World Dominatrix

By DX

Copyright, 7/2025 all rights reserved.

 We ‘met’ on an on-line dating website.  She was Hollywood beautiful, with long blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, and a lean, supermodel’s body, and when she pinged me on the app, I immediately knew it was fake.

 As an astro-physicist, I spent my life pouring over blurry images of the distant cosmos searching for trace signs of life, and not enough time on a social life on this planet.  My main exercise came from pedaling my bike up the long sloping hill to the observatory to gaze unblinkingly at the stars to ponder the universe with the sole hope that there was someone, lightyears away, gazing back.

 I was alone.

 And alone sucked.

 A colleague suggested the dating app and helped me set up what I would like in a friend—and on a dark, cloudy night, while waiting for spectrograph images, I opened the app and there she was: Amanda Winters, PHD.

 She literally took my breath away.  Her intense, fjord blue gaze was mesmerizing, as if she was calculating the depth of a black hole.  She had soft, kissable lips, and a tiny, slightly turned up nose.  Her magnificent breasts could not be hidden by a lab coat.

 All fake, it had to be.

 My first instinct was to hit ignore.  It was a scam.  I was not the kind of guy who got the pretty girl, but my hubris beckoned, that maybe, just maybe, she was pretty AND smart AND interested in me. 

 I decided to prove she was fake.

 It was what a scientist did.  Question everything.  Gather evidence and prove a theory.

 So I sat on the bench outside the observatory and searched on-line.  Instantly articles she had written on topics of theoretical physics appeared.  There were videos of her academic lectures, lists of her awards, references to books she had written on quantum theory.

 She was a fucking genius!  

 I noticed she had recently been on staff with an old friend who I hadn’t seen since post-grad, so I gave him a call.  As we caught up on current events, I slipped her name into conversation and he instantly regaled talks with her about ion fusion drives for spacecraft.  He then mentioned a partial attempt at getting to know her better, but she was only interested in his mind.

 While we talked, I realized Amanda was an intellectual butterfly, touching briefly on every science she could find.  She must have read my latest article on non-faster than light craft and space exploration and wanted to discuss the idea further with me.  She wasn’t looking for a ‘date’.

 But it was a dating app, right?

 I pinged her back.

 What harm could there be?  I was just an astro-physicist, and a boring one at that.  What could possibly go wrong?

 World conquering Supervillain was not on my list, but seriously, who would have thought that?  Scam artist?  Yes.  End of the World?  No.

 We chatted on the app.  Then chatted more off the app.  We fired theories back and forth, sent each other articles and equations we were working on.

 We hit it off.

 We finally met face to face at a lecture at University.  

 I was tongue tied.  Her beautiful radiance was stunning.  I did managed to joke, “You’re so bright, you have exceeded the SPF rating of my sunblock!”

 Her laughter was like crystal chimes.

 Amanda thought my joke was funny.  MY JOKE.  That should have been a clue she was evil.

 But it wasn’t.

 After the lecture we did lunch, and we talked about warping space, and science fiction, and movies, and non-sciency things.

 Like normal people.

 After that we saw each other regularly, and lunches turned to dinners, and conferences turned to get togethers, and one night, as we left a symposium of pre-dinosaur life, she suggested I stop by her place for a night cap.

 I was lost in her lidded eyes and coy glance, and I stared at her stupidly.

 “This is a subtle word suggestion,”  Amanda explained.  “to signal you my wish to participate with you in a non-work, intimate coital,”  She blushed.  “that may include physical contact, like touching, kissing, and possibly other interactions of mutual affection.”  She smiled awkwardly.  “If you’re interested in such things.”

 “Yeah.”  I mumbled.

 I followed in my car.  It was a twenty minute drive to a part of town I never went.  Science isn’t a wealth driving endeavor, and yet she lived in the part of town where all of the houses were hidden behind tall privacy hedges and ivy, and police officers wore white gloves and saluted when you drove by.

 Her mansion was the posh one.

 As her car approached, the tall wrought iron gates silently swung open, and we drove past the rooks and down the winding driveway, and through the opulent garden filled with nouveau art sculptures.

 We parked out front of the palatial doors.  “I made shrewd and calculated stock market investments.”  She said bashfully, explaining her amazing and obvious wealth as she stepped out of her car.  “It wasn’t hard, really.  I just used a little science.”  She then smiled shyly.  “I, uh… took the liberty to give the staff the night off.”  She shrugged.  “So we’ll have to fend for ourselves.”

 “I’m sure we can manage.”  I mustered as I followed her in to her beautiful, and perfect trap.

