prize, unto me, such that she wishes to be ravished again and again)
10) Adornment (with a gift, like jewelry, or a collar, whereupon I permanently indicate my claim on her to the world, because eventually she’s going to wash my cum off.)
The reader should recognize my heroine styled as a seasoned biker mama similar to Gemma Teller from Sons of Anarchy.
___
Step 1: Admiration She was a fine looker. Big hair. Tight jeans with rhinestones encrusted all up her thighs and ass. Old enough to have been around the block a few times, and to build up a necessary veil of cynicism. She'd been surrounded by rough guys her whole damn life...and she was under no illusions about what drives us. She'd learned to coo and coax, to manipulate, at first to survive, later on for gain, and now...just because she fuckin' can.
It was a roadhouse bar, nothing special. Bikers come and go. A few fistfights a week. It's not the first time I've seen her. I've been hanging back, waiting to see if she's already spoken for. Nobody's shown up to claim her yet.
Step 2: Acquisition of the target She just ended a phone call. She doesn't look happy.
"Men," I say, in performed empathy, "can't live with 'em, can't shoot 'em."
She chuckles under her breath. "Naw, Sweetie, it's not man trouble this time. Nice that someone else can appreciate that though. Guess you're gay, huh? I was wondering why you were the only man in here who hasn't hit on me."
"No, actually," I said, amused, "but I couldn't help but notice those fellas didn't make much time with you. I guess I just figured you to be the Old Lady of one of these Harley ridin' guys."
"I'm my own lady," she said.
"Yes...you...are..." I said, looking her up and down, my eyes following every curve. "Buy you a drink, lady?"
She felt better, now that I'd finally shown some interest. She was beginning to think she was losing her touch. She let me buy her that drink...which was further than anybody else had gotten. She needed to set the pace, the others had missed that fact. Over the evening, she started flirting. The hair flip. Touching my forearm. The fake billiards lesson where I obligatorily wrap my arms around her, bend her over the table, and show her to handle a big stick...while my own stick humped dat ass. All the cliché crap was there.
I went to kiss her, and she placed her hand flat in the middle of my chest, and said, "Easy, Tiger..."
"No problem, baby,” I said, backing off. “I'm in no rush. I can behave. Just don't blame a guy for gettin' inspired around you."
Ten minutes later, it was she who was kissing me.
Every time I opened the door, she walked through it, willingly. I only had to demonstrate I was willing to let her do so at her own speed. Every time she drew a line, I respected it. It took her a few tries to process that... it wasn't a frequent dynamic in her relations with men. I started pushing my luck, just to prove I could back down when told…just so she could practice speaking up and trusting me to hear her.
This little dance went on between us for a couple hours, with me escalating in my boldness, and her letting me go just a little farther each time before she pulled the ripcord. The time it took for her to get comfortable and come back to me, as though it was her own idea all along, shortened progressively each time. She was getting comfortable.
It was about the time I noticed this, that I felt myself decide. I was going to get inside her. It was no longer a question…I would penetrate her, before the night was out.
Step 3: Assertion of Sexual Dominance I pinned her against the wall and started kissing her, deeply. I lingered a while, and let her get used to the idea. I kept going soon enough, groping her breasts and pushing my knee between her legs. She reacted, trying pushing me away, completely unconvincingly, without any verbal objection, or nearly enough force to escape me. I placed my other hand around her throat, and whispered in her ear:
"Sshhh...relax babe, just stick with me."
Step 4: ArousalMy rough calloused hands found their way under her brassiere, and I pinched and tugged at her nipples. She moaned and starting grinding against my knee when I did this. I worked a hand down the front of her jeans, and diddled her clit until she got good and wet.
"Oh, fuck!" she exclaimed.
"You like that, huh?" I interrogated as I fondled her.
She bit her lower lip to keep from screaming so loud as to draw attention to our stolen moment in the dark corner of the bar. She nodded frantically and answered with a tight lipped "mmm-hmm".
"I'm not going to stop until you come, do you understand? You're going to give it up to me, right here."
She gasped. She considered telling me to stop. She hesitated to do so, because I’d already proven to her that I actually would stop...
In that indecisive moment, I demanded her surrender. I growled in her ear, "Beg me to make you come..."
Step 5: Acquiescence She gave into the pleasure.
She was no stranger to dirty talk. She knew what to say. In a sultry tone, she said, "ooh, yeah, fuck me good, Daddy, make me come all over your big strong hand." She stopped resisting, draping her arms across my shoulders and clinging to me a little instead.
Step 6: Adoration Then I rammed a couple of fingers up into her twat and ground the palm of my hand hard into her clit. I pumped up and down, stroking inside her, locating her G-Spot. She bucked against my palm and rode my hand until she damn near broke it.
