Amazon Description:

A hardcore ballbusting tale of an innocent young girl’s eventful journey of self-discovery, and her re-birth as the sadistic ‘Miss Ballbuster.’

Amy Martin was young, pretty, energetic and talented. She was also a failure. Failed by her family, failed by the school, failed by society in general. No qualifications, no prospects, no life.

Then one day, after an life changing encounter with her creepy bank manager she researches ‘woman who kick men in the balls’, and a whole new world is opened up. A whole new life…She meets Mistress B who introduces her to the spiteful delights of ballbusting, and she learns to see the world very differently. She discovers what is already within her. She becomes a very eager student as her bank manager learns to his (very) painful cost…

Extract:

As with most of the major changes in life, the very beginning passed almost unnoticed…Only when Amy looked back to the days before she became a merciless breaker of balls, did she realise that what started out as quite a modest ambition was to change herself and her life absolutely. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. She had time before the next one. She gazed out across the impeccably manicured lawn at the back of the large house she now controlled and thought back to those days when the height of her ambition was to become a simple driving instructor. She lifted her booted feet onto her footstool and smiled to herself. She knew she had come so very, very far…since that moment when she realised –with some trepidation – that she needed the help of Mr. Forrester… 

* 

Mr. Forrester was always seen a man of good standing. He was of the rank and position which the law judged him competent for many things well beyond the scope of ordinary people. As the manager of a bank, he was professionally equivalent to a senior solicitor for instance, or a medical doctor, or a minister of religion in the eyes of the law.

So when the twenty-year old Amy Martin considered her options for obtaining an official endorsement of identification as part of her application for driving instructor training, Mr. Forrester was the only person she knew who was qualified for the task, and who also satisfied the two year acquaintancy requirement. 

Amy reached this conclusion with no little apprehension. It was just her luck that her doctor has recently retired and moved away. She had not liked Mr. Forrester from the first time she had gone with her mother to open a child’s account. He hadn’t been the manager in those days, simply an ordinary cashier, but he’d been very patronising and artificial, and had kept staring at her mother’s, admittedly prominent, breasts whenever he thought she wasn’t looking. It had angered her that her mother had pretended not to notice, and had gone along with it all by being as unnatural and gushy as he was. It was his game, and his rules. Mother had simply accepted. 

But  as she grew, Amy had to acknowledge that most men stared at a woman’s’ breasts, and mostly this amused or even pleased her when she caught them staring at hers, but there had always been something creepy about the way Mr. Forrester had done it, his eyes sliding furtively to and fro all the time. He reminded her of a sly frog. 

All the same, and in spite of all her misgivings, she needed that signature; she was obliged to go to him. It was impossible to ring the bank to arrange for an appointment, since the number just routed to a call-center overseas. It was impossible to call her local branch. So she decided she would just have to turn up and see what happened… 

Amy worked at a meatpacking factory on the night shift and getting to the bank would mean losing sleep, but there was nothing to be done. If she wanted to better herself, she was going to have to make sacrifices. She had to make up for a childhood of terminal truancy from school, which she had consequently left without a single qualification to her name. Becoming a driving instructor would make up for such a lot of wasted time. 

When she entered the bank, she hated the fact that she felt nervous. The financial standing of her family had never been high, but they had done what they could and survived well enough in a hand to mouth fashion. And despite her mother being a divorcee who had no financial support from her ex-husband, they had kept their heads above water. Her mother had a long term, debilitating fatigue condition which was awarded some financial support, and Amy had worked at whatever job she could get, which wasn’t really very much. The nights at the meatpackers were so tiring. But it was better than nothing, but her real focus was the Instructor’s course. That was her route out of that place. It would be her route to a new and better life. 

When Amy entered the bank and stood in the mercifully short queue at the enquiries desk, she was simmering quietly with anger that she was obliged to come there just to prove who she was, and be made to feel awkward and out of place in the pristine, impersonal surroundings. 

She had considered trying to dress up a little and appear somewhat smarter than her habitual, pixie-like untidiness, but she had quickly discarded the very idea with an angry toss of her head. She was not comfortable being anything other than herself, and was not going to make any allowances for any slime-ball bank manager. Her dress, her rules. The bank could take it or leave it. 

