The Coming Matriarchy - Chapter 1 - Lilith vs. Adam - Capture

This is not only my first post to this subreddit and my first work of erotic fiction, this is my first work of fiction of any kind. Comments are welcome. I plan a series of posts set in this universe if there is interest.
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The Coming Matriarchy - Chapter 1 - Lilith vs. Adam - Capture

The set-up had required time, money, effort and, to be honest, more than a little manipulation. My boyfriend Adam and I both had three months of vacation before we started our new jobs. (Actually, a partnership in Adam’s case.) My new house sat in the middle of a square ten acre plot of land — perfect for privacy.

I looked at Adam, quickly appraising him. He wore blue board shorts and nothing else. (We had just finished swimming in my pool.) Adam was the type of man all of the Tik-Tok girls lusted after — twenty-five years old, a finance-bro who was going to make a seven figure income, blond hair, blue eyes, six-foot five. A former college linebacker, he worked out regularly with weights to maintain his playing weight of two-hundred and fifty pounds. I appreciated all of that, but had looked for, and found, more. Adam was a very good man. A truly nice man. A gentleman. He volunteered at the local animal shelter. He gave to charity. He was dating to marry, not to add to his body count. Adam listened to me, was supportive, and celebrated my successes. He loved me and showed it every day. It didn’t hurt that he had a thick, nine inch cock and knew how to use his tongue. Being liberated, enlightened and progressive, Adam believed that men and women were equal. He was mistaken, of course, but he didn’t know any better. No one had taught him the truth.

It was for these reasons, and more, that I fell in love with Adam. It was for these reasons, and more, that I decided to break him and own his balls. Own the balls, own the man. 

The only way I could have a relationship with a man was if that relationship reflected the natural order of things — i.e., women being superior to vulnerable and inferior men. It was a testament to how good of a man Adam was, how loving, how caring — and to my ability to control my hunger — that I hadn’t raised the issue of Female Superiority earlier. Up to now, he had always done what I wanted. 

I then quickly assessed myself. A former college gymnast, I too was twenty-five years old, had blond hair, and worked out regularly with weights. I was five feet tall, weighed one-hundred twenty-five pounds, did kegel exercises religiously, and was going to make a mid-six figure salary working from home as a software engineer. I was wearing a white bikini that showed off my C-cup breasts, sculpted abs, and muscular yet feminine thighs, ass, shoulders and arms.

We were sitting in two facing chairs in the living room of my house. (My couch and other living room furniture hadn’t been delivered yet.) The immediate problem was Adam’s “best friend” Eve, who, like Adam and I, was twenty-five years old. A busty brunette, Eve stood about five-foot ten and weighed perhaps one-hundred thirty pounds, a disproportionate amount of which was in her E-cup tits. Adam had known Eve since second grade. Indeed, they had attended every grade together from second grade through university.  

Adam swore they never had a romantic relationship, never dated, never even kissed. I believed him. Adam said I could trust him. I did. The problem was I didn’t trust Eve. When the three of us were together, she was always focused on Adam. Directed her conversation towards him. Reminiscing. Laughing at his jokes. Demanding his attention. Touching his arm right in front of me. Who knew how she behaved, what she did, when she and Adam were alone together? Just the fact that they spent time alone together made my blood boil.

As a younger woman I would have simply beaten the shit out of Eve. It was only after I learned the truth about the natural relationship between women and men that I understood such problems had to be resolved with one’s man.

Adam and I had discussed the “Eve issue” ad nauseam, never agreeing on the only satisfactory solution — i.e., Adam ending the friendship and going no contact with her. It was time to resolve the problem. I had been more than patient.

I pretended to give Adam one last chance. I counted on his male pride to say no, to resist. I wasn’t disappointed.

I said, “I know we have talked about this, but I need you to end your friendship with Eve and go no contact with her.”

Adam sighed, not condescending but weary. “You’ve said you trust me. You’ve said you believe me that Eve and I never had a romantic relationship. Eve and I are just friends. I am sorry, but I can’t let you dictate who my friends are, particularly when there is no cause, no reason.”
 
