Amazonian Mistress

I first met Bonnie two years ago in a health club to
which we both belonged, and I was immediately struck
by her strength, beauty and femininity. The only thing
I could think of was what it would feel like to use
her. The thought of fucking her silly kept running
through my mind as we exercised together more and more
often.

An inch taller than my own 5’9″ and with a powerful,
muscular, yet shapely body that outweighed my own by
a good ten pounds, I was fascinated at the way she
could out lift most of the men at the club and struck
up a conversation with her. When she invited me to
come home with her I accepted eagerly.

However, I soon discovered what she had in mind for me.
Quickly changing into sensuous black tights that
revealed every muscle and curve of her fantastic body,
she challenged me to a friendly wrestling match.

Almost drooling at the prospect of physical contact
with this gorgeous Amazon, I readily agreed, and before
I realized it she had me downstairs on a wrestling mat
in her game-room. We closed, locking hands, and I held
my own for a moment or two while she tested my
strength, but after that I never had a chance. She was
stronger and faster than I and knew every trick in the
book.

She put me through a dozen holds in as many minutes,
maintaining each hold just long enough to ensure that I
couldn’t escape and then moving into the next one. She
finished me off by getting behind me, wrapping her
powerful arms around my chest, pinning my arms to my
sides and lifting me completely off the mat in a crush-
ing bear hug that I thought would cave in my ribs until
I was completely limp with exhaustion.

Then she put me across her shoulders and gave me an
airplane spin that left my mind reeling. She finally
ended the contest — if you could call it that — by
gripping my neck and buttocks and heaving me up over
her head, her arms fully extended, to hold me there,
seemingly ten feet in the air, my nose inches from the
ceiling, while I struggled feebly to escape her grip,
and then tossing me on my back, straddling my chest and
pinning my shoulders to the mat with her knees.

After I had regained my breath and some semblance of
composure, she asked me if I thought I could beat her
at anything. I told her that I had done some boxing in
college, but that I would never dream of fighting a
girl. She laughed and asked, “What’s the matter?
Afraid I’ll clean your clock for you?” and produced two
pair of boxing gloves.

I hesitated, but finally decided this girl needed a
lesson, so I put them on and we squared off. Initially,
she seemed content to fight defensively; I used every
trick I knew, but she was incredibly fast, and her
bobbing and weaving caused me to miss almost every
punch I threw. The few that were on target she easily
slipped or blocked.

Finally, in desperation, I threw a roundhouse right,
but she stepped inside it and, taking the initiative,
began peppering me with jabs and hooks to my face and
body that came with blurring speed and sent me reeling
backward.

I tried to cover up and dodge her blows, but she seemed
to anticipate my every move, and the accuracy of her
punches was phenomenal. In the next few seconds she
hit me thirty or forty times, and, although her punches
weren’t hard, my head was reeling from their cumulative
effect.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, her onslaught
stopped, and she stood watching me, a smile decorating
her lovely face as I swayed back and forth in front of
her. “Nighty night, lover,” she said softly. “No more
lovetaps. I’m going to put your lights out with one
punch.”

Alarmed, I started to back away, but her body became a
blur of motion, and then something slammed into my jaw
with the force of a sledgehammer, spun me almost com-
pletely around and tumbled me backward into oblivion.

When I came to I was lying naked in her bed, and she
was lying on her side next to me looking down at me and
running one hand lightly up and down my body. Seeing
my eyes open, she chuckled and leaned down to kiss me
lightly on the tip of my nose. “Welcome back, baby,”
she said. “I was beginning to think you’d never come
around.”

“How — how did I get here?” I blurted.

She laughed. “Why, I carried you up here, of course.
After I took your clothes off. You know, baby, you
have a very nice, body, just the kind I like to play
with. And you made a marvelous armful as I carried you
up here, so cute and cuddly. I think I’m going to have
lots of fun with you.”

