Human Bondage – Volume Ten

Human Bondage – Volume Ten

The enslavement of man to woman has been the subject of countless books down the ages, from Masoch to Maugham, and shows no sign of slowing down.

Now, FDC bring you the “Human Bondage” collection, with the books in each volume describing the gradual and insidious fall to servitude, and the sexual and domestic conditioning of unwilling and once-proud men, to all too willing – and sometimes evil – women.

The Tenth volume in the collection contains two works, opening with Hillary Marshall’s tale of ex-wifely vengeance, “Breaking the Ex Husband”; followed by Clarice Darling’s classic of cuckolding and domination, “Husband to Cuckold… and Worse”.

EXCERPTS

“Breaking the Ex Husband”

Rachel Wells ran her eyes over her former husband’s uncomfortably stretched body she had secured to the wall of her cellar and admired the body she had decided to make hers by force after the bonds of matrimony had failed to hold him.

He would, she had promised herself, and hating it or not, be held now.

Despite the cool cellar air, his skin was bathed in a sheen of perspiration that was part the exertion of his unnatural and unyielding position and part fear. His arms were stretched and pinioned above his head by the manacles she herself had anchor-bolted into the stone-wall along with those that shackled the ankles of his outstretched legs below. In fact, the whole cellar had been her doing and, even if she said so herself, had been executed to perfection; even allowing for the absent outside help from professional artisans the criminal nature of her purposes denied her.

It was windowless, Spartan, and very secure.

She had placed her still groggy former husband in his current position some three hours ago now and, notwithstanding the hate-filled looks he blazed her way whenever their eyes met and which grew in intensity as the drugs in his system wore off, the cock with which he had once seduced her was as hard as she could ever remember.

“Somebody seems to like being all strung up and helpless,” she commented, fetching forth a fresh burst of futile struggling and more hate-filled looks.

The large balls she had always enjoyed handling when they were a couple; when he would allow it, and before she realised her only real attraction for him had been the Trust-Fund her late-parents had set-up for their only daughter; were attempting to vomit themselves up towards his cock as a prelude to spouting their load as she handled them once again.

Only to find themselves denied their objective by the ball spreader and stretcher in which she had imprisoned them.

A large woman, easily as tall as her ex-husband and, after exercise had added muscle as well as strength to what had once been bulk; Rachel Wells moved closer to those lean and handsome features that had so beguiled her and caused her so much mental pain. The intensity of her own eyes even greater than the hate beamed towards her from her victim. So great, it was her ex-husband, still groggy from the medication that had kept him under or not, who blinked first and turned his head from the features he had described as “Piggy” before leaving her for good.

“I wonder how your little girl-toy would feel to see her big strong man get all hard in his ex-wife’s hands?” she laughed, sensing all the impossible thoughts running through his head as he tried to form words around the ball-gag with which she had fitted him and succeeded only in forcing out some untranslatable mumblings that sent saliva past the gag to trickle down his chin.

And why wouldn’t those thoughts be impossible?

Only last night he had phoned the latest and trusting little girl toy to fund him and provide house-room. She had been at her mother’s home in Whitby and he had assured her he couldn’t wait for her visit to end and her return to the love-nest in Holloway her salary as a mortgage-advisor bankrolled. Call made as he spent the evening in a busy club in nearby Camden. A club full of the scantily dressed young women he couldn’t resist – despite the superior version he had just spoken sweet nothings to.

The next thing he knew; he was waking up in the cellar of a home he hadn’t known existed that was now owned by his ex. Two days later and some seventy miles away on the Sussex/Hampshire border. Seventy miles that may have been a million for all the chance he ever had of returning to the shallow and carefree life so unbecoming a man of his 37-years.

If, that is, she had her way.

And what was there, other than carelessness on her part, to stop her?

***** 

“Husband to Cuckold… and Worse”

The woman was in her mid-fifties, fleshy without being corpulent and authoritative without being too overpowering – though she was, certainly empowered.

At least to the abject creature currently kneeling before her with his head lowered.

That the man was kneeling in front of her, knees themselves complaining at having to rest upon the hard and highly polished wooden floors of a home he had once thought his, this as she sat cross-legged and completely at her ease on the comfortable couch above, did not appear to seem remarkable to her. On the contrary. It was almost as if a man at her feet were no more than routine and wholly explicable.

It was made all the more remarkable by the fact the fortysomething whose home this had once been was naked in all but one respect.

That small concession to his modesty, it must be said, not being of a kind to provide reassurance he remained a man in any way but conceding to him by its unwanted presence at least a modicum of privacy.

“Your penis looks comfortable in its cage,” the woman observed to his lowered head as his eyes – and in just the way she herself had insisted – remained fixed to the toes of her shoes, hands clasped together behind his back as he adopted the position of respect she had taught him for when they were alone together for one of their monthly… chats.

Outrage, as ever, boiled close to the surface of his thoughts and even now, after so many humiliations, he could only marvel that his manhood had been so far reduced he felt unable to give voice to the many indignities and injustices being heaped upon his head on a daily basis.

All of which, he now knew with hindsight, the woman sitting above him at her imperious ease had either suggested or introduced.

Though how she had come to know his “mummy” or gain such influence over her he had no idea.

Kneeling in front of her in such a way, naked and with his cock and balls restrained, being but one of them.

“Now I know it upsets you to not be able to play with the little fellow whenever the mood takes you, but it really is for the best. Good boys need all the motivation they can get from their betters if they are to stay that way and become even better boys.”

No matter how many times he listened in on himself being spoken to in such a fashion, the kneeling man felt a sense of wonder that his life could have been turned into such a proverbial pile of humiliating and emasculated shit.

And in such a dizzyingly short space of time.

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