“I need you to comply.”

“I’m sorry Lilith, but I just can’t. I have to hold my boundary sometime, and this is that time.”

“So you’ve made up your mind?  This is your final answer?”

“Yes.”

It was my turn to sigh. What was about to happen was inevitable. Indeed, my family and girlfriends had teased me for waiting so long, saying I was going soft.  I’ll admit there had been a sliver of me, representing the old me, the unenlightened me, that hadn’t wanted to exploit Adam’s natural vulnerability, his weakness. Hadn’t wanted to hurt Adam, to destroy him as a man. As I said, he didn’t know any better, particularly given our diseased patriarchal culture. But he had defied me, which was simply unacceptable. The idea that he was maintaining some sort of “boundary” with me was intolerable. And I could no longer, would no longer, deny my hunger. Now the entirety of myself, representing the new me, the enlightened me, the me that knew the truth, wanted to break him physically, mentally and emotionally. And would.

I stood up and began walking toward Adam.

“Are you breaking up with me?,” Adam asked.

“We are not going to break up,” I said with a smile. “Eve is not going to come between us. Nobody is ever going to come between us.” Not even you, I thought.

I wanted what was about to occur to be as raw, primitive and primal as possible. While walking toward Adam, I took off my top bikini top, freeing my breasts. 

Adam remained seated, glancing at my breasts before returning his look to my face. I stood between his legs and slipped off my bikini bottom, showing him my waxed pussy, my legs now touching his inner thighs. He couldn’t help but stare at my pussy before returning his gaze to my face. Adam started to stand. I gently, but firmly, pressed him by his shoulders back into his seat. I stood for a moment longer, looking down at him, the most natural position in the world. It felt right.

Still smiling, I said, “Let’s get you out of these shorts.” Kneeling down, I placed my left hand on his chest to keep him seated while I used my right hand to help him take off his shorts. I tossed his shorts behind me.

Adam remained seated while I stood up again, admiring his now rock-hard cock and enormous balls. His groin was fully shaved pursuant to my prior “request.” I loved the look of his fully exposed cock and balls, his unobstructed nakedness accentuating his vulnerability.
 
I used my right hand to slap his left cheek. Hard. 

I could see the hurt in his eyes, primarily emotional.

“What are you….” Adam said, still sitting, still looking up at me.

I slapped him again, harder.

He stood up, towering over me. I  admired his muscular arms, chest and shoulders, his washboard abs. He looked like depictions of the Greek god Ares. Before I learned the truth, before my enlightenment, I would have been intimidated. I wasn’t. 

“Lilith, what are you doing?  Why did you slap me?  Let’s talk about this,” he said.

Now standing toe to toe, I raised my right hand as if to slap him again. I let him grab my right wrist, bruising me. I used my left hand to slap his right cheek.

“Lilith, stop it.” I let him grab my left wrist, also hard, also bruising. “Let’s talk this out.”

It was a testament to Adam’s inherent goodness that he wanted to resolve what he thought was the issue (i.e., Eve) without force even after I had slapped him three times. Fuck that shit. The underlying issue — my superiority as a woman, his inferiority as a man — would be resolved only through decisive and overwhelming violence.

Adam continued to stand over me, now holding both of my wrists. I did a quick snap-kick to his balls with my bare left foot, merely reminding him of his uniquely male vulnerability. The snap-kick was little more than a sack tap — my leg swung only from the knee, not from the hip. A ballbusting knee, while the more obvious choice, would have been too much at this stage.  

Adam groaned, bent his knees slightly, bent slightly at the waist, his hands leaving my wrists to cradle his balls. I started to get wet. Adam’s face was sticking out, defenseless and vulnerable. He looked shocked, like he couldn’t believe the woman he loved, the woman he believed loved him, would attack him where he was most vulnerable. What he didn’t yet understand was it was because I loved him that I so attacked him, and would do more.

