• Home
  • /
  • Stories Hub
  • /
  • BDSM
  • /
  • Amanda Adams becomes My Queen Ch. 16

Amanda Adams becomes My Queen Ch. 16

Author's note: this chapter was written to show my appreciation for feedback in the form of constructive criticism - to those of you who've taken the time to leave it. Thank you.

*****

(Piglet has just left us alone; she's gone back to town check on things at her apartment. You and I are sitting on your porch. It's a beautiful, golden-fall evening we're silently watching the sunset together. My mind wanders aimlessly.)

Just like most worries, I expect that most sexual fantasies never happen. They never come to fruition. I expect we really wouldn't want them to. We imagine coercive situations where our consent is not asked for and is even not implied... but how terrifying when an actual rapist clicks the handcuffs tightly around your wrist.

If I keep my fantasy in my mind where it is safe and painless, I extract only the pleasure and if I'm lucky- my excited brain sends some blood flow into the desired organ. In my mind, I bring the statuesque vixen to life and she strikes my tender backside with her cane, this image tricks my neurochemistry and I feel no actual pain- just the throbbing pleasure of an erection.

We survive such terrifying scenes in our minds only to fantasize progressively more gruesome scenarios than the last- situations we'd do everything in our power to avoid in waking life. In this way, we might push ourselves to the extreme.

I'm no Puritan and I guess I consider myself 'a man of the world.' But I've always looked askance at people who go around wearing their sexuality on their sleeves. Sometimes I've even been quietly judgmental about them. I guess I can be a rather judgmental person. Pretty ironic when you stop and consider these bizarre fetishes I've so recently developed- at your behest.

Not that I'm a homophobe... but lets just say that I'd never want to participate in anything like a 'gay pride parade.' Here's why though: it's just because being so PUBLICLY sexual does not appeal to me. Something inside me doesn't like parading ANYTHING about myself. I'm not 'out;' my sexuality is happily closeted. I'm a private person- shy and quiet. I value the dignity of keeping a few harmless secrets from the world at large- my sexual proclivities are MY business (and my Queen's business). I don't like locker rooms. I'm not an exhibitionist- public nudity- strangers seeing me naked- facing their stares- the risks- the humiliation- It's just not my type of kink, and even now after encountering my Queen... just not one of my fantasies.

So how do I like this change from vanilla to- well my ass is on fire so I guess we'll call it 'cinnamon?' Well: I do love it. I love being made my Queen's sexual object, her possession- constantly reminded of her. What it is that turns my crank so much about her taking control of me is that I know that the sexual charge she's getting from my submission is the genuine article. If I had to ask her to do any of this humiliating stuff to me, the magic would not work. My mind would know she's only acting a role. But this was all her idea- her fantasy even. And the result is a sexual magic like I've never experienced- it's highly intoxicating.

Anyone who has ever stoked a fire instantly understands the metaphor. To see a flame grow brighter with your own breath is to be aware of this same ability in the mind of your lover. My sexuality is just a flame and nobody has ever been able to make it dance like my Queen- Amanda.

"Thomas," You say pulling me out of my reverie. It is the first time I've heard my real name in several days. It comes as quite the shock.

"Yes, m-my Queen," I stammer in reply showing my alarm.

You look at me with a new and sudden softness, "You can call me Amanda if you like- for now- just for now. I want us to step out of our... 'roles' - just a little while- and have a talk."

You see my perplexed look.

"Don't worry, you haven't done anything remotely wrong, I just realize that I don't know your life or your history. There are some things I'd like to find out about you so I can continue to toy with your psychology- only in ways that won't cause any permanent damage. Because I- I mean it- I really care about you, Thomas... I wish I knew more about you."

We both realize that this is you reaching for a whole new note of vulnerability. It's as if you're asking me to wake up from a state of deep hypnotism. You look away slightly as if you half-wished you hadn't laid this card down before me.

But I want to encourage you. I say, "It's alright, a- Amanda." It feels so strange to be saying your name.

I've opened the floodgate of what you have to tell me.