I gasped and tried to get up, only to find that both my
wrists were locked back over my head in the powerful
grasp of her left hand. As I continued to struggle I
felt her other hand slide between my thighs to firmly
cup my nuts in her palm. I stopped struggling in a
hurry. “What — what are you going to do with me?” I
stammered.

She grinned at my helplessness. “Can’t you guess? You
know, beating you up really turned me on in a big way.
And that soft, sexy little body of yours — well, it’s
enough to drive a girl wild. I damn near raped you
just carrying you up here. But now that I’ve got you
in bed, baby, I’m going to bang you like you’ve never
been banged before. And you’re going to love every
minute of it.”

I gasped in dismay. That would be the final blow. Be-
ing raped by a girl! The thought sent chills down my
spine. “That — that’s impossible!” I croaked.

She laughed. “Wanta bet? I’ll bet you your paycheck
I can do anything I want to with you. Watch!”

Still holding my wrists pinned above my head with one
hand and my crotch firmly in the grip of her other
hand, she lowered her head to capture my mouth with her
own in a crushing french kiss that took my breath away.

Then, before I could recover, she was biting and kiss-
ing my face and neck with a passion that amazed me. As
she did so, I felt the hand cupping my crotch start to
massage and stroke me intimately, tickling the inside
of my thighs and caressing my testicles while I strug-
gled helplessly in her grip.

Then I felt her hand grip my penis firmly, her thumb
over its tip, as she began to masturbate me. I gasped
and redoubled my efforts at resistance, but she quickly
locked her legs around mine and I was encased in a
steel vice from which I could not escape as she con-
tinued to manipulate my body at will.

I had never believed it possible for a woman to rape a
man, but Bonnie had me writhing with a throbbing erec-
tion within a minute, as pangs of sexual desire flooded
my body.

I heard myself moaning in mingled shame and passion,
and as she finally mounted me and took me inside her I
thought I was going to climax right then and there.

Somehow, she stopped me. Something about the way her
hands held my body, that I haven’t figured out to this
day, brought me back from the brink until she was
ready, and then I heard her breathe, “Now!” and the
world exploded in an orgasm that filled my entire
being, lifting me with her and carrying me on a wave
of ecstasy to heights I had never known before.

When it was over, I lay limp and quivering beneath her
as she grinned down at me. “I think you just lost this
week’s paycheck, baby,” she told me softly. “And don’t
tell me it wasn’t worth it. From the way you were
moaning, I’ll bet it was the best you’ve ever had.”

Despite being red-faced with shame, I had to admit she
was right, and when I said so she laughed. “For what
it’s worth, baby, you were pretty good yourself, good
enough that I think I may take you around a few more
times before the night is out. After that, well, we’ll
see how you hold up.”

She was as good as her word. She held me helpless on
the bed and raped me again and again, so often I lost
count. Even when I thought I had no more to give her,
somehow she brought me to climax after climax, some-
times when it seemed that I was only semiconscious,
controlling my body with her hands and lips in a way I
would never have thought possible.

There was no question of my failing her — she wouldn’t
let me fail her; even when I was moaning and begging
her to stop, although I swore my body could feel
nothing else, she would just laugh and force me into
another, incredible orgasm.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, she let me up,
forced me to sign my weekly paycheck over to her as
payment for the bet she had made me (I didn’t recall
accepting her bet, but with my left arm twisted up be-
hind my back I really had no choice), helped me to get
dressed and guided me on unsteady feet to the door.

As I opened the door she suddenly put her arms around
my waist and pulled me forward, crushing me against her
and bending me backward in a french kiss that took my
breath away. Then, stooping slightly, she wrapped her
arms around my hips and straightened, lifting me
several inches off the floor, and backed me against the
door, looking up at me with a smile decorating her
lovely face. “You were good tonight, baby,” she said
softly. “So I’ll pick you up after work next Friday and
we can spend next weekend having some more fun.
Wouldn’t you like that?”

