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Tea at the St. Francis: A FemDom Novel
by Donna Lynn White

Category: Erotica/BDSM Erotica
Description: An Exceptional FemDom Novel! Prize-winning author Donna Lynn White's debut novel of masterful women and submissive men, The New Amazons, broke fresh ground. Now from her pen comes Tea At The St. Francis, which may be the genre's most profound, disturbing, and literary work since Venus in Furs. White's Tea At The St. Francis is the story of three women with a passion for chastising and humiliating naked males. Their ultimate aim is converting the world from a patriarchy to a matriarchy in which women reign supreme. In their cause, these women wield a variety of implements, including hairbrushes and freshly cut switches, while other women watch and cheer. Tea at the St. Francis is told in the form of an exchange of letters between Ellie Frick and Mary Lou Buller, both widows, following a tea at the St. Francis Hotel at which they renew their long-standing friendship. Ellie is astounded to discover seemingly prim and proper grande dame Mary Lou has, throughout the years, shared Ellie's passion for dominating men. One story the women exchange dates back to the last days of the Civil War and shows how a group of Southern women deal with a five Yankee deserters. Another letter deals with God's gender and the advantage this gives to females. Mary Lou's married daughter, Leah, also contributes two intriguing stories that depict her independent but highly effective efforts to assist in achieving Ellie's revolutionary agenda. Sibly Whyte, former editor of Fetish Times, writes: "Tea at the St. Francis is an exceptional femdom novel. The most original and intriguing one I have read in years. Not to be missed!"
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler, 2006
eBookwise Release Date: July 2006

eBookeBook

10 Reader Ratings:
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Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [258 KB]
Words: 59176
Reading time: 169-236 min.


The fellow, obviously having been there more than once, knew perfectly well, I'm sure, that Jane's clients were stark naked as was Jane when she worked on them, but nonetheless I heard him say, "Maybe I can lend a hand. How about it? Think your lady client would like that?"

Jane, foot still tapping, purred, "Maybe she would at that."

Frankly, Mary Lou, I thought at the time that, if the fellow had any sense, he would've taken Jane's purring tone as a warning. Anyway, I hopped back on the table and watched her lead him into her bedroom. She told him to strip and leave his clothes there.

I noticed that, as she watched him strip while discarding her own robe, her eyes narrowed and the tip of her tongue ran along her upper lip. You know, Mary Lou, it struck me that Jane took a more than passing interest in the gentleman's well-developed thighs and buttocks. Even though the heyday of spas and gyms and daily workouts had yet to burst upon the scene, this fellow had seen to it, one way or another, that his body was in excellent condition with nicely defined musculature and merely the slightest trace of love handles.

Anyhow, once he was naked, she ran her hand caressingly across his buttocks and patted them, then with a nod of her head, she indicated he should follow her into her workroom where I had stretched out again naked, facedown on the table. "Ellie," said Jane, as they entered the room, "this is Bob, another client of mine. He thinks you might like it if he assists. How about it? Would you?"

Still lying flat, I turned my head and studied him. Like I said, he was an appealing specimen, and having a strange female inspect him seemed a turn-on for him, because I noticed that, as I studied him, his penis engorged a tad.

I glanced at Jane and winked. "Sure, why not?"

So, standing on one side of the table with Jane on the other, he set to work imitating her long, firm strokes, working his way up and down my naked body. As he moved forward and backward, his slightly stiffened penis would lightly graze my upturned open palm. I blush to admit it, Mary Lou, but as that lovely, partially engorged cock slid gently across my hand, my fingers seemed to take on a life of their own and would begin to curl as though to seize that tantalizing cock and caress it. Prim and proper though you may be, Mary Lou, I'm sure you can understand how I would've dearly loved to grab that velvety thing in my fist, but realizing the naughtiness of what I was contemplating, I caught myself and made my fingers hurriedly straighten out.

Now it so happened that, as she worked, Jane liked to chat. That particular day, she mentioned that whenever Bob came for a massage, sooner or later, the conversations would drift onto the fashionable topic of the day, female power. "Bob and I disagree about female power," she added, chuckling. "He claims women will never have power. Claims women are too frail physically. He insists a male's superior physical strength will keep males in charge. Contrary to your views, Ellie, according to Bob, no way can there ever be a matriarchy." She reached across my naked torso and gently stroked his cheek. "Isn't that right, Bob?"

