…After the first Mistress Misery story, I wanted to write more. I felt very close to her as a Mistress, and obviously wanted to extend her ‘virtues’ in story form.

Amazon Description:

A hard-core story of female domination and the extremes to which it may lead.

Mistress Misery was not one generally for making physical contact with her slaves, preferring to make them suffer for her pleasure online, and certainly she never envisaged ever allowing one into her respectable and well-appointed domestic arrangements.

But when Kelvin Oliver fell for her when he came to fix a faulty lavatory, she found herself considering the impossible, the most extreme, the most degrading involvement that could ever be imagined.

If Mistress Misery was going to have an commitment at all, it would have to be all of that….and more.

Much, much, MUCH more…

Extract:

Mistress Misery snapped on the light and stepped into her ensuite, her silk dressing gown moving slightly, hanging open to reveal the curve of her breasts and the smooth skin of her stomach descending to the join of her legs. 

Her bathroom was like a thousand others, with pink effect marble fittings and shiny brass, the commodious retreat of any middle aged, successful, single woman in a modern city, where all was clean, pleasant and sweet smelling. A shower and bath combination, a sizeable basin, room for towel storage and an elegant feeling of poise and space. 

There was only one difference from the normal roster of sanitary appointments. 

Next to the lavatory bowl, something was fixed to the varnished wood of the floor. Below the curving porcelain, another toilet seat was mounted atop a wooden box. 

From this box a man’s body protruded, his head trapped inside by means of a hole just big enough to admit his neck being locked in position.  His wrists were fettered by manacles and very short chains to two steel rings in each side of the box. His waist lay under another wooden structure, a simple horizontal board fixed at a height that kept his body snugly to the rubber mat that kept him from the wooden floor from the head box to the tops of his thighs. In this flat board was a hole through which the man’s penis protruded, the hole somehow closed tight round his genitalia behind the balls, preventing it from being retracted. The shaft of his penis was sheathed in steel, with a Prince Albert piercing locking it in position with a small padlock. A catheter emerged from the head of his penis and went back through a tiny, tight hole in the head box. The man was completely naked but for a pink, plastic garment that enclosed his groin.  

Mistress Misery looked down at this arrangement and stifled a giggle, as she often had to every time she entered her bathroom. She hung up her robe on the hook behind the door and, lifted the lid at the top of the wooden box. The man’s head was covered with a rubber hood that left only a generous opening at the mouth, and tiny holes for eyes and nostrils. 

Ignoring this blank, impersonal visage, she sat down over the opening, on the toilet seat, placing her feet to each side of his chest. 

“Number 2,” she snapped. 

She shuddered with pleasure as she felt the man’s lips form a seal around her anus. It had taken a long time, with many reverses and difficult moments, for her toilet and for her. However hard and long the process, however, she thought, as she felt her sphincter stretching open, it was bloody worth it. The daily joy that came with success simply could not be put into words. She smirked as her solid waste slid out and passed just as smoothly into her toilet’s mouth and down his throat, with hardly an audible gag

To download this title from Amazon, please click HERE

Cruella Pain

I am an author of books with strong and explicit Female Domination themes.

I am a Dominatrix / Mistress. I am a bitch.

I live in the Chester area. Note, I do NOT have an Amazon Wishlist.

So Amazon vouchers ONLY accepted, from those devotees seeking to please.

( To Cruella.Pain@gmail.com )

The post The Toilet: FemDom SCAT Story first appeared on Home of the Best DARK Female Domination Stories.

…are both central ingredients of this femdom blackmail story; the first in the ‘Mistress Misery Series. When I wrote it I never imagined that it would turn into a 5 episode series. But the themes of blackmail, forced submission, and exploitation are very dear to me, and so I love writing about them. Mistress Misery is so like me. I identify with her cruelty and merciless mindset very much. The books, incidentally, are all independent. They can be read in any order.

These stories reflect who I am, my experiences and my fantasies. I enjoy writing as it gives me an opportunity to share myself with a wider audience. My ‘Mistress Misery’ books are quite autobiographical, built around situations I have experienced. 

Amazon Description:

A classic Female Domination story, ‘Mistress Misery’ written by a practicing UK Dominatrix. A dark and exceptionally twisted story of a good man falling into the clutches of an evil Mistress. Some men are born to ruin, and some bring ruin upon themselves, or be the unlucky butt of circumstance. Mr Sandbrook was none of these. He was a good man who was taken by evil; humiliated and degraded, broken and changed by a sadistic force into something that gave ‘ruin’ a new definition. He was taken by Cruelty herself. He was taken by Mistress Misery.

This is a hardcore and extreme story of blackmail and degradation. This is NOT about a role-play, it is not about entertainment. It is about a life being taken and ruined in the harshest and most degrading manner possible. The victim of this blackmail is spared nothing, Mistress Misery is a cruel and harsh Domme, the very embodiment of evil. Be warned…she will take you, she will break you, and she will laugh all the time.

Extract:

Sometimes bad things happen to good people

… …and everyone agreed that Mr Sandbrook was a good and kind man. Those who worked under his care at RightPrice Supermarket counted themselves very lucky to have him for a boss. Even his wife, who divorced him for another man ten years before had nothing worse to say of him than he was too good to be exciting, whatever that meant. Evidently the remainder of the female gender largely agreed with this, for despite his comfortable existence and secure living, no other woman had yet filled the space. This vacancy he bore, like everything else, with a certain frustrated patience. 

Mr Sandbrook’s face seemed ideally formed for kindness, the full-fleshed cheeks and steady, mild brown eyes exuding a sort of bovine equanimity that had the effect of putting everyone at their ease, and soothing away any troublesome tension. The decor of his office, which he had chosen himself as far as possible, was easy on the eye, an unassuming shade of pale brown, and the carpet matched it perfectly. The plants were exactly the sort of size that were not lost in the space, and yet did not overpower it. His desk was, of course, scrupulously neat and tidy. 