To help her relax, she imagined herself in the kickboxing ring, where she worked out and developed her technique most evenings, using the discipline and focus to shut out the feelings of inadequacy. This tactic worked well, for she often found that the violence of the sport allowed her to channel all her frustrations into positive moves and empowering strength, and soon she was feeling capable and in control again. 

She thought of Jed, her coach at the gym, and it seemed ridiculous to her that he was not deemed of sufficient standing to sign for her identification. Why did red tape demand that a bank manager could sign but a respected coach could not? Amy knew that if she put him up against Mr. Forrester, she knew who she would rather put her trust in. It was a thought she enjoyed. 

On the one hand was a fierce, thoroughly alive individual who had fought for everything he had, whose eyes were as clear and direct and trenchant as those of a bird of prey, and whose limbs were vital, corded and strong. Dignity without arrogance spoke in everything he did. Against him was this flabby, dishonest creep, who could never look anyone straight in the face. Her mother just said it was the man’s way and to read nothing into it, but Amy still didn’t like him. 

She glanced down at the passport-sized picture that needed to be endorsed. Her shoulder length blonde hair was in a ponytail, emphasising the clean, symmetrical lines of her elfin face, and her blue eyes sparkled in the glare of the flash. 

When she got to the front of the queue, Amy explained her situation to the smartly dressed woman at the desk, who was professionally pleasant and maybe even slightly sincere as she said she would enquire as to whether Mr. Forrester was available. She got up quickly, with an encouraging smile to the queue behind, and disappeared into the secure interior of the bank. 

She was not gone more than a minute when she came back with the man himself in a bulging grey suit, his blue eyes protruding from a round, florid face, glistening with perspiration. 

“Ah, Miss Martin,” he said, with an unconvincing smile, “…so good to see you. Come this way.” “I just need a signature,” began Amy. But the man had already opened the interior door and was beckoning her to come through. His eyes doing their usual dance across the contours of her body. 

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 Miss Ballbuster – a Sadistic FemDom story 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.

Amazon Description:

‘Alice was eighteen years, and twenty-nine days old, when her stepdad – Colin – said something, just twenty-seven words, which changed her forever.

After that, her life (and his) were never the same again. Strange that the biggest changes can come from the very smallest of beginnings. That morning was a kind of before and after thing. There was the Alice of before, and the Alice of after. Two totally different girls…

And Colin? His life was cleaved in two.’

A stirring story of domination, enslavement, the exercise of power and devotion. 

Extract:

Alice was eighteen years, and twenty-nine days old, when her stepdad – Colin – said something, just twenty-seven words, which changed her forever.

After that, her life (and his) were never the same again. Strange that the biggest changes can come from the very smallest of beginnings. That morning was a kind of before and after thing. There was the Alice of before, and the Alice of after. Two totally different girls…

And Colin? His life was cleaved in two.

Anyway, to that morning.

Colin had been up early to see his wife off to her Saturday shift at the hospital. She was a nurse in the Intensive Care Unit and worked one Saturday in every three. He was always up with her at six o’clock to make her usual coffee and bacon sandwich (with grated cheddar), before she left for her ten-hour working day.

It wasn’t something he minded doing. They had been married for just over nineteen months, and while the marriage had not been all he had maybe hoped for, he was content enough to take refuge in his various interests and routines. He had never expected a lot from life, and life had duly obliged him by delivering just that.

He worked at the same hospital as Helen, but in the administration. His job was strictly Monday to Friday nine AM to four-thirty PM. His Saturdays were precious to him. Especially those when Helen was working.

But, by his terms, Saturday only kicked-off when he had completed the breakfast-with-Alice ritual. But that was never a set time. It was whenever Alice might deign to put in an appearance. After that he was free to do his garden, read his books, and in the afternoon take a stroll down to the Thistle and Down to watch the football.                   

This morning he didn’t expect Alice down anytime soon. She had been out on the town with that friend of hers, Amy. He had heard her come in well into the early hours. Rattling and banging around the kitchen, late night – well, early morning – snacking.

His relationship with Alice had improved from her obvious coolness when he first moved in eighteen months ago. He understood that, it had only been a year since losing her own father to cancer, and another man on the scene in the house must have been unsettling. Perhaps claustrophobic to her.