He laughed. "Well, come on, ladies. Face it. Men are stronger." He smiled and gave my buttocks a mild pat. "I mean look at you two. I'm six one and weigh one-eighty. Jane's wiry but only five three at most and maybe one-thirty, dripping wet. As for you, Ellie, you're not much bigger than Jane. I mean, seriously, ladies, even together, do you think you two would be a match for me?"

I turned my head, then reached out and stroked his balls, dangling between his thighs. I was rewarded by a sharp intake of breath on his part.

"Oooh," I cooed, "I'm sure you're right, Bob."

"Of course, I am," he quickly responded. "Males have muscle, and," he winked at me, twisting his torso so his scrotum wasn't readily available to me, "as you've obviously noticed, Ellie, balls. Men'll always have the upper hand."

Well, Mary Lou, when the massage finished, I slid off the table and snatched up my clothes and started to dress. Jane slipped into her robe, then turned and said, "Ellie, notice how in a warm room like this, Bob's scrotum relaxes. Notice how it dangles down, and the skin's so loose you can see his testicles outlined inside it, can't you?"

I stared at his crotch and giggled. "Oh, yes, I see what you mean. His testicles are very clearly outlined." I winked. "And I've already felt them."

He frowned. "Please, ladies. I wish you two wouldn't talk that way. You're embarrassing me."

Still naked, he took a step toward the door, intending, I suppose, to head for the bedroom and his clothes. Mary Lou, I still have to chuckle when I think of this, because suddenly, without warning, Jane's hand shot out and grabbed him by his balls. And she squeezed.

"Aaaah!" Gasping, hunching over, the pain which I understand is absolutely sickening almost brought him to his knees.

The poor man tried desperately to pry her fist loose, but between her massage work and her weight lifting, Jane, as I said earlier, had a powerful grip.

"Put your hands down, Bob," she warned, "or I'll really squeeze."

Well, as you might guess, Mary Lou, big as he was, he had no choice. Helpless, he had to obey. And, you know something? I suspect in the past, Jane had squeezed many another man's testicles, because she seemed to be a real expert. She later explained she didn't just squeeze; she'd crush one sensitive testicle at a time between her fingertips. Sort of pincer maneuver.

"That way," she told me, a twinkle in her eye, "I can't lose my grip and the guy's balls can't slide away from me."

Anyway, he hunched even more. "Oh, God, Jane," he whimpered, "please, please, let go. Jesus, that hurts!"

It's meant to, although," she grinned maliciously, "only being a feeble woman I wouldn't have firsthand knowledge." She turned to me, by now fully dressed. "Bob's kind of arrogant, you know, Ellie."

"I've noticed that," I said, nodding.

"I mean," Jane went on, "about the fact he has balls. He claims a man's testicles, those balls he's always bragging about, are not only the symbol of male superiority but the source."

She gave his balls another forceful tweak.

Her poor victim uttered a gasp that was halfway to being a chicken's squawk. "Aaaawk!"

Mouth open, hunched over, knees drawn together, futilely trying to ease the pressure on his abused testicle, he whimpered, "Oh, Jesus, Jane, let go. Pleeease. For God's sake, let go."

She just snickered. "Beg, you big powerful man, beg."

And, believe me, Mary Lou, how he did beg. "Oh, my God, Jane," he whined, "let go, please, please let go. I'm begging you."

She ignored his piteous plea, her laughter ringing out. "Ellie," she said, "you ever seen a guy get hit in the balls?"

I grinned. "Well, of course. A woman can't reach forty-eight and never've seen a guy get clobbered in the balls."

"Ever notice how just about all women, no matter how sweet or compassionate they are, laugh when they see a guy hit there?"

I remember nodding thoughtfully. "Uh-huh, now that you mention it. We gals may not laugh out loud, but there's definitely a little smile playing around our lips."

Jane chuckled, then went on. "I suppose a decent woman wouldn't laugh at the man's pain, but the guy's reaction is so hilarious, I just don't think women can resist. You know, the way he grabs at himself and sinks to his knees, helpless, eyes wide, mouth open, moaning and groaning."

I grinned. "I know what you mean, dear."