The morning that would utterly change his sedate life began with him trying to convey this general air of poise and kindliness at full force while sitting across from a man evidently in a very poor state indeed. He was conducting interviews for the post of junior floor operative, and Mr Priestley, the last applicant, was by far the least impressive of the crop. Not only was his age very much against him, the other interviewees being half his tally of years, but he seemed frail, desperate, nervous and trembling under the burden of some chronic form of fatigue

But for Mr Sandbrook, things are about to take a downward turn…

To download this Femdom blackmail story from Amazon, please CLICK HERE

Cruella Pain

I am an author of books with strong and explicit Female Domination themes.

I am a Dominatrix / Mistress. I am a bitch.

I live in the Chester area. Note, I do NOT have an Amazon Wishlist.

So Amazon vouchers ONLY accepted, from those devotees seeking to please.

( To Cruella.Pain@gmail.com )

The post Mistress Misery: A Femdom Blackmail Story first appeared on Home of the Best DARK Female Domination Stories.

This is the second part of the story (which began with Converted Pt 1: Trained to WORSHIP), and continues the tale til its conclusion.

Amazon Description:

To his own utter astonishment, against everything that he had thought true and proper, Eliot Bonham had been broken and trained to grovel and WORSHIP Her in a matter of a few days. It seemed to him that he was no longer living in a world he recognised at all. He didn’t realise that this was just the beginning. He had already been made to KNEEL. Now he would be made to SERVE.

Extract:

Elliot hoped that he wouldn’t meet any of his acquaintances on his way to the library, and he was lucky in that respect. He was very self conscious in his chastity device. It was even difficult to watch his usual pornography in between visitors because the swelling of his cock was all the more noticeable. The improvised replacement for the missing book was still as he had left it the day before. As She had left it. No one said anything. Surely it would be noticed eventually?

It did seem to take an age for the morning to go by, and he was feeling very tired by the time Miss Alberts came in. The sight of her made him start. The old arrogance and pity for her was gone. He was terrified that she might notice the bulge in his trousers, but her wide lipsticked smile was just the same as always. He found that he could hardly summon up a smile in reply, he just nodded and fled. He had considered avoiding his usual coffee circle, but decided against it in the end, wanting everything to seem as usual as possible. 

They were in their usual places in the little cafe and if they noticed something odd about Elliot as he came in, they didn’t let on. They were actually far too busy being about their usual game, he realised, as he sat down. It was a relief to be seated, and have the table hide his crotch. He had been very conscious of it as he approached the table.

“Well, I’ll be doing bugger all,” said Tom, the gardener, “bloody stupid. If ya want to give to charity, give to charity, on the quiet, like. Why all this ‘look at me’ tomfoolery?”

“Oh, come on,” said James, laughing, “get into the spirit of it. Make a fool of yourself for a good cause. It’ll be fun!”

“What are you doing then?”

“Oh, me and my classmates are dressing up as the Prime Minister and doing a ‘Boris Dance’.”

“Kuh!” Said Tom, unimpressed. “Bring back birching.”

“That should be good,” said Desmond, the Stockbroker, “the Boris Dance, I mean, not the birching.”

The gardener shook his head and they all looked at Elliot. He realised with a flare of panic that it was his turn to play.

“You doing anything for the fundraiser, Elliot?” Asked Desmond, in the suddenly awkward silence.

“No…” he repled with a nervous laugh. “Lot of rubbish.”

“You’re right there,” said Tom, nodding.

“I mean, it’s the indignity of it.”

At that moment, the waitress put the tea down for them on the table and they waited for her to finish.

“Well, the boss has always liked it,” said Desmond. “Miss Templeton. Full of all sorts of new ideas. We’ll have to watch our step. I think there’s a ‘Black History Lecture’ going to be put on in the entrance hall shortly. It is rather an uncomfortable truth about the people who built this house.”

“Winchester Cathedral was largely funded by the proceeds of prostitution in London,” said Elliot, glad to have found something to come back with, trumping the other man’s history aside. History was often something that they used to try and outdo each other.  “No one cares about that now when they look at the building.”

“You doing anything, Desmond?” Asked James, trying to get the conversation back round to something he felt superior to the others about.

“Oh, I expect the kids will probably want to rope me into something,” chuckled the stockbroker, playing the doting father and successful family man. “They normally do.”

None of the other men had children. Desmond smiled slightly as he took a sip of his tea.

“No one ever upstages Miss Alberts, anyway,” said the gardener with a sudden chuckle.

To download this title from Amazon, please click HERE

Cruella Pain

I am an author of books with strong and explicit Female Domination themes.

I am a Dominatrix / Mistress. I am a bitch.

I live in the Chester area. Note, I do NOT have an Amazon Wishlist.

So Amazon vouchers ONLY accepted, from those devotees seeking to please.

( To Cruella.Pain@gmail.com )

The post Converted: Pt 2: Trained to SERVE first appeared on Home of the Best DARK Female Domination Stories.

This is a longer story broken into two distinct parts. Converted: Part 1: Trained to WORSHIP, and Converted: Part 2: Trained to SERVE. It was a story which mean a lot to me and which I as able to explore those themes which form a basis of my own beliefs, lifestyle and practice.

Amazon Description:

Elliot Bonham didn’t know anything. 
He was a semi-retired accountant, divorced, and an amateur historian. He was thoroughly middle class, set in his ways, and decidedly unworried about anything. He did, however, watch a lot of pornography. 
He was contemptuous of all religion, innately suspicious of spirituality, and couldn’t for the life of him understand what it was that made someone want to kneel and grovel and mindlessly worship anything. 
Until, that is, he met HER. Until that point Elliot Bonham hadn’t known anything. 
But now he was going to learn.