I gasped. “I — I don’t know…” I stammered.

She chuckled. “I do. I’ll pick you up next Friday.
Bodily, if necessary.” She set me down and, with a pat
on my backside, sent me on my way.

That was the beginning. Every Friday night after that
she would be waiting for me after work in her conver-
tible to take me home with her.

A couple of times I tried to resist, but she simply
reached out to take my wrist in a bone crushing grip
and force me into the car.

At her home, she would strip me naked, change into
tights and, after making me bet her my paycheck that
she could do whatever she wanted with me, spend the
next hour or so doing whatever she wanted with me.

I tried to reason with her, pointing out that she was
leaving me nothing but my savings to live on, but she
simply laughed and told me to let her know when my
savings were exhausted.

After a few weeks, when it became apparent that I was
completely defenseless against her, she stopped going
through the formality of betting me and would simply
take my paycheck and whatever else she wanted away from
me.

After she had finished with me, and I was lying at her
feet either unconscious or sobbing and begging for
mercy, she would pick me up, throw me over her
shoulder, carry me upstairs to her bedroom and spend
the rest of the night raping me until I finally fainted
from sheer exhaustion.

She would make me spend Saturdays helping her clean her
apartment, and Saturday nights she would take me out,
either to dinner or to a movie before taking me to my
apartment, tossing me into my bed and raping me a
couple more times for good measure, leaving me Sunday
to recover from my ordeal.

To make matters worse, after several weeks she started
taking me out with her friends, to whom she would brag
about how easily she could beat me up and rape me at
will, paying no attention to how embarrassing her
boasts were to me.

After a while, her friends made no secret of their
contempt for me, referring to me as “Bonnie’s battered
boyfriend” or “Bonnie’s love toy.”

Then I began to notice that every couple of weeks or
so she would have added new weightlifting and body
building equipment to her game-room (purchased with my
money, undoubtedly!).

During this same period, subtle changes in her body
began to become apparent; her chest and shoulders be-
came broader and deeper, her body harder and her arms
and legs bigger and more muscular, until my own arms
and legs seemed like broomsticks by comparison.

She even gained a couple of inches in height so that,
now at an even six feet, she towered three inches above
me which, since she always wore 5″ heels when we went
out together, made me feel like a small child when I
stood next to her.

Moreover, as she became bigger and stronger, overpower-
ing me on the wrestling mat or beating me into submis-
sion in her new boxing ring became such a quick and
effortless exercise for her — and even more painful
for me — that she seemed almost bored.

Finally she discovered that she could arouse herself
sexually by simply picking me up in her hands and,
holding me at arms’ length, tickling, squeezing, bend-
ing and twisting my body at will while I screamed and
thrashed about helplessly in her grip. In short, she
had become a complete sadist, and my body had become
her defenseless toy, to be used or abused at her
pleasure.

Yet, after each of these sessions when she had me in
bed raping me, she gave me such intense ecstasy that I
found myself more and more willing to endure the pain
and humiliation which preceded her lovemaking.

There was one aspect of our relationship, however, that
I could not endure. That was the way she treated me in
public. In every way she made it clear to anyone
watching us that, in addition to towering over me, she
was the stronger and dominant partner.

She would always walk ahead of me with long strides,
forcing me to trot to keep up with her. She would open
doors for me and order for me in restaurants. On the
dance floor, she would lead, with her right arm firmly
around my waist bending me backward and molding my body
to hers as we danced, my eyes about level with her
throat.

Worst of all, she thought nothing of fondling me in
public, squeezing my buttocks or tickling the inside of
my thighs, or running her hands up and down my body
sensuously to stimulate an erection.

Several times when we were standing at a bar and a
stool vacated next to us, she would reach down, slide
one hand under my buttocks and lift me effortlessly off
the floor to place me on the empty stool, much to the
amusement of the others in the bar and to my embarras-
sment. When I would plead with her to be a little more
discreet, she would laugh and ask me what I thought I
could do about it, and I could only lapse into helpless
silence.