"And," added Jane, "you know, Ellie, dear, when some little woman kicks some big guy in the balls and brings him to his knees, powerless, it seems to me that's poetic justice at its best. I mean, isn't it ironic, the way those balls a man's so proud of make him so vulnerable? Don't you just love it?"

I snickered. "Oh, I do, indeed."

Jane turned to her victim. "So, how about it, sonny, boy? Who's in charge now?"

"Oh, Christ, you are, Jane," he moaned. "You are. But please, please let go."

Again she ignored the piteous plea. "Well, sir, I'm glad you recognize who's boss." She turned to me. "What do you say, Ellie? From now on, shall we just call him Bobby?"

I giggled. "What a charming idea!"

"Notice what a perfect little lamb he's become? As long as I've got him by the balls, he'll do whatever I tell him. Won't you, Bobby?"

With a sharp intake of breath, he quickly nodded. I'm sure Jane's strong fingers crushing his fragile testicle obliterated any idea he might've had of resisting.

"Well, then," she tugged, "come along."

He had no choice, of course. Out into the living room we marched, we women dressed, our victim bare ass naked. "All right, Bobby," said Jane, still clutching his balls, "over here."

Slightly hunched, grimacing, hands hovering near his crotch but making no attempt to pry loose the firm grip Jane had on his balls, he meekly followed her to the eating area of the room. A kind of lunch counter with bar stools stood there. A stout wooden pole, extended from the counter top to the ceiling.

Jane nodded to me. "Look in that drawer there, Ellie."

I pulled open the drawer she'd indicated.

"See those plastic handcuffs? They're toys but effective."

I rummaged around, then smiling mischievously, nodded.

"Good," said Jane. "Bring them over." She turned to Bobby. "Stick out your arms, Bobby, so you're hugging that support pole."

With her powerful fingers still pressuring his sensitive testicle, he quickly complied. I snapped the cuffs on his wrists. There he stood, securely anchored, naked and completely helpless. Jane released her grip on his balls and stepped back. Turning to me, she said, "What do you say, Ellie? Shall we have our big strong man entertain us?"

I'm sure I grinned. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well..." she smiled, "let's see how lively big strong Bobby can dance."

Then, Mary Lou, she hustled out the front door. When she reappeared, she had a thin, roughly four foot long, freshly cut switch in her hand. Turning to our sweating captive, she cooed, "Now, let's see who's the dominant one here. Bobby, I'm going to switch your bare bottom. Ellie and I'll critique your dancing. You can demonstrate how macho and dignified you can be by not making a sound and trying not to dance while a couple of frail women switch your bare ass."

"But, my God, Jane," he whined. "I thought you were my friend."

"I am, Bobby, I am. But, sonny, you're too arrogant. For your own good, you need to be taken down a peg or two. Learn a little humility. Who better to do it than a couple of fragile, delicate women like Ellie and me?"

My eyes probably went wide, and more than likely I began to breathe heavily. Plus I'm almost ashamed to admit that I stood off to one side, licking my lips in anticipation, but, to be honest, not really ashamed, Mary Lou, because that wasn't the first time I'd seen a man thrashed by a woman. Nor the last.

Well, I suspect our victim was determined not to give us feeble females the satisfaction of seeing him squirm, because he braced himself, and I could just imagine him thinking: I'll show these bitches. I will hold still, show them how a real man can take it, show them that switch of theirs is nothing.

But, of course, Mary Lou, as I'm sure you realize, any such idea was pure nonsense, just kidding himself. Because, dear girl, when Jane took that switch far back, then stepped forward and, with all the force she could muster, brought it whipping down across his defenseless bare buttocks, he simply couldn't help himself.

Letting out a loud, quavery, "Aaaaaahh," he convulsively jerked upright.

Can't you just imagine, how Jane's laughter and mine must've galled him.

"Bobby, Bobby, what happened?" taunted Jane. "Aren't you going to maintain some dignity, some masculine pride? Shame on you, screeching like that. Haven't you noticed the windows are open? If you don't want every female in this park to hear you yelling and begging, you'd better keep it down. Control yourself. Don't yell so."

She brought the switch down twice more. Hard. Despite the open windows, he couldn't help himself. He danced and howled. Three raised red welts materialized on his white bottom.


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