Adam lost his erection. He wasn’t a masochist. Yet. Good. It could be a pain in the ass to train a natural masochist because what was intended to be punishment could be experienced by the natural masochist as reward, even up to the point of physical injury. I preferred training a “normal” male to be a masochist so I could establish the level of testicular pain associated with sexual pleasure, and the different, significantly greater level of testicular pain that served as punishment. I would control how Adam experienced testicular pain, not him.

I could have ended the fight right then in a myriad of ways. That, however, would have failed to teach the necessary lesson of male weakness, vulnerability and inferiority.  If I had ended the fight at that point, Adam would simply have told himself that he had lost only because I had taken him by surprise. For Adam to learn his lesson I needed him to fight for real, to try his best, and be destroyed as a man.

So I slapped his face yet again, took two steps back, and raised my hands in a fighting posture.  

Adam straightened up. He looked at me like I was a woman possessed. (I was.) “I’m going to get my clothes and leave,” he said.

“You cannot leave,” I replied.

“Why not?

“Because I will not let you. You do not have my permission to leave.”

“You’re crazy.” He began to walk past me.

I took a step forward and threw a left hook into Adam’s solar plexus, putting my hips and shoulders into it. Unprepared, he gasped, groaned, doubled over and fell on his ass. Again, I stood above him looking down on him. Again, that felt natural and right. 

Adam stood up, raised his arms, and assumed a fighting stance, his left leg forward to partially protect his balls. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.  

The fact he still didn’t want to hurt me provided even more evidence that he loved me. It made me want to break him, to own his balls, even more. 

Remembering my long-term strategy, I looped a relatively slow right cross at Adam’s head, which he easily blocked, bruising me. I followed with an equally slow left jab, which Adam also blocked, again bruising me. I repeated the sequence several times, with “attempted” blows to his face and body, collecting bruises on my arms. It reminded me of an old karate exercise. Adam either was unwilling or unable to launch a counterattack.

I could feel my hunger rise — it was bordering on need. I launched a roundhouse kick to Adam’s balls with my left leg, evading his protective left leg, but only grazed his balls. Adam let out a groan, his legs buckled a bit, and he bent over slightly. I saw anger in his eyes for the first time — this attack on his balls had finally pissed him off. Recovering surprisingly quickly, he straightened up and shot out a left jab, the punch giving me a swollen lip. I launched a roundhouse kick with my right leg to his left calf. He grunted. I planted my right foot and threw a left hook to his stomach. He grunted and bent over.  My right uppercut to his chin straightened him up. Hitting him felt like hitting an oak tree. I tried to follow-up with another left hook, but he blocked it, countering with a hard left jab to my right breast, hitting me right on the nipple. It stung terribly and badly bruised my breast, but I didn’t break my stance. He launched a roundhouse kick with his right leg to my left thigh, bruising it. He then stepped in and launched a right cross at my face. I tried to slip the punch to my right but was only partially successful, the blow at full extension striking my left eye. His speed belied his bulk. The blow stunned me. I was sure to have a black eye. Fine. Good even. I backed-up. Adam rushed in to finish me with an overhand right. I shot out my right rear leg, kicking him in the balls with my shin. It was far from a full power kick — I didn’t have time to pull my leg fully back first, didn’t get full hip rotation, and didn’t get full extension. Still, it stopped Adam in tracks and made him bend deeply at the knees and waist. He groaned loudly, “Oh god,” and continued groaning. He was hurt. He stayed bent over, clutching his groin. I wish I could have moved in for the kill, but I was still stunned. Instead, I used the opportunity to step back and recover. Adam didn’t fall to the ground. Instead, he stood up and resumed his fighting stance.