She had largely ignored him in those early months, and he hadn’t tried to force things. He just went along and let the slow thaw set in. Even now she could still be distant at times, but these days she seemed to mostly accept him as if he were part of the furniture.

She was no longer as hesitant to speak openly to her mother while he was around. Now it wasn’t just the yes and no stuff, but actual discussions. Frivolous and heavy. And she obviously felt less self-conscious in her dress. She obviously didn’t see him as any kind of threat, flitting in and out of the shower in just a brief towel and sometimes sitting for hours on the stairs chatting to Amy on the landline, in the same.

So, furniture he was, and he was very content with that. He really wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. After all, you never noticed furniture, did you? You didn’t guard against it. It never caused problems. You just took it for granted; like it was invisible until needed.

But Colin wasn’t just furniture. Colin had noticed her. He had noticed her very much. Right from day one, and more with each passing day.

He could not stop noticing, nor did he want to. Noticing her was what made his life bearable.

She was, after all, a very attractive girl. She was what Helen must have been twenty-five years ago, only more so. Much more so. Alice was the kind of girl that older women loved to hate. She had the all exuberance of youth without any of that annoying immaturity. Plus, she had that classy look; tall and willowy, with that deliciously haughty expression across her pretty features, as if utterly confident in her own superiority. And her high mid-sized breasts were just perfect to him. She had the confident walk and bone structure of a catwalk model. Her skin was like fine silk over glass.

Oh yes, he had watched her; had watched her and Amy, looking almost like The Sisters Spectacular, setting off on their nights out. Last night they looked especially radiant. Alice blond, Amy brunette, both long-legged, high-heeled, and short skirted. Alice displaying an irresistible cleavage, Amy braless, nipples active beneath the thin top.

Just seeing her filled him with a kind of pain that could never be stilled. But neither did he want to. It was exquisite to him. It was the focus of his life. All the rest was just timeserving.

Of course, when Helen was around, he couldn’t be seen to notice. He had to steal his glances when he could. But even a furtive peek was enough to sustain him for hours on end. How he envied those boys and men who would be seeing them on the town. What must it be like to have those two in your immediate orbit? He was fifty-one years old; thirty-three years older than Alice, and at times his need made him feel pathetic. Ashamed. Other times he just felt sad for his own youth. It all seemed such a long time ago, and far, far away. Was he ever young in the same way?

Helen, when her husband was alive, had been attractive to him. Perhaps because she was unattainable. The wife of his best friend from his schooldays. But with Brian’s death she had seemed vulnerable, all at sea. Only then did he acquire the creeping confidence to pursue a friendship with her. And he pursued his quest all the way to the altar.

But since knowing Alice, his feelings for her mother had somewhat waned. Even simple conversation was dull and lifeless. These days it was becoming a chore to touch her. He kept up a sex-life just for the look of things, but his thoughts were continually elsewhere. Usually with Alice, only a few feet away, through the wall. He sometimes worried that she might hear. Sometimes he didn’t worry at all. Most often he worried about the fact that he wasn’t in the slightest worried if she heard or not.

Sad. Pathetic even, but true. The pitiful crumbs of small satisfactions.

Sitting in the sun-baked kitchen he, at last, heard movement upstairs. And about time. She wouldn’t be long now. He put the bacon under the grill. On these mornings he always longed for her to come down. Just seeing her always gave him a lift. His heart would always quicken at the sight of her. His cock would twitch. He put extra rashers under. Extend the breakfast. Be the good guy.

She normally met Amy for shopping on Saturday morning. Then he would be alone.

Alone to be his true self.

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 Stealing Stepdaddy femdom fiction first appeared on Home of the Best DARK Female Domination Stories.

Amazon Description:

Oliver Sandbrook had gone about as low as he ever thought possible. Lower.Then ‘She’ trained him to assist Her in bringing other people down to the same degraded state, completely and irreparably broken to Her Will. Then, as her final act of sadism, She made him love it. Then Mr Smith, a very eminent psychiatrist, offered to help him get over his addiction, his addiction. He knew the deep and dark nature of the human condition and was no ignorant fool to the taken advantage of by a woman how knew how to use her charms. The trouble was, this wasn’t just any woman…this was MISTRESS MISERY.