Extract:

Dressed in nothing but a red latex corset, with matching elbow length gloves and heels, she lowered herself slowly onto the monster butt plug, gasping slightly as it immediately slid halfway inside her, the flaccid sphincter opening easily before the pressure of the huge, lubed up black cone. She gripped her ass cheeks with the gloves and pulled them apart, sliding lower and lower as her rectum slowly expanded under the pressure. She started to breathe in tight gasps as the pain mounted, but she did not raise herself off the plug. She waited, bouncing slightly, and her weight gradually forced the merciless cone deeper and deeper inside her. It seemed impossible that such a large object could enter anyone’s anus, but suddenly, with a rush, the widest part of the toy slipped past her straining sphincter and her stretched muscle closed over it gripping the much narrower neck behind, trapping it inside her. All that could be seen from now was the gigantic base, the rest firmly embedded. She gasped with pleasure, exploring it with her fingers, wiggling her behind slightly to feel the fulness of it.

She knelt in obvious ecstasy for a while, giggling and moaning, and then began to try and work the plug out again. This seemed to be harder than making it go in. The plug was designed to enter her in a gradual way, but then be held in place by the suddenly much smaller girth behind the extreme circumference of the base of the cone once it had passed inside. Beyond this narrow point, the plug flared suddenly out again to prevent it slipping entirely inside her ass. It could not easily move in either direction.

Her first attempt to remove it failed and she moaned with pleasure as she gave up, surrendering her ass once more to the plug.

All the time she it stayed inside her, her sphincter was getting used to being at the smaller part of the plug, tightening little by little, making it ever more difficult to remove. She gasped and moaned, caressing the shiny, solid black rubber base, knelt right over as if forced down by the massive rectal invasion.

Eventually, she tried again to remove it, gripping the base again with her latex glove and straining as hard as she could, letting out great gasps of effort. Her ass stretched out backwards but the plug remained trapped inside her. She gasped again and continued to pull. Gradually, her sphincter began to open again, more and more of the huge cone end appearing. Eventually, after what seemed like an age of breathless effort, it went impossibly wide and then, with a rush, the plug slipped out.

The ruined, overstretched anus tried to close over the gaping hole that was left behind but she reached round with both hands and pulled her ass cheeks apart keeping her anus impossibly open and wide. An apple wouldn’t have touched the sides. It was an epic gape, and she giggled as she felt the huge hole with her gloved fingers.

With a deep satisfied sigh, she eased her ass cheeks back and allowed her sphincter to contract back to its normal resting position. It was not even circular now, with puffed swollen edges like an untidy loop of rope around the yawning entrance to her flaccid destroyed ass. That was about as tight as it was ever now going to get. She exploring the loose hole with her gloved fingers, gasping with pleasure and giggling again.

Elliot started as there came the sound of approaching feet outside the door, and with a flicker of annoyance, took the wireless earpiece out, which automatically stopped the film on his smartphone. It was one of the advantages of Hensford Park that you could hear tourists and visitors coming a long way off on the old, creaking boards. He slipped his phone into his trouser pocket and worked his hard cock over to the same side to conceal its swollen length. Being a bit small did occasionally have its advantages, he thought, wryly.

It had been a slow morning and he had been able to watch a lot of pornography in between pleasant interludes explaining various features of the library to passersby. The severe Victorian atmosphere almost seemed to collude in his concealed depravity, carrying in the complex, musty odour the secrets of countless forbidden encounters, he liked to think. The books in the library stood tightly together and ordered on heavy oaken shelves, but the weight had bent them slightly out of true over the years, and they hung swollen and pregnant, as if under some intolerable internal pressure.

He made ready the polite, intelligent, welcoming expression that he always maintained for visitors, and felt he represented a fairly good stuffy Victorian appearance himself, with dark blue blazer and slacks, shirt and tie, polished black shoes and hands behind his back. He was balding, semi retired, divorced, unexceptionable, with an interest in local history. The room stewards were not explicitly encouraged to dress in a way that harmonised with the decor of the house, but nevertheless they all seemed to do so. Elliot had not had to make much of an effort. His years as an accountant made him very comfortable with formal clothes of that sort.

As it was, it wasn’t a paying visitor, but Miss Alberts, another volunteer, stepping carefully through the door in a black dress with lace trim, and period hat pinned through greying hair.

“Oh,” he said, with a lopsided smile as she entered. “Coffee break already?”He had the momentary vision of Miss Alberts lowering her ass onto a monster butt plug with every indication of enjoying it and had to stop himself laughing. It really was a ludicrous thought, being elderly and so strait-laced  as to almost be a caricature. She still struggled pathetically with make up, though Elliot couldn’t imagine why. Miss Alberts looked every inch the Victorian spinster, and he always imagined that she kept the same severe black dress on even when not on duty at the house.

To download this title from Amazon, please CLICK HERE.

Cruella Pain

I am an author of books with strong and explicit Female Domination themes.

I am a Dominatrix / Mistress. I am a bitch.

I live in the Chester area. Note, I do NOT have an Amazon Wishlist.

So Amazon vouchers ONLY accepted, from those devotees seeking to please.

( To Cruella.Pain@gmail.com )

The post Converted: Pt 1: Trained to WORSHIP first appeared on Home of the Best DARK Female Domination Stories.

Charlotte Benning is an interesting author. Not only has she created a unique ‘world’, in her ‘SlaveHouse’ stories, she has also bridged the gap between fem dom and dystopian writings. Slavehouse is a complete world, created and ruled by Dominant Women, and men – the slaves – are reduced to mere appendages. So far, so what I can hear. But this is more than just the run of the mill FemDom. It is a whole world to get immersed in.

Wander in there at your own peril. Getting out may not be so easy.

‘An atmospheric journey into the chilling dark heart of female domination…

The Slavehouse…All who come into contact with its fatal, alluring spell are doomed to be subjugated in the most degrading and extreme way, transformed permanently into vacuous, adoring pets of the evil Mistresses who reside there.’

You can see why I like it, can’t you? So…story by story…

Given to Miss Tate
It was their usual Friday night in rain-swept, safe suburbia. The boys were coming home from the pub, swaggering with beer and high spirits. They were a little loud, a little drunk, and a little disorderly. But they meant no harm. It was just to be a prank…

But that night, they called at the wrong house.