We circled each other, me circling to my right to stay away from his right hand. Pissed, impatient like a man, and wanting to end the fight, Adam reared his right fist back to launch a Superman punch, telegraphing the blow. I easily evaded it. I feigned a roundhouse kick with my left leg but turned it into a hook kick to his left jaw. Adam’s head snapped to his right. I followed with a left hook to his right jaw, snapping his head back to his left. My right palm strike to his nose bloodied it. I smiled, exhilarated at the sight of his blood, thrilled I had damaged him, wanting more. Adam made the amateur mistake of bringing his hands to his nose, allowing me to again plow a left hook into his solar plexus. This time he gasped, bent over, brought his hands to his stomach, but didn’t fall. I launched a kick with my left front leg into Adam’s naked balls, using my thighs and hips, striking both balls. He moaned loudly “Oh god, oh god,” bent deeply at his knees and waist, but still didn’t fall. I grabbed his hair with both of my hands and pulled his head down as I smashed my knee up into his face. If his nose wasn’t broken before, it was now. I was ecstatic at the idea that I had done permanent damage, that I had marked my man (It was better than than a tattoo or a brand because it was earned in a fight), and that every time I looked at his face I could proudly think, “I did that.”

I took two steps back. I then took one step forward with my left leg as I kicked Adam in the balls with my right rear leg, finally being able to pull my leg fully back first, get full hip rotation, and get full leg extension. My purpose was to drive his balls into his throat. I felt my instep smash his balls into his pelvis. Adam screamed. He started to fall, but I wouldn’t let him. I grabbed him by the throat with both of my hands and pushed him against the wall. I held him up by his throat — my weight training paid off. If he fell, he would choke. I was elated to see fear in his eyes. I powered my right knee into his balls, again and again and again. I lost count. Adam screamed with each blow. I finally let him fall to floor where he collapsed into the fetal position, cradling his balls, retching. He didn’t cry.

I looked down on Adam with a feeling of triumph. I felt powerful, superior and, some might not understand, like a fully actualized woman. I had beaten a well motivated, muscular man who out weighed me by one hundred twenty-five pounds. I had no doubt I could, and would, do it again.

I was fully wet. I was so horny I was could barely stand it. Looking down at Adam’s ball beaten body, I took a brief moment to indulge myself — pinching my diamond hard nipples, stroking my labia, touching my clit. I wanted to cum so badly. Alas, there was still work to be done and I was a believer in delayed gratification.

I could do anything I wanted to Adam and he couldn’t even begin to stop me. I kneeled down and grabbed his scrotum from behind his ass with my left hand, circling his scrotum with my thumb and forefinger, pulling his balls to the bottom of his scrotum. I took a ball in each hand, placing a thumb on top of each ball with my fingers below. I dug my thumbs into his balls, deforming them. I marveled at how soft they were, how pliable, how weak, how vulnerable, how pathetic.

Adam screamed like a dying animal. He was wholly inarticulate. He couldn’t beg. He couldn’t even beseech his god. I could feel myself making an deep indentation into each ball. I reveled in the fact that with my gymnastics trained grip I could rupture his balls with my thumbs, castrating him. I felt even more powerful, akin to the Goddess herself. I also became even more wet and horny.

Remembering my plan, I formed a fist around his scrotum with my left hand with his balls sticking out of the top. I punched his balls hard with my right closed fist, again and again and again. I once more lost count. Adam couldn’t stop screaming. His screams were music to my ears. They also made me glad I had purchased an isolated house far from the nearest neighbor. I pounded Adam’s balls until he went unconscious, and then continued to beat them for a while afterwards for aesthetic reasons.

I knew from my prior experience with males that Adam would be unconscious for some time. I had more than enough time to do what needed to be done.

I grabbed my phone and went to the full length mirror in my bathroom. There I took photos of my nude body, focusing on my black eye, swollen lip, and bruises. I sent the photos to my friend Delilah. She expressed concern, but I assured her I was fine and had accomplished the first part of my plan.

I went to the bathroom to tend to my swollen lip and black eye. I also picked up a towel to clean the blood off of my right hand, and to clean up Adam.

I gathered Adam’s shoes and clothes, which I placed neatly by the front door.

I returned to Adam, still unconscious on the floor. Adam’s balls were swollen to more than twice their normal size. His scrotum was extremely bruised — almost entirely black with only small patches of dark purple around the base where it was attached to his body. I saw those purple blotches as imperfections to be remedied — his scrotum should have been entirely black.