Finally my savings gave out and, when my landlord was
threatening to evict me, I tearfully pleaded with
Bonnie to let me keep enough money to at least pay my
bills. Instead, she announced that I would move in
with her and become her housemaid and personal, live-in
playtoy, and that for the privilege of sharing her
quarters and giving her my paycheck every week, I would
be obliged to take care of her home after work.

She paid off the balance of my rent and other bills,
sold my few pieces of furniture and moved me in with
her. Although I was initially concerned that my body
could not stand the kind of treatment to which she had
been subjecting me each week, she obviously had the
same concern, for on week nights she contented herself
with lifting, tickling and fondling me, and only
occasionally making love to me, but always being care-
ful not to hurt me. Only on weekends did she give me
the full treatment.

Nevertheless, I still found myself rebelling against
her fondling me in public, and the matter came to a
head one night, after I had been living with her for
about six weeks, when she was entertaining her friends
at her home.

I was circulating through the crowd serving drinks and
hors d’oeuvres when I heard one of Bonnie’s girl
friends asking her when she was going to marry me.

Bonnie threw back her head and roared with laughter.
“Marry him!” she exclaimed. “Why should I marry him?
I own him! He’s my little toy. You don’t marry a toy;
you play with it, and when you get bored with it you
throw it away.” Turning to me, where I was serving
drinks several feet away, she said, “Isn’t that right,
Baby Buns?”

I put the tray down and went over to her. “I didn’t
hear that,” I said.

She chuckled, put one arm around my waist and pulled
me against her. “I made up a little poem about you,
Baby Buns. Want to hear it?”

I flushed. “Well, I don’t know…”

“Well,” she said, “you’re going to whether you want to
or not. It’s called ‘My Little Instant Erection’.
Here’s how it goes:

When I tickle him he laughs.
When I spank him he cries.
When I squeeze him he screams.
When I fondle him he sighs.
He’s my personal playtoy
With an instant erection;
A snap of my fingers
And he’s ready for action.”

She slid one hand down under my buttocks and lifted me
several inches off the floor to plant a kiss on the end
of my nose. “Isn’t that right, Baby Buns? Tell my
friend Jeannie what you are to me.”

Beet red, I tried to spin away from her. “Bonnie,
please…” But her hand slid around my hips and forced
itself between my thighs to firmly encase my crotch and
again lift me an inch or two off the floor. And this
time her voice had an edge to it. “Tell Jeannie what
you are to me,” she said again. “And don’t make me
tell you a third time.”

My voice quivering with embarrassment, I said quietly,
“I’m your playtoy.”

“My LITTLE playtoy. Right?”

I nodded, looking at the floor. “Yes. Your little
playtoy.”

Bonnie chuckled and turned to face her friend. “See?
Even he knows what he is. And he loves every minute of
it. Don’t you, Baby Buns.”

Red-faced with shame, I nodded humbly.

Bonnie put her hands on her hips, looking down at me.

“Well,” she said quietly, “since you’re being so agree-
able, why don’t you get down on your knees and show the
girls the only way I’ll let you kiss me.”

That was too much. My face burning with embarrassment,
I whispered, “Bonnie, no. Please.”

She laughed and, placing one hand on top of my head,
forced me to my knees in front of her. She stepped
forward, straddling my body with her powerful legs, and
then pulled my head up under her skirt to mash my face
firmly into her womanhood. “Open your mouth, Baby
Buns, and show the girls how you give your mistress
pleasure.”

I had no choice. My nose was buried between her legs,
and I couldn’t breathe. As I opened my mouth, my head
was mashed up even tighter into her hairy bush as she
gave a deep sigh and then released me. “That was
pretty good, Baby Buns,” she chuckled. “Any of you
girls want to try this with him? If you get his nose
up there just right, it’s almost as good as the real
thing!”