Every one of them ended up running away like their lives depended on it… every one of them except one.

One of them was caught, and kept, and then…Given to Miss Tate…

Welcome to the world of the Divine Mistress.

Seeds of the Forbidden
Reports of ‘goings on’ at her address brought two policemen and a woman from Social Services to Miss Pearson’s front door. The three of them were absolutely relishing the prospect of seeing what exactly lay behind the imposing façade, and then using the authority of the state to pick over someone else’s life.

But this call was to be different from their usual. Miss Pearson’s house was no ordinary dwelling, and what goes on there is nothing like everyday life.

It is a Slavehouse. And all those who enter are changed by the experience…their positions, their authority and their uniforms are no protection…

A highly-charged erotic tale of domination, power, control and enslavement, in a series which charts the darkest heart of Domination by the female over the male species.

Chained Inside.
Miss Pearson reveals to Miss Stein something of the beginnings of the Slavehouse, when She first became aware of the real power of Her Femininity, that Dark Epiphany when She suddenly knew who She was and what She could do, and everything She had been told and formerly believed simply crumbled into dust.

Meanwhile, in the present, Miss Tate is busy training Her first slave in the secrecy of Her ensuite apartment upstairs, and Miss Whitworth is surprised by a request to meet with Detective Sergeant Bell…

The Darkest Truth.

Those who approach the Slavehouse with the mantle of authority… those who chance upon a misfortunate intrusion…those who approach in blissful ignorance…all become the helpless, captive prey, doomed to live out the twisted intentions of Miss Pearson, Miss Whitworth, and Miss Tate, sisters without mercy.

Of those men who foolishly enter, none ever come out again except as a living testament to the power of the Slavehouse, broken, changed, subjugated and enslaved.

In the fourth book of this dark and compelling series, the shocking depths of what lies at the heart of Miss Pearson’s thriving establishment begin to appear, and readers beware: As the visitors in this story are changed by the experience, so will you be. …

Taken
As an academic, Miss Stein believed in words, ideas, and ideals. At the Slavehouse of Miss Pearson, she formed what she liked to think of as a scholarly interest in the form of lifestyle pertaining there. It was an interest that induced her to go time and time and time again – researching, taking notes, going deeper and deeper, enquiring further into the alluring, ancient power at the heart of the strange establishment. She was appalled….and then she was interested…and then captivated…until finally, in a dark awakening that words could never describe…
…she was taken.

Broken on the Wheel

Just when you thought the Slavehouse saga was complete, there comes a brand-new, much anticipated installment from cult author Charlotte Benning. Once again, the reader is plunged into the strange, disturbing world of Miss Pearson and the Slavehouse, where Females inevitably discover their power, and males their weakness. We learn of more male lives drawn into the spiralling gravity of the Slavehouse, and who are utterly changed as a result. Read about men who mocked, denied, belittled themselves and everyone else, aimless wasters. Read their fate when they strayed too near.In this tale hear of one who began as an unemployable wastrel, after a chance encounter, driving Miss Pearson. But he come to see the truth only when it is too late…Outside its secretive walls of the Slavehouse there is ridicule and misunderstanding. Once the truth is encountered, however, there is only submission, veneration, servitude. Dare you pass inside? It will change you.

Permanently Dolly

Bad attracts good, they say, and good, bad. Some people have deep spiritual convictions and generosity of soul. However, there is only one winner when the wicked Miss Pearson is involved, as exemplified by the achievement of ‘Dolly’, as perfect a specimen of sissy development as could be, from a former state bordering on saintliness. Read the story of her descent into darkness, the chains, whippings, denial and mind bending cruelty, the enforced chastity and erotic rituals of phallic worship, making her permanently addicted to cock, permanently altered for Miss Pearson’s amusement and pleasure, permanently owned, permanently DOLLY.

To Download these titles from Amazon please click here.

Or here for the full series

Charlotte Benning’s TOP FemDom Books on Amazon

Cruella Pain

I am an author of books with strong and explicit Female Domination themes.

I am a Dominatrix / Mistress. I am a bitch.

I live in the Chester area. Note, I do NOT have an Amazon Wishlist.

So Amazon vouchers ONLY accepted, from those devotees seeking to please.

( To Cruella.Pain@gmail.com )

The post Slavehouse Saga: A FemDom World first appeared on Home of the Best DARK Female Domination Stories.

Amazon Description:

Steve has a fetish for financial domination. He also craves his work colleague Nicci. He slowly – just for fun – introduces Nicci to the possibilities of Fin-Dom.

But Nicci eventually becomes more than just a willing pupil and researches just how financially beneficial it can be to be a Goddess to a loser like Steve.

The game becomes life and the loser is blackmailed, divorced, locked in permanent chastity, humiliated, used as a toilet and financially bereft.

Extract:

Prologue I am lying on the floor with my mouth wide open. My Chasity cage has not been removed for two years. Everything is being filmed.  The girl – my Goddess – who has owned me for nearly six years is standing over me about to do something very nasty. 

And she is going to make me swallow it. 

All of it. 

There was a time when she had no idea what femdom power, chastity or financial domination was. Now, look at her. Just look. 

I can hardly bear to…she has changed so much. 

Topping from the Bottom 

I worked with Nicci for some years and had an up and down sort of relationship with her. Eventually, we settled on an up relationship, mainly because we both smoked and every time we went for a cigarette I bought her a cup of tea from the vending machine. 

If only I had realised then where a cup of tea would lead. 

I have always had a financial domination fetish which I satisfied in the normal online way from time to time. I would find an online Domme, exchange some messages, give her some ‘leverage’ in the guise of some information I’d be embarrassed to have made public. But to be honest, the info I always supplied was fake. I mean, how easy is it to set up a Gmail address for my ‘wife’? 

So then she would blackmail me into giving her money and eventually when reality kicked in I would just disappear. 

Happy, carefree days… 

I remember them well. 

Nicci was always short of money, always telling me about this or that bill, or things she wanted but couldn’t afford. So one day I jokingly mentioned that a fetish called financial domination was making some women some easy cash. 