I turned him over onto his back and used the towel to clean his mouth. I spread his legs. I then sat between his legs. I took his balls gently but firmly in my right hand, and waited.

Finally, Adam woke up and groaned. Still groggy, he focused on me only after I had gently squeezed his balls. The look in his eyes was one of despair, pain, fear, but also confusion. While I had no sympathy — he did this to himself by defying me — I understood. He had been beaten up by his much smaller girlfriend and he didn’t understand how or why. He started with the why.

“Why did you do this to me?,” he asked.

“Because I love you. Because I am in love with you. Because I want you in the deepest and most profound way possible,” I replied.

“What? Are you serious?”

“I have never been more serious in my life. Why do you think I did all of this? Why do think I made the effort? Bought this house for us? Quit my job and got a new one so first, I could work from home closer to where you currently live, and second, we could finally coordinate vacations? Why do you think I fought you — an athlete — who was twice my weight and more than a foot taller than me — and held back so I didn’t destroy you? Why do you think I have a black eye, a swollen lip, and a badly bruised breast?”

“You bought the house….”

“For us. So we could finally be together without interference.”

“You held back?”

“You still have two intact testicles, don’t you? I know I was a bit rough on you, but I was still careful.”

“A bit rough?” Adam looked at me like I was crazy.

When I was younger, I would have been upset with Adam for not appreciating what I had done for us. Now that I was older and more mature, I realized that he simply didn’t understand. He was raised in a patriarchal culture so pervasive that he couldn’t conceive of anything else. Like the overwhelming majority of men, he couldn’t envision the imminent matriarchal future. Adam couldn’t yet understand that when I disciplined him, it was for his own good or the good for our relationship. (Of course if I beat him for my own pleasure it would also, by definition, be good of our relationship. Such “discipline” was just part of the natural order of things. After all, “Happy wife, happy life.”)

I sighed, “Ok, perhaps more than a bit rough, but I wasn’t more violent than was necessary. Adam, you defied me. You were going to leave. You gave me a black eye and a swollen lip. You punched me in my breast. You bruised me.”

Adam shook his head. Again, he looked at me like I was nuts. He just didn’t understand and probably wouldn’t until the process was complete.

Adam said, ”You can’t keep me here forever.”

“I won’t have to,” I replied.

Adam looked away, seemingly deep in thought.

“Look at me,” I said.

Adam continued to ignore me like a disobedient dog.

“Look at me.”

Adam continued to look away. His rudeness and insubordination were exasperating. I literally held him by the balls and he continued to ignore me? He obviously required more instruction and discipline. I took both of his balls, one in each hand, and squeezed moderately — albeit without using my thumbs. Adam groaned, said, “Oh god, Oh god,” folded up at the waist, and rolled back into the fetal position. I loosened my grip on his balls. To my delight Adam, still whimpering, turned back onto his back and looked me.

“Can you understand me?,” I asked.

“Yes,” Adam replied.

“Given your situation it might be best if you supplicate the Goddess instead of some male ‘god.’” I squeezed his balls mildly — enough to make him groan. I then slowly increased the pressure on his left ball. Adam groaned, curled up, and twisted to his left.

“I understand.”

“Don’t you agree?” I slowly increased the pressure on Adam’s right ball. He groaned and twisted to his right.

“Yes, yes, I agree.”

“Good boy.”

Adam again appeared to be deep in thought, but this time he was careful to continue to look at me.

“What are you thinking?,” I asked.

“Like I said, you can’t keep me here forever. If you don’t let me go without a fight, eventually I’ll go to the police and have you charged with false imprisonment, assault and battery. You are looking at serious felonies. Years in prison,” Adam replied.

“You tried to rape me.”

Obviously upset, Adam vehemently replied, “What are you talking about? I never tried to rape you. You know I would never do that. You assaulted me. I tried my best not to fight you.”

“If you go to the authorities, I will say you tried to rape me and I was acting in self-defense. Who do you think they are going to believe? You are an ex-college football player, twice my weight and more than a foot taller than me. Look at my black eye, my swollen lip, my bruises. I have already sent photos of my injuries to a friend. Is anyone going to believe I attacked you? Little five foot tall me?”