"Good girl," I said as her spasming honeypot gripped and sucked at my fingers, “so pretty when you come for Daddy.”
Step 7: Acceptance The next morning, I was in my garage, working on the car when she stopped by.
I stood up and greeted her, "well hey there pretty mama, what you doin' here?"
<crack!>
She gave me a dramatic open-handed bitch slap across the chops. And she meant it.
"You raped me, you asshole! You raped me, in front of fuckin’ everybody. You raped me, and I liked it. I came for you, you fuckin’ prick! And now my whole fuckin' universe is all fucked up!"
She yelled in frustration, and reeled back to hit me again. I grabbed her wrist in mid air. I gripped her throat with the other hand and pushed her against the nearest wall, pinning her wrist above her head.
I took a deep breath, and tried to make my voice as calm as hers was agitated.
"Listen to the sound of my voice, and hear me. I maybe had that first one coming...maybe...which is why I let you get away with it. You're done hitting me now.”
I let go of her. She kinda wrenched her wrist from my grip as I was releasing it anyway. But she stayed at the wall, she didn't run from me, so I stayed there too. There we were, hovering, not even an inch of space between us, in that familiar intimate space where we'd connected so deeply the night before.
“I didn't rape you, Beautiful. I molested you. Don’t ask me to regret that, because I don’t. And I might have taken some liberties doing so, but you certainly didn't say no, either... and you know damn well you could have, and it would have stopped. It didn't stop, because you didn't want it to stop, Sweetheart."
I stared into her eyes for a moment. They were red and puffy, but she wasn’t crying. She collapsed into my arms. I held her close, and stroked her back. I rocked her back and forth as we embraced.
"But then you knew that already. You didn't come here to confront me. You came back for more, didn’t you? It’s alright, you know. They all do."
Her head rubbed against my chest as she nodded. Then she reached until her little clutch purse and produced a brass key, which she pressed into the palm of my hand...the same palm she came on the night before.
"532 West Elm", she said. And that's all she said.
I chuckled a little under my breath. "Now who's moving too fast?" I said. "I have a key to your place now? What's next, picking out china patterns?"
"I need you to finish what you started, and own me. You can't just do what you did and leave. I mean it was hot...but I hate floating around unclaimed like this. Next time your dick gets hard thinking about me, I need you to invade my home, and rape my pussy. Jump me and take me like you did last night, at your whim, on your time. Do the deciding for both of us. Be my big strong Stud, put me down hard, and make me Your bitch. I want your cum inside me, dammit."
"I never once called you that," I said, becoming less calm, and beginning to stammer. "And... and you don't owe me anything, if that's what this is. I made you come, because I wanted to make you come. Because I felt like it, and I could. Not to obligate you.”
She saw my agitation was real. She caressed my face, and rested her finger vertically upon my lips to quiet me. Her tone became a comforting, soothing coo in my ear. "Shh...I know, baby. That's why you're the one I choose to have me."
I stood there in silence for a while, and let her pet on me, kissing at the corners of my beard and rubbing her hands across my shoulders and my pecs with performed admiration. She knew what she was doing. I felt myself decide to to it, and it surprised me a little at the same time. Did I even decide, really? Or did she just coax me into it?
“You know, it stops being rape when you are literally asking for it.,” I said, “so don’t come in here trying to slap me again after.”
She giggled. “I know, Daddy. And I’m sorry about the drama. The truth is, you can’t rape me. You can't violate me. I want it. But whatever we got brewing between us, it’s some kinda of raw, primal, chemical lust. You know it, and I know it. And you may be a good man, the best man I’ve maybe ever met even, but you’re still a man…as much as you have been the opposite of every guy who has ever hurt me, you clearly like the hunt. I mean, I'd say you played the long game, but you were inside me in about three hours, so it wasn't that long..."
She wasn't wrong. I did. I stalked her like prey the night prior.
She grabbed the collar of my shirt and leaned in, whispering in my ear all sexy, “You’ll get bored with me if I’m too easy, and we can’t have that, now can we? It’s my job to make you work for it. And it’s your job to overpower me, and have your way with me anyway. That’s the natural order of things.”
She groped my cock and balls through the front of my pants, and repeated, “532 West Elm”.
Then she walked away, the heat of my stare on her ass as her hips swayed off into the horizon.
Step 8: Anointment I didn't go over right away. I didn't want to be that predictable, and I didn't want her to think she could play me so easily...even though she clearly had.
I watched outside the place for a few hours, catching glimpses through the windows. Stalking, I suppose. She had expected me to show... She had enough dinner for two, she fixed herself up all nice. I waited until she gave up on me and started turning in for the evening.
