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Humiliated Males: Femdom Erotica
by Donna Lynn White

Category: Erotica/BDSM Erotica
Description: From the author of Tea at the St. Francis--An All New Collection of Sizzling Femdom Tales! Men get down on their knees and submit to chastisement at the hands of the brilliant new femdom writer, Donna Lynn White. Find out why putting a man in his place is "A Valuable Public Service" in the opening novelette. Then discover why even a strong man is no match for "A Modern Boadicea," when she sets her well against his. Next two women decide to punish a man who has wronged them "To the Fullest Extent of the Law." And more unforgettable femdom erotica from the unforgettable Donna Lynn White.
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions,
eBookwise Release Date: June 2007


5 Reader Ratings:
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Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [237 KB]
Words: 51475
Reading time: 147-205 min.


Remember the Shadow and that ominous query, "Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?" But what about women? What lurks in the depths of their souls? Sugar and spice? Or something not nearly as nice? But I'm getting ahead of my story...

Rush Week '58 had been fun. Being entertained by three sororities absolutely incredible. An unsophisticated nobody from a small town, I hadn't really expected to get any bid. And then to get three!

In the end, I pledged Rho Omicron Delta. It seemed to have just a bit more cachet, to arouse just a bit more jealousy among girls who hadn't received a bid from the Rhos. Nobody knew just what the Rho women were up to in their secret conclaves, but most outsiders would give anything to know. And tonight, I, Sarah Page, Little Miss Nobody, newest of the Rhos-along with four others-was about to find out.

But this was Hell Week. So what indignities would be heaped upon me and the other pledges? For the past week, Marge Johnson, my Big Sister and a junior in the School of Education, had been making cryptic remarks accompanied by sly grins. "You're expected to make a good impression, Sarah, and there'll be at least one surprise visitor. So no bobby sox and loafers. Wear your best party dress. And heels. We won't be playing Hula Hoops, you know."

When I asked why, Marge snapped, "Never mind! Pledges don't ask questions."

For a moment she reminded me of Mrs. Cooper, the Rho's English housemother. Rumor had it she was in her early forties. No one knew for sure. Nor whether she was divorced or widowed. Her petite stature and mature figure might suggest an easygoing matronly woman, but her-at times-stern mien was a warning to anyone who sought to take advantage of her good nature.

The personification of graciousness at Rush Week teas and receptions and at the Rho's pledge ceremony, something about Mrs. Cooper nevertheless rendered me a bit wary of her. Even upper-class girls stood in awe of her, although they all seemed quite prepared to enthusiastically carry out whatever she asked of them.

"Oh, one other thing," Marge had added, "Mrs. Cooper says you're to bring an LP of your favorite songs. Something you'll always like."

* * * *

The appointed night, I had trouble deciding what to wear but finally settled on my sleeveless, knee-length, red wool sack with its narrow black patent leather belt, black nylons, and black pumps. The scarlet dress and black stockings went quite nicely with my long black hair and creamy complexion. But agonizing over what to wear had made me ten minutes late-I still lived in a dorm-and anxious, wondering how the sorority and especially the domineering Englishwoman would view my tardiness.

But I was greeted cordially by one of the sorority sisters who took my cape and directed me to hurry to the sorority's activity room, taking my LP with me.

Unlike most sorority houses with activity rooms in more or less finished basements, the Rhos' stately mansion possessed a large room with a parquet floor and high ceiling. When I stepped through its double doors, I found the entire sorority assembled, obviously awaiting my arrival so the festivities could begin.

The furniture, including the ladder-back chairs reserved for the pledges, had been arranged in a large circle leaving a well-lighted area somewhat resembling a theater-in-the-round stage. The thought that pledges might be required to perform made me even more nervous. Wiping perspiring palms on my skirt, I hurried to the chair reserved for me.

Glancing around, the one person I didn't see was Mrs. Cooper. But then, wearing a purple, floor-length velvet gown, she made her entrance, sweeping regally through the entryway. An older girl sprang up to close the doors behind her, and the housemother surveyed the assembled girls. Whispering and giggling ceased.

Then she focused on the new pledges. "Young ladies, this is the most important night of your lives. More important than graduation, than your wedding day, than the day your first child is born."

A slight murmuring broke out, but she held up her hand. "It's true. Your sorority sisters will bear me out."

A nodding by the older girls corroborated her statement. We pledges, though, not knowing what was to happen nor what was expected of us, all looked puzzled and uncertain.

"Now, ladies," she resumed, "you are a select group. Very few are acceptable candidates for this sisterhood. It has nothing to do with social status or economic considerations. Only with our assessment of your likes and dislikes." Noting our puzzled expressions, she turned to a young woman sitting near her. "Madeleine, would you enlighten these new girls?"

"Yes, Mrs. Cooper." The young woman rose to her feet. She wore a long-sleeved, black moiré dress with white lace at the wrists. Facing us, she began, "You ladies may remember that at the Rush Week events you were urged to indulge yourselves in the fine wines." She smiled. "Well, ladies, those wines were served to loosen inhibitions. To elicit your true feelings about men and about the photos we showed you in our Pledge Assessment Book."