She just looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language. 

I had no idea where it was going, but somehow I wanted to tell her, to let her see into the world which fascinated me; which exerted a strong pull on me. 

I told her that guys would give money to beautiful girls just to be laughed at and be told that they were a wanker. 

Nicci almost choked on her coffee, and let out a coughing laugh. 

‘I don’t think so’, she replied. ‘I wish.’ 

She strode off inside still giggling. 

I watched her go thinking I had blown my chance to get her into a conversation on the subject. Just talking about it would always give me a lift. 

For the next week, I hoped against hope that she might bring the subject up. No chance. She had even stopped moaning on about her finances. A bad sign I thought. 

In the end, just like an unreachable itch, I couldn’t leave it alone. Monday morning I was determined to bring it up again. ‘Tell you what’, I said as she arrived at work. ‘When you are ready to have a break, why don’t you come and order me outside.’ I gave her a grin to show her I was joking, then added. Get in touch with your inner Domme.’ 

She rolled her eyes, but at just before ten o’clock – a full thirty minutes before our usual time there she was standing before me.

‘You’, she said pointing a very in character scarlet fingernail at me, ‘Outside NOW.’ 

Hmm, I thought. Duck to water. 

When outside she reverted to chatty, moany, funny Nicci, but I couldn’t help thinking that a bridge has been crossed. Every day after that it was the same. 

But even so progress was slow. Then I had another idea…

To download this title from amazon please click here

Should you feel the need to experience the thrills and satisfactions of true FinDom, you may visit this page Amazon vouchers and make it out to: Cruella.Pain.com. You know how to please me

Cruella Pain

I am an author of books with strong and explicit Female Domination themes.

I am a Dominatrix / Mistress. I am a bitch.

I live in the Chester area. Note, I do NOT have an Amazon Wishlist.

So Amazon vouchers ONLY accepted, from those devotees seeking to please.

( To Cruella.Pain@gmail.com )

The post Downfall: A Financial Domination Story first appeared on Home of the Best DARK Female Domination Stories.

Amazon Description:

Three classic fem-dom stories in one volume for the first time.

One-Way Ticket. 

They were everywhere. It just needed the trained eye to spot them. They were masters of disguise, but they were there. All around her. As she became more adept at seeing past their masquerade, she found that she spotted more and more of them. She eventually wondered if every man was actually vulnerable to her power, but sometimes on a level so deep that he didn’t even know it themselves: and no disguise could be so perfect as that.

But it had been a long day, a good day, and she didn’t feel like exerting herself too much. She took the easiest, the most obvious, and the most abject victim she saw. It was cheaper, she thought, than ordering a coffee; better than a magazine for passing the time. So she did what she did best. She sat down opposite him, with a thin smile…

The She-Predator
A highly charged story of erotic female domination.

When Louise West presents her dissertation plan to her university supervisor, he dismisses it with scorn. A study of sado-masochistic relations in literature just isn’t scholarly enough apparently. However, Louise is no ordinary student. Dr Graham Sheldon does not reckon on her sheer determination of his student or her ‘special’ powers of persuasion. When he visits her home to provide her with a tutorial he unwittingly enters a world of pain and fantasy from which he will never escape.

From the author: ‘When I was at university I had a relationship with one of my more senior lecturers. It was brief but very intense. It was a relationship in which I was completely in charge. I felt the wonderful juxtaposition of reversing the usual status of lecturer and student, of having him at my back and call, of teasing him and occasionally hurting him. In this story are two people who have a very unconventional need for each other. It also represents the fulfilment of a long held and frustrated fantasy on the part of the submissive.’

The Cuckoldress.
A cuckold marriage with an S&M twist. Bruce and Sophie are the loves of each other’s young lives. They adore each other and their marriage couldn’t be happier. Bruce worships the ground that Sophie walks on and Sophie cuckolds Bruce – enthusiastically, wilfully and with all the considerably cruelty she can muster. 

The author says, ‘I wanted to write a story explores the tension between a loving relationship on the one hand and a sado masochistic control-based relationship on the other. I wanted to show that it is possible to be deeply in love with someone and sleep with other men. Indeed, part of the love that Bruce and Sophie have for each other is explored in Sophie’s blatant, sexually charged affairs. Bruce battles with himself until he submits to his primal need for domination, control and humiliation. The principal theme of this story is how cuckolding can threaten a relationship but – bizarrely -how it can ultimately strengthen it too. Sophie and Bruce discover each other’s ‘kinks’ tentatively and with an almost childlike innocence, but when Bruce willingly hands Sophie control of his existence she seizes it, uses it and enjoys it to the full.’

To Download this title from Amazon pleas click here

Cruella Pain

I am an author of books with strong and explicit Female Domination themes.

I am a Dominatrix / Mistress. I am a bitch.

I live in the Chester area. Note, I do NOT have an Amazon Wishlist.

So Amazon vouchers ONLY accepted, from those devotees seeking to please.

( To Cruella.Pain@gmail.com )

The post Everyday Dominations: 3 Classic FemDom Stories first appeared on Home of the Best DARK Female Domination Stories.

Amazon Description:

A dark and disturbing tale of interracial eroticism, domination and…unspeakable evil…A classic Female Domination story,

Everyone wanted to find out about Earl. He wasn’t like the rest, he was reclusive withdrawn, somehow different. He seemed set himself apart. But the crew wanted to know more, to find out what lay beneath the surface of the self-effacing Third Officer…So they took him to downtown New Orleans; they found him a woman; they paid to find out, to satisfy their curiosity.

But in the most notorious voodoo club in New Orleans, Les Fleurs du Mal – everything was to change.The crew never did find out. Earl was strange when he came back, somehow altered. Different. Tainted. And it frightened them. Something fundamental had been done to him. It had started as a joke, but now nobody was laughing.And not a single one among them ever suspected the truth.