Adam didn’t respond. He had the look of a trapped animal.

At this point, I could have gotten Adam to agree to anything just by crushing his balls, but if I did he wouldn’t necessarily internalize his inferiority. He still might tell himself that he lost due to bad luck. He had to lose more fights to learn his lesson.

I pointedly took my hands off his balls, stood up, and took three steps back.

“Are you ready to end your friendship with Eve and go no contact with her?,” I asked.

This was no longer about Eve, assuming it ever was. This was about Adam’s masculinity, his very identity as a man. This was also about his attempt to maintain some “boundary” with me, to retain some degree of autonomy.

Adam was silent for a while. This was important — I let him have all the time he needed. He finally looked me in the eye and replied, “I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“Do you still want to leave?”

“Yes,”

“Your clothes are by the front door. All you have to do is get past me. I’ll give you time to recover first.” I gave him all the time he wanted.

Adam nodded. After recovering, he stood up gingerly, careful not to jostle his badly bruised balls, and slowly assumed a new fighting stance. He stood completely sideways, at a ninety degree angle to me, with his right leg and dominant right hand forward in some sort of bastardized Jeet Kune Do posture. He probably thought his balls would be fully protected by the greater distance, being fully behind his right leg, and being shielded by his low left hand. Alas, the problem with having balls, besides being readily available and infinitely vulnerable “off buttons,” is that they create an additional weakness women don’t share; protecting the balls means not protecting some other vulnerability. Thus I didn’t go for the balls — at first. Instead I peppered Adam with left jabs, right crosses, hooks and upper cuts to his face and body, as well as roundhouse kicks to his lead right leg. He blocked, slipped and parried most, but some got through. In contrast, his lead right hand jabs, while powerful, were easily blocked, slipped and parried because realistically I didn’t have to worry about his left hand and he dare not kick with either leg for fear of exposing his balls. In particular, my roundhouse kicks to his lead right leg were cumulatively effective — I could see the bruises accumulate on his right thigh and particularly on his right calf, limiting his mobility. He started limping. Once he was relatively immobile, I disabused him of any notion that his balls were protected. Akin to our first fight, I launched a roundhouse kick to Adam’s balls with my right leg, evading his protective right leg, but first stepped into him with my left leg. That extra step did the trick. I hit his balls solidly with the balls of my feat, my toes pulled back. Adam screamed and then collapsed slowly to the ground, whimpering in the fetal position. He did not cry. I could see his balls were somehow even more swollen.

I could have pounced on Adam and simply crushed his balls but decided he would most benefit from being further beaten in fights. Standing above Adam, I asked, “Are you ready to end your friendship with Eve and go no contact with her?”

Adam looked at me with pleading eyes. I could see the struggle in his face. He simply answered, “No.”

“I’ll give you time to recover.” Again, I gave him all the time he needed to recover.

After recovering, Adam warily and more slowly climbed to his feet. He assumed a more traditional fighting posture, his left leg forward. I feigned another roundhouse kick to Adam’s balls with my left leg. He shot both of his arms down to block a blow that never came. I planted my left leg and powered my right elbow into his already broken nose. I swear I could both hear and feel the “crunch.” Adam screamed and brought his hands to his nose. I was delighted that I had done more permanent damage and wondered what he would look like when I was done. I gave him more reason to scream when I pulled his shoulders down with both hands and kneed him viciously in the balls. He fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes and assumed the fetal position, screaming. But still he did not cry.

I snatched up the towel and used it to wipe Adam’s blood off of my elbow. I then used it to gently clean his face and nose. Adam groaned, but for once I tried to minimize the pain. One of my rules for taking care of my man was no unintentional or accidental pain or injury. I waited for a while until his groaning stopped and he was merely whimpering.

I sat down next to Adam and asked, “Can you understand me?”

“Yes,” Adam replied.