"I had this nagging fear that I might do something to you that you would not find erotic in any capacity- or worse- that it would be an ugly abuse or a breach of the trust we've been building between us. That's not what I'm about... so I need to know... for instance what's in your secret stash of fantasies... and what isn't... So far I've been trusting my own intuition and desires because I sense- I'll say- correctly that it's hotter for both of us if I don't have to stop and ask your permission for every little thing I do. What an unpleasant wet blanket that would be!"

"You're right, Amanda, that's... actually very true. It's hotter for me when you just make me do something or do something to me without asking."

"What about when I whip you or cane you- and leave bright red marks all across your ass? Is that in your secret box of fantasies?"

"Yyyyyyyes. And in-fact, it's even hotter in hindsight."

"What about when I lock up your cock in a tight, steel chastity cage and wear the key around my neck to tease you? Do you like that?"

"Yes. I never would have gone through with the Prince Albert if I didn't find it highly erotic to turn over that control to you."

"What about the diapers? You seem to find them very degrading."

"I know, there's still something about that flavor of humiliation... I think what makes it hot is the intimacy of it- your direct attention- maybe the helplessness... gets me off."

"I should have probably asked you this much sooner... but here goes: were you ever molested as a child?"

I look up at you with a start because it's such a 'real' question.

"No. No I wasn't. Not even vaguely, but I came very close to being molested and I'll tell you why I say that. When I was in middle school- I went to church back then- my family was actually pretty religious. Anyway it was one of those big evangelical Christian churches with over a thousand people in the congregation- mostly upper-middle-class white people with lots of money. My parents encouraged me to get involved with the youth program there because I was on the shy side- the kind of kid that needed encouragement to find friends."

"You're still kind of shy aren't you?" You say with a sexy wry smile.

Encouraged by your warmth I proceed, "Yes. I am. And back then I was especially. But anyway there was this assistant youth pastor there that invited me and a few other seventh-grade boys to join him for a Bible study. I felt honored to be included in any kind of exclusive club and I loved getting into deep discussions about religious matters and the challenges we'd be facing as we became men... That group lasted for almost a whole year before my parents got a call from the police. They needed them to bring me down to a place I'd never seen the inside of- the police department. They needed me to answer some questions about our friend the youth pastor. Huh... I honestly thought that this must have been a case of mistaken identity and that's exactly what I told the officer that questioned me- 'they had the wrong guy.' Well despite my honest defense of him, that youth pastor was convicted of several counts of sexual assault on a minor. And as far as I know he's still in prison to this day...I guess he must have molested at least one of my friends, but not me... If I had to guess why, I'd say he just had too much respect for my father to commit such a crime against his family... I rarely think about that youth pastor... now but when I do, it's usually with some kind of pity. I never had the stomach to ask any of the other boys what happened to them..."

Your mouth still hangs open and you're looking at me uncomfortably seriously.

"Thomas, do you trust me?"

Your question hangs awkwardly in the air. Just when I've been this open with you, you respond by putting me even more on-the-spot and we both know it. And yet, I feel I can't answer you with anything canned or trite. Finally I find these words, "Yes! I just told you about a very repressed traumatic experience for me- I trust you... but I know there's still so much more to your life that I don't know anything about... Also, maybe I just have some 'trust issues' in general."

"I'm beginning to understand why... I'm just glad you weren't molested- I do feel for your friends though and I even feel for the youth pastor- think of the fucked-up childhood he must have had to become that way... maybe."

"Yeah- but that's too somber a thought- can we make this about me again?" I try to joke.

You smile warmly to show you're pleased with my honest vanity. Your upper lip curls and your smile turns from warm to hot. Your spell of seduction is as potent as ever at this pregnant moment- with your bright eyes all lit up and curious about me.

"Don't you know, Thomas, that I've been just as busy psychologically profiling you these past few days as I have been busy keeping you in a heightened state of sexual arousal? How could I be the queen of all your dreams if I didn't know the best way to unlock your delicate box of secret treasure- your very particular kinks and fetishes? And yet- that is exactly what I've been able to do thus far without even asking you to confess them!"