I let myself in quietly and came up on her from behind. I pinned her up against the wall again, a position that was fast becoming our spiritual home as a couple, this time her breasts crushed against it as I gripped her throat. I stripped her from the waist down, undressing her slowly, making her wait in anticipation. I cut her panties away with my knife. I played with her clit until it got wet, then rammed my thumb up her pussy.
She started to struggle, but she didn't say no. She knew how to say no, but she didn’t, because she wasn’t asking for it to stop. It turned her on to be manhandled. She was testing me…delighting in my physical strength and my control over her body. In struggling, she was saying the opposite of “no”…she was prompting me to put her down just a little harder. Watching her wriggle under my control caused a prominent bulge in my pants, as my erection strained against my inseam. I felt a drop of precum ooze from the end of my cock.
I withdrew my hand from her twat and unzipped my fly. I pulled my cock out, slid it into her wet groove, and smeared my precum on her clit. Her knees buckled.
Dragged her to the the couch, twisting her arm behind her back, and bending her over the armrest. She gasped and arched her back, pushing her breasts forward.
“Beg me to rape your pussy.”
She hesitated. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and snatched her head back as I interrogated her.
“Beg me to rape your pussy, bitch.”
“Rape me, Daddy. My pussy needs your cock. Force yourself on me, and make me Your bitch. I need your cum inside me.”
I impaled her on my fat throbbing cock, and starting having my way with her. Her breasts danced as the force of my thrusts rippled through her flesh.
“Do you feel your sweet tight pussy stretched over my big fat cock? Do you like that?”
She muttered and hummed. I wasn’t letting her get away with that.
“Answer me!” I commanded, as I slammed into her with enough force to get her attention...to suggest that I would beat her dirty little confessions out of her with my cock, if she made me...
She gasped at the shock of it, “Um, Yes, Daddy, your big hard cock feels so good stretching my pussy. Take me. Take me rough.”
I buried myself balls deep into her, and punched the bulbous head of my cock passed her cervix. I began to beat myself off in the cramping, sucking opening to her womb as it closed around me, gripping the sensitive ridge, milking me for my seed. She screamed as I took her so deep, raping her at her very core, that she didn’t know where I stopped and she began.
The words came out of her pretty painted lips one syllable at a time, each one of my thrusts pounding another sound out of her.
“Oh. My. God. Yes. Dad-dy. Yes. Um. Dad-dy. Please. Take. Me. Yes. God.”
“You feel my balls getting heavy as they spank you? They’re filling with the sperm I’m gonna dump in you. I’m gonna pump you full. I’m gonna inject thick white ropes of cum up into your belly. Do you feel me invading your greedy fuckin’ womb? You feel it sucking me, pulling me in deeper as I jerk off inside you? I’m gonna write my name across your walls inside in cum. This is your home now, do you understand? You will live the rest of your natural life impaled on my filthy rapist cock, taking load after load, until you pop out my little rapist son to carry on for me, once I’m gone, raping women just like you.”
“Oh. God. Please. Don’t. Stop. Dad-dy.”
“Beg me to make you come on my filthy rapist cock.”
“Please. Dad-dy. Make. Me. Come.
I let go of her hair and twisted her arm a bit harder. I moved my hand down to her crotch and began molesting her clit as I rammed myself into her. I needed her to come first. I needed to know that she was really into it and not just complying to survive an assault. I needed to know I wasn't a monster after what I just said.
“Who’s bitch are you?” I demanded.
“I. I. I’m...”, She almost said it. Ramping into orgasm, she almost slipped up and admitted the truth, that she was already Mine, and had been for a full day now. But she caught herself, and the manipulator in her remembered to make me work for it. “Please. Dad-dy. Fill. Me. With. Cum. And. Make. Me. Your. Bitch. I. Want. Your. Cum. In-side. Me.”
Oh, that little pre-condition shot through my cock like a lightning bolt. I swore I swelled, getting bigger and harder inside her. It was a challenge...a gauntlet thrown down. Or was it a blind jealous rage that she could, at this point, belong to anybody else? Whatever. She was my bitch, she just didn't know it yet. And it was my job as a man now to pound that lesson into her good so she remembered. Anything less than a full acknowledgement of my claim on her would make me defective...inadequate...
Clever minx.
“Beg me to put a son in your belly.”
“Please. Dad-dy. Make. Me. Carry. Your. Son."
She came fast after that. Her spasms pulled me in deeper, sucking me off, and I poured my balls into her.
I collapsed on top of her. I left my cock in her as long as I could...like an animal, plugging her shut and keeping my cum in her. I imagined my sperm battering and penetrating her egg, just like I'd done to her pussy. I wanted her to know that, long after my cock softened and fell out of her, my sperm would still be inside her, raping her all over again. Long after my cum was gone, my son would grow. She would never be rid of me. Part of me would always be forced inside her.