At that point something in my mind snapped. With a sob
of frustration and humiliation I spun away from her,
rose to my feet, whirled completely around and tried to
backhand her across the face.

Although caught completely by surprise, she reacted
instantly, catching my wrist in a bone crushing grip
and bending me backward across her thighs.

“Did you see that?” she gasped. “My little toy actually
tried to hit me!” With that, she slid one hand down my
back to grasp my belt firmly and lift me bodily off the
floor, holding me at arm’s length like a sack of
feathers while I thrashed about helplessly in the grip
of her single hand.

Carrying me to a high chair in the center of the room
and slamming me face down across her lap with a force
that took my breath away, she quickly pulled my pants
and underwear down to expose my bare buttocks. “Boys
and girls,” she announced to her guests, “you are about
to witness how a real woman handles a naughty little
man toy who gets out of line.”

And with that, she proceeded to spank my bare bottom
with the palm of her hand as though I were a child.

I don’t know what hurt the most, the stinging power of
her big hand as it descended again and again with
sledgehammer force against my bare flesh or the
realization that I, a grown man, was being publicly
spanked by this beautiful Amazon in front of all our
friends.

Regardless, within moments I was screaming and sobbing
with pain and humiliation as I thrashed helplessly in
her steel grip, unable to even slow the tempo of her
blows.

How long she continued to spank me I don’t know; all I
remember is that toward the end my body was engulfed in
a swirling cauldron of pain and I was sobbing and beg-
ging incoherently for her to stop.

Finally she did, lifting me off her lap and setting me
on my feet only to grip my buttocks again with a single
hand that sent fiery fingers of pain shooting through
my body and marched me, with my feet barely touching
the floor, to a corner of the room and stand me there,
facing the wall with my nose pushed firmly into the
corner.

“For the rest of this night, little toy,” she told me
grimly, “you will stand in this corner with that
blistered rear of yours in plain sight for all the
girls to see and play with, and you will not take your
eyes off that wall. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” I sobbed. “Whatever you–you say.”

And so for the rest of the evening I stood there, fac-
ing the wall, my nose firmly in the corner, with my
pants and drawers down around my ankles and my
blistered rear exposed for all to see and fondle.

And they did, much to my physical and psychological
discomfort. Finally, after several hours, they left,
and Bonnie came over to the corner to get me.

Sliding one arm around my waist, she picked me up,
tucked securely under her arm, and carried me to the
center of the room, where she stood me on my feet in
front of her, my eyes barely reaching to her shoulder
in the six inch heels she was wearing.

Cupping my chin in her thumb and forefinger, she tilted
my head back, forcing me to look up at her. “Now,
little toy man,” she said grimly, “you’re going to
clean up this mess starting right now. And when you’ve
finished, I’d better be able to eat off the floor or
you’ll get another session across my knee that will
make the last one feel like love pats. I’ll be waiting
for you upstairs when you’re finished, and I don’t want
to have to wait too long. So hop to it!”

As she turned to go, she hesitated. “And by the way,
if you ever try to hit me in public again, I’ll break
you in two like the ten cent toy you are. Any
questions?”

N–no,” I said, and started cleaning up the mess. When
I was finished, I went upstairs, where she made me
sleep at the foot of her bed, under her heel where, as
she had said earlier, I belonged.

For the entire next week, as further punishment for my
attempted rebellion, she forced me to satisfy her with
oral sex, permitting me absolutely no sexual pleasure
or satisfaction whatsoever.

When she finally did relent and take me to bed with
her, however, she gave me orgasm after orgasm at
heights I had never before experienced, even at her
hands, and by the time she had finished all I wanted
was to please her and to be taken into her body and
become a part of her.

We have lived together ever since. Contrary to what
she said that night, she has never tired of me, at
least not yet. And I am content to be the male love
toy of my beautiful, Amazonian mistress.

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