Manhandle

Grab him by the passion. Femdom Erotica. Episode X25.

She has a way of doing it.

She has a look in her eye.

She will approach him nonchalantly from behind and then quickly throw an arm across his shoulders, wrapping around his chest or his neck, grappling him. She will pull him close.

He staggers, trying not to fall, for just an instant feeling the vertigo of losing his balance like a finger in his ear.

Usually, it’s punctuated by a laugh from her. It’s a real laugh, one made in earnest and unacted, one that has only the slightest tinge of menace hiding down at the end of it. And he laughs too, nervously, bracing himself against her body, fearful of what may come next. It tends to initiate their play, but it is not relegated to an opening move. Sometimes she will do it in the middle of a scene, or near the end. Sometimes she will do it while he’s waiting for her in line at the movies.

She is strong and tall, but she doesn’t overpower him physically, she couldn’t really. She overpowers him with surprise, and the fact that his learned response is to yield. She overpowers him with his own need.

Sometimes he thinks that’s what she’s laughing at.

She does it with a callous disregard for his personhood. Although disregard is probably the wrong word. You can’t hold in high regard a thing a person has willfully given away. She does it so blatantly, so possessively that he feels he is hers in a way he seldom feels, even when she is taking him, debasing him, abusing him, defiling him, owning every molecule of him. Her manhandling of him rivals all those other things, for both its ease and its totality.

He feels her breath in his ear.

He hears her laugh.

He gets hard.

And once, one magical night in a dungeon, she did it to him while he stood in front of a mirror.

Ever since then, he has often longed to be a fly on the wall while she worked. To see her from outside himself. Simply to watch her face without being distracted by his own pain or pleasure, fear or excitement. And more than a few times he has had the opportunity to do just this while she played with others.

But don’t be misled, he’s too covetous of her attention and her torments to ever willingly turn them down or discard them for another to pick up. He’s so covetous that he has never told her what I’m about to tell you, for fear that she might choose to play with another in order to force him to watch.

Such are the secrets of a slave.

He was standing in front of the mirror, and she was suddenly behind him.

Her arm moved almost too quickly to see, like the slide on a pistol or the strike of a serpent. Snapping around him and closing fast, and he stumbled against her, almost falling but not. He felt the warmth of her breasts as they pressed into his back, felt her hard nipples through her thin shirt. By then he was so used to being manhandled that he knew how far it would go. His cock knew most of all, twitching as it yearned for her hand to reach down.

And in the mirror, he saw her smile. A hungry, greedy, gleeful smile. Her eyes shone like they had been caught by a ring flash, like some master cinematographer had lit her for her closeup in a movie that would win every award.

He would cherish forever that look in her eye, that glow, that his yielding could make her so happy.

And few things but her happiness would ever really matter to him again.