Extract:

“The taxi picked up the English crew at Westwego, on the south bank of the Mississippi. They were full of the prospect spending some time ashore in New Orleans. As the car rolled away from the Grain Terminal and left the ship behind, the taxi driver gave them some ideas in the sleepy, dangerous local drawl, though they hardly needed the pointers. The captain, particularly, had been running into New Orleans and enjoying the famous nightlife for years. There was only one among them who could really be described as a complete greenhorn; the reclusive third officer, Earl. 

Earl contributed nothing to the excited discussion about what might lay in store that night. He sat in determined silence behind the driver, watching the light of the bungalows flash by along the main road. His face was not handsome, but there was an engaging honesty in his delicate features as the light washed over them, and it was all too plain that he was very ill-at-ease. 

It was Earl’s birthday, his twenty-fifth, and his shipmates had made him come. He never took the opportunity to go ashore with the crew and they all felt that it was high time he did. The captain particularly wanted to ‘blood’ him, as he called it, and took it upon himself as a duty to bring the young man out of his shell. He did not much like Earl, actually, and they all took the captain’s lead in the car when he began to make lewd suggestions and bait him with questions about his virility. Underneath all the laughter was a hard edge and Earl felt it keenly. They were not sure about his sexual credentials, and he knew that they were resolved to find out. 

As they went up onto the three-lane, elevated section through Marrero and Harvey he found that he was beginning to sweat, even in the air conditioned cab. He knew in his bones that he would not be able to satisfy the macho requirements of his shipmates, nor perform adequately for the paid girl that they would no doubt be setting him up with. He kept his face turned to the streetlights leading away south over the bungalows, out to the far darkness of the bayous and the Gulf of Mexico beyond, and tried to think of a way out. 

By the time they reached the twin bridges and sped across the great, languid stream of the Mississippi, Earl had thought of nothing more subtle and effective but trying to get drunk as quickly as possible and getting out of it as being obviously inebriated beyond the point of being capable of sex. 

What made it more galling for Earl was the fact that it had been touch and go whether they would be obliged to put to sea early to avoid the very high tides that were predicted for that evening. If there had been the merest sniff of a hurricane, they would have gone. The storm surge together with the tidal rise would have made the river too hazardous to stay alongside. As it was, the weather was settled and calm, and everyone was convinced that the levees would hold. The captain had not even put off his run ashore, although there were many in his place that would have stayed on board their ship just in case. 

Even though Earl was nervous, he appreciated the scene on the north bank as they traversed the graceful span of the bridge and went up into the French Quarter among the colours and noise and elegant houses. It was the first time he had seen it at night. They parked in Bourbon Street and got out, laughing with the driver. 

Earl wrinkled his nose at the smell as he walked along with the others, picking their way down the crowded, noisy street. He had been warned of the distinctive odour of that part of the city, but he had been too preoccupied to give it much thought. It smelled like a rich combination of lots of things, including the broiled oysters that spat and smoked at several outlets nearby, and the wafting, bitter tones of liquor, among other unmentionable possibilities. 

Earl glanced at a shop that offered voodoo fetishes and cures, and fortune telling. There was a Creole lady in front, with earrings and fur and teeth and other strange accoutrements obviously designed to catch the eye. Earl looked at her as they passed by and she clutched at his shirt sleeve, arresting his progress with a dark look. 

‘Tonight is power,” she said, with a French accent. “Come inside.”

Earl’s smile was so insincere it was more of a grimace as he shook his head, mumbled an apology and hurried to keep up with the others. Although he feared what the crew had in store for him, he was intimidated also by the press of people and the garish colours, the brash, jazzy sounds that blared out of the bars to right and left. The captain led them down a dingy side street leading towards the river, past two-tiered, balconied houses with elegant pillars lining the sidewalk that had clearly seen better days. After a short walk they came to a wrought iron barrier that spanned right across a wide opening to the left. 

There were similar gated entrances further down the street, but this one was obviously the entrance to some sort of drinking house rather than just an alley between houses. There were two large Negroes standing to each side of a narrow open section, like the door to a jail. Somewhere beyond them were the distinctive strains of a Cajun tune, in that provoking, energetic rhythm that seemed to communicate directly with the feet. 

The captain said something to them and they motioned him inside without any expression, their eyes as hard as agates. Earl avoided their eyes as he slipped through with the rest, wondering where on earth they were going. He was liking it less and less, despite the bright, encouraging sounds of the music. To him it seemed to have an underlying, macabre quality. When they got to the entrance round a crooked alley, the bright neon letters over the doorway did nothing to comfort him. In lurid twisting red were “Les Fleurs Du Mal,” which he knew translated as ‘The Flowers of Evil’. 

To download this title from Amazon, please click HERE

Cruella Pain

I am an author of books with strong and explicit Female Domination themes.

I am a Dominatrix / Mistress. I am a bitch.

I live in the Chester area. Note, I do NOT have an Amazon Wishlist.

So Amazon vouchers ONLY accepted, from those devotees seeking to please.

( To Cruella.Pain@gmail.com )

The post The Flowers of Evil FemDom Horror first appeared on Home of the Best DARK Female Domination Stories.

Amazon Description:

Simon was not so much despised by women as completely unnoticed.

He led a very solitary life supported by a small allowance left by unknown parents. He was entirely devoid of friends and family, and seemed forever destined to move through life like a ghost.

That is, until he was finally claimed by a woman who made it her life’s work to meet people not worth seeing, particularly unenlightened males. She was the ultimate charity worker for she gave them the greatest gift: She awoke their potential in their most secret selves. Was it her fault that they were all slaves just waiting to be noticed and developed by a Dominatrix?

A classic femdom story of sissification, domination, and the making of a shemale whore.

Extract:

Simon looked at the old man, appalled. He was evidently some sort of down and out with no teeth, matted hair, and a greasy coat. But it wasn’t that which disgusted him; it was the fact that the man was holding up a pornographic magazine with evident relish, turning it this way and that to get the best view of the centrefold, leering at it and making little sniggering grunts to himself. 