"I guess that is pretty amazing, Amanda. So... if you've got me all profiled... do share... what is my profile? What are my kinks? Tell me what you know about the inner workings of my mind." I say this not without a hint of irony because I know you wouldn't have made such a declaration unless you had something good prepared.

"You like being made to dress up like a pretty girl... and here's why: It's certainly not because you're a homosexual that wants to be more attractive to other men. The reason it arouses you is because it makes you more aesthetically pleasing to yourself and me- your secret co-conspirator and the object of your affection- I'm not trying to be insulting when I say this- it's because you're a little vain and even a little narcissistic... but hey- it takes one to know one."

I look up and to the right in careful consideration. You've struck a direct hit and I know it.

You push ahead, "You like when I spank you and punish you with pain because not only does it bring you into the present and make you feel your own adrenaline in ways you've rarely if ever felt before; but you empathize strongly with the sexual excitement it gives your queen to feel so powerful over you. This is probably one of the most common of all fetishes among both men and women and yet is one of the least articulated. We simply like to subconsciously know that somebody we worship is in-charge."

"I think you're some kind of genius," I complement your perspicacity.

"Oh you'll get your chance to kiss my ass soon enough... but sit tight... I'm not done profiling you yet. Right now we're still Thomas and Amanda having an important discussion about your psyche." You move in closer toward me, touch me, and rest your hand on my knee.

"The cock cage needs little explanation. Your treasure, your freedom, your autonomy, your very manhood- the funny absurdity of it being on the outside of your proud body- there being such a drastically visible difference between being flaccid and turbid- it's all just too fascinating to you. Add to that the possibility of inextricably imprisoning all of it and placing control in the hand of the woman you worship- just too perfect for you. And for you, not only is it a little 'prison' but also it's like a gun safe- a place to safely store your valuable and dangerous possession."

"Oooooo, I like that metaphor."

"So you make for me this gift that gives me complete control over you- what an intimate symbol of trust! But also it's a reciprocally tantalizing thought that I also demand this control- because having your manhood locked-up is a potent aphrodisiac for me too- my longed-for, even lusted-after 'ring of power.' But for you- this dynamic has to be 'really real' and empirical for the magic to work- thus the necessity for the PA piercing... What do you think?"

"So far everything you've said has been an insightful revelation... I don't know how you know all this, but I'm too entranced by your accuracy to contradict anything you've said."

"Okay, but I do want you to correct me if you feel I mis-categorize you in any way."

"No. not so far haven't, but please continue, your descriptions are getting me excited. It feels like you're lifting up the skirt of my mind- and pointing things out that you see there."

"Hmm, interesting choice for an analogy. " You tease before pressing on, "Let me switch things up a bit and tell you about a fetish I don't suspect you of having. Okay?"

"Sure, I'm all ears." I say though I sense that what you're about to say was the whole reason you brought up this business of 'my sexual profile.' .

"Alright, this might get a little uncomfortable but take this journey with me- we're about to go a few layers deeper. 'til now I haven't brought up Freud but here I'm going to- only to make a distinction. You... have... a good... relationship with your parents, both your mother and your father. But as is often the case: most young men find themselves at odds with their fathers for whatever reason..."

"Who are we talking about here, Amanda?"

"What I was getting around to saying is simply this: I don't think your...unique fetishes are a result of abnormal or traumatic parental relationships... simply put- you don't have any 'Daddy issues...'"

"Okay. I think you're right- my dad and I have a pretty solid relationship- one with mutual respect even though we approach the world from opposite sides of the stage."

"Yeah- right... That's why I say: I don't think that this particular fetish applies to you."

"What fetish?!"

"Cuckolding."

We look at each other. This abrupt sounding word hangs awkwardly in the air between us.

"Do you know what cuckolding is?"

"Yes. I'm familiar with the concept. It's when a woman establishes her dominance over a man by having sex-sometimes in front of him- with another man... instead of him- in some cases- literally rubbing his face in it." My countenance registers an involuntary display of disgust at the words coming out of my own mouth.

"Right... yes... but... What I was trying to drive at is this: I don't think that cuckoldry is in YOUR box of secret fantasies... which means you don't entirely fit the 'submissive male' profile. The reasons I imagine you stray in this way from the stereotype are complex... For one- you have too strong a sense of justice and fairness to lean... that far-out. With you its more like... have you ever heard of synesthesia?"