Extract:

Oliver Sandbrook couldn’t resist a smirk as he sat down and regarded Dr Vaughn Smith, behavioural psychiatrist, MD PhD LCSW, sitting opposite.

For all the generous dimensions of the man’s desk and the prominently displayed certificates of excellence behind him on the wall, he presented rather a pathetic spectacle. There was a sheen of perspiration on the bald top of his head and he trembled subtly all over, his eyes wide and afraid. Indeed, it looked for all the world as if their roles had been reversed; Oliver Sandbrook the composed, confident professional, and Dr Smith the suffering patient.

The psychiatrist looked quickly to each side, and then to the closed door of the spare consulting room, as if contemplating some sort of escape.

Some hope, thought Oliver, glancing up at the neat little webcam installed in one corner with a full view of the proceedings.

Apart from the state of the psychiatrist, everything spoke of an organised, safe space, nicely proportioned and tastefully decorated in warm but not oppressive hues of cream and dark wood. He remembered how nicely Dr Smith had gelled with that pleasant ambience on their first meeting. He recalled with a smile how attentive and professional he had been, his round bespectacled head intelligently inclined as Oliver had outlined his problems regarding being duped out of all his money by his online obsession with dominant women.

Oh, Oliver could tell that he was somewhat surprised by the details of the case he laid out for him that day, but he was Dr. Smith Ph.D, and he was confident he could cure anything from a behavioural point of view.

He was the ideal sort of victim for Her, Oliver reflected. Past middle age and very respectable, quietly wealthy, single or divorced. Comfortable and self-satisfied, with church or community affiliations. Much like Oliver himself had once been.

He drank in the tension, misery and despair in the man’s face, feeding on his helplessness and the unspoken plea for release, for some measure of mercy. His body tingled with the pleasure of it, the manifestation of Her Will made flesh, the focus and the fire and the altar glowing blissfully through his energised, rapt body. His mind thought of nothing but how to magnify this event for Her, how to increase Her pleasure, and so increase his own. He had no other interests.

He shuddered as he seemed to hear Her throaty, cold laughter in his head, and then her amused, low pitched voice:

Good bitch.

The pleasure of it thrilled through him, and his prick stirred pleasantly in his trousers. It was an unusual feeling as far as he was concerned. He was much more familiar with his cock coming up painfully within the confines of a chastity device whenever he got excited, which was a lot of the time. She had allowed him to release himself just for this one day. For this one job, because Mr Smith, Doctor of Psychiatry, was going to suck his cock and swallow his cum.

Ordinarily, Oliver would not have been excited by the thought of someone performing fellatio on him. His energy was all submissive in character, but because it pleased Her, that was all that mattered. 

Poor Mr Smith looked like he could do with a bit of emergency counselling as he stood up and stared his erstwhile patient, looking pleadingly at him for some sign that mercy was going to be forthcoming. Mr Sandbrook smiled a thin, humourless smile. Mistress Misery loved begging and tears, almost as much as She liked ignoring them, and he had likewise developed a taste for cruelty.

Oliver watched Mr Smith as he closed his eyes, buried his face briefly in his hands. He wondered if he was going to cry. Mistress Misery so loved tears. He glanced up again at the webcam. He knew that She would certainly be watching, enjoying it.

He knew that it would not only be the psychiatrist that gave her pleasure as he suffered and bent under Her Will, but she would be enjoying the way Oliver relished it, too, enjoying the pleasure and satisfaction that rose in him as the pathetic sight. The original Oliver Sandbrook had been known for his kindliness. The present one hardly remembered him at all. If he did so, his contempt for that former self was intense and total. He had known nothing then. Nothing till that fateful contact with Mistress Misery, his Goddess and Owner.

Dr. Smith had suspected nothing of course. Oliver did look a bit like a wreck of a man. Certainly, he could point to a wreck of a life. He had been quite wealthy once, with a house in a nice district, and the manager’s role at quite a large supermarket. He had been popular and effective, and didn’t really think much more about it. Even his divorce had left him essentially unaffected. It wasn’t till he had stumbled into Her orbit that he had been deeply touched at all. Deeply touched he had been, and he had given everything up to serve a Higher Power. He shared a rental with another of Mistress Misery’s slaves, and worked at a public lavatory full time. Life started when he was enslaved. Before that, he didn’t even know that he had a soul. Until She consumed it, ate it from the inside, left a vacant space. Until She filled the void with Her own Evil Energy, submissive bliss beyond any dream of fulfilment and happiness.