 Roman columns of marble towered around me, as haunting paintings by Dutch Masters loomed on the walls, their eyes magically following as we passed.  We entered the living-room, if you could call it that, a grand and spacial arena filled with pomp and circumstance.  It was a great palace, complete with a baby grand piano and a trickling water fountain of a little cherub endlessly taking a piss.

 My head was on a swivel, my face slack, as I took it all in.

 Most notably were the modern sculptures artistically arranged among the classic works, all of a repeating theme: Aged bronze, about two meters tall, maybe seventy centimeters wide, and forty centimeters deep.  They were rectangle, and maintained sharp ninety degree corners and edges, but they were twisted and spiraled, swooping and sloping into odd, sweeping shapes.  There were dozens of them all spread about the room, some in recesses, some as a main display with bright, focused spotlights trained on them.

 “I see you’re admiring my art.”  She said, handing me a glass of wine.

 “Elegant and understated.”  I said, sipping at my wine.  “The casting alone must have been challenging.”

 She nodded.  “Your mind is so quick.”  She chided.  “You’re already thinking of engineering, instead of the art form.”  She read my abashed expression, but dismissed it with a smile.  “You’re a scientist.  I would expect nothing less.”  She approached one of the statues and touched it.  “The rectangle is a defined, basic space.  It represents man.  I break the rules and make it pliable, flexible, contoured.”  Her eyes roved over the piece.  “In my hands, man is transformed, malleable.”

 As I sipped at my wine, I watched her breath deepen as her cheeks flushed.  Touching the sculpture was an erotic experience for her.

 She looked at me, and took my hand and pressed it to the sculpture.  “Hard, yet soft, unyielding, yet passive.”  Amanda explained, her breath a hot whisper.

 She kissed me.  Warm and wonderful.  She turned me around and pushed me against the sculpture, and there we were lip locked, tongues dueling, breath quickening, hissing as out passions grew.  She took the glass from my hand and flung it somewhere, the sound of it breaking was distant.

 Amanda’s fingers worked furiously to unbutton my shirt.  She then dragged me over to a couch and threw me down.  She climbed over me as she attacked my pants, and any attempt I made to talk she silenced with her lips.

 With our mouths merged as one, she freed my member, and it happily and quickly sprouted up.  She hiked up her dress, and dragged her glistening mons over me and stroked my cock to full with her labia minora.  When I was rock hard, Amanda enveloped me in her warm, wet lust.

 She moaned as her fingers became talons.  She gripped and pulled me into her as her hips shifted and bucked and rode me like a stallion.

 Amanda rose up, her hips astride me, and rocked easily back and forth, then as her passion flew madly, she put her fist to her mouth to stifle her building scream, while her other hand reached over and touched a sculpture mounted on the wall.

 As her fingers caressed the surface, I felt her heart flutter as her body broke and shifted and spasmed into a hard orgasm.

 She stilled, trying to catch her breath.  I was seconds behind, but she only patted my chest and peeled off me.  She sat on the couch edge and eyed my turgid, spasming cock.  “Oh, you were so close.”  She whispered.  

 I was primed, if Amanda touched me, I would have spewed like a fountain.  

 She only regarded me sadly.  “How unfortunate for you.”  She said.  “That was your last chance.  How sad is that?  Your last time ended in denial.”  Her cold eyes took me in.  “Yes, that is your world now; denial.  You’ll never orgasm again.”

Teaser:  for the whole story, plus access to many more stories of fetish and erotic horror, consider supporting us at:
https://subscribestar.adult/posts/1933568

Copyright, 7/2025 all rights reserved.
[email protected]

Corporate Downsizing
He was brought in as an efficiency expert.  His solution, fire everyone.  But he saw something in a beautiful, young protégé who was willing to do ANYTHING for him.  Perhaps she learned too well about downsizing.
Castration!  CBT! 
Teaser:  For the 2,000 word story and 6 panels of art, plus acess to many more tales of erotic horror, consider supporting us at:
https://subscribestar.adult/dx-gagorder
https://subscribestar.adult/posts/1751055

Daddy

by DX

Copyrighted, 9/2024 all rights reserved.  Story may not be reproduced in any format without previous written permission from the author.

 She was bubblegum and candy.  She had puffy, petulant lips and a button nose.  She was petite and slim, with perky firm breasts she liked to display through her flimsy tube top emblazoned with the words, Daddy’s Little Girl. 

 She had playful tattoos of teddybears and unicorns.

 For her, everything was fun.

 She was sprinkle cupcakes and rainbows.  She was a pink forest nymph in short-shorts and sandals with a magic of wand of glitter.

 We had to get rid of her.