“About your nose, I understand that we live in a patriarchal culture and will for just a little while longer. It wouldn’t do us any good if anyone other my family and girlfriends learned that I had beaten you up. We’ll tell everyone else that we were mugged by four men and you heroically came to my defense. Oh, and don’t worry about surgery. Your nose will add character to your otherwise model face.”

“You’ll tell your family and girlfriends?”

“Of course. They are all involved in female led relationships. They will understand. Indeed, they have all wondered whether I really was serious about you. Now they will know I am. They will be happy for us.”

“And what if I don’t want your family and girlfriends to know?”

“You are always welcome to stand up.”

“Will you give me time to recover first?”

“Always.”

After the recovery period, Adam laboriously stood up and assumed his fighting position. His balls were even larger. His scrotum was now entirely black. His soft cock was bruised. In one last burst of energy I didn’t know he had, he kicked me in the pussy. It hurt but, I reminded myself, was not debilitating like a blow to the balls. I maintained my stance and shook it off. Enfeebled, Adam followed-up with with a weak left jab, which I easily parried. I retaliated with a left leopard strike to the throat. Adam gagged, his eyes bulging out in panic. Before he could do anything, I grabbed his throat with my left hand, slapped his balls hard with my right palm, and then closed my right fist, crushing his balls. Because he was being choked, Adam could only let out a strangled scream. I threw him backwards onto the ground by his throat while I used his balls as a pivot point. He fell onto his back. I straddled his chest, continued to hold him by the throat with my left hand, choking him, and repeatedly punched him in the face with my right fist, further mangling his nose. I reversed position and, now straddling his stomach, began punching his balls — left, right, left, right. Adam screamed himself hoarse, but he did not cry.

My blood lust was up. My feminine instinct was to completely obliterate Adam’s balls, castrating him, as I did to the wanna-be rapist years ago, as opposed to merely eliminating any vestiges of traditional masculinity rendering Adam properly subservient to me as nature intended. I had to control myself. I loved Adam and didn’t want to neuter him. I stopped punching his balls, got off him, and let him roll into the now standard fetal position where he puked.

I turned Adam onto his back once he stopped puking. His testicles looked grotesque. His face was a mess — in addition to a broken nose he now had two black eyes, a split lower lip, and a cut above his right eyebrow. I waited until he was fully conscious. I took towel and gently cleaned his face.

I asked, “Are you ready to end your friendship with Eve and go no contact with her?”

Adam looked forlorn. He looked at me with desperate puppy dog eyes and said, “Please, I can’t.”

Adam tried to stand up, but only got as far as balancing himself on his two feet and one hand before he collapsed to the ground, rolling onto his back.

I again spread Adam’s legs and sat between them. I didn’t touch his balls.

I looked down into Adan’s eyes and asked, “Are you ready to end your friendship with Eve and go no contact with her?”

Adam gave me a look that alone would have been enough to make me wet if I wasn’t sopping wet already. It was the look of submission. The look on his face was that of a well chastised dog.

“Yes,” Adam whispered, looking into my eyes.

“I can’t hear you,” I replied.

“Yes,” Adam replied full voice.

At this point my need was overwhelming. I bent down and kissed Adam passionately, sticking my tongue in his mouth, raping his mouth, as I pulled his hair with my left had and pulled his balls toward me with my right hand, making him moan from both pain and lust. I straddled Adam’s head, facing his feet, and placed my pussy on Adam’s mouth. I grabbed his balls in both hands. “Lick,” I commanded.

Adam licked my pussy, teasing my labia and clit. As he licked my clit, I crushed his balls in both hands and mashed my ass against his broken nose, causing pain and further damage, which in turn drove me further toward release. Adam screamed into my pussy as I came, my body convulsing. I had the most intense orgasm of my life, driven not only by Adam’s pain, physical injury and submission but also by love. Adam was almost comatose. I rolled off of Adam’s face and laid on my back next to him, holding his hand.

After I recovered, I started on the last task of the day. I went to my bedroom and got my smallest strap-on (I was confident Adam was an anal virgin), lube, and a pair of latex gloves.

