Worse Than Prison


My latest femdom story, Worse than Prison, is the sequel to The Soft Option. Nigel Cuthbertson’s trials and tribulations at the hands of his irate female boss continue. He thought this was the soft option, certainly better than prison; but a weekend as a naked slave turns out to be anything but soft…


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After a few minutes of folding towels, wiping up spilled talcum powder, and such, Nigel heard a blast on the whistle.  He hurried out of the bathroom.  Downstairs, was it? It blew again.  Yes.  He ran down the stairs, then…  he stood in the corridor, waiting for another blast on the whistle.

“In here, slave,” came Virginia’s domineering voice.  He saw here through the open door of the kitchen.  Nigel hurried over, through the kitchen and into a stone-floored, old-fashioned scullery.

“Get on your knees.  From now on, you always fall to your knees when you enter my presence.”

Nigel sank down, and felt the hard, cold stone under his bare knees. His fear of this woman was growing by leaps and bounds.  Originally he had fondly tried to believe that she was largely bluffing, even that she fancied him in some peculiar way.  Now he knew that she meant everything she said about him being her slave.

“Earlier, slave, you stole some food.  You are now going to be punished for that.”

“Oh no… oooo! Please… I was h-hungry… I didn’t think…”

“Don’t answer back!”

Ms Forbes rapped out and lashed the crop across Nigel’s flank.  He cried out, clasping at the new ridge of pain.

“Slaves don’t think! They simply obey! Now, Cuthbertson.  For stealing *again*, I’m going to give you six strokes.”

“Oh God… no… please… I’ve h-had enough!”

And Nigel Cuthbertson found himself grovelling on the cold floor, clasping at Virginia’s boots.

“I c-can’t stand it.”

“You can stand it… and a lot more, if necessary,” replied Virginia Forbes, coldly.  “Now get your nose to those flag-stones, and your backside high in the air.”

“Mercy!” Nigel had never imagined that he would have to beg a woman for mercy.  Then his hair was seized and his head yanked painfully up. Virginia’s features, almost savage in their viciousness were close to his.

“I have had just about enough of this,” she said through grated teeth. “You will obey, and when you do not obey, you will be punished as hard and as often as I see fit.” She twisted his hair again, then released her grip.  “Now! Nose down, arse up!”

Nigel felt hopeless despair.  She meant it! And he had to do it! Groaning, almost sobbing, he presented his throbbing buttocks for this relentless martinet’s attentions.

Each cut was a separate agony, the more so as they frequently crossed the still-painful marks left by those he had been given earlier.  Each had him yelping and begging, as he scabbled about on the stony floor. Always he had to get his hindquarters up again.  In the end, he was in tears.  He saw Virginia looking at him derisively.  “What a weakling you are,” she sneered.  Weakling! Had she any remote idea how painful that crop was?