Just like this one, he thought, he knew nothing of the truth. Until now.

Oh, the man had been so sleek, so amused, so easy in his professional poise. So comfortable in his smart casual clothes. All that it took was one look at something that pierced him to the depths. Those glittering black eyes, staring at him. He shuddered as they suddenly appeared in his own mind’s eye, turning his insides instantly to mush, bringing fear, adoration, worship, inextricably linked, self-supporting.

He remembered how unsure the doctor had been when he had given him the link to Her site, written on a square of paper, and asked him to contact Her on his behalf. To get Her to leave him in peace and stop raping his wallet.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that,” he had gushed, nervously. “This is all confidential.”

But Oliver had pleaded with him to do so, arguing that he could use his credentials to convince Her that there was damage being done, that it was abusive and wrong. He had a moral right to do so, a moral obligation to do so.

After a period of this sort of argument, he had seen that Mr Smith was beginning to waver and he had smiled inside. He knew that the man would at least visit Her site, and then having been there, contact Her on his behalf, telling himself that he had no interest.

From that moment, he would be Hers. A new life would inevitably begin. A much deeper life. She would take him to places inside himself that he didn’t even know existed, for all his qualifications and research. And once She took him there, he would have no way to get back.

She had allowed him a glimpse of that initial meeting, no doubt to feed his own addiction to Her cruelty.

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 Obsessive Compulsive ORDER: FemDom story first appeared on Home of the Best DARK Female Domination Stories.

Amazon Description

How would you fare in the Red Room of Miss Magnussen, where no one can hear you scream? Except the hundreds watching online, enjoying the show. In the Red Room there is no past or future, only the agony of the present. Like a war zone, no one comes out the same. Read about Rick Till. The man who had lived the superficial, unpleasant, boorish life of a man who had always lived on his own terms; unemotional, disinterested, unfriendly. Follow him into the Red Room, and see how he fares at the cruel feet of Miss Magnussen, terrified and alone. 

Extract:

Rick Till was in a funk. It was all he could do to stop himself leaning forwards in the train compartment and hugging the boiling tension in his guts. He was a man who had walked through his adult years as though he had a gun on his hip, a hard drinking, frequent brawler who was banned from most of the public houses in his home town. His small stature and clown’s feet made people feel this was amusing, but no one laughed to his face.

His blue eyes bulged slightly in a sallow, long, weathered face, and his hands were crooked as if still holding the handle of the pick and shovel that had been cradled in them more times than he would care to remember. His clothes were barely passable for public transport, denims and sweatshirt dusty and creased from work, though basically sound. A beaten-up satchel that contained a few tools and essentials were in the seat next to him, as if to deter anyone from sitting there.

He had never learned to drive, having spent the earlier part of his life at sea, but latterly had worked as part of a labouring crew going mostly into neighbouring counties. He liked to move around.

It was his time for going home from the latest job away, but the prospect filled him with terrible dread. He kept himself upright with an effort, kept his face as hard and set as it always had been, while his stomach churned and ached with anxiety. It was still all so new. He did not know yet how to interpret the signals from his bottom. He felt as if he were on the point of defecating, but he knew that it was only the plug installed deep in his rectum. The plug that kept him from leaking into his pants and staining his trousers. Oh, he had learned that lesson early! Better to feel uncomfortable and sore than stand up with a damp patch and a smell to match. It could be a build up of wind, which brought its own perils. He would have to go to the toilet for that, in case it made too loud a noise as he eased the plug to one side to let the air pass through.

He did not look at the pleasant countryside going by through the window over his right shoulder as he once might have done, if only through sheer boredom. Mostly he used to watch the people as they came and went down the carriage, gauging the fighting potential of the men, and ogling the women, as if he were some sort of bad character in the films he loved to watch, too restless and dangerous to read a book, or slip into a snooze.

But this time looked neither right nor left but stared straight ahead at the back of the seat or closed his eyes tightly with obvious effort. It was as if he knew something terrible awaited the train further down the track and there was nothing whatever he or anyone else could do about it. Indeed, for him, it was quite true.