 Every season someone arrived in the logging camp who was wholly unprepared for the hard and dangerous work of felling trees.  Most were tree-huggers who didn’t understand that a properly managed forest was healthy for the environment and provided renewable resources, and only wanted to wreck things claiming to save the planet.  They usually weeded themselves out within the first few days when they discovered saving the planet involved walking up a hill and no social media.  The remainder actually wanted to be lumberjacks, enthralled with the romantic idea of manliness, until they discovered the high rate of amputations.

 Every once in a while we got someone like Pink, charmed by woods and nature and cycle of life but sadly, too delicate for the job.  People like her are the weak link in the chain, and weak links caused injuries.

 So when Pink stepped off the bus, giggling and cooing, no one was surprised when Boss Eve took one look at the bouncing fluff-ball of joy and assigned her to me.  

 My job was to get her back on the bus and on her way home before she got hurt, or worse, hurt someone else.

 Officially, I was to get her up to speed on doing the job properly and above all, safely.  I have resting grump face and permanent, glaring eyes of disapproval.  My heavy beard fails to hide my scars, earned over a life of hard work.  

 The bets were on that Pink would be on the morning bus for home.

 I planned for her to be gone sooner than that.

 I started with showing her how to identify Black Widow Spider webs, where Brown Recluses like to live, and how to treat for a Copper Head bite, followed by the many ways loggers get their arms ripped off, or the legs mangled, and how to avoid all of those things.

 While the safety briefing alone usually drove off the pretenders, Pink wasn’t phased in the least.

 She didn’t flinch when I showed her the first aid kit which included tourniquets and a bone saw.  She only nodded, smiled sunshine at me and cooed excitedly, “Yes, Daddy.”

 “Don’t call me, Daddy.”  I responded gruffly.

 In twenty-four hours my new nick-name in camp was Big Daddy.  Even Eve started calling me Big Daddy.

 I took Pink to the thrift store where we got her proper clothes and boots, and I kept the receipt knowing we would be bringing them all back the next day.

 But we didn’t.

 The smallest equipment looked huge on her small frame, but properly decked out, we started her training.

 She paid close attention when I pointed out the poison ivy, oak, and sumac, and she quickly learned the knots every woodsman knows, practicing earnestly with the six foot cord I gave her.  She learned how to field strip a two stroke, sharpen an axe, and how to find North with a watch and a stick.

 She learned to use her tools.  Although cumbersome and heavy, she hauled them up the slope with determination, and in a few, short weeks, she began to put on lean muscle, which she liked to show off, flexing when she caught me looking.

 I couldn’t help but think she was showing off only for me.  Although she flirted outrageously with everyone, she seemed to have a special glance for me alone.  I dismissed it as an old grump’s folly, but it was hard to dismiss whenever there was a muster she was beside me, close to me, brushing against me.  When I looked down, she was always looking up at me, her huge eyes searching for details on my leathery face.  Her proximity to me quickly became normal, expected.  At chow she always sat next to me, and her warm body quickly became familiar.  “More coffee, Daddy?”  She would ask.  “How about an apple for the trail, Daddy?”

 “Don’t call me Daddy.”  I would reply as I put the apple in my cargo pocket.

 As for being on the team, Pink stepped up and proved she was as tough as all the guys.  When they got boisterous, she would just giggle and be coy and cute and diffuse any situation.  

 She instantly mastered the small back hoe.  Soon the guys would ask for my partner specifically, and she would nimbly drive that thing up the steepest, narrowest trail.  “Who called for a hoe?”  She’d announce as she arrived with a big smile on her face.

 Even Boss Eve, a woman who hates women, clapped me on the shoulder.  “I guess your Little Girl Pink’s working out all right.”

 One early morning, just before sunrise, I watched Pink do the walk of shame from Georgie’s trailer.  Gerogie was the camp Lothario.  No woman, not even Eve, could resist his devilish looks and wild flirtatious glances, so it was no surprise seeing Pink sneak out of there.

 I guess it made everything official.  

 At that point I figured she would gravitate towards hanging out with Georgie, but every day she added her name to my roster, and everyday we headed out together, and every day the guys would giggle and smirk, “There’s goes Big Daddy and his Little Girl.”

 On days off, when we headed to town and eventually the bars, she would dress up in her pink short shorts and tight t-shirts.  She often caused a stir at the bar when she put money in the jukebox and took to the dance floor and did a one woman performance that sent many a man to a cold shower.  Occasionally, it caused a stir that usually required me getting up and giving everyone, The Look.  “We’re not going to have an issue, are we boys?”

 “No, Big Daddy.”  Everyone would murmur.  

