Divine Femme

A movement. A flicker of flesh. A star-glint of light off her shiny high heel shoe. Here on the inside, there is solace and there is fear. The world outside; unable to encroach. But her very next command could mean your death. That is the nature of the pact. Here, you wager your very life on her whim, and you do so gladly. You come to worship, to sacrifice, to give yourself in uncompromising totality to her. You are hopeful only that she will find it in her heart to use you as she sees fit. You are prepared to die. It is the thought of dismissal that is unbearable.

Being capable of mercy, she allows you to lie beneath her table and beg contritely for scraps, but she never gives you any. Your gratitude is infinite for the privilege of making those few slight sounds in her presence. It is so much more than you deserve. Cleaning for her, polishing, scrubbing, any form of labor that she requires; you’re on the job. You are especially fond of cleaning out her bathtub with your tongue when she has finished bathing. But you must never let her know, for if she discovers you find pleasure in it, she will forbid you to do it ever again. She has a marvelous collection of vibrators and dildos, most of them bright, candy-colored neon phalluses with a wide variety of ‘technical capabilities.’ After she has chosen one, she is in the habit of making you watch while she brings herself to a delirious climax before yanking your head between her legs and cumming all over your stupid, pathetic face. She is then actually so benevolent as to order you to slurp it all down, insisting that you swallow every last drop. Such unwarranted grace and compassion!

She often commands you to crawl behind her in the house, observing the extraordinary movements of her body as she walks in her high heels, attending to the few affairs she likes to do herself, things that you are not allowed to do. Usually, she will have you lick the floor where her footsteps have fallen, worshiping the ground she walks on. On rare occasions, if you have been especially well behaved, she allows you to crawl on the floor behind her when she is wearing her lingerie. At those times you actually witness the shimmering of her body, the mind-fucking little tremors in the pudgy flesh of her glorious legs and ass as she moves…these precious moments are what you live for and you can never repay her for her kindness in allowing you to share in such unprecedented events.

The last time she allowed this, however, you became too aroused and your cock grew massive and hard as a California Redwood. This was in violation of your house pet agreement which states that you are not allowed an erection when you are naked as it can lead to dribbling which might, in turn, soil her carpet. She was not amused by your willful disregard of her strict policy, and yet, in her infinite capacity for forgiveness, your Divine Goddess troubled herself to devise a training plan through which you would be able to develop significantly increased levels of self-control. Of course, as punishment for your thoughtless transgression, there was still the hellacious beating to endure, which she executed in brutal fashion, and which you sorely deserved.

Every night for a week thereafter, she forces you to sit, naked, at attention while she enacts all manner of various enticing movements before you, decked out divinely in skimpy lingerie and towering high heels. You are not allowed to look away from her under any circumstances. She has no agenda beyond the testing of your will, and so, she begins to move; walking slowly one way, walking swiftly the other way, sitting down in her favorite chair and watching TV while she tortures you with an intensely hot leg show. While you worship her shoes, her feet, her legs, her divine presence, she makes you bark; first like a big dog, then like a Chihuahua. Cat noises, bird noises. She turns you into a barnyard impersonator. Chickens, ducks, turkeys…then back to dogs again. She laughs at you so cruelly. Then she rises to her beautiful feet and struts back and forth directly in front of you so that you notice in detail each subtle nuance of her movements; the bouncing of her breasts, the jiggle of her delicious ass and chubby thighs, the incomprehensible way that all the parts move together as one. All the while, you must repeat your animal impressions. She wants them louder. Then, she wants zoo animals; chimps, monkeys, baboons, gorillas, toucans, parrots, elephants…the list keeps expanding as she names them off. The whole time back and forth, laughing. So close, so imperious, so demanding, so dangerous. It is a terrible thing to fall into the hands of the living god, The Divine Femme.

7 days and 7 nights of this spiritual training. During the day, you clean her shoes with your tongue; you do all her housework, which must be perfect beyond comprehension in order to receive her approval. If you finish all that, you alternate between yard work one day, and sitting (O Glory of Glories) on her bedroom floor sniffing pairs of her worn panties the next. She tells you that continued exposure to her divine scents will keep you in a heightened state of religious awareness and more intently focused on your obligations, which comprise nothing less than dedicating your entire being to the accomplishment of her will.