The feeling of powerlessness came hard to Rick Till. He had bought entirely into the idea that you made your own life. Made of it what you wanted. He had owned every part of it, good and bad. Like most people, he would rather be wracked with guilt about bad decisions than admit that he’d had no power to do otherwise. Recent events had brutally exposed the lie, swept him along as helplessly as a leaf in a gale. He had lost all sense of himself, all his old confidence and swagger.

He had never greatly looked forward to going home from the job, however long he had been away, it was true. Most of the lads were much keener to get back than he. Rick had always enjoyed the work environment, felt more comfortable there, even though he kept himself to himself and was rarely more than steadily morose. At home he just tended to drink and, he had to admit, be a bit of a pain to his wife and kids. Maybe occasionally a bit more than a pain, he admitted, with an inward shudder, and not just to his family, but also in the public houses around the town.

At this thought, he had to stop himself from groaning out load. He stole a look around the train carriage to see if he were attracting attention, but if anyone noticed that he was on edge, they gave no sign on it. Mostly they had their attention drawn to mobile phones or laptops anyway.

He had always been in control. His life had been on his own terms. He gave no favours to anyone, never did anything he didn’t want to do, and threatened violence to anyone who dared suggest anything different.

Nevertheless, he knew that he was going to do something that day that went against everything that he had built his life around, compelled against every shred of his old identity by a deep urge that he had not even known existed.

He had been through it a hundred times in his head over the past days as the job progressed. He had found it easier when he was working, concentrating on the job, but at night at the guesthouse it had been hell.

As the train rattled along terrible images flashed before his mind’s eye, impacting like blows to his brain, making him wince. The gleaming toe of a female boot in patent black leather, the arch of its heel, a slim extended finger pointing down at it, with a painted nail the colour of blood.

No…..!

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 Red Room Sadistic FemDom first appeared on Home of the Best DARK Female Domination Stories.

Amazon Description:

Ashley had been warned. He only wanted to study the game and see how it worked, see just how women put men into virtual cages, and made them suffer and pay. He visited the world of Financial Domination and peered in through the bars.

He watched how the twisted wrecks were eaten out from the inside and stripped of their last penny, then eaten and stripped again without mercy. He saw how they were utterly unable to escape, their addiction to wallet rape, the worship of their Female Captors, even as it slowly destroyed them. It was only natural that he would gravitate to the worst cases, the most degraded and pathetic victims, those trapped in the ultimate sadistic vortex of Mistress Misery.

They begged him to flee, to run, and never look back. They were the shocking results of Her Cruelty, their sunken eyes burning with depraved energy. Ashley reasoned that he was only doing research into a psycho sexual phenomena in order to turn it to his own advantage. He really had nothing to fear, and as a student, nothing to be stripped of. Mistress Misery was nothing more than an interesting case study. It’s true that her dark eyes had a way of holding you, but She seemed to realise that he needed help and offered to assist. He ignored the warning voices…

Extract:

An old man knelt on the carpeted floor, fully dressed in beige cotton slacks and a pale blue shirt. He whimpered as a wet stain grew around his groin, grew larger, then drips appeared, streaks down his legs. Off cam, there was the sound of female laughter.

“Now go and buy another porn mag, cretin. You’ve got five minutes.”

“No, please,” he begged, pathetically.

Again the laughter came, a nickering, sadistic sound.

“And make sure it’s ‘Sexy Teens’ again, you filthy old goat. And I’ll know if you try and change your pissy trousers, or your nappy.”

He looked at the camera and stared right at the viewer with one long, agonised stare. The dull pain of something caught, beaten, reduced, and utterly without hope.

He hung his head, and groaned.

She laughed again, this time a tinkling, joyful sound.

“Are you crying, loser?” She asked, lilting and amused. “If so, come closer to the cam. You know I love tears.”

The old man went closer to the cam.

At this moment, Ashley heard a loud knocking at his door and he closed the lid of his laptop with a guilty snap.

He knew who it was. He had lost track of the time.

“Morning,” he said, with a little tremor in his voice.

If Mr Solly Ackerman noticed Ashley’s nervous tone, he appeared to ignore it, just held out his hand with a noncommittal grunt.