A vivid recollection of that notorious book flashed through my mind; my cheeks burned. Guiltily, I glanced at the other pledges. They all seemed to have had a response similar to mine.

The speaker again smiled. "I see you all recall that book. Anyway, observing your reactions to those photos of nude men and then discussing them with you provided us the insight to make wise selections of our pledges. And more importantly, you were all extremely interested in the male buttocks, extremely, every one of you."

The speaker resumed her seat, and Mrs. Cooper took over again. "I see Madeleine struck a nerve. But don't worry, ladies. You're not alone. Despite what today's women's magazines would have you believe, even in these exciting Frantic Fifties, it isn't men's eyes and shoulders that arouse women. It's the male posterior, the curve of the naked buttocks that women appreciate.

"But now, let's move along. In the next four years, you will learn nothing as important as what you will learn tonight, how to manage males. Lovers or husbands. It makes no difference. You will learn how to teach them the wages of insolence. For their good as well as yours."

A slender, blonde pledge hesitantly raised her hand. Mrs. Cooper nodded. "Yes, Lois."

"What do you mean, manage males for their own good?"

"We'll get to that, but first what do you think the key to managing males might be."

Lois, obviously flustered, hesitated, then stammered, "Love?"

Mrs. Cooper pointed to another pledge, a petite brunette with short hair and a lovely milky complexion.

The young woman grinned. "Withholding sex?"

Mrs. Cooper frowned. "Never. To quote what a wise Polish countess once had to say about sex, 'If God made anything better, She kept it for Herself.' Oh, no. We'd be fools to renounce sex. Now, anyone else? Sarah?"

I bit my lip, then blurted, "Cooking?"

A titter ran through the assemblage. Even Mrs. Cooper had difficulty suppressing a smile. "No, Sarah, the answer is discipline. And tonight, you will discover that love and sex are closely tied to discipline." She pointed to a fourth pledge, a slightly plumpish redhead. "Martha, how do women achieve discipline?"

Wrinkling her brow, the girl pondered, then shrugged. "Hire lawyers?"

The housemother looked irked. "Absolutely not. But I'll give you a hint. It's something you must do yourself." She pointed to the last pledge. "Now, Amanda, what do you think it is?"

The pledge, a tall, lanky young woman with brownish hair smiled apologetically. "I don't know. Nag? Scream? Cry?"

"None of those." Mrs. Cooper strolled over to a corner of the room and picked up something leaning against the wall. Resuming her position in the circle, she smiled and held the object up. "This is the key. A freshly cut, supple switch."

She lowered her arm. "But, of course, there's also the birch. The birch is actually six or seven birch switches bound together, each about four feet long. Applied to the bare buttocks, the birch is remarkably efficient. Like six or seven strokes with only the effort of one. A woman can chastise nicely without tiring, even if she isn't particularly large or strong."

Suddenly the switch sang through the air. I flinched.

"There." She smiled at her acolytes. "I assure you no male, whatever his age or size, can be switched like that across his bare bottom and not grovel and beg for mercy."

I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. Before I could stop myself, I blurted, "But that ... that's terrible. What's it got to do with love?"

"Or sex?" chimed in the petite brunette.

"A great deal, young ladies. Despite all you may hear about men dominating the world, they lust for dominant women."

I couldn't restrain myself. "Oh, Mrs. Cooper, how can you say that?"

"You're young, Sarah, and have a great deal to learn, but take my word for it, power is a potent aphrodisiac. Just the threat of a switching from a female is almost guaranteed to produce an erection in a male. And women-once they've experienced the thrill of it--enjoy nothing more than raising welts on a groveling male's backside."

"But," I stammered, "you said something about love?"

Mrs. Cooper nodded. "Yes, love. For man needs a woman's guidance to bring out his better self. So, with a man's better interests at heart, a loving woman asserts her natural moral superiority."

"Natural moral superiority?"

"Remember Jane Addams?"

I suppose I looked puzzled, never having heard of the lady.

Slightly exasperated, Mrs. Cooper explained. "Jane Addams was an early social reformer. She started the Hull House Settlement in Chicago. She and other early feminist leaders promulgated that splendid credo."

I couldn't hide my skepticism. "You really believe that? That women are inherently men's moral superiors?"

Mrs. Cooper frowned, then said, "I most certainly do, young lady. And I expect to demonstrate to you young ladies the truth of that principle. So that you see to it males accept your better judgment and obey. And so that you never fail to exercise the power you possess to control men." "But, Mrs. Cooper," I said, "what about what Mary Wollstonecraft said in A Vindication of the Rights of Woman."

The housemother eyed me, then smiled. "You mean when she wrote: I do not wish women to have power over men, but over themselves."

"That's right."