Simon grabbed the carton of milk that he had come to the corner shop for and turned towards the little counter, intent on paying up and getting out as quickly as possible. There was a middle-aged woman in front of him with curly, shoulder-length brown hair, so he had to wait for a moment. She glanced at him appraisingly with dark eyes as he came to her side, and he felt himself go red at her frank gaze. His discomfiture seemed to amuse her. She was voluptuous in a shapely red calf-length woollen coat and leather boots; she looked very comfortable with it, her face made up without trying to be arty or understated, just perfectly confident and feminine. 

He breathed a sigh of relief as she turned to pay for her cigarettes, allowing Simon a moment of respite from her all-too-obvious stare. He guiltily drank in the sight of her long red nails taking the packet and handing over the cash but had little more time to enjoy it as there was suddenly a great commotion. 

And everything changed. 

A tall man in a black balaclava burst in through the door, produced a gun and told everyone in a cold, vicious tone to get down on the floor. Simon looked at him in a panic for a moment and did nothing; paralysed. The woman coolly lowered herself gracefully into a squatting position. The intruder yelled at him again and pushed Simon down just as his muscles were finally answering his frantic efforts to comply. He fell backwards and caught his head a nasty blow on something hard. For a few seconds he saw the man looking down at him, and then everything went blank.

When he came to, he quickly realised he was in hospital. There was no mistaking the smell of disinfectant and the soul-less, clinical decor. His head hurt like hell, but his hands went first to his neck and lower body in a sudden panic, fumbling under the vest and briefs that he was dressed in under the covers. Nothing seemed amiss. He breathed shallowly, thinking hard, and decided that there was no real cause for alarm. His valuables, when he looked for them, where neatly stowed in the little locker by his bedside. His outer clothes were neatly folded on the chair by the bedside and looked as though they had been laundered.

He reached for his mobile phone which lay among his other things, but he remembered that the use of such things was frowned on in the wards, in case it interfered with their instruments. Anyway, he didn’t really have anyone to call. 

He had to explain all of this to the medical orderly who appeared a while later. No, he had no parents living, and no particular friends to speak of. He survived on a small allowance left by a mother he had never known. He had been brought in a care home that he had no wish to associate himself with any further. After that place, he lived a solitary life in a small rented flat.

“Landlord or landlady, then!” Said the bored medical orderly, somewhat impatiently. 

Simon told him, realising that the man merely wanted to put some details in boxes and leave him alone. 

As he looked at the man writing the name and address of his landlord down, he saw a middle-aged woman coming towards them. The long red coat and leather boots stirred a vague recollection. Full figure and unblinking black eyes in a pleasantly made up, very feminine face, framed by brown hair. He was sure he had seen her somewhere. 

“How are you?” She asked warmly as she came up. 

“Er….” Said Simon, stupidly. 

The man glanced at the two of them in surprise. He had been under the impression that Simon had no acquaintances at all.

“Oh,” said the woman, scarlet nails over her rouged mouth self-consciously, “I expect you don’t remember. I’m Miss Simms. I was the woman in the shop?” 

“Oh,” said Simon, trying and failing to sound pleased. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Well, OK,” said Simon, with a ghastly attempt at a grin, “just a bit of a headache.” 

“So they are going to let you go home?”

“Well..,” began Simon. “Only if someone can vouch for him,” said the orderly, looking hopefully up at her. 

“Oh,” she replied, with a smile, “that will be no problem. I can take him home in my car.” 

Simon hesitated, but not for long. Though he was sure that he didn’t want to have anything more to do with this unsettling woman, at least this way he would get to go home. 

He got into his outer clothes in the privacy of the ward while Miss Simms waited outside. He glanced self-consciously at his thighs and waist, where there were some sore spots, but did not linger in his inspection, drawing up his corduroy trousers with evident relief and donning his plaid shirt with similar dispatch. As he dressed, he began to feel more at ease and even felt equal to sharing a car with this Miss Simms. It was much better than walking or taking a bus anyway. It was bitterly cold outside. 

He found that he was not quite able to maintain his composure entirely, however, despite the fact that she had to concentrate on driving her sleek black Audi. Feeling tense, he wondered what she did to afford such a luxurious car and listened with half an ear to her description of what had happened after he had lost consciousness. Apparently, the man had pistol-whipped the Indian shop assistant in a brutal attack as the man handed over the money and there was a good chance that he would suffer permanent neural damage as a result. 

He felt very uncomfortable indeed when Miss Simms mentioned the old man leering at the porn magazine, with a knowing snigger. He managed to laugh along with a very unconvincing chuckle, trying to sound like a man of the world. 

“Pretty pathetic, though,” he said, awkwardly, in the silence that followed. “Oh, I don’t know,” said Miss Simms, dismissively, “wasn’t he just doing in public what you all do in private?” 

To download this title from Amazon, please click here

Cruella Pain

I am an author of books with strong and explicit Female Domination themes.

I am a Dominatrix / Mistress. I am a bitch.

I live in the Chester area. Note, I do NOT have an Amazon Wishlist.

So Amazon vouchers ONLY accepted, from those devotees seeking to please.

( To Cruella.Pain@gmail.com )

The post Down And Outed: Forced Sissification first appeared on Home of the Best DARK Female Domination Stories.

I love writing about Financial Domination, it is one of my very favourite things – both in my writing and in my life. I found writing about it in this story absolutely irresistible. Clarissa herself was very much a creation after my own heart. While my own career didn’t start until after university, she was me in the making. For fans of ‘ultimate’ FinDom, this one is for you.

Amazon Description:

‘Meet Clarissa Clifton’.
That’s her over there, the long-wavy-haired brunette with the very short, tight white skirt, the sleeveless red top and the four-inch heels.
She stands out from the other students, doesn’t she? It is not just that she is a little older, 25, against the usual 18-21 bunch, it’s the walk. The walk that says stroppy is a virtue; compromise not considered.
She is a predator; a predator as cold, as dispassionate, and as efficient as nature’s finest.’