By week’s end, you are learning the discouraging lesson that training in spiritual discipline is a most difficult task. Despite your passionate zeal for pleasing god, you find that you have failed miserably. Throughout each of the 7 lessons this week, you have been utterly unable to suppress your erections, and have in fact been guilty of ‘dribbling,’ the very offense that is at the root of Divine Femme’s house law prohibiting naked erections. You cannot fully express your gratitude for the infinite patience she has shown with you all week. She has administered only light beatings upon you at the end of each unsuccessful training session, often nothing more than twenty to thirty minutes of crushing your puny skull between her powerful, rapturous thighs, but at the end of the week, you expect your punishment to be more in line with the epic proportion of your failure. Your only wish is that she would allow you to apologize, despite the fact that you deserve no forgiveness on her part.

She reserves the entire eighth day for the administration of her reprisal. You have never been more nervous in your entire miserable life. You expect that she will impose a ‘no contact’ period during which you will not be allowed the privilege of looking upon her, and perhaps even some measure of banishment. You have heard the frightening tales of banishments that match the length of the failed training periods. This would mean exile from her presence for an unbearable 7 days, and you try with all your power to tell yourself that your loving god is not capable of that kind of cruelty. You do not even allow dismissal to enter your mind.

When she appears before you in a mind-numbing black lingerie set with stockings and garter straps, teetering in her 5-inch black heels, you fall to your knees and raise your hands in fervent but silent praise. How could your inexcusable failures be punishable only by corporeal means? Could she possibly be extending to you a journey into heaven, the fruit of delicious violence enacted on her part and at your expense? You dare not dream it just yet. It becomes a day of the most joyous hardship. You have never experienced such a state of transcendence. You have imagined such things, but never expected to know them first-hand. On this extraordinary day she punches you with hard, devastating fists, slaps you continually with her open palm—all the while snarling the most vicious verbal abuses, which penetrate your psyche as only the word of the living god can. Kicking, smothering, crushing, her gorgeous legs punish you in every conceivable way, both physically and spiritually. In between thrashings, you are made to do chores. She stands directly before you as you polish her hardwood floor with your tongue, nothing but her imperious high heels visible in your line off sight.
–That floor better shine like the fucking full moon, she admonishes you.
She has a specially designed cat o’ nine tails, of which you’ve been aware, but which she has never actually used upon you. It has a multitude of hard steel goat heads threaded along the sharp leather strands. A formidable instrument, to be sure. Divine Femme flogs you across your naked back, reminding you always that you are receiving much less punishment than you deserve.
–Yes, I know, you cry. Thank you for your infinite mercy.
–Silence, Pig!
Another crack of the whip. The goat heads pierce your flesh with ease, and owing to their shape and sharpness, they rip small, bloody chunks of flesh from your back with each sadistic lash, lashes that The Divine executes with joyous, devilish laughter…over and over again.

She is not through with you. When she needs a restroom break, you become her toilet. When she has filled your mouth and made you swallow, you must wipe her glorious cunt with your tongue; it is you who must lick her ass spotlessly clean after swallowing down her morning shit. You continue to revel in your undeserved good fortune at being privileged to serve god in the execution of these delightful and necessary functions. More beatings, more humiliation. She notices a pile of shit in her back yard, left there by some stray dog.
–Go clean that up! She barks.
She makes you go out and eat it, straight off the ground. To wash it down? Dirty water from a standing puddle. You lap it up on all fours, naked; doggie-style.

The day goes so quickly. You are the luckiest man alive. She has shown you infinite mercy in allowing you to receive her abuse and to serve her as house-slave. She has even changed lingerie three times during the day and now stands before you topless, in sheer black panties with the words ‘Bad Ass’ scripted in pink embroidery across her divine ass, bare-legged, displaying the full glory of her unfathomable thighs, and of course, a pair of skyscraper black heels, this time with delicious, wrap-around ankle straps. If only she would allow you to speak. Such praise you would offer up to her!

–You have proven to be the most incorrigible of heathens, she says. No matter what I do, you refuse to learn. No matter how merciful and patient I am with you, you show your gratitude with nothing but contempt and insolence. At some point, a decision must be made to ‘cut ones losses.’ That decision came today, knowing finally, and with certainty, that you are constitutionally incapable of spiritual growth and of living the religious life. Your place is out there, in the world, with all the other ignorant, willful, un-evolved pigs. You are dismissed.

She turns and walks away for the last time. That incredible, divine body bounding like a force of nature toward her bedroom. Her divine scent fading away. Those words! Those horrible, devastating words! You are dismissed! Your heart is broken, your soul shattered, inconsolable. You cannot imagine what will become of you. She can administer no punishment now that is more devastating to you than this, so you muster your last shred of boldness and ask if you may have your clothes before leaving.
–No.
Her voice rings, disinterested, from the bedroom. You close the door behind you. The sun is going down and you squint as the last shard of daylight slips past the neighboring rooftop.  All that remains…is death.