"In 1792, that was a great step forward, but I'm afraid today that won't do. For, unless women exercise power over men, they can never have power over themselves."

"But do you really think women control the world today?"

"Certainly. When we exercise our power wisely, we control the world. For, you see, it's not the hand that rocks the cradle that rules the world, it's the hand that wields the rod."

"Oh." I hesitated. "And behind every successful man--"

"--is a woman, wife or mistress, switch in hand."

"But how can a ... a mistress rule anything? They're so dependent on their lovers."

"Study your dictionary, Sarah. A mistress is a woman who has power and authority. A woman who possesses and controls something or someone, who rules or directs. Not just as the last definition would have it, 'a woman with whom a man habitually fornicates.'"

"Oh ... well ... I never looked at it like that."

"I'm sure, my dear, you have a great many things yet to learn. And please dismiss any notion that chastising men is sadistic. It's not a case of inflicting pain for the sake of pain. The purpose is to teach humility. Men may be able to experience physical pain and eventually suppress it from their thoughts, but what men-or women, for that matter-find difficult or impossible to forget is humiliation."

. Once again the switch sang through the air. She smiled impishly. "And, Sarah, can you imagine anything more humiliating for a man than to be stripped naked and made to prance and caper by a woman? In public or, at the very least, in front of a group of women."

She chuckled. "Just picture, if you will, a large man being made to prance and roar by a petite woman wielding a supple switch. If you've never witnessed such a sight, it's delicious, positively enthralling."

"But," I insisted, "to hurt another human being like that is sadistic."

"Sarah, Sarah, it's for everyone's good. Remember, unlike the violence that abounds elsewhere in this world, there is no serious injury. No bullet wounds, no broken bones, no lacerations, no flowing blood, no burns, no ugly bruises or scars. Just welts on the arrogant male's backside. And, of course," she smiled sweetly, "abject humiliation. To remind him who's really in command."

Another pledge waved her hand. "Pardon me, Mrs. Cooper, "but have you ever done that?"

The steely eyes stared at the lanky pledge. "What do you think, Amanda? Have I?"

The young woman bit her lip, then hesitantly said, "Oh, gee, I don't know ... but ... yes, I think you probably have."

"You're right, I have. More than once. The cane and the birch are used quite freely in England. In the UK, women use those instruments to curb men's behavior."

"Uh ... do women ever get birched?"

Our housemother nodded. "Oh, yes. On occasion."

"Did you ever birch any?"

"A few."

"Sorority women?"

Pamela Cooper smiled. "Yes. One or two young ladies broke their pledge of silence and suffered the consequences. So kindly remember that."

One of the other sorority sisters broke in. "Have you ever been birched, Mrs. Cooper?"

The housemother at first looked annoyed, then smiled. "You're being impertinent, Mary, but yes, I have. Once. And I'll never forget it. That's how I know that no one, absolutely no one, can resist it." She winked. "I sometimes think every woman should have a taste of the birch. Just enough to know how it feels."

She turned back to us. "And mark my words: pledges who refuse to obey their housemother or sorority sisters will be birched. So, if you are called upon to participate, keep that in mind."

Two quick rings of the doorbell interrupted. The housemother smiled. "That's probably our guest of honor. Would the Welcome Committee see to their duty?"

Six of the larger girls rose and left. Mrs. Cooper folded her hands and tapped her foot, eyes on the double door. Shortly the Committee reappeared, four of the girls dragging what looked like a large canvas laundry bag. They hauled it to the center of the lighted area where everyone would have a good view, then closed the double doors.Mrs. Cooper advanced to the bag. "Ladies, inside this bag is a young man, a pledge of a nearby fraternity. We have an arrangement with them to see to it their pledges are properly introduced to fraternity life. And I'm happy to cooperate. It will illustrate what we've just been discussing." She bent down and spoke directly to the bag. "Can you hear me, young man?" A male voice emanated from the bag with a muffled affirmative."Good. Now, sir, you are to be the guest of honor this evening. Twenty young women are gathered around you. In a moment, you will be taken out of the bag to be greeted by these young women."

An anguished cry from the bag. "Oh, no! Please, no. Don't. I'm--"

"Silence! I understand perfectly well what your predicament is, but remember, sir, how you'll be treated by your fraternity in the future will depend on my report about your behavior tonight. And you're expected to maintain your masculine dignity. No displays of weakness before these young women."

Mrs. Cooper nodded to one of the Welcome Committee. The young woman quickly stepped forward and began working the knots binding the top of the bag. I held my breath. In a matter of moments, the bag was open. The Welcome Committee member peeled it down. Huddled on the bottom of the bag was a young man, hands tied behind his back.

Stark naked!

With the toe of her slipper, Pamela Cooper prodded the young man's rear. "Stand up, please."

He shook his head and hunched down, trying to hide from the feminine eyes staring at his nakedness. Hands on hips, the housemother issued a stern warning. "Sir, tonight you will obey my every command and any of these young ladies' commands or regret it."

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