"Sure- I've read about it a little. I think it's when somebody imagines letters and numbers and days of the week as having a color or taste- a kind of brain cross-wiring. Vladimir Nabokov wrote about having it."

"Exactly," Your smile conveys that you are genuinely impressed by my familiarity with your word.

I'm feeling better about this new kind of conversation you've opened up.

"Well, I think there's a big similarity between sexual fetishists- such as you and me- and synesthetes. We have a cross-wiring in our brains that confuses sensations and pleasures. For you, receiving pain and physical punishment and humiliation- to some degree- arouses intense pleasure- but this is only if it's coming from someone like me- a beautiful woman who you know gets intense pleasure from controlling and disciplining you- the special one I've taken into my care. You also desire this to remain a somewhat closed relationship with the caveat that you wouldn't mind other beautiful women being added into the mix at my behest."

"My goddess! You're like the Sherlock Holmes of BDSM!" I laugh.

"But I'm totally right though- aren't I?!"

I have to nod my adoration.

"The guy that wants to have his cock locked up and clean the house while his wife or girlfriend dresses up slutty, hits the town wearing the key to his cage around her neck, between her cleavage, or dangling from her anklet as a lure for a- typically black- lover... to bring that 'bull' home with her and fuck in their bed... This is a very charged and potent fantasy - I think- because his brain has jealousy and even hatred hotwired with sexual pleasure. The submissive man who has this fantasy and desire could simply be bisexual, or more sadly perhaps, I agree with Freud that men who have this particular fetish have both daddy and mommy issues. In other words, they want to subconsciously mend the broken picture of his father abandoning his mother. His wife or girlfriend is a thinly disguised type and shadow of his mother... and the well-hung bull- the 'real' man-becomes a stand-in for his father. He wants the strange security of watching his father fuck his mother."

"Wow, Amanda, that is really... sounds like a really messy situation... it makes me uncomfortable to even listen to that description. That is not something I'm even remotely curious to dabble in. But I am curious to know: how could you tell that I didn't have that fetish perhaps buried somewhere deep in my psyche? I mean, I've told you so little about my childhood and my family."

"Really, just a hunch... and like I said... it's the reason why I wanted to step out of our roles to have this conversation. I mean- some guys just like to be teased with talk and threats about being cuckolded, because it's pleasurably humiliating for them just to imagine it- and go no further than that. But they'd be truly scarred and the relationship would be permanently damaged if the dominant were to actually go through with it... in reality... with a real bull. But I don't get the sense that you find the cuckold fantasy enticing even on a strictly verbal level."

"Yeah. I'm sorry to say, that if another guy entered into the picture in any capacity- even just the suggestion of one for the purpose of teasing me... it would really 'take me out of it.' I say 'I'm sorry' because I'm not even taking into consideration how you might feel about it, Amanda... maybe it's a fantasy for you and here I am effectively taking it off the table- with me."

"Please don't apologize. It's not a fantasy of mine to dominate you in any way that you're not going to think of as hot when you look back on it. I don't want you to have any long-term regrets about serving me. This is something I want you to know moving forward: I love you."

I look up stunned and wide-eyed at your magnificent face... did I just hear you correctly? I feel such a lump in my throat that it takes me a painful moment to reply, "I- I - I love you."

You open your arms as an invitation to embrace. Despite the intense sex we've already had. This is the most vulnerable I've seen you. You hug me tightly against you and I'm enveloped in the sweet smell of your hair.

"All I want is to stay like this forever." I whisper.

"Shhhhhh. You're with your Queen again now, my sweet Buttercup."

  • Index
  • /
  • Home
  • /
  • Stories Hub
  • /
  • BDSM
  • /
  • Amanda Adams becomes My Queen Ch. 16

All contents © Copyright 1996-2023. Literotica is a registered trademark.

Desktop versionT.O.S.PrivacyReport a ProblemSupport

Version ⁨1.0.2+795cd7d.adb84bd⁩

We are testing a new version of this page. It was made in 471 milliseconds