“You feel my cum coating you inside, bitch?” I asked.
“Mmm…Yes, Daddy.”
“Who’s bitch are you?”
“I’m Your bitch, Daddy. Thank you for making me Your bitch.”
And with her acknowledgement of her place, I dug some of our combined wetness out of her dripping pussy, and painted her tits with our liquid sex, as a ritual anointment.
“I’m marking you. Branding you. You're my property now. Other guys are gonna come sniffing around you looking for some honey, and they’re gonna smell my scent on you. The scent of my sex is your new perfume. Their gonna know that I’ve put you down hard, cum inside you, and made you My bitch."
It was strange and new for her, to belong to somebody. But it felt good.
Step 9: AttachmentWe went out for breakfast, after she slept the night safe in my arms, passed out on the couch, full of my cum.
Being a woman full of drama, however, she couldn't leave well enough alone.
“Daddy...what would you do if you caught me with another man?”, she asked, trying to provoke me.
“I’d cut his balls off and feed them to him,” I said, with a touch of ridiculous false bravado, waving my knife around, letting her know I was perfectly aware of the little game she was playing.
“Oh, I see,” she said wryly, “and what would you do to me, Daddy, if I went whoring around on you?”
“I’d put you in your place. On the end of my fat throbbing cock, where you fuckin' belong. I’d pump you full of cum until you remembered who you belonged to...who's bitch you were. I'd beat it into hard so you wouldn't forget again.”
It was the correct answer. Every other man who’d ever cum inside her had dashed out the door as soon as he could pull his pants up. It was new to her, to be kept and protected, instead of used and forgotten. I knew she was gonna test me. I knew she wasn’t going to believe it was real until one day finally came when she looked up, and I was still around. I was ready for that much.
“Hmm,” she said, “sounds fun, Stud. Maybe I should go throw myself at some bikers, just so you will beat some sense into me with your thick angry cock.”
She was deliberately trying to make me lose it. She needed to know that she wasn’t just a disposable fucktoy, that she meant something to me. She thought upsetting me with this kind of talk would prove that I cared, that I truly intended to keep her. And she was succeeding. I knew I was being manipulated, and it didn't matter. She was succeeding. And this time, there was no question about what I felt. It was jealous rage at the thought of her, catching the cum of another man...of losing my claim on her.
I slammed my fork down on the table and stood up. The whole damn restaurant stopped and stared at us, and I didn't give a fuck. Right then, my universe nothing more than her, and my stirred up soul. I walked behind her, and tipped her chair backward on it's two rear feet, such that I was then the only thing keeping her from falling to the ground. I stared down, directly into her eyes, as I hovered over her in dominance.
“Mine,” I grunted.
“Yours,” she replied. This time, it was she attempting to make her voice as calm as mine was agitated...but she could not hide that she was pleased with herself for instigating this public display of territorialism.
She petted my beard, and cooed at me some more. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m not really thinking about running around on you. You know that, right? Please let’s just have a nice breakfast.”
We sat in silence for a few moments, as we ate. Not peaceful. Silent.
“Daddy?” she asked, plagued with anxiety, and still unable to leave well enough alone, “Now that I’m Yours, and you have me, how long am I gonna be able to hold onto you, before you get bored with me and need a fresh conquest? I mean, how can you make me Yours again, when you already have me?”
“You know what, bitch?”, I said, slightly exasperated. “I’m fairly confident you have the skills to manipulate me into raping you, over and over, without having to throw yourself at a bunch of bikers just to make me do it. You snared me this far in that pussy, didn’t you? Seriously…who’s really captured who here? Like you said…I need to take you as much as you need to be taken. It’s the natural order of things. We're a match. Deal with it."
“Promise?” she asked, tentatively.
“Promise.” I said.
Step 10: AdornmentIt was evening. The sky was orange and purple at sunset. The crickets were chirping. We sat together quietly, with her in my lap, her arms around my shoulders.
I pulled out a tiny glass vial, no bigger than a vitamin pill, strung on a leather chord. It was filled opalescent white, no bubbles, and from any distance, easily mistaken for a solid.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Jewelry,” I said. “You’re my Old Lady now. Everybody needs to know. So, I want you to put this on, and never take it off.”
“I’m you’re Old Lady?” she asked, “when did we decide this, Daddy?”
“That night, in the bar. Around the same time I decided to molest you. I decided that you needed to wear my cum on your chest everywhere you went, so everybody would know you were my woman.”
“Oh my God, I wanna break this open and rub it into my clit now,” she reacted.
“No need,” I said. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”