And what does a predator seek?
Prey.

Professor Michael Morris. Is a respected academic; esteemed in his local community; married with two grown daughters. He is a man untroubled by want, his is a very settled life.
But life is about to get darker. A lot darker.
Like a field mouse suddenly encompassed by the shadow of a hawk.

Extract:

Meet Clarissa Clifton, 

That’s her over there, the long-wavy-haired brunette with the very short, tight white skirt, the sleeveless red top and the four-inch heels.

She stands out from the other students, doesn’t she? It is not just that she is a little older, 25, against the usual 18-21 bunch, it’s the walk. The walk that says stroppy is a virtue; compromise not considered.

You like her already don’t you? You want to know her better.

This is her second day at university. She is on her way to the departmental reception to which all new students have been invited to meet the staff. ‘Mingle’ was the word used in the letter, so informal this Department of History!

She spent yesterday arriving, moving into her room on campus, unpacking and filling in lots of forms at university central and the departmental office. A day of necessary evils. Clarissa hasn’t come here to spend time on such trifles. They are for the humdrum, the grunts.

Today is her real beginning. Clarissa Clifton has a plan. She is on a mission.

She has spent a lot of time to researching this department. She knows the staff list by heart, their names, specialisms, their main publications. What she needs to research today is disposition. Her experience tells her that in a department where 13 of the 19 staff members are male, there will be at least one with the very nature she is seeking.

Finding this temperament is a necessary element of her plan, without it she is back to the drawing board. But is she worried? No, she is a specialist; she is clinical; she not only knows where and how to look for it; she also knows how to see. 

She is a predator; a predator as cold, as dispassionate, and as efficient as nature’s finest.

It is at this reception she is supposed to find and introduce herself to her ‘supervisor’ – the person who will apparently be her ‘link to the department’ and provide supportive counselling and advice as required. A crucial contact then; one not to be taken lightly.

The reception is already in full swing when she arrives alone. Students seemingly floating around the room in pairs, looking at the name tags on the staff and saying hi. Leggy, toothy girls all eager to impress, pimply boys keen to register a presence.

Clarissa doesn’t need to be in a tag team, she has her mission for company. And the start of that mission is the location of a Dr Robert Coker, lecturer and supervisor-elect. ‘Red or white?’ a woman in pale green asks, she is young and pretty, smiling, and showing even, white teeth. Her name tag reads Dr Suzanna Briggs. ‘Call me Zanna.’

‘Oh, red please.’ Says Clarissa mildly surprised. ‘Which one is Robert Coker?’ The no-use of his title is, of course, deliberate. Why waste time being what one is not? 

The blonde doctor lofts herself theatrically onto tiptoe and surveys the room, before pointing over to a middle-aged, tubby man in the corner. He is chatting to a group of keen looking students, and there is something about him that tells her that he is not The One. Perhaps it is the loose T-shirt with the old school tie printed onto it. Postmodern irony. Mentally he is dismissed from her concerns.

Call it instinct if you will but Clarissa knows that when The One appears in front of her, she will know him. It is an instinct finely honed and it has never failed her. Now she stands on the edge of the mingle, holding her red wine and her eyes move from staff member to staff member. Surveying, evaluating. Judging.

Two seem to stand out, a very tall, slightly-stooped, white-haired upper-middle-aged man with glasses, and a younger man, perhaps late twenties with the hint of a pot belly and a luminous blue jumper just like grandma used to knit.

‘Refill?’ the blonde again offering more wine. Clarissa nods, she is closer now to what she came here for. ‘If you want’, she says thrusting another, larger glass of red into her hand. ‘I’ll take you over and introduce you to Robert, he really is very nice.’ 

‘Oh no, no, it’s okay’, Clarissa replies. ‘I’ll just get on with the mixing and find him a little later.’ And there she stands for a few more minutes looking at her two candidates. She watches them chatting, tracks their eyes movement, laugh-patterns, body language. Like a hunter she soaks up all she sees before her, and soon it becomes clear that while both have potential, it is the man with grey hair that is The One. Pot Belly will just have to be The Other. First reserve.

And so, her mingling begins. It will be short and sharp. She has, after all, formal business in the departmental office to attend to.

She negotiates her way, hi-ing and bye-ing, through the various students she met at last night’s fannyache of a  Fresher’s Reception. They are nothing more than stepping stones. Until she arrives before the elevated person of Professor Michael Morris. 

This is the encounter she has long planned. She has dressed for it, and now leans forward and ostentatiously reads his name tag. ‘Hello’ he says. It is an affable, cheery voice. On the plummy side, but that’s not unusual in his type. ‘And what’s your name? Are you one of mine?’ He fumbles with a crumpled list.

‘No, my name is Clarissa Clifton.’ She gives him her cool stare; she knows to perfection the effect of her pale green eyes. ‘I am not one of yours.’ And then she counts to herself, one, two, three…’Not yet anyway.’ And then the slow blink.

She can see he looks puzzled, slightly unsure how to proceed. He is off-balance. Unsettled. Expecting deference but getting nothing remotely close. She smiles and nods to herself, and then departs without another word or glance.

Mission accomplished. Just the formalities now. She is confident that she will stay in his memory.

She is aware of what she has just left behind. And, if he really is The One, he will be dimly aware of what is to come. Like a field mouse suddenly encompassed by the shadow of a hawk.

To download this title from Amazon, please click HERE

Should you feel the need to experience the thrills and satisfactions of true FinDom, you may visit this page Amazon vouchers and make it out to: Cruella.Pain.com. You know how to please me

Cruella Pain

I am an author of books with strong and explicit Female Domination themes.

I am a Dominatrix / Mistress. I am a bitch.

I live in the Chester area. Note, I do NOT have an Amazon Wishlist.

So Amazon vouchers ONLY accepted, from those devotees seeking to please.

( To Cruella.Pain@gmail.com )

The post Meet Clarissa Clifton FinDom Fiction first appeared on Home of the Best DARK Female Domination Stories.