 “Don’t call me Daddy.”  I would grunt, and go back to my beer.

 But I couldn’t help notice her dance as her lithe body gyrated to the music, almost making love to the melody.  I teased myself that she was dancing for me alone, a silly thought, but I couldn’t help it when I stole a glance from the corner of my eye I saw her looking back at me.

 On night, while Pink was racking up a big score on the pinball machine, Sol slid over to me at the bar.  “Why does she have to dress like that?”

 “‘Cause she wants too.”  I said.

 “Yeah, but it gives guys the wrong idea.”  He replied.

 I eyed him.  “Sounds like that’s their problem.”  I turned, and watched Pink at the machine.  “Besides, I heard she and Georgie.”

 Sol shrugged.  “Fuck that guy.”  He held up his beer.

 I touched my mug to his.  “Yup.  To his health.”

 To Sol’s point, the male to female ratio in the camp was steep, and you either hooked up elsewhere, or like me, learned to enjoy solitude.  Pink, with her unerring beauty, was a disruptive factor, but she found safe harbor with me.

 We were a team.

 Which was no surprise at the end of the season, when the snows threatened, she added her name to my roster to winterize the fire towers on the Ridge.  This meant taking the half-track up the fire road to all the fire towers.  The mission was to make sure the fire road was clear, pull down any big branches that would compromise the fire break, and service/repair/restock the fire towers.  

 Back in the day the fire towers were manned, I mean, attended, 24/7; a lonely post looking over the canopy of trees for the tell-tale signs of fire.  Now there’s cameras and central monitoring to handle that, but during emergencies the towers may be attended, possibly for long stays, so they needed food stuff, cots, a working stove, heat, water, toiletries, ect.  

 This was a tough job that had to be done correctly.  I often had to do it alone, which was why I liked it.  

 Pink was just plain excited.  This was a test of all of her skills.  There was no back up.  If the half track broke down, we had to fix it.  If one of us was injured, the other had to be the doctor.  We would be alone and isolated for a couple days or more, depending on the weather.

 Although I didn’t show it, I was happy to have her along.

 With the half-track loaded with building materials, food, fuel, roof shingles, nails, screws, and a kitchen sink we needed to install, we headed out before the dawn and made it to Alpha Tower before daybreak.  It was an easy service, but the real work was ahead of us.

 The road was shit.  The fire break was put in seventy years ago and the wheel ruts were so deep you didn’t have to steer.  Even though the half-track crawled at a snails pace, we were tossed around in the cabin as if we were trying to break a bronco.  Our first obstacle, a fallen tree, was hung up against another fallen tree and dangled precariously over head. 

 Trees like these were the worst.  In case of fire, they could form a bridge allowing fire to spread across the break so they had to be removed.  But falling them, tangled in a web of branches, made them unpredictable, and many expert lumberjacks met their fate dealing with them.

 Which was why we called them, Widowmakers.

 Pink got her climbing spikes and went up a nearby tree and cast a line to the widowmaker.  Pulling the rope through, she then connected a cable and fed that along, dropping the end to me where I connected it to the half-track winch.

 Getting to a safe distance, we pulled it down, sawed it up, and shoved it off the road.

 Goes easy when you’re a team.

 It took six hours to make ten miles to Bravo Tower.

 We were tired, but Pink gave me her little smile and we pressed on.  Bouncing over the rough trail, we made it to Charlie Tower by sundown.

 The storm was approaching.

 We secured our gear, battened down the hatches, lit a fire in the wood stove, and readied to hunker down.  For privacy, we hung up a curtain.  To save on fuel for the backup generator, we used kerosene lanterns.

 I gave myself a quick sponge bath, then dressed and headed out to the observation deck, whiskey in hand.  From there, above the trees, I watched the quickening night approach with the bubbling clouds of heavy weather in its wake.

 We were in for a wild one.

 I felt the thunder rattle my bones.

 As I sipped my whiskey, I wondered what was keeping Pink, and I looked back.

 Through the observation window, glowing from the lantern light, I saw her laid out on the futon, like one of those fancy, French paintings.

 She was naked, and beautiful, her face flush with passion.  Her eyes were closed and her full lips were parted as if she was tasting something sweet.  Her nipples were bursting with passion as her fingers played over her body. 

 It took a moment for me to realize, as her fingers toyed with her body, Pink, to my surprise, was not born a girl.

Teaser:  For the whole 5,300 word story, plus many more fetish and erotic stories and art, please consider supporting us at,
https://subscribestar.adult/posts/1454229


Copyrighted, 9/2024 all rights reserved.  Story may not be reproduced in any format without previous written permission from the author.

[email protected]