I walked into the living room carrying the strap-on, lube and latex gloves. Adam looked up, surprised and upset. He said, “I’ve never done that. I can’t do that. No, no, no, no, no. Please, no.”

“I am going to rape you now,” I said. “It is what is best for you.”

“Stop. No. I don’t consent. Please, no. I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good. Please don’t. Please. I’m begging you, please.”

“You need to be raped. Haven’t you learned you don’t have any choice?” I continued walking toward Adam.

“You can’t do this! Stop! I don’t consent!” Adam somehow struggled to his feet and feebly assumed the fighting position. Wobbling, he could barely stand up.

I calmly walked up to him. Rotating my hip for maximum power, I slammed my right knee into his balls. Adam fell to the ground like a corpse, screaming.

I turned Adam, now whimpering, over onto his stomach — he didn’t have the strength to physically resist, but kept moaning “no, no, no, no.” I grabbed his balls from behind with my left hand and lifted them toward the ceiling. “Get on your knees.” Adam groaned as he got onto his knees.

I put on the strap-on and the pair of latex gloves. I put some lube on my hands, and stroked my strap-on with it. I massaged Adam’s asshole with the fingers of my right hand, loosening it, while I massaged his taint with the fingers of my left hand. When his asshole was relaxed, I inserted my right index finger, moving it with a circular motion. When his asshole was more relaxed, I placed the tip of the strap-on against his hole and pushed gently while slowly rotating my hips. I continued to gently slide it in, continuing the circular motion, until I could slide it in all of the way. Adam became hard despite himself and moaned. I reached around his thigh with my right hand and grasped his cock. I reached around his thigh with my left hand, grabbed his balls, and crushed and pulled his balls. Adam moaned louder. I rhythmically fucked Adam in the ass, pumped his now hard cock, and mauled his balls, faster and faster, as he moaned in pleasure and pain. A river of pre-cum flowed from the tip of his cock. The strap-on indirectly caused my labia and clit to be stimulated. That, Adam’s moans, and him being my submissive fuck toy made me excited and wet.

As Adam came, arching his back, convulsing, shooting out a veritable fire hose of cum, he screamed “Oh Goddess, oh Goddess.” I was surprised and pleased — perhaps he had internalized more than I had thought?

Adam’s submissive orgasm triggered my own. I was amazed I came with so little physical stimulation. My body shuddered as I screamed in ecstasy and clamped tighter on Adam’s balls. In turn, Adam screamed and pumped out more cum.

Adam eventually collapsed slowly to the ground in the fetal position, fully spent. There was blood in his semen, a sign that his balls had been beaten to their limit, if not, to be honest, past their limit. His balls looked hideous. I would have to be relatively gentle during his training the next day.

I took the strap-on off, went to the bathroom and cleaned myself off. I took a towel to the living room, gently cleaned Adam and turned him onto his back in the appropriate legs spread position. Technically, he wasn’t unconscious, but he was barely functioning.

I kneeled next to Adam’s body and waited until he was capable of coherent thought and speech. I put my hand on his cheek and looked into his eyes. I did not touch his balls. At long last Adam fully woke up.

“Are you my bitch?,” I asked.

Adam returned my look. “What?”

“Are you my bitch?

Adam looked thoughtful. “Yes,” he whispered.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Yes,” he said full voice, and started weeping for the first time.

I ran my hand through Adam’s hair, softly repeating “It’s ok, it’s ok.” I kissed him very softly on the lips, and said, “It’s going to be ok. I will take good care of you.” I helped him get up and half carried him to the king size bed in my master bedroom. I helped him crawl onto the bed where he curled up in the now familiar fetal position, resting his battered head on the pillow. “Go to sleep now.”

I considered Adam. Yes, he had screamed. Yes, he had retched and thrown up. But he didn’t cry until the end. He had taken a good beating. He had invoked the name of the Goddess. I was proud of him. I would later brag to my girlfriends about his pain tolerance the way some women, including myself, brag about their man’s cock size.

I crawled onto bed with Adam, spooning him, and placed my hand oh so gently on his balls.

Adam’s training would continue tomorrow.

Then we slept.

//