Ashley handed him the rent for the week and watched as he carefully counted it. Talk about old school, he thought. As he watched him for a moment longer, the image of the old man in the clip came to his mind’s eye. It would be surely impossible for anything to reduce Mr Ackerman to such a pitiable state.

“Two more years,” said Ashley, with a bright smile. “Should be moving out after that. Moving out and moving up.”

“You’ll never amount to anything, Hillcrest,” said his landlord, with a sour look and curl of his lip. Then he turned, muttering something to himself, and went out into the street, shutting the door with a careless clang.

Ashley snorted softly to himself. We’ll see about that.

He watched him slouch off through the window in his greasy coat and deliberate step, looking neither right nor left at the faded houses and pinched gardens converted long ago to parking spaces.

He smiled grimly as he heard Mr Ackerman drive away in his beaten up old Ford. It’s not as though the man had gotten very far either. He would show the man. He had dreams and visions! Oh, yes, it was fine for the old fool to sneer at Sociology but he had no intention of being a grubbing social worker, or ‘doing his bit’ for society. He had taken up Sociology to study humanity’s weaknesses, to see the gaps and loopholes that the ordinary person couldn’t see.

He sat down with a sigh and looked around him. The single room had a bed and a little kitchen bar, with enough space to allow for a single armchair and a television, but that was about it. The television space, Ashley had converted to a computer station with a little table and seat. From there he would conquer the world. It was all you needed these days, a computer and a decent download speed. With those, anything was possible.

As with all students however, instead of accumulating wealth, he had actually run up a considerable burden of debt. He received a small bursary from the home for young delinquents that had taken him in once his foster parents had given him up as too wayward, but it was nothing like sufficient enough to actually meet all his needs. 

It was all very well for the girls. A lot of them got lucrative work in the local sex bars, wearing next to nothing and keeping the men amused. They looked at it as a sort of workout round a pole that also made them a fortune. The men were stuck with much more mundane and lesser paid jobs like factory work, or kitchen portering. 

It seemed obvious to Ashley that the money followed the females. Even if it were the men that earned the money, it still gravitated there eventually, as if drawn by some irresistible force.

When he had attended the lecture on the ‘Persistence of Female Archetypes in the Modern World’ he had hardly needed to be told that the ‘worship of the Divine Feminine was very much a growing and widespread dynamic among the online community’.

He was however very surprised to discover that there were an increasing number of women posing as online ‘Goddesses’, with adoring male followers and abject worshippers who paid vast sums in cash offerings in return for a single moment of her attention, or in some cases, without getting any attention at all. They did very little but simply look gorgeous and take the cash. They didn’t appear to offer a ‘service’ in any sense of the word.

He had researched it online when he got back to his room and sure enough, he found endless links and pages and sites. Ashley got tremendously excited. He had heard of ‘get rich quick’ schemes of course, but this seemed like a gilt edged opportunity. He found out that quite a few of these women were actually not who they pretended to be. They used stock images rather than relying on their own looks. Why not a male, then? All that would be required was a portfolio of pics and the right attitude.

The male victims didn’t seem to care. They were sacrificing themselves to an idealised fantasy anyway. It wasn’t real. A Goddess figure that didn’t age; that was perfect in every way.

All he had to do was create a fictional woman. He could start a blog about how the money was spent. As long as he didn’t stream live, who would know the difference? He was good with computers. He could use photoshop.

He needed to get a sense of how these sort of women operated, so he went through a number of sites that advertised the sort of goddess worship that so many men seemingly craved. 

That was why he had been watching that clip from a blog called ‘Misery’s Pets’, before he had been interrupted by the landlord.

What he had seen there however had made him wonder if he could really pull it off. The really successful ‘FinDoms’, as they were called, were shockingly cruel. He had been following ‘Mistress Misery’ as a typical example, and she seemed to be able to get men to do anything for her, though she was not stunningly beautiful, simply dedicated and sadistic to the core.

She appeared live on several expensive streaming services with explicit content, and from what Ashley could gather, was rarely out of ‘Private’ which meant that someone was paying a premium for her time.

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 Extortionary Tale: Financial Domination first appeared on Home of the Best DARK Female Domination Stories.